Best Apposed Poems
To fellow young Eagles,
At poetry soup,
Such a confound,
The pull down,
Once an Eagle gets off the ground,
Flying I guess prohibited,
Once exhibited,
Good advice to fly,
Remove sty from eye,
For will pull us all down,
Before out love is wound,
To fly safe and sound,
May we all wind, love on level ground,
It is our license to fly,
For love doesn’t lie,
As we fly in God’s sky,
Love’s proof is in our pudding,
Or flying we couldn’t,
Our protocol, is all,
That keeps us from fall,
So mixing a little spittle,
In our dirt, wouldn’t hurt,
And placing that on the sty, of eye,
So as to see clearly,
Everyone’s, love pie, in the sky,
A young eagle flopping around,
Of course, should remain on the ground,
Un till love is found,
This I write to all of those,
Who might think to them,
I am apposed,
We all came from the same nest,
Eagles at best,
May we all reach our quest,
For faith will see us all through,
And make us all new,
Stuck together as glue,
By the unity of us hon,
The world will be won,
This is my love’s scoop,
Written to all at poetry soup,
I am here as you all,
I don’t wish any to fall,
I just believe, that love is the gall,
That prevents any from fall,
We are all on the ground,
Flopping around,
Let it be the love of each, that is found,
This is certainly my wish,
As we push,
Toward better times,
As our love aligns,
And refines,
If any be offended,
I challenge we end it,
I am not you,
And you are not me,
But in love’s garden,
There are many roses,
Sincerely Moses!!
7-25-09 [email protected]
Once foretelling portents swam within the
Apogee bath.
Torn wounds in flesh,
unequip the afflicted. Lack.
Unilaterality Undesirables systematically
inspect an overture unto the future.
Incisions.
Indecision.
Discussions.
Decision.
Resolution Found between
Thigh
and
Breast Fat.
We spoke on the old West.
Distain allowed to follow
in
shadows' shoes.
Walk-
from the gravestone tomb,
Talk-
from the cemetery plot.
prefer amnesia, anesthesia, or euthanasia,
the lot.
Apposed to this undying pain,
grief,
return of
disbelief.
A contrite
Sorry resentment
Sodden in maple
Solidity.
Solidarity pushed well past
comprise while
the unconvinced so
remained that,
a sacerdotal yet
antidotal dissenter.
Go on.
Permission to let Pessimism steep in dark tea leaves.
Reverse dove beneath the San Fernando crust.
If I were Poor would You still reach for Me?
Would You offer Me Your Hand to hold?
Would You Heal Me as this unfolds?
Would You offer Me a bath and cleanse Me?
Would You defend Me from Meanness as We see?
If I were Poor would You still reach for Me?
Could You ever just Be seen with Me as I Be?
Could You pray with Me and help Me Sleep?
Could You walk with Me and Show that You care?
Could You cloth Me and show Me You share?
If I were Poor would You still reach for Me?
Should You help keep a roof over My Head?
Should You furnish a room with a bed?
Should You Hug Me and hold Me tight?
Should You Protect Me from a horrific fight?
If I were Poor would You still reach For Me?
The Old Beggar consoled with Two Rich Men that pondered.
The Two Rich Men just walked away and moved on yonder...
Then The Old Beggar cried in Mercy,"I just begged You to try..."
The Two Rich Men showed no remorse and never answered His Cry...
Then The Old Beggar just stopped and stared when He was apposed...
There The Old Beggar turned away with His Beautiful Angel Wings Exposed!
I Changed the verse by inserting a question every verse.Then The Beggar Himself became an Angel that was hidden the whole time the ballad was told.
I will start with using my hand as a guide
And in the end I will open my eyes that I will decide
I consider to do this with one thing in mind
I will close my eyes and will imagine it blind
With no colors or fractionation of the light
Just plain me and a vision with my hand as my sight
My hair is very coarse and some what fine
What I just described is so benign
I twirl my hair and make it bend
And I will say its very clean not oily on the ends
As I press on my forehead I simply feel a distinct part
I notice from hair to skin it is very different from the start
The simple partings from hair not like skin
I am going to feel with my other hand and begin
The smoothness of my skin like years of water eroding a rough rock surface smooth
Not just that my skin is like home to years of stories like scars and attitude
And when I raise my eyebrows the wrinkles it makes is more so for expression
I did not notice it with certain ideas, thoughts, and emotions
I run my hands down to my eyelids I feel movement of my eyes trying to peek
Eyelids that I have, vibrates with some kind of fear, Why?, that I will seek
Just now as I thought about it a sensation ran through my brain
My eyes is the world to me and that is true and not insane
Myself portrait of me is through my touch for now
But to finish it I will have to open my eyes soon and how
I been in a trance full of so many ideas just with my eyes closed
I run my hand on my nose and lips and I smile who could apposed
The feelings in the tip of my fingers rub on my chin and jaw with care
I do notice roughness of unshaved velcro gripping hair
I skip my ears so I will sneak a feel with my fingers I chose
I notice it is like my nose with cartilage, so I don't suppose
I will now open my eyes that I will use a mirror to see myself
My head is oval shape and my neck is like a stump, please help
My skin is very tan and my eyes are brown with my eyes I see
With all the description with my hands, one sure thing is the same and key
It is the description of measurements that is what my hands and eyes can see me
With a smile I am looking into the mirror and I can describe that I am happy
Myself portrait of me is such a way to get to know myself once more
I will never think it was a waste of time or a bore
ENTRENCHED TIME (IS) EMBEDDED NOW!
Procreate and multiply for generations and generations to come.
Expand the universe to the knowledge known.
The knowledge of life formed through the portends of a greater source that presages.
Entrenched is time.
The norms of God are not a postulated form.
Simplicity is that we live life on earth.
Postulated is the norms of humankind.
Encapsulated by the unknown.
The creator of one and all is the omnipotent.
The people of the universe better pay attention.
The instinct is palpability.
Physicality in nature as the trees are through the woods.
Time entrenched and now is embedded.
Are we burden by our hidden conflict?
Are we lessening when it is not addressed?
Or, are we the weakest link?
Embedded now is entrenched time.
Perceptibility and insight found is nothing more than a mien personified.
We acme an analogized mountain by achieving our goals.
Our parallels may be the affliction shown.
When similarity becomes between two, we strive to deseed both with one stone thrown.
We have lived.
Time entrenched.
Apposed wrong to apprehend that which is right.
For embedded now is entrenched time eternally.
___________________________________________________________________|
Written April 19, 2016!
Upon a time, a story once composed.
Across the pages dancing letters waltz.
Met eyes. Together, him and her apposed.
The villain, against them, inflict assaults.
It leaves us guessing, due to twists and turns.
However, does the hero save the girl?
Distressing times until the girl returns.
A fight against a dragon, swords unfurl.
Heroic. Saves the girl, and dragon slain.
Afraid no longer. Village folk’s delight.
Wedding. Love is true. Continue to reign.
Espoused, and she is pregnant. Future bright.
Life is less a book, and scripts offhanded.
Plotless stories. Rules unwritten. Candid.
For a long time, I dreamed
Of a place where fairies doth sing
Heaven perhaps or a never before seen sight
Filled with love and celestial lights
Where I can see the Aurora in the twilight
or witness an angel living in disguise
Oh, the beauty and passion of a fresh dream
Pure, like the heart of an innocent child
No longer do I find joy in things I have seen a thousand times
For let it night or day, what hath come and what may
There is sadness in me that cannot be expressed through poetical lines
Thousand years ago, I saw the tree of life
But to me, it spoke of nothing but lies
There were many roads I looked upon
All promised fake happiness that is long gone
Speaking through prophecies that were sweet
Doth every time the same tale of sorrow was a repeat
An endless journey of suffering,
Man oblivious to the reality, considering him to be everything
Indeed a beautiful thought that spring
I have seen the ravens singing in apposed
Each now and then spring comes and goes
The smell of a field filled with wheat or the beauty of a rose
A boy blushing at a girl, the birth of an innocent love story
Seeing angels doing God's work or reading the devil's diary
I have witnessed life’s enchantment in all its glory
I have seen mothers singing Lullabies
Of a peaceful world where children never cry
"Sleep dear child, for in dream angels will come and hurt all bad guys
And after you wake, God will turn this hell into a paradise"
Yet I know, everywhere I go, a dreadful melancholy thought
That the promises will soon prove to be lies
The soldiers in war will all die
That their children and wives will not be able to survive
Curse of immortality, I have seen kingdoms rise and fall
In the heart of a demon, I have seen the belief in God
From the mountains to the sea
There is nothing more left for me to see
And lies loneliness no pleasure of life can fulfill
For I also once loved, but now lies only memories
When will this suffering end, this constant guilt?
The monster I am, all the innocent people I have killed
Curse to the immortality by which I live
The meanest gift gods had offered me to give
All the sadness, broken heart, and fears
A song of songs, too deep for tears
28 April 2022
"The Parnassian Hand" - A Poem by David Hart
Five fingers hover over black print
Apposed on a white sheet.
Tan flesh, short cropped nails and
Overlapping cuticles--an old hand--
A buxom hand--a hand delighted to treat.
Words, numerously luxuriate on holey
Crimpled sheets.
Words astonishing and boon
Words effulgent and true
To arrange? No. Avast!
Now pondering in this hushed room
Gazing athwart still and attent.
Ahoy to the words!
An august phrase for rent.
Words awhirl or bedizended
Words behooved and apt
Words echt and moiling
Aye, perhaps diamonds of fact.
Five fingers hover over print in black
Print regaled and caressed by an
Amorous attack
Both as Crass and as Callas
As it is to admit openly out loud
I find myself recently trying to reconcile
Why it is I sorely miss much more
Not those amongst us currently here
living I beside
But those who have both sadly moved
and been passed on
I wonder if it is because the dead do
not so much annoy anymore
As apposed to those long already
dead residing besides once happy
joyous memories in ones head
We can talk to them about later on at
night before we go to bed
Because they wouldn't let us get a
word in edge way's or shut up and
stop endlessly going on about
themselves
And I am going on holiday with
said set of individual's tomorrow
As unfortunately they who I am
referring to are my nearest and
dearest family
Whom unlike friends I never got to choose
Oh how I now wish
I was 17 odd year's old
Not because I want to be young again
Or a wistful longing to relive my youth
But rather because I at that point had
the brain capacity attention span and
intellect of a pea
Which upon reflection is the best way
to view and look upon life if you wish
to live carefree and be happy
As apposed to now being unable once
seen thereafter having to disect what
the true purpose reason or meaning is
behind
Because with age cometh experience
knowledge and a new found interest
in the bigger picture and far more
pressing issues
Which poses one more question after
another has just been answered
And once you yourself have opened
up that in particular avenue and door
There is no going back only forward
as the entrance door is shut and closed
forevermore and after
At 17 i never even contemplated that
the door existed for a single second
I was far to busy chasing butterflies
Unlike whereas now my mind can
barely settle for a minute
Without one thought overlapping my
last and casting further doubt
Leading me to whence you currently
find me now
Wishing boy oh boy how I wish I
was still 17 year's old of innocence
age again
I one day encountering a
blooming rose
Witnessing it's pollen being suckled
upon
By a common worker bee
I pondered what common
threads weave a webb
Was he or i in fact really
that different or both similarly
and familiarity in reverse
He a bee working in order of
servicing a queen much like
i bound to a birth certificate
But at least that bee though
as small and insignificant as
he was never knew he was
At least the honey he got to
suckle on was sweet
As apposed to the bitter bullet
lemon pills we humans are force
to diet and feast upon
This i thought one day and time
in my life
Whence stopping by to take
in and smell the roses
Only then to be stung by that
very same bee
And to realise though my pain
may subsidie
That sting has cost that bee
his life
And i wondered if he had a wife and
children and who will tell them
Sorry your husband and your
father's dead
He died a soldier's death just
another casualty of war
Trying to protect
the hive and the lives of the
one's he loved and held most
dear
Merely another undervalued working
class hero wearing a crown of thorns
to tribute a poem about
We failed to mention or
crow about aghast of his
or her contribution to history
searching for words in continuum of
incompleteness, it was a trickle at first, then
a free fall, cerebral fury: I am becoming expansive,
so apposed to verbatim of shrieks, only
in whispers I will talk to delphiniums,
I would walk inside the time capsule, come
and sit besides me for a while, I am tired of
this ghost town, and fleeing shadows of
waning luminories on the horizon in
half-naked blooms;on different shores
U-boats are being lowered with torpedos. I am
waiting for the hurricane
SATISH VERMA
Here's a little teaser I pose. A simple answer will do!
When two lines are juxtaposed,
it must be supposed, they are apposed,
so never meet face to face.
But when contiguous lines cross,
will it cause chaos, if they come across
each other in the vastness of space?
And should two circles collide,
does one go inside, or do they decide
they both should become elliptic?
What if two squares intersect?
Should we suspect, as we’d expect,
they’d end as a cryptic statistic?
Though rhetorical questions these,
would someone please ease, my unease,
and answer the questions I pose?
For when my mind’s in this phase,
it’s naught but a haze - a veritable maze,
so it's best I return to prose!
Rhymer. March 3rd, 2017
(Well I only asked! )
Being and knowing the vast difference
between what I know and think I am
I can quite honestly say this about and
in regards to myself
When it comes to culture and the fineries
of all life has on offer
One day I should most definitely find the
time to take in
An Opera , Play or Museum or Live Show
Followed by fine dinning out and sampling
what other worldly cuisine have t offer
But then again I can say for sure probably
less than 5 actual minutes in
I would also then get and be bored
and so end up leaving
Swapping it instead for a greasy burger
down the high street followed by as many
pints of beer I can stomach
Until I eventually am forced to throw up
to cram in and make space for a few more
Then grab another greasy burger for the
journey home
And fall asleep on the couch in front
of the t.v covered in the majority of the
burger
That missed my mouth from the
previous night before
Which come in handy and provide a
tasty snack for breakfast
And due to the fact I am so concusted
and all consumed with an almighty
hangover
It prevents from realizing the sober
reality
Would staying just 5 minutes longer really
have killed me that much more
And then I thought yes it would because
at least my night out left me with one
at least this as apposed to that one would
And what that is in fact this
I always find when rifling through my
trouser pants from the night before
At very least a $5 or two and a pocket
full of change
I can pop down the corner shop to buy
myself a few cans of beer to help me
get over this god awful hangover
In line formation with a quaint response formidable
Contempo
Chase the wind in cinder appeal apposed to action
The make believe pen on a blade of steel
Choices being made having great response played
Marked on its torn blotted page,
The call of the wild a little child
Looking after storm clouds bow
With a pillage to the plow in heightened drama
The band played on for your honor,
The scene again filled with bright colors in fashion.
The notion of them grasping & sharing,
What on Earth was she wearing?
Contempo
As a Warhol scene within its designer mean influx
The thought of stone pillars erected in soaring heights with plight
A song bird soars in the night & then
A whisper of the loom in want or that of heat?
Contempo
A societal attribute in longing to appease
The rational lingering to please
One day soon all will have to bow the knee
In dire worthy honor to our maker
The thought of a caped crusader,
In champion we learn to reflect.
A notion of a song in sorted reflect
Upon silence toward a want to fulfill a given need
While the world outside longs to see you bleed
Yet by faith we are captivated by the smile
The hung feature of a lonesome child
Nestled in a cradle apart from the wild.