Best Conclave Poems
Therein lies your beauty
testify to me no longer
of dandelions and daffodils
of butterflies and bumblebees
do not chant as crows
beyond sight scatter
then gather
in frigid naked trees
diseased with
discord
disaffection
malfeasance.
The recompense for
transgressions
lays waste to beauty’s cache
of finery
of magnificence
of splendor
do not disgorge sorrows
breathlessly
from your heaving chest
that conclave of muted
dreams vague and dreary
do not yearn
for lovely things
that
evade you
elude you
avoid you.
Talk then of
gnarled paths
overgrown with weeds
and thick brush
and rotting moss
sing soft melancholies
into indifferent airs
scatter
your tributes breathlessly
entreat this soul
to yearn ache desire
for hues of sustenance
those colors
those images
those portraits
of secret truth
lying in wait
for the impact
of despair
dismay
distress.
Therein lies your beauty
your truth
and your essence
yet do not brave
the chasm for
it is conquered
it is besieged
it is occupied
by forlorn sages
aching to know
what chance their hopes had
from casting dreams
and illusions
and secrets
undetected
into blackened pools
of wonder.
Even dread Beelzebub
hot with rage
blindly jealous
with furious hatred
ravenous for vengeance
who rose from putrid ashes
who rose from rancid death
who rose from deadly hell
fiercely intent on doom
is but feeble
and infirm
for scarcely could he
barely could he
set ablaze
reign terror
wreak havoc
on one tenth of
the thousand worlds
within this volatile
and eremitic imagination.
(click the pic for Angst & Anger)
My life and my love are the open sea. I do not fear her and she has come to respect this old sailor man.
Alas, it may be that my life of bliss is only temporary because a magical conclave has condemned my tidal journey.
Today, you see, I crossed paths with a dark mermaid whose trickery has anchored my adventures with the briny deep.
That salty wench took the wind out of my sails, leaving me as an empty hull, a moored starfish, writhing in the summer sand.
The gypsy mermaid led me astray with her siren song of sea foam trysts and moonlit water dances.
At once my eyes took sight of her damp bosom and over the bow of my beloved vessel I jumped, nary a hesitation.
Stalwart journey lost.
I swam with all my might so that I could lay my weary head among her iridescent scales with the hope of exploring her seafaring mysteries.
In her arms I laid and to my dismay, the spectacle of a creature more hideous than any life form should spawn, violates all that I can see.
With a hiss more guttural than a sea serpent, she opened her maw.
To my eyes appeared a cavernous gap filled with remnants of my beloved ocean life.
Disgust crawled over my skin as I stepped away in horror, the stench of death permeating the air.
Falling back into the wet abyss I could hear the gypsy mermaid sing her song of death all around me.
Harder and harder I raked my bony appendages, struggling mightily to widen the wake until my despair took over.
One last breath and I let my old friend the sea, take me away.
Fluttering slowly into the liquid unknown, I closed my weary eyes and let go.
At once I sputtered to life, woken by a brackish breeze on my check, burning eyes open as my spent body writhed in the hot sand.
My thoughts are a blur, no conscious desire to wonder upon my seemingly swift arrival to the quiet shore.
I live.
While death continues to burn deep within the recesses of my throat and my heart beats, still I feel lifeless.
Death came for me in guise of that gypsy mermaid and I ran to her without pause, arms wide for embrace.
So, it seems not even the cooling swells are enough to secure me this earthly plane.
Clearly my soul longs for life in the blissful, ethereal realm.
Perhaps next time I cross paths with the gypsy mermaid I will give in to her voracious hallow.
Next time.
2.
The Light Returns
I feel myself oh so slowly rise
Through the Abysmal black of surgical sleep
Wakening, drawn to the distant sound
Of my own moans.
When my lids flutter back
Sight is rewarded with the prescence of all my Beloveds
Gathered in conclave 'round my I.C.U. bed;
My travel-companion souls
Who bear the love and light that leads my own.
The doctor enters bearing good tidings;
The beast within was found and slain,
Its loss complete
At the sacrifice of nearly the whole of my stomach.
So I lay grateful and gutted,
Though within it felt like the aftermath
Of worlds in collision.
A wreckage within;
When they make me rise for the first time the very next day,
I feel a slow tide of broken glass and metal
Fall in chaos through my new internal spaces.
Still, it's a lovely thing to be rising,
At all.
Why Dogs Sniff Behinds
By Elton Camp
All dogs very long ago, a meeting did call
Each hung his behind on a peg on the wall
The conclave was going along pretty well
When a passing cat the canines did smell
Desire to chase him created quite an uproar
And the pack of dogs rushed out of the door
First, each a behind proceeded to snatch
However, dogs and behinds didn’t match
But in their frenzy to chase the cat,
The pack of dogs forgot about that
But, from that confused day until this
Dogs, their own behinds do miss
They would know their own by a whiff
So that why they always continue to sniff
You say that this tale you don’t believe?
Surely you can’t think that I’d deceive!
Rongali bihu
Rong cascading down
the days around April fifteenth
jotted over the almanac
(Rong bihu or Rongali bihu, the Assamese gala)
luring New Year for the Assamese peeps and their culture
Rong gleaned from Vishuvam - the Sanskrit word
Rong elucidates vernal equinox
Rong typifies joy
like lovers discreetly conclave in the cavern
when two bodies melded with one soul
Rong caught a whiff of fresh kopou phool perfume - Foxtail Orchid or Dove Flower
Rong is humble abode of the shameless parasites Cuckoo
enduring the rythym of Assamese peeps and their culture
Rong is the dance of life
Rong is the food celebration
Rong is the offspring of love and happiness
#and in background, I can hear my beloved 80's hit song - 'O Xun Toradoi Nasaba Morom Lagakoi' (O My Dear Beloved Don't Stare Adorably) ...
Sweet Home
From the tense of turbulence you profer comfort,
from the tests of time you offer abode,
Will all the fortresses of home refer incline?
Will all the fortitudes of hope adversity sublime?
The ocean of pleasure thou are; forever will I clamour instill,
The mission of leisure sweet amass; forever will I welcome still.
Dotting the lines of succour through the poets' quill-pen,
Blotting the limbs of honour through the Equerrian quince.
The enclave of birth and nurture to the dwell enclose,
The conclave of might and culture to the bells entwine.
Entrenched in shelter from rain and sun concomitant undo,
Embellished in sceptres from ornaments to unravel the feud's undue.
As the elements of Architecture are singing beautitudes,
The velvets of bevels are clinking tambourines.
As the culverts of artefacts are mincing soirees,
The valance of bevies are ringing solarium.
In May you lay in mash of holy velds,
And in June will Juno return amidst.
Oh God of mercy grant us the grace of lair,
When the solace of sauna breeds comfort of sweet home.
Adeola Yusuf Amuni
Variations on a Theme of Red
Color of bold that daubs the sunset bright
Old fair weather friend of shepherd’s delight
That taints the emblazoned rays of gold
Displayed a glorious red for all to behold
Rare crimson moon adorns a shady backdrop
A Raleigh scattering miracle of red that’s set to shock
Its sign of fate that casts a gloom upon the earth
For some at least who warn of pending doom and death
Blood red that gives the erythrocyte its hue
When paired with oxygen a healthy glow anew
When starved of red, blood slowly turns to blue
A drop in oxygen levels is certain to ensue
Poppy red defines this flower in silent meadow strewn
Whose fragile petals reflect frail life that’s prematurely hewn
These sanguine emblems stand firm upon the plaintive ground
Lest we forget the bravery of which we are so proud
Bright red fans the fiery flames that make a grateful warmth
And cheers and lights a chilly night seated round the hearth
But when misused, this type of red becomes a thing of danger
As out of control this wildfire, is certain to endanger
Rusty red boasts taints of brown with coppery appeal
Less blatant, an iron oxide, for stage lighting it’s ideal
But cardinal red stands lofty as a churchman’s stately dress
This red adorned at conclave is destined to impress
And like the rose my love appears, a summer beauty born
But when the red petals disband, reveals the hardy thorn
Blush red will grant the skin, its rueful splash of cringe
As well as blotchy red after a night out on the binge
So red is the color of differing shades and styles and taints
Its variations abound amongst a multitude of paints
Seeing red at life will give you great feelings of anger
But when upon a canvas, will make it look much grander
The afternoon was chilly cold
When I made up my mine to stroll.
But where can one's thoughts smoothly flay
Than at the cemetery on a cold day.
And there I was well destined
Jumping o'er the praying grasses woven
Across the cemetery's path-
soon there I was haven't had a bath.
Then I stood at my sweet mum's grave
where I sighed and calmly wept.
Oh sweet mother who is gone to the conclave
Where all the souls are kept.
HEREIN LIE THE BONES OF BIH EMILIE
WHO ALWAYS BEFORE HER DEATH
SANG TO THE GLORY OF GOD
REST IN PEACE.
And I wept as I read
For sweet mum is gone and all is red.
And why do i weep when death is inevitable?
Well because she left me so soon
and I never enjoyed her warmth.
She to me was the best of mothers
And top all the best of companions.
But she was gone, forever,
Making me develop today this fever.
A backdrop of orange gives birth to hues anew. Singing it's praises 'pon the birch tree,
co-mingling with the shade beneath it's hanging branches and it's leaves so rusty brown.
creating variations no where else that could be found.
Shining it's light over the yonder hills, obscuring shadows and forms, accentuating the
sienna grass some more, till the birch tree seems an orange blaze amidst an ocean conclave
that lives eternal in those that would dare remember it.
We sleep deep with eyes reflecting sudden drag in turmoil
We lament then run full circles in distant fantasy parked by its brevity
In sleepless nights frozen conclave we insist that we get our way;
Shapes of frightened cold unleashed sway;
Colors flourishing in ambiance tempered in modest excursion
A sworn agreeable text to lament in hot regard to its pierced claim
Repent
~
Shattered glass on its myraid surface with plot;
Sadness in hearts that swell in its loosened conclave of ivy dew
Drops of loom loose filled the room faltered glow
Repent!
For the kingdom of God is at hand!
Through a choiced drama
Through a blaze of glory an almost different story!
Pamela Relph wanted to join the army, the Royal Engineers,
Because she was funded by them for sixth form fun arrears,
But she got arthritis just when she was eighteen and keen,
And so undertook a BSc at Birmingham in physics, mean.
In 2011 she won gold at the World Rowing Championships,
With three others, her team also including Broecke, a cox,
In 3 minutes 27.10 seconds they did travel one kilometre,
To qualify for the 2012 Paralympics in London’s theatre.
She, Riches, Smith and Row pulled the boat through wave,
Along the river at Eton Dorney to win gold in their conclave,
And they retained their title at the 2013 World’s in August,
But with a new team, as medical ills did make Smith bust.
There they took gold again ahead of Italy and South Africa,
This time faster, 3 minutes and 16.12 seconds to plaster,
And then in 2014 with one new crew mate in Grace Clough,
The team successfully won gold again at the World’s bough.
So as a result of that they will compete in the 2016’s, Rio,
And Relph is an MBE as of 2013’s New Year Honours row;
Her sister Monica, who’s a GB rower in the Senior Squad,
Got her into rowing originally, where she’s now like a god!
Listen to what the man has SAID
Religion is just more or less DEAD
Sir Elton is singing the BLUES
He wants to share with everyone this tragic NEWS
The conclave is not doing -HIT
"Jesus was so full of IT"
Dance to the ravings of a Honky Tonk MAN
Who likes to eat Doritos as fast as he CAN
"The World is close to wwIII-
God,I'm afraid,does nothing for ME"
Reginald DWIGHT wants to show us the LIGHT
"Throw away your Bible but put on my cd TONIGHT"
Heed the words of the Crododile ROCK:
"The Pope of Today,his messages are merely CROCK-
Embrace the new way,courtesy of Topin and ME
This is your preacher,Elton John..
many thanks to Cincinati WKRP
BORN IN THE MIDDLE EAST
By Eddie Egbelo Ntebri
Alas thy has been born; from thy dark mother’s womb
To inhale the venomous air from thy bleeding ambiances
What a conclave; concealed by dusty decisions
Dejection and pity shelters thy unpolished skin;
Leaving thee with regrets of a propelling heart
Thy nostrils filled with the breathe of human plasma
Thy ears shielded by war songs
Oh! What a derisible human nature
Fractioned by poverty and hunger
Petitioned by freedom and peace
Oblige by blood and sickness
Appraised by saboteurs and oppressors
Dictated by tyrants and impostors
Delivered by a murky womb
What kind of life awaits thee?
A life of rumble and hurricanes; surpassing the humble spirit of sleep
A life that beseech the passage of horrid times
A fountain life of crisis in melodies
A life that grips fear as the solitary courage for survival
A life that expects a bullet in every sunrise
A life of dismay and objection
Hold back thy tears from its drip
Human history surely needs to change its course
In-plant within thee the spirit of believe
Hope lies beyond the valleys
Sing songs of triumphant victories
Because thy blood will surely be thy peaceful covenant
BENEVOLENT HIS CHARMS
PROMISING NO HARM
SEARCHING FOR HIS LAMB
DEATH IN HIS GRIPPING KISS
SLANDERER OF SOULS
SCYTHE AT HIS SIDE
REAPING WHAT IS YET TO BE SOWN
DRAGGING IT DOWN INTO ABYSS
BEATTY EYES LIKE BLACK POOLS
HIS SMILE ENSNARES
THE OMEN OF EVIL
HUNTING HIS PREY
LURED INTO THE GRAVE
A BECKONING CONCLAVE
MURDEROUS IN ARDOR
SUMPTUOUS ETERNITY
The lucid stereo vomits archetypes
For all ages. Primitive vengeance escapes into light,
Blanketing the fables spread upon pages,
Hushed voices commingle into a murmur of fright.
Unto goblets raised, we praise scoundrels
Whom were dined with gods who've since fell.
Deceiving seas of dumb, lame sheep,
Goats grow like flies on a dung heap.
Let pompous pricks switch and move grooves
To lose mishapen dreams and cumbersome sleuths.
Butterfly wings gummed underfoot
Expound plumes of debris and ashen soot.
May we not be trampled under the foot
Of beasts so truly gruesome and be put
Into castes and cubicles and tombs
Fated to a life of doom straight from the womb.
A sterile conclave situates itself within
Bogs and ghastly hogs with rotten vision.
Stomachs bloat with bread and wine,
Groveling shamelessly until the end of time.