Best Consorted Poems
My poetry garden of late has lain untended and forlorn.
I succumbed to shock and dismay upon entering recently, for I observed that
great disagreement had erupted and now vehemently
raged among adjoining unmade weed-filled beds of subjects and verbs.
Modifiers that had been dutifully arranged and carefully
kept in check upon their trellises now dangled everywhere.
Sentences had spilled out of their beds in fragments or running
on and on while cases of subjectives and objectives shamelessly
intermingled and were now easily mistaken one for another.
Grammar, whose care I had entrusted to first, second and third
persons, lay in shameless disarray, as if no one could tell the difference.
Gerunds casually consorted with infinitives, many
of which had split. I recalled with a sigh how many years it had taken
me to tightly bind them. [To bind them tightly is what I meant.]
Commas were everywhere, rendering those in appropriate
position practically unrecognizable, which I suppose was better than
what had happened to the capitals, now completely ignored.
No reason for the rhyme with forms confused or misplaced altogether.
My lines, unpruned, were of disparate length and hideously incompl
An unfortunate mis-spell had been cast and provoked an infestation,
such that many of my friends had departed without comment.
The contest entry was blocked, so I bowed my head in shame,
turned around and shuffled silently through the exit marked N/A.
Posted July 24, 2014
'Let the Pens Flow - Narrative' Contest
Jenish Somadas
My Bros.' & Sister's the [Book] tell us that we are made in the image of God, made
in the likeness of him. So why is the World suffering much to much idiosyncricie's whe-
ther you're fat or slim ? Do you know!! Do Ya!!... long and many year's ago, Noah
is assign an important task, that being! to build a ship (the Ark) for the purpose that
(GOD) seen the supplication of his creation. He is sadden that sin enter into evil thought's
of mankind, and the collaboration of their choices brings no satisfaction to the reasonable
reason for Noah being choosen to finished the Ark {no satisfaction}.... My guess is
that Noah prayer's was like, "Show Me the Way Home", Lord, thou reason that the rain
shall come, makes a consorted effort to save a generation, I am so along. "Show me the
way Home". This-thiss generation ignore's the preaching for a 120-years, now water is
around their necks and the door is (slam!!) shut. "Slam-Shut". My Brothers ' Sister's
do you wonder why the likeness is impossible to live up too. We choose to live to do
our own thing - our own way. That's O'K from a selfish standpoint. But for a spiritual
analyzationable lovepoint, sometimes the seperation is somewhat confrontationable.
So-so my brother, the long way home is a fight that the "Anti-Christ commit to the
principalitie's warfare against the conscience of your mind and you become blind and
you heed to the warning and now he see's (The Anti-Christ) that you are not strong:
(I'm so all along) Now my sisters that implie's to you also, your fight is a battle the ene-
my approaches from your blindside, and if you're not carefull, "you will believe in all the
lie's. (Be Strong)
"Show Me the Way Home", LORD-show me. Me and the tall and short one's and the cre-
ated of all children's whether large or small. When we have fought against the file's of
the enemy, and we all are along. Before the gap get wider (and ?) "Show Me the
Way Home".
P.S....This Poem is the first of a two-part initative in God's awsume plan to regenerate a
society of any culture, that we as his children must ask him to "Show me the way Home".
"You're here," he whispered from shadows
My fragrance consorted before me
Heady scent of musk-infused blooms
Intoxicating allure, lustfully impure
On the bed was an opened poetry book,
across it pages, a perfect red rose
Dark crimson, like the blood within me flows
heated by need and the greed in his eyes
There burned the wildfires of desire
flames fanned as I moved nearer
They reflected soft glimmers
of the pearlized moon
She, a naughty voyeur, peering in the night
Through an open window she watched
the rhythm of swaying shadows at play
Seductive smile on my vermilion lips
in a chamber painted amber by candlelight
No need of their scintillation to see
His touch was all I needed
to guide me in flights of ecstacy
as hands pleaded in sensual strokes
Diamonds danced across a sapphire sky
He breathed erotic sensations on my nape
and slid a strap of the gown down my shoulder
The pulse of his heart beat against my hand
my other caressed the ruff at his temple
Fuchsia fluttered on the trellised window
Their aroma faded as I inhaled his balm
We tasted love and savored passion
Now sated and replete in a moment of calm
Soft breezes swirled across warm silk sheets
My hand trembled as I reached for him
Wildfires reignited in his emerald eyes
"The night is still young and the moon is asleep,"
I whispered. My intent was not disguised
~ 9/22/17 ~
The Poet's Fire
Hosted by: Greg Barden
He whispered, "You're here."
My fragrance consorted before me,
sweet scent of summer lilacs.
He placed a rose on sheets of platinum silk.
Wildfires of desire in his emerald eyes,
reflected in soft glimmers
of a voluminous pearl moon.
Seductive smile on my vermillion lips
in chamber lit by amber candles.
No need of their scintillation to see,
I only needed to feel.
Diamonds danced across a dusky sapphire sky
as he breathed erotic sensations on my nape,
slid a strap off the shoulder of my ginger gown.
The pulse of his heart beat against my hand.
My other caressed the charcoal ruff at his temple.
Fuchsia blooms fluttered on the trellis window.
Their aroma faded as I inhaled his balm,
tasted love, savored passion until I was replete.
Soft breezes swirled across warm silk sheets.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
March 13, 2016
(the crucifixion through the eyes of the apostle Judas)
How can I sit here and sup with Him?
How can I look Him in the eye?
I can tell by the way He looks at me
that He knows He is going to die.
I have consorted with His enemies
and the plans have already been made.
They have put a price upon His head
and thirty silver pieces I was paid.
I never should have talked with them,
should not have listened to their lies.
I never should have allowed myself
to become the instrument of His demise.
I can't believe that I had the nerve
to hand Him over with a loving kiss.
He knew from the start what I would do.
How could our relationship have come to this?
I have committed a truly unforgivable sin
in betraying God’s only Son.
I too will be departing this world,
for I cannot live with what I have done.
For I know that my name shall be the one
that all of history shall hate.
I was the one to betray the Christ.
Such was my terrible fate.
Belle hung out and consorted with outlaws,
So folks shunned her and called her a scoff law;
But things aren't as they seem,
And though not squeaky clean,
'Twas the men in her life who were outlaws.
Sam Starr was a Cherokee man.
They married and lived on the land.
To friends who were weary,
They gave sanctuary,
In their home out on Cherokee land.
When Sam was killed in a gun fight,
Belle mourned his death day and night.
With him life was good,
He did what he could,
To provide what he thought was right.
To stay home on Cherokee land,
She must marry a Cherokee man,
So she married Sam's cousin,
Just to have a husband,
But Belle still missed her Sam.
Belle lost her life one fine day,
On her way home from a visit they say.
No one knows for sure,
For the history is poor,
But they ambushed her while on her way.
So the queen was brought to her knees.
Shot down like a dog if you please.
Remember this well,
And you won't go to Hell,
If you lay down with dogs you'll get fleas.
Two brain cells walked into a bar
one disagreed with what the other said
but both agreed he could say it.
One said: “What if you said it like this?”
and they argued the value of words,
those that were spoken, those that were heard.
Into the fray marched a whole brain of grey
asking: “What makes you say the things that you say?”
and “Why when you say them, do you say them that way?”
Then came the head with the eyes and the chin
said “I dare you to say the whole thing again.”
“I doubt that you could, not that you would.”
And so the two brain cells, over pizza and beer
repeated the sounds in an effort to hear
the pounding of hoof beats, the shriek in the night
the sound of the words giving emptiness sight.
Then they consorted with the head and the brain
comparing conclusions though none were the same
the hoof beats to rescue or battles retreat
or maybe the sound of a child’s dancing feet.
Was the shriek one of fear, or a mother’s surprise
the first time she gazed into babies blue eyes.
They agreed to the meaning of the words that were read
but couldn’t agree - what was heard, what was said.
Time would continue, the battle would rage
should the words be delivered by mouth or by page
could the speaker be brilliant, the audience dense
the reader confused, the words make no sense.
The bar is still open, though the patrons don’t know it
to honor the memory of the two brain-celled poet.
John G. Lawless
9/10/2014
Mama Nigeria
I was born not with a silver spoon, but gold and diamonds
I live in the midst of plenty and abundance-
Splashing about in a free flow of milk and honey;
I glory in an amazing empire of oil, ore, hardcore and intrigues.
My mother is an acclaimed giant from the region of the monkeys
Where buildings grow slowly and tomorrow's leaders die quickly
The woman of many parts and hundreds of children, my mother -
Fit to shoot the skies but weak to raise the bow,
Whose spears and arrows are sharpened and seldom used.
My mother whose children grab at the jugular
Fleecing all but her very life, the integral part of the oneness existence
Bleeding and crying, she continues to plead - "remain so is all I ask
For the sake of the fathers that founded you,
Who a hundred years ago, consorted for a single mother".
Yet they never stop to bleed her, milking her like there's no tomorrow.
Accepting as the norm and stealing her jewels to be fine.
Yes! The same children she keeps as one, keep squeezing with pillage;
Hating and fighting they dart at each other, the battle for superiority
And difference in tongue and prayer.
Some even ask "where is the common destiny?"
Oh Mama Nigeria, tell them the destiny is in the oneness you preach
Tell them the ship long set sail and that uhuru is yet to be the song
Tell them to behave in their quest for your breast milk.
Remind us all that you have borne us for a hundred years
Tell them that me your child will live, fight and die for you
Tell them that i am proud to have a mother big and beautiful like you
Tell them that your many strengths and weaknesses is the who you are
And that it will take more than a hundred blurbing children
To suck you dry or to change your name, or reduce the size of you.
Oh Mama Nigeria! Wake up now. Come forth mama,
Tell them to behave! Or it is time to use your cane.
@chumammeka (a.k.a. Tchar) February 7, 2014
We Must Make Way For Princes and Paupers,
Yes Pave Way, Blaze the Paths for Dukes and Drinkards,
Duchesses and Their Harem Of Rowdy Wanton Belles,
Who is She A Dame or A Damsel,
In Relating My Jaguar To Your Aspen We delved into spelling out the qualities of
Their Opel,Citroen and his Jagged Hummer,
Who Will quell This Auto Duel Maybe A Benz,Toyota or A Funny Looking
Volkswagen.
Angels that sat to crack and eat nuts,a sequel to the Epic "The Squirell",
Estates Reserved for the Esquire,One How many beds didst he deem to sleep a
Night..
Your Nutty Officials,Their Sherriffs and Our Squires,
Issues We sat In saliency to discuss In Atlantis And The Consorted Eighteen
Galaxy League,
Their Medula Lacks One and More Attractions..Hehawed Without a Glorified
Nebulae..A Glitter to Sparkup Our Day,
Allow me beat these drums to herald the coming of My Asteroid Race Friends.
Friends Who deemed it feat to pay us Two Salient Visits,
Passing The soul of Man Intelligence..And Deep Understanding to matters we all
had a light Alienated Idea Of...
Speaking of our Salient Meetings..I Foresee your Frighted Thinkings,
Augmented Thoughts In Wild Ratings..Men's Forbidden Call To Eat Warranted
Fruits..May the Father Grant Men The Sight To See Through in Wisdom and More..
Men who have set the pace and Our Forever Lessons,
For Many are the Hurdles that Wise Men Scale To Achieve Perfection..
Let Guitar Strings Strum Slow Waltz,
To Enable Webster's Tricks and Magic in Grammer's Slow Rock,
Maybe Writing To Heads That have Seen The More..
Stiil I bid Godspeed To The Morrow And More..Selah.
I just happened to be flying by when I heard you silently cry, is that how we became you and I, In the sky, Way up high, I lost my wings when I crash landed, disorientated I made my way to yours, all manner of guests consorted that day, Possibly indulging in things you don't want to dream about, We talked and held hands, dreamily looking into each others eyes, what a surprise you and I. Still here today with the same love, My happy ending. I left my wings behind, no problem as being human is amazing darling, and being in love is just like being in heaven.
Into my head stink in mythic one hissing
of running are ratters, as I hated by
up nearly level of piled woodsheds rottenly sites
at weediest the backyard’s place,
of my neighbor’s unit close edged up wards
side by sides, feet away from my place . . .
Once lucky I bound at woodsy near duty
she a terrier if the ratters in her site been gone
over willowy apart, as roofless patio
the backyard's sensory stain at royalists’ land . . .
Upper away of gallant converted living by
out of mind, she the pureed-bandit around
bazaars think backfill thy new world
in menses aid raised velvety clubs by wards.
Miserly her space and empty from kindliness
consorted in byte ratters her terraces
downfalls by sight, in careens simply mode empty
my home unfair or caustics up a side,
at silly carrion backyards as waste as hissing
up I needing help from as careless chick!
Genuflecting specks of passion, stupored,glistening
waltzing gel of probing and probed, simmering
yet tranquil in streams on plateau milky whites,
each rivulet wailing its tale rosy ballad sung,
spasmodic staccato on pitchy highs
volcano erupts hot and high
the writing intensifies etched deep
air is filled with stifled and escaped gasps,
yet neighbors do not seem to arise
faces flushed with oxygen,
blood rushing in good gather
closely entwined they tether
vines riding on each other
sometime this one and at other that
the royal tumble is an intense rumble fumble
victorious apparent is a loser all right
won the fight but lost marrow juice anon
the winner takes it all, bitten lips and contorted (sic)
gleefully smiling draining the juice of the lemon
guess she is royally consorted and orgasmic!
You sink into the bosom of the chair
And wonder if I too once sat amidst
The chattering, white coffee sipping fare—
The lonely writers ‘pining for a kiss.
Did I peer out over the porce’lain mug
And purse my vulgar mouth over the lip
My eyes a’roll behind my glasses’ fog
My writer turning phrase and spinning quips?
Did I curl my toes under my feet
Threading my fingers ‘round the scolding cup
My yellow molars grinding to the beat
Of meds-a-glee and glutt’nous caffeine ups?
No—
I didn't’t sit cross-legged and introverted—
I flipped through glossy pages and consorted.
How interesting can you be ?
Once whole and confident
Focused Intent
A likely pre set present tense
All my ducks in a row
Ready to cluck out in militant fashion
A prepubescent repetition
Shallow and still
Reflection and refraction
The reinvention of perfection is a fruitless pursuit
Decades of good intentions
Mirrored by calloused intervention
In a frigid current
Bent, by shifting sedimentation,
its perception
Busted back
Crumpled putrid IF- I-CA-tion
Mangled fingerling
Chewed up and spat out
Indistinguishable platitudes
Presented for inspection
Consorted and Contorted
Beyond Recognition
The Reclamation paralyzed, in part, by Bombastic Voyeurs and
The Chief Architect
Whose The Supplicant Saboteur ?
Bow Down to Storm, To Rise up to Norm
In praying position as the religion directs, bow down to storm
As god’s judgement, can’t avoid, have to weather it as the norm.
Will the storm breed life or decay and destroy is the question?
Will one be able to gather the strength to rebuild and refreshen?
Night ends day begins, day ends night begins, is a cycle of life
Bad will be cleared by good, to cycle bad again put more strife
Don’t cry anymore if in life you have to face hardships of love
But one must try to forget hardships consorted with life thereof.
The conflict between life and decay will soon come to an end
And the flowers of life will soon grow and blossom in the end.
The aftermath of hardships is like the aftermath of the storm
Only way to face them is to rise, to reconstruct and to reform.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Date 12-22-13
Second place win
Contest: After the Storm by Shanity Rain