Best Aught Poems
Genesis 0:0
'Before the beginning, God saw that the expanse was vast,
and in its vastness it was empty and still,
and it saddened him, and bored him a little, too.
And before the first day, thus spake He:
"I'll scribe a great tome, a thousand pages and more !" '
And he fulfilled his pledge
and scribed a great tome, a thousand pages and more.
And many great things were painfully matched
with much great wickedness and iniquity,
for God decreed that His Word make man and woman.
Thus was His Word soon devoured.
For the mighty man wielded His Word as a sword,
and the greedy man sold it to the poor;
the depraved man bent it to his most hateful will,
and the foolish man gave way to them all.
Alas ! None learned aught of its author.
Revelation 23:1
'And God sat down to catch His breath,
for his tome of the ages was perverted by wicked men,
and the earth and heavens heaved with tumult.
And after the last day, thus spake He:
"I'm not too sure they got it." '
31st May 2020
For Chantelle Anne Cooke's contest,
Favourite Scripture
Within Mysteries, The Dark and Decay Also Hides
(free verse)
On a stony pebble, feet cried out in pain,
why does, in our way, sharp pebbles forever lay
and the beat goes on
daily turmoil and sadden goodbyes
nightly terrors, old broken toys
vacancies of illuminations
dark echoes that reveal
dismissal of kindness
and the beat goes on
In a dying feast,
why does each bite so bitter taste
broken spoon grinds upon aging teeth
table shakes its rotten legs
hope waves its retreat
tomorrow yearns to die
tomorrow, at own yearning, dies
hope, so foolish, is scorned
legs decay under table fallen
broken teeth curse aged spoon
even bitter can no longer be bitten
feast on death, never aught else
yet the heat is gone
kindness, as it were, no longer
concealed in devious light
where illuminations are filled
with days terrors, child returns
to greet anew the nightmare revived
yet the heat is gone
here, in our way, stones, jagged, perpetual
feet, mortifyingly quiet on jagged stone
A Collaboration, by Robert J. Lindley
and Lawrence Sharp
7-02-2020, free verse
Note: It has again been a blessing and great
pleasure for me to compose with my great friend,
Lawrence Sharp. I am grateful for such a
wonderful gift and the immense poetic talents
of my very kind writing partner. His verses
brought such wonderful depths and a very fine
added dimension to this new collaborative creation.
Continued from Part 1
“Upon your knees in golden naves, while peeking through the slots,
You horded thirty silver pieces, downed a whiskey shot,
Then crossed yourself and wrapped yourself in furs of ocelots,
And danced on cleated cloven hoofs in purple polka-dots,
Then drank His blood from chalice cups with pious afterthoughts.
“You’ve treated men like mongrels chained, like little flies to swat,
By doing what you wanted to, instead of what you aught;
You’ve wiped your nose with dollar bills and paid your serfs with snot,
But when you’ve paused to preen your pride, you’ve scrubbed a scarlet blot.
“In ashes of our victories: the diamonds that you sought,
The crock of gold, the Golden fleece of bogus Argonauts -
In mirrors of your lifelessness, the evils you begot.
“The haunted winds strew leaves of time across a shallow plot
Where now, beneath the frozen stones blanched bodies bathe in rot,
Disintegrate, return to dust to feed Forget-Me-Nots
Amidst the bane and pits of pain where broken bones lie caught.
“In fields above the catacombs and tombs of Camelot
The black and withered tree of Death arises from the spot
Where oft beneath a bleeding moon you hid your gold in pots
Embedding doubts neath barren bogs where roots of wormwood squat.
“While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
Your soul, a beggar’s blanket, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
With dangling pearls and diamond studs mid dripping crimson clots
And gaping wounds with bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
For wrapped in chains around your throat, the Reaper’s grim garrote.”
Yes, that’s the fate of all your kind, disclosed by Wise Men taught.
But that was, oh, so long ago, by now you have forgot…
End
at long last the time has come
when beautiful lovers meet
the scent of deep purple blooms
calls to butterfly
on wings of gold black and blue
wafting irresistibly
to the vivid fragrant source
in days of honey
at the hour of aught shadows
when hope and joy is soaring
deep blue skies smile graciously
on nature's wild ways
Decades of a formula that only he knew about it and drew,
Cascades of his artwork came to a head in his last years,
Glissades of a swan in a lake that only a handful had seen,
Tirades made its mark on him, distant from fellow peers.
~~[Van Gogh]~~
Impressed of his art garnered some interest in his style,
Oppressed, a constant companion only he can befriend,
Obsessed by what he drew insanely violent he withdrew,
Distressed he found salvation in asylums to not descend.
~~[Wheatfield With Crows]~~
Crows, black gawking, feed in a meadow ache for harvest,
Know that art needs to be made, scheme food for thought,
Those sinister birds, a murder of crows festering the grain,
Throes a fit mocking 'em, flys, pained him more than aught.
~~[Starry Night]~~
Bleak sky of blues, stars gave rise to a miracle been made,
Streak of a sprawl unfurls his heavens tethered madness,
Speak not lest he loses his concentration, maintains focus,
Meek town his groundwork, lofty jewel amidst the sadness.
~~[Bedroom At Arles]~~
Red, that laid on a bed, table, chairs, paintings on the wall,
Said was where he severed his ear, water bowl mirror hung,
Head bandaged where he bled, he does a self-portrait of it,
Deadman walking, Gauguin part ways, no song to be sung.
~~[Self-Portrait Bandage Ear And Pipe]~~
Drew closer, when they were both young, be such friends,
Few friends Van Gogh had, Gauguin was at that moment,
Grew apart after Vince shaving Paul, Vince wanted to hurt,
Knew time together was getting just a bit grave and potent.
~~[House At Auvers]~~
Return to Arles made Van Gogh happy for good times there,
Upturn spirits was a rarity, too few and far in the middle,
Discern with him was questionable because he's unstable,
Concern for his good, art kept him busy, else is second fiddle.
~~[Doctor Gachet]~~
Fields back of the house, a pistol, he plans to shoot himself,
Wields his pistol, shoots, nobody hears, years gun lays hidden,
Yields his brother Theo to his side as doctor aides him little,
Shields truth futile, his art was world-renown, dies bedridden.
I am sitting in my Dorchester lair,
And behind the door I do feel your mien,
When my poetic muse is in the air,
You look real as life to me, “Amore Mio”.
When I am surfing on the internet,
You are there in my click I envisage,
I initiate to scribe a sonnet,
And lo! I see you embossed on the page.
Sighing, wry face, the lips as a dried leaf,
Your greenish deep eyes upraised fully,
Neither death kills me, nor does lonely life,
But your silence eats my soul and body.
Numb as a disease, I die of a thought,
My love, don’t you sense the same as I aught?
=========================
A Shakespearian sonnet in Iambic Pentameter (ABAB CDCD EFEF GG)
Contest: Loneliness 7Th place win
How dark the night that sends the soul
To depths of vain retreat
And wallows in the thunder's roll
Of past infringed defeat
How light the breeze that lifts the soul
When taken aught is cleansed
No burden left to take its toll
On hearts upon the mend
How bright the day that lifts the heart
Though clouds berail at will
With kindnesses they're made to part
And hushed forever still.
deborah burch©
10/16/2006
3/27/2012
I've travelled more than I thought
I've learned less than I aught
I've laughed more than I've cried
I've been truthful more than
I've lied
I've sinned more than one should
I've tried hard to be good
I've loved and lost and
I've paid the cost
I've seen much in my day
I've learned how to pray
I've lived through a war
I've been frightened to the core
I've witnessed peace
I've seen the deceased
I've given birth
I've been overcome with mirth
I've lived a life like others do
I've reached the age of 82
I've got to be 83
I am curious to know what's ahead of me.
First posted July, 2020
Note: I am very pleased to have collaborated with Robert Lindley on several occasions in the past. Today, I have the pleasure of doing so again.
Robert, as always, thank you no end for the fellowship and inspiration.
Within Mysteries, The Dark and Decay Also Hides
A collaboration with Robert Lindley
On a stony pebble, feet cried out in pain,
why does, in our way, sharp pebbles forever lay
and the beat goes on
daily turmoil and sadden goodbyes
nightly terrors, old broken toys
vacancies of illuminations
dark echoes that reveal
dismissal of kindness
and the beat goes on
In a dying feast,
why does each bite so bitter taste
broken spoon grinds upon aging teeth
table shakes its rotten legs
hope waves its retreat
tomorrow yearns to die
tomorrow, at own yearning, dies
hope, so foolish, is scorned
legs decay under table fallen
broken teeth curse aged spoon
even bitter can no longer be bitten
feast on death, never aught else
yet the heat is gone
kindness, as it were, no longer
concealed in devious light
where illuminations are filled
with days terrors, child returns
to greet anew the nightmare revived
yet the heat is gone
here, in our way, stones, jagged, perpetual
feet, mortifyingly quiet on jagged stone
2nd July 2020
Cold and dreary from this road I’ve been on
Out here wondering just where I went wrong
Memories hold me together and tear me apart
Inching me closer to the place I left my heart
New places, smiling faces. It is all just a blur
God knows I have been searching for a cure
But peace has eluded me or so it would seem
Afraid of nightmares so I refuse to dream
Caught somewhere in between heaven and hell
Keep telling myself I’ll get through this spell
Holding on to hope and trying to stay strong
Over and over. Stuck on repeat. The same song
Made my mistakes and forced myself to roam
Exhausted, just trying to find my way home
“Touch me knots”…
are of the hidden
where no one aught
and some may don’t
even dare to go…
~ for the ride
“Patience”…
a naughty I AM
with impatiens yet
~ for The One
“Growing thought”…
was thinking to see
in a row of shade
it sought to be
hidden…
even to me.
“Buzy bees”….
seeking lines
of a silver cloud
~ touch them not
said a hazy shroud
it was just then
~ a tambos thunder
became a very
out loud…
”….gypsy come run…!”
with bells of the bear
feet doing dance
in the clouds of air
”… be impatient!…”
~ for I am here!….
touchez-moi des sorts!
“Touche me
lots!”…
a Touche of eights
~ in a game of sorts
~ Two fore.play
”…where are you?...”
20 by 20
seats aWay… x
.
she’s a babelfish....
”... noisy
show needed…”
Form:
ANTIDISESTABLISHMENTARIANISM (acrostic)
A lthough I’ve attempted some difficult and
N eddlesome poems in my decades of writing,
T he ultimate challenge had to be an acrostic
I n which the longest English word was chosen.
D eciding to undergo the absurd challenge
I delved into the history of these useless words and
S oon it became abundantly clear that
E asily the most popular of the contenders,
S hellacking Shakespeare’s ‘honorificabilitudintatibus’ and
T aught to students from kindergarden to grade twelve, was
A ntidisestablishmentarianism.
B ut sadly, there were multisyllabic monsters even
L onger, like the one we came to know and love
I n Walt Disney’s 'Mary Poppins'-
S upercalifragilisticexpialidocious- which
H as fourteen syllables and a letter count of 34.
M ost linguists agree that deciding on the longest word
E ntails whether or not you allow chemical
N ames like dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane
T ypically referred to as DDT.
A nother matter is the acceptability of lingo,
R igmarole, jargon, balderdash, twaddle and
I diomatic gibberish…
A ntidisestablishmentarianism,
N ot withstanding its pedantic appeal,
I s clearly the lexiconic choice and
S hould win the ‘Longest Word’ crown
M ade from elbow patches and Donegal tweed.
© 2009 James Rasmusson
Elastic stretches bit by bit, around your thick dimension
Lets you wiggle, if you're pudgy, from too much fudge retention
A second portion...now, you're ecstatic....Alas, you've licked the kettle!
Should I tattle or meddle much, or call for intervention?
Thus, your middle may need attention, is it a time for fudge redemption?
I hope you won't judge my good intentions, or hold a grudge.... OOPS!
Caught by chance, I wear stretch pants!! Your fudge tastes quite fantastic!!
_________________________________________________
9/24/13 For Andrea's "Seven" Contest
Motorbikes and barking dogs
are driving me to drink
With the endless din of traffic
I can no longer think
I’ll have a little nip of Gin
Perhaps a beer or two
or maybe close the window
That might help me too
Perhaps I’ll take my rifle
With the telescopic sight
And find a building with a view
Where I can sit at night
Those random noisy neighbours
Would swiftly think again
If metal jacket bits of lead
were winging toward their brains
Another little whiskey then
To keep the cold at bay
And steady trigger finger
As the targets weave and sway
I did this once before you know
And they kept me for a year
Psychotic Paranoia
Induced by too much beer
I didn’t have the rifle then
just a catapult I'd bought
T’was after several nips of rum
Because I thought I aught
It’s gotten so much quieter here
I nailed it bang to rights
and down below looks pretty
With those small blue flashing lights
I think they’re waving up here
I can see them scurry round
Behind their little armoured cars
They’re kneeling on the ground
I hear the whiz of bullets
But my vodka dulls the sound
Perhaps I’ll have a pop or two
At those insects five floors down
I’m feeling kinda sleepy now
I’m tired upon my feet
And those noisy thudding chopper blades
could ruin a good nights sleep
A small nightcap, a brandy tot
Should calm my trembling hand
And then I think I’ll take a shot
At that choppers rubber band
I expect I’ll get a little sleep
In Broadmoor’s padded rooms
And get out in a year or so
As recessions lay offs loom
So one more shot and then to sleep
I’ll go out like a light
So just before I take it
I’ll wish you all goodnight.
When I breathe and beat you know my nerve,
Whether am in trouble or in twisty curve,
Alpha to infinity you knows my pain,
Alas! All my endeavors yet null and vain,
Oh my Lord forgive my err and sin,
Am not more than petite thumb pin,
I am not more then eccentric smoke,
But Neither my pulse vanishes nor I get choke,
What am I? Mere a fickle soul and surreal thought,
Without your blessings, zilch and aught,
You made me concrete yet fragile,
Oh my Lord your mercifulness heaps and pile,
Wish I die while reading holy book kalam,
And meanwhile praising salat-o-salam,
And occult angel may welcome to main,
-abode, But I wish to die once again,
You give us faith and the best,
You the lord of two east’s and two west’s,
Sanctify my soul, make me free from evil,
And demonic thoughts of devil,
And I supplicate that You,
Allah ho, Allah Ho,
Nothing is invisible to you,
Oh My Lord, All powers belong to you!
Written By
Muhammad Shahid Hussain Chouhdry
(Bwp_PK)