Best Conceptualized Poems
Words are not enough,
Alphabets strung in uncertainty,
Speech slurred in disbelief,
Love endlessly professed,
Lacking in action or substance,
Intentions of the heart,
Inexpressible by vocabulary,
Pledges frustrated by timelines,
Lofty dreams built with bricks of vapour,
Visions written on sand,
Children of promise orphaned by unfulfillment,
In foster care of compromise,
Doubt takes up tenancy,
Sin, its landlord.
Grace grants clemency,
Faith offers a new lease,
Adopted by rectitude,
Shut doors avert imminent destruction,
Redirecting the path to destiny,
Visions conceptualized begin to materialize,
Pipe dreams turn reality,
Old debts reconciled,
The hearts intent,
Superseded by divine counsel,
Love endures its rule,
Substantiated by fidelity,
After all said and undone,
Words alone are not enough.
THE UNKNOWN GOD
Heavy the burden, but light is [the way].
That’s when you put the Lord [in its place].
The sun may not be shining, but your [spirit shows].
That’s your [inner being aglow].
Never a path undefined.
This is because his voice speaks divine [via the mind].
The teaching he provides is transcribed.
To share, sermonize.
What a wonderful life and beautiful choice to do the work of the Lord.
No man or woman can deny that you are the [Keeper of the Lord’s Shrine].
That is [a Holy place Divine].
The abstracted flush went astray.
Standing were the shadows of yesterday.
Awry the eyes appear in the dark.
Two clouds of gray were shown.
Midst sleuths prayer was heard.
The rays of light beamed from high above.
Sending tension to the silhouettes that stood where the shadows left.
The vibes were felt as fear took shape.
This is the Holy place of the Lord.
The Shrine has formed [as a precarious world].
This is where [iniquity meets the unknown God].
Transgression is natural within the seasons.
Through faith and belief, omnipotence is perceived.
The laws of humankind were transliterated and conceptualized
Until the [aspects of life] formalized.
[Politics, religion, family, work, and leisure time] are originates.
Faith is demarcated.
They said the Chariot of Fire is operated by the Lord’s Army.
Distinct is the chimes hearkened.
Pay attention to the alarm.
Stand your post and remain strong.
The universe has contravene and people will be destroyed.
The acumen is the perspicuity.
The knowledge is gen.
The voice is enunciation ascertain.
______________________________
Written November 05, 2015!
You ask me why you need God, yes God with G capitalized
Whose only begotten Son’s precious life was sacrificed
I will tell you in simple words, not with that of the erudite
But those that come from my heart, and from the Book of Light.
I will start with a question, much like the one you posed
For in this way we each would know, it is truth I depose
Does a man need air to breathe? Does he need it to survive?
In the same way we need air, we need God in our lives.
You may say a man would die, without air instantaneously
Yet you have been fine all these years, thinks at God occasionally
Why are you then still alive, while His Son had to suffer and die?
But you forget Christ rose again, the third day, that’s no lie.
On man surviving without God, is rich and even popular
We cannot compare earthly time, with that of time eternal
What is man’s time on earth, but a hairbreadth, a tick
When he dies his soul’s destined, to a forever place he’s picked.
A masterpiece, a product, the maker has conceptualized
Comes with operating manual, functions fully harmonized
When that product is therefore used, without following instruction
It will cause a side effect, a malfunction or destruction.
Much like that of man therefore, though free will he was given
Created in God’s own image, to serve a purpose he's bidden
The design for which he was formed, because his heart is marked
An inner craving for higher being, for peace of mind he’d hark.
I may still go on and on, yet convince you I can’t be sure
I can only hope I have stirred, questions on eternal future
For I am sure you have heard of them, when staring death to its eyes
Those in God have peaceful smile, those who don’t sheer terror lies.
Let me end therefore with verse, His Word from the greatest Book
“I knew you before I formed you in your mother’s womb”, take a look
At how much God loves you, He knew you before you were born
He’s waiting, open your heart to Him, His grace is new every morn.
Note: Quoted verse - Jeremiah 1:5a
Tell Me - Poetry Contest - 2nd Place
Sponsor : Richard Lamoureux
30 March 2015
Common Sense
Common sense putting dents in ya system,
Upon Zen, forgotten Presidents and Christians,
Yeah I dismiss them, I’m a contender, defender of my realm,
Surrender ya pretender, center of reality? Fallibly conceptualized,
Here ya find my rhymes, a society offender, wanted dead or alive,
The Five O, Oh no, fed by the rendering of greed to survive,
Sore eyes because I can’t deny this life, Never baptized into Christian Lies,
But I gotta be truthful, unfruitful untruthful powerful ties arise,
A man made image in the sky? The garment is the disguise,
This worlds plan is damaged in an age as time perceived flies by,
I thrive like a Pharaoh, said to bleed the same blood, go hide,
I’m designing this rhyme, its time, the tide is coming in,
Spinning in sin as ya spin, just a pinch and now ya spun,
This writing is just for fun! I’m the Sun, and here’s what I’ve done,
Run run yo, all yall and all you hoes, from these flows, you can’t see,
You need be seen, obscene scenes of the future to come and be,
Dreams of the unseen, glistening beings seeing nothing collectively,
Seems no one has been effectively feeling this negativity,
Paranormal activity activated, dealing fear or revealing,
Your normal state of mind concealing what it means to have feelings,
I’m dealing out light within the spectrum of human beings,
Beings being beings but not seeing or hearing the language of the world,
Our consciousness continues to be hurled, jumbled thoughts as we tumble,
Stupid and killing all the bumble bees, confess we are a mess, can’t be handled,
Am I just a word vandal? Well rooted, prevailing pleasing with ease and increased,
Knowledge as I stand still, wounded human code decoded into unwanted stimuli,
Artistically using art and its rules, founded and announced beautifully,
But can’t you let me be, I need to see sanity within this world of fools,
Foolishness is proclaimed by the foolish, dishing wool over the eyes with distracting tools,
Infinity to nil, instilling skills to rebuild what’s lacking, so hear the drill,
You need to head uphill and fulfill ya purpose before ya mind is killed,
Distilled information into common sense well spent and surviving,
Exercise well emphasized advice, otherwise you will never be spiritually wise.
Quincy Mac
date written: 4.12.2015
'Tis quite evident,
no pulchritude remains
apart pellucid poetry 'pon
figments' elegantly refined
persuasions which are
quite simply volition
mid-flight delusions
seizing daily routines'
fragmented derangement,
traipsing 'tween vague
blathers' vacuous
mindlessness 'midst heady
illusionist's mused intentions
of an inaudible presence
taken compulsion o'er silence
above & further the farside
poetically conceptualized
amenable druthers and
superfluous divergency
of an obscure obsession
Clad in his double-breasted royal toga
Filled of nothing but pride and anger
His face as grim as a Pallbearer’s
His gaze dreadful and fearful like that of
A raging rattlesnake about to strike
His eyes crackling charcoal fire-red
His dancing tummy under his “Agbada”
Reminds me of a dancing Porcupine
He paces round his palace
A house built on a Rock in the Niger-Area
He fumes and puffs like a spitting Cobra . . .
“My eyes of pity had gone blinded
Only those of nakedness built on wickedness
Shone in my vibrating Golgotha
Let no man speak of hunger with anger
For I find people not scavenging on the garbage
Let no one talk of thirst in a haste
For our River Niger is like that of River Marah
It brings only taste of grouchiness and sullenness
Let men in the Niger-Area speak not of hoarding of food
For Farming is the only way to more days of famine
Speak not of hike in the Oil from our ground
For its very dear in the other neighbouring lands
Rejoice my people for the benevolence have shown you
I shall rule and rule forever till there are people to rule no more”
Our King is indeed insane for sanity left him long ago
A vivaciously looking Chimpanzee in the Niger-Area Forest
A chirpy Chimera of the Black Race, unto him I bow piously
I have impatiently listened to his drunken fits of eloquence
My king smells like a gouard of wine full of petulance
As I bore the sting of his unrivaled drunken ribaldry
I weep for a King who is as old as Methuselah
I wonder whether he had ever smell childhood
For he looks as if he had always been old from
The very scaring day he was let out of his Mother’s womb
His Majesty old and worn out like a dry hell
Let him run into the Market with nakedness on his head
Let our people beat and stone insanity out of him
Let the people in the Niger- Area Arise and thread
Like the Strong and the Mighty with history of Victory
And arrest our oppressors and other fanatical Kingpins
And let them be taken like urchin for their tyranny
And turpitude has attained untold heights
Alayande Stephen .T
5th December, 2005
12.45pm
Conceptualized after the furore of OBJ’s
Third term bid for continuity of hunger ,
Anger and excruciating Poverty for mass of the people.
CAUGHT NAPPING
Cocky
bluffing like the covered duck
Tripping
boasting 50 years sojourn ahead of tomorrow
Stuffing
filching away our future in a "Ghana Must Go"
Sniffing
snuffing life out of the halves not
Smiling
suffering in the midst of plenteous
Praying
screaming to God in a pinnacle for miracle
Thinking
scheming to uncover the protruding umbrella
Dropping
raining fuel scarcity in fuel city
Wailing
knocking hope for an end to Boko Haram
Willing
making our votes count with a loud voice
Drinking
making mockery of the change ingredients
Napping
snoring while the people's eyes remained ajar
Fluffy
Cutting the wings of 16 years umbrella
Aging
caging no more the sage of change
AST 3.42am
@Home on June 12, 2015
Conceptualized for the recent wave of change in 2015 Nigeria Political firmament.
From Garden of Eden through Thebes
A dream was built of an Adam and an Eve
Of it the bone of an Adam, comes that of an Eve
A helper, the name giveth to her by the most High.
And to forget not to share with the same tongue,
The fruit of life, full of grief and glee.
There begin from the beginning, the rituals called kiss.
Whither thy kiss for me to build my dream?
A dream envisioned on a solid rock of Gibraltar
That which cannot become grime in the wind.
Kiss causing tongues to speak off known languages
An arrow that ruffles and travels through the taste bud
I am a dreamer in search of a kiss to heal my maw sour
Just drop it . . . and off I go to build up a dream in the sky.
Conceptualized for a lady called Tobi,
In the mad quest to have a kiss to build a dream on.
Weigh the ideological anchor, set sail to the flexible space.
A place that has no existence in and of itself, in reality the quest into
a fascinating territory, with no borders and are of the conceptualized phantasm.
An incursion into an imaginary land of perception or maybe, a recursion,
as you define it or defining the definition in a dictionary.
This story began, in a story or just maybe, in the dreams of continuum,
only you know, for the only conjugant is that of your own inflection,
in the mirror of a mirror, where colors vibrate musically and
the sky is upside down and time is not the factor of flight and
moments do not adhere, to themselves put slide in poly-diagonals and
the snowflake effect reverses itself, building a better snowman,
who in turn, offers you a drink of music, that makes you feel, right at home,
in your igloo. Mi casa es vuestra casa, where the cold is not relative to the dynamics, of thermal barriers. Parry, the Fisher King is eating Gilbert’s grapes, while discussing the Rain man. Don’t be disturbed,
I am not the Black Swan, of the family or playing the Game,
while flying over the cuckoo's nest. In fact, Beautifully minded,
without the hallucinations, just a few changes and your mind,
went on a rant picturesque or grotesque about, what is he talking about but the digression was a fluid response, of outside stimuli and
not where your imagination is going or was or could have been but
it was captured and then set free in a land of make believe...
-Society's view of the normal person is so far off that I am yet to meet a single person that has told me that they are this normal we speak of. Nobody meets the unwritten requirements of this conceptualized normality that we use so loosely. This normal is a powerful stipulation whose crutches enable negative judgments and justify cruelty. It is a unique opinion based illusion. As a matter of fact, it’s not evenreal.
Please break this chain. This is complete ******** and you know it! It takes one to know one and I know you're not..., normal. This is because you actually exist. Judgment driven, unspoken means of categorizing people into classifications based off of your opinion of their sanity…? News flash! Nobody knows your normal; nobody knows where their rank is upon your imaginary pedestal.
I would like to give you a moment to agree or disagree...
I would like to introduce myself in a manner that I would feel suits this occasion.
"Hi, I'm Chris.” I am a real person that lives in the real world.
I am far from this normal we speak of.
I feel that you can relate to me right now.
Open wide, chew on this…
“Hey Normal! I'm giving you to the count of three to speak up or forever hold your peace...
One...
Two...
Three!"
As the dusk beacons
And the night commingle with the day
Confusion rented the air
It was an un-endless arrival of him we await
He it the one, King Solomon
Solomon’s Eve unlock her feelings
She wept and we waited,
For the King of the house who left
His throne to no destination
This King had little of Solomon’s wisdom
But shared more of his adultery
With his cup of wine always full to a fault
Drunkard was his middle name
All his fellow drunkard Kings
Had no clue of him
Yet, the night twinkle away
The In-law with the baby in her arms hissed
Two hours went pass the midnight
Still, it was a house full of darkness
His Eve unbolt more of her to me
As she sobs her way to sleep
“He his dead drunk again”
Shall we all sleep, less we loose our night
King Solomon is alive with no live
But drunk in the arms of a concubine”
Darkness exit, as the cockcrows.
Alayande Stephen T.
21st of June 2007
10.15am
In Iba, conceptualized for the scene at my friend’s place OSB.
So suddenly
it appears in
my Facebook
feed as if it
has always been
part of nature
as if it always
made its presence
known in all the years
of nature shows
I've been watching
surely a monstrous
bird that eats baby
alligators
and kills its brothers
and sisters is worthy
of a one hour
documentary
but no it's as if
it crossed a border
into my timeline
or did I cross
into its like my
brother remembers
the news telling
him about Nelson
Mandela* dying
in his prison cell
never to become
President of South
Africa at all
or shredding
Apartheid apart
is it all really
just illusion
and reality
just a figment
of time and space
depending upon
quantum physics
and whichever string
controls the puppet.
*The Mandela Effect occurs when a group of people collectively misremember an image, event or other artifacts of pop culture like movies, books or television.
Paranormal researcher and author Fiona Broome conceptualized the effect after discovering that she and others possessed strong, yet false, memories about the death of South African anti-apartheid activist while in prison during the 1980s.
MESSAGES ( PT One )
A Poem by Debbie_Philly
THE MESSAGE
The room is black,
except for the faint glare of the TV in the background,
something to make me feel safe in some small way.
Hints of noise to drown out the silence--
such deafening silence, though not from within,
there's always noise within.
It's the kind of noise that keeps one awake
until early dawn.
No-- it's not the sound of the bathroom faucet running,
that would be a more pleasant sound--
(but what to do about that running.)
I slip into unconsciousness,
an unintentional state of suspended animation ,
very welcomed-- despite my objections.
Now the play begins.
The unfolding of the conscious mind.
What hides behind is much more revealing,
the actors are stacked and the story is unfolding.
Help in the telling comes from a unique source,
buried deep in the mind?
Maybe?
I believe it to be much more spiritual in nature,
supernatural in it's feel.
Lucid are the colors, real are the people.
They come from places unknown yet familiar.
Some I know by name,
some I love-- they are missed beyond words.
They come with cryptic messages,
with stories of treachery, lies and deceit ,
mapped out in vivid imagery of objects--
with meanings that I am not sure of.
I would dismiss these things if...
it were not for the repeated fashion
of how they were told.
An object here, a relic there,
I don't understand the meaning of it all, at first.
Are these apparitions conceptualized by own mind?
NO! I know these dear ones,
they love me, still-- even though
they no longer roam with the living.
There are too many signs to digest.
I wait for morning.
Sometimes I awake with a jolt,
(always remembering what I dreamed
in the haze of the pitch black night.)
I piece the puzzle together-- bit by bit,
I must decipher through the cobwebs
of the mind with some clarity; a daunting but amusing task.
I will heed these warnings,
warnings that come to me in dreams-- and beyond.
I Plan to embrace solidarity--
leave behind the flapping of malicious lips;
cling to the gifts bestowed upon me
through the handing off of the torch,
which once shined so brightly
in my loved ones soul.
I will stay awake--
be aware of my surroundings,
yet step over the boundaries
I have set for myself.
Meditate in solace
while letting my essence flow through my pen
onto white journal pages
that waits for me...
on my desk.
By: Deborah Mills-Kelly
I kissed the bed bye
With a dusty blipping lip
I couldn’t dust off with water
For dusting the dust off my body
Means to be in love with night
Cold chilling breeze in “Ibadan”.
With dust all over me
Woke up only to yawn of dust
With it still casing me all over
I sneeze and breathe of it endlessly.
Why pretending to dusting the dust?
For everywhere is full of dust.
Our road is the king of dust
We eat and drink of it . . . dust
Nose and mind of all full of dust
We live in the kingdom made off dust.
When is it of a day when the road
Will be dusted off its dust?
When it shall vamoose off our rooms
When it shall zoom off our kingdom
Its time to dust them off our kingdom
The few ruling cabals dusting hunger on us
Blinking with bleak shall our future be no more
For we shall dust off fear and dust them off . . .
15th August 2006
12.58am.
On my way from Ibadan, conceptualized from the perspective
Of the dust we are daily battling with in Samonda, Ibadan.
The builders brought the vision
With a brilliance in design.
Their courage of decision
Crossed the angry blow of brine.
In search of new salvation
Filled with passion for thou Art,
They captured sweet elation
When restraints were torn apart.
As engineer's electrified
Thin etchings drawn in ink -
The architects conceptualized
Artistic minds to think.
Their ancient skills of vision.
Were a call to sanctify
The soul without derision
And without an alibi.
Belief in dreams alone
Defeat the threat of death,
And this they've always known
With each and every breath.
Their souls are seared inside blue steel
Now bridged as mortar to the stones.
These ragged rogues did bleed for real
With honor drilled inside their bones.
Their monuments now battered
Into shards of shattered glass
That lie as fragments scattered
In a steel and glass morass.
The plastic people pouring out
Wear right-wing Rockwell faces;
Crazy words they always shout
While leaving putrid traces.
These are the ones who falsified
The facts as they have lied.
Those liars will be mortified,
Their children crucified.
The mighty do meander,
As they mark their morbid way
And fill the fetid spaces
With the stink of their decay.
But I can find the teller
Of the tall and awkward tale,
They tend to be transparent to
We men who ride the rail.
It is this degradation
And the darkness of deceit
That's seen in every ghetto
As no secret on the street;