Best Cohere Poems
Memories wound like shards of shrapnel
exploding through the restless night
bursting into jagged slivers like broken glass,
leaving a heart wretched and contrite.
Ears strained to hear voices crying
from somewhere within the dark beyond,
the place lying between emptiness and sighing
but not one echoing refrain responds
Not a single word from the void spoken
Silence takes a ransom toll on emotions
There's not a whispered breath, no scant token
that offers hope in any measure of devotion
Shattered is the heart that has been forgot
In the midst of grief, a voice it does not hear.
It's time to move on for the echo returns not.
and in its absence, a heart must prove austere.
Purge all the sorrow and wash away its stain.
No longer whisper and do not strive to hear
nonexistent echoes that resound in refrain,
those ricocheting words that never did cohere.
His hand is strafing the castellation on his trumpet, the valves moving up down up down like deranged pistons under the random machine gun fire of his fingers. Each note is a projectile that concusses the air, chases the one before it, nudges it from behind, bleeds into it, and is itself tailgated by the next one, all the way down the line in unrelenting succession, until all the distinct notes fuse, compacted into a single, furious, careening soundscape that leaves the ear always half a beat behind, struggling to catch up, out of breath, high on an overdose of heard adrenalin.
sounds supersonic
air graffitied with contrails of soaring notes
solo flight
Still they come, the notes, jostling and pouring from the bell of the trumpet glinting in the small cone of spotlight, the man’s puffed cheeks like a magician’s hat from which all kinds of disparate, crazy things - playing cards, rabbits, ribbons, doves - appear and instantly cohere into a hyperventilating sonic dream. You’re caught off guard by every note: you never heard it coming, then you hear it, and you’re snatched by it and all its brethren, and carried into the kinetic night.
ears beguiled
vibrations collide, collude, segue
harmony
China laws philosophy…
Evil guts explained for evil moods. Much and more are tyrant wills. Easy bounces are Taiwan ways and wills. Taiwan peoples favored are peace. Muster one and gather all would be Taiwan forces.
Mutate life is times that changes. Solid laws are names that rules. Make our best efforts to build a better state.
Come expository teaching all may calm as laws.
China violent all are leader hearts. Fierce and cruel run the bloody worlds. Poses of Maoism get to lie to Marxism means. Equal laws should previous and pioneers all for china peoples. Powers must to you and toward U.S.D (humble workers).
Speak so stern and means to kill or oppressed some noble hearts that fight against commie by thoughts and speech. All enforced are martial laws are evil wills. So retained the truths our peoples need the rights. Cast our lights are better ways. China ways and laws are strict but wrong.
Literary persecutions all are china tyrant sins. China laws cohere needs are must for human rights.
COHERENTISM ways have cohered principals rater than abrupt china laws. MATERIALISM functions are central nervous. Most of all for peoples feels must be good. That is ways to china peoples. States are for peoples and with peoples and to peoples. Strongest laws should all with rations best to all. Rational psychology needs our views of breadth. Empirical says or rationalism both is rights. Laws and ways are both are forms reformed.
All our worlds may test by senses.
All our laws may call by cohered reasons that good to country peoples that come to best of earth. Natural laws have natural lights. Social treaties all are need abided.
Materialism equates our worlds of things and stuffs.
Who is who as only ideas? What is what as only ways?
However laws and matters all must exists even we are finished.
-----------Cheung Shun Sang=Cauchy3-----------
Problems in the mirror may be further than they appear
Don’t fear when they’re near, they’ll soon disappear
help is here, let me give your mind a steer
I’ma just keep writin’ until it all appears clear
coming to you live from the heart, no veneer here
closing in on 10,000 hours quick, nothing will interfere
I’ll turn these words to a career, this is only the first tier
found what I love, don’t care about 0’s at the cashier
You're wasting your time if you wouldn’t do it as a volunteer
Please don’t call me a poet, call me a word engineer
Haha, I can joke too, not all my poems are severe jeers
Stop while you’re ahead though, bout to shift into next gear
Pay attention, learn more in a poem than an academic year
Spare the sneer, wont quit til I sear all that you adhere
Persevere, attackin’ ya from the front both sides and the rear
Steer clear, don’t need no one’s cheer, you cohere?
Probably bust a drum if I spoke this, cauliflower ear
You don’t have to like me, but I bet you will revere
Change my name to Paul, inform you bout the brigadiers
See what I did there? Re-read those past 2 if it’s unclear
My minds my weapon, unlimited ammo, bandolier
Fully automatic, spraying bullets at everything insincere
Blowing up everything you thought you knew, bombardier
You got tunnel vision, widen your view, belvedere
This flow is delicate, elegant, like a chandelier
This flow leave ya weak in the legs like a baby deer
This flow has many sides and it’s well rounded like a sphere
A pioneer on the frontier, might stop and shed 1 tear
They say a writer never dies, guess this is a souvenir
Catch me down under drinkin' a Bundaberg ginger beer
This poems a joke, obscene, call me Edward Lear
You say no one gets the beauty of fear
It's what reminds us how human we are
The subtle moment when all is so clear
That from birth to death, the journeys not far
The joy comes between the fire and the char
The instinct that pushes us all to fight
And not to wish for refuge from the scars
Because shooting stars are death in the night
You say no one wants their nightmares so near
Despite the God-given rush from the stars
That space between the madness and the tears
That echoing scream that thrills as it jars
Happiness is a cell; pain is the bars
Defeating fear is what puts us in flight
Hoping is a catch, and wishes will mar
Because shooting stars are death in the night
You say dread shapes us; it's how we cohere
It unites us all, from peasant to Czar
We all know terror: vague, blinding or sheer
We all fear what we think to be bizarre
We have all been frozen, stuck in the tar
Caught in place by the glory of our fright
Wishes fade like dieing strains from afar
Because shooting stars are death in the night
Dark time prince, with your ideals and guitar
Sing your baleful views, which are out of sight
Sing of your wishes that are not on par
Because shooting stars are death in the night
Villanelle: Whose voice does the non-native English poet verily hear
Whose voice does the non-native English poet verily hear
Words which sound to native English speakers as gibberish
Does received pronunciation yoke the borrowed voices’ ear
The poet hears a voice probably his own loud and clear
As he scribbles words English dictionaries list and cherish
Whose voice does the non-native English poet verily hear
Can the fine feel of a language’s rhythms and cadences cohere
In the non-native speaker’s bookish learning albeit feverish
Does received pronunciation yoke the borrowed voices’ ear
When a Malaysian-Chinese poet whispers into his dear’s ear
Lines he has learned for exams from native speakers of English
Whose voice does the non-native English poet verily hear
Post-colonial poets simulate voices buried in psyche’s rear
Words they utter in tutored voices under authority of the English
Does received pronunciation yoke the borrowed voices’ ear
To whom does this poem belong if it stirs not far from here
The voices that bred these words all swirling around dervish
Whose voice does the non-native English poet verily hear
Does received pronunciation yoke the borrowed voices’ ear
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Milton’s Paradise Lost is a book I sometimes dip into. For modern
readers it does not lend itself to a quick browse. It’s pretty clear from the
start who dunnit.
My version in paperback contains insightful explanatory notes.
Apparently “Science” in the Tempter’s words“ O Sacred,
Wise and Wisdom giving Plant, Mother of Science”,* being derived from the Latin verb “scire”, really means what we now understand as “knowledge”.
This note seems to be for the benefit of such innocents who are
unaware of the process of diachronic semantic change, and who
may also entertain misgivings about nuclear power plants.
Newton’s apple might jolt us into considering matters of considerable
gravity.
Today we are concerned more about fallout than with the Fall, more
with the atom than with Adam.
Science is not primarily concerned with moral questions, yet
we have all benefited from science. That science has also
furnished Man with the means of self-extermination and involves environmental pollution on a global scale we must accept as collateral damage, call it what you will.
Science is not primarily concerned with moral questions.
Even though scientific knowledge is based on the axiom that our sensory perceptions, the experiments, observations and theories of science cohere,
being phenomena in one and the same time-space continuum, a scientist
should not be diverted from his or her quest by troublesome thoughts about extraneous factors, be they social, political or moral in nature, that impinge on the awareness of one indivisible reality.
In Milton’s day “science” simply meant “knowledge”.
Milton was concerned with the problem of good and evil, the relationship of God and Man, the conflict between Truth and Mammon, not with the complex realities of our modern industrial high-tech world.
Perhaps cogito ergo sum, that premise of the modern scientific method, also has a moral dimension.
Milton’s Paradise Lost is a book I occasionally dip into.
Two minutes left, then midnight's here.
You know my dad has made it clear,
tho we're engaged, for sure, my dear,
to curfew rules, we must adhere.
Just hold me tight, and do not fear-
your time to leave is almost near.
Don't let two minutes interfere
with our sweet kisses, so sincere.
Love words I whisper in your ear;
you kiss my lips- my souvenir.
One minute left, let's persevere
before we part- you disappear.
Kiss me again- let's get in gear,
fill up this minute in our sphere
of lasting love that soon will steer
us to that day- our new frontier.
Soon, we'll be wed with joy and cheer;
now, our time's up, without a tear,
must say goodnight, but still cohere
in thoughts, until you reappear.
Two minutes gone, midnight's austere;
those curfew rules stab like a spear.
When we are wed, with joy next year,
midnights till dawns- we'll pioneer.
February 5, 2018
~1st Place~
Contest: ''K'' Contest, New Or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Judged: 09/14/2021
Theme Chosen: Kiss
----------------------------------------------------------
Note:
The old days of the mid to late 1950s were very different.
I was engaged at 18, and my parents still insisted that I
was home by midnight!
World is so beautiful,
But view through dazzling eyes;
Supple heart softens,
Kneels before the virtues,
Non can deny,
The beauty thou hast;
It isn't about eyes,
Neither cheek, nor is thy lips;
All that drags,
Is thy beautiful heart;
Compassion, love for all,
All like me yearn to cohere,
Seek amour of thine;
Voice of thy so sweet,
Ears mellow as honey in hive;
The company with thou,
Coses me in dark side of life;
Thy tipsy beauty glares from inside,
Luminate so the world fills with joy;
© Sadashivan Nair
The twittering of the birds singsonged by
As the mum night kissed the new spousal dawn
The daybreak entity by the beadsmen allegiance
Pour forth by the holy water along the river adorn.
Thrown by the kid, the pebble found by the street
To the river, that splashed water
Few drops dripped numbly by the curls so formed
The kid whispered to his ingenuity and smiled by his quiesce voice.
The aroma morning breeze by the garden of blossoms
Felt by the awaken passers, suspired softly by the fresh air
The late city woke up by the quotidian alarm
Tuning the frequency modulation to a baritone cohere.
Rushed along by the streets, horns hooted at the crossing
By the foot, the beggar sang for his solicitation
There by the stoplight the cop whistled to control the traffic
The politician in the ambassador with the siren went by.
Two teenagers spotted to fight on a fallacious note
And the one who passed over, enjoyed with a sarcastic tone
There a group of bunked educatees forgather with a guitar
And played a melodic line that absorbed the whole inclusion.
Lost in the city, the traveler acquainted with strangers
But when asked for his destination, he propelled to be familiar
There by the midst he heard his yell unheard by all
He rhymed his own verse through his journey sung by his own voice.
The twittering of the birds singsonged by
As the midday coerce felt sorry by the sunset jollity
The twilight entity by the soul mate hug and kiss
Enclosed by the memories with the birds nested by the eventide.
Felt by the kid, the numbness of the darkness
To the sound of beetles, that phantomed his thoughts
Few spoke with the silence as they heard the cozy tone
The kid then slumbered by the alloy felt rhythmically to his own.
There’s an addict residing deep within me-
Seeking and probing for the seventh si,
In the abode of the Conscious Spirit~
Solmizate a song which on my life writ.
Probing for one single way of rhythm,
My strivings to stay an eternal pilgrim….
Where qualms and turmoil disappear,
A trip of the fealty imbues cohere.
I seek His Chariot my belief cast aside,
There is a Way clear and undisguised.
To keep on with a single mind to reach,
To dream the impossible dream impleach.
Relieve my mind filled with unrest and turmoil,
My tired soul fills with calm of Your Aura moil…
Still my subsistence is bereft in desolation~
I cry to ever be with You in conflation!
Yet I am lonely and I'll always dream,
To reach the unreachable effervescent star~
When I awake with preferences cast aside,
The Way stands clear and undisguised.
When devotion and belief are distinct,
And the mind and faith are interlinked;,
Then it is beyond all libretti, all thoughts fey,
For then, I know there is no yesterday,
Only a Point there is, no tomorrow, no today!
What is, is not, what is, is not is -
Pro tem confines have no place in His;
Where the major is the minor too -
It is here it is here my song joins anew!!
Two societies, two cultures, two ways, two worlds,
But the same mechanisms, glares, shuns and goals;
No-one knew the other, but the church had words,
For the special disabled school to adjust their bowls.
No pluralism, no perspective, no individual identities,
Just a passionate disabled self to only mix with flames,
Never allowed to cohere with or love outside entities:
Was indeed suppressed and thwarted for playing games.
This world holds all people and is made of communities,
Which habituate diversities and not similar creations,
That can’t often be specified because of rare novelties:
When an identity is just emerging, it has no derivations.
Acceptance is the yeast of decision, it gives us stance,
And betterment will only come whenever we assimilate;
Integration does not transcend from condescendence,
But prevails when affection does blossom to mediate.
Bribery sins…
.Spurns and prides are taking passes.
Passing balances all are cases and tasks.
Some retakes are warrants put.
Pick the tough ropes not only straws to last.
PINKO god-some will need the disciplines.
Doors to Eden just are door ajar.
Some things harmonic needed our justices to cohere.
Feels are fear alarms that mighty come.
Something uprights needed our uprising.
China premier WENJIABO bribery sins then some of them must also sinning with so.
Natures all at your becks and calls is china commie also those with heavy troops.
Who will care our nature sin then sinning more as one.
Some may still become award with laws.
So as Wraths become our dues by gods or by laws.
Poor have little bed-spaces to live.
WENJIABO BEDELS buy a street or less.
House commodious like a premise set with garden.
EX-HONG KONG commissioner LEUNG OIL SEE just declare and verify good or bad as nothing dues but She mean the ruling of China commie.
Who will make the senses as only all for commie ruling all by means of LEUNG OIL SEE..
What is good but who is bad.
What is nothing? Who but no one can do a lot of sins with says.
Objects most are things relay to subjects.
Who will call you sir and sure For you as PINKO.
-----------Cheung Shun Sang=Cauchy3----------
Delusion and Reference
(Paranoia)
Once there was only one, not fun,
So then this became two, did moo,
But my mum thought there were two,
There was her, and then guess who,
God said this, that, she said, like glue,
So her and Him had chats with another one,
This to me made still two in the room,
But the room had three to happy her,
And to the other one with her, further,
They deludedly found her valid and clever,
So they never hissed at her nor did mur,
Such that to them in the room done,
There were also three in the room there hun,
Not to be bred, so him and her and Yun,
Simmered my symptoms which decayed,
My youth and I was subjugated dismayed,
Such that I am now discharged recently,
Not newly promoted without ropes concisely,
Didn't want to placate the man walking behind,
Erroneous paranoia is best left to fester inside,
And so I don't know why health professionals sit,
Without asserting this mistake of faith which does slit,
Numbers - if functionally for other people and the kids,
There’s three, and her factor always liaisons her upper lids,
Then there are three real people in the room, lipids,
To them, at medical appointments, healthcare visits,
Meetings, excuse the syllogising of a sought parallax hits:
So the real converser, the professional, they must cohere,
That mum’s views may be quietly rejected unsaid,
Subtly accepted but then bypassed in favour of the kid,
Who needs to be pulled up from the pit of loneliness, bid,
By the health professional who must relinquish resolutely -
Through paperwork just to file away the sinner here absolutely,
Because ABC to me means that there's two in the room,
When there’s only two in the room, tested, there's two chemically, boom,
Since hormones cannot combine with a metaphysical being to boon,
He will loon when dislocated occupations and displacement loom -
A mathematician is not an essayist and neither a fit bit a goon;
And therefore, please remember that you become what you've done,
Not what you've sung and altered, so when healthcare workers are spun,
You get paranoia, not mum by ego, if they don't bravely come into the sun.
Fate Of Mankind...
(this prognosticator ordains,
which if came to pass no brains)
necessary to impress any
goo goo dolls, nor swains!)
Cited in crosshairs of thermonuclear warfare
quite an about face from bursts of creativity,
yet omnipresent palpable threat everywhere
unlike sangfroid hermitage within Abbey air
habitués hosting religious peacemongers care
ring about spiritual well being, nsync by prayer
regular quotidian discipline dissociating scare
re: global apocalyptic genocidal holocaust sear
ring significant sinister malevolent electioneer
macabre mushroom clouds vitiating atmosphere
burnt offerings charred flora and fauna cohere
glommed together undifferentiated pulverized
conglomeration bespeaks devastated biosphere
survivors (if any) few and far between gallows
humor, sans mockery former Amazon billionaire
irrelevant wealth superfluous banked nightmare
*****sapiens like mummified zombies blinded by
light, eclipsed contaminated heavily sheltering sky
succor solemn deliverance bombed appallingly revere
inescapable damn earth bottled genii raiment austere
foretold prophecy regarding Doomsday clock spare
ring extra crispy char broiled ribs aplenty profiteer
awaiting her/him able to make a killing apprenticed
savvy entrepreneur opportunity, though no cashier
to pay, hence former Trumpeting strictly volunteer
job with bone fried benefits superior than Medicare
accompanied by death as fine companion buddy sincere
need not be grave concern, so minus annihilation and air
choking stench, viz total extinction moonscape sphere
flora obliterated only scorched landmarks thoroughfare,
humongous bajillion shades of gray cremated vaporware
vague hint former edifice Taj Mahal wanting consigliere
so opportunities galore to look as smoking hot fleshpot
overactive imagination helpful to conjure all in the
family Maude Lynn good times MASHup of yesteryear!