Best Acquiesced Poems
He told me to be quiet each time I tried to speak
knowing I'd obey for he believed I was meek
Months went by and I acquiesced to his wishes
until I had enough and started flinging dishes
"Shhh," he said and placed a vile finger to his lips
I had enough of him and put my hands on my hips
"You can't tell me who to talk to. I'll not be quiet
If you think I'll stand for this, go ahead and try it."
He thought I was joking. Well wasn't he the fool?
I won't be used by any man. I'm not any man's tool
He's buried in the backyard in an unmarked grave
I bet now he knows I wasn't going to be his slave
Each night I dress in widow's black and take a walk
Mascara running from tears of joy, I give him a talk
I lay a finger against my lips, then I smile and say,
"Shhh, you know it's your fault you had to go away."
I knew you long before
pursuit's intention shone,
felt you in sun's fiery warmth
& shooting star surrender,
heard your voice on soft
burbled whispers of sweet zephyrs
and nectar'd songs of hummingbirds,
saw your depths of magnificence
in sapphire ocean tides
cresting 'neath effulgent moons
savoring breaths of crystalline
snowflakes on crisp sea air,
I knew strength in your convictions
for it braved every fantasy's illusion
acquiesced 'tween dulcet desires,
whilst the strong presence of your charms
envelop'd every night's dreaming
My mother’s hair hung thick and to her waist.
But seldom did she wear it in that way,
for always in a bun she had it placed
til it was loosed and on her pillow lay.
She sometimes tells me how I'd kidded her.
When I was small, I said, “Your hair is pink!”
From how she tells this story, I infer
I must have caused her tender heart to sink.
She aged, yet grey was sparse upon her head.
We said, “An older woman cuts her hair.”
Mom acquiesced and lost those locks rare red
she’d humbly worn for years when young and fair.
She’s nearly eighty now, bobbed hair turned brown,
And how I miss her once “pink” glory crown.
By Andrea Dietrich
A vision through the haze of time and rhyme
a mirrored beauty, Helen sits and waits.
I see her through the window for it's late,
at dawn, I'll bring her death, for she's not mine.
As yet, the key's not turned in lock sublime,
and I will stand and wait as fear dictates.
The Master's carriage leaves at half past eight
then I approach the shrouded outer gate.
Through the door and to Helen's room, I run,
and grasp her tightly to my beating chest.
I tear the cloth from her and she's undone.
Helen prays for her Paris dispossessed,
as on the satin sheets my stanchion drums
out of fight and breath, she acquiesced.
This Is No Picnic
We packed up the grill and my uncle took us to the lake
I was hoping for a burger, maybe even a juicy steak
Amazed was I to see the cooler packed with frozen shrimp
What kind of picnic is this? My smiling lips went limp
“Stop pouting,” said Uncle Tim, tossing me a fishing pole
“This here lake is filled with huge trout. It’s the best fishing hole”
If we wanted to eat lunch, first we would have to catch it
Seems his picnic invitation this info did omit
The hours dragged past and we hadn’t had a single bite
Our clan was growing hungry and grandma seemed uptight
So she took charge and lit the grill in spite of Tim's protests
But he could not do battle with her so he acquiesced
Mosquitoes were drawn to scents of shrimp on the barbecue
Then a horde of hornets found our camp and buzzed on through
We screamed and scurried about to avoid their bites and stings
Till Uncle Tim doused the grill and took us to Burger King
He ordered burgers to go, placed a blanket on our lawn
Till this day we still laugh at the antics we’d undergone
Written for Carol Brown's Picnic Time contest
Acquiesced amongst gypsy stardust,
dance of aroused blissfulness
knees went weak mid a zealously flirtatious
sunset, as skies intensity was enraptured
mid fierce moonbeam's caressing zeal,
fulfilling a wickedly wild aching surrender
within ardor's aroused captivation,
enthralling enchantingly obscure sunrise
sensations of endmost satiated fervency,
shorelines met heavens verve
breathless in exhalations' celestial passion,
chanted to the gods 'tween fiery escapism
risen above darkly inclined constellations,
'til consummated resplendence of night
burst forth in explosive exaltation
dreamt of ink's splendiferous poetry
The lemurs perched on branches,
Fluffy tails all hanging down;
Their faces looked like rubber
And their fur was russet brown.
There might have been a dozen
In this part of the display,
When something happened that
I don’t think happens every day.
A piercing, noisy, clamorous
Cacophony of sound
Erupted from these animals;
Their terror was profound.
Such agitation, so intense,
(This was the real megillah)
Was triggered by a man who made
The noise of a gorilla.
I guess it was convincing
For the lemurs were quite crazed;
And those of us who witnessed this
Were equally amazed.
When they calmed down, a child piped up,
“Dad – make that noise again.”
The father acquiesced, to prove
The intellect of men.
The lemurs, though, did not react
For instinct did suffice
To let them recognize the fool
Who’d try to trick them twice.
His life now has permanently changed
Costing him more than aches and pain
As slowly he walks on prosthetic legs
Humility reigns, taxing venturous brain.
Propelling courage fiercely he fought,
Defying death, meeting face to face.
Concealed within his unflinching image,
Torment open wounds of unholy place.
Unsteady mind roams haunted now,
No longer capable to hold a steady job.
Death and destruction hammer his mind
Where angst and hurt relentlessly throb.
Determined as ever but he feels restless
Having acquiesced to tallies of life,
When his toll was counted in unpaid bills
And loss of dignity to agonizing strife.
Able man he was before he went to war
Returning home after he almost died.
As a grateful nation sincerely thanks him
Resolutely he moves to restore his pride.
November 9, 2018
Dedicated to veterans of war
I noticed her two weeks ago.
She flew into my physics lab
like hell itself was after her
and tripped as she sat down.
She's always late for classes,
stammering her apologies,
flustered and myopic, her glasses
barely perched upon her nose.
Accident-prone, she barreled
through the library like Grant
attacking Richmond, giggling nervously
as she checked out her books.
To me she is a treasure, a whirling
dervish dressed in black and white,
always black and white, like for her
it's some particular religion.
I asked her to the movies. She acted
like I was the first who'd ever taken
interest, she was flattered but she
flatly and decidedly said no.
She had thrown down the gauntlet,
so I set out to woo her with my wit
and charm, taking every opportunity
to bump into her when and where I could.
Finally she acquiesced, and when
she slowed down enough to smile
and chat and laugh and joke with me
my heart was hers to keep!
concur in the nights under the starry eyes.
..with romantic winds blowing ...
.by the sea shore..
.with waves reaching and touching your feet
...sands of heavenly bliss.
..forbear the stress and just lay down in my lap
...get cordialized by the dimness of the sun
..
.feel the nature that invigorates...
walk over bridges of peace and love with thick layer of leaves in fall.
...
get acquiesced by the nature and breathe in the heaven leaving the abyss behind!!!!
fall deeper in the depths of uncertainty....
Each day he felt the distance growing,
separating him from where and who
they thought he should want to be.
Though he was adrift in the currents
of prevailing winds, he felt the pull
of strong undertows -- and he didn't know
to which he should acquiesce
or against which he should struggle.
He neither acquiesced nor struggled.
"Didn't he think he should shave, shower
regularly, get a hair cut, lose weight,
shine his shoes, change clothes,
and show up early?
Shouldn't he set an example?"
He wanted to imagine a "but"
to refute apparent logic,
could do no better than to scribble
description which drifted across
the pad, influenced by other
undertows. He tried to last, having
once believed in the universal
flux, but could no longer. Finally,
he avoided mirrors and others'
eyes, kept to the rooms' darker
corners, and no longer engaged
in conversation -- not even with himself.
The King of Anqing raced on horse to Beijing town;
he'd acquiesced and told his new miss she's princess bound.
His intelligence waned, his third leg claimed,common sense?
Not blessed and unwise, he road on his quest in her defence.
The gem in the jewel box she'd taken condemned her.
"Arms length," the court cried "Show a King's strength, sir!"
But, deceit had been plied with sighs in retreat now.
To school went men, paupers or Kings, for Jewel Chunhau
this sprite, his flower, had gone with morning's light snow.
King-Beijing
acquiesced-princess
intelligence-sense
blessed-quest
gem-condemned
length-strength
deceit-retreat
school-Jewel
sprite-light
*Chunhua - means spring flower
Contest: Plucky 2 x 9
2/3/15
Pushed to the edge by reality, yes, these verses will stifle.
A revolving door always present; New York City....Vicious Cycle.
This is a poem about the hardships, and monotony of this age
The world unchanging in its essence....many problems to assuage.
Why is our purlieu in such predicaments, the morass so intense?
It seems the fire has been extinguished; in other words we've acquiesced.
Hallways, alleys, subway stations/where the weak and troubled roam.
Considered dross by our society, that's why the streets became their home.
Our youth in dire straits, how can they be redeemed?
High school dropouts, teenage suicide, and for meth my brothers fiend.
Homeless people are anathema; we seldom love the poor…
New York City...Vicious Cycle....where daily living is abhorred.
A nimbus cloud, can't see the acme/ Where Then Can Love Be Found?
The cacophony breaks the silence; the voice of weeping does resound.
Welfare parents in a quandary, just barely scraping by.
Elderly people doing no better...though receiving S.S.I.
New York City....Vicious Cycle, spreading like a deadly cancer.
Minority children disenfranchised; drug dealing is their answer.
Boys and girls, young and pretty/ jailbait, nowhere to run.
A perfect target for a pedophile; their tender lives have just begun.
Dark specters in every borough; people lost and living trifle.
Eight million stories, naked truth...New York City...Vicious Cycle.
Throughout the years of bars and fences, several things kept me from falling
My Faith in God, My Mom, My Writing...and, that Freedom Was Always Calling
The nightmare started in "93", shipped off to do a second bid
I knew my mother was hurting deeply from all of the pain her silence hid
Downstate was another dagger, the lonely days, the nights, the "Draft"
In times of peace the seagulls shrieking...and, I could have sworn at me they laughed
Then came Green Haven/the pain continued; those forty months in just a cell
Abundant vermin, to live determined...where most Co's were scarred as well
College courses would keep me focused, mixing with others who sought degrees
To be well rounded my reading varied from Og Mandino to Sophocles
All was good, then times grew darker, by "95" my health had waned
Some forsook me while others wondered how my Trust in God remained
On bended knees I prayed this daily..."Not my will be done, but thine"
Then I was showed One set of "Footprints" which I knew could not be mine
Deliverance came, yes things got better; I thought my sorrows were finally gone
Until I left to live in Fishkill, which in truth was Matteawan
Intellectually I was their equal, they had no choice, but to grin and bear it
For, I knew their books, their words, their history...and many things deemed esoteric
Bogus tickets, the box, harassment, they thought I'd fold from all the stress
Still, what would I be if I didn't suffer?...a spineless man who acquiesced
People have asked me how I survived it, a prison life sometimes appalling
I inhaled deeply, and finally told them...That Freedom Was Always Calling
Freedom Was Always Calling by Poetiq1der aka Don Simmons
Succumbing to the allure of lust,
she found seduction in betrayal.
And acquiesced to her bass desires;
in love's realistic portrayal.
Sowed deep within her flirtatious heart,
infidelity's seed got planted.
And nurtured by hope's high exceptions;
happiness was taken for granted.
Shunned by all in an uncaring world;
her reality supersedes theirs.
And with so many sins to forgive,
she just gave up on God and prayers.
A victim of her low self-esteem;
she's cried enough tears to fill oceans.
And believes only death can provide
sanctuary from her emotions.
Oblivion calls compellingly;
from the fragmented fringes of pain.
And beset by thoughts of suicide;
she questions if she's going insane.