AnthroPoids
standing tall
on both unlikely hind feet
Are a great aped longing
to belong
Without getting down
on all four transportive limbs
Stretching down
and dusking in
ReImagining
another dawning day
empowering
and enlightening
mind's embodied sacred life
In and out
for and of
vulnerably wise
and transparently healthy
communion circles
EarthPassioned AnthroPoids
dancing in tall circles
singing up and out
from both hind feet.
Frozen Promises June 23, 2026
______________________________________________________________
Frozen promises, aped icicles hang,
Glistening with deceit
No alteration in sight, the same yore song,
The disillusionment was a bitter defeat.
The sun, once a beacon of warmth and light,
Now hides behind a veil of darkened clouds,
The warmth of hope was replaced by plight.
Leaving us feeling lost in the shroud.
In this realm of torment and fear we tread,
Is a test of strength, where souls are led.
It's a battlefield of our creation.
Where we bear sequels of our damnation.
Yes, it's true; this world is hell.
But within its chaos, there are stories to tell.
We were not born to wither and fade.
But to rise above, unafraid.
What else do you expect? What else do you expect?
In a world filled with unrest?
A call to action, a plea for change,
To break free from this endless range.
Assertively, we are the base of the construction.
Of our living inferno, this destructive abduction.
But it's not too late; we can turn the tide.
With our grit, we can alter the course, with pride.
Dreaming is a choice,
Suchlike a breeze
Or a blooming rose
Petals flourish anyway,
I have dreams and - fantasies
This wave of fancy
Suchlike fresh air to my spirit
My muse - is obdurate
Assist in my endeavor
Stardust metaphors erase shyness
Spreads soothing stake shades
The bright moon
With its stillness
Silently watching over us,
At the bottom of the sea,
Fantasy of acceptance
With a backward glance,
To impanel who deserves
Becoming a seaside charmer
The sound of the waves
Swarming aped thunder,
Mysteries that magnify madness
A magic that can only be used once,
Invoked by the tides
I was literally astounded
Through this surreal event,
A dreamer soul
Whose kiss dispels all doubts?
In fantasy, fantastic feelings
Sight and story are the core
To provide the reader with realism,
Exquisite and vibrant
Bright - cerulean hues dazzle and deepen.
1st Place Contest Winner
Written: February 06, 2023
Wave Of Fantasy Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
My dream date would be calm and upbeat.
There will be no expensive dinner or outlay.
A pizza and movie night seems aped replete.
I merely desire to walk down the pathway.
We laugh, share jokes, and exchange gaze.
This chasm is obvious once it is in your heart.
Lift her find happiness and real love days.
Gather for a picnic along the waterway mart.
While the jamboree draws to a close.
We decide to spend the evening at a club.
Play music and share warm-scented rose.
Moonlit kisses, no matter how long you rub
No one plans or sets up the dream day.
Being at the right place at the right time.
My ideal date is a chase, not just a play.
The quest for empathy and love is sublime.
Written: January 23, 2023
My Dream Date Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
In the wilderness, my cry
Echoes back at me:
My poetry wanes.
And sinks into oblivion
Like the thousand and one discordant notes
That issues out of my braying mouth.
Where are you now, Wordsworth?
Are you vibrating in agony
In a spineless, sunless world?
Would that I had your fervour now.
Has it been murdered too?
Only my playful fancies now are aped
I live in this stifling modern world.
And infection is all around.
The muse has taken a vacation.
In the evening of this beautiful sunshine day
I took a cooling-off walk through the park.
There I saw buoyant ducks and little ducklings
Watching a bullfrog sitting on his lily pad throne;
His pulsating neck aped silent crocking rhythms.
The greenish hued pond water was as still as death
Until the little ducklings began flapping their wings
In a manner that seemed as if they were in a game
Playing Rock! Paper! Scissors! or skiing with wings.
As I strolled past this joyous view, a distant car backfired!
Suddenly, but for the water, the pond became empty and
Looking around, not an amphibian nor avian was in sight.
Assured by nature that all was well, I continued my walk.
Having returned home, I now sit here out on the verandah
And gazing up into the eastern sky I wait for the rising moon.
Come,” let the church say amen!” For a man “born by the river”, the
Change that’s “gonna come”…allegorically revealed itself today.
Soul is aped disease.
Fall irritated at night!
Heart is a journey.
Heard around kiss printed out.
Kept widening on your cheek.
When you visit my site, sad to say, sound's subsonic
My ears can't hear music an elephant hears,
A text message is louder (I do read all comments),
At times, I confess (though) they bring me to tears!
If my tears are from laughter or joy (when you honor
Me here with your presence) I count it a win,
For it's not just agreement, in fact, that I'm after.
I still dare to dream all that I share ghosts my sin!
Not just sin I've committed, but sin in my genome,
Hardwired by free will that no man has escaped!
Should the pitch of your visits be something I value?
Ascribed too to sin? Should such manners be aped?
I don't write for your pleasure, still pleased when that happens.
In faith, I am you and think you are me too!
But our acts trip us up on the path to tomorrow,
All virtue's skin deep that we wear (frail tattoo)!
It's in pain that I grok you (for you're my reflection)
Though friendship has content like words of a song,
It's a choice that we make (and the heart of what matters!)
If Grace can't intoxicate, something is wrong!
Long Tooth
November 6th in 2019
Sammi is a delicate blossom frolicking in gayest blooms,
Analogous to a fragile rose amidst world’s boring dooms;
Manifold lusters issue forth from her magnanimous heart,
Manifesting the rare glamor fair flowers show only in part,
Imitating with aped arts her truer merits in borrowed spurt!
written in the field
aped jape or migrant's edict?
without signature
Hands tick in motion but I hear naught
of the onslaught of killing time depicted.
Minutes run past me in tarred darkness
as the visions in my brain are obscured.
Clocks eat away moments of my life.
I admit I'm nearly frightened to death
of those mimed hands whose strokes
stab me with each gasp of breath I take.
Round and around, silent warning given
in gross opposition to the beastly roar,
aped by masses of such foolish people,
oblivious that my plight is also their own.
Reticence gives no relief to assault. I see
my fate's demise, and frightened I shall be
until death's full tariff has set my soul free.
Rhythmic tickings makes no difference to me.
Silence staggers my soul to substantiality.
Blinded by fear of my imminent necrosis,
I cannot traverse those two roving needles,
hellbent on stinging me to my neon grave!
Passage of time is but a travesty of life
in which man has no occasion to amend.
In the end, death haunts us all in silent
whispers; echoes of cruel scheming hands.
==========================
17th of April, 2016
So you think you are a poet,
but your work, it don’t show it
Lots of Yeats and Shakespeare
rip offs; Wordsworth aped, many
spin-offs
Puerile nonsense, bibs and bows,
weep for me, and wipe my nose
“I’m an expert,” what a laugh!
why’d you write such utter chaff!
Hymns and sermons in profusion,
writ with gnostic’s odd confusion
But where’s “the juice,”the meat
and gravy? Please no more on
curls and baby
Writing poetry is a thrill, not twee
lines to make one ill; so why not
pen about real life; hearts, emotions,
hormones, strife?
(With apologies to the late Charles Bukowski )
Mary`s little house; no shed of prayer,
But a doll`s church with a small roof aped
and bricked as a church
Somewhere in nowhere; ready for the corn
and heavy nailed boots that bend in prayer;
iron and thick black paint,
Only the flowers in the jam jar are wilted,
The chapel is older than the crop`s hope,
new as the day is older.
Once a flower child
Always a Moon Child
Generations of Cancerians
Have aped the crab with tenacity
Large eyes and agility
Moving side-to-side silently
Moody on mournful days
Joyful in the sunlight
Giver of love
Taker of wise advice
Domestic yet athletic
Contraditions abound
For crazed moon children
Who beam and fade periodically
*July 13, 2014 (one day before this Moon Child’s birthday)
I don’t believe there is such a thing as a mirror,
Because this so called reflection is not really me.
I think he is a stranger that moved into my house,
For the man that I see is somewhat, ugly.
I think he built this life size window
To spy on everything that I do
And I can tell you he is beginning pissing me off
I can feel my anger’s starting to brew
Once I moved to the side of the window
And he disappeared out of sight
What I could see a part of his room
Gave me an terrible fright
The bugger’s been to the same shop
And bought the same things I have
The bed, cupboards and lamp shades
And on the table he even has the same Sat. Nav.
I peeped into this window
With the hope to catch him off guard
But there he was looking at me
Staring just as hard
I stood in front of the loser and cussed the most colourful words
The monkey aped every action even the moving of his lips
Then it dawned on me that he wore the same clothes
In the same pose with his hands on his hips
So infuriated, I punched the window
And ended his years of peeping tom jeer
However, the bugger is now haunting me
In every glass I happen to peer
Related Poems