THREE

the_glass_desert_by_noahbradley

The Glass Desert by Noah Bradley.


Here is another poem from Oblivion Corpus.

*

You walk about your desert
Always trying hard to avert
Afraid to stay in one place
To disrupt your wicked dance.


Refusing to completely cease
You do traverse the sill
However you leave behind
All your hopes and true mind.


The suffering is deep within
You’re not letting anyone in
To do what you long for and miss
And then say you do not wish

To let yourself off your leash.

Game Over

game over, marija mrvošević, child, globe

A boy. Restless, hyper-all
through vessels sugar rushes.
Oh, the fun!

Cars on a colorful rug
against the laws of physics
follow lines.
Toy soldiers fighting aloud —
shooting, breaking, demolishing.

A plush Teddy, now a stained bear — suffers.
Stuffing hovers and falls.
Broken pencils, scraps, slips, splinters
taking over the floor. No room for
a car and soldier toys.

A child, when there is no more space for him to play — departs.
The mother will clean up; the child will return.

A Human, when there is no more space for him to play — departs.
The Mother will clean up. The Human — removed.
No room for a toy soldier if Mother gets hurt.

His Home Town

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A town embraced by earth’s hips and bosom,

neatly laid between the curves and sways of trees,

colorful under the heavy clouds,

brighter soaked in rain…

Welcomed me into its cold, yet reassuring hug.

When the sunshine drops through the sky’s rug

it glimmers and laughs, echoing over the mounts.

Loud… and silent when silence is required

wet… and dry when your feet get tired,

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Hope

abstract-art


Piercing the darkness with his swirling sword,

ha awoke a glimmer of Hope.

Together with Yearning inside, remembered the

melody of a time when Time stood still.

 

Ancient Chorus,

an eternal aria,

Choir of Angels,

the greatest Opera:

Hear the Harp —

as it plucks,

and it strums, strums, strums

in a lyrical delight.

Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme.¹

Hear the Chimes —

as they ring, ring, ring,

announcing the spring

in a glory of the night,

in a holy, choral glory of the night.

Hear the Glockenspiel —

it thrills in a tinkle,

as it twinkles the sparks,

sparks, sparks, sparks,

as it tinkles and it twinkles

in the enlightened, shining beauty of the dark.

Hear the Bassoon —

glorious in tune,

that gentle, vocal monsoon,

as it moans, moans, moans

in a guttural, orotund groan,

calling upon the white, laden Moon,

and a Star… star, star, star…

Penetrating the atmosphere with sound —

that harmonious , profound orchestra —

on the bottom of the down,

down, down, down.

Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme.

Everlasting in the sky:

a Song of Winds,

the Melody carried

on celestial Wings…

 

… enveloping the fury,

taking over the Steed,

and He felt the Love of One

as the horn broke and fell,

his colors faded with the wind,

he shrunk and swayed. Standing still —

back on the undulating pastures — a Horse

with no wings, among many others.

Loving and calm.

Grazing the fragrant grass,

listening for a river in the distance.

 


¹Remembering the Greats: Edgar Allan Poe, The Bells.

 

Fury

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In a dim hour of Dusk

the stroke of furies broke afar.

Once chained by the strength of winds,

with intense yearning Steed restrained,

this instant was the victim of the dark.

 

Led by a blind faith,

greed of a flame and pride,

shameless; wishing for the brake of Dawn —

he was summoned by a false sky

into Twilight:

Where smoking wraiths sway,

where the lightning of sin strikes aloud,

where temperance is gone and wisdom fades,

where the hope even in dreams cannot be found.

There came the horned emperor,

on the wings of evil beings.

 

The regime of Underheaven keeps world’s lies

poisoning the soul of the Earth child.

Strews turmoil, pain, fear and war…

Until Death takes home

tormented core of the mankind.

 

But the Death is not there, in the fright horizon —

she seeks serenity, peace and Eden.

Yearns for pure mind and a Beginning in the End.

She — the queen with no judgment, the sister of Life,

this night was deterred by thunder.

Electric needles falling on the entrance;

she can’t get near the breaking being,

so calls for help the eternal kin:

“Father — transcendent peace, Endless Love!

Dear brother — short-lived idyll tortured by darkness,

enlightened by mind!

Seize the unseenable dusk,

obliterate dark and darnel!

Let us offer serenity and paradise!”

The answer fell carried by winds of silence;

two speak as one:

“The trial stays with he who pursues

our scopes before time.”

 

Verdict echoes with truth. The battle lasts now.

 

Shimmering seeker of the Universe

strikes the bottom with hooves.

 

With a force of furious despair,

maelstrom of sharp crest,

with weapons of dreams,

colors of fugacious spring —

the massive Steed shields.

 

Whirlpool of evil — masked with mirrors.

 

With rage of fury,

bursting jolt,

burning current,

with loathing terror-woven —

hails the ghastly collapse.

 

Over the meadow of the Mythical Steed,

a Star has now ceased…

 

…in the midst of Heavens It beholds:

Where smoking wraiths sway,

where the lightning of sin strikes aloud,

where temperance is gone and wisdom fades,

where the hope even in dreams cannot be found…


 

Contemplation (Pastures of the Universe)

unicorn universe


This damp, drizzly morning

I saw a wing of a butterfly —

gentle, little… blue and sprinkled.

I felt a whiff of zephyr —

light, fragrant… undulating.

None can fly close to the cloudy Sky.

 

Suspicious Sun yearns for the empyrean,

raising its head and grinning towards a

savory Pasture.

The prickle of a green hornet seems terrifying,

It buzzes around, hums, breathes deeply and wonders

why won’t I get out of Its way.

But It cannot reach the topmost needle of a conifer.

 

Brisk eve hints of rime.

A little finch is sleeping on a stump;

I approach steadily.

The horn doesn’t frighten It,

neither does my black stare.

Ash and autumn cover that small body;

the wings carry It to the spring and back —

unable to gain height.

 

I became a birdwatcher today:

magical crow, wise and beaky raven,

surplus magpie, sparrow-hawk ready to hunt,

euphonious nightingale, humorous mockingbird,

friendly sparrow, a powerful wren…

At nightfall the Moon is white.

I’m welcoming it and pondering still:

Who’s Wings lead to the Pastures of the Universe?


 

The Smell of Rain

rebirth-of-gaea-by-jesse-newman

Made by Jesse Newman


 

The smell of rain in June

Rising from the stone

Like a whirl of wind

Swaying – in a tune

The breath of fresh air

Uniting in Its flight

Reaching up above

My senses – delights

Together now we dance

With nature’s true shade

Oh! The summer can play

A surprising, risky game

Fields – soaked in juice

Enjoying the cloud show

Before the times change

And bring dry revenge

Gaea, worried in her realm

Strewn by global events

Frowns upon this kind

Oh! Are we all so blind?

Urging us to contemplate

From our seats we must rise

Lie on nearby meadow

And think about the skies.