Best Aberrant Poems
Stillborn
a mood of aberrant colour
a stain on the Artist’s worlds
a heart pulsating with pain
a wide range of intense ardour
mixed on a fine palette
and a paintbrush adorning the world
with colours of imagination, Faith and Art
real canvases of human nature flesh
and the lifeblood of Nature
Portraits blooming in light
transcending the language of words
A language of infinite shades
shed in the heart of the Artist
a grand soul learnt to board a world
of no fences.. of no walls
In a silent dark night
he played on the hues of life
a unique music was composed
“The Starry Night”
a music that reached sombre states
unrevealed imagination.. untraveled meditation
a powerful vision and feelings
rising above what minds can ever decrypt
for a beholder
to see the depths
to feel the colours
to taste the pain
to read the music
A flow that never stops
the tone and texture of his passion
in motion..
miles away from a still life
an Artist turning his back
on the world of commas and full stops
How can a colour succumb to hindrance?
how can a hand hamper a paintbrush dance?
how can an Artist turn a dead heart to Nature canvas?
how can we fathom an ocean of many branches?
A “madman” in the mind of the mundane
Solitude, the Artist’s glorious moments in time
and boon..
A divine enchantment
a Self and Soul harmony
melting wholly in his Nature and whole
riding high in the wealth of lore
a meager body left behind
and the hand of the Artist entranced
drew a tortured portrait
his body was the canvas
his paintbrush bleeding in a crimson shade
a lost spirit in the monde of the mundane
the Artist.
*****
* Vincent Van Gogh, an inspiring Artist!
"The Artist", humble impressions on a human nature born just to create what is true from what is real..
To every Artist whose feel and language transcend the known.. whose heart and mind on a ride to attain the finest of beauty..
To every Artist who finds solace in an imposed solitude as the world of the mundane fails to decode his very unique language..
To every Artist who refuses to compromise and walks paths of wonder and beauty with a feel of torturing loneliness..
i'm just getting started
unraveling the threads
of this tattered lonely soul
sewn so long ago
apparition's crooked hands
grapples the rusty needle
as she unsteadily threads the eye
...flashback to childhood years
where a mother ties the loop
of darkened threads
cleaved from her own spool
pierced by torment
of each aberrant stitch
i am sealed in the seams
bound, unable to break free
as i bleed through the confines
of my soul's weary cries
my blood spills crimson
through shadows cast
of harvest moon
as she rocks unsteady
upon the walls of mind
beneath the hum
of unsung lullabies
watching as i undo
each crooked thread
sewn by her hands
unable to baste
with death's bony hands
she pricks through my heart
with soulless glower
as i disenthrall
the last threads
i stitch her deep
within the weaves
of memories
and poetry
...i'm just getting started
September 18, 2019
Just getting started poetry contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
The Bard
In a small cottage high upon the windy moors
There lives a bard with authentic romantic rhymes;
A master poet who lives within present times.
Enchanting stanzas written to beguile, confuse.
His poetry sometimes enigmatic, you see,
Can be a challenge with a bit of mystery.
But this bard teaches as he shares intriguing rhymes.
Intelligent lexicon, aberrant in ways,
Have us searching his words with Google, in a daze.
He bathes us in bright colors of the rising Sun,
With majesty he paints a picture of the moon
With such impressive stunning sights it makes us swoon.
He expresses with winsome wit and fantasy...
He spills his ink in rare colors of every hue;
Endeavors to relate both life and death anew.
Isn't that what Great poetry is all about,
To open minds to endless possibilities
And savor as fine wine such sensibilities?
Hooray! I say we celebrate his poetry...
A bard with talents that may lie beyond the rest
Inspires us to make learning a sacred quest!
12-30-18
Contest: As easy as ABB ~N/A~
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Implant within me a seed monthly, though the pulverization derides me. Let it conjure hope and solace to shatter my reality as venomous weeds entwine it, sickening me as I lay still in the liquid birthed from my own fruit. Implant within me a seed; let the feral roots ensnare it, suffocating my every breath and cell until it ruptures--obliterated within my frail and aching tree. It be destined to return but stripped of the avant-garde its predecessor once possessed. Implant within me a seed; it’ll part for months, leaving my psych mangled as blood seeps through trypophobic perforations crafted solely by its hand. The seed, thriving as I decay, renders its final blow the day we die. Implant within me a seed; force it into a sanctum where it does not belong, and let fate, warped and distorted, contort my marred soul. That which I once refused to acknowledge shall now delude my senses, forcing me to reach for those who feel not love but only pity for my aberrant roots. Implant within me a seed; let me perish within its absence, yet perpetually suffer under its presence. Wound me with my own creation.
Your end creates you
It will return to rip you
Plant it, watch it die
Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star
Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries
A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn
The children, O God, the children,
this world unworthy of their grace,
their innocence, their trusting faith,
vulnerable babes of each race.
Why do men and women abuse
these who are freshly come from You,
making of them foul merchandise
to increase evil revenues,
in all the world, in each nation,
sacrificed for wicked purpose
on aberrant lust's cold altar,
acts in man's perverted circus.
Where is the cry for the children--
abused, starved, murdered, raped, enslaved?
My heart bleeds for the innocents,
to rescue them, make our hearts brave!
© Faye Lanham Gibson, May 5, 2015
Mute
but immutable.
Unmoving, unmoveable;
timeless, yet tireless.
Solitary stalwart sentinel
surveils undulating horizon.
Aberrant, achromatic clouds
pock-mark the skies, as distant
rumblings herald his adversary's
latest gambit in their age-old conflict.
The wrath of a thousand crashing,
clashing, thrashing fists batter
against the beleaguered sentry.
Ceaselessly, remorselessly,
the maelstrom assails him.
But the foundations are firm and
noble gatekeeper stands steadfast.
Single-minded of purpose, placid
custodian morphs into combatant as
his luminous, voluminous blade carves
luminescent arcs through chthonic cloak.
Tenebrous tendrils wither and dissipate,
impotent under intense lambent onslaught.
His victory is only fleeting, as vanquished
foes are summarily supplanted by more of
their ilk in a seemingly continual surge.
Again and again, over and over, tormentor
presses the attack, exploiting any weakness.
Over and over, again and again, valiant warden
repels the barrage and despatches his enemies.
And so the pattern repeats endlessly, unabated,
as these eternal opponents jostle for position
in a perpetual cycle of aggression and defence.
Until eventually, finally, ultimately, the stale-mate
is broken; when Tempest's tantrum is tamed and
Blizzard's battalions have been banished, all is calm.
Tranquillity is able to reassert herself and order has
finally been restored; at least for the foreseeable future.
Obligations fulfilled, the triumphant Guardian can now rest.
Until the need arises again, until he's called upon once more,
he will wait patiently, watch diligently, in unflagging vigilance.
Forever resolute, a beacon of sanctuary, a symbol of hope, his is a
thankless task, but the Protector of Mariners will always be needed.
-----------------------------------
(C) John C Michaels, 27 July 2017
For Eve Roper's "Lighthouse" Contest.
(1st Place)
It’s called a Blitz
It’s more like ****
**** on the feel of it
**** on those gone before
Before when readers were respected
Before some tortured verse unnecessarily
Unnecessarily complicated composition
Unnecessarily nurtures the arbitrary
Arbitrary in its construction
Arbitrary in direction
Direction Now there’s a laugh its
Direction is but aimless wandering
wandering here to sniff at lamppost
wandering there to check out other scents
Scents not sense the random aromas
Scents upon the wayward verse
Verse I scoff it’s more like adverse
Verse or obverse it is an insult
Insult to all who seek out poetry
Insult to the very masters
Masters little in way of imagery
Masters few if any devices
Devices which make a poem a poem
Devices poets helped develop
Develop then sweet assonance
Develop an onomatopoeic smash
Smash this form and all its sill repetitions
Smash and use for ammunition
Ammunition Yes wordy ordinance
Ammunition for the worthy form
Form a theme which is coherent
Form thoughts not lines blindly adherent
Adherent to aberrant mathematics
Adherent to last word second line
Line up line up for revolution
Line up against this monstrous construct
Construct of weary would-be wordsmith
Construct of an idle mind
Mind the child that is the poem
Mind your head on low-set bar
Bar this nonsense from your consciousness
Bar this form from any gathering
Gathering dust it should remain
Gathering no moss as it rolls its distance
Distance yourself from this word pretzel
Distance is its charming feature
Feature nothing which at our art chips
Feature not this confused bull
Bull…
Chips…
Solace.
Solace found in secret places
A world away from life's stressful aberrant din
Equilibrium and soul restored
I can finally breath
Heart smiles on reflection deep within
Sanctuary abounds in a blaze of abundant glory
Inner calm as a gentle pleasing summer breeze
Ever closure to the divine
Ancient echoes resonate in harmony
In invigorating splendour
The story unfolds in vibrant hues
Of the pure sublime
Time stands still for the earthly wise
But remains I one’s heart forever
Of those with wide open wide eyes
Mindfully feasting on the moment
Free of mind pollution and unprecedented burden
Languishing in the unadulterated divine.
Peter Dome©2019.
[A] World is us.
[The] World is the universe.
Attuned to captivity from the freedoms denied to others internationally,
only defines true political activism.
Benevolence does not just form even in civilization.
We must annihilate those that deny peace.
This is where we find our true leaders.
For the love of God, let’s stand together as a method of wealth.
Formulate the terrorist to close the flood gates.
Our grief and bereavement states that we will die one day.
Therefore, our journey should not be negated by killings premeditated.
The world as a systemic force defines the people who invest in hope.
The emotions shown from unnatural occurrences demarcates a new system of
government.
Forum for Discussion - we will define (M)ilitant (C)ommunism.
It is our civic duty to bring forth new theory.
A world as us deals with our home front.
Unnatural occurrences do shape world war.
Once ignored, it overwhelms the balance of amity and peace.
We are the people that find responsibility in ideology.
Militant communism is to be.
For the love of God, let’s endow humanity a greater passage to a new era where
peace is positioned in precarious time and not through terrorism
contradicting creation and life.
For the love of God, we should appose right from wrong where we do not
condone beheading at all, but stand together to eradicate all aberrant
mind-sets to preserve human existence.
For the love of God is an outcry that describes a terrorist attack.
For the love of God, Why?
_____________________________________________________________________|
Written March 24, 2016!
Enriched is the mind that embellishes the soul...
be not a receptacle to that spirit of sin
live by the word of God and be open to Him
in this day where the lines of morality have become blurred
where people believe and do all and anything that's absurd
caught up in the grasp of drugs and chemical dependency
caught up in the muck and mire of sexual immorality
yet society tries to explain away any and all aberrant behavior
and a psychiatric evaluation has become acceptable and favored
we're now subjected to the blame of others and their bad actions
subjected to the world's desensitized and apathetic reaction
overcoming the temptation to commit sin
to yield not to that demonic presence again and again
if you don't understand and comprehend the word of God
how do you know if you have any sin in your heart?
you need to read the word of God and follow His commands
the instructions on how to live sinless, God's master plans
to wrestle with the evil that may at times reside within
to overcome that sensation to go out and commit sin
you need to be exposed to God's laws and learn right from wrong
you need to do a self reflection and then come away strong
for it's one thing to do what is sinful if you don't have a clue
but it's a different story when you knowingly sin for the blame is now on you
to be disobedient and stray from God's life living instructions
will lead you down that crooked path of spiritual destruction
so think before you act and then lay it before God
pray on that temptation to sin and possess a contrite heart
to challenge that temptation to commit sin
just dwell on the word of God and not the unholiness of men
yet we continue to try and justify some of the things we do and say
we need to be truthful in our hearts and willing to change our ways
no longer to be arrogant and sanctimonious in this life
to be more humble and repentant as a child of the Lord Christ
we pretend to act like it's not us but everyone else
we need to take a hard look in the mirrors at ourselves first
to come to understand that this battle is not ours alone
to realize we need the strength and the power of the heavenly throne
to be rescued from that temptation of sin that's always hanging around
to be lifted up by the word of God and placed on higher ground
to turn to our savior, the Lord Jesus the Christ
to thank Him and praise Him for the gift of eternal life
Berceuse was of the hummings I did hear
next to the breast of a matriarch so fair.
Born was a maternal love beyond sheer;
tainted,never to be,endless for our share.
Thus,incessant is your wisdom of life
that I continue to apply with my days.
Those were the filial times of my life:
neonate-joie de vivre to present phase.
And so we remain in such felicity,
never to be aberrant from our hearts.
Trial of me in my own iniquity
never diminished the love that mother imparts.
Harsh changes in time have only found us
with timely endeavors,and we prevailed!
My mother,who can deny and discuss
(as dare one baring zucchetto or veil)
that you are not a saint within the eyes
of hearts you showed kindness to throughout your life?
Yes it is true of this poem's imply
that you'll forbear the worst of pangs and strife.
There is not enough words,nor stanzas to
express all the love that keeps teeming within.
With paramount sincerity,"I dearly love you."
Circle the 1st letter of the 1st line,circle the 2nd letter of the 2nd line,the 3rd letter of the
3rd line,4th letter of the 4th line and so on until it spells out the name of a wonderful mom.
Dark.
Grey.
Rain hits the earth making everything glisten despite the lack of light.
One dim street lamp lights the spot where she stands.
Curls.
Perfect.
Spiraling down her back, despite, or perhaps because of, the water in the air.
Pink.
Bright.
Aberrant.
Not a thing about this child says she should be here, and yet she stands.
In the small light of the road.
She looks at her toys lying about her dripping in the rain.
This small creature, an anomaly.
Nano-bot Incursion
Nanobots began to shape their world in silent numbers
Grew uncountable before the dawn of days
In silence there is no form.
Darkness has no shape on empty landscapes
Black rocks don’t count as objects to odd aliens
Time does not stand still. It stands for nothing in the trenches of creation
Down in the minuscule world of nano-ness abstraction
Going about their business relentlessly
Expanding as they go
Nothing holds back the glow of tenacious ingenuity.
Human metallic rings worn on fingers
Seem to have peculiar effects on nanos actions
For some unknown reason strange things happen at mere contact
Apparently the shape of rings causes aberrant behavior
Perhaps tiny automatons don’t like restrictions
Confined movements to circular rotation
Perplexing them to the monotony of repetition
Around and around the band
Become disoriented as an emergent species
Collide and die
Apparently nano-bots need to expand
Naturally this is all pure speculation
If humans are to merge with them successfully
They must open up the molecules within each cell
Relax the pores above the skin
Allow the alien in
Allow the process to begin
It does not matter if this is a sin or crime
Science and technology must forge forward
That which goes against conventions
Has never stopped the building of reality
Constructing futures is what the nanos do
We are long overdue to break all laws of nature
Allow the nano-bots to do
What they instinctively know how and what to do
Merge with the human brain
Take us to their leader to new horizons
To the next plateau into omnipotence
To stand in numbing silence next to them
Spinning round and round in circles
Humming nano nano under the breath
I'm not abnormal
just different kind of normal
through my chambers
tantalized horse is storming
(storms make trees take deeper roots)
Dolly's vinyl began skipping
so my God put his paper hat on
that God of mine wears a paper hat
and you wear the fear the same way
we all have rooted fears
above which ingrained branches furcate
designing modular shadows to be tailored upon
yet my symmetrical reasoning
keeps on coloring that infested resonance
enveloping skin in barbed tape
hoping that loosen blood
will make a liquid embankment around integrated Thanatos
as no one ever comes forward to the bleeding ones
but human embodiment is a marvel
like river it breaks its way through to the subsistence
so harbored will of mine constructed a timber
upon which singleness can find its rest
until encounters her similarly aberrant soil