Category Archives: Poetry

Ultimately

Poetry

A thought…

Playing itself

out in his mind…

Like a small ball

continually bounced

back and forth.

He tired to erase it…

But it seemed the harder he tried,

the stronger the thought became.

It had exhausted him for days…

Rendered him

sleepless…Left him

with a an ache

in the pit of his stomach.

Why was it that this

one action

was so difficult?

He was a grown man…

Had seen and done much

during the course of

his life.

He swallowed hard…

Took a deep breath…

Now

making a conscious effort

to allow himself to

contemplate the thought…

To ponder the words…

To slowly say them

out loud…

“I’m sorry.”

He shuddered at the sound of his own voice

as the words escaped from his lips…

Ultimately deciding his pride

far more important.

"Infinite Universe"

Poetry, , , ,

Infinite Universe….

Demands of the day have halted to a hush,
all is quiet now, the hour is late.
Time to think, to clear out the mind,
a chance to make sense of all on the plate.

Take a walk outside, feel the sand at my feet,
glowing moon is overhead hiding in clouds.
Ocean water lapping a slow and steady rhythm,
while the sand glistens draped in veils and shrouds.

Gentle breeze kisses my face with such flair,
subtle scent of salt is noticed with each inhale.
Take a deep breath and welcome mother nature in,
deeply into your soul where life never grows stale.

A peaceful time being one with nature,
darkness surrounds, a slight chill in the air.
The vastness of the ocean keeps calling me closer,
I am drawn, so drawn to understand her flair.

A creation of God built with two loving hands,
always different, yet the same everywhere.
As I recline back resting on the heated sand,
the vastness of the infinite universe appears to share.

Illuminating moon like a lighthouse in the sky,
becomes the guiding light for all life of old.
Lying there in awe of the beauty knowing,
with each twinkling new star a story is told.

What exactly do we have, what is there left,
when all being done is destroy and plunder.
It has been said we learn from past mistakes,
however, without God what have we, I wonder.

Written by:
Karen Palumbo
10/5/2007
Published in “Inside Out, Upside Down and Backwards!”

At the End of Williamson Road

Poetry, , , , , , , , , , , , 
"The summer wind, came blowin' in from across the sea;
It lingered there, so warm and fair - to walk with me..."
~ Frank Sinatra


We'll find you there


Entranced by


Sirens' song


Standing at your


Open window


In gull-blue house


At end of


Williamson Road;




I'll be wearing a tiara


Made of Hydrangea vine


Carrying my


Dog-eared copy of Keats,


A bouquet of wild notions,


And a bottle of wine


Wrapped in


Macramé of ideas.




Amphitrite's dance


Will alert you


To my approach


As I stop to


Admire the Horsemint


Delicately dotting


The landscape


In colorful adjectives;




The salt-laden breezes


Will beckon as


Unlatched screen door


Of your beach house


Will clap out some


Welcoming prose


To your guests.




I'll see others


Approach from atop


A sandy knoll


With Conch shells


Held close to their ears


And know that


Buddha is smiling


At their dharmic display;




As we drift toward


Your wood stairs,


You'll greet us with


Your whitewater smile


And feet as bare


As your soul


While waves of Frank's


"Fly Me to the Moon"


Crash on the shore


Of our anticipation


And a benevolent riptide


Pulls us into


Glad tidings.




© 2008




The Conch is used in Tibetan Buddhism to call together religious assemblies and in Vajrayana Buddhism, the Conch is a symbol that proclaims the truth of the dharma.


http://www.religionfacts.com/buddhism/symbols/conch.htm










 

	

	
	

		
			



							


	

		
				

			Floral Treats
		

		
		

			Poetry, , 					

	


		

		
If you want to try something ambitious

Add petals to make meals delicious

Take some advice

On making meals nice

And serve up a dish that’s nutritious.


I know cos’ I have to the assurance

Of a certain blog writer, Sue Lawrence.

A web release states

That flowers are great

For cooking: I don’t need insurance


So when next you’re starting to forage

Try marigolds, roses or borage.

Enhance your provender

With nasturtiums, lavender

And maybe a small dose of courage.


When it’s time for the next Mother’s Day

Do not buy a bouquet or nosegay

But sit back and savour

That delicate flavour.

Don’t send flowers; eat them, I say!.

	

	
	

		
			



							


	

		
				

			Conceived
		

		
		

			Poetry, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 					

	


		

		
Thoughts and images


In mutual attraction


Move closer to 


One another;


 


Electricity flares


As they seek


Deep embrace;


 


Energy writhes


While nape of 


An “S“‘s neck


Is cooled by the


Breath of an “h” –


 


“Shhhh”….


 


Can you hear the 


Beads of apostrophes


Drip on white sheets?


 


Can you feel the


Pure bliss


As climactic waves


Of fluid expression


Fertilize ideas?


 


“Ahhhh”…


 


All becomes calm


As fetal notions gestate


And a composition 


Begins to form;


 


A poem is born.


 


© 2008

	

	
	

		
			



							


	

		
				

			Torrid Fates
		

		
		

			Poetry					

	


		

		
i’ll fold the sea.

and beneath its madness wing

refuge of you. and to me

what scent you sing

will set us living free.


such face, my lover,

of your likeness

within oldest fire

posing as the torrid Fates,

without soft touch and of true word.

drying off brightly the salt of young.


into what holy fold

dost my fingers probe?

from whence this total cold?

not yet, no, for today

is the day of the sun,

and as the music’s vibratos

wish it true


i’ll fold the sea.

and beneath its madness wing

refuge of you. and to me

what scent you sing

will set us living free.