Avatars Amok!

The ink hits the page
And instantly turns into
Wonderful artistry
Poems and Prose
They are few  
But all are quality
Self-confessed timidity
And self-deprecation
She attempts to hide  
This awesome talent
Not prideful - she should be
In the shadows
But emanating light
And inspiration
 
I stand in awe
Viewing masterpiece artwork
Ink, paint, charcoal and pencil
She makes them come to life
Horses dance and strike a pose
Landscapes languish luxuriously
Speaking directly to the soul
Speaking of true beauty
Portraits in pencil real quality
A quality of the photographic
Bringing all expressions
To life exposing her love
True artistry is her muse
 
My own art steadily improves
But only as a result of her
Influence and inspiration
When I grow up I want
May art to be as good as Umm's
She is a pinnacle to aim for
Though I suspect I she will
Always be the master
And I will be the student
 
Her poems equally inspirational
All her poems speak to me
In inspirational whispers
Creating poetic thoughts,
Remembrances and challenges
One cannot help being inspired
To write like the wordsmith she is
She is the consummate artist
Overflowing with such talent
Read her poems
Consume her prose
View her art
One cannot fail to be inspired
 
Self-confessed timidity
And self-deprecation
She attempts to hide  
This awesome talent
But her artistry roars
Beauty and Inspiration
 
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems-by/Umm/
 
see also
 
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/groups/d-u-gallery/discussion/

the man on the mountain  
survives tremors of change      
that others cannot feel      
     
he watches smoke rise    
from its gutted belly    
to extract fossil fuel      
and blood diamonds    
     
but remains steadfast       
in prayer and meditation      
     
he does not desire vengeance    
on hatred and selfish greed...    
     
instead he prays for wisdom    
to permeate each spirit      
shift their paradigm      
from taking to receive      
     
because that's what wisdom does...    
affords grace a chance      
to alter ignorance      
     
before the whole mountain       
caves, destroying everything     
~      
     
badmalthus (Harry Rout)    
Harry is one of the most spiritual writers on the board.  He relates to world politics, economic injustice, and human rights from a wise perspective that permeates readers into thinking twice about their own self-judgments. I am honored to know him as a friend and poet, and highly recommend his works.      
     
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/badmalthus/    
     
 

metaphorical metafours  
for ( some reason)  
confuscian twilight   
                                  time   
                                          again ?   
A Universal(ly)   
                   twinkle wink o me eye  
                                while darkness (dis)appears  
                                               wit all this   
                                                              finality ,   
                                                then mornin’ rise’n   
                                          as if nothing (no thing)  
                                   happen(stanced)  
                         into the sum of my  
                           shortened life-  
                time being almost over  
          from being anything a’tall  
(The light being too bright to remember the stars  
ye wished upon ( up up and on) )  
 
  a dreaming replica   (of my chyld),   
wit   
          more than this   
                        to be           seen a'gin,   
when aye'm finally gone  
&   
poets a'griev(anced) for such unhappy’daze  
lacking   
    (      of      )   
                me   
 
we'll see.  
we'll see.  
(Won't wee?)  
 
how sincere  
   aye(eye) I say ,    
 
Quoth tha DaDa  
                       evermore ,  
                                           metaphorically  
that be. . .  
 
nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn   
Ahavati\\\\\\\\\\\\\\2019////////////   
~  
 
Daniel Kozak  
dkzksaxxas_DanielX (DadaDoggyDannyKozakSaxfn)  
 
Danny is the reason I am here. We met in a poetry group on facebook well over five years ago. I saw one of his posts and was mesmerized by his break from conventional vocabulary as well as form.  He will always be one of my favorite poets here on DU.  He is an iconic legend whose style will remain unmatched in the poetic community.  
 
He is currently battling cancer and heart disease, and I cannot imagine DU without him.   Much Love, Danny.

https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/dkzksaxxas_DanielX/

By my garden gate’s first-light yawn    
reveals entry to the Jardim*
awaiting patiently each dawn    
   
Blue daisy and black-eyed Susan    
misty flowers can scarce be seen    
by my garden gate’s first-light yawn    
   
Rows of pots and trellised arbor    
flora buds in need of weeding    
awaiting patiently each dawn  
   
Calla lilies, peony rose,    
buttercups and hearts a bleeding    
by my garden gate’s first-light yawn    
   
What have I reaped but what was sown;    
beauty emerged from seedlings      
awaiting patiently each dawn  
   
Every evening I dream and long    
for daily blooms and birds' sing-song   
by my garden gate’s first-light yawn  
awaiting patiently each dawn  
~    
   
Josh  
Josh is the King of Form and constantly amazes me with the precision he executes them with.  I have come to love his emergent leadership from a mature perspective, and admire him as an integral member of the Deep Side.    
   
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/Josh/

The chess pieces were all in a row,    
intents liked up for the game.  
Whether or not to win was    
the first question,    
Whether or not to take the journey    
was the last.    
   
In the beginning the pawns    
were prepared for slaughter,    
later they saw its purpose in    
relationships to placements    
of higher echelons -    
   
They were the important ones    
despite terminal moves,    
all was fair in a game of no winners    
or losers, only survivors in witness to    
a higher purpose and the learning of it.    
   
The journey was the absorption of    
all strategies and the mastering of them    
with a prayer for the other side.    
   
In the heat of checkmate, the Queen in    
full view is a player, not merely a piece    
or a member of a board.    
She had watched intently    
her fatherly ascendants    
in order to prepare for this moment,    
to be placed here and to stand alone -    
   
She knew her strength and was not afraid of it,    
she had been a pawn once.    
   
Her guard was retained in    
placement of her intentions    
to rise above the game,    
the favor of which she had already won,    
and she knew it's secret,    
she was always a step ahead -    
   
The queens were the kingpins    
on which the kingdom hinged;    
they were everything..    
   
               .....    
   
Inspired by Ahavati's Napowrimo 2019 series which had a powerful presence and a running theme of strength through wisdom gained throughout life.

https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/345570-afterward-proverbs-napowrimo-2019/

( a note of ambient sounds )


I hear a random trill
outside my door
and stop
to lean my head back;
strained eyes closed,
both hands slip off my
lap like a
rush of wind,
where a leather journal
lies open; lined paper,
with inkings
that faintly echo
their vignettes:

cicada shiver
in the rooted trees
from their humid shrill
above the swamp.

It’s times like this
when summer’s young,
nothing like it
will become,
when days are
stretched
‘till after ten at night,
and reason
takes its leave
in flight above the
time that now begins,

to let go the sins
of heat that
I’ve been shackled to
as an inmate
who is
determined
to bust out
of prison and pain
like so many
cloudbursts, of rain!

Guards in their towers
don’t see me
as I venture out
stealthily,
only going late at night
when the fevered air
has turned to mist
I’ve blended in,
and won’t be missed.

Though thoughts of you
in southern climes
are often on my mind,
like soothing sounds of
ambient that I never hear,
but I can always feel
as if by touch, a tap
where then I turn
and look back across
the stillness of the
park I always walk.

In time perhaps,
It’s where your words
will find me then.






Written in tribute to Ahavati.