Best Allegorywords Poems
A sky of angry screeching,
demanding;
like a raptor in the wind.
Doesn't have the impact
that simple warbling brings.
With fear of cruel words spoken,
love retracts,
like claws on birds of prey;
and all I loved about you
has now flown far away.
Predatory words can rip,
into beings
lovelorn at their peak.
Not accomplishing anything but
the sharpening of the beak.
Poetry Contest on my Desk ……..Peter Onyancha
Sometimes when I bleed on paper
The ink does not talk me well
And I lose the contest words
The words come; all at once
Me here! Me! No, me!
They scream for choice
They beg the ear
Listen, the streaming screams
Daunt, open me, pen me!
Listen my sound; I even rhyme some time
No, me, another word –
I live like a metaphor; I come easy
Count me in, keen, out with it
I am the word.
Now I want to nab you, snap!
To chastise the babysitter ego
I want an academy of anger
I think it, but the ink belies
I want to stitch – even that is not the word!
I want to hide and write
But look behind me
The words are chasing
Like little toons!
Time was an option I did not realise,
As I stood by the ocean,
As I gazed in your eyes.
As I drank down sweet water
And the children ran by,
As I bought me a bargain,
I did not see the signs.
Not to try to live right or be one of the wise,
These are things of great moment
In the deep astral tide.
When the woman of wanting
And the man of despair
In a loss of good reason
To grief make repair.
And the folly of logic
And the labour of doubt
In the chasm of eternity doesn’t merit a shout.
As they make straight the furrow
Not the one on their brow
And do ponder the reason
Of why, when and how?
How to chasten your neighbour,
Or tell him what’s right!
That should make your feel valued
Though I doubt that quite.
So the people of destiny give it their all
As they smooth down their shirt fronts
In the crooked town hall
Like their traffic attendants they all know the rules
One for the makers and one for the fools.
And guess who will be paying
To keep the words on the page
Yet as are rules to the makers
So are words to the sage
To bring comfort to people
To assuage the real grief
Forget times plus = elevated position
There’s good truth on the street.
© Joe Maverick 11-05-2010
I hope you have enjoyed my words from transcended
Being, life and energy translated into spoken word
And metaphors, which is plural cause their mended
Constantly wilded from inside the cypher of a winged
soul.
But the truth is the doctors have fed me meds
Since I was a kid to keep out My creative doctrines
Three times I Was reprogramed by what majority said
And now comes the fourth forced mental ends
How many cycles for the numeric phalicy
The one and million American anti political
Cause two ideas to lead the world is war And chalice
Greed of the few.
That don't concern the working man but killed his son.
So if I don't survive the fourth ride
Remember I spoke my words true
They always came back to my side
no matter what They took of you.
Haze
The taste in my mouth
Phase
this girl I see in the mirror|rorrim eht ni ees I lrig siht
What happened to her mouth?
She had words to say, but it looks like someone taped them out...
GRIND
GRIND
GRIND
those are the words inside her mind
but by the looks of her situation, she's running out of time
When was the last time that real tears where shed
Once in the club hoping to forget by getting those legs spread
Unknown is a mind in need
Letting loose of character and breaking a deed
Drowning is a bed that is poured when you need to breath
Youth seems stop when trouble bleeds
One time I thought everyone was the same
Until I looked at this reflection and realized I changed
Limited is thought
Especially when you can't hear yourself blowing that rock
Timid is a soul, how easily ones forget it could be sold
Memories injected, only to stop the vision of infection
Eating away time
Gone so long, I forgot what which color was the sky
Opening doors, but on the other side there's a wall crushing the floor
...
This girl I see in the mirror|rorrim eht ni ees I lrig sihT
When is she going to stop this disease
before she loses her heart's only please
Sara, it's a long story. but you know most of it. the first time i heard the voice of God
speaking to my soul, it was in three songs by lionel richie. and i heard the words and
a spirit came over me telling me what they ment and what the message was . and it
was to fall in love with april. but at that time april was unwilling but i told her
anyway what the spirit did in that song. later came other clues like in the bible code.
i told momma and the family that i was going to marry april because it was writen in
there in the words "john and april loving." but God found away to let me know that
the "loving" part was not my name but a verb. hHe showed me that He did not lie.
and He showed me through a game i bought not long ago. and then the ideal came
to me that i should make a cross and put it where i got the bad news. well i made
that cross. i put two sticks together painted them white. put some white silk roses
on it with a picture of her in a gold frame. and a silver angel below it. with the words
April My Beloved at peace. and a white teddy bear. i know she wanted it. it lays in
her bed in my basement where i guess now it will stay. but when it was finished the
next day i played a Gerald Levert CD that i had bought. and one song came on and i
felt that same spirit again . the verse went "i'm gonna miss your face" and it let me
be with my april for a while. like i said in the end it's a true story. why would God
want to speak to me? and i asked Him and He said because i gave april to Him when
i wanted to do things Gods way.
(This explains my poem "the visit")
she couldn't help it
when she said what she said
she was just a mouth.
a big o mouth in Washington
a few words before you leave
and those awful words came out
But God gave me an awesome message
while i thought it out.
I have to send a message
through someone with some clout
someone they say is big enough
and will not have to shout
Oh Isreal,
Remember how they treated you
when you were over there?
But since you have
your country
now you think it's fair?
To come from out of Eygpt
and through the wilderness.
Shouldn't someone remind you
"That's how they treated us?"
We are desensitized
We are lost
We watch as others die
We laugh at others hurt
We cry if we don’t get our way
We kill and pierce with our words
And when others mock us
We quote—
“sticks and stones may break our bones
But yours words will never hurt us”
In reality they break our souls
And haunt our conscience
For words are sharper and more harmful
Than any fading bruise.
i've been in love before
i've wrote about everything there is
to live for
in my expressions i try my best
trying phrase after phrase
useing test after test
for does it feel right
does it sound right
does it touch a certian truth
with in
some small ideal and i'll begin
a small piece of paper and a pen
and words come to life
that i somehow claim as mine
maybe they were said before
but never to my mind
i think about my fellow man
with whom this poetry i'll share
through a few lines together
and hope to fine some agreement there
but mostly what i like to do
is melts the womens hearts
they are all Eve in a way
and i have Adams heart
with poetry we define emotions
useing words like love potions
always to impress
make them think more or less
choosing what we think or feel
writing about the fake of real
building pride with in ourself
the use of imagination itself
or perhaps we shall have a cause
write the reasons we have laws
tell the world what we are
try to be a little star
This then
more words to Keats
and wonder where the man might be
sleeping now within his dark
or living yet in you and me?
With no desire of telling us
the things he's feeling now
or yes, it burns, the will is there,
but doesn't tell him how
to reach our minds so far away
thru vast diminsions come between
living now and living then
that we have never seen.
Or gone forever to the dead?
Whooeee! Then what's the use?
Of hanging on to our life
why don't we turn it loose?
I'd rather know him dead and gone
and hidden by a wall
invisible to our eyes.
than not know him at all
and hate to think that words and thoughts
are all he left behind
and accidents we are-----
turn out as tricks of mind.
(Author note: the dead, they are still here, but you must look.)