Best Apposite Poems
TREASURES
mesmerising
asides
reside
to
display
the
extraordinary
&
delicate
blooms
a choice
narrative
survives
gently
resides
in
patterned
fragments
swirling
in the
spectacular
detail
so
apposite
&
contemporary
a foraged
signifiance
monumental
precious
of
intention
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
Returning home is always a bitter path.
Some say it’s warm and soft, it’s healing.
These words are said before the aftermath
Which brings an acute pain, which’s drilling.
It smashes down the soul inside your ring.
All thoughts are apposite to you in this rebellion.
The mind’s infected with a memory sting.
It yells that there’s the other side of the medallion.
Every cute moment is shadowed by sorrow.
This crow just flies turning all into dark
The way you’ve done, the way you’re living now.
It’s darken, eaten by a wormy mind shark.
But there’s no need to be afraid of this,
Cause in the end it leaves a white sheet.
It’s like a rubber cleans you with its kiss,
So you become a man without wormy mind ****.
UNSPOKEN SOUL
She was all lost; fantasized a world
On the bitumen, none resembled her
Binnacles kept empty; let gusty waves guide her
Bid goodbye to a silent night under the mistletoe ; scrounging for serendipity
Stars were callous ; she- an embodiment of callowness , distracted by camellia could not find a way out of her perplexity
Deranged by the deathly silence, she hurried down the rails
Nothing more than a lost shadow, catching her own steps
Oblivion to the dogma-‘’It was all between mirrors, she was walking.’’
Ecstatically held a door; optimism would fail soon
Concussion in mind took a brutal turn
Damsel in distress, lost the sight of the shore
Once again journey to end
Defiant; stood in an apposite way
Masts were low, no camellia this time
Envisaged…..red horizon covered the ocean, no sign of life
Dismayed; developed an aversion towards the scenery
Cried hard, but what could be heard above the dead soul was just –“SILENCE”.
She was all lost;fantasized a world
On the bitumen ,none resembled her
Binnacles kept empty;let gusty waves guide her
Bid goodbye to a silent night under the mistletoe ;scrounging for serendipity
Stars were callous;she--- an embodiment of callowness ,distracted by camellia;could not find a way out of her perplexity
Deranged by the deathly silence ,she hurried down the rails
Nothing more than a lost shadow,catching her own steps
Oblivion to the dogma "It's all between the mirrors she is walking".
Ecstatically held a door;optimism would fail soon
Concussion in mind took a brutal turn
Damsel in a distress;she lost the sight of the shore
Once again journey to end
Defiant,stood in an apposite way
Masts were low,no camellia this time
Envisaged, red horizon covered the ocean, no sign of life
Dismayed;developed aversion towards the scenery
Cried hard but what could be heard above the dead soul was....silence..
Smiling forever , caring me for nights ,
how can I forget my mother , who was all time apposite ,
Crooner thy lullabies' , thy anger quite meek ,
will thee come back , mother , when I seek .
Never I dream , but now I see ,
thy majestic shadows , which had flee ,
thy smile too laud , which provide remembrance a lot ,
remembrance of our almighty , praying for thy immortality .
Bonn voyage my mother , for beginning the journey of death ,
I could not feel thy feelings , the feelings of thy last breath ... ,
thinking and crying for thy disappearance , thy disappearance changed my eyes very Brut ,
thinking in the sense for thy journey , crying in the sense to know the journey route .
Oh mother , keeping me touch since the past nine months ,
the touch was painless for me , but painful for thee ,
it was thy soft hand , which , taught me to grunt ,
never I thought present condition of mine , for creation last a moment and then to flee .
Smiling forever , caring me for nights ,
how can I forget my mother , who was all time apposite ,
Crooner thy lullabies' , thy anger quite meek ,
will thee come back , mother , when I seek .
Never I dream , but now I see ,
thy majestic shadows , which had flee ,
thy smile was too laud , which provide remembrance a lot ,
remembrance of our almighty , praying for thy immortality .
A balmy day in February,
A flash of yellow's all I saw,
A welcome harbinger of Spring –
A paper bird upon the wing.
By name, a brimstone butterfly,
So apposite, its sulphur hue
Glows brightly, fresh, upon the eye,
Light as a feather it flits on by.
I watch it settle on a briar,
Presumably in search of food,
In vain – the rose-hips glow like fire :
No flowers, no nectar, just bare wood.
Fluttering on it sails away,
Skipping a lively wind-born dance.
I fear it may not last the day
Unless it finds some sustenance.
Understanding The Difference Between Spirit, Soul
And Body:
And have put on the new man who is renewed in
knowledge according to the image of Him who
created him, - Colossians 3:10
In continuation of our series on the differences
between the spirit, soul and body, today we shall
dwell on how to cultivate these three aspects of
human for optimal performance.
Growth is a natural process for most animate; and by
virtue of being a living, the body, spirit and soul of
human are susceptible to a growth process from a
smaller state to a higher or bigger one.
Whilst the body develops through a biological or
natural process; the same cannot be said of the other
entities making a human. The spirit and soul do not
grow or develop through a detached biological
process. On the contrary, they have to be consciously
cultivated before they can develop.
Even the human body needs more than the workings
of biology to blossom and remain fit; as it needs
constant attention to be at its best and serve its
owner optimally. The same way the spirit and soul
requires dedicated attention to develop.
For the soul, which has bearing on the mind and
thoughts, it derives its nourishment from knowledge.
The best way to develop the human soul is to expose
it to learning. The extent that one is exposed to
information is the extent his soul will be able. For the
soul, the saying, ‘information is power’ is most
apposite, as a soul derives its ability to process
information and arrives at a course of action based
on the exposure it has to knowledge on the matter at
hand or a related subject.
A soul that is not informed will be prone to make bad
decisions; while the enlightened soul will most likely
make wise choices. Information is the nourishment
of the soul. That is why our reference passage above
says that the new man within is “renewed in
knowledge.” Meanwhile, the depth of bearing of the
soul is usually determined by the level of exposure it
has to knowledge.
“We’re cleared for takeoff,” the pilot announced, “settle in, our flight time to Atlanta will be 9 hours.”
The Gulfstream roared down the runway and in a moment the tops of trees flashed by. We climbed quickly, and banked. Paris dwindled, the Seine became a string of blue, the world a patchwork of colors before we punched through a layer of hair-like cirrus clouds.
My roommates and friends were all a-chatter as we lined up on the runway but as we ascended, they grew quiet.
Thoughts of Peter ran through me and gripped me like a serpent. The last time I saw him he was dressed in a summer outfit I bought him - a short-sleeve, pale-pastel-plaid, seersucker shirt, kentucky-derby breaker shorts, pop color flip flops and a straw fedora. His sweet-face was all grin, he looked like a deck gillespie. Meow.
When I think about Peter, my skin tickles, my pulse accelerates, I’m confuddled. I think about the disturbance that moved through the air between us when we met. We were strangers, but a magnetic flux seemed to roll off him and break against me.
I didn’t let it show. I drew in, looked away and became quiet. What else could I do? Later, when I described it to Sunny, our meeting seemed like nothing. When I described it to Lisa, it sounded like too much.
Of course, my choices must be consistent with my ambitions, but I want Peter to come to Athens, so badly. He was a human placebo, for me, in otherwise stressful times. Now I want to be with him without school pressures - to see what that’s like - and get closer, a lot closer.
I don’t want commitment, but I’m saturated with desire. All I want is a fun July or August - with him. I seldom reveal the businesslike hardness I have buried inside. I want this and I’m ready for derp.
Peter worries - about money, about gender roles, social positions and what’s apposite. I don’t care about any of that. I want to give him a free month, like an amazing gift. He’s so male, so deceptively complicated, fragile and intoxicating.
I really need to think about this, and work it out - HA! - like I can think of anything else.
.
Slang
deck = cool
gillespie = hipster
meow = I want
confuddled = confused and befuddled
derp = anything and everything
Why I say welcome new day
When every day is same
Why I say good night to night
Which I have to spend on bed
I want make a deference
But j don’t know how and what
Who admire my work?
She live in my heart
But physically she live too far
So no one with me
Who understood my feeling?
Who do care of me?
What to do in apposite condition
Now I stop to view dream
I am happy with lonely wiling’s
COMMONPLACE PHRASIS IX
Everything in its season,concentrated
and alive stray objects ripple across
the view and solitary imagination
is its scale.Recollections of things
past,so apposite for self-expression
sieved to retain the essentials.
Exaggeration modified,ignorance
contemplated and constrained.
Atmospheres of yesterday translated
loom & sound so, unique as a
snowflake to speak to the ear.
Our inner make-up,exposed as poetry in
pictures,hearing colours,a synthesis
of myriad detail&circumstance.With
uniquely added value we browse here
& there outside our comfort zone where
timing is all.making a mark on eternity.
From Retrospective a commonplace book 2009
Listen to me recite this part phrasis on youtube under my pen name ichthys chiro
Everything in its season,concentrated and alive stray objects ripple across the view and solitary imagination is its scale.Recollections of things past,so apposite for self-expression sieved to retain the essentials.Exaggeration modified, ignorance contemplated and constrained. Atmospheres of yesterday translated loom & sound so, unique as a snowflake to speak to the ear.Our inner make-up exposed as poetry in pictures,hearing colours,a synthesis of myriad detail &circumstance.With uniquely added value we browse here & there outside our comfort zone where timing is all.making a mark on eternity
To Evil
You're apposite to Bad
Though abstract you are
We've seen your vivid actions
Through your acolytes
Your opposite, the Good.
Your rivalries long run forever
That one day -you will submit
To Godness- is not in your dictionary.
Your cohorts, men.
The way they succumb to you
Is not well known.
Some say it is destiny some say
They allowed you in.
Your utmost harm, death.
This you inflict on your enemies
And suprisingly even to your obedient goons
Have you ever thought of your coming death?
I don't know
But if not for your existence
Good will not be learnt.
Heros and heroines wouldn't have been known
Even the Saviour would have stayed up unknown
But for sincerity
Your bad exceeds your good
And still indestructible you think you are.
Your enemies, the inflictee.
Has always surpassed you with
Their beliefs by their sides.
Your devices, The inflictors.
Has always enjoyed doing business with you
But not for long they realise.
Most of them you betray using death
But few you lose to repentancy.
List, i will not, all your inflictions
On the world premier of which
Is Hatred.
People unknowingly wish
To see in extremis
To see you burn forever in inferno
There fore Evil, Evil i beseech you
Come not to me on what i have ecrit
Not to, not to me, i reject you
Please Begone!!!
the straight jacket
of convention
bring
random
consolations,
so
apposite:
the drawback
of the trivial,
underlined
by the inauthentic,
unruffled
by the marginal,
proxy-proof
in the schemes
of man...
distilled by the
sieve
of the commonplace
Anita Page's image wore well,
Rustling silk having carried her
But beneath her celluloid gaiety
And the nuance of her blonde curls.
I sensed something more apposite
The glint in her eye,
Reminding me of a mood dance,
Lasting deep into the scene.
A fluid transition into interpretation,
She felt the spoken word could not convey.
Time strokes the wrinkled canvas,
the ancient spider in twilight hour
weaves the senility web,
the empty eyes wander in the wasteland.
The hedonist psyche refuses
to gauge the grief of loss.
The face morphs into metaphor
for the past panorama dislodged,
captured in the snapshot
of the narcissist impulse congealed
in the portrait I make of me.
It’s made of latent lattice of delicate design,
lines on lines contour my body.
The vibrant epitome of expression align
with the pattern of unique look personified.
An insular captive of my mental making,
I’m an inimitable loner within me,
defined by the entrenched essence singular,
scared to face the crowded world.
I get driven by the self-obsessed urge
to uplift my sagging morale,
clothe the portrait with an apposite attire.
I open the sparse closet to select a T-shirt
with the walking punchline
“Be Brave, Be You” inscribed bold.
It makes a simple style statement
for me coming out of the lonesome shell.