Best Accedes Poems
I ransack my mind…the blurred tale that cries
On hollow tracks scarcely finding life's way
The bleakest moans, the clearest views reprise--
A pounding shrill of angst which reels all day.
Though a prayerful night quietly drains,
Above, a communion with God remains.
From my confined walls, moonlight slowly bleeds
Ghastly this shadow grilling a leaked pen:
And yet, one flint from heaven’s star accedes
Endowing malaise its final amen.
Shall I grow weaker and perhaps forget
How double-edged illness comes with youth's rain?
Oh where I recline, next evening won't set
Dear moments when smiles are lucid again.
Here... tidal bowl with apples soon to fade
As breaths drop, pass through dusk’s advancing shade.
Contest of Craig Cornish:God Knows Where I Am
6/6/2017
The Key Is Love
"Humanity can regain its dignity if it accedes that love is the key to
attaining unity and redefining visions in achieving lasting harmony"
08/19/2023
10:59 a.m.
Aboard Vision of the Seas
Cruising towards Bermuda
Look up to the Heavens where the Angels doth soar,
To the cascading thunder and deafening roar;
To the loftiest crags of every mountain high.
Hovering far above in cerulean skies,
In our darkest hours, always hearing our cries.
Man but a speck in the infinite sands of time.
Alpha and Omega, finite, infinite sign,
God's most wondrous grace on Earth, His Glory Divine;
Only thru his deeds shall man to Heaven attain.
His cherubs proclaiming, this Heavenly refrain,
Winged Watches warmly wrapping our Earthly domain;
The Earth's one supreme test of man's ultimate faith.
Tween' the blessed, the pure, the vile and the chaste,
Man accedes to Heaven with only His embrace;
Reverence and kindness ne'er guarantee our fate.
Entrance denied or approved at St. Peter's Gate.
Look upward to the Heavens - the Angels won't wait;
Final decisions lay in the Grace of our Lord.
To the loftiest crags of every mountain high,
Man but a speck in the infinite sands of time;
Only thru his deeds shall man to Heaven attain;
The Earth's one supreme test of man's ultimate faith.
Reverence and kindness ne'er guarantee our fate;
Final decisions lay in the Grace of our Lord.
Two emerald coasts frame
the cape of the ancient pirates
Among its smooth greyish white rocks
cedar trees being grown faintly within the centuries
their volume curved exposing to exogenous powers
their lawless shadow, a shelter
under the strong Mediterranean sun.
North wind’s continuous touch
intercepts worries that being fired
shifts them far to the mountainous villages
until their thin structure accedes to the hasty clouds
becomes one with the view; thoughts, cliffs, sun and sky.
Hair disheveled, blown towards all directions
fragments of sand all over the skin.
Morning dreams lave in the water edge
dazzling crystal surface of the sea hurts the eyes
Aqua iridescences invite to be integrated
A deep breath, the playful buoyance and I caress
the wave’s ripples being embossed on the fine pearly sand
of the untrodden seabed, pure light and eternal time,
my underwater kingdom lasts as my longest breath.
* A poem inspired by the place "Mikri Vigla" in Naxos island, Cyclades Greece.
Faith is often blind, and that seems tragic.
It drops to its knees, humble and devout.
Science’s problem is lack of magic.
It can’t accept the mystical throughout.
Each sees light stream
through a prism of glass.
The pious think of stained-glass
and God’s bliss, and all but simplicity they let pass.
They have no need for a hypothesis.
The logical need to know how light’s bent,
and measure photon wavelength to decide
if particle-waves end the argument
or there are more dimensions to divide.
The first has all the answers that it needs.
The other must seek before it accedes.
Something in the way she stands there
Something she knows whilst serving serving all the customers sadly
But with temerity I approach whilst stumbling over words to say
Rehearse and another till open
But I wont and accede my place
Still stumbling in my mind a phrase perhaps
And then a small packet of tobacco and then some rizlas
She gracefully accedes knowing I have in truth no other here
Theres something in the way she smiles
When she gives me the packet
And touches my cold hand lightly.
A window to another world, perhaps to other times
A window that is open when the midnight hour chimes
Few see the midnight window sitting there in yonder wall
’tis said before and after twelve it isn’t there at all
Be it frost or balmy night, be it pitch or full moon bright
There is no bulb or candlelight to aid the passerby at night
A blackened void, a gaping gap, within its frame no curtains flap
Tethered by some unseen strap, no man shall pass this cursed trap
Yellowed paint on rotted wood, a portal to the never good
A zone alone where evil stood, where men of virtue never would
An eerie tick, a walking stick, an eerie tock, a knock, knock, knock
Twelve: each chime a haunting shock from some unseen grandfather clock
At Twelve the passerby shall peek and hear the leaden darkness speak
Climb in my friend and take a seat and watch the empty rocker creak
And woe betide he who accedes, who all at once the window feeds
The Dark Imp’s stick does Dark Imp deeds and cracks your head until it bleeds
Come hither calls the final chime, take a peek, there’s little time
The peeking man who meant no crime… I know, for that last peek was mine
I dared to look and I was took, and drawn in by an unseen hook
And made to grasp the shepherd’s crook to grab the next who takes a look
Be sure to pass a minute past, perhaps you shall not breath your last
For then no frame, no shattered glass, no window there… so walk on… fast
In the dead of the night he attempts his surprise
Candlelight winks forming whispered pleas
The midnight moon casts a hint of light
Surreptitiously he beckons his love to his side
Tears glint in her starry eyes tonight
His hand brushes past her flushed cheeks
She coyly tilts her head to one side
The sigh that escapes her suggests consent
Carefully he frees her hair so soft
Relishing the moment both so dearly want
Shyly she accedes, yet hesitant at first
Until desire burns with longing and thirst
In the dead of the night he attempted his surprise
Candlelight winked forming whispered pleas . . .
Pawn enters into the checkered
rooms of the cylindrical tube
sips serpentine cocktails, two
colours in a mirrored glass cube
Red dragon rose petals litter the
azurite crystal bar, violet flame
star light adorns the altar. Pawn
reflects but can't recall his name
Upon asking, his faint voice echoes
as hooves rap upon the spiral stair
On each red step sits a demon
writing up a contract to ensnare
Pawn accedes and bursts out in wicked rage
disengages from his act upon life's stage
A lasting nightmare of terrors so malign
forever at war within his demented paradigm
Can I controversially be the delusional one...
when that universal peace,
confidently spoken by Jesus,
is easily reachable by different means;
ponder over those words:
that even an unrealistic one
doesn't find hard to imagine:
what's to come...if love ruled again!
Only at Christmastime that dream is realized,
and isn't it very selfish to be kind only once,
not any other day...to really prove one's devotion?
I see kindness in giving a present to someone,
and selfishness in expecting one;
it's the worst habit we are accustomed to these days,
when we're low on money and frustration wins!
I appreciate the sweet sound of the kindest word,
the gentle pat on the shoulder,
the shaking of hands and the warmest hug;
an affectionate kiss to demonstrate love:
who wouldn't desire these things and fondly care?
Can I accidentally be the delusional one
with an invaluable secret to share....
when others contradict faith for personal gain
and willfully favor customs steeped in paganism;
and all they do doesn't deviate from altruism?
Meekness is gone from this race,
everyone rather live among the rich, not the poor;
amid the riches that they accumulate...
they won't hear the sermon preached by Jesus:
they invoke their Muse, not the One who save their soul!
Now, all know the absurd truth about Christmas...
not to let preoccupation interfere with their celebration;
It's nice to receive, even better to give and absorbing an odd notion,
at this time, makes joy absolutely worthless...
and its not easily understood how the absent spirit accedes,
forgetting to properly honor the absolute Ruler of the Universe!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
She walks gingerly back to the pride,
sensing something’s not right,
Dropping her kill upon the grass,
greeting party’s nowhere in sight,
My cubs my beautiful cubs, calls them,
but only silence echoes back,
Smelling the air desperately,
alas nascent scent it lacks,
Confused she roars, pacing in circles,
going round, over and over,
Then sees a stranger on the tree line
a bold menacing interloper,
His mane bloodied, face heavily scarred,
wearing triumphant gaze,
No it’s not possible, where’s my king,
our protector, father of my babes,
In the distance recognizes her sisters,
pacing back and forth,
Making weird guttural noises,
peculiar terrifying snorts,
They meet up trying to reassure each other,
realizing something has changed,
Deep down aware, balance in the pride,
has been savagely rearranged,
Going into the trees, heads hung low,
finding cubs torn to shreds,
Licking and shoving them, still tepid,
but all the babies are dead,
Distressed lionesses roar,
rage and disillusionment fills fiery eyes,
After some time they walk away,
it’s over, through absence of life and cries,
Showdown in the open, killer awaits,
knowing what must be done,
Has to face the music, for his crimes,
no backing down, he will not run,
Huge and impressive, mane of matted blood,
dripping in egregious sin,
I’m your new master, will fight all to death,
this pride needs a king,
Unbelievably lioness becomes estrous,
no sign of grudging hate,
What’s gone is past, she needs new cubs,
submissive prepares to mate,
Mounting from behind he roars,
jaws locked around her neck,
Seed sprays between her loins,
your sisters are getting some next.
Now go out search the plains,
bring back some worthy kill,
I’m partial to them black and white ones,
seen some leeside of yonder hills,
Yes I’m making changes,
turning this shambles into a home,
Will rule with determination,
your new king, accedes the throne,
No morals to my story,
other than nature can be cruel,
Lets bygones be bygones,
law of the jungle always rules,
Who are we to judge them,
we’re merely hanging on ourselves,
But we’ve evolved choice,
Lions just play the hand thats dealt.
By
David kavanagh
To Dream That Impossible Dream
It is nice to dream the impossible
To reach out and touch the stars
To win that big lottery
And own your favorite bar
To be rich and famous
And own that fancy car
To be married to a super attractive spouse
Who accedes to your every whim
And together you own a fabulous house
Somewhere in that distant dream
You hear your alarm clock begin to scream
As you come to and open you your eyes
And reality begins to set in
You realize that it is impossible to live
The impossible dream
The seeds of self-destructive strife
Were sown soon after drums and fifes
Extolled success from breaking free
From Britain's aristocracy.
The Constitution's writ accedes
Peculiar Institution's needs:
Proportional House seats would be
Increased counting slave property.
Cross purposes within the cloth
Of nationhood revealed the moth
That slowly raveled fine knit strands
Exposing North and South demands.
Decades of wrongs in faint disguise
Betrayed the truth and broke the ties
That bound the states within one cause
And shattered order, faith and laws.
When reason failed to parlay peace
The rift would steadily increase
And split the nation into spheres
With fighters formed from extant fears.
North claiming states could not secede
Waged Civil War against that creed.
South claiming states had rights innate
Then waged a War Between the States.
Long years saw men in Blue and Gray
Lay lifeless forms by path and way
As armies swarmed then crept from fights
And Death employed its solemn rites.
When South drove north exposing flaws
So foreign States would join its cause,
The North held ground forcing retreat
And quashed Rebellion's last entreat.
And, proclaimed end to slavery,
The by-product of strategy,
Emancipates morality
To confront past ignominy.
The storm clouds of impending fate
From intervention dissipate
And war grinds to a bloody halt
With thousands dead as a result.
The Union came to be maintained
With frightful cost of life sustained
Granting renewal to recast stakes,
Haunted by ghosts of past mistakes.
While time would try to heal these wounds,
Those deep cut scars to this day loom.
From tribulation life resumed:
The body politic exhumed.
Tapping into our neurons
where only brain cells should go
Past dreams mean nothing now
unconscious thoughts just flow
An abstract realm of reason
touchpad signals unbeknown
Fires up, post-human imagination
our intelligence genes regrown
And so it's all written in code
old commandments redrawn
Binary replaces ancient Latin
age of replicants has dawned
Interfaced with artificial reality
and engaged to usb clones
We marry terabyte processors
reproducing ten billion drones
Reprogrammed ancient scriptures
floods overwhelm our homes
Heaven and hell's using robots
I-God now accedes the throne
By
David Kavanagh
In my fancy, I sat upon yet unwashed stones,
surrounded by Tide's ebbing and rising flows.
Time comes and goes and
the stones wear, erode.
But still I return
to sanctuary,
my abode.
I return to silence broken by
free-flying gulls and
gentle lapping waves.
The sea, Great Lady, everchanging
but not,
calls
inspires
never tires.
When pull comes, she accedes
then on distant shore rises,
then to me returns,
returns
returns again.
Would that I could do but the same?
Something not to be.
So I sit,
I listen,
I wait
upon unwashed stones.
And instead,
I dream.