Best Abysmally Poems
I made a scrumptious chocolate birthday cake just for you
My only wish, I could deliver it, across the pond to you!
For two years straight, you stood behind me daily.
A trophy, you do deserve, not one day, but three
hundred sixty five, times two, for contacting by
comment or soup mail, you never failed me!
Such a unique poet you are, and endearing, indeed,
to so many.
Love, peppered with humility and peace, are on
your agenda daily.
Tom, you've gone way out of your way,
When I felt abysmally, horribly dismayed!
You are wise, like a philosopher, to recognize the real
poets here, from the phony.
And run from those, who post pure, arrogant baloney.
I wish you health and happiness for so many years.
Wish we could all go to a pub, raise a pint and wish
you happiness, with loving, poetic cheers!
Hugs from the USA,
Panagiota
2/16/2021
Drowning
What is it about falling in love
that makes us an emotional mess?
Even those as innocent as a dove
are too often put to the test.
I was one who took that leap
and made real the fantasy I bore.
I fell in love, abysmally deep
with a man I did long adore.
I didn't fear the depth of my fall
from the height of an amorous cliff.
No. What frightened me most of all
was living with wondering, "What if..."
What if I'd never taken the chance
to feel the warmth of his loving arms,
or not knowing the rhythm of our dance?
Wouldn't that have done me more harm?
I lived with the joy of him, only in a blink,
sailing through life in lighthearted days.
Our ship sprung a leak and began to sink.
Yet, with my captain, I decided to stay.
I lingered, though often longed to give up,
but my mutiny would've left him alone.
His orders were cruelest when in his cups...
more painful than the break of my bone.
I lived in wait, while drowning in sorrow
'til I knew the time had come to jump ship.
I kept thinking, I'll tell him tomorrow
but those words remained frozen on my lips.
I lived for months with the shallow hope
that he'd become the man I used to know.
I held on, one hand tethered to the rope
I'd have to cut when at last I turned to go.
He's in deep waters for I could not save
the man I thought would be my destiny.
I reached out to him, trying to be brave,
but he faltered and turned away from me.
To keep from drowning, I swam ashore.
There was nothing more I could do.
My cries, louder than the ocean's roar,
for a love once cherished, now gone askew.
Trembling, I stood and as I walked away,
I turned, searching each crested wave.
I prayed he would surface again one day
before he drank himself into the grave.
My Sydney,
From here to eternity,
You are my savior, my sanctity.
When my soul was shadowed
You were rendered hallowed.
Lending me strength to fight
By being my beacon, my guiding light
Within my inner battle so stark,
One abysmally abhorrent and dismally dark.
Silhouetted in your shining radiance,
You beautifully beckoned my presence
With your mere auras essence.
views are aplenty
comments, abysmally few
what am I missing
the words you have read
must not have been amusing
silence confuses
write a few words, dear
let our souls have communion
tell me what you think
Eileen Manassian
mother said the best place to laugh is in the graveyard and mortuary.
father told us the better place to cry is in the church,
but, I've learnt that the white place for all these is within you!
because, it gives you a grey freedom,
freedom to be a loner,
freedom to walk into yourself yourself;
freedom to drink from your lost black memories,
Search through the tattered grit history that made you.
freedom to weigh your wandering thoughts on your palms and see the reason why the earth is against every human.
Freedom to see your pastor's visions and never dance stupidly without asking how.
Freedom to break hold from your Imam's illusion in the mosque and, never lose your senses to him!
I've studied nature and discovered the graveyard is the poorest place,
It is rich in loamy and dust and; dust worth nothing!
When our ancestors danced along the forest of Umuahia,
they lied to us,
they planted falsehood in us like lyrics of music.
They took us to where we could find death,
Handed over death to us to keep amongst us through their words.
They handed our shadows to us,
made us cracked the skulls of ghosts.
They spelt evil backward and said that was the watchword.
There is darkness found in purity!
What is purity to you?
What in your world is pure?
Purity is an illusion
Grace is an illusion
Faith is an abysmally dead illusion
and you're a faceless illusion!
Birth today, dust tomorrow after merriment.
Fateless dice thrown back of a chess board...
What will be the name of the street heaven will name you?
what room number will be yours in heaven according your pastor's spit?
Do you know if hell will have pretty harlots and tent of alcohol?
Men will be glad to go there than heaven.
The last time I visited the devil, he told me this:
"illusion is birth through the bar of our parents' mouth,
Faking those galaxies they told us dwells on the palms of a tattered boy".
I looked through a broken mirror
I saw a better part of me in horror.
With incomplete teeth,
grandpa told us school was the best...
and we queued to receive our doom,
now, our doom took us into captivity.
We are this illusion nature spoke of
that was birth mysteriously.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
I swear my world was frozen
When my confidence was stolen.
I swear My vocal pipes were broken
While my purpose was offloading,
And painful it was,
that I was just watching
When everything was fading
But I did nothing.
Course I felt powerless.
But a second chance life gave me
And I used it.
I used situations as a motivation,
For restoration.
Flashbacks!!!
When the storm hit my garden,
When running to my darkest room has been an option
Locking the door and thinking the worst,
That was depression.
But Positivity over ruled fortunately,
And in the midst you appeared fortunately,
And your story changed mine
And I know mine changed yours.
You came in Acoustically and not abysmally
You appeared angelically and not dramatically,
And basically, you are the one
Who pragmatically gave my life a hymn
And I feel, that is why my soul
Is literally linked to yours.
Three cheers for the damsel
Who despite numerous reverses
Smiles for souls who fell
In love upon assimilating vivid verses
Which struck cores and stores of emotions
Moved to mercy bereft of ecstasy
Stimulating motions and demotions
Sometimes driven to a fallacy
When real life drifts into so much sorrow
To the extent where hope
Seems to die together with tomorrow
Whose prospects grope for dope
Although faith
Beaten into submission
Rises and slays the wraith
For whose motion emission
Damsels cry
Arguing societies immersed in spiritual and moral theories
Hardly try
To rid themselves of dictactorship diaries
Where they pigeon-hole
Good and bad
At a level where their North Pole
Feels sad and mad
When societies despite their claims fail
Abysmally to resolve conundrums
Damsels negotiate in an unresolved hell
That forever beats drums
Telling society to get real
To stop resorting to simple solutions
To complex issues that feel
As if societies recycle through motions
Instead of tackling topical matters
Whose resolution
Though painful scatters
Uncertainty in the lotion
That offers cosmetics
Rather than promoting moves
To the next level beyond semantic gymnastics
Whose gist in a twist of mist proves
Futile at best and sterile at worst
In comparison to the pain and strain
Damsels absorb as if cursed
To sustain perennial strain in the main
Without an end in sight
Prompting damsels to deride efforts
Parents and their generations present to fight
Pains and strains damsels’ escorts
Bear as they fare badly
In a context of no war, no peace
When they confront sadly and madly
Pesky problems in a world whose woes seem neither to cease nor decrease.
I don't know about you
but the seeming me abused and cursed
had all my birth fingers burnt off
at the first knuckle before the first lullaby
from too many here hold my beer
blithely eager watch this rolls of the dice
simply to gain a little altitude a little vista
no audience necessary or even indicated
just a little reconstructive surgery by Dr. Peel
to scamper us along the Great Slippery Slope
we rubbernecks in Mardi Gras trim
still at this late date being required
to toss the shiny brass ring token coin
into the carousel's giant clown mouth
light up the pin ball machine's backboard
subtext to the bombastic circus of philosophs
and its beatings its impossible absolutes
a bewitched wonderland of terror and delight
herded by breathing psychotic clumps of atoms
and then by gosh by golly the sun comes up
so I watch my back almost exclusively
through Eskimo slits snow blind and groping
with a smile for the shopping cart wranglers
tip big all the busty truck stop waitresses
hedge my bets at the crooked bookie window
with a bliss enforcing scratch behind the ears
for my ever starving three leg fur dog Tripod
and happily crank the music knobs up
mosh thrashing towards free volition
while the neighbors bang the ceiling
pound the walls stomp the floor
threatening to put me where I belong
funny how I can never get the specifics
as to where in bandage land that might be
but I have the peripheral suspicion
that my playful sweet tooth for curiosity
has exceeded certain limits
Down here,
is an abysmally dead world!
The sun shines at night while the moon
Illunates the busy day
Plane run on railway tracks and let the
Train fly up there in the sky
Ship have taken over the road and allows the vehicles to sail on oceans.
Our soldiers returned home joyfully and send their wives to the war front,
While they breast feed the babies at home.
People die of hunger seated before a banquet
A flower planted by the riverside die of drought.
Out there,
you do not dodge potholes, you only choose the one to enter.
Down here, water stick between our teeth,
Fishes run helter skelter into the forest,
The mountain minted into water as the streams flow into the deserts in horror;
And rivers rise above the skies for safety.
Stars descend to the grassland for cow's milk
The heavens are rented by the wild beast of underground.
To see a man of reputation here is like looking for a virgin lady in a brothel.
On this land
Mother taught us how to smile sitting beside a corpse,
How to cry when we see a man succeeding;
How to giggle watching the hell fall on us fiercely.
Watching here like a dry tongue
looking like shadows from old men,
Looking like a garage filled by slippers.
This land died yesterday
This land never gave us shards of new beginning,
She died leaving a quatrain walked out of it body,
It died owning wounds in our heart...
The day Nigeria died was the day we littered the skies with accusation fingers blaming the government of every fly that crossed our path.
She made our joy dissolved into shreds of sorrow. Lack. Pains. Calamities!
When you see a child sing in the fireplace,
he either sing of his lost mother or father or his only palm fruit.
Nigeria died in our hands and knees
Spelling this spit of fire from my sister's lip, the beneficient knowledge of dead show how illusion killed many of us.
The day Nigeria died, she died in our palms crying of her lost prestige.
Oh!
A country of glee!
Oh mother land! Oh father land!
We'll sing no more dirge at your grave
Those flowers shall we gather home
We've failed you and killed you looking at each other eyes to find the culprits.
Go well till we make you better by 2019.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
Go and inform me that I am abysmally wrong
A true pity that I lack your insight
But how do you know of me?
You've no idea who I am
Unable to relate to me
You don't deserve to
Act as if
You're so
Superior.
My metaphors, like petit fours
My similes work abysmally
My meter sometimes peters out
Allusions, mere delusions
My irony shows its wrinkles
Enjambment's full of kinkles
Iambic, Trochaic, and Passaic
All strike me as rather archaic
Some bards swear by clever rhyme
I only wish I had the time ~
Dare I don the crown of a 'Poet?'
I leave it to the reader to bestow it
GRANNY'S LOVE:
On every matter, she keeps me counseled,
So that any wrong plans would be cancelled.
When I'm down, she gets me revived,
And by her love, I strongly get survived.
Nurtured me from childhood as a great granny;
Empowering me from a boy to a good daddy,
Inculcating into me a well-set power,
For me to stand as an outstanding Tower.
Urging me to pray and study the bible,
In order for my life to be equipped and able.
She's such a selfless person,
Who regards the state of her family.
Abysmally, her dream got missing,
Which truly affected her life so badly.
She went through a tough childhood,
And It's evident in her speech and livelihood.
Hence, don't wish anyone to also go through same,
As she's fighting for our future to be safe.
Whenever she hears from me,
The conversation holds a good endgame.
Her heart grows happily, and it gently beats.
Ever wishing the best for me, regardless,
Since she don't want my life to be acrimonious.
When she don't hear from me for a while,
Then she holds me with speculations as she enquires.
Initially, I used to grow mad at her sometimes,
Making her mostly feeling worried.
But she forgave me without even me saying sorry.
I thought she was still treating me like a child,
Until later, I've realised her words are life guide.
I thank Jehovah for my granny,
And I pray she keeps blessing her for me.
Chinks of light filter
thru pitchblack emotional prison
vestigial shadow figure hunkers,
an atrophied, mortified, petrified old man
implacable self destructive nemesis
birthed in league pitiful human shambles,
his abysmally forlorn existence
scotched, sabotaged, severely short changed
agonizing depression tortures psyche
family abandoned nsync,
entrenched self cannibalization
devastating vicious feedback loop
exhaustedly drained kith and kin
unconditional, unbridled, unalloyed... love,
no longer spouts, issues, gushes... profusely
familial fountainhead ceased functioning
dry as lovely bones
analogous to fossilized remains
once robust sibling affections,
in toto once dogged sisterly doting
twisted beyond recognition
ditto daughterly acclamation,
adoration, affection, appreciation...
on par with courtly
majestic Fontainebleau
once regaling Francis I (16th century king),
nothing but absolute zero bondage
shackled to solitary confinement
imprisoned impenetrable fortress invisible,
yet...ineradicable as
strongest Earthly material
isolation wrought since...
yours truly begat life in utero
punctuated when obstetrician
pronounced "it's a boy!"
Unbeknownst to very
short lived carefree being
neurological, mental, libidinal... flaws
would spell disaster
spanning scores of years
majority of existence (mine)
participation buzzfeeding livingsocial
shuttered within inaccessible dungeon
surrounded by deepest known moat,
within which flourished fearsome beasts
turned rogue, and conspired
assassination (not yet successful),
whereby one poker face
(born that way)
wretched soul condemned
to psychological abomination
forbidden to terminate
said despicable mortality,
thus suffers life sentence of
yawping, writhing, unnerving... tumult.
Each cherished memory of mine...cause iz woe
Analogous to unique ventifact for shore
and seven years ago,
where time and tide faintly roar
within noggin o'this common Joe
reviewing silent film unreleased,
unpopular, unimpressive tour
de force if technology existed
to broadcast and show
projected on big screen only
to elicit chore
tills whereby rotten tomatoes
lobbed accompanied by dough
less bro (i.e. an alter ego equally hoar
rubble at lifelong accomplishments), though
woke to awareness, whence
twilight years sped more
bajillion times faster than greased
lightning, when final adieu
will tide dully be high water mark
luke king point blank at poor
etch heave mints mostly
abysmally, equally,
pathetically barely drew
stick figures upon tabula rasa
mostly feeble scratches galore
looking at you
unknown reader, now
doddering, hobbling, loafing... ignore
rant of untold opportunities
(long fostered barnacle clad) view
wing gamut of healthy risk taking
avoidance in name of war
re: ness against challenging,
testing, upending... true
and tried loathsome
overstayed welcome, a deplore
hubble basket case squirreled
within bedroom, who
suffered rabid exhortations, objections,
ultimatums... told to shovel ordure
lack of gainful employment
beset courtesy a slew
of psychological mailer daemons
case closed by parental cloture
countless decades ague
reduced present fulfillment score
indelible bitterness toward
self confident self I never knew
afraid of doppelganger to
central processing unit silly con wayfair core.
My heart is bowed
in suffering,
And all around me
seems dark,
My understanding fails
my situation,
And God seems so
far away.
The promises of God
seem unfulfilled,
And within me the
seeds germinate,
Beclouding my avowed sonship
with doubts,
Over my relationship with
heavenly Father.
Efforts in dutiful praying
failed abysmally,
Attempts on singing praises
hit rocks,
Landing me full plumb
in a strait,
As thoughts my mind
severely assault.
Then I heard Him
say to me,
My grace is sufficient for you.
Cast your mind on me
letting His peace ,
rule your heart and
His love your mind.