Best Beholders Poems
Written: December 11, 2023
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Intricate depiction of a being?
That a single hand could create
Beneficial matters can be evanescent
When built out of yielding clay?
Molded into fiction, scales, and tails
In terms of creative process,
Ground and airborne entities
Morph into unthought-of shapes.
A refined intellect creates ephemera
Quickly under a gentle moonlight
I'm floating in the swaying elevator
Regarding heavenly breezes.
Hair converts into poet-trees from poetry
Yet untamed ideas are captivated
With the spirals and knuckles
Brilliant sculptor's vision and decision.
lifting our minds into untamed sight
Those who grasp this routine are lucky
And the beholders of moonbeam dreams
Pursue the path that moves the heart.
Categories:
beholders, analogy, introspection, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
moon peers from heaven
shrouds of light clouds obscure not
his curious view
romantic couple
strolling along moonlit path
love's peace enshrouded
cautious eyes uplift
shadow darkens moonlit face
bunny burrows deep
precision vision
owl in a moonbeam races
dinner escaping
couple's hushed visions
awed sighs beneath desert skies
eyes beholding peace
Categories:
beholders, love,
Form:
Choka
You may not be a star
But your face shines very bright
If you were floating in the atmosphere
I would see you late... at night
You may not own a fortune
Or drive a fancy car
But you're rich and full of kindness
And that will take you... very far
You may not be intelligent
But you have a thoughtful heart
And that is more important to me
Even more than... being smart
You may not be a princess
Or a princes lucky wife
But to me you wear that crown
Because there's beauty in... your life
You may not have a shapely figure
Or walk with sex appeal
But there's something sexy about you girl
Must be that you... are real
Categories:
beholders, beauty,
Form:
Rhyme
EASTER DINNER
they liked the one behind me
the teal and black checkerboard
its sparkling tiles on the diagonal
red, yellow, blue, pink pillows
on sofas and chair
the sunrise was unsympathetic
like the cross, but the service
was cozy for Easter Sunday.
remember how it was raining yesterday?
they liked the one behind me
with framed women and palms
i’d have to look over my shoulder
see the eyes of the beholders
steadily for twelve hours plus
prepping the whole affair
can you smell the onions and peppers
the beginnings of love
they liked the one behind me
with the blue and pink sky,
red roses fanned out, ferns,
and modern art on display
stirred the flour, salt,
nearly a dozen eggs
and water, still needed
more water
they liked the one behind me
with the great picture window,
the surf and sail, red and white
striped shell, a book, and
a cocktail with straw
chicken - legs and breast
red and white wine
no deviled eggs - tossed
toadstool radishes
they liked the painting
it drew them in
i liked that they liked it
wonder if they saw
the red parakeet?
even the beach chairs are red
did they spy all the red things
obviously I’ve counted
most everything
that is behind my back
and in front of me
4/9/2023
Categories:
beholders, art, easter, food,
Form:
Ekphrasis
If given a choice between wisdom and beauty
I’d have to choose wisdom out of pure sense of duty.
Duty will call me to be all that I can
And wisdom will aid in my service to man.
While wisdom is there to be used every day,
Beauty is fleeting in a physical way.
Wisdom is solid – has so many uses
While beauty just lies there, spouting excuses.
Yet, beauty has value that wisdom will seek
And wisdom is silent when others might speak.
Silence is golden and down through the years
I have seen wisdom prevent beauty’s tears
I hope in your traverse through life here on Earth
Through eyes of beholders you see wisdom’s worth.
Categories:
beholders, social, beauty, beauty, wisdom,
Form:
Sonnet
Uniwest
Perceived as crown from heavens, mini kingdom of isolated tribes. Its beauty is painted in the wall of beholders eyes. The story of ancient Biblical thoughts. Kingdom of named after stones. Mahikeng camp of jacks and jelly, chain of Gladiator, Bichua Italy land belong to Spartacus. Roman-jungle of miracle.
It’s Powerful and dictatorship is well known by its five kingdoms. Its status is spotted like United States Doll er-sin in every vision. Its mission is preaching keys that opens kingdom of paradise, Mount Kilimanjaro Glory of success.
Its five discipline disciple impregnate every prostitute found on its street, through martial arts. Exam constitute of justice and true. Power and selection of murder. Agle Janam Mohe king of kings’ shaka to Zulu. Well protected like language Setswana. Uniwest; its kingdom have eleven department of prison.
Start with James entertainment, gift given to Lional messie. Ikanlha, Dr Mandela residence to Hopewell till lost in city prison. Jail of education as a mother of children who need guidance. Laws of success, numbering and commence is their daily bread while agricultural science and technology glorify their success bone with china.
Mortal salute your beauty, oh uniwest coronet. Your kingdom is spread with Fresh active juveniles of Adam and Eve pitch. Crowded bash, event of the year. Sasko bread at its best political success. “Cheese to new comers” Enjoy Full years of searching for key to you Final year to success. Let’s see life to our last journey speed like “Benz” car of a dream: speech from the next president. African boy, Benz I will drive at graduation parliament of Uniwest.
Categories:
beholders, business, community, culture, education,
Form:
Alliteration
Huge hands extracted heavy red clay lumps
gleaned from Edgefield's argil soil,
placing it
upon the whirling wheel.
Fingers roughened,
he formed, shaped, with master skill
vessels fit --
massive stoneware pieces, usable, rare.
Sinuous liquid clay upon black hands
like tortured blood from harsh slave-beating wounds,
dripping down dark skin,
branded,
cursed,
damned.
Unique old man, Dave,
a slave, literate --
in times dangerous for his kind to read,
he proudly displayed more than maker's mark.
In poems, quaint,
with shapely script, his creed
was carved upon the pots' serene shoulders,
then boldly signed with his own name.
Yes, "Dave" was inscribed
for the eyes of all beholders.
Forty years he worked for his white owners,
longing, like all enslaved, for freedom, dear.
He lived to see emancipation's dream --
perhaps never knew an accolade sincere.
Six foot under, unmarked,
no one knows where old Dave the slave
lies buried.
Sure enough,
his perfect pots are still discovered:
both he and they
were diamonds in the rough.
© Faye Lanham Gibson, June 14, 2014
Dave the slave lived near Edgefield, South Carolina, and crafted
some of the largest pottery pieces known. He was literate and signed
many of his pieces with his own name and also included on some his own
short poems. His pieces when sold command very high prices.
Categories:
beholders, beauty, courage, slavery,
Form:
Rhyme
The Diversity of Beauty
Beauty
personal, subjective
fascinates, allures, mesmerizes
beholders’ cull eclectic forms
diversity
For Poet Destroyer A
Beauty and Diversity
(under 10 lines ~ less than 10 syllables a line)
Categories:
beholders, appreciation, beautiful, beauty, desire,
Form:
Cinquain
Eight decenniums ago
A woman sang near a riverbank
A wife's longing for a husband in imago
A soldier far away bearing no ankh.
Katyusha was her name
A well-loved dame
Left by a husband in war
Defending his country in tar.
She and her husband only wanted peace
For the world to see and feel
No soldier will die for callous frontispiece
Than become an image of New World's heel.
Katyusha will live in memories and dreams forever
Singing for women and wives of soldiers
Serving a country under God not sever
With a song to linger in the beholders.
Categories:
beholders, conflict, dream, earth, emotions,
Form:
Narrative
Always a smile ambassador of light beams
forever inside joy escapes in silent tongues
a gentle whisper blows kisses from these soft lips
in each others company love is perfect
Sovereign ruling commands within the beholders eyes
always will be a sharing devotion
kissing under the moonlight cradle
smiling shadows join when holding each others hands
Precious binding union stands powerful as our souls mate
with faith held in your words they sing out one kindred tune
into each others eyes hope glistens platinum through the sparkle
diamond joining each others dreams through jewels true magic gleams
Shines pure a marriage under one circle love when complete
forever young and ageless, like a star yes awestruck
one star that forever winks chanting an angel vision once held
blinding beautiful shooting magic into very breath gasping
You are the best breathless trailing sparkles
enchanting all candle light dazzling supreme
with you I feel warmly embraced deeply touched
as the queen enters standing tall before these eyes
Sweet romance blossoms blowing darkness to the wind
shining beautiful always crowns one rose in your smile lawless
without words safely guarded within a big loving heart
crying out inside one wish to wipe away each and every teardrop
Happiness serves a pleasure having the purity of spirit in always sharing
in the same winds that howls through corridors which echo a place
inside the heart ruling supreme in the palace stands a regal dream this vessel
sweetly sails into the rising sun golden crowning kneels kisses your lily white hand
(Unrhymed Quatrain)
Categories:
beholders, angel, beauty, devotion, emotions,
Form:
Quatrain
The stars are your maids and the sun, your veil.
You’re such a mirror of elegant reflection
where beauty peeps and marvels at itself.
Your body all round, always ask to be pet
all tissues sensually interlinked with mesmerizing excitements.
A hundred places resonating when one part is touched.
Boats of lovers, stay stuck in a dense stream of your beauty’s capture
your neck tenderly crafted and hands cutely neonatal
expressing feminine fragility in its finest
and such softness compelling
a rush of constant helping hands and curious minds
to create a zone pack full of dreamers and passionate wishers.
Elegance and sharp attractions
are dyes from extracted colours of Eden’s flowers
your voice is so peaceful and refining
that in your kingdom, there’s no rusty roof
your loose dress, shows off independence with the winds
presenting such limbs to be a masterpiece of affection’s fountains
blending to form a strong intensity so dangerous to men
and with those rolling eyes, powerfully discharging blips of admiration.
The open wings of your heart and your simplicity sum it all
as they fuel an aggressive mass movement
for nature to visit a therapist
to aid its creative power for the birth of more of your kind
to better the status of existence.
Categories:
beholders, i love you, longing,
Form:
Romanticism
They've put a gun in his hand,
Telling him to fight for his land.
Killing people on demand,
And the pain he has to withstand.
He's only a fourteen,
He’s already haunted by the sights that he's seen,
The destruction he's caused with this mighty machine,
The fact he's made to do this to me seems obscene.
Tell me how's it right?
Tell me how's it fair?
Making a child fight for your warfare
Tell me why its easier to get guns than water?
I see that little girl digging for hours in the well, please don't tell me she is your daughter?
Bringing in the necessities whilst you go out and slaughter,
Is this really the life you wish you could've taught her?
But yet, all of you men have guns in hand,
Tell me how you get those on demand,
Whilst theres not even enough food to stop hunger in your land?
Your family dying in front of you first hand.
Yet in the eye of the beholders,
You’ve made your little boys into soldiers?
Tell me how's it right?
Tell me how's it fair?
Making a child fight for your warfare!
He's growing up with your views,
The ones telling him that he can't lose.
He's got to take these lives,
In order to survive,
His childhood robbed from underneath his eyes.
It’s gone too far now he will never recover,
The child he used to be he will never rediscover,
Although he's content now with his surrogate mother,
What happened to his real family, where is his brother?
He no longer feels like he fits in with society,
Everything he's been through its given him bad anxiety,
He replays the horrors in his head thats why he sits so silently,
How can he live a normal life after he's acted so violently.
Holding a gun became the norm,
He’s covered with blood of lives he's torn,
Haunted with visions of people he’s made mourn,
Feels life would've been better if he had never been born.
You can try and help him all you like,
But you weren't the one who was made to fight,
You don't understand what he's been thought quite,
As he doesn't see a touch of humanity in himself in sight.
He lost everything, everything he knew,
Was brainwashed into something new,
He’s got a lot on his back he has to carry through,
No where in sight where he can escape to.
Categories:
beholders, abuse, allegory, betrayal,
Form:
Rhyme
I’m no longer that
Who like to talk
It’s not my business
With the affairs of the wind
Who look like breeze
In it absence
Fill the hearts of the soil
With lies - & succeeds.
What business of mine is it
So long they don’t take the yam
From my savouring mouth ?
I’m no longer that
Who like to preach
It’s not my business
To blame the breeze
When its sights are mortified
Without light but lies.
Mention to it, directions
Pledge to it fealty
Monsters appearing to be its beholders.
What business of mine is it
So long they don’t take the yam
From my savouring mouth ?
It’s not up to me to fight
Can I take care of breaches with my own hands?
I’m myself amaze at how good the breeze destroy the properties of the wind
What business of mine is it
So long they don’t take the yam
From my savouring mouth ?
I’m no longer that
Who like to advise
It’s not my business
With the affairs of the breeze
When they think the wind
Already learnt the biography
Of the soil guided by God
But have for them traces of robbery on their faces
What business of mine is it
So long they don’t take the yam
From my savouring mouth ?
I’m no longer that
Who like to narrate
The affairs of the wind
It’s not my business
To consult - suggest - argue the administration of the wind
What business of mine is it
So long they don’t take the yam
From my savouring mouth ?
I’m no longer that
Who like to be a seer
It’s not my business
But the plan of a wind result in harm
Increase the joy of destruction
But it’s none of my business after
My silence hurts……….
Categories:
beholders, 1st grade, africa, corruption,
Form:
Free verse
Although her truth is cast in each beholders eye,
alas, by looking glass dear Beauty is misled.
Reflection clouds charisma it should amplify
and clearly mirrors doubt it finds inside instead
Categories:
beholders, beauty, identity, image,
Form:
Rhyme
When thousand stars shall glow,
You'll be there among their brightness.
You are the moon savored in joy.
There are stories about us unwritten,
You live by the center of my heart
Because our emotions run together.
.
.
Writers are never tired of their work,
So we must write to defend freedom;
Those freedom words written in your heart,
Those freedom of human rights seen in you.
Your heart will never swallow enough words,
More and more shall you write and re-write.
.
.
Your of a superb blood linage of warriors,
Your lips are the drum beating for change;
Reformation of human race so demaged.
Before the echoes of yesterday resurrect,
We will make a great future of kind writers
who will carry water to the top of the hill.
.
.
Unto your kindness I pledged in peace,
I am proud to call you a great mentor,
I am so fond to call you my own demi-god.
Of a truth you are the greatest of them all,
The beholders of penful words on earth.
You're a tree that bears good fruits...
.
.
New firewood summons delicious meals,
Dawn breaks, cloud yawns, eagles flap afresh,
But your courage and muse shall remain strong.
You'll not shade a skin of weathiness to somebody,
Ode to a brilliant man from the big heart of south;
Ode to Omoruyi Uwuigiaren, my dearest at heart.
.
.
At the brightest side of tomorrow we'll meet,
There are good things to come from the door.
We look upto you in fecilitation of love---
Under the rain and sun, we march on with you,
In pains and agony, we must move on your side.
Ode to you, great man of the Niger Delta.
.
.
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016
Categories:
beholders, africa,
Form:
Ode