an ocean story

by Samantha Keely Smith

down the lanes of persistence and sweat,
there are waves lapping at the mind’s cliff,
seeking restoration of things wild and vain,

I see with my squid eyes the promulgation
of morrows bound to my brows, lives are tarnished
by the salt of this ocean of continuity, despite
a range of cul de sacs of mediocrity,

I ache to parch my thirst through drowning,
I seek virtues in the bleeding sun touched by
paints of this allegory. I have seen tempests
and treacheries, I have witnessed moats
of luxury, and the contrasts that lie within
these stories.

the vastness doesn’t exemplify loss but transcends it
into a lonesome lore,
I can feel the brush of drops and sand coming
awash, on my face, as my limbs stretch out
to become the shore, where

sirens sing and muses muse a melancholic hymn,

a reverie is lost and found, thus becoming –

it was meant to lose itself in turquoise ripples,
for the fates of my nature and your culture
are misaligned.

.

Linking it up with Midweek Motif at Poets United

*16 June: Linking it up with dVerse OLN

Instagram: mypeculiarself
Facebook: @aaha12345

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a story circles seeking an end

the rise and fall of a dog’s paws as it leaps

through the night, beneath the chill settling

on the shoulders, the summer drawing to

a close, an ending of all that enraptured

my thought, the fire extinguishes again in

the pinch of my thumb and forefinger, time

seems to be turning on my path again, I

can smell its perfume, a plot of my dreams

a movie seen on the TV one lone morning

the past tingles my skin and I wink, repeat

the steps once traversed, crumbling beneath

soon the land will run out and a trench formed

and a true end that be, the black dog heaves,

my feet take me to places unknown (yet known)

ubiquitous eyes trace all that happens, that is,

the fates die by my touch, diffusing into the blurs,

I turn into an Effigy, the moon howls, dreams sleep

.

Image source

The writer has the right to tell his tale in symbols.The reader has the right to see through those symbols as a part of his own tale.

A Cursed Poet

engulfed by flames of wrath,

he swirled around, igniting

the entire darken path,

inky words spilled, writing

.

the pitiable heart’s hollow pain,

immeasurable as perpetual night,

and ruptured, the day light slain,

against the dispersed body’s might,

.

it was just the beginning,

of his eroding soul, and existence,

the sirens whilst singing,

calling, desiring for his penance,

.

which would claim, who he was,

a king, passionate and grim,

left with the marks, of the paws,

of the evil, that had bequeathed him,

.

a task of seven pebbles, the sins,

he had to conquer, and control,

engraving in his dark skin,

the spell of the ancient scrolls,

.

he yearned, for a safe escape,

to the regime of his still life,

away from the dark shapes,

of his demons of strife,

.

there was no way out,

but through the way in hell,

no longer any time for doubt,

he bend to his will’s shell,

.

shielding him, for the nature

favored for his survival,

as he passed through the gates,

bringing as a result, a revival,

.

of his blessings, against the curse,

he was determined to bring down,

by the power, of his virulent verse,

reclaiming his soul, and heart, his crown

 

Image source

Submitting the link to:

1. MindLoveMisery’s Prompt: Curse

2. Sunday Whirl

3. Poetry Pantry

Illusion: A Haibun

Illusion or reality- that shrouds my vision obscuring from me the truth that lies before me. There is a grey cover hiding a round object on the table. That object is what I seek, that object is what will give me a much-needed direction in life. I move gradually towards that wooden structure on which rests my fate, my destiny. I thrust my hand forward and carefully pick up the grey curtain, which when hurled away would lead me to the view of what the future holds for me. I am numb but I made myself see the object. It is a glass orb. I pick it up and all I see is haze and nothing else. Illusion or reality- that plagues my vision obscuring from me the truth that lies nowhere before me.

a hazy future

illusion of the glass orb

directionless life

* For Ligo Haibun Challenge.

Ring of World

the ring of world

where we go

round and round,

where we clamber

the highest mountains

for everything material,

to put up a drama

on a porcelain stage

drenched in water

of fate

source

*Written for Trifextra Week Seventy-Seven.