Best Conducive Poems
Impulsive or compulsive
Either way it's not conducive
Living with this disorder
Can't be good for my liver
Obsessions, when do they stop?
Compulsions, when do I stop?
Let me illustrate and reiterate
My demons make me infuriated
To the point, man, I really want to escape this
Live everyday like your last?
These hours go by fast
Trying to obliterate every ounce of the past
Always with the imagery and self coping insanity
That broke me and continues to break me.
Another day, no not another day
I just got out, please let me stay away.
Of course on this night we are supposed to be asleep so Santa
could come, but we hadn't been home from Midnight Mass very long, and the
invigorating cold was not conducive to sleep. Even the hot chocolate did not do
much to help sedate the excitement.
We were hoping for sleds that year. The snow was perfect for
sledding especially like we did it. We tied out sleds on behind the car or pick up
and were pulled through the hills. We got our sleds. My dad and my uncle made
them for us.
No television and only in the late years were we allowed to use the
radio. Batteries were to expensive for frivolous use. We spent many hours
playing cards or games.
I took time out and went to high school and college and got my
teaching certificate.
My aunt taught there only one year after the Federal Government
turned the schools over to the local government.
The last time I was back there the out buildings had been moved and
Indian families were living in them. The school was dirty and unkept.
Now the school is gone. The ancestors who once walked these
dusty plains are gone. The Indians who were there when I was a child are gone.
They are Ghosts. Ghosts whose faces can be seen in the clouds.
Ghosts who still chop wood on those sub zero nights. And the drums we heard
in the middle of the nights are still beating. They beat as strongly as the heart
beats in a healthy body. The laughter of the children still echoes under the
bridge.
The life blood of a culture, of a nation grows thin. The Battle of
Wounded Knee was the last battle to be fought between the white man and the
Indian on the northern plains. It's cries still echo across the land.
My foot prints in the creek did not last any longer than those they left
in the dust. But in my memories, this mile and a half by three quarter mile haven
still lives. And will live forever as a piece of unrecorded history.
The preacher who does not speak about the evils of abortion
and the mind and heart set that is conducive to it,
which is explained by the 6th commandment
and the reason so many of us blew it….
need not preach about keeping the 5th commandment don’t you see.
Or he will also, in turn, not be able to speak about hypocrisy.
Of course any preaching on the first and second commandments
will also be nullified by this absence of morality .
Ergo the very reason for his preaching is void in it’s totality.
It is public opinion and the so called enlightened “in crowd” he is kissing,
Not with his lips …but with the portion of spine that he’s missing.
As his preaching gets smaller and smaller
evil gets bigger and taller.
Is it any wonder why such is the case?
Say good by Grace. "Good by Grace".
Can you remember who you were before the world told you who to be?
reminiscing on elementary, high school, college, was that really me?
they say you live and you learn well I don't necessarily agree...
because until you see the framework of the system you're still a detainee...
we've been manipulated and conditioned to accept bourgeoisie,
it starts with our education, or should i say domestication? sit down, shut up, and agree...
i hate to break it to you, but it doesn't mean you're smart just because you have a degree...
how many of you wanted to work in a cubicle when you were three?
whatever happened to artisanship and being crafty?
I once heard, dont believe anything you hear and only half of what you see
Haven't you ever felt that simply existing is an oddity?
Were specks of dust amidst billions of galaxies
Were something like a tributary of the singularity
Shoutout to Robert Pirsig, I hope this is "quality"
Were destroying our environment in exchange for society,
destroying our forests and source of oxygen like some sort of black friday spree,
starting war in the middle east for oil and the currency,
our debts closing in on 18 trillion, is where were headed really that hard to foresee?
oh and don't forget about our 120 trillion in unfunded liabilites,
This path were on isnt conducive to sustainability,
but seriously, I'm just some kid from Oklahoma, feel free to disagree
Fancy the reasons why love is so elusive
Could be we don’t know what we look for,
Feelings that with love are not conducive
Strange so many do not know the score
Looking for love “in all the wrong places,”
Confusing true love with an infatuation,
Equating it with beautiful or perfect faces
Often can lead to the nastiest situations.
Generally, love requires time to mature
Knowing yourself and your expectations,
Commitment in love is not for the unsure
I say, always beware of those hesitations.
Work toward a relationship that is secure,
I'm convinced that true love will endure.
Written August 20, 2022
The genie possesses infinite wishes
& is only contained by the bottle
The bottle is but an illusion full of hollow
dreams posing as aspirations
waiting to be attained or fulfilled
Matter maintains a shape conducive to
thoughts believed to be real
but only acts according to strength
of the will
It is as a man thinketh so says Proverbs 23
which means the power has been
given to and resides within you
& me
So mote it be says the genie abiding
by the law of the one
that sees everything & created
what you saw
Know that you inhabit a bottle made to
walk & talk according to wishes
that supercedes all lies & inherited
superstitions
Don't let the world rub you the wrong way
but instead allow your inner
genie to be free
to enjoy life & its short days
As you can see we are both genie & the bottle
in many ways
full of wishes we'd like to see granted
before time has its say
Upon revelation’s flight
Under Orion’s focus
I witness a fiery glow towards familiar horizons.
‘Tis no sunrise
It is a striking reality.
My saddened retinas witness monochromatic pitchforks,
Desolated screams,
Embellished declarations from misguided leaders
And self-made stallions riding into condescending sunsets
Without any earned punctuation to be taken seriously
A House of Eroded Representatives
A village of One
A village of souls
Pushing
Back
…
There was a home upon these well-worn landing strips.
This was my home.
But, these forged rooftops now taste
Withering, hurricane gusts of red velvet cake’s mold
Rusted nails forcibly detached from honored foundations
Unto egotistical coffins
The reality
Shining through meter-less corruptions
Comes full circle
Small doses of poisonous vendettas
Fed from tarnished, silver spoons
Echoes of Cuban Fidel
Lace elasticity of “open arms”
With onyx, unfiltered coffee drops
Coating infant’s petulant lip
Witnessing cotton-less sheep walking with listless fervor
Towards silenced, condemned “Noahs”
I signal pilot within my melancholic wisdoms
To redirect our flight
To a new horizon
To an unsheltered domain
Where even waterfalls still allow
Conducive verbiage to rise
Amongst the unabashedly meek
To a destination
Where stature is defined by all
Not by one
Where character
Is developed under accountabilities’ pen
Where high horses & curtained theatrics
Are the only victims of banned tomorrows
Where honor
Is still defined
Without deleted, impulsive banter
Where friendship,
Love,
Wisdom,
Memories,
Shine
…
Because
Things
Things are no longer the same
Things are no longer the same
Things are no longer the same.
©Drake J. Eszes
“And my ties are severed clean. The less I have, the more I gain. Off the beaten path, I reign.” –Wherever I may Roam by Metallica (my lifelong song)
At the end of Mercy Street
lies a forgotten wharf.
A single row boat is
moss covered.
The battered vessel is
moored and unwanted
like leprosy -
conducive to an invisible cancer.
Two splintered oars imitate antennae -
receiving distress signals
from no one.
The dinghy will not row towards God.
The boat will not sail past
Bergen-Belsen or Dachow
nor will it glide 'gainst Newton.
Mother wouldn't allow such a spectacle.
Tommy doesn't sleep on bottle caps anymore.
Tommy and Mother are content now.
(Tommy is dying)
Tommy's back is not broken
like a scarecrow -
(for he is good).
His leg is not twisted like a licorice stick -
(for he is cloaked in servile flattery).
Tommy doesn't skip like a river
nor shine like a sapphire.
Kevorkian wise and Barabbas blamed;
he grimaces -
he swallows Mother's red roses;
knowing when he sweats -
(in the afternoon funeral festivities)
he'll smell just like her.
The darkened sunlight -
(which Tommy cannot see)
throws itself between two clouds
marking a dramatic entrance!
Tommy's knees are broken yet
he still dances -
obviously dumb-founded
and matriarch approved.
Tommy hyperventilates and chokes.
Tommy eschews Mother's American beauties
and externally regurgitates the
memories he can't
(internally)
understand.
A single groove migrates
the needle into ambient static as
Tommy washes his hands.
Tommy simply washes his hands
and whistles.
(He simply washes his hands)
and whistles...
"say Brian"
what is your poetry creed?"
POETRY IS AN ORAL ART AT ITS BEST WHEN RECITED
it then becomes a two-way unique one-off.experience .
ok then...to the detail-
"So is traditional line capitalisation ok with you?"
In RHYME ..YES..
but NOT otherwise as it creates a natural pause (ie it stilts) & thus disrupts the flow
"presumably thats why wrap-around lines are also a no-no for you? "
YES but mainly they are not visually conducive to read digitally or otherwise!
"Ok,I see that but what have
you got against those five forms
and the like,you know
acrostic,
kyrielle
terzanelle
villanelle
&pantoum etc? "
NOT against them per se
they can be good for a learning exercise,
a bit like scales are important when learning the piano
but are too contrived & mechanical IMHO for our art form
"Yet you like shape,visuals,emagi & ekphrasis verse! "
Indeed,they reveal my weakness for art in poetry!
"So why do you appear to dislike prose poetry!"
I don't dislike them as such, the two arts just don't mix for my taste.
"Are there particular forms that appeal?"
Rhyme,alliteration,clerihew,footle&hiku*(both in the singular especially)
tanka& American cinquain-will always ring my bell.
& of course
poetry in the OPEN VERSE style
which is what Brian?
**OPEN VERSE uses spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols relies upon 'the one breath limitation' this intuitive cadence pemits the 'reader' (reciter) to respond in an interpretative - interplay unique to the ' happening
Good housing scheme
Good educational system
Conducive tourist centres
Suitable infrastructural facilities
Love, unity, freedom to all
Tooled up, the army chaplain
Is wielding the words of God
Straight in for the kill
With ‘The work of His will’
And ‘He came not with peace but the rod’
The sixth commandment is tricky
A most inconvenient law
For the turn of a cheek
On the battle field bleak
Is far from conducive to war
So, pity the army chaplain
And the conflict that rages within
As the ranks of the dead
Tramp a march through his head
And he murders his conscience with gin
by Gail
I swear madam
That your manners
Are worthy of a village dope
And your ambitions are tremendously humongous
At the expense of someone else;
And you are also so lazy
That there’s no time at all
To manage some cleanup and cooking
And no ironing and washing.
Childcare also not conducive
And job prohibited at all
But to the art of shopping
You dedicate your every day.
And to sum up this conversation:
Your ego – size of railway station
You also wither on a vine
(Above means that your talents
Are completely wasted).
My silent serene soul softly craves your candles of crystalline calm.
Your gallant greens of golden glow gently beam with bumbles, bashing blissful thoughts in a thundering whisper.
Our chemistry and connection is madly enchanted in ethereal crimson certainty of nectar's new dawn.
I want to own the oceans and you like I hold my butterflies and beliefs.
Rumple my radiant lips on silhouette sheets of your secret shoulder yard, leaving amaranth art of kisses on your lavender chest.
Letting your spikes of spices chase me into a search of serenity.
You are my wind in the wild storm.
The whisperer, wanderer in my mystical melodies.
You are the tempting thoughts in my tempestuous tides, thrilling the turbulent twilight of my heavenly heart.
The mesmerizing midnight memories in the infinite brain of my independent heart.
I'm nightfall without your luminous laughter.
I'm dateless without your conducive calendar of pink promises.
I'm the death of a wasteful war and torn tears from the endless screams.
Be the pondering puzzles of my relentless reasoning.
The savoury solitude in my sour soul.
The hibiscus honey and roasted peanuts in my poetic pantry.
My rustling reckless reflection in muttered excuses.
And I'll be your rainbow, your Rosa Juliet.
Your chocolate cosmos. Your scout for love in the jungle of jasmine spring.
I have fondly found fleeting fragrances of happiness from the ryhming rheum in your eyes. It is daring densely, hallucinating hazardously, making me stare still till I blindly bleed in haphazard hues.
Till eternity my love, your secret silence is the riff in every song. It is the splash of every sound. The hair on my stirred skin. The pulchritudinous phases of pain in astrological agony.
Stand, stand my sublime king so thou shalt see the height of my love for thee.
Listen, listen my charming prince so you shall hear my painting in every voice.
So you can feel the breathless bath of the present and the tickle in the tapestry of our voiceless vows, viciously channeled through the thighs of our bond and the sync of your seductive grasp.
So I can smell the wind of your hands slowly stroking my sensitive skin and the attention of my hairs saluting your stemless grasps.
My soul critically craves you my workshop and I your tools.
American Haiku
Rainy, nasty day and night
Train whistle in distance
Early morning hours
Contemplation brings Enlightenment
Or Believed so
Buddhist awakening
Realize Poetry's Power
affects me physically
Body in turmoil
Spray Wasps hang-out
Keeps them away
They can sting, harm
Moon glows overhead
Santa on fire engine
making his rounds
Sun shining majestically
Running usual errands
Home to reading books
Complete silence at night
Conducive to study
Talking to loved one
Pops are my passion
scribbling away
the blissful hours
Element Earth: Amazing
Discussions of how and when the earth was formed have and shall continue to be a source of disagreement.
The positioning of earth in space is very interesting to me.
It isn’t known whether or not life can exist on any other planet.
Based on their proximity with the moon and sun, unlike the earth, other planets are either too cold or too hot to sustain any human life.
I believe that the earth and universe were ‘created’ via Intelligent Design.
It is much easier for me to believe that our physical bodies came from dirt.
It’s interesting that we value gold; but most of the gold we find is in the dirt.
The earth sustains a temperature conducive for mankind’s thriving and survival.
The earth element and the other six are purposely engineered for mankind.
The substances inside the earth are filled with life sustaining components.
Such blessings of dirt and dust are so common that we take them for granted.
Earth contains and releases life into seeds that become plants, grasses, or trees.
Life begets live entities that in turn yield foods and carbon dioxide to sustain life. Yet, earth’s dirt cannot act alone, but is interdependent upon the other elements.
03062016 PS Contest, “Elements Part 1: Earth”, by Brian Davey