Best Comprehensible Poems
When everyone goes east, he heads west
to him, every dialogue is a contest
comes into an interaction as the biggest
then leaves agonisingly as the lowest.
When he speaks, you know he is half-honest
even though he truly knows, but not near the best.
He always end up lost in the forest
this simple fact, he cannot digest.
The moment he shamefully fails the test
he begins to manifest
then becomes far from being modest
and everyone around him, he treats like unwanted guests.
Causing a general unrest
as he unnecessarily protest.
All over his countenance, ignorance crests
not accepting defeat, he holds high his egocentric chest.
Quick to make jest
but correction; he equates to incest
and disagreements, he always detest.
We all have the quest
to know and share the latest
so as to add value to ourselves and self-invest
which can be a cultivation to future harvest.
But knowing it all is impossible
and knowing half, believing to know all is ridiculous.
Admiting not to know it all is the fairest
but this is yet not comprehensible to him,
to whom; to know is like a conquest.
The wise keep quiet lest,
they cause him to become the tempest
and with every word, he neutralizes any palatable zest.
Oh poor child!
change or you'll suffer from everlasting molest
where no one wants to visit your nest
not because you are unblest
but cos of the truth of your infest
which now, is obviously clearest.
It is good to learn my child
and sharing is an attribute of Love.
But run away from half baked lines
or be humble enough to listen
while they become fully whole.
You were given two ears and one mouth
hence talk less and listen more
because an Ignoramus is always not far from becoming a fool!
Silhouettes dancing with elegant gestures,
In ecstatic Moonlight dwelling in the ethereal sphere.
An oasis thriving in a wondering mind,
Mixed with emotions that teeter the edge.
As I search the Heavens for answers untold,
Is it in my grasp, the enlightened soul?
Finding solace in the beauty of this world,
Still, my heart is beating a forgotten love song.
When the songbird takes flight he captures my spirit,
Observing the trees standing proudly on majestic earth.
How can one forsake this ancient sacred vow?
The strong bond of souls in the eternal glory.
We imprison ourselves in every comprehensible way,
If seeing is believing then I am an unbeliever,
The unfathomable acts that man participates in,
To the other side of the spectrum, he is a miraculous being.
/|\
Little sways in shower streams
bring on fond memories of sweet
Old Town. Fountains, heavenly
guides. Bricks and rubble take
witness to unheard passions and
half hearted lies. Flats and floating
coats. Subtle splashes on cobbled
roads. We spin and glide between
street lamps. There’s a longing in
the back of a lengthy taxi ride.
A thumb nuzzles where tears have
left thin, jaded lines. I dream of hot
springs, for more than shower water.
For you, you who can be rid of the
knots around the bend of my spine.
For my sweet Old Town, for what can
only have been love made tangible,
comprehensible and personified.
I reckon I'm showing my age and am pretty well set in my ways,
But I have zero tolerance for the 'noise' called music nowadays!
The metal bands and rap are loathsome to my sensitive ears.
I haven't heard a melodic tune on the radio for over sixty years!
Pleasing to the ear was Vaughn Monroe and his mellow baritone.
Likewise, the romantic, comprehensible crooning of Vic Damone.
A songster who could stir even the most unromantic soul,
Was the silky-smooth delivery of debonair Nat King Cole!
I truly enjoyed the ballads belted out by the ever-living Elvis,
And got a kick out of watching in action his double-jointed pelvis!
Delightful were the songs vocalized by cheerful Doris Day.
It was so relaxing listening to the Velvet Fog, Mister Mel Torme!
Will there ever be another Glenn Miller, Perry Como or Peggy Lee,
Dinah Shore, Frankie Laine or Jo Stafford entertaining me?
Oh, to hear again The Mills Brothers and their sweet harmony.
Now all I hear is dreadful screams and gross disharmony!
Today's drivel to my romantic soul gives me great offense.
'Tis alien to my ears and doesn't make a bit of sense.
Music back then invited you to hold your gal in close embrace,
As you danced and murmured sweet nothings face to face!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Entry for Nayda Ivette Negron's "Favorite Music Type" Contest
his eyelids conclude why bother
manacled they led him away
to the exact center of their city
they tried everything
cattle prod fire hose blow dryer
ineluctable forces of nature
now there are wires in his head
his neo-cubist portrait
ended up on bags of dog food
have you seen this child
we make too many monsters on this planet
a petting zoo of pretty spiders
eager to charm uneager to learn
ever-ready to change the subject
claiming that this is the normal milieu
leaping from euphemism to euphemism
preconceptions luridly arrayed
detour around the temple kids
there’s mobsters in heaven
they don't tell you that but it is true
they run the gambling arcade of faith
the will he or won’t he tables
it should be clear by now that
prayer does not ward off plague
even for the willfully superficial
should we all be capable of greatness
or blind credulity you decide
behold the universe in all its
partly comprehensible splendor
the design that stuns with perfection
and then kills you so slowly
that your DNA begins to tell you
how when and what to think
it couldn't be more or less blatant
drifting the eddies of a potential thing
in which the impossibility happened
at least we know how to know more
stray as you wish
into the arms of beauty
and rub against her silks and furs
make her moan the irony the irony
her paranoia may be an entrance
but live for today is a sham
and a shuck and a jive
because tomorrow always comes
this is a mathematical given
the human condition
used to be stated as lost
now at least it’s curious
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Old Spencer, smelling of grippe, drugs, and death,
he couldn’t bend over to pick up chalk, magazines,
and failed acknowledgements of stupidity.
He certainly reveled in my foolishness.
“Modern science would still like to know what the secret ingredients were
that the Egyptians used when they wrapped up dead people.”
Funny, how people snub any disregard for my self-worth,
I could always smell a phony.
As if picking his nose allowed Spencer to hold his head high,
my presence was only preceded by three other competent institutions.
Success will overlook a booger.
Failure hones selective pride.
I felt it was important to know where park ducks went in winter.
Mayhap they occupied a posh New York hotel.
I left Elkton Hills for selfless reasons.
Attitudes make me cold.
There must be something grander than academia,
like being a good parent or having a large vocabulary.
It is easy to find reasons for disliking people.
They could be old and repetitive.
They could shake the wrong person’s hand.
They could be sarcastic,
exercising their passive aggressive skills after similar provocation.
It seems living can be a circle of depression.
Growing up is difficult if you’re not in the game.
Hot shots always make the rules.
They have an inside track on linear success,
always elated,
blubbering on about how good life is.
They lounge around in their warm homes dressed in bathrobes,
reading The Atlantic Monthly, drinking their hot chocolate.
You can hear them at the edge of your senses, concerned about your destiny,
hedging their own reputations and possible futures,
shouting in barely comprehensible tones from behind closed doors,
“Good Luck!”
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If you are intrigued by this work read and review G. D. Master’s book, “Interpretations,” free in PDF format on SmashWords.com. Simply enter “gd master” or “interpretations” in the search bar of SmashWords to find it.
Deflected, crushed by the social retardation,
Not loved, ‘cos he’s altogether unaccepting,
Active learning the robot’s mouth action,
So he can't contextualise, there’s no blessing.
Neither me nor him meet and we sweep by,
There’s no connection from his ANDs and ORs,
Only citadels to weather the reactive cry,
When my nouns are pocketed by many cursors.
Where’s the memory bank and why the chat?
The bus is long gone and I'm open, vulnerable,
There’s no room for social construction’s mat,
To yield identity’s dynamic, recursive turntable.
Yes, microchips and logic gates shouldn't enable,
Machine learning at the cost of root foundations;
Your group, community, your niche and fable,
Ignite the necessary conversation of care situations.
Ok, so can we build a robot? A care robot?
Indeed care assistance is definitely reducible,
To only a small number of abstractions, clot,
‘Cos love does not evade the comprehensible.
Doors class as access, also pavements, steps,
Only three types of garments, two of people,
Friend or foe, but a cloud for certain parapets,
And who’s boss is said before, it's programmable.
Writings moving through me with the Holy Spirit,
Inviting exquisite artistry like Hebrew so I write it automatically,
Transmitted and sent with rugged style of construed truth,
To induce questions within the golden age of the awakening youth,
With the use of visions of visionary proof, bulletproof like Zeus,
Introducing the almighty sources most improved writer produced,
So I invite ya on a journey of tighter constructs so don't run,
Fearlessly aware of rats in this reality so I duck rarely,
Instead face them face to face infallibly and chat,
With Steez like Mortal Kombat fatalities I stomp that,
With comprehensible written abstracts Quincy Mac adapts,
Mindful of the traps that collapse inner wisdom,
A system coded with good and evil,
Skill is needed for survival while traveling this steep path uphill,
Yeah I say it again and again, I dig deep, consuming the blue pill,
Morpheus taught me this and gave me tips within the matrix,
So I resume and bloom from nourishment of the living water,
A human absorber of both order and disorder,
Peripheral sight foreseeing clearly like within Clearwater,
That's productive income seeing over the wall to wisdom,
Positive action is turning away from pessimism,
Preconceived programmed system injected into everyone,
Well done if you truly understand but always question ya perception,
Redeem me so I can know all of the famous knowledge tree,
Lambs feed small bits of bread but become sleepy,
Freely become tired, can't see the deceit so they go to sleep,
Those who feel incomplete question and seek meat,
Unique are those who stand with spiritual physique,
Some taste the meat and retreat because they're weak,
Weakness from removal of oneness so life can't complete us,
Readjust, find love remove and let go of the deception of ego,
Undergo inner self help to find a spirit that flows,
Yes ya heard it from Quincy and the wise throughout history,
It's no mystery that you can have inner mastery,
So head towards the tree that shows you how to see,
You and me have to stop being refugees and start to foresee,
By being a spiritual human being by receiving a healing degree,
So be smarter and good natured at heart,
Embark on the journey out of the dark.
Quincy Mac
Date Written: 5.4.2016
an Eagle's flight is no fright
rather a height to fright all prey
You always stand tall
when you discount sky heights
Standing on the tallest Mountain
does not make you fly,
for your soles the Earth behold
Indeed the Universe occupy real space
but true space our Hearts and Minds occupy,
in comprehensible vastness
the Truth you run away from never chases, why?
Because you never left it behind, how?
Its your Heartbeat
The long barking dog exhibits little terror
but more fear, so is a nagging being
our Undeniable Footprints on shore
whispers not to the washing waves
As a being, man's closest of living a Dream
is to go blind, deaf and mute. Awake
Madness is just a Feeling
better short-lived or forever in-caged
Man eagerly cried-off childhood Freedom
just to anxiously search for it, a life-time.
Guess what? Man never did find
If the lettering of a Poet expresses
real Freedom which the Mad lives,
then call me 'a Mad Poet’
©Kofi Asokwa-Nkansah
Left to right I look
Seeking for that something that is compatible
with my radical yet supernatural characteristics
The lenses of my eyes are swiftly shifting
Giving me this ultimate feeling that is often appealing
Triggering my inner thoughts as I stand there envisioning
Trying to seek what I've been missing
With my Benevolent attitude I compel with gratitude
And my soul is comprehensible and comprises with the surprise
As I speak these words I don't deny that I
Am a man that tries to keep a complaisant composure
Then try to decipher or deflect all the negativity
That I go through vigorously
I try not to be demented but I'm always tempted
To deploy my dispicable intentions
But whatever you do please never Mention
These are My Inner Feelings.
After much cajoling by my kids and grandkids over the years,
I entered the computer age with great tremblings and fears.
My Selectric typewriter and encyclopedia were comprehensible to me,
Now, I'm totally bewildered and fear I'll click the wrong key!
I've read every "Computers for Dummies" book that I can.
They might as well have been written in Afghanistan!
I've mastered turning it on and shutting it down all alone,
But beyond that, little about its operation is known!
Windows pop up saying, "Your program performed an illegal operation!"
I panic knowing that I'm facing twenty years of incarceration!
Daily I'm deluged with dozens of e-mails called "spam",
Wanting to sell this and that, proffering the usual scam!
Trying to coordinate the mouse and that little arrow on the screen,
Is akin to controlling the elusive Mexican jumping bean!
I've tried to master cursors, gigabytes and the system unit;
Alas, I'm technically challenged, there ain't no doubt about it!
With this computer thing my life has assumed a baffling demension.
Icons, floppy discs and CD-ROMS are beyond my comprehension.
My eyes glaze over as I sweat and ponder what to do.
Lord, deliver me from this perdition, I need a computer guru!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
A Hint at What Is Beautiful :
Lovely is the 'bless your heart'
Wrapped with appreciation,
Offered to peace inclined individuals
Who make a special effort
To nurture shrapnel singed casualties
In the midst of napalm sedated air,
Conveying their humankind, unobtrusively
Also, unassumingly, in our
Blood recolored, avarice unhealthy,
Detest eaten world.
Lovely is the occasion,
At the point when the heart apathetic
To euphoria or distress, just trusts
Whatever this life brings
In any case, discovers time to simply be.
By Yoonoos Peerbocus
A Crazed Girl :
THAT crazed young lady ad libbing her music.
Her verse, moving upon the shore,
Her spirit in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Stowing away in the midst of the load of a steamship,
Her knee-top broken, that young lady I pronounce
A delightful grand thing, or a thing
Nobly lost, chivalrously found.
Regardless of what debacle happened
She remained in edgy music wound,
Wound, injury, and she made in her triumph
Where the bunches and the bins lay
No regular comprehensible sound
Be that as it may, sang, 'O ocean starved, hungry ocean.'
By William Butler Yeats
A Baby View of Abortion :
I came as tomorrow
Swaddled in guiltlessness
To your warm womb
Mother… …
Without your decision
Or on the other hand mine
Bound to up date
With time
Our human tree
Be that as it may, before adoration
Developed into fragile living creature and words
What is incomplete creation-
A precipitation of blood
Turned into my greatness.
By Yoonoos Peerbocus
A Ballad of Heaven :
He created at one extraordinary work for quite a long time ;
The world go by with elevated look;
Some of the time his eyes were dashed with tears ;
In some cases his lips with giggling shook.
His significant other and youngster went dressed in clothes,
Also, in a blustery garret starved ;
He trod his measure on the banners,
Also, high on paradise his music cut.
Contemplative he became yet never dreaded ;
For dependably on the midnight skies
His rich symphonic score showed up
In stars and zones and universes.
He thought to duplicate down his score ;
The moonlight was his light; he stated,
'Listen my adoration,' however on the floor
His better half and tyke were lying dead.
John Davidson
C'mon Gimme A Botox Smile!
'Pon bing asked by spouse, while she didst dock
and pooched herself abed
handily at nine o'clock
to see "handsome" pedigree dentastix
dog face of yours truly, me no Kid Rock
yea just a chip off the
ole likeness ice sculptured block,
a sharp pain inexplicably
shoots thru left shoulder blade
generating painful electric shock,
especially after said missus
threw smelly sock
afflicting this muttering chap, where deadlock
partial paralysis analogous to rigor mortis
holding frozen designated
bleep within his flesh bound paddock
(as pop sic hull), non dominant side
of mine body hard as bedrock
(spoiler alert, I write with right hand),
despite best college try, could not extricate...
hell no, this ain't no poppycock
yea, this longfellow felt bewitched by a warlock,
which affliction froze botox smile
engendering gladness to celebrate bajillion
years of blissful wedlock
believe that and I will another truth,
how this lame rhyme stir, he makes buttock
of himself, nonetheless an
oar regional non Jew bull ant debtor,
sans courtesy Shylock
still prone to bouts of flibbertigibbet
ranked as more than schlock,
(no doubt, ye beg to differ)
with mine chock
lot of badinage, basically self mock
curry verging on persiflage, he
freely types what occurs within raw bitstock
of ma noggin akin to babbling
stream of consciousness
initially intending to divulge aftershock
when wife coos this kook
spewing wry verbal
(barley comprehensible) feedstock
as she mimes deadly smooch
inflicting plastered smirk ad hoc
showing pearl white dentures
aiming to entertain, while listening awk
chilly (inspired to contrive
potschke and pastiche) rendered
(if still alive) by P.D.Q. Bach.
I have been trying to pen this verse since Friday night
But the words couldn't jump clearly out of my mind
I twist and turn erase and rewrite but my imagination
was stalled for a while and nothing was comprehensible.
You see everything I do comes naturally and my thoughts are organized uniformly
Whenever I write there is always a sensational passion flowing inside
I know what I am inspired to say but the rhythm wasn't going my way
The message was clear but something kept blocking my influential mind.
I rode away from the crowded space into an unknown territory
just to relight my imagination and appease the higher calling because it was mandatory.
I lie on the asphalted side walk and stared at golden sun above me
At last the words start screaming inside me and I shout them out on this page.
I have the road to myself racing up the exuberant street
Jubilant crowd waving and shouting harmoniously as the procession
move vigorously along the clear cut path speeding up joyous hearts.
At last I crossed the gigantic bridge, dismantling age old barricades
crushing the hateful scorn that hasten me from my bed before the break of dawn.
I watched the flamboyant crowd scaling over fortified brick wall
defying every constraints as I parachute through vacant highways.
Colorless traffic lights everything was just right, no cross roads
Just the sound of nature to rekindled my soul and the sound of music
pounding in my ear, multitude of them singing the highest praise.
I can see them waiting for me as I charged vehemently over the calm blue sea
echoing the sound of victory streamlined with a roaring passion inside.
I shattered looming barriers and break the tormenting spirit lingering by my side
The dark clouds suddenly darted away sweeping the shadows and misery of yesterday
I watched him exit through the empty highway sad eyes bilking at the crowd on the other side.
While destiny stands firm on top of the hill stretching out its potent hand
As she walked proudly and seized her long awaited victory.
I have the road to myself.
The Cinematic Film Treatment as a stand alone element
in the aesthetic revolution we are now not witnessing
Unforgotten Lacerations
A pataphysical circus of visual elements, possibly comprehensible depending upon one's ideological orientation or level of pre-programmed self-inhibition, as a product of The Secret Alliance of Manipulators who are able to make time seem to sputter and stall, which renders entire historic eras readable as non-immersive abstractions accessible to self-evolved synthetico-interpretive frameworks which, strangely enough, can be scenario-independent, yet anti-universalist, if perceived from behind protective eye wear (and hand wear) when transnavigating the immense rainbow-hued gulf between pleasant surroundings and a 3rd World prison cell in a forgotten jungle at the mouth of the River of Despair where zebras eat unicorns for breakfast, and blend in so much better to boot in a time where protective foliage is the name of the game and infiltration a fine art enamored of free spirits capable of moving from demographic to demographic while in the pay of no orthodoxy, no tradition, no taboo circus, no constricting corsets of approval, no appetite or appetite suppressant, no failure to observe and snicker at the many ironies the 3rd dimension presents us, no reluctance to laugh at the great archive of human failure and triumph so evident upon the pixels of Imagos no refusal to laugh in the face of presumption or habit or imitation or indecision or equivocation about the acceptance of new data, period.