Best Coining Poems
This what would happen in an alternate Universe
Many things would be different and oceans dispersed.
There's no such thing as hunger, water or air.
Because everyone's a vapor without any care.
C
We float around ambiguously trying to speak
Listening to the sounds of the impermeable weak
No one told you about this project ongoing
It's called X gene, selfless absorbing
R
It turns you into a gene pooled blob
Alters your DNA and pops your corn cob
Making popcorn with your soul
Seemingly making you whole.
A
This is what happens when you take too much
Your brain will end up on the sidewalk and such
Basically you won't ever come back
From smoking and smoking that god awful crack.
C
Drugs are bad mmkay
This what I say
K
Stay in drugs, go to milk and don't do school.
See what happens, now who’s the fool?
Anyone annotates astutely astounds
But baby bounces ballistic-ally brags
Can catching crazy come coining creativeness?
Advent is the first celebration of the Christian church,
Its first calendar event, not in December but in November,
On the last Sunday of November, and is normally, usually,
The first festival/celebration of the church year, remember.
Shops sell advent calendars to excite us into Christmas,
Where you can open small, numbered flaps to reveal,
A Christmas sentiment, thought or event as an icon,
Which lets you broad-mindedly appreciate xmas for real.
The four Sundays of Advent mark four different things:
The first destroys the myth Jesus was a total surprise,
Because it finds ancient predictions in Isaiah and Micah,
As the media were the prophets then, with wide open eyes.
The second Sunday lights a purple candle for hope,
Hope for societal revolution of the poor’s healthcare;
And also secondarily, hope in god who would ramify,
This plight so difficult in Jesus’ time, now a familiarity.
The third emphasises that you will find joy, pleasure,
If you believe that Jesus’ message was valid and required,
At that time in which the rich monopolised medicine,
Such that that his followers had to persevere as inspired.
And the fourth Sunday celebrates the Christian church,
Coining a word, incarnation, for the belief in Jesus as god,
For believing that god’s finger touched the baby’s skin,
Validating that parental obedience, that poverty of the kin.
And Advent candles suggest that truth was secured then,
By Jesus death which stated the worth of liberating,
Disabled and ill people into health and happiness,
Because this societal light shines multiply as pervading.
Time has created writers of century
Praised aloud for writings honorary
Prized globally with invaluable glory
Turning lines to deep thinking story
Magic of dots lead revolution purely
Unleashing world’s important history
Coining perfect pieces called literary
Lines curving to meaning revolutionary
Endowment to write thoughts freely
Though some being looked at angrily
Still the words shining more brightly
Eternal gift of Locke, Voltaire, Rousseau …
Pen is a mightier weapon said truly
Those who deny know not its beauty
Played ne with unequalled lines simply
Unwitnessed so far the unveiled mystery
Languages varied , spoken distinctly
Yet idée exchanged among commonly
Lines need a glance of heart’s purely
Then ideas turn to innovation surely
O Line! Has a start, ends with finally
Nevertheless continues even blankly
So many meanings in dictionary
Form conversations even nonverbally
Parts, Play, prose or poetry
Adds life to non breathing – silently
Writers gifted to use its versatility
Line turned a treasure noted timely
Four letter carries connotation widely
Unseen still there …simply…plainly…explicitly
Colors splashed upon a canvas
Expounding rhyme and reason
The paintbrush tells a story
Of love, trust and treason
A flux of emotions spread abroad
Fusing hues of green and teal
Blueprinting a love gone wrong
Phantasmagoric and surreal
Falling tears of cobalt blue
Emblazoned with crimson red
Blended well with vivid scarlet
Depicting a heart that bled
Melding oils on a palette
Coining shades of black and gray
Distraught strokes glaze the surface
Warranted rage on display
Fuchsia construes your courtesan
Infidelity exposed in viridian light
Goldenrod and lemon chiffon
Symbolize this woman's blight
A recollection of betrayal
Expressed in abstract art
Hung upon a gallery wall
Portrait of a broken heart
Emerging from cooperative economic indecision,
a leftwinged political decision
"Too big to fail"
is also our unecological rightwinged euphemism
for a politically unpalatable
"Too rich to fail."
This has nothing healthy
or equitable to do with democratic community,
with non-violent solidarity,
with green communion,
And everything to do
with naked inside greed
for short-term crutches and props
to insider avoid,
to outside neglect,
to postpone "til after my term,"
my generation
this anthro must grow
insider regeneration
Effective long-term
multigenerational public health
without monoculturing extraction
dismally standing in for
polycultural health investment
While anthro-privileged fragility
continues dissonant whistling
in growing cancerous outdoor climates
of pathological darkness
too big to not fail
Healthy democracy
does not overfeed rich autocratic authority,
instead investing in locally responsible
multicultural responsiveness
including long multigenerational commitment,
Coining a renewing terminology
of non-terminal
liberally conserving
resilient responsivility
Too simple,
win/win sufficient,
healthy compassion solid
to fail
empowerment's enlightening test
of Earth ReGenerative HerStory.
On coining an acronym for the neologism 'occult microaggresion'
'OM' is right,
But might get the Buddhists backs up....
OMA, WTAF? What about OMA?
Its German for granny, but I've no objection to teutonic geriatrics,
Unless they take hat tricks;
They can be surprisingly elastic -
Vorsprung durch plastic!
What's that you say, too bombastic?
I'll curtail the doggerel,
With a couple of matchsticks,
That used to work on the beatniks,
Although, Ginsberg could be slippery
When incensed by casual vivipiary,
'I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by....
Sticklebricks' (sic).
It's such a minefield, this identity real politik;
As Trotsky said to Stalin:
'Josef Besarionis Jughashvili,
the proletariat can be real pricks',
And, as the Stranglers pointed out,
One of them finished him off with an ice pick!
But, as Galileo observed,
Maybe that's just the fate in store for bigoted denizens
Of this rotund and heliocentric
Planet; 'eppur si muove' he muttered,
And, although a trifle bucolic,
It seems a fitting epitaph for the Pisan melanancholic.
I apologise for this diatribe didactic,
The current pandemic has rendered me
in urgent need of a linguistic immunoelectrophoretic
who felt incorporeal storied power
of Herman Melville as zen unseen aid
instructing hypothetic rich kid to drop out of school
before his/her first grade
coz of all the money he/she made
which affected modus operandi rendered obsolete
child worker laws
and no sweat of brow getting paid
people used bitcoin (or other online currency)
additionally making purchases
with scant keystrokes to complete a trade.
As with any major dramatically novel scheme
light bulb idea scribbled on napkin
scrap of paper
via cheesy or whipped cream
originating as a flash in the pan
aha eureka moment, or dream
as rough blue print subsequently
underwent beta testing,
before declaring pc innovation supreme
whereby outstanding persons in the tech industry
clamored to join Kidde team.
Whether seventh day add vent
hissed or other religious creed
powerful binary processing
impacted near
earth shaking incarnation indeed
and ramifications in all walks
and talks of life sought expert need.
Coven chanting children murmured Luddites be damned!
Thus spake Zarathustra (cue the opening scene
from Planet of the Apes)
upon witnessing as if king or queen
(in reality father or mother)
didst get immediately
dethroned thus, increasing mean
average positive
effects on society, especially lean
microchip i.e. integrated circuitry
miniaturization "green"
technology (and eventual
attendant affordable price)
viz said trappings
unleashed upon global market
invited absolute zero dust, a must clean
as a whistle work space,
and manufacturers laboratory be microbe free
hermetically sealed vacuumed "clean".
Countless portable machines
unbeknownst soon epithet florid hack
coining impromptu called cyber crime
especially as majority proportion of population
didst purchase these dime,
a doze in countless "end users"
snapped up these smart machines
excitedly keyed away indifferent to gunk
on unwashed hands
plus bits of food particles
eventually caking hardware with grime
(eventually necessitating technician
charging gobs of moolah
sans to unstitch in time.
Does anyone ask a bird to sing or a rose to bloom?
Does anyone comfort a butterfly in times of gloom?
Reaping nectar is built into a honeybee's instinct.
Aren't thoughts and feelings, like chains of pearls, with mind and heart linked?
Themes, like flowers and leaves of the autumn, are before me.
I had to, as a gentle breeze, lift them and make them free.
Words sometimes flow freely, like whirling rivers in a flood.
They get blocked at other times and put pressure in my blood.
Are similes and metaphors, like celluloid romance,?
They're sometimes fireless furnaces and other times full of trance.
Isn't the coining of words like hunting the wildest beasts?
I pursue after them, yet, as though they are my heartbeats
A cosmos with galaxies is hidden in each little song
My poems, like endless gold or diamond mines, throng long
In times of endless emptiness, I take refuge in these
In turbulence and turmoil, aren't these arts that grant me peace?
Owe a debt of gratitude to my dear friend Mo
For coining this clever word, that describes a new plateaux
As clever as she seems
Not close, she literally beams
With brilliant brain stuff, that's “mo” apropos
I am coining thoughts
Like copper pennies and most loved quarters
I am gathering leaves and flowers
as Spring is giving so much grace
But I am dropping moments and time
I am missing the season
because I am in love
It confuses the senses
befuddles the brain
Leaves appear on trees but cannot enter my brain
I am lost in a foggy imagination of your hand in mine
I am trying to find it but
You create such total confusion
Love is making me loose time
I am a thing of delusions
Lost in your rhyme
I am little but a bed time story
Living on meteor time
I long to see it and be present to the everlasting gorgeousness that is happening which is priceless never to be retrieved time
But all I know is your echo
And the dream of your hand in mine
You are all vehement and gutsy
Putting across even the wrong forcefully
With vulgarity drawing a bow or curtsy
From a righteous man smeared shamefully
You care not for truth but to win
Teasing an argument to tear down whoever dares
With heads coining every justification for sin
To wear out the fervency of any man who cares
That’s how the world is under the evil one’s sway
A lordless codeless lot living for pleasure
Taking license of way and stray
And their wildest wishes are their treasure
They squander their prime
It is theirs to spend as they please
So long as the sin is not a crime
Their deadened conscience allows with ease
How many wishes have we heard from the frail
And how many regrets on the deathbeds
What does the realization of failure entail
That the end now unravels the soul’s dreads
Yet the cycle continues in the midst of counsel
Ye be wise that you descendants may live
Sit and reason only in a Godly council
And Godliness shall be all you take and give
K. Muitherero.
I cannot become flat
My curves are not straight lines
My die is cast, forged by fire
Yet I try to bend it for you
I put the blow torch to my heart
Coining it over the anvil
Pressing it to new form
Old shapes long forgotten, new again.
Made to please you
Buffed to mirrored shine.
A reflection, or a phantom.
But it is not me.
Now the next shine has your eye
It is mine again.
Melted down with self-improvement
Made strong again
Never again to hammer against myself
Knowing the value of imperfection
Stay true to the die-cast
Compromise but do not conform.
Spine chilling velocity
Willing feverish ferocity
Pollution spilling atrocity
Pushes our buttons
Top billing forging
Fiendish drilling pomposity
Gluttons gorging in the isles of muttons
Coining the term “purloining”
Plunder even here down under
Cast asunder..can hear the thunder
In the proud land of
The long white cloud
Scold from the fold to heal
But won’t listen..do a deal
Gaudy gems appeal..glisten
History sold for pieces of gold
Cower to phoney crony power
Dour Parasites roll the dice
Show pony baloney hour
Off their heads...now divining
Mining our whining sea beds..
Palaver of scour..devour and sour
Splice our shining slice of paradise
Vice rather than stories of glories told
Voraciously gobbling veracity
Audaciously hobbling precocity
Generosity wobbling even in the home
Of lengthy Cumulus Curiosity…
Not being funny
In this Land of Milk & Honey
Won’t kowtow to the cash cow
Getting out of hand
Because the answer forever
Whatever will never ever
Be just money!