Best Burgeoned Poems
The first Magna Carta initiated and asserted,
The people-centred philosophy which was budding:
‘Cos if the law is not a moral prescription of human rights,
Then it's just an ego-trip for a any monarchy’s plights.
After life’s origin with the big-bang,
Came matter, plants and animals;
And then apes preceded neanderthals,
When *****neanderthalensis were a gang.
*****sapiens then hit the scene,
Began to practice agriculture in 10000 BC,
And after that a process of civilisation ignited,
The law and order in the land in which we all can be.
And of course with law and order,
Comes creativity, art and industry;
An innate ability to express ourselves,
For greater relativity.
But the original political system,
Just consisted of a king with a crown,
Who was worshipped and adored:
Until his problem was this renown.
The people were disgruntled,
So rebelled against King John,
Who signed the Magna Carta,
Which said that he too was the law under.
So the law then began to pertain to moral values,
And humanism and atheism were for the first time aired,
Because John’s sins were no longer judged by God,
After his life and death, but by people who cared.
Philosophy has burgeoned from that point on,
From Albert the Great’s theory of justice and natural law,
To Descarte’s Heliocentrism and dualistic rationalism,
Which developed into individualism and existentialism.
Ideology matters to the evolutionary process of law,
As the law is either against people, or for them;
And before 1215 it never was the people’s abstract security,
But was rather their daily unhappiness and misery.
Humanity is so much better off for the Magna Carta,
Ourselves, America, Australia and all the world,
‘Cos each individual has human rights, worth and dignity,
As it wrought a change of diplomacy and philosophy.
Blissfully unaware of the DANGER in the GARDEN
Flowers bloomed, blossomed and burgeoned the big way
But in vicinity of mankind, there is no leeway
Public in Park Picked, Plucked, Pulverizing Plethora of Petals.
18.12.2015
For 4 lines - Poetry Contest by Silent One
ISALE EKO (LAGOS)
A rooster of discrete tongues
Culture, tradition
Where,
Zillion specters resonate
Quantum croak.
Cock crow,
Erupts whirl, barge at Alaba
Descry of sea of soul cases
Kibbling in, out as Emmet over nectar,
As husky ell of murk drench dawning,
Eviscerate NEPA's spasmodic spitfire
To stupor, obloquy.
The hindmost geezer nestling,
Drenched in diaphoresis of animation of dog days
Eludes unforgiving hail of bug blitz,
Hallowed howl of ole! ole!
Arched in his decrepit nest
Deploys a taper
Until,
Sunup deflowers night jaded sockets
As,
Resonance of one more Naira
To breast billion mark
Percase, perforce, precipitating
The epogee in mores
Rummages his cranium:
Top dog never capitulates
Vanquish countermands blossom
In kernel of hovel, wreck, quagmire
From mainlands of Iddo,
Bog of Badagry
To Favela of Ijora, Ilasamaja
Colonize the cocoon
Which,
Burgeoned Whiz Kid, Davido and Nollywood
Confuting phantasm
That,
Golden fleece
Is muted in the jaws of no man's land.
A colossus who never unwinds
No arrears in innuendos
Paris is your headrest
Rio de Janeiro your ottoman!
I was crushed and miserable from love unfulfilled
Like a mourning dove whose blood had been spilled
I cried in deep lament as shadowed night grew cold
Sorrow burgeoned my heart with miseries untold
Overwhelmed with fear, l fell to somberly weeping
Wisps of silver moonlight crossed the sky, sweeping
It was a pale light in darkness; my hopes were felled
On the edge of oblivion with sullen thoughts, I dwelled
My eyes tormented, I searched for benevolence anew
How I longed to take flight, trading grey skies for blue
In need of faith and courage instead of dismal dread
I yearned for paradise where happiness is daily bread
I longed to soar among shining stars at great height
No longer bemused and alone on such a mawkish night
I wished for wings so I could soar with poetic volition
Without fetters keeping me tied to melancholy perdition
May 15, 2023
Couplet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Sotto Poet
There was a silver tree
Which shimmered under a moonlit night,
And eloped coyly whenever the sun wanted to kiss it.
Spring was every night
When the sky became murky blue,
The labyrinth of the gaudy leaves,
Would intrigue a palette to purge itself through a painter’s eyes,
A blind one indeed,
Since the hue of the dark
Could not be known better.
Once there was blue, green and blood.
And all the passions of a relentless being,
But through the tentacles of time
Obscurity and Obsequiousness burgeoned,
Rain and snow scraped the rainbow
The branches wrinkled like a serpent slumber.
If I had a starry night of my own,
I would sleep under the silver tree,
The stars, peeping through the intricacy,
Imposturous but magnificent,
Would let me see, what nobody else could,
In the quietness, like glittery smiles,
Flowers on my silver tree..
My town nicknamed, ‘Mini Dubai’, burgeoned and branched
on the bank of Kanoli canal like a tamarind seed.
Now the silvered canal sprawls on its death bed.
Busy pedestrians walk down
an ancient bridge built by the British.
As the traffic light has lost its eye balls,
a potbellied policeman dances and controls.
Jalopies groan, and modern cars whiz.
A long whistle: an ambulance with the wounded
and a van with the wedding party halt side by side
as the southern and northern hemispheres
of emotions meet at a single point.
Nostalgic smell of the canal sops in the sizzling tang from a cafeteria.
The splurging women whirl in the hurry wind among the concrete
buildings seething under the tanning rays. The stink of sweat and
the aroma of the Arabian perfumes choke the air in shops, where,
sometimes, the chicanery peeks through the glassed. The
applications drafted in blood and salt scurry to the offices nearby –
only to get the obsequies in the waste baskets. The sots creep like
snakes in the yard of Snadra Bar.
A crow sits on an electric post and watches all beneath
with a smile of wisdom
There was a crowd, I recall, sometime somewhere
close to the edge of spring's fresh green burgeoned heath
and cold winter’s forest dark, I met you there.
A fresh blossom virgin white, lonely, beneath
the canopy of ancient oak, whose cold shade
could not becloud your so captivating shine
made conspicuous amid the purple glade
of bluebells, a snowdrop, singular, divine.
Two and twenty springs
thick boughs and fragile twigs
hued in foilage's deep green
amidst the blossomed serene
pods burst,floated in wind,our seeds
and thousands and more leaves
drunk in life we poured in
danced to the breeze's tunes
Remember?
one fine early spring
sprout'd i,after long nursling
unfurled my newborn leaves
beheld astonished!
yards away you stood,a young sapling
and comfort's wind blew,
brushing through
carried your warm greetings
and day by day,
how we burgeoned high
eager to reach each other's height
and deep the rootlets grew,
breached the sand
eager to meet and hold hand
and underneath the loam
season by season,we bloom'd
from your raw charm,
to my pale branch;
your ethereal emerald frame,
to my laced crimson veil;
and the fresh breeze that kissed,
cosset,imprinted your touch;
sprinkled on me,
the drops that bathed thee,
and the dawn's dew,
formed the pearls
on our petal's heart,
avow our love!
even in tempest day,
you sang aubade
in mine ears alone,
the melody melted
and in those moonlit nights
our silhouette so formed,
sparkled in light!
alas! how to erase that one cursed day
when under the sleep's spell we lay
you cried and horror met our eyes
their metallic axe,
chop! chop! chop!
severing you into two,
pulling the damp roots
hacking,
bruising,
bleeding you,
and painful screams echoed
i cried
i screamed
but no single branch moved,
to pull them off you;
no single root climbed up,
to drag them to abyss;
and i saw them murdering you,
not a thing i could do.
three and thirty springs
your dry stump stood
and i pray day and night,
wishing, you'd sprout again,my love!
How long to wait?
How long to stay?
Countless buds blossomed and withered away
Countless leaves fallen- emerald to auburn dry
Trees burgeoned high, kissed the sky
Spring, summer,autumn, winter and spring again
I count- day's bright and dark night again
The beat had halted long ago
Skin turned pale
Eyes dried up
No breath in my chest
But what to do of my damn soul?
Thought it would fade away
Bit by bit- a little everyday
Thick rust embraced the metal gate
that separated living from sleeping dead
Plastered bricks , shining paint
Everything crumbled and fell
And i waited to die again
But here i'm sitting on my grave
Longing for your sweet voice; your face
Those bright eyes that professed love
And the warm smile that cheered me up
I never cared for flowers or candles
Don't come near ; don't shed a tear
Just slow down your pace
Whenever you walk in front of those gates
With remnants of mankind’s existence corroding
His lighting extinguished, his concrete eroding
The birds and the beasts have reconquered his space
Those same birds and beasts have forgotten his face
The forests, once dwindled, have burgeoned once more
Oak, elm and ash rupture old asphalt floor
Long vacant dwellings, now caves, dens and lairs
For ground dwelling mammals while bats live upstairs
The rivers all sparkle, their waters so clear
And large rusting pipes discharge nothing to fear
Waves tickle beaches, the breeze is their breath
With no evil lurking at periscope depth
Life springs abundant by land, sea and sky
Unhindered by species who weren’t meant to fly
Trees brightly clad in gold, russet and green
Alas, man cannot see how things could have been
And so all seems well but there’s still need of prayer
There’s horror to come from a long way… up there
This world, free at last, of man’s lethal know how
Could sure use a serving of man’s knowledge now
Unserviced and rusting, the launchers stand bare
No human stands ready; no missile sits there
Mankind had known that the space rock would come
And man would have nuked it… but he’s gone: Ho hum!
Eternally Lovely now,
The Bride of my Dream of Gold.
And rolling down grassy slopes,
Whose smiling heart ne’er grew old.
Eternally Helpful, too
The Braid in my burgeoned beard
That round my loquacity ropes
And sees that I’m rightly reared.
Eternally wise and kind,
The Bread of His Life and strength
The Child of the King of Hopes
The Lifeline of endless length.
She rides through the ethers now
E’er calling forth clouds of snow
The crying child, helps, as he copes
Wherever his troubles may go.
And so, I have finished my tale,
Except the Divinest part
The poor fool who grumps and mopes,
She JOLTS by her Heavenly Art!
Children already grown
Kisses already forgotten
Plants already flowered
Flowers already burgeoned
Forests depleted
Streams degenerated
Hear the desperate cries
Feelings already aged
Hearts already bruised
Souls already alienated
And lovers already gone
We have nothing left
The singing birds
The meowing cats
Always on our shoulders
And the naughty dogs
Barking sporadically
How presumptuous! How impertinent
The past won't come back
And time leaves us memories
Hidden and huddled under black ice
We talk about tomorrow, about the future
Ah! Good. That's all we can utter
Immediately
We can flee to the hills of Zaire
Like the elephants.
P.S. Translation of ‘Et Des Amours Déjà Partis’ by Hébert Logerie.
Copyright © June 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
The doors were closed
But he walked straight in
I was deep asleep
In darkness he creeped
He was my saviour
My cheek he kissed
And woke me up from my slumber
Of regrets and conflicts
He walked me out
Of the cold dungeon
And held my hand taut
My fears burgeoned
I do still fear the darkness
I won't lie
But he's always around
To my wishes he complies
He's scared I'll leave him
I know I might slip away
But I'm sure if darkness consumes me
He will always find a way.
The sum of what has gone before
Bulldozed throughout a slumlord block,
Evacuated, emptied souls,
Gutted, barrel, lock and stock.
Then ring-fenced in a shield of steel,
Buried in a foreign field,
Protected from the agony,
The savage reap of winter yield.
We ran, in fear, poles apart,
Retreated, hid in separate beds;
Solitaire and servitude
Beneath the sheets with buried heads.
Moving on meant standing still
Whilst superficial love and care
Clipped the tickets torn in two,
No transit takes us anywhere.
The sum of what has gone before
Burgeoned with a black campaign,
Left only sole surviving prayers
That one day we may love again.
I.
They burgeoned above my nostrils
With buds that obscured my visions
They walled my head with fences
Towered above my five senses
Distant from myself, things looked too low
Until I drew closer, I couldn't tell
Just how down I was
Just how far God's love had to come for us
II.
They soared above my perception
Shot beyond my wildest imagination
Exceeding stellar peaks
Like pilgrims on the way to the wailing wall
Tearing up at the dandelions and grains in lesser dawn
I thought, if I could give life to these flowers like the sun,
I wouldn't hold back my light for a second
Behind each ear of corn I'll send whispers
And whispers of the spirit's songs to heal my broken frond
III.
What shall be said when the Lord and his hosts cry?
Woe unto those for whom he draws his battle lines
Peace shall be far from the wicked
Where Jezebel vying, wills and grows horns
There shall be her vanities to call down falsehood upon thorns
In the midst of the wolves shall be a lion and lambskin adorned
Adorned in truth to slay artifices
There shall be love's fire to receive our sacrifices
And by the words of a king, put Baal's children to sleep
IV.
So long as God's dome is heavenly
The best chalcedonies grace his twelve gates in majesty
So long as the seraphs do praise him
The four beasts continually bow in his presence, crying holy
So long as angels and elders forget stately thrones
And cast their crowns face down in white robes
Sunken halos shall break free from the hollow
With the righteous lifted, cast the dragon into the bottomless burrow