Best Banquets Poems
In the mirrors of Moirai
kismet and karma kiss adoringly,
unaware of this betrayal they label as life.
In the hallucination we call birth,
words whisper like bitter winds,
composing a metaphorical manuscript,
weaving a quilt of invisible inflictions.
Silent screams serenade in childhood bloodshed,
where no messiah arrived to rectify sins of saints -
so some languish among abandoned souls.
Modern monsters no longer hide beneath the bed,
they feast amongst our freshly prepared banquets.
In a fathomless pit, I'm slaying prosaic demons,
before indigo hues turn ebony -
who are they to destroy my dreams?
I never heard the birds sing
in a playground of lucid lullabies.
I still recall the ghosts of featherless angels,
swaying upon swings adorned in garlands of grief.
Their eternal spirits flickering in silver embers,
evolving into perpetual vessels of reflection.
Confused in a realm of revolving doors,
tarnished paths only withhold wrath,
leaving behind trails of trauma,
where twisted trials lead to disfigured destinies.
Glass hearts only break in battles with burdens,
so our spirits become victim to Medusa eyes.
When each sigh flows like a slow poison,
we search for virgin daffodil dawns,
as distractions to numb the pain.
Fatigued from the battles from
those who rebel against our hearts -
we seek solace from sojourners of invigoration.
Blessed are those who connect with universal harp strings.
Who merge with the sacred aura of music.
Who notice the stars before twilight,
comprehending the glory of sunrise,
as an analogy against adversity.
I was not designed to be a flower,
contained in a snow globe,
covered in ivory flakes when shaken.
I have forgiven the blameworthy,
who are guilty for chaining an inner child,
but I'm still waiting to break free.
Before I waste away and my thorns decay,
ordain upon me the fortune to cradle love -
let me flourish in the field where Rumi's roses bloom.
Categories:
banquets, allusion, analogy, assonance,
Form:
Didactic
Her lust for you is fierce.
She spreads it out before you
as if it were a lavish bridegroom’s dinner
of caviar, oysters and shrimp;
spears of warmed asparagus and
artichokes stripped of leaves to dip in luscious butter;
truffles too with fragrant muskiness;
all foods of succulence - inciting appetite.
Her tender lips are moist - champagne to further whet desire.
Entreating you to take your fill, she whispers in your ear,
“Partake of me, my love. Take more and more.”
As you imbibe her and consume her,
your feeding frenzy peaks
when she offers from her fingers- sweetest fruit:
honeyed figs with cream, peaches, plums, and kumquats;
and one red well-ripened berry.
Utterly sated,
drunk from delectation;
motionless, you lie upon your bed.
And when your eyes move rapidly
beneath their heavy lids,
she slides her body carefully off yours,
slips back into her gossamer gown,
hastens on tiptoes to the door; turn the knob;
and without looking back,
steps into the blackness of the night.
You'll waken and want to feast again
but find that she has parted.
(to banquets such as hers,
one rarely is invited more than once).
And so you'll live and love,
knowing that you can never resume -
a coupling so completely gratifying.
Your passion was consumed in
your consuming of this goddess
who takes from men again. . . and again
But the nourishment that she requires
must always be fresh,
and that is what
eternally
sustains her.
A Revised Oldie for the Heart of Seduction Poetry Contest of Justin Bordner
Categories:
banquets, sensual,
Form:
Free verse
She was definitely a strange girl,
Many odd and weird things I have heard;
She dreamt of riches,
Silk robes,
Rich husband,
Deepest bag of diamonds,
High-priced banquets,
Treated like a princess.
From the church the bells tolled,
Her wedding was due,
Hip hip hurrah,
I met the spoilt bride,
She held her breath,
Balanced with fears,
Her man arrived in time,
She was only eighteen,
He was nineteen, fifty years ago,
Married three times,
Widowed three times.
Beside her he knelt with difficulty,
She looked at his wrinkled face,
His cotton white hair,
His hands shaken,
But he was made of money….
Who cares….
Her eyes blinked,
Who cares…
Ill-fated is this married life,
Ominous prediction for this wife;
Still he was rich,
She was a,
Birds of a feather,
Spurious and preposterous,
For she’s eighteen,
He’s sixty-nine….
Wondering if he manages this sexual position!
Categories:
banquets, slam,
Form:
Free verse
How can one man find
More faith in a crevasse of Siula Grande,
Than most will ever know,
Sitting beneath a pulpit on Sunday?
Dulling the truth to grow the census,
Merchants and cowards comfort the carnal ear.
Marketing Christ’s love without his conviction,
Left willful in sin with nothing to fear.
In half doctrines and custom alter calls,
Prostituting the truth with all forms of prosperity.
Akin to seeding hookers in the chambers of Heaven.
Deceived to death twice by hand and blasphemy.
Feeding wolves from among your own flocks.
In the banquets of ancient mystics and bride Blavatsky,
Word of Faith gorging on their mammon,
Left choking in an insatiable eternity.
A culture’s blue concessions are gone,
Giving more choices leaving Paul’s letters unread.
No church discipline or discernment left,
Testaments of burning flesh that once bled.
Refusing to submit to be broken.
Fading old blessings from past obedience.
Confusing favor with common grace,
Hypocrisy’s retribution birthed decadence.
Millions claiming the found life of the few,
In every eulogy and requiem,
Lukewarm afterthoughts of the Son,
Losing everything by never knowing him.
Despising the light of the living truth,
Lobotomizing guilt with the scalpel of ignorance.
Finding solace in the darkness of mystery.
Death marches infectious rainbows of tolerance.
Redefining roles and covenants in hemorrhaging lies
Under the pretense of the modern states,
Illusions of enlightenment killing somatic slaves.
Relativism’s heart courting the things he hates.
Enticed by the delusions of utopias,
Bound in the fables of autonomy.
Throats upon The two-edged sword,
In this American tragedy
-------------------------------------------------------
12.04.14
This poem attempts to capture the Fundamentalist view on certain issues with other movements within Christianity. Also, the man in the crevasse, chose a different kind of faith than you may have assumed.
Categories:
banquets, bible, christian, dark, death,
Form:
Didactic
Cheese curds make my day.
My wife has a daily habit
Of caring for all my needs.
She keeps her eyes wide open
To see what she can see.
This week was no exception
As she neared the dairy case.
Greeted by one of my favorites
Now staring her in the face.
You see. . . I love cheese curds.
I even love their squeaky sound.
When she finds real fresh ones
I can eat them by the pound.
Several months ago,
A nearby dairy closed its door.
Never to make great curds again
No. . . never “curds” no more.
Shullsburg, Wi. was the next place
We’d make the day long drive to.
When we’d go so far fetch,
We’d always buy more than a few.
But it goes against my “system”
When those curds are in the home.
I’m always “digging” in the frig
I can’t leave those curds alone.
But as sometimes life will go
Our local grocer now has in stock
So we can buy fresh curds
Without driving a "million blocks”.
She announced as she returned
From the weekly trek she makes.
“The store had some ‘new’ curds”
To mention curds is all it takes.
I quickly fought open the package
To taste and hear that sound.
I scarfed down several chunks
Before in the frig they’re bound.
“Oh my !” is what I shouted.
These curds are really best.
But at my age, I must control
The quantities I now ingest.
For my old system can’t tolerate
All the cheese I’d like to eat.
So I must regulate the flow
Save my curds for just a treat.
My son, however: doesn’t seem care.
He can mow them down full feed.
But I know “our kitchen tender”
Will supply us all we need.
So “Thank you” Homestead Dairy
And all the folks involved in that.
I’ll be up to see your operation
Maybe get to see you “stir the vat”. :o)
A parting note to all Christian readers,
I’ve a thought about life’s end.
With all the banquets talked about,
I trust my curds “someone” will send.
Written by oldbuck to commemorate the discovery of a “local” supply for fresh curds. Curds and crisp bacon are two of my favorite foods.
Categories:
banquets, appreciation, farm, food, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
My name is Aphrodite and
my offering to man
is fierce love.
I spread it out before you
like a lavish bridegroom’s dinner
with foods named aphrodisiacs rightly after me!
Caviar, oysters and shrimp;
spears of warmed asparagus and
artichokes stripped of leaves to dip in luscious butter;
truffles too with fragrant muskiness;
all foods of succulence - to stimulate your appetite.
My tender lips are moist - champagne to further whet desire.
You drink me in. . .
Entreating you to take your fill, I whisper in your ear,
“Partake of me, my love. Take more and more.”
When your feeding frenzy
is at its peak -
that’s when I offer you - dripping from my fingers - sweetest fruit:
honeyed figs with cream, peaches, plums, and kumquats;
and last: one red well-ripened berry.
Utterly sated,
drunk from delectation;
motionless, you lie there on your bed.
And when your eyes move rapidly
beneath their heavy lids,
I slide my body carefully off yours,
slip back into my gossamer-thread gown,
then tiptoe to the door; turn the knob;
and without looking back,
step into night.
You waken and want to feast again
but find that I have parted.
(to banquets such as mine, one rarely
is invited more than once).
And so you live and love,
knowing that you can’t resume -
ever in your life again -
a coupling so completely gratifying.
Your passion was consumed in
your consuming of this goddess!
I take from men again . . .again. . .
and then again.
But the nourishment that I require
always must be fresh,
and that is what
eternally
sustains me.
For Deb's Contest: category Unreal
Categories:
banquets, passion
Form:
Free verse
Salute to a Man of Mud with an Unblemished Heart
Rommel E. Gabitan
Clouds of mud cover his forsaken face
His hair showing strands of entangled complexities
His arms are covered with stingy memories
With all the world’s judgmental presumptions
He wanders in the corners of our fallen castles
Filled with hatred,, ignorance and neglect of men
We hear not his voice but deep in his heart
He is shouting “Hey, have mercy on me!”
We dream of Cinderellas and Prince Charmings
But this Man of Grease has nothing to cherish
Except finding tranquility and serenity of mind
In the midst of emptiness, yet he resembles a smile!
Woe to you people wearing clothes of pretention
Glittering with false gold and silver of indignation
You eat chocolates of sugar coated bitterness
Yet you spit sour drops of your putrid arrogance
He is a man swarmed with grease, mud and flies
He eats the leftovers of our bountiful banquets
But I say to you, he eats with dignity and cleanliness
For his heart is pure and sincere, despite his ugliness
Categories:
banquets, inspirational, heart, heart,
Form:
Ballad
Apple many varieties sweet and sour
Banana soft fruit many uses
Cherry's are sweet watch out for its stone
Damson like a juicy plum
Elderberry fragrant good in wine
Fig many seeded fruit
Grapefruit similar to oranges but tarter
Honeydew melon lovely juicy type of gourd
Indian gooseberry good in pies
Jostaberry a cross between gooseberry, black gooseberry and black currant
Kiwi a tasty green fruit
Lemon can be very tart
Mango juicy fruit with delicate flavour
Nectarine similar to a peach
Orange sweet and juicy usually full of pips
Papaya also known as pawpaw
Quince very sharp like a lime
Raspberry most useful at banquets
Strawberry and ice-cream a summer delight
Tomato both used as a fruit and vegetable
Ugli fruit a gourd like fruit thats tasty
Valancia orange small sweet fruit that packs a punch
Water melon another gourd like fruit
Ximenia Caffra is like a very sour plum
Yellow passion fruit is similar to passion fruit normally cooked as a curd
Zucchini flowers often cooked in batter
Categories:
banquets, fruit,
Form:
Abecedarian
Wrapped up in a blanket; by a fireplace in her mind
Remembering cozy evenings; 0f banquets once so fine.
Where she held her lover tightly; trying to make it never end;
But time has left her feeling; that it won’t come back again.
While the sparrows cling to bushes; and the doves hide in the eves;
The flocks go to the sanctuary; to pray there on their knees
She remembers being a flyer; soaring through the skies;
But she claims it was so long ago; behind a muffled sigh.
Waken from the day dream; confused she looks around.
A voice floats through the airways; void of any sound;
But there’s no one there beside her; behind or in the front;
So she climbs inside her special room; and there begins to hunt.
She’ll probably never find it; and if she did what could it mean;
It simply could be desperate wishes; that come from hopeless dreams
Categories:
banquets, sad
Form:
Rhyme
Surfing the web is an imperfect science
Putting the screws to each steadfast alliance
And while it is far from flawless, too
This "Poetry Soup" is a hot, tasty stew
Slow-cooked, spicy, and savory-laced
It's rife with flavors, (just add to taste)
Seasoned with wit and a whimsy, wry
The finest that poetic license can buy
All discerning palates will find a repast
With poetic relish from each wond'rous caste
Prime prose to chew on, served up and plated
To make sure your hunger is properly sated
Be it sugary, sour or tart piquant zest
With ripe wordy fare we're cooking our best
We've lyrics and ballads and sonnets galore
Grand banquets of verse from table-to-floor
A bit of the bitter, our melancholy blurts
Yet sweeter-than-sweet are our just desserts
So give us a taste, I think you'll agree
That this "Poetry Soup" is a bowl of esprit
And should we e'er suffer for poetic cream
Don't fret, there's no limit to what we can dream!
~ 4th Place ~ in the "A-Muse-Sing" Poetry Contest, Richard Lamoureux, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
banquets, appreciation, poetry,
Form:
Couplet
Bountiful banquets served by the mind
Keats, Poe and Frost once sat and dined
Men pick up their pens and find
Voices that have need to say
Reverie holds sway
Soon verses display
Ponderings
Here and
Now.
Categories:
banquets, on writing and words
Form:
Nonet
It happened back in time, quite a long way,
Back in the day, as they today like to say:
An era when most donations to yeshivas** **Rabbinical academies, often
Didn't require much of a man's pay-- with a preparatory high school
$18, $36, $54 at the most--
If you gave $100, you could really boast...
Annual banquets were different, however,
Promotions for them being quite clever,
Promising 'Full-Page Ads,' 'Silver-Page' and even 'Gold,"
All for a relative pittance, truth be told:
For a $180, $250 or $360 fee
Your good name would be trumpeted constantly,
With great pomp, dignity and high pedigree.
As 'a mere teacher in a yeshiva,' my own ads
Were quite modest: $50 for a quarter-page,
To pen something brief, but sage
About the yeshiva I toiled for out of love, not a wage.
So one year, quite way back in the day,
Imagine my surprise, my happiness, my elation,
Then my CONCERN and my SHOCK!...
...When browsing the banquet adbook journal ad hoc,
Just to see if anyone had penned a kind word about me,
I came upon THREE ADS, "Thanking Mr. Wolf," all paid for in Gold,
For over a thousand dollars! they had been ANONYMOUSLY sold.
The blood drained from my face; I felt faint and quite dizzy.
The room swam in circles, my nerves on edge, in a tizzy.
I looked around in amazement; who might have done it?
I spotted the adbook's creater, the man who had run it.
"Far be it from me to reveal the secret," he intoned.
'I don't deserve such a great honor,' I felt in my bones.
In the days to come, I asked everyone in town,
Yet no one would admit that he had plunked down
$1,080 to sing my praises to the world of the yeshiva,
To pay tribute to me like some big star or great diva.
So I had to give up my crusade as 'Super-Sleuth,'
Had to graciously acknowledge what seemed to be the truth,
That the anonymous parents of one of my students
Had been sincerely thankful that I was teaching their youth.
Categories:
banquets, appreciation, education, how i
Form:
Narrative
I Go to Prepare A Place For You
A Heaven Where You Will Never Have to Say Goodbye
Where you meet your beloved
And again hold hands;
Where no one is missing and
Time still stands;
There are banquets to share
To be sure,
And dancing for those who loved life and lore,
Where laughing at dawn happily breaks,
And smiles abundantly tender make;
There are misty clouds of sweet perfume,
And cottages with perfect and soft quiet rooms,
Babes will play and chortle, reunited
With those who loved them and were disunited.
Where ills and discord never exist,
And each to other dedicate to assist.
To beloved pets and wild beings no harm will come,
And weather will be stable with cool bright suns
But best of all,
I Go to Prepare A Place For You
A Heaven Where You Will Never Have to Say Goodbye
And There I Will Be
Categories:
banquets, happiness, heaven,
Form:
Couplet
Vast sums of money
enormous chunks of time
All spent on losing weight ~
usually ruined by dinnertime
It's really quite easy
now I know that sounds cheezy
But here's the one thing that works, brother
Sell your car today, and don't buy another
You'll walk everywhere
have little time to spare
for banquets and luncheons
or to lie around potato chip munchin'
And even if this radical step doesn't work
you have my personal guarantee
I'll sell your car back to you for what you took from me
~ sure enjoyed driving it for free
Categories:
banquets, business, car, health, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
Winter
Winter glows, it's drifts, it's plains, soft and white.
It's cold belies a threat to all, fear it!
It's there come night or day death don't forget!
Wrap up warm, keeps death at bay, heed, now play!
Spring
If it sticks to form, new life created.
Greedy winter lingers Jack Frost fickle.
Climate change is causing all life to stress!
But she, Mother Nature forced, her plight doomed!
Summer
The best for a very long time, warning,
Presents problematic drought, hosepipe bans!
Use it wisely, enjoy, have loads of fun.
Summer, time for laughter, seaside picnics.
Autumn
The end results of spring, summer, their plight!
For most flora, respite and autumn hues,
Orange, yellow and red and gold, enjoy!
Eyesights, banquets, behold the joy of death!
Climate Change
The cause, planet earth has tilted, a fact!
Nothing to do with pollution but heed
Don't be complacent pollution must stop!
It does affect and help climate warming!
Categories:
banquets, autumn, spring, summer, water,
Form:
Blank verse