Best Ague Poems
Nameless nomad from nowhere needed nestling niche
Emotions enveloped evermore excitement exuberant
Vague venture veered on valiant venerable voyage
Ever eager to enter enticing enclave of enduring endearment
Recognized remote rhythm of romantic reverie in rippling rapture.
Life’s listless landscape lighted lunar luminosity lured by your lilac love
Evidently eager I’ll earn, emerge enamored at edge of ebullient ecstasy
To tread the twilight trail, travel to your tulip tinged turquoise terrace.
My mind marauding in mauve meadow murmurs don’t maroon me
Even if eroding emerald enchantment ever ends embedded in ember.
Glitzy green garden gone grey, growing gloom grabs, never let me go
Open obscure old orifice on orb, I’ll orbit out of oblivion owning you.
March 27, 2019
Contest : Pick A Title, Vol 3 Alliteration
Sponsor : Edward Ibeh
Title chosen : Never Let Me Go
A fly and ant, upon a sunny bank,
Discuss'd the question of their rank.
'O Jupiter!' the former said,
'Can love of self so turn the head,
That one so mean and crawling,
And of so low a calling,
To boast equality shall dare
With me, the daughter of the air?
In palaces I am a guest,
And even at thy glorious feast.
Whene'er the people that adore thee
May immolate for thee a bullock,
I'm sure to taste the meat before thee.
Meanwhile this starveling, in her hillock,
Is living on some bit of straw
Which she has labour'd home to draw.
But tell me now, my little thing,
Do you camp ever on a king,
An emperor, or lady?
I do, and have full many a play-day
On fairest bosom of the fair,
And sport myself upon her hair.
Come now, my hearty, rack your brain
To make a case about your grain.'
'Well, have you done?' replied the ant.
'You enter palaces, I grant,
And for it get right soundly cursed.
Of sacrifices, rich and fat,
Your taste, quite likely, is the first;--
Are they the better off for that?
You enter with the holy train;
So enters many a wretch profane.
On heads of kings and asses you may squat;
Deny your vaunting I will not;
But well such impudence, I know,
Provokes a sometimes fatal blow.
The name in which your vanity delights
Is own'd as well by parasites,
And spies that die by ropes--as you soon will
By famine or by ague-chill,
When Phoebus goes to cheer
The other hemisphere,--
The very time to me most dear.
Not forced abroad to go
Through wind, and rain, and snow,
My summer's work I then enjoy,
And happily my mind employ,
From care by care exempted.
By which this truth I leave to you,
That by two sorts of glory we are tempted,
The false one and the true.
Work waits, time flies; adieu:--
This gabble does not fill
My granary or till.'
Jean de La Fontaine. Translated From French By Elizur Wright 1882.
Form:
I Slept with a Female Mosquito..... By Peter Onyancha
(part I)
I Slept with a Female Mosquito.
Waking up, Good morning, but goodness!
Stupid lewd fly; family of the blood sucker
Fretful, I study the plumped mosquito
My science talks to me, unfaltering
My eye bulges and I nod, I see, I understand
Pretentious snout, proboscis, piglet wishes, I nod
Crooked legs, Ague grass hopper
Supporting a red load, Oh lord
Overladen rotund raw bottom, I see
Drooping head, like a sniffer dog
Satisfied silence, night accrued quietness
Anopheles! I scream –
She clutches tighter on the net; what next?
The scandalous vampire, ague hawker
A female mosquito, Anopheles
I lay flat, you lay fat
Goiter! I slept.
Robert Frost...A Reflection
No matter corporeal essence
of Robert Frost bid adieu
from temporal plain approximately
five and fifty plus years ague,
his rediscovered spiritual
omnipresence suffuses anew
mine gnarly feeble exegesis
denounce-able, deplorable,
and despicable hue
Morris legacy of Robert Frost, who
nonetheless (auld choke king aside)
doth rank as irreproachable amidst
pantheon of deceased
great poets, you
would agree, unless familiarity
already yar aware
how the New England vantage point
(approximately three quarters
of a century) in the past
his (WMGK) magic doth blare
infusing and injecting
a much needed cheer
full dose of dare...
ring ling lee, (I spout
je nais sais quois)
in my attempt
to be poetically debonair
(the only French known to me)
in an effort to endear
homage Robert Frost,
he whose flair
with words defy accolades
and brilliance doth glare
with blinding profundity here
to fore lamentable, impossible, and
feeble attempt to emulate,
a immortal one man brand
amidst pantheon of
August American poets,
the depth of,
his writings doth expand
lovingly justifiably ineluctably
historically gently fanned
this nonpareil poetic king,
whose status grand
which feeble, ignoble,
and laughable attempted hand
(spurred by facilitator
at "All Poetry" website) island
did this impossibly
elusive task, thus admit
admission aye feel duff feet head
to write letting words flit
to and fro, hither and yon,
that bind like true grit
with that esprit
de corps cerebral impact
that doth gently hit
ice suppose said task
would be a breeze to an Innit
where he/she,
would immediately synchronize
unlike myself, who whiz
not up to this task,
as yukon up prize
thy dog gone ruff hewn effort -
no (Chuck Norris) lies
attested as wretched - to by
any gallivanting guys
hence aye desperately axis allies!
they would dice many a chive
by management me from da dive
apartments in hatfield in close proximity
to the bloody sorry fate
oof a von nee gutt
thar slaughter house five.
mine eyes saw gore
and remained fixated
orbital fixture
of poor creatures in a daze
sans reaction averting gaze
away from disgusting entrails
visible picture amidst the maze
of chutes and ladders
stepping on select
foursquare did raise
or lower (similar to an elevator)
but movable blocks
also went cross ways
oh, anyway, this reply
written by me - scott math u
passable poet tree - at most true
this email far ye to rue
these twisted sister strands
of pearl jammed zz topped
chromosomal strands being did hew
who only to five feet and ten inches grew
crafts, finesses,
indulges love of language
to prose from fingers flew
and writes poems
cawing all r e'en juiced
one angry emu
leaving her/his presents
custom made doo doo
per comprising a motley crue
of a family - pearl jammed color ague.
please rsvp asap via text
to me scott matthews my chosen ac/dc label
i.e. pleasure like rubbing against sable
create r hard woo n intimate scorpion fable
unless ja noah under me ma jib rush
like inxs o ruck kiss in tower o babe bull
by texting if willing, ready, eager and able
froom - - scotts matthew
who lives way off the mainline -
juiced about a few dirty dozen dancing deeds
done dirt cheap miles west of philadelphia,
and some ten miles east of king o prussia
pennsylvania who imagines your sultry skin
silkily soft as a lynx, pussy cat
rubbing against ma leg under da table.
Sent from my iPhone 456789
Perhaps like a lightning
bolt of clear out of the blue
rigor mortis (tenon and
three decades hence)
two thousand fifty nine if you
count from January 13th 2019, adieu
attest that day 9 months I did brew
in wound (of the late Harriet Harris),
now finds me loved ones
crying boo hoo,
after this stiff mortal
Earthling bid toodle loo
with symbolic casket
(carrying cremated urn of ashes)
remembrance attended
by gentile and Jew
sharing positive memories purportedly
about this nondescript
fellow they knew
mainly indirectly, poignantly,
and wickedly shot thru
with his insightful humorous scribblings,
plus magnus opus titled
"How do ye do,"
an informal rambling missive bereft
of any subject and
devoid with little clue,
the purpose of said hefty tome
out weighing The Federalist circa: knew
lee after American independence
Papers, written by true
purrs under the pseudonym "Publius"
but great (as a great doorstop), or
alight as tinder for barbeque
since many admirers never
read his text written in Hebrew,
fluency acquired spending
final years he grew
old, since automatic citizenship
granted based on genetic goo
plus Mediterranean climate helped promote
longevity to century his health did hew
thus naturally pronounced philosophy,
where he drew
quite a wide web asper the many
claims Matthew Scott did eschew
to maintain longevity (more
quackery than science), but who
could dispute glorious
principles, not to poo poo
analogous to placebo effect
harmless fervent coping methods,
whether to cure ague
interestingly enough he cited ack hue
puncture for a gamut of physical ills
as well he did advocate chew
wing food (after taking small bites)
until mouthful became pulpy slew
(proponent of Fletcherism), this to
exercise dentures in addition
to maximize stew
pen diss experience of simple
routine eating view
wing thoroughly good (by George)
said quotidian activity grew
tubby spiritual, similarly basic
functions in general did get skew
ward whereby meditation on intrinsic,
metabolic and scholastic
processes to name a few
added a dimension of enhancement prior to
exiting life into frontier mortals can only rue.
You are so beautiful dark on the rich Soil,
Dark and sweet like chocolate,
Sun shines on your face,
You remain beautiful dark.
Sun sets in the evening ,
You remain beautiful dark.
Your skin coulor is natural dark bright,
Which produces a light that shines hearts of million lovers on this globe,
You are so loved dark lady on the earth,
Your precious dark skin adapts to different climates,
You are adaptable to all life conditions,
Your adorable dark skin resist many diseases,
Don't ever ague about your miracle skin,
God knew the reason to choose virgin Mary among other women,
Know your speciality,
Be always you in front of some white , yellow, brown, red women.
Dark beautiful woman,
Be always proud of yourself.
Remember that your special dark skin coulor gives sleepless to some people on earth.
Say always thanks to God who well created you,
Dark woman with,
Big golden eyes ,
Blue surphire eyes,
Black diamond eyes.
The eyes which intoxicate any man who looks into them,
Don't ask why majority of men see me like a wonder?
You are so wonderful,
Very expensive than black diamond,
If a white or black man felicitate you for your rarely shape,
Say loudly , " thank you so much dearly"
You are so adorable in the World , Dark woman.
Poem by Alfonso Warally Ngengethe Mussabwa Chris
Love is a collage
Of dreams, unlike a mirage,
Vague, and yet precise...
Even sharing a massage
Done with love, gets enjoyed twice.
(TANKACROSTIC)
5/19/2021
TANKACROSTIC Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
(Idle musings on the facade of Seville Cathedral)
How patiently they suffer, these old saints!
Their sandstone features, crumbled, vague,
some noses gone (some medieval ague,
or Time's cruel drip?) they offer no complaints.
Stranded seven centuries on this reef,
they bake, and wait resignedly, begowned,
for bell-tower shade slowly to inch around.
Do bas-reliefs experience relief?
This church was once a mosque. In point of fact,
the holy ancient venerable Gothic pile
(and here one struggles to suppress a smile)
has relatively recently been sacked,
and only lately put to Christian use.
These saintly faces, preternaturally mild -
do they still fret? Or are they reconciled
to slow decay, as hand or ear works loose?
And do they savour time as you or I,
observing how, below them in the street,
perukes give way to pony-tails and pleats?
Or do, for them, Septembers flicker by
like squandered seconds? Do they muse on Fate
and Destiny? What if my youth has gone?
What if this woman keeps me hanging on?
They also serve who only stand and wait.
And in the well-worn ache
of turning mourning,
there are no more tears-
for all is beauty-lathed
misery, held unswathed,
without fearing to uptake
hope's new sculpted shape.
A changeling exchanged
while flailing naked
in it's abyssal state.
And wholeness excises, to demean
only fruitless shoots, now seen
to sow what has no further meaning.
And in the ague
of restless morning's
fitful, nude, new break
from dim, unsculptured yaw-
fretful feet leave
dark, wet indents in dew.
Old soul trails beneath gift's gape-
heaven's gate, just ajar,
seeps, speaks healing wreathed
in Love- the writhing heart agape.
And thr dry-cried throat
too friction ground to speak,
slakes it's thirst on dew-
Heaven's assuage tempers, cools.
And in eyes' age
of blinding burnings-
forceful, rude muckrake,
there are no more proud airs.
For eyelids pasted shut, caked
in self- molded clay's despair,
felt insightful incision
draw sharp truth's decision deft-
knavish knots excised, reveal
man's Sculptor knows justly how
to grave His image.
And seeing is only believing,
when believing is cleft open
to high insight's slice and sculpt
understood, read, spoken.
02/12/2017
An Unlively Very Stiff (upper Lip) Masquerade
(any resemblance between averred one laid
to rest and yours truly...purely coincidental
regarding unnamed person liberated
into heavenly glade!)
though innocently youthful looking air
at three score year,
or so the trumpeting "FAKE" mirrored reflection
(animated, sans Alexa) programmed tube lear
and spout, one most familiar Shakespeare
refrain (frequently misinterpreted) wherefore
art thou Romeo, really translates as
“Why did you have to be a Montague?”
no matter living to max,
I did not accrue
hoping to lyft mine uber last dying wish,
no matter body besotted, kissed,
and riddled with ague
spirit fights futile demise submerging
into bone a fied underworld brew,
any bargain exhausted with grim reaper
past hour to argue
lifelessness accorded ritual
traversing along deathly
other mortals traversed, paved,
and hallowed avenue
sudden agedness tolled
danse macabre league
with trumpeting battue
rigor mortis in toto
human flesh turned blue
oddly starved of wrinkles
thee only cherished clue
that perhaps...key expiration
coroner did misconstrue
bah...false alarm let somber retinue
solemnly proceed so poet can continue
pointless against corpse
dead letter diktat to counterargue,
nor against cosmic creator
can one countersue,
or expect miraculous success cue
wing sudden resurrection,
when biological processes
particularly brought to halt by dengue
fever, and rendering void
erroneous, unlikely mistaken
death sentence, hence sigh continue
and marvel quiet eternal repose
avails most pronounced distingue
lying in state (within coffin)
pulling out all stops
guaranteeing her/his endue
perhaps casket sealed with
decedent's favorite chiffon fondue
unsure what grim missing fate will ensue,
asper the (soul) surviving,
perhaps reincarnated within
commencement of fescue
as verdant leaves of
wit man ask grass
or if cremated...surely
spiritual embodiment freed thru flue
but no matter,
(je ne sais quois) glue
thee only I French I knew
before bidding dearly departed
may dog bless ye - adieu!
I wake up alone
Lying on my bed
On my own
Vague dreams in my head
Engaging ahead.
Yet my love is clear for
Only you, that I adore
Undeniable, indeed.
Jump Start
Reflective pebbles dash the lost marbles of my kind,
I struggle to get going, almost certainly lost my mind,
An ague aches drawn lines upon a taut canvass,
Sandwich hammed into a figure, I guess you can't understand,
The calamity of breathing, the noises damning man,
Each motion an act towards living of utter devotion,
Gurgling innuendo, with the slow clammy sweat,
Which is owned by another, carrying my name,
To be sure last night I said no more,
But the wine won my game just the same.
@Andrew Carnegie, Hungover in Wiltshire, 12th Jan, 2017.
A ghostly shade of white that cloaks the ground
Of contoured guesswork and ominous mound
With flecks of skyward flakes tossed by the storm
That frost the gray, obscure the day and change its form
Observed within to look beyond a misted window pane
Into bitter extremities of ague and blaine
A snowbound silence that inhibits the soul
And uncertain depth that impedes all goals
Struggling iconic beauty that stealthily grows
Haphazardly drifting across the moors
Confining rugged scene of whitened dune
Snowbound and shackled this afternoon
To gaze and sit and reflect and ponder
The greenery beneath the shroud out yonder
Available options stand the bile as they make the will bent
Massachusetts may be best for the holiday to be spent
But the rod of its weather may hit the comfort of its rent
Indecision, glorified from knowledge’s available dent
Vague is their understanding to a result from what they meant
Abstract control and power, making the priest eat meat in lent
Light, maybe heavy, not knowing where the definition went
Eight out of twenty, in idea makes contribution absent
No end point, as in midway, the anger of shortcoming vent
Thought or decision, on many roads, leading to no tent