Best Conceivably Poems
INCESSANT SUMMER RAIN
In morbid humid summer heat I feign, easily drain
Prospecting for a cool, crisp meandering breeze
Conceivably, nature might spill a gentle "summer rain"
A dismal cloud generates, an inkling of relief to gratify, such a tease
Now I sit in disbelief up upon my slimy unscrupulous roof
Optimistic the local church will indeed appease the pleas
Answer the call and dutifully open its doors , "Poof "
For I live in the crippled, dripping, drowning state of Texas
Where relentless rain & Lakewood megaplex turned infectious
Positioned on my slurry roof I could swear I witnessed Neptune
Eyes ablaze, he was wearing a distinct gnarly grin
Throwing damning lightening bolts and declaring a monsoon
Rooting for the pastor, during disaster, to literally sin
Incredulous Neptune didn't anticipate people together
United would take care of brother & the chthonic weather
word count 143
Simply softly these guileful feet do trot
Those cavalier whisper my name in glee
Hiding I pray from dear loves noble lot
My attire a smirk, though my voice distraught
I'll squirm far away, yet they be carefree
Simply softly these guileful feet do trot
A fervor shared though I am not caught
Innocuous yet gentle I agree
Hiding I pray from dear loves noble lot
Conceivably hidden in such a spot
Amenity relaxation could be
Simply softly these guileful feet do trot
Quickly to safety overhead I plot
Why does all the attention land on me?
Hiding I pray from dear loves noble lot
Perhaps one day I'll play whilst being sought
But as a cat I may just disagree
Simply softly these guileful feet do trot
Hiding I pray from dear loves noble lot
For Didds
Four tankards found at the foot of the hill
Bet someone got w*nkered, and now they feel ill
Bet it went down so easy that no one resisted
And now they’ve forgotten the tankards existed
But down at the pub there are rumours of scandals
Of boisterousness, and the theft of four candles
And a gap on the shelf where the tankards once sat
And out on the roof someone’s comedy hat
Maybe barred from the pub and a walk out of town?
With enough beer in tow to conceivably drown
As they woke up the town with their loud shouty glee
And blessed all the hedges with vomit and pee
“Here’s bashin’ yer metal” and “Cheers, me old china”
Drinking alfresco, well, what could be finer
Well, ale, I suppose, for it goes down a treat
Not that one cares when one’s drunk on the street
The next day the tankards just sat by the road
All hopeful and waiting, but nobody showed
Until round the corner a giant appeared
Wearing a rugby shirt, smile and beard
“I’ll tell you what, lads, all back to mine”
Four trusting tankards all followed in line
Expressing their heartfelt and infinite thanks
With tinkles, and clatters, and resonant clanks
There followed a search, and some transient glory
And some vain attempt to uncover their story
So brightly they shone in their moment of fame
Then they just disappeared, in the way that they came
‘Tis said, down in Rowde, that the veil is thin
That mischievous fairies throw stuff in the bin
That strange things do happen, when folk have been drinking
All myth mixed with moonshine and magical thinking
Whatever, wherever, they’re not coming back
So; whose were the tankards, and what was the crack?
by Gail
October was dying, down of All Saints' Day,
yet we abandoned our dead,
and moved forward into wet snow wilderness.
Fallen city, burning ruins were our only candle
for howling winds, bare branches, pale moon,
and freezing stars made early death visitors.
All of anguish still waited.
It was slowly dying of our being,
like haunting animals we became,
it was only once again history of lost souls,
it was hovering doubt in the sky,
and mightier than sells, inferno flakes,
silence that kills thereafter,
disguised Cain made us wonder.
It was lost and lonely, old women's able,
on crossing between abyss and mercy,
conceivably someone's grandmother,
or written off soul ready to die,
it was above all questioning heresy of trust,
when forgiveness was our only gain.
STRIKE! "STRUCK" A COVER IS BLOWN...
GAME UP!~
WHAT'S UP???
MY AWARENESS... MY ENLIGHTENING...
BEING IN THE DARK IS FRIGHTENING, WOULDN'T YOU SAY, "I'LL SAY!" WHEN IN THE COMPANY OF MASKED PRETENDERS, WHO INITIALLY EXPRESS, TO IMPRESS...
OH SO TENDER AND WARM,
(A CALM BEFORE THE STORM) LURKING, LURING, BELIEVING THEY ARE SECURING, "WHO YOU ARE"
YES, A COMPLETE READ....
"MUST BE ALL IN THE STARS" AND NEXT,
GRADUALLY, STEADILY...*REAL INTENT*
PRESENTS: HERE'S THE HIDDEN GEM OF THE DAY, DID YOU CATCH THAT, "QUICK!" SUDDEN "HIT" THAT MAY HAVE OTHERWISE BEEN MISSED FROM...
BLOATED CONVEY!
NOT TODAY...
IT'S WAS NOTICED, (NOTED)
YOU SEE, HIDDEN GEMS ARE ALL AROUND US, PAY ATTENTION, LISTEN AND LISTEN CLOSELY..."THE BEAUTY OF SILENCE" IT'S DUTY TO SHINE, DIVINE BRILLIANTLY AND RECEIVINGLY, MOST IMPORTANTLY CONCEIVABLY...NO MATTER HOW MUCH ILL PREPARED OF INITIAL AUDACITY, VERY LITTLE IT WAS KNOWN...OF ANOTHER'S "BLESSED CAPACITY" TO SEE THE FLAWS...
WHAT A SHAME IT REMAINS HIDDEN TO "THEM" BUT NEVER TO ME, YOU SEE!
I SO APPRECIATE "A VALUE RECEIVED" IN PRICELESS CLARITY...
A DIAMOND DROPPED, LOOK AT ALL THE FACETS, IT'S ALSO BEEN "WORN"...
"SO OBLITERATINGLY WORN"
BUT...
JUST NOT FOR ME,
IT'S NOW A TRANSFERRED *NEW*
RADIANT RED RUBY!~ SUCH DEPTH IN HUE! "IT'S FLAWLESS!!!"
THIS ARRIVAL WAS MEANT FOR ME TO HAVE...
THIS "SPECIAL DELIVERY" read fine print, NEATLY PACKAGED, WRAPPED IN CELLOPHANE.
AS LIFE UNFOLDS...
I'VE ADDED IT TO MY CROWN OF GOLD!
EMERALDS, PEARLS, OPALS...
AND A SLOT FOR BLOOD RED RUBIES!
"PERCEPTIVELY, IT'S A WEIGHTED MEASURE...
SPIRITUALLY, IT'S LIGHT AS A FEATHER!~"
"WHAT A TREASURE TROVE" {UNHIDDEN}
RED CLAY ROCKS...FORBIDDEN.
Renee D. Gross {GHPPR} May 20, 2023#
I SPOT a lofty black cross
Standing conceitedly on a rock-strewn mount,
Where nothing akin to a tree can be seen,
Murky clouds hovering over it,
It is on this cross that she will
Sacrifice me for the sake of love
I OBSERVE dry as a bone grass,
That left chasing precious emerald existence
Because the master of life-rain
Could not depart the lucrative comfort of cloud nine
To reprieve underprivileged earthlings;
As the sunburned grass sever to shreds,
I perceive her love for me fading
Radically till nothing of it remains,
She tramples upon me unfeelingly
WHEN I raise my eyes to meet up hers,
Tears COURSE down my cheerless cheeks,
In her face I discern weariness, withdrawal.
She appears dull and outrageously sorrowful-
Conceivably I am a great irk to her,
She cannot let me feel her lips once more.
NOW alone I contemplate smoke rising,
I bathe myself in the glee of solitude,
Shrewd that hours of night must go a way
Paving way for hours of dawn that must also go a way;
That the putrid soul of mine
Possibly will one day be rapt and inspired
Though she has departed from me
Humming wind in a wider sky,
Turbulent perhaps catastrophic omen.
Thy born a curse of a forlorn life,
conceal nor run tranquil dim will bloom.
Stare those hands, repulsive, fracture
Mirrored of the vulnerable surrender.
Eyes that dehydrated from lengthy groan,
Mystified encountered amid spirit and mind.
Mountainous, could forest perhaps deserted…
It ought to be a dwelling for holy or ideal war?
After an unremitting weapon detonation,
immature remains lay down holding a gun.
Ballet of an erotic refinement…
Blushing powdered faced, vermilion lips
String clad, afterward bare – naked…
Annoying hide of a girl to a woman.
Stones lump for less broader shoulder,
either insignificant foot undefended.
Speculating, bewildered conceivably asking…
Skirmishing manhood yet not developed.
Enfolded through maltreated,
Saunter thru into a nearly end…
Incarcerated by an illusionary masks
Uproar thus cried… Yes, I am a child!
Being God's Pen
Written: by Tom Wright
2006
Thoughts Promenade inside my head
Absent of composition or direction,
As water dollops on a heated griddle.
I pass time exhuming notions
Thought long ago perished.
From night filled crevices of my mother wit,
I examine ideas whose propellant
is as monster bat wings darting to and fro.
Free flying, suddenly vanishing,
As if having been exiled from my psyche.
Their duration, analogous to griddle dollops;
Once vaporization has occurred,
I'm left to contemplate these mental aerobics,
In selfish tones, while examining my worthiness
As God's humble quill this day.
Conceivably, those concepts I've pursued,
Will birth in ink another time.
A time of God's convenience and choosing.
I reliably detect it in lush colors
Instigations from a distinct era
this sidereal day, the oscine didn't sing
conceivably it is squandered
In the cognitive hourglass
I scavenge for unmistakable echoes
We jumped off the rainbow
Dark stains hide beneath my lids
they stepped
on pure inner bliss
a single dormant desire dazzled
an emotional need whirling in a whirlwind
pearly flawless passion
the finest word of life: I love
Written: April 5th, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
To vanish from this impious era i
mind less
conceivably recognised as a vain
guest
To the toiled years i duly reminisce
as futility proved my paramount
best
To this world i pleaded with a wail
upon my arrival on its terrain
To serve me right till my departure
but this it did did in miniature
To this world i pledged my
prospective days
but this it shattered in various ways
To my exertion i'll personally extol
if no being cites and applauds my
effort
To another realm
i'll get deposed unceremoniously
To what awaits me in the
subsequent world beyond
i remain optimistic
To the fatalists i now resign
as their belief obvioused in my
instance
To this notion i duly adhere
perhaps my irrelevancy would be
remedied at death
The abundant sadness was
veritably escaping her eyes;
Fear of oblivion has been over
come.
It was improbable to forget the
past;
But intellectual to think of the
future.
There has been many
hamartias made;
But all have been forgiven.
Conceivably she thought of her
life;
Accepting the fact that
millennial mistakes have been
made.
Earthen songs! from handsome angel throngs, opsoletus
Intervals and spells of the scope of temporal rondure,
A surging of the populus in singulari confluentia
So the book does diagram guthan, guð, and god,
Khute gaia, of poured earth, where legend sleeps
The burial dunes of Zeus, Aether, Erebus, and Chaos
Seasons advance with a tempering of wind’s instruments,
Sweltering bloom to hyperborean calm of frozen seed
Daughters and sons! from cildhama, fruit of the womb
Roaming deeds, of sin and samaritan, per omne spatium
Space of continental breadth or old borough border rings
Century to century in continuo, each end to seamless end
non vigilemus et dormimus in aeternum, of briefest history,
We do not speak of ages dissolved in lights of admiration
Stygian time cannot lie, and there will be other Dark Ages
We now originate and architect machines from the earth
Greater eyes and senses than what natura dedit nobis
What have we committed that we can conceivably survive?
nihil est quod in dulcedinem originis non evanescatin,
There is nothing that does not fade into the sweetness of its origin.
I will leave this world kicking –
(the Reaper would have it easier elsewhere);
I will not leave without sticking~like glue,
to the places I love and to those for whom
I care – believing that only a life poorly lived
would just let go, give-up without a fight – counting
all the sweaty brows it took as I earned every
hard-fought, eked-out share.
But if, perhaps, to make room for someone brighter?
I could conceivably be persuaded to hold-on less
tighter – though a bit of arm wrestling would yet respectively
be required, when from this world, I served, without fame,
I am summarily fired –
Oh, I have known, like many of my fine sisters and brothers, the tragedies
of wars and untrue lovers; blood both at my feet and seeming above~fiery,
red skies as if Heaven turned angrily from its man, for not following
their God's Perfect Plan – though longing for reunion with my dear
ones departed, with whom this life I had blessedly started, and others with whom I have
shared victories and failures, joys though sometimes left brokenhearted...still, I
will leave this world feistily kicking! The Grim Reaper to know, despite how
much my pain and suffering, the size of my enemy, or the greater
their numbers, I was never some Easy-picking!
To vanish from this impious era i
mind less
conceivably recognised as a vain
guest
To the toiled years i duly reminisce
as futility proved my paramount
best
To this world i pleaded with a wail
upon my arrival on its terrain
To serve me right till my departure
but this it did did in miniature
To this world i pledged my
prospective days
but this it shattered in various ways
To my exertion i'll personally extol
if no being cites and applauds my
effort
To another realm
i'll get deposed unceremoniously
To what awaits me in the
subsequent world beyond
i remain optimistic
To the fatalists i now resign
as their belief obvioused in my
instance
To this notion i duly adhere
perhaps my irrelevancy would be
remedied at death
THE NUTCRACKER…SWEET
In my 69 years I had never seen the Nutcracker Suite…never experienced the ballet….never heard Tchaikovsky’s entire score…that is…until yesterday.
As I sat captivated by the music…by the dancing and the fact there were no words to any song…I had to wonder to myself…what in heaven’s name has taken me so long!
I watched the performance mesmerized…thanking the Gods for creating people who can move in such a delicately beautiful way…while at the same time thanking whatever person or persons created the ballet.
As the music thundered through the air and the dancers floated off the floor…I was hit by the realization…this is what our bodies were created for.
Our legs were made strong yet elegant allowing us to leap up to the sky…our arms were created to be as graceful as wings making it appear that we can fly.
When the Gods created us non-dancers…they left not one part up to chance…our ears were created to hear the music…our eyes to enjoy the dance.
As I watched the arabesques…the pirouettes…the magic happening on the floor…I thought how our mouths were meant to stay closed more often…so our eyes can see and our ears can listen…perhaps a little more.
Which also made me wonder with our eyes closed…our eyes and ears open to the beauty on display…is it possible to hate at all…while attending the ballet.
Perhaps the Gods were subtly trying to tell us…conceivably…perchance
the solution to some of life’s problems…can be found within the dance.
Perhaps that’s why these dancers were created to be so nimble…
so graceful on their feet….
To simply remind us there is beauty and love in the world…
as and to make the Nutcracker sweet.