Best Affectation Poems
you ...
are my moon
(whisper me, coolly)
wan and pale as porcelain
milky moll - `china doll ...
dancing the sky like a Ginza geisha
stars tickling your toes
prettily petulant, and perfectly ...
imperfect
my moon ...
(whisper me, wondrous)
warm ... lemon drop on my tongue
teasing me to your fire
feral fool ...
I, the unwary prey - the Mandarin moth
charmed by your glisten
listen - do my wings flutter ...
or my heart?
moon ...
(whisper my name)
round and radiant - red as a cranberry
tart, sweet, luscious-lipped
dipped fruit, forbidden ...
peek-a-boo clouds of mixing emotions
stormy weather sighs
soft flesh pressed to softer ...
your kiss
my moon ...
(whispering madness)
beryl blue sadness and distant as dreams
obscured by brume and illusion
erotic suffusion ...
you pull on my blood like tidal bore
gibbous or gone
your glow is my utter apogee ...
affectation, pure
you ...
are my moon
(whisper your wishes)
I am magic, bathed in your pearly enchantments
face turned, or commanding my heavens
you are ever true ...
hues and moods in multitudes
all meant to melt me
to drip like honeyed passion ...
when you ...
whisper.
* This is a free verse form I invented called “LUNACRITICA” - I hope you enjoyed it! *
Inside-Out with all the psycho-babble.
Multifaceted melange - merry and melancholy.
My pen’s prophetic,
authentic,
inadequate.
Hazel eyes that ponder divinity:
See the world.
See God through the world.
See the people.
Empathize with earthly beings.
Fall to my knees.
Seek inspiration.
Grab it with gusto.
Don’t wait for the brain to catch up.
I observe the peculiarities in my familiar space.
I often hide behind the blinds.
Occasions, work, and friends -
push me out into the serendipitous sun and clouds.
Clench books on dusty shelves.
Throw them into a shopping cart -
they’re all free.
Attempt to organize floaters -
those iotas, that crystallize,
to form a complete thought.
Exhaustive concordance of my travels -
violets, forget-me-knots, tulips,
and fear and sorrow
The viscous web of grandiose heights -
zip lines, edge of mountains, glacier treks.
Falling...falling back on my knees.
Confident? Conceited?
A poet - that’s me.
And ideas materialize -
with family and strangers,
life and death.
The affectation of emotion, pondered.
Like a journalist, I report roller-coaster happenings.
You see, I used to merely have an emotion,
get comfortable in its chair.
Now I play with it,
craft my joy or despair.
The mirror cracks -
my reflection
as I grow wizened,
with a chromatic symphony
of mystique.
LOVE FOR GREAT OR SMALL
Many eons ago, in minds far superior to ours
from a past Man never knew the earth became habitable
before the savage became Homo-sapiens
visitors had come from unknown worlds scouting earth for expansion
They carefully laid seeds of their DNA and planted green vegetation
returning several millennia later to sow their crops
the early laborers expressed love in the way they planted their crops
upon returning they saw earth had flourished
Mourn if you must for our present predicament
cry what we have become but our origins were borne out of Love
leave no unsavory emotion untouched all emotions have been earned
we must savor each emotion before we settle in our graves
"Stay brave," the space farmer said with affectation,
“Don’t become mindless dead meat enjoy the life you've been given
it'll be the only one you'll get, when you find a mate
love like you never loved before enough to last a millennia
and don't forget kindness, give your fellow humans much kindness"
Pundits and wise men have said it since Man could talk
there are no tomorrows in death
they also said death is temporary, souls are eternal
and experience of having lived before is not knowable
But care enough for someone at least once
and discover why love is so revered in the Universe
if you do not, you have lived a lonely, wasted life
and misused your life’s purpose and God's great gift of life to you
Nothing feels better to a person’s skin in winter
when the icy winds blow and snow scurries from nook to cranny
than body heat from both bodies cuddled, naked under warm blankets
it may bring forth ideas to commit to Love forever
Love is in abundance. just look around
yet Love is desperately needed but know there is someone for everyone
Love comes from the inner depths of one's heart
just don’t be so picky, experienced love has no equal
Love for all creatures, great and small, is desperately needed everywhere
nay demanded by the vast expanse
of this dark, cold and unwelcoming Universe
the place we call home.
He
is
in fact
a poet -
he really is a
poet - and a real horse trainer.
He has held one-term jobs at various colleges -
but never so far away that he can't keep in touch with the stables. He gives readings -
but only - as he says - once in a blue moon - he doesn't stress the poetic employment - sometimes this is annoying this - affectation -
but one can see the point - when you're busy with horses people can see that you are busy - but when you're busy at making up a poem you look as if you're in a state of idleness and you're too embarrassed to explain.
Ah, the "daily grind" ...
spin, spin, the big stone wheels,
the weighty rollers of life trundle on, inexorable ...
the intense churn of actuality cares not what finds its press -
Grain or chaff, peril or promise, all at its mercy.
But the painful grind is necessary ... crucial, even.
The crushing weight of verity, growth and wisdom,
creates a process as elemental as breath itself.
The fruitful heart is often hidden ...
within shells of bad habit, error, affectation, and pretense,
so the glorious honesty of a spirit, often bears a hard exterior.
Society and happenstance create phony skins ...
Brittle but strong husks of falsehood that we hide behind,
that we tend to use incorrectly as tools of ease and deflection.
Only through the braying of truth and reality
is the resistant and distorted hull broken down ...
And the wealth and bounty inside, set free.
Yes, the daily grind is real ... and not to be taken lightly,
but it is, as life itself ...
our brutal and beautiful blessing.
~ 4th Place ~ in "The Gristmill" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "June 2018 Standard Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor.
FEARS
Wandering thoughts while half asleep
Waiting for ghosts that come back to creep
In my mind, while squirming in bed
Woke up and shuffled , bury my face deep
Dishonesty haunts my spirit in slumber
Inches from face putting me asunder
With every breath, he lies there awake
Dancing with the wind, surrounding my breadth
Throbbing heart that skips so fast
Bile piling up, counting, keeping a mark,
Fingers clutching hair, while toes are numb
With soul so tired, groping, resigned
Reckoning, fleeing from truth,
Squinting, moving, crying in shrill voice,
Though in quandary, deciding to move on,
To settle the confusion without affectation
Pallor sweeping countenance with fear
Head bowed down before a council in circle
Waiting for judgement, becalmed by quiet,
Of liberating step, I dared to take.
Sparring with demons, and dragons and deadheads
It bobs and weaves like a drunken sailor.
Omnipresent, omnipotent and omniscient
I'm quite attached to it - joined at the psyche.
Image of an incubus twirling as I do.
Patron Saint of agony, I curse it
And relegate it to a 2nd-class personage.
Out, damn spot, out - and take the blood with you.
When I am naked, it is clad (no projection),
No libido, no tumescence, no consummation.
How's that for a declension?
When it ascends, I float in the ether.
This hermaphrodite queen is superior
To all mono-sexual beings
And since I am bound and bounded
It supplies the rope, the pins and the Worchestshire Sauce
Third person singular with plural overtones.
No objection for this object of my affectation.
Alas, the narcissus cannot not spin like lilies,
But only vegetate with the legumes.
The coda, finale, epilog await
Looming like a sarcophagus awaiting its occupant
And alcohol cannot still the tooth
That nibbles at its soul.
What is kindness
What is kindness?
Divine feeling of compassion?
What is kindness?
Willingness to help the helpless?
To the deprived, consolation?
Certain times, an affectation?
What is kindness?
06/ Dec/12
S.Jagathsimhan Nair
Form: Rondelet : - 7 lines, Rhyme Scheme: A-b-A-a-b-b-A, Sylls: 4-8-4-8-8-8-4.
For Debbie's 'Rendolets or 7 lines'.
'Tween Sensibilities' Splendor
You speak adamantly of gentle courage
and sharing spring's flourished nectar,
the swooning rhythm of swaying trees
and the easeful breezes that flow
'tween endearment's sensibilities,
misty moonbows 'neath dusk's stormy skies
& lavender sunsets amidst rosy horizons,
affectation surging betwixt life's turmoils
wallowing in self indulgence & indecision,
the harmony of olive branch surrender
as thrumming heart's string patience,
it was then I comprehended, darkness doesn't
last a lifetime whence lit by love's fortitude
Frank Herrera's "What Love Is" Contest
So many words are there in our speech,
they can be very poor, they can be rich.
No one can be indifferent to their meaning
as they are alive and express your feeling.
Spoken word is not just a sound,
it can’t be found on the ground,
it’s always in your head, sometimes in your soul.
When it is spoken it becomes a parole.
A word is an energy of your spirit,
it was presented to you by God, it’s His merit.
A word is a tool of communication,
A word is a source of information.
“A word spoken is past recalling”.
Strolling all around it can’t be found,
returned back and kept in your sack.
“The pen is mightier than the sword”,
that was told about a written word.
Words, words, words………………
They are love and seduction,
each one with a certain function.
They are wonders of sin
and songs of education.
They are salvation, temptation, affectation…
They can be an executioner,
they can be the owner of a whiner.
A word can be a treatment,
It helps when you are ill.
A kind word is better than a pill.
But…there are words that just kill.
They sound like a horrible drill.
Words, words, words…………
They are triumph and defeat,
They can be pleasant and sweet.
At the end of my message
I would like everyone to acknowledge:
Each word has a strength
and it doesn’t depend on its length.
So, think before saying a word,
as it is quite well heard even by walls,
it touches someone’s soul,
it shouldn’t be a wicked foul.
“Better the foot to slip than the tongue”.
And there is no exception either you are old or young.
Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
His love indescribable
His presence overwhelming
A child longing to meet its father
Its cry so unbearable
Mangling to the heart; melancholy
A bondage unbreakable
Apart from being crestfallen by the cruel world,
the child croons to its father to hear its cries,
to save it from the cruel world and its temptations.
World has taught its people to misconstrue everything
World which continues to create cross-patched people,
so acrid and easily credulous
Affectation people
desperate to receive miracles, wealth, see signs and wonders;
trapped in our own world, self-centered.
Credulous people we become
easily deluded by the cunning.
Set apart we must become
like servants awaiting their master,
like new born babies opening their eyes for the first time
like the shepherd's sheep
like masterpieces of the master
So much stunned at man's alienation
even in the man-made world.
Stunned at the human folly to lust for relations
carrying the signboard "Strictly Prohibited".
Wisdom nullified at the foolish acts
and relationships ruined by the misunderstandings
and egocentric behavior.
Consistent silence not willing to bear any interference of words;
still personal secrets roar in public.
Virginity tarnished by the compelling circumstances.
Mankind dehumanized by the hectic activity
and illusions shatter in face of grim reality.
The very inspiration results in dissuasion
and the Quality crushed under the heavy feet of Affectation.
So much stunned at the talent gone wasted for so many years
as man gets trapped in the wheel of existence killing all soft feelings.
violent roses
now i am awake inside and i have feeling
its been so long that i think I might be panicking
is this a truth or lie I hate to think.
I can't live this way in consent misery
and I know I've been loved in life
I'm sure I've had this feeling, I think once or twice
I've been god
I've been the devil
I've been the beacon of light
and the darkest part of the shadows
I have been the love
I have been the evil
I have been man every woman dreams they had at night
holding tight, I am there armor, destroying angel, self-sacrifice.
Life is cruel
life's a lier
life will trick into the fire.
Suffocation my desires
affectation now
I don't kill flowers
I pick them for her darkness, I see her beauty
walk with me, fly with me upon broken wings
if you fall I am there catching you softly in the air
I could do anything for dedication,
walk into hell or heaven demanding a position
Right-hand man, I accept no less
with my light
and my darkness
the queen who all of
hell and heaven will respect
looking magnificent in her dress
made from angels wings, satans skin, spells and rituals
spells have been made to protect her soul within.
when I am gone, on my job,
dropping angels from heaven who have sinned
I peel there wings off throwing them,
i told you beautiful
there still is darkness in the heavens
Voltaire just Kant angle cut it
Beauvoir broad side view
abut the narrow Rousseau
gender Thoreau thought causeway
As Sarte Marx the entrance unlit —
Avicena chapiters atop da Vinci pillars,
Stuart Mill sturdily sit
Arendt spiral steps turn Spinoza
down to the Alighieri depths
Socrates ambience got a Dewey dungeon
decimal Fodio gradient affectation
Awolowo still wanna Sodipo cubit cut it,
but some Augustinus genius
won’t even Nyerere beveling make
the reed Descartes arch decision
Wollstonecraft overlaid on contoured Witt
Piper leveled with Gargi precision ...
A Solomon blueprint found in a keen closet
Like many, I masqueraded in shades of urban gray.
I offered my love to the midnight neon angel.
I walked the caliginous streets alone and astray.
She remained distant, alluring, always disdainful.
I courted cynicism, resignation, and despair as my style.
I wore tilted fedoras in smoke-filled reeking bars.
I feigned culture and literacy, trying to look worthwhile.
I blush now, recalling my see-through shooting stars.
Like many, I was just a child renting a man’s body.
I impersonated adulthood with stylized gloom.
I thought maturity was an act, so mine was shoddy.
I donned trench coats, my affectation in any room.
My blinking street angel had seen it all before.
My love for her was simulation and nothing more.