Best Benedictions Poems
Winding, shadowy etches
come whispering at my window
Night whispers, the whimper
of the wind
Blow blue - wailing as you go
Crawl inside an empty paper bag
and play me tunes of the moors
Give me lonesome tonight
Hollow dirges tonight
Reality is the whisper of grass
on a back fence, and the crying
of an empty swing
Some shred caught in a car door
struggles to twist free
with a slap and tug and creak
Whisper me lies and benedictions
I cannot bear the truth
All that we need to know will be revealed
Let us not employ thought to analyse
Clear light of truth is by maya concealed
Aspect allowing is graced by surprise
Once we cease playing game of illusions
No fetters remain that bind and confine
Egoless presence exits delusion
As head and heart with throb of love align
Outer world fades as we dwell in silence
Blissful world within is so beauteous
We flow gently in childlike innocence
Rapture enlivenment continuous
Earth life destiny unfolds as ordained
Divine benedictions softly ingrained
02-April-2021
Entry for: your best sonnet this year so far
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Vibrant blissful presence, empathetic
Eager to serve whoever comes his way
Pure hollowed out form, always ecstatic
To the rhythm divine, in stillness sways
Spontaneous love bewilders ego
Throb of bliss brooks no thought interference
Flowing in gentleness sweet and mellow
Bubbling with joyous childlike innocence
As a humble conduit of the divine
Ceasing grasping, shifting to connecting
Content with benedictions God assigns
Aglow in bliss self-illuminating
His earth life unfolds in as is ordained
Persona nonchalant, pure and unstained
20-March-2021
How Can This Be…
How can this be…
Amazing grace survives
in ruins of self-inflicted rubble -
False walls of lies –
Where brittle stars
Explode
With love,
Escaping
Tones of pale platinum
Grey guilt -
Jagged traps of swirling revenge -
Imploding
Into the first watch
Of renewing lightness;
How can this heart -
Clothed in the naked shades of shame -
Not flee into lies of fantasy;
Retribution redeemed
Before eyes waking,
Blessed in blinding colored facets
As mercy sweeps away faceless bitterness;
How can this be,,.
Found –
Confronted -
By gentle hands of creation
And called beloved child,
Daring not look up into the redeeming eyes of majesty,
But live beneath amazing wings of hair raising joy;
Disbelief overwhelmed in
Elation,
No longer chained behind
The curtain of crushing blame,
All consuming gratitude on fallen knees,
A thousand pieces of brokenness
Fit perfectly again
Like the creation designed before the abyss
Became mute –
Earthen treasure seamlessly restored
Wearing rings of benedictions
Spoken in blinding grace -
How can this be…
Engraved in chromes steel, is benedictions creed
The road warrior's born to be free mentality,
A legacy's name embossed in history, behold
The American Harley Davidson Motorcycle.
Fires hell bound creation, blazing down the
Interstates two lane highway, feasting upon
The concrete and asphalt jungle, it lives to be driven,
And is driven to live.
Emerging from brimstone's smoke, and hails
Lightning flash, a two wheeled vehicle of deliverance,
Cuts the wild heart in half, releasing mankind's
Inner beast setting it free, unto the open roads
Badlands, of ultimate abandonment to freedom's row.
The rebel unforgiven,thus follows the lost by ways
Seeking liberation’s untamed spiritual knowledge.
Held firmly beneath the wings of the American eagle, and
Draped within the standard most sacred
Under the red, white, and blue flag, of the U.S.A.
A living entity, releasing society's inhibitions,
At the sound of it's mighty roar, a freed lone wolf,
Racing against the winds of the restless spirit.
The leather jacket's brotherhood, symbolizing
A grand belief in the declaration of independence,
That all men are created equal, and shall have the
God given right, to seek true freedom's liberty at will.
These are the modern cowboy desperado's,
Riding upon dual engines of power,
Time bandits whom trust in God and country alone.
A stampers anvil strikes in thunders rage,
Melting quick silver, speeds downwards
Into a symbolic mold, leaving behind tradition's
Birthmark, and the Harley Davidson symbol
Is born.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
You’re certainly missing out
Whilst you’re fooling about
And you’re swimming in doubt
So I shall certainly you out-rout
I’d advise you to be on the lookout
For I’m your rival, far more worthy a scout
Take heed or you’ll end up looking like a lout
All I can tell you for now is that you’re missing out
While you’re looking away
Twirling in relentless dismay
Your insolence successfully leads you astray
So He finds me in greater favour every day
Unlike you, I’m eloquent with words that gently sway
The God with whom for hours on exhausted knees I stay
‘Till the last hour of the night a dear prayer to say
With heartfelt sobs and a submissive heart I pray away
I whisper, “Dear God of mercy, show me your face
For I am a sinner in need of Your saving Grace
For years in meditation and supplication I’ll chase
The benedictions You bestow unto the winners of the race
The so-called ‘faithful’ ones who cautiously pace
In the promising path which for them You daily trace”
I solemnly utter, “My heart with Love and Faith do interlace
So I can one good day be worthy of seeing Your glorious face”
If you were smart, you’d take after me
Vigilant and sober at all times you’d be
So from the snares of the enemy you’d easily flee
Who’s literally got you down on one knee
Yet too proud you are for your life to give an earnest plea
No diligence whatsoever for efforts to be free
Indeed that thief I am, the thief of grace, you see
Watch out, or you’ll lose all your blessings to me
Battle me, ill thrash thee into dust
Warrior spirit bust with a carnage thrust to ya chest
Evolving the sun into my godliness throne
But the moon says i make her moan
So i gotta plant my seeds into her lunar drones
Midnight admission, crackhead addictions
Street corner benedictions
Minotaur inscription ending in nothingness
Its best that opal u-turns, burn the scar deep within
Dragon blends seethe swords conceived tainted lore
Belize believe nothing else comes close, cuz i wrote IN'I gourds
African soldiery and more, strike existence snare
Pour youth between thin air blocks columbine shocked
Aviators rocked I flew higher than they ever got
Stocks and bonds cropped akuma slash block
My talents germinate brain waves optimistic in nature
Irreligious vapors incompetent
Money rules the defense soon to trial, convictions vile
Shape up son, close is judgment interaction won
Unless hector had the gun and he was the one by your side
I beseech thee to
answer
Is there still
hope???
Forgetting their
vows of chaste they
become lecherous
Fighting for power,
they become
ambitous.
Their actions make
people shock
For they forget why
they put on the
cassock.
Respect for God, our
clergies no longer
have
But so greedy with
the things they
have.
They make not,
benedictions to
empty pockets
But go for the rich
to enrich
themselves.
Churches are now
business centers for
money
Clergies bless only
those who make the
offertory box full.
SO BROTHER, IS THERE
STILL HOPE??
They stand as if
pious to duty
But pious are they,
to money.
They check not the
motor
But go for “500frs”
which is their
motto.
They can be seen
standing with zeal
Hands stretch, they
stand still
First, they stamp
After collecting
bribe, they champ
SO SISTER, IS THERE
STILL HOPE??
The rich live
mysteriously
And enjoy themselves
like angels
While the poor live
in mysery
And die because of
negligence.
TO YOU, IS THERE
STILL HOPE??
Embezzlement in
Cameroon is a virtue
It is practised in
all offices
Thieves go in broad
daylight unscathed
While the innocent
ones are caught and
they cant fight.
My country is said
to be democratic
But elections have
never been smooth
For a score and
ten, the president
has stayed in power
Using deceit and the
gun to rule.
IS THIS HOW IT
SHOULD BE??
Virgins have now
liquidated
themselves
They prefer being
ravishe.
Whores, they become
in quest for money;
My black girls don’t
like their colour
They strive to be
whites
Thus, monsters they
become in a bid to
peel their skin
Very few believe in
“black is beauty.”
Brothers copulate
sisters
While fathers
copulate daughters.
IS THERE STILL HOPE?
" 1st price, poetry
contest,
poemsclub.com,
April 2014"
CHANGE by Ian Munywe
upon his visage boasts sweat,industry an upheld virtue.
firm stature is exhibited,hard labour an accepted custom.
a time for toil yearns,wheat and other victuals for the future.
every stride to strive in burning heat,a quest out of perpetual penury.
feelings of disillusionment eminent,in the brink of a huge fall.
life such a baffling puzzle,everyday hustle inevitably knows no end.
a new dawn presents opportunity,quite in a rush for elevation.
an orison heard audibly,benedictions befalling a mortal.
reverted in such haste such distaste,it were best in prior times.
a new sense of belonging looming,adaptation of wanting predisposition.
amidst all the experience,hardly a thought in modesty lines.
amnesia having set in,pristine of new life in no time.
integrity eroded ferociously,candidacy annihilated in totality.
how mankind does change, indeed swiftly we tend to forget.
RISE by Ian Munywe
two sides of a divide collide inside,audibly voicing their thoughts.
optimism reverberates severely,realism ricochets as quite a formidable term.
resounding trials too eminent,life manifested in a perplexity of events.
too many fish upon this vicinity,evidently not enough room to fry.
by all means he shall triumph,by any means necessary.
hard gravel swept over by dust,feet shuffle upon tough earth.
mallets bash into rigid steel, potrait of his new born remains sole solace.
all efforts to reap this here season,barren yield begets unknown anguish.
a sojourner already on course,in vehement search for a new start.
by all means he shall triumph,by any means necessary.
wary he tranforms worn he conforms,glimpse of the past vision of the future.
feet now trod upon all rugged earth,all adorned in strapped sandals.
steel once too rigid little too hard,antiques and ornaments an eventuality.
henceforth sight of new territory such insight,cite so picturesque a gaze in awe.
by all means he shall triumph,by any means necessary.
Ode to Spain, Translation of Carlos Bousono’s poem : Oda a Espana
(before the Civil War)
(Alejandro Duque Amusco draws attention - in his selection of Carlos Bousono’s poems – to
the fact that José Luis Cano considers Bousono to be the poet who re-introduced the theme of
« patriotism » in the poetry of the post-Civil War (1936-39) era. T. Wignesan)
Oh ! Spain ! the land where
while one fighting bull assailed, another kills.
Drunks flying without direction in the stars
seek to ascend shirt-sleeves at the cuffs.
At the meeting points of unfortunate demise
and of living it up, the merrymaking
goes on until midnight. Accordeons.
More wine. Applause. Uproars. Whistlings. Nausea.
In the midst of this wild revelry, a priest militarily surges up.
Imposes benedictions and awards medals.
He climbs up upon a chair. Harangues the crowd.
A general rising up in the thick of battle.
In the hardened and deserted arenas
on the route of bitter thirst,
multitudes of drunks bracing themselves against the wind,
staggered at the rising of the sun.
One of them was dressed as a bull-fighter.
Another laughed to himself. All were dancing.
…………………………………………………………
In the treeless plain swept by wind : persistent hunger,
Spain stammered and choked.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Call me what you may
Call me what you may, A dog, a scavenger
Or even the dirty pig, but that is way too far
From transfiguring my appearance, call me
What you may even the worst pun but ado
Comes on and change my affectionate deed
Call me anything that cross your minds and
Able to pronounce, even the most unbearable
Creature you sort crawls on earth and see if
I die for it won’t be affecting my breathing in
And out... the routine will still go on and on
It is most than injudicious to call me a wild beast
Whilst everyone witty calls me THE ADONIS ONE
I won’t blame you for calling me a nitwit for your
Brains are too weak and needs a fully qualified
Mental practitioner to examine its functions awry
Will they not call you a dead mental deranged
One for pointing tosh on a figure of classy calibre
How happy I am to meet a nefarious fool, who does
Not praise what is worth just like the fool in the
Beauty and the beast who takes his life for a shot
I do not even mind to living in the same galaxy
With a dirty minded day dreamer who always see
Bad over good deeds and spoil my benedictions
Of splendid manners. Just call me what you may
And check if I will hate you for your blind minds.
Robert Musiiwa Mharadze
Afterglow
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
The night is full of stars. Which still exist?
Before time ends, perhaps one day we’ll know.
For now I hold your fingers to my lips
and feel their pulse ... warm, palpable and slow ...
once slow to match this reckless spark in me,
this moon in ceaseless orbit I became,
compelled by wilder gravity to flee
night’s universe of suns, for one pale flame ...
for one pale flame that seemed to signify
the Zodiac of all, the meaning of
Love’s wandering flight past Neptune. Now to lie
in dawning recognition is enough ...
enough each night to bask in you, to know
the face of love ... eyes closed ... its afterglow.
The Insurrection of Sighs
by Michael R. Burch
She was my Shiloh, my Gethsemane;
she nestled my head to her breast
and breathed upon my insensate lips
the fierce benedictions of her ubiquitous sighs,
the veiled allegations of her disconsolate tears . . .
Many years I abided the agile assaults of her flesh . . .
She loved me the most when I was most sorely pressed;
she undressed with delight for her ministrations
when all I needed was a good night’s rest . . .
She anointed my lips with her soft lips’ dews;
the insurrection of sighs left me fallen, distressed, at her elegant heel.
I felt the hard iron, the cold steel, in her words and I knew:
the terrible arrow showed through my conscripted flesh.
The sun in retreat left her victor and all was Night.
The last peal of surrender went sinking and dying—unheard.
Star Crossed
by Michael R. Burch
Remember—
night is not like day;
the stars are closer than they seem ...
now, bending near, they seem to say
the morning sun was merely a dream
ember.
The State of the Art (?)
by Michael R. Burch
Has rhyme lost all its reason
and rhythm, renascence?
Are sonnets out of season
and poems but poor pretense?
Are poets lacking fire,
their words too trite and forced?
What happened to desire?
Has passion been coerced?
Shall poetry fade slowly,
like Latin, to past tense?
Are the bards too high and holy,
or their readers merely dense?
It is the awakening.
After long dreamless sleep,
my mother has lot to explain,
in labor pains, aunt and her,
passing by the dark thick shinny woods,
my time has come to born! ! !
Through endless cycles of night and day,
of heat and cold, my mother thought
to take a walk to wee wee,
and here i have born, ,
under evergreen blackberry,
eventually my mother is out of labor,
auntie welcomed, teeny little niece.
horseman passes by and threw a cloth,
from wooden frame hanging,
behind the young horse.
My birth is surrounding with deep,
dark and lovely woods.
unremembered covet as is my youth.
I have lived for a thousand jiffy,
as welcomes by woods and wild critters,
many years after would remind the tale of agony,
mother had while birthing me.
have passed for concern over,
such trivial matters.
I remember the long have been,
teased as Mowgli in federation
without rig outs and fine fabric,
I was in my middle girlhood years,
then have kins one after another,
A time when almost everything was lost.
This was the time of the great fire of anxiety and loneliness.
The fire of agony and vulnerability that almost consumed me at 27.
Bright white flames burned down,
from the heavens and in an instant,
scarred my rugged flesh,
my beautiful heart burned down in isolation
Many of those around me perished in anger and hatred,
I can no longer snivel,
those who have content before me.
It has been too long and in,
that time I have recovered,
from my injuries and the disease that followed.
I am again strong and tower,
over the youth that surrounds me,
two young ones of in alliance and espousal,
two young ones of busy in federation years.
Now I must, concentrate on drinking
in the nutrients that the mother and father,
provides me in benedictions,
as I watch over the shrinking forest.
The past is the past
and the recoil winter
is slowly fading away,
now I have felt the long
rays of the sun warming
like paternal and maternal,
my limbs once again and I have
awakened to a new world,
a world of resumption,
a world of hope and joy,
My trunk is enduring and,
my pollen will soon fill the air
covering the woods,
in a yellow green buff.
New life will come as coconut Brussels
now i shall, stand silent watch the bliss........
"50 Words for Poe: St John"
St John was his name
Sinjun for short
Temptation was his game
Ah Black Monk of my dreams
A hot car on a fast track
Shifting gears
I burn up the road, turn up the stick
Fast and furious got nothing on
Brother Sinjun’s Black Monk’s mojo bag-o-tricks
He sits in the passenger seat
101 goes to 190 around a devil-of-a-curve
200 hits his cerebral cortex, ignites his adrenaline cortisol hormonal nerves
Homeward bound suspension of disbelief non judgement served
Aston Martin Bond-like, covert, under covers with the Nurse
The thrill of it all, he’s in a state of Anti-Christ Ataraxia, convivial
St John was his name
Sinjun for short
Temptation was his game
On the Road driving home with Sister Pheromones Bellisima
he can’t wait to take her confessione Hyperpyrexia and
with big benedictions absolve and never cease to perplex Her
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
https://youtu.be/hKi7Wq5CUI4
Temptation/Heaven 17
“There's a lot of stress... but once you get in the car, all that goes out the window.” Dan Brown
https://youtu.be/7ip8ZVyF_ac
Fascination Street/The Cure
“The fact is I don't drive just to get from A to B. I enjoy feeling the car's reactions, becoming part of it.” Enzo Ferrari
https://youtu.be/ZcAEIUQmQgI
Watching Me Fall/The Cure
“A muscle is like a car. If you want it to run well early in the morning, you have to warm it up.” Florence Griffith Joyner
1. ataraxia
2. cortisol
3. hyperpyrexia
4. St John/Sinjun
Oh sing yon violin upon your strings
and play harps and lutes melodious things
come sooth my soul and for our losses
and shatter pain upon our bed of mosses
Dost thou dare to stay our hearts entwined
do cast your light and airy within our mind
so also to our agony do make us blind
where in time we shall life kinder find
Do misdirect my thoughts upon a fairer course
lead me now away from paths remorse
fail not to impart joy and from its source
and to the courts whats odious I do divorce
and there expire bitterness and mans afflictions
unto the burial sites with their benedictions
the ends of tribulations on the morrow
as I have some aspersion to this sorrow
Come twist your ropes do wrap in harmony
the golden strand in archetypes that be
fluid in the cups elixir we do drink
to shelter from woe and misery we sink
Clasp the inner man intone your song
return to us the living among our throng
embrace the consolation and hold whats dear
for upon us all this place draws ever near
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC