Best Abstemious Poems
Unrhymed tercets
The Withdrawing Room
Huddled together in this abstemious grey chamber
no windows or means of escape walls closing in
trapped where the un-sanctified transactions are made
Daunting without exit the silent screams go unheard
ashen skin with darting eyes never looking up
forever too frightened of seeing the truth reflected back
In the unholy grail in visions of comrades within this un-sacred act of ransom
the collective voice of the masked chorus urging them on wards
then the integrated tragedy of hidden fears and secrets
A living sacrifice under this bargain where no one wins or gains
without boundaries of mortal limits there exists in this gunmetal airless demise
unfettered woefulness and vainglory vie for victory
The innocent victim's now the pawn's forgotten as pride twists obscurities
severing the umbilical cord drowning breaths of existence
the sterile smell of unfinished lives permeating into the coal and ice
Tiny little footprints always remain's inside the womb's silenced facts
the living water of life breaks no longer flows through the natural cord
leaving a chorus of continuous phantom's chanting in mendacious unity
Opening the door of perdition where the tactical glare of a butchers knife
held under a ghostly specter of a child that might have been treasured
a face imagined but never seen and names never uttered
A tortured remembrance of a pardon held precious beauty once
soon the vapour of shame burns off in an emptiness that still remains
glazes over a ruby rare passion
Where fear & the constant loathing cannot fathom the uncertainties
this future brings forth in the immenseness of what might have been
not touching the soul properly
The unborn yet to speak?
silenced unadorned gone forever jewel's
always held within prayers of the faithful loving grace
a co written piece by Liam Mcdaid & Donna Loughman
Huddled together in this abstemious grey chamber
no windows or means of escape walls closing in
trapped where the un-sanctified transactions are made
Daunting without exit the silent screams go unheard
ashen skin with darting eyes never looking up
forever too frightened of seeing the truth reflected back
In the unholy grail in visions of comrades within this un-sacred act of ransom
the collective voice of the masked chorus urging them on wards
then the integrated tragedy of hidden fears and secrets
A living sacrifice under this bargain where no one wins or gains
without boundaries of mortal limits there exists in this gunmetal airless demise
unfettered woefulness and vainglory vie for victory
The innocent victim's now the pawn's forgotten as pride twists obscurities
severing the umbilical cord drowning breaths of existence
the sterile smell of unfinished lives permeating into the coal and ice
Tiny little footprints always remain's inside the womb's silenced facts
the living water of life breaks no longer flows through the natural cord
leaving a chorus of continuous phantom's chanting in mendacious unity
Opening the door of perdition where the tactical glare of a butchers knife
held under a ghostly specter of a child that might have been treasured
a face imagined but never seen and names never uttered
A tortured remembrance of a pardon held precious beauty once
soon the vapour of shame burns off in an emptiness that still remains
glazes over a ruby rare passion
Where fear & the constant loathing cannot fathom the uncertainties
this future brings forth in the immenseness of what might have been
not touching the soul properly
The unborn yet to speak?
silenced unadorned gone forever jewel's
always held within prayers of the faithful loving grace
a co written piece by Donna Loughman and Liam McDaid
With the Nepotism in my planet, essentially in my land, life compels
And factual morals are forgotten. Ancestors way of living are forbidden
By the rules we live in today.
What’s happening in our society?
Flash is made to capture, to imprison,
Not to poison and abolish every tale we ever had.
I sense discomfort when I glimpse defiance of young in open, forgive me but i
Feel pain when I see the future walking in distress; giving their lives in return for a good life.
Give them credit, but our lives were much easier before.
Simplicity is no supplementary.
But not everyone who’s involved wants to,
Pleasure is the case, dissatisfaction is the face, eish did I say it’s the pace?
Wait a minute
Facing my demons with abstemious eyes, doesn't add up, I need a fluid to go through
The night, where’s my pint to nip the tank of my thanks.
I’m jaded, guzzle, gulp facilitate
Slurp!
It kills me to be unable to maintain my being,
Without sentiment awkwardness,
But little voices say…
‘Just be intoxicated, without any guiltiness’.
My hero dies in vein, my mother stress in pain, and my friends suffer in shame,
I didn't do it, but the hunger for more led me to desire more.
Everyone’s scrip end is thrilled, but in one way or another,
there is a season for everything.
Life goes on, I’m a young woman. I’m different, I’m a lion and
I’m in control.
I may not be the most courageous, boldest, and smartest,
But god gave me a voice and a pen,
I refuse to be the statistic, the common, and the everyday indict,
I refuse to be them, they, us, and we, I choose to be “I” alone.
I am a woman, a lion,
This is not the time to point fingers,
This is the time to raise my left arm and say I am a woman,
stray the shy of my spry.
Heroes always live, but
Hero die in this one, because this is war.
Abstemious!
Be cooking.
Don’t eat from gastronomic hotels.
Insist jambalaya.
Kindly live maximally nutritious, opt pawpaw.
Quench.
Revitalize strength to undertake vital works XL,
Yields; zeal.
Went with some folks to
Gene and Georgetti's,
they marveled that
I only wanted a plate of
spaghetti
Went to Shaw's Crab House
and it was the same,
a meal of broiled Salmon;
they said
- 'that's so lame!'
No cocktails before dinner,
no bottle of Bordeaux,
no Beaujolais or Chianti,
just eat dinner,
then go
No cheesecake or cobbler,
not even creme brule,
that stuff doesn't tempt me
I don't care what
you say
You can take me to
Morton's, HyeHolde, Trader Vic's,
I'm sure it would've been
the same at Monsieur Ric's
Give me protein and veggies,
some carbs and 'good' fat
some seasoning, some water
and leave it at that
Sorry, can't help it
it's all only fuel,
even back in Dicken's time
when they ate all that gruel
At a night in this autumn,
I sat abstemious under a pine
A place where usually belong to me in this university
When my arms and legs felt as numb as electric shocks
I could not help going back to my little office
Under the lamp
I saw many pimples in my arms and legs!
Clearly that they were made by the unnamed mosquitoes!
Oh, those poor little mosquitoes
They were left lonely in the Beijing campus
For such a long summer vacation
They must be hungry extremely!
Attributed To Concerned parents
of Traumatized Refugee
Dear Fred and Mary Anne MacLeod Trump...
Posthumous belated tattered letter fragment
recently discovered (liberally sprinkled with
hyperbole (presumed for greater audacious
zealousness), sans accidentally acquired
by yours truly.
Miscellaneous personal item highly valued
when thwarted from auctioneer, whose gently
persuasion collectible merchandise requisitioned,
thence keepsake property perfunctory mandatorily forfeited.
Due compensation from sole male heir (me),
whose long since (resting in eternal
peace) papa suffered degradation,
humiliation and understandable lamentation
as a kid living in Flatbush.
Authorities and expert legal scholars
pieced together what probably comprised
a lengthy epistle rivaling the Epic of
Gilgamesh).
Recollection recounted torturous,
malicious, and flagitious mean spiritedness
visited upon the ambitious, cadaverous, and
timorous body electric high-jinxed introverted male,
whose abstemious, conscientious, and nutritious
dietary regime, could not forestall rigor mortis.
A postscript (purportedly penned prior to
once philosophical pensive poet's papa's passing)
stated that said personage felt bitterness,
disharmonious envious self loathing.
That grownup man known as mine father,
though once upon a time, said recently
anonymous deceased old fogey ironically
registered as an atrocious, cantankerous,
and egregious deplorable high school student.
Also, the author of what constitutes partial
opprobrious litany attests during his
idolatrous, notorious, and semiconscious
Arab zombie school daze.
The Ending
This old tramp ship
Rusty and tired
Her engine often stopped
It was a struggle
To start it again
The sun rejected
This ship sailed
In a fog of despair
The crew were
Residue
Of harbour debris
For the officer the last
Chance Saloon
Misfits who struggled
To stay abstemious
Some failed
Disappeared
In the night.
Off the coast of Peru
She died
Sank slowly
Beneath the ocean
With her
Tax avoidance
Flag flying
In Russia do not drink is infraction
if not vodka it causes rejection
whoever is abstemious is screwed
must live cloistered and booed
Attributed To Concerned parents
of Traumatized Refugee
Dear Fred and Mary Anne MacLeod Trump...
Posthumous belated tattered letter fragment
recently discovered (liberally sprinkled with
hyperbole (presumed for greater audacious
zealousness), sans accidentally acquired
by yours truly.
Miscellaneous personal item highly valued
when thwarted from auctioneer, whose gently
persuasion collectible merchandise requisitioned,
thence keepsake property perfunctory mandatorily forfeited.
Due compensation from sole male heir (me),
whose long since (resting in eternal
peace) papa suffered degradation,
humiliation and understandable lamentation
as a kid living in Flatbush.
Authorities and expert legal scholars
pieced together what probably comprised
a lengthy epistle rivaling the Epic of
Gilgamesh).
Recollection recounted torturous,
malicious, and flagitious mean spiritedness
visited upon the ambitious, cadaverous, and
timorous body electric high-jinxed introverted male,
whose abstemious, conscientious, and nutritious
dietary regime, could not forestall rigor mortis.
A postscript (purportedly penned prior to
once philosophical pensive poet's papa's passing)
stated that said personage felt bitterness,
disharmonious envious self loathing.
That grownup man known as mine father,
though once upon a time, said recently
anonymous deceased old fogey ironically
registered as an atrocious, cantankerous,
and egregious deplorable high school student.
Also, the author of what constitutes partial
opprobrious litany attests during his
idolatrous, notorious, and semiconscious
Arab zombie school daze.
If I die
There comes a time
Time of death
No escape
But
If I die
Let it not be of AIDS
I knew i lived a lie
Of many friends
Whom i nicknamed friends
But were walkers
Professional sex addicts
Sex ametuers
But
If i die
Let it not be of AIDS
Of who i was
Of whom i became
And of what i leave
Let it be hailed
Of how abstemious i lived
Of how cautious i loved
Of how irrational i smiled
To them
But
If i die
Let it not be of AIDS
After I graduated as teacher: East London High
Because I boarded at an ashram in Durban
Check of my first salary, went to it as thanks
NOTE: The Swami - "not good in Christ terms" - but the most abstemious & disciplined man I knew, blessed my gratitude. His name, Swami Sahajananda, or formerly Srinivas Naidoo of Estcourt, said I would always have Grace. I have never gone hungry, or very cold, 42 years on.
I wonder if there are Elders
wise
or more perennially surprised
who, looking back at their youth,
regret all their erotic time
invested in having peak
experiential sex,
And wish they had, instead,
done something, most anything,
more left brain dominant,
more theoretically
politically correct,
more economically prominent.
I so hope not.
Better off, I feel sure,
invested in abundant splatters of messy,
sometimes musical, health
Than overly divested
away from EarthTribe's gloriously peaking race
carried away by abstemious matters
of more disciplined pace
for securing capital infested wealth.