Best Coerce Poems
A bright array of rainbow hues
adorns the parchment now and then,
and gives a glimpse of writer’s views,
an image brushed by poet’s pen.
The yellow hues of morning sun,
the break of dawn described in verse,
or crimson sky as day is done
when, in the sea, sun will immerse.
A poem of gentle flower’s bloom
who’s petals drip with morning dew;
‘tis nature’s soft pastel perfume,
or metaphor of passion’s hue.
A verse of mountains white with snow
or verdant forest lush with pine;
the grass cloaked valley down below
where streamlets flow through scented vine.
Emotions penned within each verse;
sometimes a melancholy blue,
or red with passion to coerce
their dreams, as lovers’ lives renew.
A verse of lost love penned in rhyme,
or poem lamenting loved one’s death;
a lilt of lovers held by time
as passion takes away their breath.
A writer’s dream as brushed with quill
upon the parchment comes to life
as vibrant rainbow colors spill
his heart, with its emotions rife.
This poet’s heart, a calm serene,
he sees the world in many ways,
and with his pen he paints the scene,
preserved in time, a moments gaze.
September 2, 2020
3/2/03
I saw no way- The heavens were stitched
I felt the columns close
The earth reversed her hemispheres
I touched the Universe
378: Emily Dickenson
The Shape of Death
Because I could see through all the eyes of men,
Pandora's sin,the sum of every joy and sorrow crowded in
I felt the paucity of greed.
The simple mood of life enriched by guileless generosity
I asked, "Are good and evil mixed?"
I saw no way - the heavens were stitched.
And stitched perhaps until the hour of death
Because I could see through all the eyes of men,
I knew of life's inevitable end
that closure, that omega rose
that brings eternal sweet repose.
That stealth of life in increments
the broken bond of flesh to death
Within its marble tenements
I felt the columns close
The columns closed, my mother passed,
Because I could see through all the eyes of men,
my solace weighed in beauty that we gathered,
in all my childhood hours
In sunsets, birdsong, clouds, and dew
in measured memory of her face
I turned myself away from our lost years
The earth reveresed her hemispheres
Reversed - that algebraic leap,
Because I could see through all the eyes of men
All wisdom spilled to unity of life,
Death un-veiled - benign as the blank page before birth
returning that Divine immortal leaf
like the shape of space that waves traverse,
when split, between a particle
And I can say with nothing to coerce
Perhaps....I touched the Universe.
We get these hard hitting reminders
Of whom you are
In times of sadness
In times of powerlessness
In times when we are left with so many questions
A memory
A few words
Lyrics of a song
You coerce us into knowing
That in all these things
In life and death
You are there
At times silent
At times encouraging
But always there
The comforter
We never know we really need you
Until it is the only thing we feel close to
*Inspired by the sudden death of a friend on 25/08/2013*
©135726082013
Hard edged (unreality) you face away from my immediacy (candour eschewing) inimically you parody, offering as nice the complexity of ''vice''exploiting even nature
(as voyeur and narrator) your intention anethema to the nations,
as you coerce ''your creation'' encouraging over consumption,
with a hard nosed gumption, yet my God who is greater
is no longer willing to be a waiter!sickle in hand he is walking his land,
with the sun as his shadow is this (One)
to be Hallowed..!
Just the thought of you
inspires me to heights
of grandiosity and elegance
You coerce me to create
writings, poems of distinction
indubitably perchance
How does this entrancing
energy transpose into art,
permutations of heights
drifting through ions
of transposition, toughness
circumcises deliverance
It's a mystical phenomenon
that's existed for ages,
from the inception
of humanity's ineptness
through the age of technology
bolstered by craters
of existential drifting
through generations
parallel to the Muse.
People say my anxiety is cute.
The way I wring my hands, stutter over my words, jump at loud noises, and blush easily.
The way I wring my hands, because if they weren't holding each other they'd be shaking, or even sub-consciously digging into my skin on a bad day.
The way I stutter over my words, and stutter myself into a panic attack because I have no idea what the person on the opposite end thinks of me.
The way I jump at loud noises, instantaneously filling with anxiety and the unshakable need to hide, survive.
The way I blush easily, the redness of my cheeks signifying the onslaught of tears that wish to come, but never are allowed.
How anxiety has overcome me to the point that even my own shame at my weakness can not coerce me into coming out.
The way I'm so afraid of living.
...Adorable.
I know you, you're godless like me, and to the natives We Are The Wandering dead. Headless in sunshine, blind in the wilderness. I know you, you're the sister of death that's true. Your red lips caress mine as I choke upon embers. I'm awaiting life to be stripped from these bones. I smoke the feathers from the angels round here, and laugh with the devil. She sleeps at my feet. I found a home down here. She's the one who'll burn down the temple. She's the one who shall coerce the swarms. I know she'll do anything and more.
I am told to stay quiet
I am expected to hide
But how can I do that
When there's a pedophile by your child's side?
He sat there with me
Just like he does with her
Now I can't forget
All the pain, all the hurt
When I told my story
Six years after the fact
My father said I "flirted"
That I was asking for his attack
Did I make him coerce me?
Did force him into my bed?
You tell my 14 year-old self
What was going on in his 25 year-old head
Explain to me how three men called "shepherds"
Can sit across from a child and say
"You're not sorry enough to God,
And now YOU have to pay"
I abandoned God that day
I was told to "trust in God,"
That in time he'd "make things right,"
Why is it then that this rapist
Continues to sleep well at night?
Why didn't those "loving shepherds"
Call the cops that day?
I was crying and begging for help
But all they could say was "wait and pray..."
A loving child has touched my heart
with her cute smile right from the start;
I was stunned. A father - who me?
until this precious little life I did see.
She's turned my world inside out,
and has taught me what life's really all about.
How can a child carry such a force?
In her mind, she never had to coerce.
I find myself letting go more and more,
and I do not ever want to know a cure;
I see my life is now not only about me
but about this loving child - laughing with glee.
I grew up in this world not long ago
because of my daughter I do love so;
she's changed my life forever - that much I know,
and I thank God for letting me watch her grow.
For "My Children" contest sponsored by Walayee Whitlock.
Oh, to write a sonnet on my one true light-o'-love,
to write a song to make the warbling sing -
a melody that to your eyes would bring
tears of fond remembrance for your own true well-thought-of.
Oh, to flood ravines with bursts of spring!
How do I employ the moon and stars in verse
and conjure with them messages to measure
the merit of the poet's brightest treasure
when I know not of love's allure nor passion to coerce?
How do I stir light from the obscure?
Oh, to etch a portrait of the one upon my pillow
with words that fall so sweetly on the ear
of him, with gentle soul who cares to hear
the moan of restless wind through pine and willow
or of me, a billow rising to my dear.
I long to ink the sunrise pink,
whilst heeling tall on sailboat deck.
I drink the blue impassioned drink.
I long to ink the sunrise pink,
Coerce the sun with brilliant wink,
Infuse the dawn with fluid peck.
I long to ink the sunrise pink,
whilst heeling tall on sailboat deck.
This is the hard sense of it
The mythic falls apart
No Bojangle character in the story
The postmodern drama
Unfolds a new tragedy
I can hardly believe this was so deliberate
Yet no one saw the plunge into realism
Would do this
Would do this
And do it again deeper and deeper
Excoriating us
But in the sense of a morbid murderer
Bludgeoning to death our faith
Behind the concrete dimensions of space-time
Did they not understand
Did they not even think about it
For something else in us must have snapped
Before we took the stage and flopped
O it does not matter to you I see
You just like your poetry clean like a child's diaper
I just want the bond to hold between the child and I
This society will not know peace alone by that though
Man must believe in what he cannot see
To conform to the rigors of authority
Or else what else
Can coerce the sundering of individual will
If the mythic is dead
Should I tell them
That without the mythic we are dead
There is so much and so little
Realism can do for us
I think the modern focus is the debit's
Excessive show of losing habit
It is how we cipher even the spiritual
When nothing is left after
The mythic is dead.
Sister Josephine, our neighborhood nun.
No longer fit for ministry;
although she’s quit the nunnery,
she sits at our day camp nursery.
Go Jo uses every amp of energy
so as to champion or otherwise dampen
the spirit of grit in our scamps.
Sister Josephine, power shavers couldn’t stun.
Noise is born in my son.
Enjoying his horn on the run
from morn till night with the sun,
Boy Roy is fun, delightfully won.
Toys are Sprite cans, squiggly egg whites,
old cobs of corn and badly worn kites.
Sister Josephine, our savior you’d want.
Nursing their aches and their sprains,
reversing the stakes in their games,
she takes on blessing their brains.
Interspersed with pain, her tests will train,
coerce and arrest their thoughts with some stress.
Her heart makes and breaks their quests.
Sister Josephine showers favors - on good done.
Rhyming Words:
Stanza one:
no, although, Go, Jo, so
fit, quit, sits, spirit, grit
ministry, nunnery, nursery, every, energy
camp, amp, champion, dampen, scamps
Stanza two:
noise, enjoying, Boy, Roy, toys
born, horn, morn, corn, worn
son, run, sun, fun, won
night, delight, Sprite, whites, kites
Stanza three:
nursing, reversing, inter/spersed, coerce
aches, stakes, takes, makes, breaks
sprains, games, brains, pain, train
blessing, tests, arrest, stress, quests
Random rhymes in the the single lines:
our, power, showers
(neighborhood), (shavers could), (savior you'd), (favors/good)
nun, stun, want, done
I was thinking
thoughts of course enforce thoughts.
and thoughts reverse or worse... coerce thoughts,
and thoughts match and then dispatch thoughts,
and thoughts discern and turn thoughts,
and thoughts improvise and sensationalize thoughts,
and thoughts enhance, advance, and romance thoughts,
and thoughts return, and adjourn thoughts
and thoughts copy thoughts,
What do you think?
It's the gift of song within the heart,
The gift of words that help us impart,
A deep seated feeling within the soul,
That helps us express it, makes us feel whole.
When we are enabled to reach out in verse,
And touch someone else and mayhap coerce,
The bard in another to make itself known,
And touch us in turn and sing us his song;
A poet's heart sings, it flys and it soars,
When we're given words that touch someone's core.
It's a gift like no other to be able to write,
For there's power in words, they have meat, they have might.
We often dont' know how it will turn out.
We just start to write and then it comes about.
It's hard to say when it will begin,
But there's magic at work when we pick up our pen.
"THE PEN IS MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD."