Best Commensurate Poems
Another Gold
Far from profit’s crass allure,
At a place somewhat obscure,
A poet sweeps his shepherd’s lyre;
He sings of gold, of heaven’s fire.
No. not of gold that Midas stores
Behind fast-bolted treasury doors
But of gold, that, eve and dawn,
Touches sheaves of ripened corn.
More emeralds than all wealth can gain
Has to these eyes the verdant plain.
Without the mind all precious stones
Have lesser worth than dead men’s bones.
The original prompt for the last poem was one I wrote on being requested to resign from a computer company.
Far from profit’s crass allure
At a place somewhat obscure,
Gordon preaches now Cobol.
Fortran and, I believe, Algol,
Unto flocks of Gaelic birds,
Black-faced sheep and long-haired herds.
In Acton’s fleshpots, in his den,
The spotlight first is beamed on Ken.
Beware the luscious woman’s wiles
Or you’ll forget your disks and files.
It would clearly be a sin
To make no mention of dear Lin.
May married bliss attend thy way
And commensurate be thy pay.
Sandra’s performance sets the pace
Robin’s too a similar case.
His hunting prowess earns him fame
In matters that concern big game.
Flower power propels this happy throng
Which means that little can go wrong
As long as Rose your leader be.
May rays of fortune shine on thee
On yon high Olympic mountain
Where Gord and Mary have been scouting.
There beneath the royal wall
Our Ted flogs bangles on his stall.
My ditty now has reached its span
Remember me, the also-ran.
Categories:
commensurate, satire,
Form:
Couplet
Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained
Written: by Miracle Man
10-17-2019
Many people will avow,
to being risk adverse.
In discussing this point,
they often become terse.
if we can’t stick our neck out,
without undue fear.
We’ll be like the tortoise,
and not get anywhere.
Sometimes a decision,
causes life to seem bleak.
But risk is always commensurate,
with the reward we seek.
Categories:
commensurate, how i feel, life,
Form:
Lyric
They call me Moro,
not the Moors of Africa,
they insult me more,
and I assumed adore,
but in a good way ...
Colonial mind say;
"A good Moro is a dead Moro",
in a slur way,
and the Compatriot slaves;
says, a Moro-Moro ...
And anyway,
I call myself Moro,
I was a Moro,
I am now a Moro,
a Mawarao for Moro...
The Slang spoke on my name,
they heard me wrong,
they write me wrong,
they make me slur,
and they called me Moron ...
Still I stand for Moro,
a Mawarao for Moro,
an adjective word Brave,
a noun word Warrior,
in a local Lingua origin...
It is a right choice,
to commensurate Moro,
In a bravery Memoir,
a Maranao for Warrior,
a Maranao for Brave...
Moro as they may call,
Is someone who installed,
when someone wished,
in a level upwarded,
or in the top and high...
Moro as they may call,
Is someone who cornered,
to hunt of an animal escapee,
in the no exit zone,
That means a good hunter...
Bangsa is a Nation,
a Malayan word people,
with a royalty tone,
and historic nobility,
a collective unity...
Now my name is Moro,
and I belong to a Royal,
a fierce Warrior of the Orient,
in a society of Moro,
that built me BangsaMoro ...
By: ditadawayen sa ranao - Khadaffy D. Mangondato
Categories:
commensurate, abuse, anti bullying,
Form:
Free verse
"L'évasion L'oiseau Blue"
An exodus of dreams
like a flock of beating wings
melt upwards into endless sky
there the unreachable,
the bluest blue
of dreams so high
fleeting upwards ever upwards
the call below pulls in its nets
the fleeing mind and breath
washes back in, listen -
the ceaseless
cajoling sigh,
the turquoise summoning,
as above so below
the firmament reflection
of clouds watched magnetised
gliding memories turn swift,
the floating shifting messages
blue birds sing sweetly
through higher passages
to Sun and Moon
kingdom's eclipsing
the path mapped
like a well-planned escape
a premeditated
back-up plan
fate taken up
like destiny, released
by the hungry cries
of haunting channels
possessed, the return,
replete for shrives
upon command
of the commensurate,
The Beloved
Ocean tide
whispering secrets
like to a homesick bride
consuming
life and love
the hungry cries
of haunting channels
la evasion de la oiseau bleu
possessed, the return
replete
for shrives
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
L'oiseau bleu
The lake lay blue below the hill.
O'er it, as I looked, there flew
Across the waters, cold and still,
A bird whose wings were palest blue.
The sky above was blue at last,
The sky beneath me blue in blue.
A moment, ere the bird had passed,
It caught his image as he flew.
(Mary Elizabeth Coleridge)
Categories:
commensurate, journey, life, love,
Form:
Narrative
In "The Shootist", J.B. Books is not feeling up to snuff.
He has cancer. What are the concerns
of a man dying.
To die
commensurate with the way he lived his life.
Books dies in a gunfight.
McIntosh dies in the desert, under a broken wagon,
fighting Indians.
Norman Thayer will die of heart failure
by the side of his wife, Ethel.
Two police officers
die investigating a stolen moped at a gas station
in the Bronx.
One buys it between the eyes, the other in the back.
The killer out on early parole
from a manslaughter rap.
The DA blames the judge, the judge blames the parole board,
and the board says the jails are overcrowded.
What should I be doing, old turtle.
Devote myself to re-order the world
or crawl off to a lonely spot and preserve myself.
We are trying
to educate everyone to their individual capacities
and see that all are fed, clothed and sheltered adequately.
Because the suffering of one citizen makes suffering
for another, the slow death of one sometimes makes
the sudden murder of another.
There is this
black rock we live on and its lovely mantle of green.
It is all that is perfect. And everything of it is
perfect that respects its integrity. On the subway
I was amused to find, hidden in the confused
mass of anonymous, bleak graffiti, unseen
by the studied, expressionless passengers,
in pink, delicate script, vertically written,
the word *****.
People are the element I live in.
The world is pushy, we are bone,
the numbers of us overwhelm.
It is going to be hot again soon
and the Bronx will actively resent it.
Books dies in Carson City,
only two or three people will miss him at all.
He died alone as he lived,
with his enemies.
Categories:
commensurate, cancer, city, education, heart,
Form:
Verse
In Ulzana's Raid,
the Native- and European-American concepts of property ownership
and rights
are incompatible and irresolvable. McIntosh
had no illusions about that. He said hating Apaches for killing whites
is like hating the desert for having no water.
I suspect the movie's not a good source of anthropological data
and overlooks the commonalities among human communities
to focus on just a few bold characters
as all art must.
I consider McIntosh fortunate
to have died commensurate with the way he lived his life,
rolling a final cigarette, nothing between him and the desert,
and no gravediggers waiting, jesting, defecating. Also,
he is lucky to have had one last, dispassionate friend
to whom there is nothing left to say, the Chiracahua tracker
Kah-ti-nay.
Last night's performance of Beauty and the Beast
may have been the most victorious, ecstatic, cohesive
moment in our little school's history. Emily was Beauty, a filament of
energy
who doesn't like to be touched and has been known to punch
boys hard. She had memorized her lines until she was hardly
Emily but only Beauty in a blue dress unselfconsciously
hiking up her tights between the Beast's advances.
Is this done in every American town and the world
over so there's no need to feel lost or lonely
ever?
There is no context for a man
outside the platoon or raiding party, home or shop.
When violence comes to the neighborhood,
the hierarchy of communicants will hold or fold
it is then the peace work proves relevant. I noticed McIntosh,
grizzled as he was, accepted the given hierarchy, a raw lieutenant's
orders,
as he did the desert and Apaches, with a shrug and foreknowledge
of the outcome. If there's anywhere with no Emily or Beauty
we should bring them such blessings at the point of a
gun. But there is no place without Emily, not
the least-known prison in deepest space as long
as we do not hate or hurt or shun
the Beast.
Categories:
commensurate, america, art, friend, history,
Form:
Verse
My GOD, YOU are my life
my existence revolves around YOU
being my breath’s source
the verity-cause of my heart beat…
Here am I humbly exalting YOU with love’s propelling might:
declaring, “Dear GOD, I love YOU so”.
As my life
YOU are my survival’s Bread
granting contentment bliss
beyond sufficiency’s exuberance…
Hear my spirit of fervent devotion YOU deserve:
whispering, “Dear GOD, I love YOU so”.
My life
bearing my soul’s Light of illumining truth radiance
YOU shield me from grievous engulfment
of ignorance-obscurity…
I come to YOU with divine affection, moved by YOUR sublime love:
affirming, “Dear GOD, I love YOU so”.
Life of my essence
YOU are the great Saviour
author of my redemption eternal
freeing me from hell’s wrath forever…
To YOU do I yield my loving esteem that can’t commensurate YOUR sacrifice:
proclaiming, “Dear GOD, I love YOU so.”
Enabling my life
YOU are the good Shepherd
offering to me YOUR grace
packed with pardon toward gratitude…
Indeed, loving YOU along faith that pleases YOU is my best response:
asserting, “Dear GOD, I love YOU so”.
With YOU, my life
fulfillment wraps me
around YOUR compassion wholeness…
Since YOU first loved me…
I’m privileged to love and serve YOU, my LORD GOD, my LIFE:*
testifying, “Dear GOD, I love YOU so”.
*John 14:6 Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.
Galatians 2:20 I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.
August 1, 2020
2nd place, "Pick-A-Title, Vol 20 - Free Verse 3" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh; judged on 8/4/2020.
Title was changed after poem was judged.
Categories:
commensurate, christian, devotion, faith, god,
Form:
Free verse
Trudging on a lonely road
In somewhat desolated and dreary mode
Stumbled upon someone ineffably enchanting
And felt the desire to espouse her, augmenting.
Ah! Her dulcet voice and ravishing charm
That pierced my heart without harm.
I told myself “Yes, I have different goals, peremptory
But to estrange this girl is incendiary”
Having a yak with her was indelible
I asked “When could be our next date? Probable?
She could’ve balked, as her schedule was awry
But she replied “Thursday, dine or a movie?”
The first haphazard kiss was something ethereal.
Oh! Nidhi, my sweetheart, do u belong to Arcadia, for real?
For the moments I spend with you render a catharsis, inexplicable
Frankly, I doubt if I could requite you with something that capable.
I don’t care about the insecurities or the tempests my love would suffer
I’ll always be with you, Love you forever.
Never could I find love commensurate to yours, for me
And I know of nothing as beautiful as your smile for me.
I’m acutely smitten by you
Mind if I bought a Persian kitten for you?
Categories:
commensurate, beauty, for her, i
Form:
Sonnet
Excellence of spirit begets
Excellence of mind.
Innate in some it resides
Others strive to imbibe.
Climbing a mountain requires
Skills commensurate with the task.
Energy sapped, discomfort induced
Food eaten, transforms to vapour.
Friends abandoned below
For the joy of mentors above.
Looking not below still
Focus placed above ever.
To the uninformed observers
Such unpardonable self-hate.
Yet the ascension unabated
Leads to a glorious beginning.
Exhilaration marks the arrival,
The arrival goads inspiration,
Inspiration steers to fulfillment,
Welcome to the centre of excellence!
Peter Edoziem
Categories:
commensurate, faith,
Form:
Light Verse
My face tells me nothing. Not nothing but nothing useful, the
complications of ageing humorously but not exactly how to avoid
injury.
Permanent injury is a now popular cliché. At this age any injury
could result in pneumonia, pain in bitterness for your peers,
your jury.
What a headache I have! And never forget injury provokes
at best only pity. Friends are merely friendly, they belong to the
majority.
They forget your name and so should you, who are you? Even you
don't know for sure. In relation to community, no change was noted in
the
registry.
Still, man's mercy, economy's ecology, there's some joy in being small,
some joy in staying strong, and keeping death before you without
perjury.
Unsafe to run the wind. A big stick might hit your head. Then
the hip and heart and head will hurt, all three. Un-
fortunately.
I like a strong wind. Dangerous to go out in. As a fire or flood.
I like the way we are at risk, not a risk-averse weasel. A carnivore,
very hungry.
Pay money, take chances. Yo's an elegant contraction of you.
Cool. Message from street to board: mongrels rule. Democracy or
tyranny.
Scared to die? Why? Take appropriate measures, descend through
meditation. Be empty, rest. And to your friends and sons be as
gravity.
Tired of death. It's what it is. Let's play sports, have sex, kayak
to the huckleberries, fish for marvelous fish, live a wonderful life, give
generously.
Done blowing, O wild wind? Not yet? So be it. I lay my head
in your felt hands. The motion of the branches, evolutionary branches,
are my
guarantee.
That's all folks, 7:30. The sky is clear, the crows are out. The clouds
are with my mood commensurate. I should shout, having lived
prodigiously.
Categories:
commensurate, age, death, friend, humor,
Form:
Verse
As long as I still have ...
Breath to breathe
Songs to sing
Words to write
Thots to think
... and poems to unveil,
I shall attempt in simple nomenclator
to commensurate this tale.
Simply put. Life is hell in a nutshell.
Categories:
commensurate, hello, humor,
Form:
Light Verse
What's Next
Yes, what’s next!?
After an incident.. maybe an accident
Our foresight be on guard for the least
Unless, we want more exciting or forget
What happens next believed awaits.
Sometimes, we think the world at stop
As revolving always for us to tap
Everything at still must collaborate to sip
For goodness sake no one on strap or trap
The more we reckon, the more we shop.
What’s next really we do surmise
That we pray hope without compromise
For God, we know so fair His justice
Never subsides
Coming so swiftly to commence
Man mortally sinners depend on Him
be enhanced.
Dreams are bound to be elusive
So much we do we accept for our good times
selfish sake
Settling for others who may wish aspire
However, what’s next could be at ones
expense
For we should expect the seed planted is what
commensurate!
Categories:
commensurate, deep,
Form:
Free verse
Moss Cowed Covenant I Keep Putin Off...
For preservation, salvation,
and veneration, though with hold
ding temptation two mike
pence sieve lee clear,
to immoral majority mold
toot hoods, (those bajillion
Americans unanimously polled)
did want me to broadcast, communicate,
and declare, sans mock cut up fold
drawl migrant accent,
(no matter I'm getting old),
nonetheless Ivana trumpet from Taj Mahal
straight to Mar-A-Lago) all told,
plus thank commensurate Republicans
(past or present), who extolled,
an invisible grandiose fire walled
barricade (donning, enclosing,
and fortifying) against Carl mauled
din lookalike hackers,
despite one sporting "FAKE"
hook nosed, hunchbacked
donned with torn (Turin) shawled,
shrouded, and disguised vagrant, indigent,
double chinned agent – bald
(except for being bewigged),
viz flowing locks of "FAKE" gold
in toe with Amazon heavily funded
unbridled trailing retinue
chanting appellation Matthew
Scott Harris alias Oswald),
no matter said faux
renegade twittering lobbyists
flock (like lemmings) within his fold,
and will happily, laughably parody
any vigilantes spot on cold,
what with his bugs
bunny eyed (What's up Doc)
intent reader rabbit stare,
that doth playfully scold
any Bare Ladies scantily
linkedin, NOT nsync
with netiquette politesse mold
dinned communication, (asper
my pork chopped message
higglety pigglety divulged)
obeying tacit gold
din rule to hoodwink public, nonetheless
lemme exemplify, how
Democrats plan to hold
world web hostage
by secret Ransomware sold,
thru dark web bitcoin blockchain trolled
to collude with "crooked Hillary"
under Ponzi scheme auspices doled
courtesy, sans spongebobsquarepants
omnipotent NON GMO
gluten CRISPR rolled
oat sized INTEL nanobots,
no bigger than mold
spores heavily scrutinizing,
policing, monitoring and
fortifying electronic Internet scaffold.
Categories:
commensurate, absence, encouraging, faith, humor,
Form:
Free verse
It glanced seductively at Louis with intricate petals and thorns from the roadside
A weedy hawker peddled the evergreen climber to make meagre ends meet
Measuring up philanthropy and potential for growth Louis dug down in his pockets
Found a new home for the tree as he sought wild abundance and passionate care
Knew nothing about inflorescence and internodes but was enchanted by beauty
Antoinette his young lover and soulmate encouraged the deal knew about botany
While he marvelled at her gait and anatomy long enough to notice the seeds
Visions of swell budding nature embraced and caressed copious plenteous bounty
Lush pink flowers like the innocent blush on faces after commensurate move sent
Delightful shivers down his loins as he smelt musk though the plant has no scent
A love affair uncontrollable emotions gentle pricks of the thorn and delight
Five sepals and they named them faith kindness compassion exultation and hope
Like the name giving explorer Louis circumnavigated earth moon and sunshine
Kept the most wonderful travels from her navel to wild luscious heavenly harbour
Flowerets of communion branches of intricate journeys and spread of infinite joy
They sailed the oceans together with no compass no chart only light from inside
Discovered all glorious reds orange chakras purple indigo and innocent white
Made love in radiant glows of their garden in vibrant evocative synesthetic flow
The Universe applauded chanted approval as they danced naked under awesome
Canopies dawning awnings and became the hippies they had always wanted to be
20th March 2019
Categories:
commensurate, celebration,
Form:
Free verse
It's the end of my purposeful day,
a prostate being in prayer
with much sincere accord,
and my gratitude is not hurried away;
it is persistent in its allegory
already conceded...
Days don't last, time does
and the thought of eternity causes a frightening rush,
not to comprehend its depth
too concise not to discern it,
making many so compulsive to act in ignorance;
time was created to confer, not to condemn a wish...
Making a comparison between days
and time is truly necessary,
because they aren't commensurate,
they only obey a command; and we humans
act in deceit and don't commiserate,
allowing vanity to exude inclemency...
Frivolous with a frowzy attitude,
we put on a frippery image
to separate need from want,
to notice the differences and deny fortitude;
and shouldn't harmony and fairness begin with grace,
or it is another informal demeanor we impart?
Days don't last, time does...
and can a mortal, like me, pretend to be God
and defy death with his ostentatious ego and live?
Every human must die and be buried with others!
Are you any superior or have a greater knowledge,
to be excluded from a fate that is indomitable and savage?
Categories:
commensurate, deathtime, time,
Form:
Sestina