[x]

Ceremony.

What happened
to this celebration?

There was laughter,
wondrous.

Newness.

Renewal.

Spring.

Nothing ponderous.

A solemn,
sacred thing-

Bridesmaids
dressed in white.

Colors,
living,
swirling bright.

There were
smiles and songs,
and dancing
half the night.

Ceremony.

Vows made,
with giddy delight.

Passion.
Oh, passion.
Hunger.
Need.
Desires.
Raging fires...

Quenched.

Soaked.

Drenched.

Another moment
ago.

A different sight.

Fading, slow.

Sodden.

Tears provoked.

Ceremony.

Just another
gray event
to herald
night.

© ·´~`·»Garapan«·´~`· 20

Dreams

I saw this image offered by Greta Tu Photography, and in an emotionally inspired moment, scribbled this inadequate poem out on her DA page where I saw it. Several things impressed me about this photograph, but the emotion it evoked with its beauty and universal appeal just kind of burst out, so this is really more in hopes that you feel the beauty of this image as did I.

Dreams

Winding around, and round and round,
pale, silken sheet of sparkling mists;
the Shroud of Dreams drifts, settling down
and rests upon skin, lightly kissed
by fervence, fevers, fire that lingers-
starlight songs enhance deep passions,
willing lips see

Haiku's and Oiran

A quick note: A Haiku is Japanese Poetry. The standard Haiku has a fixed formula. The most common formula is-

3 lines-

5 syllables in the first line
7 in the second
5 in the third

Haiku's were typically a masculine tool and were used by Japanese men to describe love and nature. In the past, a Japanese man would write a Haiku to a girl and she would respond with a "Tanka", which has a formula of 5 lines with 5-7-5-7-7 syllables respectively. Thus, the Tanka poem is very similar to haiku but Tanka poems have more syllables and it uses simile, metaphor and personification.

So he would write a Haiku, she would respond with a Tanka, and befor

The Falling

When the wind is still
And the Earth falls silent,
Drifting on the currents
Of a daydream
Is the only flight
Of freedom.

But the longing remains,
The desire to take wing--
The surging release of energy,
And liberty,
Pulses through the limbs
Creating a feathery stir
In an imitation acted out,
Untimely,
By a bristling beating
Of the astonished, quiet air
Who complains of being bustled
From her inert passivity,
Throwing dust and leaves
Into the sky
In a fit
Of discomfiture.

It might be better to wait
Until she stirs of her own volition,
Lifting life willingly,
Carrying spirits upward
With eager hands.
But oh, ho

Nature's Whispers

Natures Whispers

Witness
the towering trees
groaning quietly
within their souls
while raging winds
batter their bodies
until the greatest
are all laid low.

Hear
the desperate raucus
leaves are roaring
Oh how they bray
their noisome protests
echo naked
with the glowering
of their dismay,
as they cling
ever tenacious;
death grips vieing
for fleeting time,
Shearing thrusts
make separation
of limb and leaf
from bole and vine.

This is man
and petty glories-
Stripped convulsively
of all he wields,
being shorn
like stubborn children
of all decay
he will not yield.

Nature
she always whispers
sagely lilting

Undefined

There is a thin line
between love and hate.
I hate you with all of
my love.

© ·´~`·»Garapan«·´~`· 2012

Featuring The Photography of
Katarzyna "Roosalia" Dembrowska

© "KichAss" 2012

http://roosalia.deviantart.com/
https://www.facebook.com/rooosalia

Virgin Sundance

This is one of my "Tag" Poems. Poetry Tag is where you gather with Poets in a chat room, and the Host starts out by "Tagging" a Poet and supplies the Poet with a Topic. The Poet has 5 minutes to write a poem based on the Topic, either literally using the Topic as a word(s), or using it as the general theme. The Poet then types the poem into the chat room as they create it, then all witnessing Poets say a few nice lies about how good it was, then the Poet who just wrote will "tag" another and supply the new Poet with a new random Topic. So basically what comes out of it is unrehearsed and improvised poetry. I was given this Topic, "Virgin Sund

Eternal Brevity

I don't recall what inspired this poem.

He moves up the block,
somehow managing to avoid
stepping on the trash
that's strewn around his feet.
He greets an old black man with an ancient hat,
giving him a curt nod and dropping a coin in his cup
as he boldly plays his lively harmonica
for the disinterested crowd
in front of the Cafe that serves the Hospital.
The young man stays for a moment and listens
before finding a seat on a stone bench
where he gazes at the nurses
staggering in and floating out of the Cafe--
beautiful and saintly,
angels of tolerable pain...
barely.

He glances at his gold Rolex
then stands abruptly
p

Dark Daughter

The muted sighs
of deep desire
tangle
in the dark strands
of her parted hair,
caressing every lock
with whispers of
divine elegance,
speaking softly,
testifying
of her sacred love
with hushed
reverence.

"Dark daughter
we adore you,"
says the starlit wind,
which sings the
warm nightsong.
And all the
frolicking creatures
of natures evening
reverie
stop to hear
that sound.

"Dark daughter,"
says the sky,
"You are beautiful
standing poised
with slender grace
beneath the shadow
of my covering
arms."

And then she smiles
that endless smile
and all the beasts
of evenings' shade
begin to celebrate
anew,
while the scent
of midnight looms
behind
dark

Julroyon

I saw this image by Galen Schlich, and it put me into another world. So I wrote the story it evoked in my heart in the form of this poem. Nothing fancy, just a tale from a forgotten existence.

Julroyon

Lady of the Moonlight,
my peasant Princess
with your unkempt hair-
still ravishing
after all these hard years.
Eyes smiling with joy,
humble,
yet proud,
content to help
to work the soil
though it hardens
your once soft hands-
but not your heart.

Even when those hands
carried our child
to his early rest
still, your face beamed;
and you sang
through the tears,
just as your image
sings to me
now,
through the passage

Gaia's Storm

Where have you gone
O, Angelique?
the wind of the Western Desert
brings your scent
within it's rushing heat,
sweeping across
the brush strewn plains,
exhaling your name
in the rustling
of the sun-browned leaves.

O, Angelique...
the night sounds of the jungle
cease in silent wonder
as the essence of your poetry
permeates,
piercing the magic covering
of the forest's thriving wreathes.

O, Angelique...
the brooks flow nearly backwards,
and the rivers hesitate
In disbelief,
as the mantle of your rising
summons clouds to veil
the sunrise in the East.

O, Angelique...
would that your eyes
should rest upon
this traveling sou

Guardian Dryad

Guardian Dryad

A fragrant whisper rustles,
hushed and tawny,
from the movement
of her flowered hair
as she turns her head
to peer within you,
with eyes bright and searching,
a gaze, which casts aside
the darkened gloom
and throws deception to the winds
of unveiling truth;
unnerving,
undaunted,
they dare you to play the fool.

Her magic is in the light
of those penetrating eyes.
The angelic oval
of her enchanting face
draws you to them,
irresistibly.
The soft pout of inviting lips
is forgotten
in that distracting stare.

The girl you thought you saw
evolves before your eyes
into the woman
whom you cannot bear to see

Trail of Twilight, feat. Pulse

This poem is the result of a Poetry Tag session where I was given the Topic "Porcupine" and five minutes to write a poem including it either as a word or as a theme. I chose to include it as a word. It took probably 5 1/2 minutes so I didn't meet the guideline but I had fun following the imagery this Topic evoked. I then named it "Trail of Twilight" even though I usually take the Topic as the Title. I hope you enjoy it.

Thank you Artist Shaggy-grim for this collab! I saw this image and knew I'd found the pair to my poem. Thanks everyone!

Trail of Twilight

Private drama unfolds lightly
in the den behind the oaken trees;
Bustling and snarl

Reflective Passages

Infinity-
endless yesterdays
joining hands
with countless tomorrows.
The possibilities of one
collide as a quicksilver wave
with the fixed pronouncements
of the irretrievable past.

Trapped in the center
of this random crime,
the catalyst that binds,
immovable,
a complex being
called "I",
Chained to what lies behind
yet, positioned free
with choices for days ahead.
Foreboding-
the growing sense
that this heart does not
truly govern
the cascading drama
unfolding before
fixed eyes.

© ·´~`·»Garapan«·´~`· 2012

Featuring the Photography of
Kelly Jones

© Mir

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Sacred Silence Within

by ~Garapan, Sep 22, 2011, 8:53:34 PM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

She whispered,
she whispered.

Come to me now
she whispered,
softly,
sweet.

(She whispered)

Her breath became
a song-
our eyes
meet.

(She whispered)

Moonlight's
pallored rays
reveal the
trace,

(She whispered)

of yearning's
salty trails
upon her
face.

Oh how she whispered,
she whispered,
she whispered.

Ears cannot deny
this dreadful
din,

(She whispered)

it falls upon
the heartbeat
cast within,

(when she whispers,
she whispers.)

And love breaks
upon the
silence,
spirits
mingle
into
one

While she whispers,
that a
sacred
second life
has now
begun...

Now when
she whispers,
she sings
inside
of
me.

© ·´~`·»Garapan«·´~`· 2011