Best Abstruse Poems
I relinquish my pen before the storm
of her tears falling upon my bare arm
her gentle whispering breathed in my ear
Muse of mine, adieu to your wit and charm
With piqued reasons I have come to deduce
It's time to say fond farewell to my muse
She should seek a new poet and lay claim
for my words have grown utterly abstruse
Spare me sullen eyes, from cries in refrain
I shall not weep in sadness nor disdain
Bitterness does not become a recluse
My poet's heart weakens, I dare not feign
Time's drawn the shades in darkness of night
No candle flame shall glimmer enough light
in which I may be tempted before morn
to doubt seclusion and attempt to write
Cloistered without pen, I shall ever be
From thinking in rhyme I shall be set free
Poems half written on bits of scrap paper
I shall lock away and then toss the key
My hand has retired, this last poem now penned
No more idyll thoughts of mind will transcend
Bereft of rhymes and abandoned of verse
This poet knows her time has reached an end
Ink no longer flows through my tunneled veins
Expressed emotions in poetry wanes
And when interred, on my stone I shall read,
"Reclusive poet" over my remains
Apologists Are Too Funny
Apologists have been saying for 2000 years,
Jesus will return, you can dry your tears.
But they have always been making this claim,
About the truth of Christianity’s fame.
They always fabricate a ridiculous excuse,
That’s always been considered abstruse.
But Jesus said that some wouldn’t die,
Before he returns from his home in the sky.
He was wrong and no one cares,
That it didn’t happen and their heirs,
Just keep on believing no matter the year.
These foolish souls have so much fear,
That they might be wrong and their god is a hoax.
So they keep on believing, stupid folks.
So for millennia, there’s little change,
When they offer their answers, they are unchanged.
But they’re always quick to tell you you’re wrong.
That their beliefs will always be strong.
They cannot debate and accept the fact,
And refuse to accept the failed contract.
If any other religion claimed the same,
They would say it is false and lame.
Fools and obnoxious they always become.
A waste of time, they’re just plain dumb.
Mellifluous is its name,
August and worthy of its fame,
Romantic and idyllic all the same,
Refulgent and bright in the myopic’s eye,
Abstruse to the ignorant mind,
Keen to the witty’s wit.
Ebullient in the face of melancholy
Classic during the day, but
Habitable and hospitable in a humble way.
I rise when gilded starlight still replete the skies
Never have I beckoned hours of abstruse sleeping
I hear elegiac trills as a lone nightingale cries,
evoking memories that conjure tears of weeping
In halcyon moments before the paling of dawn
I contemplate my sentiments in tranquil solitude
Before the world awakens with an unstifled yawn,
the moon, sun, and I rendezvous; tryst in interlude
When velvet darkness fades to soft aurorean glints,
there, upon the horizon is painted a nuanced murk
Colors of daybreak; a blended mural in pastel tints,
created by a grand Artisan's hand; the Master's work
Kaleidoscope of a rainbow's hope,
realizations of grandiosity from a splendorous mount-
A looking glass for a peace, alas,
crystallization of beauty from an azure fount.
Sunset hues of yellow and white,
with a splash of Prussian in rain's delight-
Contrasts of the day and night
with a flash of a lover's fantasy sight.
Spectrum dreams, not as it seems,
continuous light shines with fervor's gleam-
A rift of a cliff of a twilit stream,
clashes with reverie’s majestic supreme.
I've seen the beauty held in
a rainbow's desire, as the rain ends with sangria fire-
Releasing all the glow acquired with the flow,
glistened tints of pink sapphire.
Palatial sprays in canary ways are believed to
shower life with nectar,
my medallion stays on my porch
these days, and receive nourishment from a
butterfly collector.
Chartreuse and cobalt
with a splash of honeyed hazel shimmer,
brings abstruse beauty with a flash
of lovely palatial glimmer.
Date Written: February 13, 2017
I rise when gilded starlight still replete the skies
Never have I beckoned hours of abstruse sleeping
I hear elegiac trills as a lone nightingale cries,
evoking memories that conjure tears of weeping
In halcyon moments before the paling of dawn
I contemplate my sentiments in tranquil solitude
Before the world awakens with an unstifled yawn,
the moon, sun, and I rendezvous; tryst in interlude
When velvet darkness fades to soft aurorean glints,
there, upon the horizon is painted a nuanced murk
Colors of daybreak; a blended mural in pastel tints,
created by a grand Artisan's hand, the Master's work
"If it's a human flaw to occasionally desire to live in oblivion,
I plead guilty to my fault." Quote by Poet
I wish I could fade into a realm of oblivion
even if it's just for a few moments in time.
Or be unaware of the mountains I climb
Long enough for my heart to heal
from wounds it continues to feel
If only I could recede into shadows of oblivion
so sorrowful memories might vanish with me,
or seep into the sea and set my mind free.
I'm weary and my soul has become bleak
trying to be rid of the past, I'm too weak.
Let me slip into the darkened void of oblivion
to wilt and wither like petals of a cut flower.
I'd thank the gentle mercy of the wind's power
to hide my jagged scars from prying eyes,
but I cannot don a mask in life as a disguise.
I would vanish in a raging storm of oblivion
as my fate to disappear inside a nimbus cloud.
I'd be quietly meek when thunder roars aloud
and mingle my tears with pouring rain
if I thought I had something to gain.
Don't deny me my quest to be lost in oblivion.
Never wake me from the beauty of my dreams.
Let me linger in darkness because it seems
I can shrink into a stupor of mediocrity...
content to be abstruse; invisible in obscurity.
Inspired by “Poems and Poets” by Anne Winter
“For once in my life,
I want to be a poem” — Anne Winter
If I were a poem
could my poem be a poet?
If such could be done
who besides me would know it?
If my poem—as a poet—wrote something new
could I as a poem be the other poem too?
Or would I simply exist on a document list
along with other poems that coexist?
(As a poem I would be …)
Living on the edge of poetry forms’ parameters
Running ever changing rapids of trochees and iambs
Line dancing varied rhythms of iambic pentameters
da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM ad infinitum
Dancing two-step footles with the poem of my dreams
Braving slalom ski runs of Klein’s Vase Verse
Climbing lofty peaks of Heroic Crown of Crowns
Then doing it all over again in reverse
(I do have a poetic license you know …)
I think of such thoughts from time to time
when my muse is confused and obtuse
Especially when finding it hard to rhyme
my head flooded with thoughts most abstruse
What would it take for me to be a poem
vice versa my poem to be poet?
The very next time my muse starts to roam
I’ll try to find out—don’t you know it!
Your ocular perceivers are the most resplendent ones ever kenned to mankind, they are as abstruse as the ocean and yet so captivating, The word dainty was engendered when they have no words for your lips, Your smile gladdens the heart of a man as wine gladdens mans heart, Your voice bring ecstasy and drives out sorrows within the soul of the hearer, Your face is the most elegant impeccably proportioned in appearance, if an artist is to do one final piece of art, they would be probing for you because they ken it would be the impeccable piece. Your personality is so genial, fun, doting, and so alluring. Viewing your disrobement is like a thunderbolt of sexual pleasure even a dysfunctional man will stand erect by the view, Your voluptuous body is more than that of a damsel and Aphrodite is less resplendency compare to you. I feel like I fulminated you cause I have degrade your resplendency by defining, describing, and comparing you with words of comeliness. You are not to be compared by or describe by any man. Cause your resplendency is that kind of resplendency beyond description. You are crafted by God himself, the greatest artist of all time. Thanks to your father and mother for not utilizing condom to bring out the definition of comeliness into this earth. You are the hyperbole of resplendency.
The other day I was rootin' around in my spouse's purse,
And was astounded by the contents that were so diverse.
If caught, I'd surely have hell to pay or maybe even worse,
And fer that very reason I shall never share with her this verse!
I was lookin' fer the spare car keys since mine I had displaced,
But was careful not to disturb her 'valuables' in my sneaky haste!
I discovered a broken pencil stub and a half-eaten Snickers bar,
A Wrigley's chewin' gum wrapper and the lid of a Mason pickle jar!
Diggin' further I found a dozen lipsticks in various sizes and hues,
And fer some reason her bag contained a couple of 3-inch screws!
Her wallet had a stash of cash that fer some reason she was hordin',
And curiously among other things was a photo of the King of Jordan!
I found an old 1980 date book which seemed to me of little use,
And wads and wads of used Kleenex which I found rather abstruse.
There was an assortment of finger nail files and emery boards,
Outdated grocery coupons and various threads, strings and cords.
I never did find the car keys after goin' through all the trouble.
They're probably lost without a trace 'midst all that useless rubble!
Thankfully, I didn't get caught or they'd be haulin' me off in a hearse,
Fer furtively rootin' around in my spouse's very personal purse!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Genial to avoid confrontation
Baseborn kind, complaisant character
A spurious recital, a cheap imitation
Apocryphal mind, and comical creations
Counterfeited Christ
An unholy effusion
Sons of Belial
Clutch arcane knowledge
Esoteric information
Delve into oracular verse.
Deadened faith
Recondite belief denuded denials
Portentous and abstruse
Divested of the truth
Desolate road
Traveled day after day
Seriatim in miles
Strangled in hyperbole
Hypothetical noose
Cheaply loose
Tightening
methodically
Suicidal salvation
Covertly clandestine
Do what art wilt
Deliver the chosen
indoctrinate guilt
Derision to the destined
To learn love over hate
Adoration to inculcate
Imbue their sick lessons.
Every mind is painted on a separate canvas
Lines brushed to give edge to their scenes
With a multitude of colors peppered around
Bordered by abstruse and diverted memories
1.
Whenever the truest edge doesn’t hold,
Another existence it does belie.
When causality is a broken line,
Unseen variable has cracked the mold.
Simple cause and effect gets in trouble
Abstruse patterns underlie life’s events.
Straight Euclidean angles and tangents
Reveal deep truth when they twist and bubble.
Infinite weaving of the light and dark,
That from which all matter derives its form,
That from which all shades and colors are born,
Folding, animated by unseen spark:
Zero Point made of unbound potential.
Infinity in nothing, essential.
2.
A cause contains more than it alleges.
If all you can see are random events,
Assume that it must be coincidence
Occam’s razor it seems has two edges
The surface, outer manifestation
The solid, visible three dimensions
Concentrate, more enters your attention:
Substance beyond the realm of sensation.
Bursting through material pretension,
What unimaginable things are hid
Beyond the visible Cartesian grid
To unfold from another dimension?
The depth remains unseen, passes us by
Except in dreams, when the mind’s eye can fly.
3/23/16
Hybrid Italian/Shakespearean Sonnets
Abba cddc effe gg (x2)
I kneel my knees to please the Above
Dying to eat every word from the hope
Went to the prominent land with great gurus
Sitting on the hot seat, listening to them
Time came for judgement holding the swords of my fear
First battle got victory but it wasn't remain long
Tears suddenly rolled down not because of failures
But for the companions stood better to receive the crown
In the dark sited with a small light of candle
Regrets with gigantic question, "what did I do wrong?"
The unending question covered the beating heart
Marked the loneliness to face the bright shine
Under the humiliation around the eyes
Expected that it would I overcome!
Turning my head towards the abstruse gem
Gives brilliant views and bogus fate!
I'm so cheerful that I'm finally conferencing about, my fantasy,
It might seem so abstruse,
But this fantasy, I'm about to relate to you is just too much,
I'm despondent when I wet dream in my bed,
Knowing very well that you're not besides me,
This fantasy is just, too much.
I wake up red-faced in the middle of 3am,
Only to budge my hands to the other side of my bed,
You're not with me.
This fantasy is just, too much,
That, I can no longer hang onto it.
The wake ups during the wee hours are just, too much,
This fantasy is just A1 with its own lane.
From the back of my humanity,
This fantasy is just what I think of, about you,
What I adore, from you,
What I want, from you,
And the moon between your eyes.
This fantasy will always be too much,
Will always be there and here.
All Rights Reserved
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