Best Cloy Poems
SONNET PATHETIQUE
So sad Peter Ilyich; such anguished strife!
What is the tragic loss for which you grieve
An unforgot dark chapter in your life
So you must wear your heart upon your sleeve
That noble face that should exult your art
Betrays a tortured soul unversed with joy
In music, minor key takes greater part
D’you fear that signs of happiness would cloy
Yet oft, light breaks the gloom of dark dimension
Penumbra, pierced by ray of bliss, dispersed
And we discern the soul of your invention
Who bless the days you o’er this world traversed
That in our hearts it should have given gladness
For such sublime, exquisite, beauteous sadness
As the blue bird called me to the pink ship
I then lived on an island with dry sands
I wasn't in a mood to let the chance slip
Looking at the crimson waves of warm life
I wished to taste the salt of human strife
In dazzling dance of swimming feet and hands
The sweet sounds of murmur from lip to lip
Answering the blue call I swam with joy
Normally I don't love the rising sea
But the brilliant blue birds that never cloy
Made me tipsy with their crispy stories
Making them my life long green memories
With them I got lost with a bursting glee
An absolute ecstasy, no alloy
24 August, 2018
Rhyme Time 6 - Verses of Metaphors Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Laura Loo
I come again to the site of my ruin
A desolate place of sand
And the sea from agony strum its tune
And the wind is volatile in my hand
I could not hold you, could not keep
The water rushing from the shore
My heart a willow remembers and weep
Your sea-breeze love forevermore
Love once abloom scatters her seeds
And we who catches them are chained
By joint destiny that no where leads
Out of the maze of longing - joy stained
This place once when you laughed here
Was the garden of my dreams. Yet
Alone only memory now cloy the air
Perfumed with your absence and my regret.
Sweet things don't always cloy.
The rainbow comes and goes
and lovely is the rose.
But few drinks bring me joy
and the taste I favor,
that Splenda in the glass,
that dance of bubbly gas.
Ahhh...Diet Coke; savour.
* Credit Wm Wordsworth's 'Intimations of Immortality'
and Andrea Dietrich's 'A Favorite Soda.'
Yes, I know; there's no Splenda in Diet Coke.
So, poetic license I invoke.
THE DEEP OCEAN OF THE MIND
The warm pebbles touch my foot, my sole,
In the turbulent shallows of tide and wave.
My waking self feels the moon and sun pull.
And hidden in shells are beauteous oyster pearls
Of a magical lustre seen in watery dreams:
Galleon bullion from a billion seagirls.
But in murky muddy layers, the hates and loves
Of embedded past events undisturbed
Cloy the skeletons in cupboards of past lives.
Pressing my sleeping soul on the seabed dark:
Beyond the headland and my protective shell,
Cold-blooded reptilian monsters lurk.
In this unmanned land far from the help of mermaiden,
Tentacles grope up from the bed trying to reach the surface:
Threatening to expose what’s hidden.
Grand dreams are ground down, drowned, and end as sands
In a dark land oft-sifted by watery muses,
Where new events sink to be added as new oozes to old beds.
In these sands of time of the weighty deep sunless,
The tide of current events has no pull.
Only memories exist : the fossil remains of my history timeless.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
(Form of this poem is tercet with slant rhyme)
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The breaking,
the shaking;apace
my king's fall is rise
my land is anon taken.
The antic,
the discholeric;as
albion her age;as
arras on her skin.
The abstract,
the seas;our compact
heartless disease;
let's decoct,
let's not calm
The beaver,
the savior's hand,
she will for aye crave
for her not a bedlam;
she is sane.
The cautel,
the hidden truth;
Cadent ties;fret
channels in her cheeks
frail less chuff.
The voidness,
the lifeless mess;cloy
there wines of death;
there ciphers;there empty,
shut their tomb.
The wall of wails;
the jews.
the rock that never fails
the doors.
The breaking
the making;apace
enough;her surfeit
her swain eternal
remnant of no transgress.
The maker,
her end;Yeshua,
truimph of her;
light in the cautel,
my messiah;so i break.
Nonce, twaffling and outgrabbish trolls,
pilgriffed and trumbled threen by doggerel.
All did amphigorous cleem to shwangle the shweeng,
and shming the shmengle without shmee.
Alas! Alack! Alloy!
Jimble! Jingle! Twimble! Twoy!
Jabberwocks and jumblies;
Trinkles and troys,
With toves and raths
In joves did cloy.
O Grunge Princess, I know today your love
brims over, idle, for the rebel boy
like weed you keep, unsmoked, sitting among
your secrets in a box; the smells they cloy
and force you into longing. Come what may,
Space Mermaid, your boy is just a dream.
He's not your happiness, nor is the way
he makes you feel--this illusion may seem
absolute, but first loves often do.
I know I cannot sway you with my words;
just remember: moments fizzle out, but you
will yet remain, just like your box of herbs.
When you learn to walk alone in power
your enigmatic buds begin to flower
Rays of golden sun, at orange dawn, I enjoy...!
I wake up, hearing chirps of birds at four O’ clock;
At fifties! Yet, I feel, as though a little boy...!
The earth and the heavens celebrate springtime-joy,
Timely changes in weather never my glee block;
Rays of golden sun, at orange dawn, I enjoy...!
Newborn baby animals race around in cloy,
In ponds around, bullfrogs in chorus gaily croak;
At fifties! Yet, I feel, as though a little boy...!
Breeze, as though touch me not, feels me and fades in coy,
Within feelings, like salsa, to xylophones, rock;
Rays of golden sun, at orange dawn, I enjoy...!
Seed drowsing, spring up and shoot up fresh green savoy,
Migratory birds to their homelands fly in flock;
At fifties! Yet, I feel, as though, a little boy...!
Sunshine! Shower! Wedding of foxes! Dogs convoy!
Ducks and geese and swans and swamps display their catwalk;
Rays of golden sun, at orange dawn, I enjoy...!
At fifties! Yet, I feel, as though a little boy...!
15 April 2022
Springtime Villanelle Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
Each day breathes new joy
In the nightingale’s cloy song
Warbling freedom
By Humber in a drowsy afternoon,
When for my love long lost alone I pin’d,
My heart itself did sing a saddest tune
For woeful swain I was to be destin’d.
And I in pain then lov’d this timid croon,
That disposition of mine redefin’d
Against the verdure that beside had grown,
And yon bare land where Autumn crops been mown.
Th’ immediate surface expos’d a tiny fish,
And came thereon somewhence his entire train,
That blur’d my eyes, did vision diminish;
In azure ripples solace I did gain.
And every bird that flew out of his niche
Demulc’d mine ears that on the bank had lain.
I think of her and of the friends that me
No more confront and give me company.
My head upon a tufted ground takes rest,
And sees the pallid clouds stoop’d from above
To obfuscate the Sun that veers towards West;
These equalise the woe of futile love,
Thus empathise with youthful mind deprest,
And slothful healing thereto do they serve.
And lo the Hills! whence wafts the coolest breeze
The sole wanderer’s weary limbs can please.
The Lark so tiny that a blob he seems,
For he hath sor’d in unrestrained joy;
And scoffs the pensive man by blithesome whims,
That his gay mind with exultation cloy;
Flutters his wings ‘neath sudden Phoebus’ beams,
That through the pregnant clouds have found their way,
Like beams of Hope enkindle morbid heart,
O lucid Stream, now jocund as thou art!
(Theme--Oblivious)
7th May, 2017
This poetic blurb not meant to annoy
divulging, when just a whippersnapper boy
me late mum and octogenarian pop agreed
without questioning why doctor best remove adenoid
pat response told less to prevent sole son tubby coy
than fear Harris heir, would not inherit carnival throne
sidestepping 3 ring circus, and not becoming an android
dreaming of electric sheep,
a disagreeable prospect that could hoof happened,
aye shear with you especially
in tandem with predilection tilting tubby goy
fated outcome unfazed this herbaceous rooted lad,
who idolized captain crunch (before childhoods' end)
hoping seaman tic wood beckon with “A HOY”
mollified parents blithely steered son clear into
psychotic outcome delivering obliviousness
that brought inner joy
anyway, this peculiar male progeny
believing himself to be just another brick
in the wall of Pink Floyd,
tripping with comfortably numb skull
found himself evicted from the hall of the mountain king
and in sore need of deep psychoanalysis, hence didst imp ploy
therapy in orifice er office of maudlin Sigmund Freud
whose nose bore striking resemblance,
to a fleshy phallic shaped trumpeting toy
pud dill, this mental analysis delved into past – outcome
induced feint to faint, while cawing boss addressed
as Oedipus Rex, which verbal homage did cloy
dredging layered past devoid of love
flush with malicious predatory abuse
from Lloyd Lavinsky, an Audubon Elementary
grade school male lore demon bully
sanity of mine he almost destroyed.
Love isn’t amorousness,
Nor is it hunger nor thirst,
With vehemence, I insist: Love is a perpetual motion machine
O! Break! Break! Break! My Hardened Heart!
Be shattered by Love,
And let all your disquietude be shaken out of you, like candy out of a pinata!
E*very time you sacrifice something lesser for something greater, that is Love
From the beginning, nothing you were taught will ever matter more
Find in your heart the beginning, then work Love into practical things
Erupt! With Joy! At the presence, near, of the Beloved
Receive Her as though this new day will be your last
Veneration may be for sillies or fuddies but DO it
Elopement is all the way for the strong of heart
Sight fails, and then the hands learn to know the face of the Beloved
Crying verses with bell-like tongues fly out of those who yearn for Love's Purity
Energy-in-motion is never big enough or beautiful enough to sing Her Name
Near-to-Death, no heart, ever, does not prize it most
Clearly, clean clinical classifications cloy, clot and clutz the fervidness of Love
E*very time you sacrifice something lesser for something greater, that is Love
And now, to the subject of reverence…
When her body is a holy temple before you,
When you must wash your hands and feet and face before you approach her
When you joy to fluff her pillows or your breath catches, when you touch her
face,
When all of her is Divine unto you, and Delightful, and Dear
THEN
That is the beginning of Love!
______
* NOTE: 'effervescence' is spelled out, like in an acrostic poem
2/8/2019
Submitted for: Free Verse On Love -- 10 Words Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Lu Loo
Daily, the sun sets
And the set, the ambiance
Dimmer and darker gets
Losing all its radiance
Every so often too
Our lives’ suns set
In a season undue
Our hopes, with gloom beset
To this, we are helpless
This’ nature’s ordinance
The roster for more and less
Demanding obeisance
For every session of secular joy
Our days of gay and bloom
Could fade, and then cloy
Dwindling to misery and gloom
We find too that friends are away
Therefore, we sorrow alone
Too bad for a rainy day
How far hath delight flown!
But as the nights come
To save us from much labor
With sleep our beings to reform
Lest we struggle and bore
So do our lives’ suns hide
To make for a time of quiet
Lest we bloat with pride
While underachievers yet
If the sun sets and hopes, tend to fade
Sit still and enjoy the shade
Perhaps tis shining on the land yonder
Drying the flood of a rainstorm, do not despair
It's not the same without the snow,
since I have moved out west.
I could not walk, I could not drive;
no more snow was my quest.
But then I came to realize
the beauty of the snow.
I miss the flakes and their soft fall,
but how was I to know?
Out here, it rains and rains and rains,
the winter season through.
Maybe, sometimes, one day in ten,
there is a glimpse of blue.
Well, here I'm stuck, rest of my life.
without that wintry joy.
Just buckets, barr'ls, oceans of rain
and, really, it does cloy.