Best Connubial Poems
The strain of separation leaves a sore,
sorrow abides and festers in the heart;
two star-cross'd lovers smitten to the core,
despairing of the days they'll spend apart.
Spirit, soul and testament they share,
blind to worldly consequences, broken
by the distance in between, for where'er
their footsteps fall each retains a token.
Two rings confirm a union true and bold;
connubial bliss that will not e'er be still'd
though time and tide would try to break the mold,
a fire undying, passion unfulfilled.
The day will shortly dawn to soothe the strain,
and end their bleak despondency and pain.
In Aussie-land dwell the marsupials
By night they paint the town connubial
They make them a joey
Named Zoey or Chloe
Neighbors jump for joy indubitable
"Treasure Box"
The etymologist considered "themselves" singular;
like a butterfly collector they pulled the pincushion
out from the treasure box and proceeded to capture words
pinning them to every wall, they felt a certain kind release,
voodoo prayers ran through their mind subliminally,
the agony of adjectives and verbs being kept
beside ampersands conjoining objective pronouns subjectively
was a fluttering kind of let loose ecstacy
their creation connubial was escoteric, beautiful and ingenuous
and insanely free, in a voyeuristic sense, the art was in the act,
the pleasure was in the generosity of letting them all fly free
Candide Diderot. ‘24
“Collected specimens can be identified to species using genitalic dissections and other internal and external anatomy that only can be studied through microscope work on a pinned specimen. The preparation of the wings spread and legs out, makes all features easily seen, including ones you will never see in a live insect.”
“Gently insert a sharp pin between the veins on the front edge of the left forewing and pull the forewing into place. Place a strip of paper over the left wing and insert pins to hold the forewing in place. Make sure you place the pins around the wing and not through it.”
The strain of separation leaves a sore,
sorrow abides and festers in the heart;
two star-cross'd lovers smitten to the core,
despairing of the days they'll spend apart.
Spirit, soul and testament they share,
blind to worldly consequences, broken
by the distance in between, for where'er
their footsteps fall each retains a token.
Two rings confirm a union true and bold;
connubial bliss that will not e'er be still'd
though time and tide would try to break the mold,
a fire undying, passion unfulfill'd.
The day will shortly dawn when they will see
an end to their despondency and pain;
two star-bless'd sweethearts who'll for ever be
conjoined together, ne'er to part again.
To dampen essence is joy unknown.
As a couple, we have united our spirits to
manifest our souls fulfilling our
emotions as integral parts.
Lovers’ spirits amalgamated.
Your depth has fused.
This love affair will intensify.
We are users of lover’s lair and
abusers of the time we have.
We are brought sense not borrowed.
We take chances not risks.
If we fail, we knew we probably would.
Let us gamble on love and our existence.
This is just a love poem.
An odd that has its forewarning
that our life is meant to each other.
The omens are worthy.
Conjugal…connubial
__________________|
Penned April 27, 2014!
Is wedlock the true route to all conjugal bliss,
Nuptial excitement that starts with a kiss?
Or is it the halter after the altar,
That threatens to fetter and make life not better?
The fondling and cuddling and nights of long snuggling,
Changed overnight to ones, of alcohol guzzling.
A churlishness now in the partner is found,
From a beloved spouse to an obnoxious bloodhound.
She a fabulous cook,now sports a grumpy old look;
He's turned from intimacy to reading a book.
Love and coquetry has come to an ebb,
Finding affections in a new kind of web.
Monogamy turns to Polygamy slowly,
And perhaps doing things even more lowly?
From celibacy to intimacy and words we can't shout,
Now their connubial contact lies down and out.
They denounce and renounce and have their say,
To begin a life in a new kind of way.
Leaving it all to their legal belief,
Divorce now brings in,some kind of relief.
But where it will lead is anybodys guess,
For the ball is now rolling and lifes in a mess.
=== Princefreakasso
(Artist and Poet)
after the sky drops.
The walking corpses come out
the veil of night masks
the decay
the rot
of humanity
Plague of the earth.
Found from the ashes
My phoenix we bled
Has she ever
thought love between
us, inside
her, filled up an empty bed.
No longer bereft,
somnolence
and love drowns my head.
Convalescent
Bemire emotion
I wash and rinse
what is left,
asking what we are
if no longer
dead?
Gold from lead.
The lifting sky
Our connubial affair.
The truths, I face,
we share,
She Said.
"when will it die?"
closing empty space
A diffident devotion
Within her embrace
a softly recited
poem unread
berceuse
tantric lullaby
healing the blighted
fading destiny to refuse
to claim or to lose.
An onus I malinger..
to choose.
Execration
of an inner fatalist
hopeless abuse.
Quantum entanglement
schismatic resentment
prepossessed
inspiring muse
of the alchemists
A bibulous creation
intimate turpitude.
sovereignty
asunder this hell
her orbit with abaddon.
Dissolution
her need to dispel
incertitude.
Inordinate.
Gravity well
collapsing in on itself
eternal
infinite
end
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I also enjoy simple lists of words, descriptors of an abstract reaction
describe the feelings or ideas my poem invoked or left in feeling or thought.
Even on word. is better than none. Thank you
I had spent night and day
Wondering if there was any way
I could erase my seclusion
Even though I wanted several
I knew I would look an idiot
My father had many dreams
But he hid them all like creams
Later in life I often conjectured
And questioned,
My judgment in general,
If I had chosen pragmatically
In the end I would not have fallen in to depths of damness
Falling heedless on my knees before love,
I neglected the individual, who truly did,
………………………………………….
They say love is blind
It truly is…
I conjugated …
I connubial to a stranger
Leaving the one I knew behind
…………..
The prevalent mistake of my being
Of my existence
Of my small eternity
And I lost my sanity
O COVID with the MO-VID, you murder bug,
Your sweet quarantine champions my gloom.
Never the buff of a handshake or hug,
Serene in the still of my fond hermit room,
Blessed detention, the liberty of walls;
And though this woe suffers me to talk
To those within these connubial halls,
Exposing my hokum, I say Fie to the Pock,
And mop my **** on duplicitous reams
Of Scotts fair ply, though I’m uncertain why
I stalk the isles in this squirreling dream
Most grateful to shop, most willing to buy
What I do not know: what this mad old bastard
Needs from his truth, and what happens after.
( updated today Jul 22 2026)
Near Love's jasmines breeds
the weeds of jeopardy
Attitude threatens the petals
Stable and sweet one moment
Miserable the next,
Inner insecurities prickle
Nitpicking on trivialities
Ecstasy of passion yet resets
I fall for amorous lap
Yet my heart still bleeds
in a silent chorus
My heartstrings the choir
with guitar strings
The thorns of roses prick
Nuptial jasmine leigh withers,
every thundererous weather
But always regrows
in connubial bowers
and love's spring showers
The chorus a poet bleeds
in ink and quill...
Tears of joy and sadness...
Fumbling for my lighter I saw you:
unlit cigarette awaiting illumination.
I smiled - appealing for enlightenment,
and you came to my rescue, igniting
my interest with a spark of ardour.
You struck the match that lit our love.
You struck the match that made our match!
Thoughts, dreams, hopes and plans kindled
in the embers of that moment, and smouldered....
then bursting into flame, lighting our darkness.
We built walls of assurance -
a sanctuary of hopeful anticipation.
We tended the garden of our desires, and
pruned the doubts and fears until they
withered and died with the failures of the past.
We invested our lives in the vows we made.
We committed to mutual commitment, and
took the tentative connubial steps toward
a future of togetherness - that was then -
then - when love was all we had - we promised......
....Our walls of affirmation still stand.
Our flames of longing still dance in the
moonlight and welcome the dawning of
a new day. Sun-rays of optimism appear
behind clouds of dissension and
in the garden blooms of assurance shower
us with petals of solidarity. We disagree,
but agree to differ, and sit together
on the fence called compromise to watch
the sun set on our disparity....cordiality restored.
We retire to the shelter of our home.
You pour the wine, I strike a match -
our hearts and hearth glow with confidence
as the fire takes hold. Fumbling for my lighter
you anticipate its loss ......and rescue me once more.
Tongue touched,
a diaphanous zephyr of ephemeral desire,
rustles the parchment of our sepulchral scripture,
where our connubial covenant is inscribed,
in the cryptographic ledger of the damned,
and the whispers of the ancients,
echo through the labyrinthine corridors,
of the underworld.
Your lips,
a vermilion velvet of hyperemic passion,
anoint our union with the haematoid blood of Elysium,
consecrating our entwined destinies,
within the cryptic cenotaph of the heart,
where the lethiferous weights of existence,
hang precariously in the balance.
Together,
we waltz,
hand in hand,
through the tenebrous tapestry of Chronos,
our love an ephemeral eclipse of solipsism.
In this eternal,
ephemeral dance,
we are the cryptic ciphers of the nocturnal,
our love a funeral pyre that illuminates the desolate,
luminous landscape of the Chthonic River of Styx.
She was there for me when I came of age,
but when, for a girl of unlocked doors and
a missing father. in flight down the stairs,
an intruder pursuing, no dagger in the chamber
of non-connubial rights. "Bad dream," she said,
when summoned home from a tavern tryst
to calm her child in torn pajamas, unsafe ever after
in any man's arms. Yet, she was there for me
with the sanitary belt, its necessary napkin,
my gentle guide into the world of women,
when the blood-flower broke its bright red stain
on virginal sheets, auguring deflowering.
Her pretty clothes?--borrowed, as if
a mock stepmother in the mirror on the wall
restored my fall from the favor of our king.
Lucia, (not "di Lammermoor"), she did not stab
the bridegroom, or go mad. Blonde to my darkling
Carmen, queen to an unseated princess,
whose sleep went forty years, the prince blind-
sided, the slipper shattered, the horses
harnessed, the child become a woman,
asleep, asleep, in her glass coffin.
I am married to an ordinary woman with an extraordinary talent
She has an in-built reverse-forward button, others tend to be mute
When in good humor forward is on, in bad humor reverse is on
A Lady Hamlet with no dilemma, to be or not to be- question is off.
There’s always forward for outings, if it’s missed a reverse ever
Make an adverse remark and will unlearn the meaning of favor
But fortunately always get forward button in things conjugal
Disappointed in things many, happy to get things connubial.
Once we’re at a party and her sister looked at her wedding ring
Her sister pointed out that she wore the ring not on the right finger
She replied that she’s right, because she married a wrong man
She looked at me but I have learnt to be silent from the talkative.
In case she finds out that I have been cross with some people
She is tempted to make my enemies her nearer friends
As impractical husband learnt useful lesson from practical wife
Keep the friends close but keep your enemies not far than friends
+++
Date 21-11-13
Dr. Ram Mehta
Sixth Place win in
Contest juxtaposed by Sheri
The strain of separation leaves a sore,
sorrow abides and festers in the heart;
two star-crossed lovers smitten to the core,
despairing of the days they'll spend apart.
Spirit, soul and testament they share,
blind to worldly consequences, broken
by the distance in between, for where'er
their footsteps fall each retains a token.
Two rings confirm a union true and bold;
connubial bliss that will not e'er be stilled
though time and tide would try to break the mold,
a fire undying, passion unfulfilled.
The day will shortly dawn to soothe the strain,
and end their bleak despondency and pain.