 
|
|
|
2010 Poetry Theme Challenges#07 Paradise |
Many a poet has talked of paradise, precious few have given the same definition of what it
is. Indeed what paradise is for me may be hell for someone else, it doesn't lessen the beauty
of it. So the challenge is for you to wite about your own thoughts on paradise, be they
spiritual, physical, romantic or any other form of nirvana.
Happy Quilling! Jem XXXX |
Paradise
|
Divena CollinsParadise my love is being close to thee, When hearts beat as one both together Desirous passions reign lavish and free Sensative touches gentle, like a feather Deeper is our love true feelings sublime How precious now my thoughts are of you, So tender thy lips are pressed upon mine Thus I know my dreams hath all come true; For we hath now laughed and we hath wept Both together we hath grown much fonder Through blissful dreams we two hath slept In Paradise where our spirits shalt wander, Brighter are the stars as we float on high Deeper now this love betwixt you and I.  ----- Paradise Found Paradise would just be a name If I was without my love. Your the one that lights the flame, The moon and stars above, I love you when you hold me near Whisper sweet words in my ear. I love you so I love you so. My love for you is held so dear. Paradise would just be a name If I wasnt in your arms Nothing much would be the same Without your loving charms, You are the one, that I love as such And when I yearn to feel your touch You are the one You are the one, Oh man of my dreams, I love you much. Paradise would just be a name, Without a you and me, True lovers we both became Oh darling cant you see, This love of ours is paradise found In perfect harmony we are bound This love of ours This love of ours Echos of fantasies are so profound. back to list |
Jem FarmerShe walks by with elegance, and beauty captures my eye with a smile of enchantment--- I adore geisha. ----- I Want To...........Choka I want to say it, I want to say I love you; but you are not here or I would hold you closer, whisper in your ear the words that you long to hear. Perhaps I should call express my heart on the phone in those tender words that make you feel love's caress; but you are not home my call cannot be answered. I could write letters, sweet epistles from my heart but that takes too long and I want to say it right now. Darling, I love you, and though we are miles apart, my heart is always with you.  back to list |
Ryter RoethicalTen thousand leaves meander down the road The pace maintained by the autumn breeze The occasional gust makes them explode And they are joined by others from the trees. The brown leaves fall casually by degrees The still warm nights, are now sometimes damp There’s not the harshness of the Northern freeze Or need for creatures to store food in their camp. As the nights begin to draw in so does the fall In a few more days we will have normal time And from nice warm beds we’ll reluctantly climb Complaining of the darkness and hopefully a squall Then in winter we’ll again long for the spring And try to place orders for what it will bring.  ----- Kite In Hell For a while we were so close you and I We shared so much and then I made a mistake I made you cry, and you made me pay. You never forgave me. Every now and again, you give me Hope And tell me you love me Then once again my spirit soars, Like a kite caught in the wind And like a fool I believe in you Then like the wind you go And I end up crashing to the ground With no one there to help me. I pick up the pieces And like a fool I wait for another gust of wind So that once again I can soar Blindly hoping that this time, possibly, You will let me down gently Aren’t I a bloody fool?  ----- Of The Word “And the word became flesh…” John 1:14. Each morn I hear the birds call out And envy them their life There is no fear there is no doubt Certainly, there’s no strife. Avian banter from tree to tree Is this what paradise could be Avian banter Avian banter There’s no finer sound you will agree. Each morn I hear the birds call out Wake up! Wake up mortal! Watch us as we gather and fly about Arise from your pedestal You are not Gods you cannot fly You are human, live in envy You are not Gods You are not Gods All you can do is watch on high Each morn I hear the birds call out You’re nothing but a man I bow my head hearing their shout Not understanding Fate’s plan I’m not a God, I’m not a bird Being a man is being absurd I’m not a God I’m not a God I’m a result of “The Word”.  ----- Paradise When I was young I used to think that paradise Was a great surf beach and blue skies Or a well shaped slab of rock That just might be possible to climb, And always a glass of stout afterwards. Years and Several broken bones later I realise Paradise is not about having to prove things Paradie is about being able to appreciate it There is music, and wine, and natural scenes And most of all… There’s You.  Music of the Woods - Vladimir Kush ----- Quantum Love I dream of walking along a beach with you Sitting and watching the sunset together Now we wander back to eat and drink And in due time we will make love. Making love is not paramount in my mind It is as natural as watching the suns set And of eating and drinking. Is not making love an appetite of equal status? As I look into your eyes, I see your answer Like me you eat and drink, and make love And you realize Paradise is not a place It is certainly not a food or drink or…. Rather it is a touch, a look, a word Touched, and sighted and spoken by a soul.  ----- The right to choose What may I ask of thee, that’s not been answered? Thy look tells me more than a thousand ways, And I could gaze on thy sweet face a thousand days Even ten thousand more and still not be sated. Time spent with you is like nothing I have known, I am content to spend my time learning about you. The evenings and the nights, once days are through, Will create a Paradise that we alone will own. We’ll create a garden of flowers and scented trees There will be fruit and other foods in abundance Birdsong will make us smile and happily prance When naught else, we’ll listen to the buzz of bees. We have both seen Hell and have emerged sane But now we’ve met we’ll never be the same again  ----- A Thousand Times The first time I saw you I knew that somewhere in time We had met and fell in love I knew that I loved you And had for a thousand lifetimes And would for a thousand more. I knew the first time I held you I had held you a thousand times before, So familiar were you in my arms. I knew that I would hold you again A thousand lifetimes and more, Each time as wonderful as the first. The first time I kissed you I knew I had kissed you a thousand times before And would kiss you a thousand times more. The first time we made love I knew that you were mine And were destined to share a thousand Eternities.  back to list |
Khia TaylorI dreamed that I was once a bird, that dipped and soared without a word. No lusty man could capture me, and pluck my feathers for his glee. In garden sweet I spent my time, the wispy petal’s touch sublime. Then came along a maiden fair, Seduced me with her midnight hair. She called to me in honey tone, By light of moon her merit shone. Then beckoned me to trust her hand, And calmly sat for me to land. She nestled me within her breast, And there forever may I rest. back to list |
John WillowdownThe Moon is learning the bagpipes and keeping me awake something rotten. Why couldn't you have taken up the lute or the guitar like any reasonable celestial body, I asked him - some of us are trying to sleep at night! Pshaw! says the Moon, do you think I do it out of aesthetic choice? Its the only damn instrument that will affright the wee mousies that nibble at my mandolin as if it were cheese and drink the dwindling waters of my seas - you should see the mess they make like hungry gremlins at an unwatched wedding-cake! They only laugh at lutes and guitars just make them want to dance like a pack of little gypsies, clicking their castanets and stamping their feet and all the lovely lady mice with roses in their teeth. You'd get no sleep with that racket going on, I can promise you! All the same, I remonstrated, bagpipes are a bit much - the skirling drives me up the wall. Last night I only finally dropped off at a quarter to four, unfortunately I was clinging to the candleabra at the time and the jolt I got upon hitting the floor woke me straight up again... I'd get thicker carpets if I were you then or move your bed beneath the lamp. Whatd'ya want a candleabra for anyway? Seems to me you've got airs above your station... just open the curtains more and let me shine right in - you can read the London papers by me as soon as the five o'clock from Paddington pulls in. Of course there was no arguing with him, there never is with the Moon - he has an answer for everything. In the end I had to give up my day-job as a traffic-warden and take to killing rats at night but then I found it was difficult getting to sleep in the daytime too, what with buses, trains, aeroplanes and all the animals in the zoo. Naturally I complained to the neighbour, Burt Baccarach but he told me where I could lodge it... Then I began getting offensive phone-calls from a fellow called Peter in Hamlyn. I won't tell you exactly what he said but he was definitely mental! (he said the Moon had killed King Arthur and had hidden away Excalibur, keeping it in sorcerous sleep with a constant diet of iambic pentameters and that the bagpipes were merely a clever ploy to disguise them... but I had had quite enough of this and had the the phoneline disconnected. Which was all very well but this morning I got a circular from the Reader's Digest informing me that I had been especially selected for a two week holiday in Hamlyn, flute and tights provided... ) Bagpipes to that! ----- In my white heaven In my white heaven peacocks preen upon the lawn challenging the sun's refracted rays to equal the emerald and turquoise gemstones flashing on their tails; streams and rivers flow down pleasantly to the sea, parklands are filled with little lakes and fountains at which gentle and fearless deer drink. Wandering minstrels and musicians sit beneath the shade of trees and fill the air with song, beautiful young men and women take delight in offering platters of the choicest fruit to chieftains and old-folk; no-one is as welcome as the stranger and children are honoured above all things. In my white heaven war is something only tribes of ants and bees engage in, art and civilised conversation being more honoured than expertise with blade or axe. Learned men see poetry in the sprouting of each new blade of grass and the falling of each autumn leaf. It is the privilage of parents to bring up their children well and harsh words are seldom spoken. The intelligence of men is such that they have learned well the lessons of the past and no more commit their ancestor's mistakes than does the curious child put his hand into the fire twice; although the valiant deeds of old are remembered men see no need to emulate and repeat them, established in the wisdom that there is a higher truth and value in opening a child's mind to the beauty and patience of nature than there is in striking down a so-called foe. In my white heaven time moves slowly, time moves fast; I am always amazed and aghast at how the hours and days slip by, at how a lifetime passes by so easily and how even the brightest light in star or eye vanishes at last. Where do light and intelligence go? Alas, even in my white heaven, nobody knows. In my white heaven joyful birds sing in the trees, the silver rivers are always laughing, full of salmon, their water cool and vigourous on the tongue. Every morning the sun rises in the east and in the evening it sets in the west and takes delight in the love-play of the Moon as he follows her across the heavens, unmindful of the ribald comments of the stars and the occasional diatribes of long-bearded comets. Men and women play upon lutes and compose sonnets. Boys and girls play hide-and-seek in woodland groves and grottoes, filling their stomachs with wild fruit when they are hungry and drinking clear spring water when they thirst. Laughter is always on their lips and old people watch them with eyes like apples. Men and beasts live in harmony together and oft times in the forest the unicorn is seen conversing amicably with the lion and sometimes too, Lucifer himself is seen by those with exceptional eyesight, playing his flute in the meadows at dawn or wandering the hills at night, talking to invisible things. back to list |
Nia WynneLove went flat for want of a chord That struck all the minor trills Drilled instead on a triple B flat sword, Oh, the pain of it became out angry shrills.  ----- Paradise The fragrance of spring Is like Paradise in bloom Under a rose moon  ----- Standing Still In a long white dress she waits Waiting and watching every sun set Every sun rise and each new moon at her gate. Gate of summer opens new nets A net of new hopes to guide her, Perhaps her once in a lifetime love will occur. A net of new hopes A net of new hopes All that is wished for becomes sure. In a long white dress she waits Wondering and wishing upon a bright star For her white knight, to find their fate. Though he traveled to her from afar She hoped he would stay to be held To hold hands until their eyes welled, She hoped he'd stay She hoped he'd stay In every age ans season bespelled. In a long white dress she waits Wanting to wear a lacy veil So her love would someday be a true date. Someone to have, hold and reveal All the dreams held fast in her heart, All the joys to share and happiness to impart. All the dreams held All the dreams held Knowing you were the one from the start. back to list |
John WillowdownThe Moon is learning the bagpipes and keeping me awake something rotten. Why couldn't you have taken up the lute or the guitar like any reasonable celestial body, I asked him - some of us are trying to sleep at night! Pshaw! says the Moon, do you think I do it out of aesthetic choice? Its the only damn instrument that will affright the wee mousies that nibble at my mandolin as if it were cheese and drink the dwindling waters of my seas - you should see the mess they make like hungry gremlins at an unwatched wedding-cake! They only laugh at lutes and guitars just make them want to dance like a pack of little gypsies, clicking their castanets and stamping their feet and all the lovely lady mice with roses in their teeth. You'd get no sleep with that racket going on, I can promise you! All the same, I remonstrated, bagpipes are a bit much - the skirling drives me up the wall. Last night I only finally dropped off at a quarter to four, unfortunately I was clinging to the candleabra at the time and the jolt I got upon hitting the floor woke me straight up again... I'd get thicker carpets if I were you then or move your bed beneath the lamp. Whatd'ya want a candleabra for anyway? Seems to me you've got airs above your station... just open the curtains more and let me shine right in - you can read the London papers by me as soon as the five o'clock from Paddington pulls in. Of course there was no arguing with him, there never is with the Moon - he has an answer for everything. In the end I had to give up my day-job as a traffic-warden and take to killing rats at night but then I found it was difficult getting to sleep in the daytime too, what with buses, trains, aeroplanes and all the animals in the zoo. Naturally I complained to the neighbour, Burt Baccarach but he told me where I could lodge it... Then I began getting offensive phone-calls from a fellow called Peter in Hamlyn. I won't tell you exactly what he said but he was definitely mental! (he said the Moon had killed King Arthur and had hidden away Excalibur, keeping it in sorcerous sleep with a constant diet of iambic pentameters and that the bagpipes were merely a clever ploy to disguise them... but I had had quite enough of this and had the the phoneline disconnected. Which was all very well but this morning I got a circular from the Reader's Digest informing me that I had been especially selected for a two week holiday in Hamlyn, flute and tights provided... ) Bagpipes to that! ----- In my white heaven In my white heaven peacocks preen upon the lawn challenging the sun's refracted rays to equal the emerald and turquoise gemstones flashing on their tails; streams and rivers flow down pleasantly to the sea, parklands are filled with little lakes and fountains at which gentle and fearless deer drink. Wandering minstrels and musicians sit beneath the shade of trees and fill the air with song, beautiful young men and women take delight in offering platters of the choicest fruit to chieftains and old-folk; no-one is as welcome as the stranger and children are honoured above all things. In my white heaven war is something only tribes of ants and bees engage in, art and civilised conversation being more honoured than expertise with blade or axe. Learned men see poetry in the sprouting of each new blade of grass and the falling of each autumn leaf. It is the privilage of parents to bring up their children well and harsh words are seldom spoken. The intelligence of men is such that they have learned well the lessons of the past and no more commit their ancestor's mistakes than does the curious child put his hand into the fire twice; although the valiant deeds of old are remembered men see no need to emulate and repeat them, established in the wisdom that there is a higher truth and value in opening a child's mind to the beauty and patience of nature than there is in striking down a so-called foe. In my white heaven time moves slowly, time moves fast; I am always amazed and aghast at how the hours and days slip by, at how a lifetime passes by so easily and how even the brightest light in star or eye vanishes at last. Where do light and intelligence go? Alas, even in my white heaven, nobody knows. In my white heaven joyful birds sing in the trees, the silver rivers are always laughing, full of salmon, their water cool and vigourous on the tongue. Every morning the sun rises in the east and in the evening it sets in the west and takes delight in the love-play of the Moon as he follows her across the heavens, unmindful of the ribald comments of the stars and the occasional diatribes of long-bearded comets. Men and women play upon lutes and compose sonnets. Boys and girls play hide-and-seek in woodland groves and grottoes, filling their stomachs with wild fruit when they are hungry and drinking clear spring water when they thirst. Laughter is always on their lips and old people watch them with eyes like apples. Men and beasts live in harmony together and oft times in the forest the unicorn is seen conversing amicably with the lion and sometimes too, Lucifer himself is seen by those with exceptional eyesight, playing his flute in the meadows at dawn or wandering the hills at night, talking to invisible things. back to list |
|
|
