Best Alternatively Poems
Two sets of three words each
Each sets forces in motion
Mighty as mountains, vast as the ocean
The first set, "I give up"
All momentum it quells
The future, disrupts
The other, "I love you"
Walks you out on a limb
Your destiny magical; alternatively, grim
Utter these three words with the utmost care
Never with a wing; always with a prayer
During the bloom of youth, in the spring of vitality,
Everything is sparkling and has a fresh, real quality.
Summer is the season of growth and rebirth in life,
Every day brings fresh dreams of conquering strife.
In the fall of life, it is time to slow back,
peace of mind and confidence—nothing we lack.
Autonomy and wisdom in winter arise,
It also soothes and reflects tears wiped by the eyes.
However, life continues beyond these seasons,
Each spirit is revived for the most sturdy reasons.
This is a calm fifth season and a bright first spring,
renewed, purified, and wearing a hedge ring.
If only the fifth season could be possible,
I am perplexed as to what this may be.
In the fifth season, would it be invisible?
Allowing a smile that you can see.
I do not require the new year to be happy,
For every post you write, I celebrate.
I do not lack gifts, as when the night is sappy,
since every word, you say is equally satiate.
Each of the four seasons is crammed into one,
A quantum season is a rush of momentum.
Alternatively, a bright or black hole in the sun,
What about the soul of your heart ramentum?
It was lauded in the fifth season above,
Breathe your last free sigh, since this is love.
The sky swirls up, and things are drawn in cursory,
It no longer observes its bereavement anniversary.
Can the brain be used to conceal this perspective?
Can time-beat insight and distance be effective?
Can faith that rises far above reason triumph?
Can love be a fifth season or a sly wood humph?
Written October 30, 2022
The Fifth Season Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco
A stirring lilac breeze for an alarm or,
alternatively, a morning dove's song
Minimum one, maximum two people
absolutely no minors
Several medium-firm pillows
a well-fluffed quilt, untucked
Two auto-frying eggs and strips of bacon
and auto-toasting toast, buttered, triangular
A large glass of freshly-squeezed (by someone else)
pink grapefruit juice
Espresso served in tiny cups à la volonté
steamed milk upon request
A stout newspaper, of which no more than 50%
can be composed of actual news
Miles Davis "Kind Of Blue" looping
in the background
One pair of loose fitting boxer shorts with t-shirt
one pair of bare feet, regardless of the season
And absolutely, positively
no planning whatsoever
Lullaby Slam
Chris boy you wanna be the man.
You must like getting your lights punched in
You are lucky I am your greatest fan
Anyways, 30-year-old poet baby.
I will take it easy on your first spam slam
This occurs with a warning, burning Canadian bacon
Let's take this down to MY Dr. Seuss level
I will draw our first run as sweet as I can
I'd hate to see you crapping like a child
Reading, yes man PD I can
I was going to slam you where it hurt,
after reading all your dirty dirt.
Every mother knows how to take a baby out
Give it warm milk, to tap his ass to sleep
Alternatively, I will milk my way into your dreams
Making you scream
Here's a Lullaby slam to pass you out
I could provoke a military round
But what fun would that be to bring you down
This will not get any justice, from your disgrace
This lullaby slam is to knock you unconscious
For yippee yapping, in my face
Slamming you crazy * does not sound right
Are you really bored, you keep me up all night
You require me to put my P.D. Mask back on
Perhaps tomorrow I will slam you till the night is gone
At this point, time and moment
I will only sting like a bee
To see if you come after me
You might have seen this one before
With the pleasure of making you crawl
For more
I will remain here in the soup
Waiting for you to join in
I will wait to see your next move
Hopefully, I do not suffer from waiting long
Chris-baby tomorrow is another day.
Before I depart, I left you a bottle of warm milk
On this page, for you to drink before you read
Nite, Nite!
Nice baby!
(FUN)
Please advertise your thoughts right here,
Make me savor your every word,
I sweat behaviors of a peer;
Your slogan slashes like a sword.
I bend for brands to kick my pocket,
Over again shares go up and down.
I will hit labels in the socket,
But the other eyes just buy and frown.
Why choose alternatively between two,
When choice's paradox is in your face?
The rows seem endless when you're going through,
Head-turns, carts, retail sounds...uneven pace...
I thought that I should say what I mean
On the subject of ‘****’ and its synonyms—
Derrida’s caveat notwithstanding.
We alternatively dub it turd, crap, poop, etc.
But the whole set of synonyms,
Given its connotation, is not politically correct.
Of course I do have my points.
It is true that the referent has
A lot of nuisance value
– as what is not –
And hence the connotation.
If you leave, for instance, a child
On a commode unattended…!
But you should respect it for some other reasons:
What if your **** refused to leave your bowels,
Or by chance or mischance mixed
With other solids (or fluids) in the body?
Or made hell as it left
The other end of the alimentary canal?
All that you may, then, insist upon is:
There’s a place for everything
And you don’t want ‘****’ in unwanted places.
Fine.
On the positive side, however,
What is **** to you is business
For a pathologist or physician.
So they would all call it sample,
Excrement, feces, refuse, etc.
For a farmer, it’s fertilizer.
So, s/he would call it night soil.
For civic workers, it’s rubbish.
So, why this negative connotation?
I’m not here to prescribe.
I am no Webster or Fowler.
I would, however,insist that
The present connotation should go!
***
I fear you cast yourself in lights too grand
and powerful.
Is it not enough
to acknowledge this legal investigation
of whether you have intended to use your limited powers
for obstructing justice,
fairness,
equity?
You go too far
casting yourself as a witch
hunted for misuse of powers
intended for promoting justice,
fairness,
ecological equity.
Donald Trump,
you are merely President
by minority vote;
you are no hunted witch.
Except, of course,
within your own alternatively factual universe.
She's in the H Bed for an overdose
She's a broken
But beautiful girl
A rose
In and out apparatus to help her breath through her nose
I'm her holding her hand because we're close
I'm her
friend
The weird one who has on his aunts dead husbands clothes
Capture this moment in a photo
"Will she be okay" I'm waiting for the doctors to let me know.
Discharged, out we go.
Back to inhaling and impaling but I'm a critic and an observer I never follow
So I said, "Don't make me cry"
I know what you mean by living everyday life like you want to die
All the sedatives and
okays are a lie
We must endure but why?
But I'll be okay if you don't say goodbye.
The paramedics came
She's back in again
It's all the same
A cycle of pain
Final breath
First death
Pale rose
Her eyes begin to close
Her soul goes.
The tears in out flows.
How am I to survive
When our talks kept me alive
Breaking my hands trying to revive
The one person who kept me alive
Alternatively
Nothing can describe the hatred inside for not having been strong enough to keep you alive
Between you and me the weak one survived
I'd give infinity and more to have you revived.
A nascent hodgepodge
of gobbledygook from me,
or alternatively yours
nada soo true lee,
this incipient harm
less bumbling in das scribe
hubble wordy monster prithee
lee, nonchalantly, and lovingly
enjoys generating inscrutable mish
mash vocabulary,
which vapid unsolicited
largesse - from this dip see
dude dill ling, jabbering, dee
pull hoar rubble casket base,
and quacking rub bush pre
mere ring this harried
styled and swiftly tail
lord gibberish - dee
lib writ lee doth
write play full lee
to maximize obfuscation, dee
fie interpretation, and que
zook lee (quizzically)
silently ha...ha...ha
dis Matt chew wing,
chuckling, unremarkably
lamb baa sting king, she
push lee, dauntingly we
sill lee (weaselly) undermining
comprehension, whar ye
dear reader feel trapped
without a turn key
continually sliding into this
old rotten Goth theme be
have (behave) Ural
sink - as aye blithe lee
undoubtedly matter hoof
act corroborate with (be
leave me you) this
"FAKE" sniveling dee
mean nor (demeanor), the least
bit concerned if ye
unfairly find mine cumber
some harried style i.e.
spooner than later
lore or mess free
dissociation, viz parched
stream of consciousness me
thinks meandering into
an oxbow lake hee
ping (by Dickens) yar rye
ha (Uriah), where yar
tried patience probably
didst syrup pass smoldering rage
against this may pull leaf tree
cooly le (treacly)
slap dash helter
skelter brash poppycock
bereft, devoid, and fee
bully, sans ex tolling extra help
pings of gibberish glee
fully - totally tubularly
gloating how thee
moost experience
utter frustration re:
garding figuratively wading,
thru thicket of faux pre
tent shuss verbiage
omitting even so mooch
as a fore warning from
this one percent nee
and dare dearth hull
(Neanderthal) - as re:
veiled from genetic test
23andme, an
endeavor taken by me
eldest sister, - whose
first name iz a male lee,
Harris - hyphenated with Mug gee
Hen (McGeehan).
Five little ants, chugging along
Alternatively, perhaps it was six, hard to tell
I saw no engine nor did I see a caboose
Saw no little smoke stack belching smoke
Nor did I hear a whistle blow
However, these little fellows were sure determined
To get where they were going
Or perhaps they were returning from where they had been.
They let nothing stand in their way
No obstacle blocked their travels
However, every so often they seemed to stop
As if to make sure they were headed the right way
I wish I knew where they were headed
For perhaps I would follow them
And find a pleasant place to end my journey.
I could well imagine the conversations
Being conversed along their way
Perhaps they were as interested in me
As I was in them, but I think not
For they continued on their way
As I watched them slowly move along
On their journey to someplace.
One lonely, longing, long-time leader
Lost from time and from perspective
His lifelong tendency to cheat and steal
Ever evident and reflective
He helped the rich get richer
At the expense of hampering the poor
The ones needing help got the least
While the one’s with the most got more
He exacted and enacted his will on the masses
Then levied big breaks for elites in their taxes
Though his greatest of rapings occurred when he ran
Not from his wrongs, but instead for the land
He was now at the height of his power assured
Societal defects and diseases
They were his to cure
Unfortunately all of his thoughts were impure
Alternatively, he brought pestilence, famine and war
He was the hammer, the sickle, the axe and the drill
He demanded devotion, dominated his will
Never once thinking for the people
He was only in it for the thrill
That, and the hope that one day,
His legacy would be etched upon a bill.
If my poetry moves you to witness to stranger
Just know that I'm touched that you're "sharing my ride,"
For the fact is that giving can be fraught with danger,
But those that it calls feel much warmer inside!
I have so little knowledge to call my invention
Some came from my parents, from people I've met
But the gift of the spirit defies all convention
It's holy, profound, precious gift without debt.
Even muse I call gift, for it waters my soul's growth,
An alternate path that the spirit can take
Truth that's flavored by strangers, by loved ones, I've seen both,
Fresh air never sweeter, Grace purges mistake!
Spirit truth has no owner like jewel or gold dust,
It's one with Creation; you'll know it by feel.
Although Midas (1) got gold, all his love turned to soul rust,
The gift of the Spirit is simply to heal!
Brian Johnston
June 13, 2017
Poet's Notes:
(1) From Greek mythology - Wikipedia
"One day, as Ovid relates in Metamorphoses, Dionysus found that his old schoolmaster and foster father, the satyr Silenus, was missing. The old satyr had been drinking wine and wandered away drunk, to be found by some Phrygian peasants who carried him to their king, Midas (alternatively, Silenus passed out in Midas' rose garden). Midas recognized him and treated him hospitably, entertaining him for ten days and nights with politeness, while Silenus delighted Midas and his friends with stories and songs. On the eleventh day, he brought Silenus back to Dionysus in Lydia. Dionysus offered Midas his choice of whatever reward he wished. Midas asked that whatever he might touch should be changed into gold.
Midas rejoiced in his new power, which he hastened to put to the test. He touched an oak twig and also a stone; both turned to gold. Overjoyed, as soon as he got home, he touched every rose in the rose garden, and all became gold. He ordered the servants to set a feast on the table. Upon discovering how even the food and drink turned into gold in his hands, he regretted his wish and cursed it. Claudian states in his In Rufinem: "So Midas, king of Lydia, swelled at first with pride when he found he could transform everything he touched to gold; but when he beheld his food grow rigid, and his drink harden into golden ice then he understood that this gift was a bane and in his loathing for gold, cursed his prayer."
FOREVER DRIVEN
Feminine desire bags my life in a bin
And yet lust remains my greatest sin
Aware i am of the deadly syndrome
Still my manhood gains more momentum
Insanely guided towards this crazy passion
Always digging and searching with much emotion
Like a raging sea speaks my pathetic fallacy
Only the opposite gender might understand this energy
Alternatively offered the riches of life
But like a rapscallion I go on and strive
Yet doomed I am, the best philander created
Forever driven I remain strongly embedded!
Life
Life is like a river
That flows towards
Designated destination,
Not to perish in the sea,
But to continue its existence,
In the new form of view;
Life is like a wind
That blows towards
Different possible directions,
It stops not to end,
But change its movement
To other direction as well;
Life is like the sun
That rises every morning
And sets every evening,
Not to disappear in the dark,
But to continue its journey,
At a dawn of a new day;
Like is like a rain
That pours throughout the earth,
With no token of flooding;
It stops in the east
To continue in the west,
Alternatively to other directions;
Life is like weather,
It changes automatically,
With prospect of good results;
The happiness of today,
The sorrow of tomorrow,
Expectation of the best,
Obtainment of the worst;
Life is like a grape tree
That becomes fruitful
In the rainy season,
But dries in the windy season,
Not to wilt permanently,
But to protect itself against
Winter, with its dry layer;
Life is like a feature film,
Starring oneself,
Created by parents,
Directed by friendship,
Written by God,
Produced by partnership
And then it is the end.
What has incurred you person, looking so poor?
In the world since you are an inborn partner,
The sharer of it as long as you live
What are wrongs with you or me or other?
That trouble you living freely with rights,
You are trying to conceal bearing alone
Though the world is full of men and women,
You are seen silent deprived, oppressed
Though the world bears unlimited love and wealth,
You want silent and self tragedy with your tribe
Though the world preserves all's every right,
But you failed
As I see your eyes filling a sea with tears
Your sky is cast with black clouds
Changing in a year round rainy season,
Your mind is out of the heart
Roaming in the vast desert, looking for water
What are the causes?
Have turned you in ghostly figure
Which makes your world lonely tagging a sad tune;
As a man of the earth, you do know some true facts -
Life is full of light and dark
Alternatively one follows the other
More or less every one must face
You will see tide follows the ebb
No rose without thorns
No river without turns,
Be hopeful, legally play your roles and
Just be patient and see things will be right in time
Patience is a heavenly quality
Time is made as the great healer
The most are but time killer, disorderer and self destroyer
Destroying themselves who destroy other
As if, their destiny is tied to an everlasting pillar.