Poems For Planets: Venus

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The second addition to the planetary poetry is here for your studious consumption. These posts are getting more and more educational by the day. Venus has been a real gem to marvel at.

Second from the sun, yet the brightest and hottest, Venus is our subject for the day. In a mythological context, Venus it is linked with Venus (The God) and Aphrodite. These two deities are linked with beauty, love, passion and eternal youth. I had no idea that Venus is the only planet to spin on its axis in the opposite direction to the other planets, just doing her own thing, and copper is her substance. Lets see what kind of sonnet I can whip up for her majesty, iambic pentameter was attempted for this serving.

 

Venus: Sonnet

 

Your bosom bursts with passions potent flare,

Rousing up the verve inside my veins.

You hold my inhibitions well impaired,

Your beauty helps to spark the lovers flames.

 

No rivers run can quench your given power,

Aphrodite, Venus, you are queen.

I dream to drink your touch and never cower

To love, I steep my longing in your stream.

 

What hope is there for mortal men as me?

What hope to paint my worthiness as true?

That crown of copper opulence I see,

Reminds me that Olympus harbors you.

 

You are the brightest smile along in this trail.

You are the burning heart where love prevails.

B.N

 

 

 

 

 

Walking Through Space!

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I didn’t know how to put this forward or make it clear, but here it goes. I’m going to be making some noise in this little space of mine for a little while. I’m working on a little series for the poetry fans who wonder this way, hopefully it will be for fans of any kind of written work. This is something to get me playing with style a little bit more, keep me in touch with the blogger-sphere and fellow writers, I’m calling it …

Poems for Planets!!

 

Don’t worry, I’m saving the creativity for the actual content, hopefully this allows me a pass on this title.

I’ll open the series on a light note, something to brighten the tone. Here I present to you my opening Haiku.

 

 

Sun Light

 

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heavens bands of fire

Washing the earth with light.

Waiting for winter.

-The Blissful Nomad

 

Stay tuned for the rest of the 9 planets, feel free to play along or share the fun.

 

Him for Her

When the sky is all raindrops and fire, I promise to stand with you.

There was a cruel miscarriage of justice written in ash and embers. The amber glow of spent vigour twisted the vines that once hugged the old tree. Once brilliant with chlorophyll and teaming with life, the luminous veins were the symbol of a hope that lived before the sky summoned it’s executioner. Now ashen and frail they lay strewn amongst the blades of grass, robbed of vitality, bearing no semblance to there original beauty.

From the speckled screen of privilege, I was kept safe at a distance, watching the ruckus unfold. The storm would rile itself up with that thunderous call and response that claimed the stormy nights. The room would shake as the air, taught by the rain and imposing clouds, was cut clean by the limbs of lights that stretched down. Outside my looking pane, out of reach of the reality of it all, nature was claiming its dominion over nature. My mother told me that lightning never strikes the same place twice. I’ve heard the words repeated time and time again, now looking on at the remains of the old tree, smitten by the sky, I prayed the heavens would spare that patch of earth another bout of fury.

I can’t remember when it was that I stopped running from those thunderous claps. I never took note of the way the fear molded itself into fascination. I out grew the cowering and faced into the storm from the safety of my window. A veil clear enough to never hide whats there to see, but veil enough to to ensure I didn’t taste the sting of the moment.

The elements wear their emotions on there sleeves, never resigning themselves to the judgment of onlookers. The thunder has been praised and vilified, none of this had altered its readiness to do its bidding. Staring at the remains of the old tree I see that beauty has hidden bite, nature has hidden might, the sharp sparks of heaven could strike as marvelous, or touch upon earth with ugly hues of destruction. There is a pantomime of ether that will wind to unfold in unexpected endings, in unexpected beginnings, unexpected majesty and mourning.

 

 

There was a cruel a miscarriage of justice written in ash and embers. The amber glow of unchecked rage, rattled off in storms that ate away at her. Such jagged diction, then taken as norm, was gifted thoughtlessly until they touched on the sinews of that lone soul brave enough to stand tall in the open, weathering the storms.

I hate that I wasn’t the only one watching as another cloudy day claimed her smile as the hope that coursed her veins was claimed by thunder. Her voice was lost in the wash of a horse wind begging her to “Remember her place.”

“What place?” I thought.

Sadly I knew.

There are only so many storm that privilege can shelter me away from. With out the rain on my back I’m numb to the reality of the stand, I forfeit forever my watching post.

My sister. I will be counted in the forest that will grow around you. I will be there to stand by you when the world is all raindrops and fire. I will stand tall, rooted deeply, footing firm and far reaching so every storm will tread tentatively before washing the ground around you. She fights for her right to stand tall in the bitter air. She stands tall to outlive the roar of the witless lumberjacks chains, intent on binding her strength. I have watched those branches tapped for way too long, limbs leaking with majesty, bleeding your sustenance dry. Your crooked bark outlines the story that was written in silence, the broken Armour that recounts the nights fighting against the storm.

When the sky is all raindrops and fire, I promise to stand with you.

Gold-Mind

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There is so much gold inside your longing to be you, this is the most precious intent. No heavy cloaks of foul feelings can dim a diamond cut by the goodness you feed your mind. The mind, so precious an instrument, when seeded with love will yield abundance. Make the mistake of welcoming thoughts with ugly features and you run the risk of stepping into an ugly world, cold and uninviting.

Its okay to be you, let the manikins muse. So often revered, this jury of your pears has played a role in stifling your sunlight. You have earned your summer, so smile and forget shame. Learn to love all that your heart conjures in its hunger for life, its thirst for love, and its wants in the throes curiosity.

I have never seen a rose recoil in shame. It blushes often, but bears its head with pride, unashamedly a rose, be a rose. Let all the goodness in you blossom and let the world return the favour. There is nothing more contagious than true happiness.

…If you have good thoughts it will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.

Roald Dahl

 

 

Sunrise

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My early call to rise rings out at the same time ever morning, 5 am. Every morning, at 5 am, I rock myself out of a shallow sleep, gather the scattered pieces of my focus and brace myself, ready to face the budding day at its root. I loathed dawn for so long, returning to it only through necessity.

I recently found hidden value and beauty in those early hours. It wasn’t the way in which the horizon bled as the sun stalked the weakening night sky. It wasn’t the tranquil air, alive with a heady mix of possibility and bird song , it was something different. It was the way it mediated my conflicting thoughts and gave my hope a backbone, the way it allowed my compass to settle to a true north, it allowed me to breath in the realisation that, like that rising sun, coming from everywhere, to embrace everything, I have to go far from comfort to pierce the blackness.

My eyes are drawn to the morning sun, with envy and curiosity. When 5 am arrives, I rise to chase a dream.

 

SUNRISE

As your golden arcs dissolve the night, I wonder where you’ve been.

you trace the distance silhouettes with ribbons of foreign fire.

Fermenting the swollen shadows by imposing your rosy sheen,

as your golden arcs dissolve the night, I wonder where you’ve been.

I’ve been tested by dawns return, the burn of an auburn, keen

to unfold the day, invoke a steam to power our souls desire.

With your golden arcs dissolving night, I wonder where you’ve been,

you trace the distance silhouettes with ribbons of foreign fire.

–  Triolet

(c) Saili Katebe

Writing 201, Assignment 3: Acrostic – Trust

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Another day in the world of WordPress has provided another glorious opportunity to fine tune our art of expression, Writing 201, challenge number 3 is in play. The poetic form we have been given to play with today is “Acrostic”, spelling out a word, or words with the first letters of each line of our poem. The optional devise we can make used of today is the internal rhyme, and finally the prompt. Our poems have the option of addressing the topic trust, in any manner we see fit. This is my contribution. Enjoy!

Momentary truths are tested against forever,

Afflictions of affection, feeding a foul weather.

Summers of sweet escapes and serenading amore,

Quiver in moors, stagnant, stripped of any allure.

Unravelling vales falling, raising a stale wall,

Elaborate tales told, unfold to exhale all.

Roaring flames spasming, eating away the frame,

Attacking the strokes painted by pain of a known name.

Deceit is a small game in the dance of hidden intention,

Evading the truth for gain, only maims future ascension.

Man In The Mirror

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“we are nothing more than enemies!”  the man in the mirror elates,

he hates when I mumble all my musings in front of his face.

Hates when I step into the world instead of him,

instead of king, he says I play pawn, squandering my limbs.

Haunting my inner monologue, hiding in snide soliloquies,

tied to my minds hide, I think he has it in for me!

detesting the vain veneer of never speaking aloud,

perpetuating the notion of seeking solace in clouds.

“Aspirations and dreams!” he echoes every now and then,

Aggravated and mean, he screams until his power ends.

But his power, never ending, is now befriending my whims,

so part of me, parts from me, ever slowly becoming him!

Intoxicated with curious, warm thoughts. I’m furious!

From war torn, the two us waltz and adopt emulous.

I’m challenging his notions! I read whatever he reads!

Peeling back the pages, to see whatever he sees!

Seeing what he has seen has redirected my questions,

softened the hardened head that rarely headed suggestions.

The boy in front of the mirror, manufactured direction,

never to be bested by the rival in his reflection.