Best Communiqué Poems
"Triomphant"
Mea Culpa
Latin two words
a wrong turn
move forwards
Lux Vitae
Latin two words
shower me with Your Love
Your Light I move towards
Amor Vincit Omnia
Roman Poet Virgil
Message to the young girl
Secret Communiqué Love is plural
Jeanne d’Arc
Triomphant
(Lovejoy-Burton/Feb 2018)
"On the darkest days, when I feel inadequate, unloved and unworthy, I remember whose daughter I am and I straighten my crown".
(GVLM.K.M.L.)
“Rome is not outside me, but inside me. Her feverish sweetness, her tragic countryside, her own beauty and harmony, all these are mine, for my thought and my work.”
Amedeo Modigliani
Categories:
communiqué, dark, destiny, journey, life,
Form:
Free verse
(The Traveler) known far and wide as the “Cowboy” had become quite (Disenchanted) after
reading Rhonda’s (Communiqué!) He felt as though the (Weight of the World) was unfairly
placed on his shoulders. He was outraged! How dare she accuse him of any wrong doing?
After (A Lifetime of Love) (The Magic Trio) as he liked to call it, had become (Two Too
Square) for her tastes. The Cowboy felt all it needed was a little (Resuscitation) to become a
(“Jubilant”) thing in his life once more. Then this (Ultimate Adieu) arrived from Rhonda, one
of his two paramours. Rhonda the bronze (Beach Baby) was (A Legend in Life), well known
at the seaside and in (The Village) for the (Racy Red) string bikini she often wore.
Rhonda had become sick and tired of the cowboy and his (Clandestine) one sided trysts with
two women. (Now and Forever) she wanted to be an (Opulent Orchid) in a singular
(Resplendent Romance). She was fed up being some dizzy (Dream Catcher) who had
become a (Suburbia Special) reality show ranked 2nd in a (Catalog of the Cowboy)s
conquests.
Those of us (In the Know) realized she was finally activating a long anticipated (Survival
Sequence). That fatal message she sent to the cowboy had nothing but her (Death
Definitions) written all over it. Grabbing only her essentials she has taken (Flight). By her
actions, the (Pearl in the Oyster) of our seaside village has vowed she will no longer play
(“Doubles”) with her love life. The (Pendulum) always swings two ways!
*Narrative derived from the poem titles of Linda-Marie Bariana, "Sweetheart" of the Soup
Categories:
communiqué, on writing and words
Form:
Narrative
I Slept with a Female Mosquito – part IV
I have gone gnats!
My residual blood is boiling and bubbling
Whole frame sweltering and shuddering
Discolored rage – lend me some wrath
Should I or should I not,
Read her the riot act?
Does she know me any well –
A P.S now; been senator
Been governor, been chief, been prompt
In every cabinet
A minister here, a commissioner there
A chairman here, a spokesman there
A director here, Acting vice president
Do you know the cost of my person?
To accost fester and feast!
Madam Ambassador, speak for your people
The swarm is listening, whiz
That’s the envoy’s mark, man
Unswerving agenda, schemata
Trade, communiqué, summit, matrimony, prospects
Bilateral rep, the diplomatic proxy
Speak for them, gnat
State your mission, miss.
Categories:
communiqué, politicalme,
Form:
Narrative
Twas a dark knight,
whence there came a pawn the hushed crowded movie house
A phantom of horror sprung out of the rookery that wrought deadly havoc
Renting asunder innocent audience members
Anticipating Batman annihilate evil within Manichean eternal duel
Extant within imaginary world of Gotham portrayed on the silver screen
When out of the black curtained theater tear gas canisters got hurled pell mell
Accompanied by a fusillade of heavy machine gun fire
Sheering many lives
Many in the prime ascent sans parabola of adulthood
The youngest, a six-year-old girl transformed into an ashen colored corpse
Which death yet revealed to her young mother
Critically wounded, and clamoring for said daughter
While teetering on the brink of mortality
Oblivious to stricken offspring
While family, friends, relatives and anonymous prayers
And this heartfelt genuine communiqué
From me – a self styled nonestablishmentarian
Gung-ho to invoke a mandate that high powered fire-arms
Must be much less accessible
I.e. bulletproof laws need implementation pronto
So inhabitants of these United States do not fear for their lives
Nor feel akin to a potential prey sighted in the crosshairs
Wantonly gunned down from some grinning joker
Slaking glee from mass killing as to appease unquenchable thirst
To avenge some psychotic nemesis gloating to slay
With a vengeance and contrived vendetta
Promulgating pandemonium and grisly bloody aftermath
Yet despite such horrific heinous atrocity
Bravery and sacrifice witnessed and extolled
From heroic instinctual motive to offer themselves as human shield
So that carnage less devastating than toll on madman’s hit list
Now in solitary confinement and even if executed
Would be a Pyrrhic salve to those forever deprived of loved ones
Burning with an eternal sorrow no matter
Generosity of cyber sympathizers across World Wide Web
Plus the president of these United States
Reach out showering kindness analogous to Borealis raiment!
Categories:
communiqué, anger, bereavement, conflict, crazy,
Form:
“Well now,
I’ve enough dirty knickers to be washin’,
That’s why I never got married”.
Now listen to them talk
For it’s hard not to.
He never got married
or any of that other nonsense
That people bother with.
This friendly meeting at Stop No. 2-
Two warm bottoms nestled upon
The red bench that’s ridged like
Unused strips of play dough-
Has them engaged with heads near,
Eyes scanning the square.
See the pigeons flitting between
All the unloved and unexposed crumbs,
Petty ones mixed with big ones.
Hear the funny truth left behind,
The crumbs too small for big beaks.
No borders with these two,
Only the flowing of words and
Speech without shame.
Thoughts of the day pass
Naturally and unpasteurized,
Rough and ready from the soil,
From one old head to another.
“I never dyed my hair.
No, never. Never will.
I’m an ugly little thing I am”
He hums briefly,
Nods at her words
As he digests them and
Gazes at the ground,
Then quickly up again.
Marriage, hair dye, underwear.
The topics of the day at Stop No. 2.
Then they part like the pigeons there,
Much in the way a flock sets off at once
In mutual psychic energy,
A resonant communiqué
That binds the chaos as one.
This rich stream that flows through
Two old characters also seems to
Flow through another generation,
But one I cannot fathom.
I wish for that flow of words
Instead of staccato formalities,
Stiff smiles, and fear of the strange.
No fingers to point and no
Inflections of the voice.
Nothing.
No big deal.
Just clean empathy and consent
Between two living beings.
So let’s sit here and see
What we can truly agree upon.
Marriage and hair dye and underwear.
Then let us part like two pigeons
After we’ve filled ourselves
With the little crumbs.
Categories:
communiqué, character, city, friendship, humor,
Form:
Blank verse
Humanoids …
Machine people, we have them at our disposal.
I envy these soul less creatures for they as Angels
do not feel any kind of pain.
Our robot, Ed Burkye is a French guy,
the machine person, although
I do not feel comfortable
with strange person in my home,
rolling in my direction ready to serve.
Now, I will have to endure them in the spaceship.
Ethical as always, hopefully unable to kill.
With them, we will build democracy,
where people are no longer subject
to the will of governments.
Every life counts, all galaxies struggle for life
to witness its beauty, smartness and force.
Nature must is existence.
Conscious machines, great abstracted –
in unconscious state they travel.
These machine people can travel
through millions of years to distant galaxies,
cloning themselves on the way,
some for pleasure, some for business.
They are naturalists, artists or sick with politics.
“No criteria for bacteria,”
and even in multitudes they must strive
to be better, to be greater without lust,
but with power and perfection beyond trust.
They are interrupted
by the communiqué from Celestial Command.
The voice is heard as from the loud speaker.
Gentlemen do not forget,
our purpose is to colonize
with the broader one to expand
the torch of life to other Galaxies.
Conquest of the universe for all humanity,
which of course we represent.
Here three of them: Boson, Raptus and Polonius
are about to board the rocket for liftoff to Mars.
Boson to Raptus and Polonius as they walk to the rocket:
Soon, inexplicable Mars, empty as barren Earthly Moon
and the space above us, cold and lonely,
obscure place will be our home for long.
They entered the rocket.
After the door had closed,-
they took their positions.
Boson started the rocket engine,
allowing liquid hydrogen to enter it.
Fuel was ignited and clouds of smoke
forcefully burst outside.
Inside of the rocket was shaking with huge vibrations,
cosmonauts were sitting as on a volcano.
The rocket with tremendous force had been lifted
and flew into space accelerating,
entering orbital spaceflight,
until it reached escape velocity
at about eleven kilometers per second.
There is no distinction between top and bottom
and weightlessness presented challenges
to their organisms:
cardio-vascular, inner ears’ pains,
weakness of psyche and severe illusions…
Categories:
communiqué, philosophy,
Form:
Verse
Run Away
Ticket counter still open but
no planes departing
Ticket plus dog scheduled for 7:10 AM
(Twelve Hours to nowhere)
Bag packed with who knows what.
Sidearm.38 snub-nose holstered on hip and loaded,
permit signed by Sheriff himself.
Boarding pass left on bar
After calling 17 times but she shows and
we have fun.
She puts me to bed with warnings of roommates sensitivities.
A liter and a half of Sky consumed but no side effects.
Lunesta samples on the nightstand.
But how many is too many?
Not toxic enough to do any good.
Sex is the next step but.
only to give and impossible to receive.
Dawn comes and homebound on Grant Avenue but,
o No key
o Garage opener dead
o Door bolts engaged
o Fear inside is oozing out
Her car appears and the dog is snatched.
Bus to town to find more blue Sky.
All the given gold traded for fresh supply,
pennies on the dollar.
Bus to airport.
More Sky at terminal bar.
Suddenly splashed with screaming anger
Could not respond and guards take her away
The law protects me.
Time to board after stashing,
Sky soaked hoodie under plastic chair.
Take off to nowhere for no reason.
Ohio is really Kentucky as are the strip bars.
Layover allows for two days of arms length love.
SOS to Son with instructions to follow.
Troops are sent and dog is snatched.
This would be the last communiqué for 54 weeks.
The beginning of the first involuntary confinement.
Freedom relinquished,
Like I had it to begin with!
302 to mental ward
Then to Ohio rehab for 28 days.
Early cure achieved,
while lies continue,
with smiles of well being.
The start of the next downward spiral is scripted for,
death or Insanity or freedom?
But first a word from my sponsor!
Categories:
communiqué, absence, addiction,
Form:
Prose Poetry
We’re the Titanic generation
Sailing the seven seas;
Partying with our Captain;
Living a life of ease.
Not knowing the message
Found in that communiqué;
Not heeding the warning
For our Captain – The US of A.
We’re listening to the music
And dancing all night long;
Glorying in our surroundings
And feeling very strong.
Aboard a ship that cannot sink
Or so the mass did say.
Journeying on through the night
Towards that fateful day.
They said, “This ship’s so powerful
Not even God could sink”.
This ship’s so grandiose,
Let’s sing, dance and drink!
As though there’s no tomorrow,
Let’s enjoy ourselves today.
We’ll soon be in the Big Apple,
Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!
But did they see the town they call
New York, NY – we’re free?
No, they sailed into the ice that night
In that cold, dark Atlantic sea.
Do you want to party too, my friend
Pretending there’s no end?
Or will you listen to the words
Of wisdom Christ did send?
Soon the thunder and the lightning
Will make a mighty sound;
When the trumpets call the chosen
For earthward Christ is bound
To take His created children
Beyond the Milky Way;
Up to the New Jerusalem,
Or so the Revelations say.
Where pearly gates and streets of gold
Shine brightly as of glass;
Where love abounds and grace’s sweet—
There’s no such thing as class.
All are one and equal,
As equal as can be,
Because they’ve found the Captain,
Who sails without a sea.
He doesn’t want you to die
He loves you – did you know?
He plans you live forever
With a life as white as snow.
The gift is free He tells you,
And He’s honest as the day,
As long as you surrender,
But be sure you don’t delay!
Copyright Maureen LeFanue 2007-2011
www.maureenlefanue.com
Categories:
communiqué, religion, life,
Form:
Narrative
To picture this:
the artist in her truest form:
Morning light in dusty shafts
nipping her wild hair to burn,
Turpentine fingers to print the palette
Dark sienna, aquamarine,
blues on a canvas with gesso skin
a favorite cd to play, repeat
Lips in quirky concentration
brushes to put behind the ears
and one faded shirt worn through in places
stained with love of hardened oils
vermilion, ochre and scarlet tint
Feet gone bare to feel the carpet
feel the wood and the tile too
Absorbing the sounds from the world around them
Setting the pace of the afternoon
Back on the verge of almost aching
Fingers gone stiff with emotion's glue
purging of soul to the owner's survival
covered with paint through and through
The truest form, of art or love
revealing on canvas communiqué
falls into the realm of the most asked question:
is the art or the artist the masterpiece?
Categories:
communiqué, art, happiness, imagination, life,
Form:
Free verse
***** NONPARTISAN SHAM (BULL SH*T) SPECIAL NEWS BULLETIN *****
Innocuous, yet unhealthy threat looms across
(air/radio) telecommunications devices
linkedin with plenti networks that criss cross
even primitive computers utilizing DOS
by George, which archaic code
once powered Mill on the Floss,
now long since covered over
with flora I lichen and recognize as moss.
Surgeon general (Jerome Michael Adams
20th Surgeon General of the United States)
strongly advises against, yet he does not boast
threat looms large coast to coast
watching more than five minutes at most
equivalent machination, the following I post
re: guarding haunting experience
analogous visit by fashionably late ghost
2020 presidential election coverage
able, eager, and ready to prey upon host
whereby curious George experiences
feeling noggin fried like toast.
A carefully worded (fake) communiqué
purportedly the brainchild of one freak
Matthew Scott Harris,
whose jargon puzzling as deciphering Greek
long story short while in utero,
he experienced cerebral leak,
said cheesy mousy man no longer meek
quite evident courtesy literary pique
his haughty style aiming to characterize
generic guy as self anointed Sheikh
sought after acceptance tepid and week.
Nevertheless he speaks/writes truth to power
aforementioned serious risk steeped within
social media platform sensory overload I ascribe,
whereby subliminal messages
voter's blitzkrieg does bribe,
albeit unconsciously, hence me subsequent rhyme
equals forewarning in league with mild diatribe
which receptive yours truly can transcribe.
All joking aside
oversaturation soaking up
presidential election aye chide
against viewing in excess (five minutes at most)
affixed to live streaming broadcast
can find thee steadfast staring getting bug eyed
thus hoop fully let moderation serve as guide
cuz the eventual outcome re: guarding
president elect political experts cannot hide
though be wary lest premature ejaculation trumpets
sore loser candidate, that
bombastic egotistical ignoramus lied
cuz prejudice nsync with pompous pride
for four years to many
the webbed wide world let him slide,
now as one common Joe,
a hardened criminal he best be tried.
Categories:
communiqué, abuse, conflict, destiny, hate,
Form:
Rhyme
Standing on a beam,
shrine :
holding a black dawn,
my phoenix roving on dark river.
The bell still clangs ;
I hear the footsteps.
A weird thought
spreads out on peripherals,
makes holes,
the undone communiqué
of a war
between knuckles ;
the blind eyes
lift the fallen globe
of light.
I move from tree to tree.
Who was left unburned ?
The sky was overcast.
SATISH VERMA
Categories:
communiqué, adventure, allegory, angst, animals,
Form:
No rhyme nor reason why
yours truly recalled how
me late mother
(earlier in her fitbit livingsocial years)
non verbally communicated disgust
(insync with audible sigh)
quite often ultimatums
blasting fulminating nauseating
scathing well nigh
she loosed loathing against
grungy looking son (guess who)
futilely escaped wrath of Harriet Khan
clamoring upon rooftop high
offering birds eye view
out of earshot and eyesight aye
catching sunbeams while smiling wry
cowardly lion sought divine intervention
courtesy sheltering sky
acres of shingles I sprawled
these lovely bones did lie
property of garden variety generic guy.
She who helped beget and birth
sole heir inheriting gamut of behavioral quirks
linkedin with many predecessors,
who trod, slunk, roamed...
across planet Earth.
Best bet said present day scribe i.e.
poetic, nonesstablishmentarian, liberal,
jesting, humble, freelance, dilatory bummer
whose hindsight evinced a student dumber
than his classmates wheedled
(as targeted scapegoat) by bullies their flummer
re: entrapped - worse louse than lice
internalized trauma left figurative tread marks
analogous to raging road runner
pressing accelerator pedal of hummer
driven by (an actual person) one Roger Kummerer.
Despite agonizing vicious tongue lashing
against flesh and blood,
which venomous invisible whiplash
never petered out
(even when sundry bloke
got married and gladly left home)
abusive treatment markedly
left appalling, loathing and percolating
ambivalence if though mama passed away
(these last seventeen plus years) wrung
cash crop of poetic endeavors,
albeit resultant lackluster
literary crafted aspirations.
Memory of mom overshadowed
by similar facsimile thereof
think shrieking banshee,
an indelible psychological imprimatur,
I strive to acknowledge
emotional reverberations to date
(May 27th, 2021).
My trademark wordsmith fashioned communiqué
impossible mission to shake off bittersweet feelings
toward once (former) Arthur Murray dance instructor
which fancy footwork synchronized with favorite
debonair handsome young fella (papa)
both flirts buoyant with elan and energy
only thru death will angst become free
interestingly enough hands will clap with glee.
Categories:
communiqué, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
Vacation Bible School 2006
A Child’s Eyes
By
Tom Wright
Each time we peer
Into the eyes of a child there’s a choice
We can walk away or become involved.
For behind each child’s colored windows
Lay the answers to future problems unsolved.
Their innocence
Directs the eye’s communiqué.
Unwitting children needing Godly training,
A vehicle of choice is Vacation Bible School
Lessons there learned, could be life sustaining,
There is Jumping Juniper
And eye dilating Bible stories to hear.
To a young child, Bible School is one big deal.
With crafts, prizes, cookies and ice cream cones
Or wearing a cool aid mustache as they run and squeal,
Lord, let each participant
Summon from within, Patience,
Acting not malicious or being in too great haste.
But make them as sponges to soak up your teachings*
For the minds of precocious children we dare not waste.
*Train up a child in the way he should go:
And when he is old, he will not depart from it.
Proverbs 22:6
Categories:
communiqué, bible, children,
Form:
Free verse