Best Byword Poems
Jan and Daz are so so happy
United are Jadazzle
Many months have passed
Poetry writing has been put on hold
It's been over a year... but we
Never gave up believing we would write together
Good times are just around the corner
Friendship oh so strong
Overt faith in each other
Radiating from united hearts
Joyous in our reunion
Optimism will be our byword
Yesterday is but a memory
12th August 2015
This is our first poem in about 14 months - writing together again was a dream that has finally come true - Jadazzle are well and truly reunited.
Written by Jan Allison and Darren Watson
O Leader! O Savior! O Heart so Brave!
Words falter to honour the path you've paved.
The nation's core, now fortified with zeal,
We stand to combat, with spirits of steel.
No predator lurks, no harm to dread,
Your flame has scattered the shadows we fled.
Beneath the azure sky, the sun's bright gaze,
We bask in the light of liberated days.
You were the beacon, the guiding flare,
The vessel that carried us through despair.
Your name, a byword for valour's crest,
A voice for the silenced, an ear for the oppressed.
You granted wings to those who'd never flown,
To brave the wastelands, to face the unknown.
In your footsteps, we found our pace,
Learning to rise from the dust with grace.
Yet whispers claim you've departed our side,
The thought alone makes the hopeful tide.
Denial grips me; the news can't be true,
As the masses mourn, their sorrow is in view.
My pen trembles, heavy with unshed tears,
Echoing the solitary cry that sears.
I hold back the flood, let it inwardly weave,
May it nourish the love you've left us to grieve.
You are the whisper in the wind's call,
The strength that rises after a fall.
In the unity of one and all,
O Leader, O Braveheart, you never fall.
© 30/09/2014
Malik Yaseen
Falling into the vortex,
there is no escape
You're sucked in,
getting sub-atomically stripped
is your inevitable fate
No more straight line of linear time
No more clearly defined dimensions of reality,
it all bends and shifts
Space-time gets blended
and folded,
unanchored and set adrift
The future compresses inside the past
You see everything in an instant
before disintegration occurs
You fell into a singularity,
where a new set of physic laws dissolve
you into pure cosmic energy
This is the place where paradoxes
become a byword
Singularity
This is the place where dead stars
have collapsed into their rebirth
Singularity
This is the place where death occurs instantly
Singularity
This is the place where death takes an eternity
Singularity
Falling into the maelstrom,
there is no escape
You're forcibly pulled in,
and molecular disintegration
is your ultimate fate
In here, dimensions bend
and reality shifts
Space-time becomes unanchored
and set adrift
The past compresses inside the future
You see everything in an instant
before reconstitution occurs
You fell into a singularity,
where a strange, new reality dissolves
you into pure cosmic energy
This is the place where paradoxes
become a byword
Singularity
This is the place where dead stars
collapse into their rebirth
Singularity
This is the place where death takes an eternity
Singularity
This is the place where death occurs instantly
Singularity
The creation of time and space
is your wondrous last sight seen
Now as a newborn infinity child,
singularity is your first infant dream
Mahammad Fuzuli (1494-1556)
Mahammad Fuzuli, the poet-philosopher, is one of the founders of the divan genre in the history of Azerbaijani and Turkish literature. He wrote his works in three languages (Turkish, Arabic, Persian) in the genres of ghazal, qasida, musaddas, tarkib-band, tarji-band and rubai.
The poem "Leyli and Majnun", which is regarded as the peak of his creativity, is among the rare pearls of Azerbaijani, Eastern and world poetry. The opera of the same name written by Uzeyir Hajibeyli, the famous Azerbaijani composer and playwright, on the basis of the masterpiece of Fuzuli, is considered to be the First Opera of the Muslim East.
Moreover, “Fuzuli Cantata” was written by the well-known composer Jahangir Jahangirov in 1959, based on the ghazal “My love has tired me of my life – will she not tire of cruelty?”. The ghazal, translated by the British-American historian Bernard Lewis into English, has been included in his book “Music of a Distant Drum: Classical Arabic, Persian, Turkish, and Hebrew Poems”.
My love has tired me of my life – will she not tire of cruelty?
My sigh has set the spheres on fire-will not the candle of my
passion burn?
On those faint and fail for her, my love bestows a healing drug
Why does she give none to me; does she not think that I am
sick?
I hid my pain from her. They said tell it to your love.
And if I tell that faithless one - I do not know, will she believe,
or will she not?
In the night of separation, my soul burns, my eyes weep blood.
My cries awaken: does my black fate never wake?
Against the rose of your cheek, red tears stream from my eyes.
Dear lover, this is the time of roses, will not these flowing waters cloud?
It was not I who turned to you but you who drove my sense away.
When the fool who blames me sees you, will he not be put to shame?
Fuzuli is a crazy lover and a byword among folk.
Ask then what kind of love is this – of such a love does he not hire?
Byword
(I)
Tittle tattle tales rattle.
Cabalistic cabals in cans:
Malicious mélange of melees.
Mummers murmur, mumchance mumble.
Mummichog: the perfidious Fundulus heteroclitus-
For this parlance is pestilence:
For your words, for their words,
For your walls, for their walls.
But for their worlds, for your worth.
(II)
Malicious mischief shrouds in mesmerism,
Whilst her malignity molds she forgot unfold.
But the morbid medalled she, instead to merge,
Maintains calumnies, which not calmative in anyway.
Mummichog: the perfidious Fundulus heteroclitus-
For this parlance is pestilence:
For your words, for their words,
For your walls, for their walls.
But for their worlds, for your worth.
(III)
A candid parley and caring suits…
Indeed better parallel match -no losers, all winners-
For cases in conformity and un-confound.
That’s peace, that’s reign, to just justice of the peace.
Mummichog: the perfidious Fundulus heteroclitus-
For this parlance is pestilence:
For your words, for their words,
For your walls, for their walls.
But for their worlds, for your worth.
14/3/1434 ___15/1/2014
©Abdulhafeez Oyewole.
I gulp a flame of desire
At the sight of your ecclesiastical attire
Being proxy for a pacifier
That elicits a comfort for my quagmire
Your smile, your smile
A sun in a darkened profile
A moon that illuminates the eventide.
Oh lily of the while
You let your movement twist my writing style
And your utterances, parch my bile
Your cheek,
Comely and with a perfect sleek
It brings forth my devotion like to a holy week
My arteries gape and tweak...
When your eyes greet my eyes in streak
And I feel your eyes can unbend an oblique
When you call my name, l inhale peace
Right from the direction of your sheen anatomical masterpiece.
It flows into my centrepiece
And makes me say "how I need this! "
This aura of hightened affection
Induces my heart's rhythm section
My pulse beats to the sequence of your rock n' roll session
Your complexion,
Makes me want to have no objection
To any of your imperfection
But to uphold your perfection
Your entirety is graced
Euphoric and grippingly fun-aced
Your pulchritude is emphatically embraced
And your probity, well showcased
Appeals to my aftertaste
Once have you spoken, twice have I heard
Like you stole the password
Securing my ghost word
From where I will fangle your byword
Please don't make it your watchword
Rather let us build on the foreword
We the holy people,
the chosen children of God
Our glorious destiny
was graciously written long ago,
thankfully,
on the crimson cross of Calvary
We the righteous seed,
the select Elect
offspring of Adam and Eve
Our spiritual bloodline Branch
was set apart,
because we believed in God
with all our heart
We the byword people,
who have no faith in Man,
our prayers are just —
For we be the children of Abraham
From Noah to Lot,
we’ve had our vexed tears
mixed in the flood rain
Our Sarah and Rebekah barren cries,
God had not forgot ...
For we the children of the holy prophets
Alleluia rejoiced
when the Messiah came
Now His precious blood
is upon the door of our hearts
As the Holy Redeemer of every conceivable sin,
passed over our shame ...
the path to freedom came
on an Exodus caravan
As were we all,
so shall we all be
As the parents were put in bondage,
so shall the children be set free
Obsolete is the byword
that keeps us buying anew,
products that last forever
simply would never do.
Paydays come in many forms
some junk is another’s treasure,
so creating problems to be solved
makes sense by the repairman’s measure.
There are industries of industry
who perpetuate themselves,
flooding markets with one thing
keeping others on the shelves.
This breeds the disingenuous cause
of saboteurs and fixers,
spawning each other endlessly
pitting inventors against the nixers.
Exhaust pipes made of mild steel
rust out and fail routinely,
planned obsolescence creating need
proving the point supremely.
Somewhere somebody is planting a bug
in my computer or my lung,
where a technician or a doctor
gets paid to see it undone.
And somewhere somebody is saying a prayer
to stop this insanity,
of misguided and opportunistic
cannibalization of ingenuity.
Workin' fo’ free from cradle ta grave
Laborin' sunup ta sundown e’eryday,
while Missy and Massa sat in da shade
Those were da days
Us darkies knew where our place was then,
blonde ambition wish fo' freedom was a sin
Sho’ could use a good *****
like Mister Uncle Tom again
Givin’ a big pearly grin ta greet da hate,
got a ‘xtra dollop of chitlings on da plate
Man, dem auctions, dey ne’er did run late
Those were da days
Pickin' ‘o cotton was a prickly prayer sent,
wearin’ dem chains made da soul feel bent
Runaway blues was da best song ta lip hint
Those were da days
Sunday was da fav’rite time of da week,
us tar babies got no spittin’ on da cheek
Still, we weren’t allowed shoes on da feet,
seems da hounds need a scent in da heat
Thirsty breaks always were short not long,
ere by da hangin’ tree rest da buried bones
Plantation livin’ made us boys ne’er grown
Those were da days
Thus, were the miserable days of being a slave
When America get great again,
will me and my kin get Hebrew reparation paid?
400 years has been a long time ...
Us dark faces have did a lot of siren crying,
and a whole lot of lynched dying
Our stolen heritage
was shipped in a cargo of lying
Yeah, 400 years is a very long,
solitary time ...
We’re the chained cursed ones cast in prison
Us Dante portrait byword souls
got framed for the crime
Degradation is our father,
poverty is our mother
Pain is my sister,
anger is my brother
Airy abolition nary hope got ferry shackled in leg iron —
Sepia sea cheeks kissed by a whip and a gun
was our stern, captivating reality
When robo machines got to do the labor fun,
we were allowed
to escape into color-blind fantasy
Emancipated drugs
was the cracked pipe crystal meth mirror
of our downtrodden opioid liberty
Birth of a Cloudy Eye Nation ...
only twin native promises ever given to us strangers:
Two four-letter swear words —
Jobs and Work
Guess being the reel son of a slave,
means a re-run of the old ways
Vanilla ghetto dreams rooted in the red dirt:
Plantation flowers misty tear-watered
under a cold, Northern blue sky ...
turning suddenly hot, Southern gray
Ain't no IQ need to wonder why —
Future past, these now be those days
Throw dirt on me, I'll grow to a wild flower,
Been to hell and back, I can show voucher.
Scriptures stored in memory, Pure oil kept in vials,
Married to eternal spirit, When mortal broke her vows.
Keep the faith always, Key to advance in life,
Embrace peaceful options, To kill ample strife.
Become poverty's lovelorn, Write the bill of divorce,
Like a wilted rose, No love found or lost.
When reasoning fails, Take up a byword,
Grown-ups in diapers, Now that's really absurd.
Stupid is what stupid does, A wise cliche,
Knowledge is to life, As light is to day.
Trick of the devil, Make-believe he don't exist,
Great minds gone awry, Proclaiming ignorance is bliss.
Fighting fire with fire, An old Biblical rule,
Never yield to vain desire, Unless you're a mule.
Drink if you thirst, From liquid wisdom to soothe,
You are what you eat, So beware of poisonous food.
Actions speak louder than words, Quit ample talking,
Speak not rumors you've heard, Let it go walking.
Godliness out-weighs wickedness, On a higher sheen,
Stick to great kindness, While they're turning mean
Never cease to give, Or rob the Almighty,
Thieves will never rise, Above the state of poverty!
While I take to the road for a mission
Anxiety rivets me to my direction
It causes me to ponder and be calm
As a byword for courage and wisdom.
It is a wee bit harder to do
By living the “now” in the ministry
I move on to discover and listen
With a smile and say you’re welcome.
A sense of understanding drives me along
To the path where conversion occurs
And being an Asian by and large
Allows me to ensconce in this life.
There may be some pains and ill-feelings
Over the length of my experience
But I make a profound commitment
That echoes the so-called perseverance.
In moments of despondency, sufferings, and annoyance
The eye of the heart greets me with endurance
Just as I restore its meaning
Hope appears and brings the difference.
It is a gift to our freedom
Through reflection in depth.
This permeates my whole vision of life
To go beyond and hand on to God.
Fidelity to the gospel calls me
Directs me to the Source
Whose inner meaning becomes transparent
In my priestly and missionary work.
It is a call, a role to play
I can risk going face to face
With God who is the cause of all
To be a servant to his people.
Gone, long gone -
cast into the wistful yearning of yesteryear
the halcyon days of reminiscence and longing
of summertimes and certainties,
of niceties and neighbours and the joy of friendships
that were built of stronger stuff
Gone, long gone –
Words of wisdom from the wise and the weary
The sanctuary afforded to the fearful child
within the earnest custody
of the household of hope and the tight family circle
where retreat was absolute
Gone, long gone –
The sense of belonging to a sympathetic world
Benevolence and compassion lived in every home
Good will to all men, every day
Malevolence and cruelty, exception - not the rule
Crimes happened to other folk
Gone, long gone –
The handshake was king and contracts were to be honoured
Trust was a byword for Politician and Banker
Good people were all those we knew
And bad guys were those wore black hats in the movies
Or read about in the papers
Gone, long gone –
Prayers at school and teachers with Bibles on their desks
Learning of a God who loved the little children
It helped us sleep at night
And lightened the crippling load of Mums and Dads
who strove to give us their all
Gone, long gone –
the hope of a future long promised by governments
who have sold our birthright into slavery
and frittered our Faith away
What future for a Christian country where 'Christ' is nought
But a post-watershed curse?
Bellicose Smile
Ghost wandered living lonely,
on the screaming silence street,
rubbish rattles wind blown west,
where last week walked our feet,
A dog barks in the distant haze,
spring leaps wildly on,
upon our green the grass grows,
mowers for now are gone,
A billion eyes behind their glass,
listening to the birds,
the talk of folk within four walls,
speak no outside words,
Where wild and free we yesterday,
would to our river run,
now we see the light through pane,
unfeeling of our sun,
The Kite sings piercing eerie notes,
oblivious to our plight,
while we wage invisible war,
every breathing soul to fight,
Media madness fueled the fire,
money fanned the flame,
panic pierced our human world,
leaving us all lame,
Supermarket hollow husk,
doctor with no sleep,
those who can ply trades from home,
newspapers raping reap,
Fear their filthy currency,
fickle, fecund, vile,
will when this is over,
see our bellicose smile,
The Duke’s princess mother passed,
a thousand like her since,
when people hear the word news now,
you see them flinching wince,
A byword for belligerence,
a byway for the hack,
who thinks a pen’s primary use,
is stabbing in the back,
Money for your misery,
a penny for your pain,
and they’ll sell it back to you,
read on your Bat Flu plane,
You suckle on world violence,
grow fat on massacre tears,
see our bellicose smile now,
a mirror of your fears,
Make no mistake we see you,
make no mistake we’ll come,
how will you feel in the colosseum,
when those silent voices shout only...scum.
By
David Nickle Read
©D.N.Read 2020
All Rights Reserved By The Author
Byword People (Came By Way)
Pitch black was the day after
the nightmare before
When the blue wails
washed upon the sunset shore
Dark journey’s end for the castoff children,
who were unspoken for
Idol eyes resting carelessly,
got sin windswept upon a western breeze
Towards a bitter labor colony destiny
An ancient reign of tears soaked the New World red soil,
as reaper grief tainted the replanted spoils:
Sepia souls who were unspoken for
The auction sound of the gavel pound
had such an ugly skin tone ...
Wavy echoes of the ghastly row roar
from the trapdoor chained oar
Emerald moan exertion reverberations
of better beryl days bygone
Fear numbed by the cadaver drone —
That sea-whipped unfurling
of the dreaded skull and crossbones
We of the byword name,
came by way
of the Middle Earth dark passage:
Ivory cold Purgatory
“Abandon all hope”
was the living death sentence message
Byword we came by way,
tossed and driven by Hades’ fury —
Gale force hellbent
on making a false profit delivery
Our byword name
was bawdy mocked at the loading docks
Precious Nazarene locks
were talon prey sheared from the flocks
Our byword shame
was put on lewd, bare buttock display
Scarlet letters written
on wooden stocks ~ hope rotting away
As fresh oppression became
perpetual slavery
And His story whited out
our erased ebony glory
Byword people came by way
of the Middle Earth dark passage:
Ivory Coast gold pirate foray
Forged link pain, so galley below demeaning,
was our Ivory cold Purgatory
Until us bygone disgraced
accepted our Gospel heritage retold fate —
That blessed Second Coming message,
we freely bosom embraced
Byword people,
with the cursed byword name
Cast on the Niger river ...
spit given the extra G, we derisively came
Over fortune fading empire time,
we byword people were scornfully blamed
Pitch black was the day after
tomorrow’s scapegoat nightmare before
When the sky blue wails
whitewashed upon the ruby sunset shore
Old Covenant eclipse began for the captivity children;
who, tho’ New World sold,
were Golgotha crossroad spoken for
At the opening of the plantation gate,
in the letting out of the slaves
Freedom came with an empty purse,
as well with a curse goodbye
Labor weary lost strangers
straggling along
the lone, dusty auction road
Back and forth a heated argument goes,
moving onward ...
life is better which way
Chains of dependency drags some back,
fetters of anger thrust others forward
To and fro ... back and forth
is the black eye in the pyramid
American experience tug of war
Ebony disunity is zygotic yoked at freedom’s dawn,
dysfunction is the birthright
of a byword nation
An ill-conceived, ignorant legacy
is the premature incubation
of an uncharitable emancipation
Movement of the branded herd,
(their b and b skin is iron womb stamped in)
aimless and without purpose,
settles on self-predation —
a cancerous gift of conditioned oppression
Present day wanderers in an urban wilderness,
dressed in their funeral sanctified Sunday best
Their traditional day of restless sabbatical rest suggest:
which way ain’t been no better either way