Best Conquests Poems
A world of illusions procreates
blinking sustained delusions
existence shivering in probabilities
memories afloat in traces astray
If only I were a meteor
I'd cross those barriers
to merge their essence for you..
Surviving beliefs proclaim strengths
astounding errors of hurled conquests
a seed of faith cocoons itself
in hazy blue dreams
If only I were a blissful rainbow
I'd splash hopeful colours
melting through the breeze for you..
Dark hallucinations evaporate
shrines of intuition exasperate
realities hinder imaginations
locking invisible worlds in mist
If only I were a feather in clouds
I'd wipe the dust of charades
sweeping showers of love for you..
Mortal moments stride along
paranoia of wanderer remains
wondering if forever sustains
a light to caress tender heart
If only I were a pious rivulet
I'd wash away those scars in flow
gleaming reborn leaves for you..
Superfluous battles of anxieties
pointing ancient spears of malady
shattering trust of naivety
masked crowds leading to agony
If only I were a lighthouse
I'd guide your fears in storms
projecting lucid emotions for you..
Sometimes I wonder if I really belong
to a world lost in speculations
If only I were a nurtured moment
If only I were a frivolous feeling
If only I were an eternal story
I'd orchestrate a timeless journey
mesmerizing parallel universes for you..
My love I am just a heart
striving to breathe in reality
scattered along my latent desires
all I am is a scintillating memory
tapping your silence in whispers
to hold you in my arms maybe..
Like an archaic humanoid dinosaur
you plunder through life taking no prisoners,
with your philosophical knuckles dragging on the ground.
You are a dying breed born of privilege and tenacious greed,
tendering little in life other than your selfish need.
What is it you seek in life other than your very personal comfort?
You never give a sideways glance to anyone with no chance of adding to your
circumstance; narrow minded cruelty subsidies the shutdown of any
tenderness, allowing emotional banalities to supersede integrity.
Your karmic debt is too cancerous to be free -
a lover of women among inept men,
but piteous fodder for contempt among strong women.
Neanderthal, you tossed love off the tongue like spit flung and stung my cheek with
runny dung....in disgust I turn away at your insipid attempt at manhood.
So many conquests, so little time.
The pittance you gave is but a trail of unwitting shame,
littered like Gretel's bread crumbs into a wilderness of pain...
How sad you thought such a pittance could buy my soul.
I am no longer a member of your colonial servitude,
and you are an inept fossil long past its prime.
From this moment, Narcissistic Neanderthal,
I am free.
l.
Opening the closet of narra doors, I sweep through
organza skirts and gemmed ringlets; my hair
ruffling aimlessly upon scalloped kerchiefs
smelling decade - old hyacinth, Mom’s favorite
ambrosia: she would lift her anklets
in tiptoed hums, ”night and day, you are the one..”
Evenings touched her candle hands; hands
that soothed wounded knees from jackstone fights;
her fingers caressing a pony -tailed girl’s wrath
with piano keys rippling into a gentle moan;
And i am delivered from my tempestuous rants.
ll.
From nowhere, the porcelain mirror gazed at me;
her rhythm of silence billows, cradling my nights
with each veil of her almond eyes
that enter into my irises: a serene sight
too close, much too tight I clung to her unspoken word.
Through years, I grew like a bamboo shoot: her quiet smiles
and music walked me through reality’s maze.
And how I would wail bearing the grim of hard study,
coughing late, late hours of reading toil…yet,
she stayed like a moth with charm flushed
in a wind of calm gaze, ebbing .
lll.
And only Mom could melt my temper
when my raging soul paused to wonder
at her light’s glow: oh, her feminine beat illumined
more lamplights dancing inside this rebellious head…
and now, she hovers around me.
I become her eyes, chanting;
never balking at my surreal conquests.
She is gone bequeathing warmth into my torched flights
without question; with much love dripping
from her graceful movement, straying all through
these my breaths: “night and day, you are the one…”
I have been a Christian for many years,
Hiding behind the mad poet has drenched me with tears
For I am a sinner the chief of them all
Writing poetry that has made me feel appalled
I have coveted, lied, hated and stole
Indulged in adultery with an innocent sole
I have broken my family, and now live in separate homes
While writing perversions of my conquests in poems
The thing that worries me, is that I feel nothing at all
This is what scares Sidney. C Hall
I see the ten commandments almost all broken
Save for killing no words of remorse that are spoken
Am I destined to a life burning in hell?
As part of the masses with speeches that make heads swell
Denying God and not seeking his Grace
Awaiting the day to say “I have no excuse,” to his face
Or believing a lie that there is no forgiveness
And just going along my ungodly business
Ladies and Gentleman my soul is in turmoil
Sin runs through my veins causing my blood to boil
I say to myself Sid you need to change,
Then the next minute something take me out of range
But I feel nothing, so how can this scare me
If I feel nothing , why is fear in hell, I see
Could this be God preparing my final years
I hope and pray soaked in tears
I stand tall on the windy mountain side.
Look down on mankind’s world
And snort in depreciated disgust.
Let death embrace me in its jugged jaws.
I'm not afraid, just tired.
This flagella of torrid life,
The gross garbage of man’s past,
The insignificance of the insecure future.
Time has no meaning.
A hallucinogenic rhythm
Of the quintessence of nothing.
Bring on the rumbling war drums,
Raise up the sharp guillotine's blade,
Let the cacophony begin,
Let me dance to no rhythm
Of preconceived dreams.
For since the beginning of time
When humans invented drawings
Of men killing men, and sang
Songs resonating of rape and lust,
Of slander, conquests and plunder.
The day will come when we must
Give an account of our misdeeds.
We turn our backs on good and evil,
We just don’t really care what happens
To unfortunate beings, our neighbors.
The writing is on the wall.
The seer chants: the end is near.
Yet something in me stirs.
I refuse to let go. For look
Not far away on this cold mountain
Is a rainbow, way up high,
As bluebirds happily fly on the other side
Of the shimmering bewitching hues,
A consequence of a prism of raindrops.
One day, all our dreams become reality.
Hope reigns again and all dreams come true.
Venice, the daughter of the sea
Winding paths, waterways or cobblestones roads
Rulers of the renaissance, noblemen would be
Her navy full of conquests, her triumphs all would see
From nobility rose, a woman fair
Her life a whirlwind, with her share of despair
Banished from Venice, for daring to speak
Her desires and wit, did many a man seek
The golden rose the pope did give
As she fled to Florence, so young and deceived
Her strength in spirit and a mind so refined
Her friend Marco, the captain, with whom she dined
He parted his wisdom as best he could
He sailed victorious, for Bianca he should
His secret was safe out on the seas
Which is why he and Bianca, could never be
Her royal blood would keep her in stead
As nobility in Florence would turn their heads
Francesco indeed would commission a palazzo
For Bianca his mistress, in waiting, his queen
The Grand Duchy of Florence, all powers bestowed
A seeker of knowledge, of wisdom composed
His Austrian wife, alone, cold and barren
Could not compete, with his love yet to be
They danced, they confided, in each they held
A love of intellect, beauty and lust to be feld
And sadly, one day, the enemies of Venice
Plotted and schemed to bring about a demise
The poison was swift, and an era did end
In a villa in Florence, Francesco was dead
Bianca his love, her beauty unblemished
Fell by his side, and whispered to thee
My dear, my love, it was meant to be
Bianca Cappello (1548 – 17 October 1587)
Note: OK OK I invented 1 new word, that's what poets do
Insomnia turns my heart young again
Tossing and turning, I wonder where I am
Unaware of what restlessness brings
"What do I want?!!" I call out to it and rethink
The child in me awakens to remind me
When my roads cross a world with a spark
That lives hither and carries secrets of another
That speaks of Lincoln and Bose alike
That loves Sanskrit and French alike
That sings Del Rey and Kishore alike
That reads Coelho and Kalidas alike
That pursues Vivekananda and Socrates alike
That pictures Whitman and Tagore alike
That analyzes Schrodinger and Raman alike
That follows Christ and Shiva alike
That lives frequencies and poetry alike
That travels to Darjeeling and Prague alike
That lives under stars and blankets alike
That walks on deserts and oceans alike
That dances on passion and romance alike
That burns with fire and desire alike
That believes in Science and Magic alike
That knows love and oneself alike
That covers journeys and conquests alike
That spark, yes that spark, is what makes my heart skip a beat
And takes me to dreams and hopes again every night.
May 14, 2020
BRIAN'S CHOICE C,any form,any theme
Winner: Honorable Mention
Applauding sun’s halo~ inspiring, rewarding,
Mindfully I rise with the ebullient awakening
Letting soul enliven while robins are singing
And horizon crimson glimmers in dawning.
I hold time still for the blossoms of spring,
Rivers that burble sprucing green prairies
And blue tides bouncing summer’s revelry
And resplendent dazzle of autumnal leaves.
Every memento of love I treasure in delight,
In embrace of family, I cheer life sublime
Rejoicing when I sense success in their eyes
Celebrating milestones of things done right.
Realizing I own a mere fraction of eternity
Elated I feel holding just a speck of infinity
Succeeding more often than failing or quitting
Coping resolutely with poor hand of destiny.
I shun nightmares, choosing dreams of night
Lifting troubled mind when grief occupies,
When darkness rules, I invoke moonlit skies
And paint on visage of hope blissful smiles.
I yearn not for the ships that already sailed,
Regret not having tried the conquests I failed,
But I chase prospects of aspirations deferred
Yet, remain focused on things that matter.
July 20, 2021
Placed 1st: Motivation poetry contest
Sponsor: Shreya LN
Life, a fleeting dream, warbling on meadows:
A season of spring and season of snows;
Sometimes in sunshine, sometimes in shadows,
Joy of autumns and woes of wintry throes.
And it journeys on, vying gleam of dawn
Only to confront grief of fate forlorn:
Of conquests lost, trepidations bygone,
Of nightmares roiling reveries of morn;
Lamenting goodwill that yesterdays tossed
And despairs of hardships hurdles doled out
Until bridge of life triumphant steps crossed,
Where blossoms of success its prairies sprout.
Where fruits of life on trees of acclaim grow
Claiming winsome now, defeating sorrow,
Lauding bliss sublime, free of grieving throe,
Cherishing today and dreams of morrow.
July 16, 2022
Placed 1st: It’s All About Three Q’s Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme: Life
Rhymes: abab, cdcd, efef, ghgh
(Rhymezone)
Syllables: 10 per line (HMS.com)
How can I sever wolf-waves from the selfish sea?
I ache to cut the rogue from the relentless flow
his crest —swelled in high rise on testosterone tide—
swindles my tease to tame his blue Neptune flame
mocking my sun dried bed with unruly despise
he rides a white steed in petulant power with the moon
I am the passive strand of sand longing for his rhythm
oh timpani thunder roll in roll over me my skin awaits
taunt of aerated fate I await with serrated silence
stranded by him… I await… as inconsequential
as an oyster without a pearl
as a pearl unfulfilled without a knotted strand
I am the beach exposed at the lowest ebb
my eyes not sand-blind when cherry sun colors him red
and fuels his restless quest for honeypot conquests
to consummate sunset with supple skies far from home
and conjugate with sugar-shores not his own
my protests to his stray-sprees lay like loose scree
lure-lyrics litter air but then die a pale chitter in his ear
fruited gripes broken in breakers re-rhymed into pulp
summer-sweet to his palate as beach plum wine—
whine in the grind of my grain soundproofed by his kiss
where is his echo to my thirsty plea of love
when he’s the romeo sea and I’m the sand seduced
who exists in recline to absorb his homecoming
while beach-grass-bending-wind
whips my voice away from my throatless soul?
my resist drowns in liquid grooves of his Aquarian drum beat—
spume churned in our surf zone becomes spindrift in wind
echoes of the silent shore echo in me alone
In your skin,
tones and sunsets pale
to
shades of grey
a passing lonely ship
sailing
away,
taking the
breeze the sun
and all that could have been,
could have begun,
with
a billowed sigh,
your eyes are
closing
like the ashes of regret
like stoney diamonds,
they cry... unset,
closing
like a large chest
filled with pillioned memories
and
conquests
now
trapping
everything inside
catching
the high tide
let it spill clear and true
all over me, over you
wrap your sails tight
opaque
it's not too late
for my breath to sail you high
close your diamonds
on the sky
and sway in your tones of grey
Her love is a hot pot of oats
Radiating all the warm colour codes
Fuel for their endless conquests
Homing for her love requests
She lends them her wiser ear
Learns them her fine wear
She imparts her keener senses
To their lesser, commonsense(s)
Go my princess, go and find your toad
Leave breadcrumbs on your chosen road
My spirit will follow your byways
My hope will guide you always
A mother to all of the big five
In the deep end, ever ready to dive
She carried all five on her back
Barefoot, blistered hard as a rock
Awake on a numb dark night he wonders--
tired cells of his existence blazing
on fiery topanga in crushed slumber.
Anxious, chained, gasping at barriers
of individuality or a species that contain
appeasements in layered singularities
or contradictions in linear multitudes.
He drags himself to a paraphernalia,
his search for conquests shivers
in tangled cobwebs his fingers dance
to grand designs of his fantasies.
Oh! how he habitually gets drenched
in warm showers of colliding galaxies,
exploding curses of humanity in hammock,
Aesop's fables plagued in sloth.
His trembling raptures of oceans azure
send chills down the spine of raging coal.
Elevators of his dark realities push him
to take a fall as the Lady of Shalott
atop old cliff of his clueless journeys,
burning mankind, wars, paranoia but wait--
blurred visions of forgotten land arise,
painted from a million oscillations in cosmos,
unwritten pages of blood red stories
crushed and absorbed in soils of time,
simmered to seeds of hopes in his mind--
his fingers dance to tunes of a faint voice,
a dead soul sings amid a snowstorm,
'Oh come crushed souls, let's sleep tonight,
tomorrow you'll squeeze some lost hope in light'.
June 16, 2020
CRUSHED Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
~Premiere Contest Winner: 9th Place
As people start to age wisdom gains an edge
Regrets wish to reassess to honor old pledge
Memories once sour, clamor to turn a page
Wisdom gains an edge as people start to age
Truth that once was remains the guiding light
Stars that twinkled then still sparkle bright
Departures from veracity mount a bold pause
Remains the guiding light, truth that once was
Past manifests anew when future looks bleak
Reminiscing old revelry when grief tries to peek
Cherishing pleasant thoughts wishing to renew
When future looks bleak, past manifests anew
Hold on to prized ways when life gives a test
Conquests aren't easy when aiming for the best
Doctrines beholding virtue are worthy of praise
When life give a test, hold on to prized ways
July 16, 2018
NOTE:
This poem is a Swap Quatrain.
Only on his veranda does he feel like the king of his castle
No better place to put up his feet and take stock
Much gratitude swells when he sits back with contentment
Years of dedication behind him, of planning and hard work
Voluptuous dreams both come true and anticipated
Enraptured in reverie that nurtures peace of mind
Recognizing a moment that’s wrapped in perfection
Adventurous conquests in harmony with life’s snags and hurdles
Nowhere more than on his veranda does bliss seem timeless
Daring not to challenge the ephemeral balance of prosperity
Affluence by any other name in a great country of opportunity
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~A SIMPLE MAN~ 2020
AP: Honorable Mention 2020