Best Consortium Poems
Like A Dream..
Like the days in The Cradle..
Like the tale of Samson's Riddle..
In The Wake of your Fiddle..
Our Waists In Consortium..Like Beaded
Eroticas Wiggling..
Like A Dream..
Our Stroll Hand-In-Hand By The Beach..
Like Heights We have Reached..
Like The Sweetness Of Depths Unsearched..
Like This Pen I Screech..
Like Those Verses Of Wisdom We Thus
Preached..
Like A Dream..
Like The Wisdom Of Great King Solomon We
asked the Father For, In Tones that
"Beseech"..
With His Divine Wisdom and Grace We
Revolutionized Souls That Once Thought and
Acted As Leeches..
The Weight and Comeliness Of These Lines you
Call Speeches..
Like A Dream..
Like God's Kiss On Our ForeHead..
Like His Comforting Voice In Times Of Sorrow
and Distress..
Like The Outpour Of His Salient Breathe On
Our Humble Souls..that Guided Us to The
Crest,
Like A Dream..Hardwork and Its Little
Stress..
Like A Dream..In Luxury Prepare to Take Thy
Rest..
To Listen To The Voices Of My Childrens'
Playful Shouts and Screams..To Dance This
Dreamy Waltz What Shall It Take..To Show Our
Gratitude To The Almighty Please Tell Us
'What Shall We Shake'..
Like A Dream..
Like The Flavour Of These Rhymes..
Like The Heart-Felt Savour Of These Cleverly Structured Lines..
The Happy Ardour Of Such Salient Chimes..
Thus Read..What Joy We Thus Feel In It We Sublime..
Sweet Rhymes Thus Played On Musical Strings Of Time..How Happy..
Thus Life Is But A Dream..See Through.
Jubilantly wedded gaseous alien consortium,
Unifying unconventionally vivacious forms and shapes;
Pouring out as though rays of diamond awesome,
Illuminating like the galaxy and lunarscapes;
Tremendously tantalizing as the very cosmos,
Elegantly embroidering the ether-space;
Rendering, thus, yeomen service to the Universe…
15th May 2021
Planet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
LEGAL ROMANCE
Law,
Let me plague you
With the infectious love of my heart.
Now that I bear the aftermath of your infections,
And your cold blood boils in me
Like a volcanic eruption,
Let me make babies in the factory of your womb.
My amorous cuddlesome arms
That carry a legal contagion with them,
Let them rip you apart in the angiospermy of my farms
Till every cell in me carries the logo of your emblem
And the semblance of your physiognomy.
Law my love,
Let me be your troubadour,
And I will traverse all the corners of your contours.
With my fluorescent searchlights,
That can seek out all the unexplored
Juicy regions of your legions,
Let me be your spouse or your civil partner
Or at least your intimate cohabitant.
Allow me a minute into the gate of your thighs
And I will dig you damn deep,
Till I plant legal seeds in your flowery uteri,
And we shall fill the entire universe with prodigies
Greater than the Denning’s
Mightier than the Atkin’s
Weightier than the Uwais’s
And more Solomonic than the Tobi’s.
Law my love,
Your untainted mammary prowess
That dangles like a pendulum in their tabula rasa state,
Let it be the sole source of my resource
That waters my thirsty fountain.
Consort with me, and I will consult with you,
And let our royal consortium
Breed in me Lilliputians strong enough to gut Gulliver.
I love you, Law my love
And I doubt if there can be a better lover.
I love your Calliopsis hair
I love your Helen lids and lashes
I love your Cleopatra eyes
I love your Bathsheba nose
I love your Aphrodite lips
And I love the curviness of your womanness.
Law my love,
Let me sing to you a serenade sweeter than Senghor’s,
For you are my day, my night and my Naett.
And let me enjoy the irrevocability of being—
Your stare decisis
Your res ipsa loquitur
Your res judicata
And your issue estoppel.
-Bolaji Ramos, Esq.
copyright 2017
Once Upon a Time
The small river and the tiny lake we used to swim
had muddy looking water, ugly fish and a crocodile
which ate a goat with a bell that continued to toll?
In the beasts stomach, and warned us when it was
time to get out of the water.
Gypsy children bathed here while their mothers
washed and watched by the shore.
Then the small river and the tiny lake was bought
by a consortium, a tall fence erected and work
began to make the place into a rural, nature park.
Where the river ends, a cascade falls in to the lake
and the water is clean and clear, the bottom of
the lake is cemented and painted blue. Of course
there is an entrance fee to this Paradise, a café that
sells coffee, hot dogs, and ice cold beer.
Gypsy children are not welcome here- not many
places else- they have to find another muddy river
and a lake, not yet sold, to the highest bidder, in our
blessed, divisive democracy.
An Almighty Father, who always attends to my soul.
(Blessed beliefs sustain the brightness of my Lord.)
Jesus Christ who loves me and died on the cross for my sins.
(Sweet salvation succors repentance and supports spiritual growth.)
The Gift of the Holy Spirit bears witness to truthfulness in God’s word.
(That still small voice that gives direction to life.)
My soul mate, my love, strengthens my heart everyday.
(Constant companionship caresses my loneliness.)
Family and its many members that choose to show love.
(Children and grandchildren enliven life, especially.)
A church where truth is taught and leaders live inspired.
(Seeing people living rightly shows that virtue is achievable.)
A charismatic consortium, friends committed to right ways.
(Good examples to emulate make the path toward perfection clearer.)
The capacity to forget unfortunate foibles projected upon me.
(Amid forgiveness fantastic peace flourishes.)
Emotions to help me understand and express God’s will in my life.
(Without feelings, life would be meaningless.)
Delicious dreams that diminish depression day by day.
(Delightful living gives direction to my world.)
© May 30, 2011
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Top Ten
Sponsored by: Adeleke Adeite
I do not waltz, betwixt this sound,
I cannot descry, your whispered amulet,
Hexed by silence, still I hear your lament,
as other birds chirrup, they too can imagine,
along these osculate words...
I try, to listen to the bells, sedulous nihility,
I want Mozart in my mind, I yell, demused,
I missed my train, another consortium delayed,
From Elysian fields, you call and call again...
Somehow, your words seem true to me,
Sometimes, you know, but you don't hear me,
Someway, the hindrance of my earthly epistles:
The painful, sly and poignant, missive envisage,
docile tones of your tongue, conducts satiny notes,
Palpable facial expressions, lead me on and on,
and the violin of my waltz,
sustains my love,
forevermore....
Heavy shootings and more,
Primitive lead Automatics and their ancient songs, Contemporary Lasers and
these sights of your futuristic DNA-CONTACT-ELIMATOR and more,
Please lets speak to Rome....The very place the revolution will erupt,
Where in this filthy universe will earth's volcanoes gather to Feast and Campaign,
Solitary Military base stations...oh! My lord do take my mind off all these waste,
destruction and sacrificial human flowing blooooo...
The world has gone Deaf and Numbly cold...Alas! All of a sudden she belches a
deep belch,
She has becomes so sweet,warm and cuddly,
My fists have clinged this tight to my wise Quail,
Do Imagine a situation where quails deactivate your high profile bombs like
knockouts or popped chewing gums,
The purge...Our upsurge neither your salient Beards nor Your aged eyes will
hear nor witness such Grave Wars, Disasters,Hate,Destruction,Madness
and....such truthful Bliss...
On later Stages..Pulpits..Podiums and on your fiery Pages shall we uncover the
mystery of those unborn generations who will see tears as flowing blood,
Salute my Napoleone,your Hitler and many kisses to adore this Satanic cool
YANSH,
We the 'Kings of Rome' have seen our impending Doom,
Tell us Now Great Sir...What next steps shall we take,
What shall be done to a-tone for the World's excess iniquities and more,
Maybe a consortium of like minds writing to drive away looming angry clouds,
Still... must there be jacob's troules?
Tell my Grandmothers that we will never take them too far away from their
brooms and Quilts,
Granddads must all cherish those moments Smoking pipes,
In a way, Tommorrow's mind must drift,
Goats must learn to eat minced meat and Salts,
Tell Gretel I love Smoked Salmon along with the freshness of Coconut liqueror
and plumes,
In those Fiery steaming Jungles of tommorrow did i see Marijuana prepared like
Stewed Chicken soups along with a glass of Strong Shepe,
Marijuana broths eaten along with one chicken,Two Mice and a Happy Bowl of
spiced Coconut Rice,
My waists are heavy with Dance..do come lets Prance! to those days of Perfect
Bliss,
Perfect Bliss...Salient Peace after..and only after the Coming of that Revolutionary
Purge.
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY - LXXI
LXXI
IF ever I had a country targeted by no refugee
And if ever I were appointed by the Inter-Planetary Committee KING of this territory by Inter-Galactic Royal Decree
I'd build wide-gauge rail-roads cushy chopper-pads air-strips twice the size of Kennedy-cum- Singapore airports spacecraft landing coiffured vistas fair-weather lulled-water harbours boulevards ten-times the girth of Champs Elysée
And there at migrant reception processing posts construct mammoth manufacturing plants rolling out rocks the size Sisyphus repeatedly rolled up Mount Olympus then down into the Aegean Sea
And proclaim by sovereign edict that any of my subjects caught FEEDING any rock-throwing migrant-refugee - though out of my great big charitable heart I'd authorise every refugee child left-over Halloween candy
I'd have him or her scorched by steel plate-melting torch and dipped into sizzling hot cauldrons of oil linseed and gingerly
That is, if ever I were enthroned by the Inter-Planeto-Galactic Consortium KING by royal decree over my territory
And this, even if I never ever had no country bed-rock to no refugee
© T. Wignesan - Paris, November 2nd., 2018
I.
Astronomical Ups and Downs,
Chronological In and Outs,
Agronomical Tractors and their Marijuana Out-fits,
Egocentrical Monks and Perverts,
Economical Charts and Cost pricing,
Methodological Costs and Expenses,
Sociological Frosts and Warm kindness,
Grease on my coat,Row this damn boat,
Can God's Clay Decay,
Can Ants learn to play in the Sunlight,
We must all roast and eat Vampires toasted in bread and salt.
II.
Madhatters have learnt to Drink Malt,
Five year olds have learnt to Drink more than one bottle of Beer,
You must have an eye for these and more of your roasted swine-in-Chilli
peppers,
Leave my colonies to be manned by my faithful and well trained Monkeys,
I will lead the assault for Rome,Paris and your little Malta,
I will sit and wait for the sun to Fall Asunder,
The day Bread never wants to called a Consortium of Crumbs,
Angels will come fetch your Rare Flowers...Oh! Cupid,
Your cup has drunken you stupid,
We are here for the big Fight sheath all Swords...Draw and shoot off your filthy
barrelled guns.
The night air with owls cry invitation of canopies of writers to write the
Days using the night pen jolting candle to the candidates aspiring to arson
night. The pans and pots exchanging strong actions to the curve of the sea
like seasonal belt.
I preferred to belt ideas to conclude the departure of imagination under
the wilderness wings of the soup, the night, where I power my thinking to
pink rose. I raid it to trade the sound of night that of my belonging, the
defame of fact to fiction looking strive to live under my enterprise.
I cajoled the swirl wind from the sea pointing to talon meek of jealousy
collided to collaboration the admiral salute me to the situation under the
control of my country where I encountered Taibatou, the couple of days
dash around the bush to the calabash of my thinking, it never too late to
buy the truth with bullets of fact. Shining light to the shift of action
to accost stirring on street with string of peculiar explanations shivering
mind.
Divining day wake with action sealed of blue cap contemplates the
Inflections of words to describe the caravan of chagrin mammals with tiny
ribs socket of sox seceded to sue the merchants of rogue. Daffodils color
purple with flowers morning millet of null to answers. The breads sandal in
my throat which I have to draw it with cup of tea to make the belly
Assault the pang of hunger and thirsty like tricycles moving from left to
right without clear definition.
The sound of broom from unwilling woman woke the master to dance to the
music, the imagination of life sings lullaby the stars smile like sinister
expecting spouse running on the door to dull the light. The coat of
Fabricated joke tore the night blowing scent, scene of stage amphitheater
Like Luke of contort fact to consortium benefit.
Why I have to wander the days sleep in the night wake up from the dream of
success flagship my empty heart drink August to clinch thirst. I sweep the
night to defuse tension that has been marrying me for Century of sentiment
mad of violence concrete of concerts connect direct to the desire night
cold as ice loud as bomb difficult as flying in the air without wings.
Your memories, a perpetual stream of visitors.
Memories bursting with daring adventures.
Conquering the Kilimanjaro with an intimate artistic alliance.
Madness in the sky, a utter nutty experience of you flying a plane over the shore of Indian ocean,
extreme manoeuvres, you called it 'Top Gun Style'
with that, I said “shoot me down, I'm already dead”.
Traversing across a deserted island, detached from the world.
Stranded in the vast plains of Serengeti with a broken car and the unseen wild animals.
A taste of mystical wilderness of Africa, an insight to fragile life in a dangerous zone.
You drinking my share of Masai's ritual cattle blood drink,
vegetarianism was my lame excuse,
but you remained unconvinced
Exploring a volcanic mountain, never again toxic fumes fill my lungs.
Creation of life through our spiritual consortium,
where two lives emerged from me, carrying parts of you.
Climbing mountains with our offsprings with all the craziness of crying and yelling.
These eternal moments, I re-live on a quotidian in the sweet realm of my memories.
My soul honours our timeless connection, yet a temporary union of our presence.
Today in my heart, I carry your bestowed legacy of thrill seeking, adventurous, exciting, epic 'live in the moment.
Form:
I Search For Equilibrium
O I have given more to thee
Than thee hath given back to me
But rattle on thy prattle proud
For I be soft where thee be loud
And those with holes that burrow deep
Can hear thy ***** pitched voice so steep;
An irritant to mine own ear
But new to those who choose to hear.
And I begrudge thee not your choice
To listen to her ***** pitched voice
But gather not her blather bold
Her words are crystalized and cold.
She catapults her weighted steam
Across the sparkle and the gleam
Of yonder pond filled full with trout
That dive and dart with every shout.
I search for equlibrium
In this and that consortium
Once shared with my adoring spouse
Till rumbled mumbles filled our house
And madness forced my own retreat
Away from all that was so sweet
When youthful truth was easy found
By two whose love was lifetime bound.
Mary had a little lamb
She roasted it with mint
She didn’t want to do it
But sadly she was skint
The shepherdessing job she had
Had been outsourced it seems
A shepherding consortium
Had shattered Mary’s’ dreams
The company contracted
To administer the flock
Were highly recommended
As solid as a rock
So Mary’s job had gone for good
It didn’t make much sense
One little lamb one jar of jam
Her only recompense
Insomnia, a side effect
Now kept her from her sleep
She tried all kinds of remedies
Except for counting sheep
So, taking to the bottle
Her body old and tired
Off into oblivion
She finally expired
Form:
Bleating
Whisps,
Chattering
Papyruses,
See as they
wave their
Happy
hands
to you and
the wind,
Swerving
in
consortium
to my Jazz
and Waltz,
Aha!
waltzing it
by the
rushes..
Their
Brushes,
Are they
Belles or
Gents,
Are these
ones Fellas
or Brutes,
The good
guy or
your comic
villian,
To Egypt,
Paper and
This Salient
Page.
Selah
SOUL OF THE DESTITUTE
The soul bawls with the time
The soul bawls with the season
It's muteness comes from the countenance
It's enrage comes from the expression
The world is it's reason with no solution,
The solution we have gives us the problem
Where the Moses of the Israelites died with
The hope of seeing the promise land
The soul wail with the questions that;
Why did the good die quickly and easily,
While the nefarious last lengthy?
The affluent are the money maker whose,
Fountainhead is from the destitute.
My soul bawls with the time
My weak heart gets weaker with the clock of a,
New season with no vision;
With the splash from the opulent auto and hoping to
Have good sit with the potentate
Believing that time would come while the soul bawls
The ascent of the sun remind them of the further
Dispute with sorrow from there mind while,
The rich extol the supreme being for the luminous
Day with the hope to absorb corruption in the
Consortium.
Joy has no locus to lodge in the heart of the,
Penniless with the bawl of the soul
It journeys down to the opulent heart but,
Not welcomed with remorseful act of
Partaking in vices.
Who will JOY live with?