Best Apportioned Poems
blackbirds …
innumerable …
clouds and washes of them
I grin to myself -
symbolism …
you taught me that
and more … (and less)
you taught me the difference between
love and lust … and Love
but you used a dull knife to cut,
and those wounds fester …
I still tend them, despite decades
you were younger than I
but far more experienced … wiser
I could never repay the tender
patience you showed me -
(precious, that)
I tried …
with effort and sincerity
(and apportioned bent for the fleshly arts)
but, you see
your callow honesty was covenant to me
as sure as moonlight on mountain snow
and in my wide-eyed faith I failed to
see the changes of maturity
(or perhaps REFUSED to)
and your direction snuck up on me -
that altered course was hidden from me by
the mist of hope
until what should have been a gentle curve
became a roadblock
a cold, stark, unscalable bastion that
impacted headlong
and at full tilt …
it brought forth a part of you
I had never known
and its cleft … was cruelty
something I had not imagined you capable of
thus …
the deepest wound was not the
reality of losing you
or the knowledge that our oaths -
made in the purity of youth -
had become thistles on the wind,
it was that there had been this ruthless,
unkind part of you all along -
a bitterly contrary essence of your soul
that I had never seen
in the countless times I had
swum deep your glimmery gaze …
each, now, as a blackbird in my sky
just as enigmatic
just as untold,
and just as …
unreachable.
Categories:
apportioned, age, analogy, lost love,
Form:
Free verse
Listening, reaching for the Ideal,
her wanderlust- devoid of fear
Seeking the truth-
The Mother- crying for a thousand years
Of all the pain
Inflicted-
They are killing Her in every way
Carcinogenic ants raging wars
Creating immortal scars,
Killing Her giving heart-
She cries... FEW know
But She shows me the way
"There still is a place,"
the Great whispered in my ear, "of where hush and lull
still abide.
Free of the stinking, free of the rapists and killers
of My apportioned Nature."
So I listened and became raptured by the picture
She bestowed upon me;
A placidity, a serenity of depth and white
Where the pines yawn
And the constellations are radiant-
She begged me to try;
"Live my beautiful, faithful child
In the place of virgin
left only because THEY
cannot abide by it's harshness"-
"But YOU", she sang, "can consort with the beast and
the beauty to make all One, As I die
In all other places-
I leave you this small piece of Myself."
I screamed to her- Crying-"But You, knowing of All- giver of All
Why abandon Your post?"
"Because The cancer is burning My eternal flesh into
nothing.
Only I am no longer eternal."
and I understood- and I followed her lead
Now I stand in a place known to few,
To Her, to me, and to the silent melody
Of Wildness and White
My eyes filled With joy as I heard Her caring moans
singing to Sister Moon -
Through an assemblage of wolves,
as She winks at me through blue, pink and radiant emerald
eyes...
I know I am home.
Honorable Mention in Mac Mcgovern's contest "Your Best Poem".
Categories:
apportioned, adventure, natureme, me, cancer,
Form:
Free verse
Stung with the absence of his father, he excruciatingly rumbled deep inside of his mother’s womb.
He stormed out already filled with disappointing void.
The mother’s joy was of uncertainty.
Memories of her husband, flashed back right in her face once again.
She could feel the exhaustion of a lifetime encircled around her and the weight and magnanimity of raising the beautiful baby on her own.
Two years creeped by and the bond between them was legendary.
The love was so constant and consistent, like the sun will rise.
Their friendship thrived through the encroached stormy desert.
Her wings unfolded like an angel, extraordinarily patient as a lion hunting.
The fondness between them was as phenomenal as THE SERPENT GOD at chichen Itza, that he was unceremoniously detached from her.
A devastation of a 4-5 year old separation to a foreign land, felt like an erupted-never-ending-volcanic-nightmare.
The purpose of that crushing disconnection, was feeble.
he was starved off of food, shelter and raiment.
Apportioned milk from animals became the only privilege given.
The purest and cleanest form of consumed water, was of a residual of donkeys streamed through the shin of an old dirty black slave man.
An occasional feasting on birds, caught through invented-trapping.
With innocence, he’ll apathetically rip the head, feathers of the little creatures with bare hands, bury them in the sand of the mountain top desert, hours later, it’s BEANO.
He was deprived of even just a glimpse of his family for all those years, he wimped in loneliness.
And on a dark frightful night, came the growl of the famous fox, but he survived.
Life is fickle and comes without no warning and can’t be anticipated.
Survival can not be measured by *echoes* of preventions, it is destined and destiny is not always a gift.
The tale unfolds in hardship, a narrative woven through the threads of resilience and survival. The bond between mother and child, tested by separation, echoes the unpredictable journey of life—a journey marked by both strength and vulnerability.
Categories:
apportioned, hurt,
Form:
Narrative
My eyes will be held open
devouring all beauty imparts,
catching what I can each moment,
every glimmer of God’s art;
I will seize creation’s glory
in every vista in my sight
unveiling life in daylight,
letting go the fearful night.
Today is only seconds long
as apportioned by the clock;
I will relish every minute
leave my soul windows unlocked.
Yesterday is a memories’ book,
tomorrow’s sun may not surprise;
I will wring out every drop of joy
And feed my starving eyes.
Copyright, October 26, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
Categories:
apportioned, beauty, time, today,
Form:
Carpe Diem
Sunlight beams on streets so mean..' As Love reaches out.'
A lonely widow toils unending, till day it fades then shares a morsel with her pet..'
Love aspires... a lust rages, and goals are pursued.' As Love reaches out.'
A man beats his family unmercifully..' A sweet rain falls, and tears flow..
Mists shroud the land, a baker makes dough fires an oven as Love reaches out.'
People plan wars, lies are circulated money is apportioned, deaths are reported..'
Storms batter, economy's teeter politicians smile sweeter. as Love reaches out..'
Women cheat on their partners, inflation is raging..' As Love reaches out..'
Love is patient, Love is kind, it does not envy it does not boast, it is not self-seeking,
It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs' Love does not delight in evil
but rejoices with the truth, it always protects always trusts, always hopes always perseveres..'
All children, all people..' require true 'Love' in order to grow as individuals to attain
their best potential, why is it the world is a consumerist, indifferent model at best
and at worst a short selling warring divisive entity, and yet we have highly educated people running things, purportedly for the benefit of all, what's missing here.?
Is it the innocence of true Love..?
Categories:
apportioned, love,
Form:
Verse
I will dig the sand
the wet sand of this shore
I will bury my fingers
deep
and my soul will descend,
descend slowly,
and in silence
the warmth will rise
beneath the skin
I will dig deeper
and I will dig
this shore, which I know
like the palms of my hands.
Here, I have built spacious houses,
apportioned rooms
and accumulated towers of sand
till the tide buries them
and I return
the next day
and build.
Here, I know
I can play
Here, I realize dreams can be buried
and also
grief.
Categories:
apportioned, deep, hope, imagery, inspirational,
Form:
Bio
BOOKS
bindings
of knowledge
the transfer of thought
epochs flowing in ink
measured words sand the hourglass
"Intellect's apportioned time-scapes"
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, June 2, 2014
Categories:
apportioned, books, time,
Form:
Verse
I have heard of its thousand stories of lure,
It's stinking songs of allurement,
It's many stripes apportioned an earnest fatality.
Yet it's wave of effectiveness I overlooked.
Till it knocked the doors of my cabin with sounds i dread.
Unprepared i was, my arms far from reach.
I had whittled down my guarded battalion.
So naked I stood, helpless to it's smile of victory.
As I held back the shameful tears of unawareness,
It carefully strolled my path without an invite.
Swallowing all I have labored meticulously for.
O that matchless glory I have labored to attain,
Caught in its web my eyes are lifted high to behold.
Dime after dime it sliced my bowels without mercy.
It stole all I had as it nipped the patience of my soul.
I am found crawling the ends of a wretched existence.
Scavenging like an indispensable beggar to life.
Without worth, lacking the thought of possession.
Left to contend with impecuniousness, penury, so impoverish.
I sought solace in a beginning I still longed to re-venture.
But it's wrath tore me into pieces I'm yet to gather.
So stung to my soul, caged in body and mind.
To thee poverty I beckon with a humbled spirit.
Give to me wealth's sound of speech,
Freedom for a depressed soul to soar.
To climb to the heights of heaven forth the while.
for my grieve is weak and smile not,
and my pain has lost its melody.
Let my shine rise to sparkle bright.
Relieve me, I pray the from thy wrath of death,
For carefully I seek thy mercies with tears.
Categories:
apportioned, depression, fear, grief, sad,
Form:
Free verse
Earth's golden orb rises o're the new eastern sky,
Where red sandhills and goslings blithely fly.
The secret mist of the morning bids its final adieu,
As a young day spontaneously, begins anew.
A spectacular derby in technicolor array,
Creation of marvels beyond all mortal purvey.
Strategies and concepts each totally unique,
Imaginative images, unusual techniques.
Like a Donatello or more modern Rodin,
Or a charming sunset, on the banks of the Thames.
Like waves sculpting sands to incredible shapes,
Masters of design, multi-faceted scapes.
Drafting to paper near perfect forms,
Like Katrina's eye, the heart of the storm.
Thoughts and drawings consigned to wood,
Gravity of assignments, way more than hath stood.
Each masterpiece weighted and given their due,
Fully loaded, then firmly sealed with sealant hot glue.
Scientifically apportioned, positioned in place,
Scaled aerodynamically, all else displaced.
Like the tide's surge that fills the narrowing fjord,
Each storm its waters, the work of our Lord.
Like the great Cumulus arching up to the sky,
Fiery chariots cinema-graphing, in our mind's eye.
Next to the last step they sand, then they buff;
Visages changing to finished from rough.
Transformed master sculptures, all parts in their place,
Ready at last, for the great derby race.
A final veneer, their colors of choice,
Sparkling, gleaming finishes for these magnificent toys.
Anticipation escalating fore' the event begins,
Rooting for our favorites, family or friends.
aabb May 2, 2015
Categories:
apportioned, creation, inspirational, tribute,
Form:
Rhyme
Isabelle Falque-Pierrotin
will never balk at an a priori win
has established new rules
resents being told they are for the obedience of fools.
Inaki Urdangerin
can we be sure of the danger he's in?
his wife the Princess
ensonced in a typical Spanish taxation mess.
Mississipi roast
should be apportioned on neat squares of french toast
thus preserving the culture
while eschewing the habits of the predatory Northern vulture.
Categories:
apportioned, betrayal,
Form:
Clerihew
“She lies in the western region of the black race territory apportioned back from generations,
Within the 11th century era,
Filled with typical black men with strong melanin,
Who lives semi-primitively to satisfy the necessities of their dreams and aspirations,
Under the rise and fall of the sun, soundly…
A land raising walkers from different routes permanently,
Deepening and sharpening the definitions of social culture at highest peak,
Profoundly marked upon the Gulf of Guinea,
Acclaiming the recognition of undeniable reputation,
Her heart dripped with blood in the course of human trading,
The historic period where hope and self-realizations seem to never return for formal grading,
The blood of her forefathers through the purpose of mightiness erected her back magnanimously,
She is clothed with discipline and self-actualizations,
Shaping the conspiracy arrayed in her senses to meet everyday determinations,
And it`s steadfastly concluded by the views of observing neighbors and willing spectators,
Possesses cherishable name highly distinguished,
Subbed with riches bridged over an expandable range,
And this proves the result of past event which left her offspring anguished,
They conformed to shame, just to get the inspiring tenets of their motherland among headlines on global page,
Which brought about the achievement of independence…
Based on the ideologies and firmness of the Kwame Nkrumahs and the rest,
If probably you`re not figuring anything out,
I mean “GOLD COAST”,
A unitary presidential constitutional democracy,
The present “GHANA”,
Meaning “Warrior King” in the Soninke language,
Home of peace always deserving honor,
Who always stand against a sign of savage,
Indeed, the land is full of courage”
“GOD BLESS OUR MOTHERLAND”
Categories:
apportioned, africa, , western,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
There comes a time of no more morrows,
of no more smiles, and no more sorrows.
A time when time itself will be no more!
When the earthly rich, join with the poor!
When those left behind to grieve and mourn,
become aware, that on the day they are born,
whether of the richest rich, or poorest poor,
Destiny, allows not one single moment more,
than we’re allotted. There’s nothing we can do
to extend our tenure on earth. We cannot change
our span, nor bargain with another in exchange
for a longer life! Nor can changing our ways
ever allow us to extend our apportioned days.
Although our departure remains unknown,
we are aware, there’s comes a day we must atone
for all our actions, in our brief tenure on earth,
and judgement will be rendered, when our worth
has been assessed by those who later follow.
Whether our actions are worthy or merely hollow,
will not concern us one iota. Being out of reach
of our time of reckoning. That will come for each
of us on Judgement Day. Tis then our determined fate
will be reviewed from records that bear witness, and relate
to our earthly deeds. Whilst ill deeds may bear later shame,
good deeds will bear witness of a worthy life. Our name
may be recalled with pride, or ignored in a later chronicle,
but facts that prevail, may later prove to be somewhat ironical
as opinions change, when the truth of events becomes known.
Such is the destiny we cannot change, for it is set in stone!
Rhymer. January 4th, 2018.
Categories:
apportioned, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Why will He sit back and watch me go wrong?
Gamble on choices yet remain on the villainous path.
Why will my thoughts of being perfect melt sour?
When He has a plan He wishes I follow.
I am left to flesh to argue, Left to self to embrace.
He wants me in the right, yet turn blind to my flaws.
He stands distances away and let me err,
Gives an apportioned missile to my discretion,
Leaves me in the mystery of the yet to be,
While in time He promised my boat He will paddle.
I am the apple of His eyes and never the less He chose to watch me fail,
Classed me reprobate when He can force righteousness on my chest.
Why do I have to make a mistake first to be learned?
Whilst He in superiority can stamp me in appropriation.
But then, He said life and death He has placed before me.
The essence of common sense He has dignified to my appraisal.
While He ushers me to life, He cast me an agent of self-will.
In His image am I created, The weight of His perfection I am to carry.
As He called Heaven to witness in His favor,
The wheels to my destiny He placed in my hands to wield.
Can't I event stand up to my wrongs and robe them right?
Can't I prove to Him that His breath in me isn't a waste?
I am faced to worth the life I will live as a proof of an existence,
Therefore I will throw sentiments away and risk all in expedition.
Categories:
apportioned, growing up, growth, heartbroken,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
I would've loved to ask for your goodwill
The height of common grace prospects enjoy
Now that opportunity trades downhill
Being an adult and no longer a boy
How too well have you managed so cautioned!
That success was just much easy for you
But to me the little claims apportioned
Seemed really much of what I can chew
Dad, you must be so lonely in heaven
I wish you knew my grandma while on earth
She might have been a wonderful leaven
But you never meet cum eon's rebirth
The burdens of duty being the firstborn
Keeps my everyday cold of you to morn
Categories:
apportioned, absence, anxiety, art, death,
Form:
Sonnet
Anxious in Ancona (2)
The Doge has apportioned a fleet for his use,
but is proving an Indian giver.
A pope with a navy (and with a screw loose)
is no-one’s idea of chopped liver,
so Venice, delaying and playing obtuse,
is selling the pope down the river.
A Christian army, devoted to God,
is what Pius imagines he’s shaping,
but this one is riding distinctly rough-shod:
Ancona’s awash with the scrapings
of Europe: and here, where the Caesars once trod,
they are busily looting and raping.
There ain’t going to be any ardent crusade,
and Pius is dying, for certain.
They’ve all came to nothing, those plans that he laid,
and his project has gone for a burton.
To stop him from seeing his “army”, his aide
has fastened the litter’s gauze curtain.
He thought to have fought at the head of a host:
but reality isn’t like that.
We babble and squabble, we brag and we boast,
but our fantasies always fall flat.
Poor Pius was no Alexander. At most,
he was sort of an Anwar Sadat.
We curse our ill fortune and, wringing our hands,
we wail at our undeserved lot.
But is it so rare, as we formulate plans,
to end up with diddly squat?
If that’s how it goes with the Number One man,
what chance have the rest of us got?
Categories:
apportioned,
Form:
Rhyme