Wiley E Coyote
bought his gadgets from Acme
when he tried to trap the roadrunner
his gadgets always ran him over
Serried spirits walk on the wind
Paratrooper raindrops collecting courage before descent
Imbibed by your paints, tasting life in your landscape
Heart ablaze, my fantasies have been conquered
Village pillaged by an army of one
Glimmer of my eye tucked in by evening sun
Assigned to your omphalos, war drums curvet
At your touch, I evaporate into song
The apex of an orange is the same,
a philosopher's allegory for humans.
In a world of metered verse and rhyme,
orange is an unlit shadow-show on Plato's cave—
pock-marked, blind, drying rind, lying in wait
to find its rhythm, sway its way into acceptance.
Slow dance on the walls of interrupted light,
hiding what's outside—inside itself a growing need
to see where sunlight is born, know itself in reflection
and know the name of a new day is Dawn.
No matter how perfect a form in the dark,
there's no substitute for a citrus kiss of vitamins
when the stone rolls away from an opening
to reveal the orange sun rise.
Life faces two extremes, acme and nadir,
When we ascend to acme, we glow in its glory,
Self-confidence grows, sometimes ego too,
Seldom we reach out to people in need.
When we are down to the nadir point in life,
There is no hope, no sight of light in tunnel,
No one to cry on shoulders, no one to give a helping hand,
But the self-esteem comes in, hopes rise from ashes like phoenix.
We will face these phases in our lives,
Optimism extends hands to both phases of life,
Pessimistic thoughts will put you down,
Sometimes, looking for guidance from God helps us too.
Images surge through April bold, a magical thrill I do behold;
Across the earth a glorious rite, surpassing human delight.
Clouds descend with minty air, their luster beyond compare ;
This tableu...a prelude call, as peaks of my soul's climb enthrall!
Such grandeur holds out its charms, when crest of nature's glow disarms,
And her pomp explodes on skies that resonate with my sighs...
To bask within this flaming scheme; earth reaches its height, supreme
As ecstasy fills the whorl where mirth and magic unfurl
A canticle rings out so soft as ingots of stars flick, aloft...
finally the view is set in one fire glow I can't forget;
sweet the acme of divine core as my exultations soar!
Upon the mountaintop where eagles soar,
Above the clouds, where dreams take flight so high,
A world of endless blue and golden lore,
Where sunlit peaks embrace the open sky.
Here, courage blooms in hearts that dare to climb,
Each step a testament to strength and will,
Where stars align to mark the passage time,
And hopes ascend, with destiny to fill.
In this realm of peaks, where shadows fade,
Ambition’s fire ignites the soul’s bright flame,
Through challenges that life may ever laid,
To reach Acme, and conquer every aim.
For in the heights where dreams and visions roam,
Acme awaits, the summit of our home.
Zenith of perfection is the aim of my existence.
My pilgrimage towards this, I know, is my persistence.
I align my senses like a predator towards prey.
My physique and psyche are synthesised in every way.
The social fibre in me, like thread in linen, is knit.
Doesn't the quiver of optimism endlessly transmit?
I dig the mines of cores of self-searching for the truth.
Thoughts, words, and actions are in unfeigned perpetual youth.
The fulfilment of feelings flows towards fullness of life.
Between uprightness and vileness, there is a constant strife.
Virtues, like treasures of vast oceans, are hidden within
Could stains of sin, before relentless goodness ever win?
Divinity, like vast skies, endlessly gets expanded.
Fullness of spirit within innermost shrines is implanted.
Values are revalued. Sensual pleasures are channelled.
Hindrances towards integral liberation are annulled.
All that the almighty meant for humans to be is won.
Eternally, in everything, the divine will is done.
Dreamt that I was the best,
a poet at my peak:
full of poetic skill,
at my acme apex;
with great words that instill.
Dreamt that I was the best,
at my zenith, summit:
a poet well achieved,
my writing perfection;
a true poet believed.
Dreamt that I was the best,
an acme of knowledge:
wise in forms and designs,
at my most pinnacle;
with deep reflective lines.
Dreamt that I was the best,
that people brought flowers:
to place upon my tomb,
but, awoke just a girl;
writing with a pen plume.
GOD*
foremost
occupies top
priority in my life...
He's my faith's pinnacle
allowing me to exude serenity
in claiming triumph for reaching-
out pursuits, as my soul basks along blest
divine care, shielded by grace of hope's summit
wafting mercy --- grateful for reconciliation’s bliss
midst pardon's fulfillment from guilt... Now, my heart
cleansed from sin's wages, shares joy of eternal assurance
radiating victory, vibrantly worshipful sans doubt but anchored
by truth, freely soaring midst celestial liberty toward heavenly acme.
*Deuteronomy 6:5 And thou shalt love the LORD thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might.
July 2, 2024
3rd place, "This or That, Vol 26" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh; judged on 7/27/2024
The discovery of a new planet.
That is hospitable.
That is as beautiful as our own.
We forget.
A discovery that changed the world.
And the people that made it possible.
We forget that as well.
To me, the word “acme,” is new and old.
It tells a story of perfection.
When a scientist makes a new discovery.
Inventing their lives into a dwindling existence.
We forget.
The electricity in our homes.
Used to be a thing of beauty.
Is now ordinary.
Acme.
Is a word we forgot as well.
Truly named Acme
We fed cardboard sheets
into a machine in steady flow
corrugated boxes the result
boxes to be filled with wares
endless capitalism perpetuated
Awareness
Consciousness
Mindfulness
Existence
(Note: title should read. A.C.M.E. Inf. It says u can use punctuation in in the title box, doesn't work for me. ????)
Time bomb time womb times
Dark light spaces between our
birth life whisperers, tangent told
and tried by ego-etiquette egadathons,
yet we all fall short into how we hold each other
side by side in a sometimes listless sublime
treasure trove of banal love designs
claiming a socio-coaxial critical correspondent
climax ever instilling potent long lifeforms sailing on
miniscule observations from places far, far away.
We stare into each other’s eyes,
our amber-colored eyes,
the ones with garden iris longings,
and revel in those memories we scripted one by one.
Crescent moonlit walks on sweeping mountain paths,
Orange red clouds that fluttered over early morning hearts,
Ice pink salmon picnics in chalk downlands,
days we danced on layered silver strands,
blossom feathered doves who wrote the soundtrack to our blissful union,
golden wedding peaks about to acme as we float upon the satin sheets
then pass into that twilight world beyond forever more.
Symphony of reigns
Perched immanent myrmidon
Affable it gallops
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