Best Consternated Poems
Keyhole dreams floated out into the world
Butterfly wings, powdered sugar, dots of monarchs
Faerie magic might have brought this on
Even the fey were not certain how it happened
The world was unready, confused, consternated.
Keyhole sent out the colors orange yellow and pink.
Reminds me of the sixties, someone said
You are starting to get there, replied another.
Peace signs and tulips arrived in hot air balloons
Unicorns and faeries floated out into the ether
Cinnamon and sugar arrived on rolled out crust
Keyhole dreams floated out into the world
Under cover of darkness
two glowing eyes in awareness
of all its cruel foes
that appears where ever it goes.
An untuned carniverous orchestra sings
funerary songs as Death stings,
suddently, many glowin' eyes scrambles in the shadows
like consternated desperados,
yet an unlucky prey
met its doomsday!
A flame of enigma bellowed in the pit of his belly,
its' seraphic luster so stout.
It peered through the windows of his body,
through dark stagnant eyes that rest mounted on his face,
so carved and clencted.
I blanched in its' brillance.
That flame so haunting,
it raptured the faint walls that buckled my heart,
making it whole.
So cold in stanse.
But now its' pulsing lay intweened with another outcasted heart.
One that had been expelled from the keen and glaciared persons,
whom walked down the breech streets of a banning commonalty.
My arms knew exactly how to clutch him,
wrap him in a pillowed comfort that masked my flesh.
For my arms,
what rest in them was a soul whom alike was overcomed and mangled.
He rested in them,
so alive in fresh freedom of an apprehending paramour whom could nod and weep to the
consternated apologues of his youth and future comings of a man.
And that's what traced the adulation in his blood.
Giving him the daring attuide to oust me bare,
broadcasting the truth that barked and howled behind false inhibitions,
a veal of empathy,
And if you're alone
and I'm alone
lets be alone
together
Regardless of the ever slow and piercing passage of more than two centuries, her sapphire eyes still remain encrusted in my memory, like precious gems on an ancient fallen crown.
Only fractures and scars remain of the come-and-go parades of fabricated love, which served only as the ground to sow the seeds of my own desolation.
Like a hand grasping thorns, is the stigma of knowing the punishment of her absence has not yet ended, and that I again, will not have in this life her guidance, her light and presence.
Images flecked with dust twirl in my mind, to the rhythm of the arrhythmia of my eternally consternated heart.
As if conspiring, time managed to abrogate all its forgiving powers and magical healing, although I admit that the constant remembering of her love, like a refreshing ever flowing brook, has always been the very best of every day in each life, briefly relieving my withered and shattered spirit.
Losing myself in the memory of the thousand details of her Venus like beauty, gives me life, flares up my senses and wafts me through the swirling smoke of hours burnt.
Clinging on passionately and frantically to the memory of the essence of her loving way, I am momentarily able to perceive this empty world, as paradise.
I miss the way her soul breathed, and how every time it gently approached mine, I´d be engulfed by the violet halo of her auric light, taking me to heaven here on earth.
I remember the glory embodied in her poised grin, as she realized how I became bewitched when she described with her mellifluous voice, details of the impossible love she felt for me.
I miss her intriguing yearning for the science of the pneuma, and the amazing knowledge she possessed about the laws that rule the merging of souls. She taught me that love conceived thus, is the only force that governs and transcends the infinite, inheriting the power to enrich life wherever it may be.
I miss her intense urge to make me a better person, despite knowing just how difficult it would be.
An unforgivable mistake from my part, left her without option, forcing her to remove me from the magnificence of her life, leaving me adrift between the jaws of the three mysteries of time, and into the hands of living death.
young whippersnapper brain
pours out her last idea
flicking adjectives into dirty dumpster
nouns prance off, disgusted
without elaboration or fancy descriptions
verbs take the lead,
kicking their adverbs to the curb
your nuances no longer welcome,
a mob mentality
seeking satisfaction in a brick alley
prepositions begin to arrive at the front
under the discarded boxes
searching through the rubble of the day
one climbs up the filthy trash heap
jumping into a pile of overused words
word play being what it is,
startling, laughing, loving gerunds arrive
carrying participles on their backs.
They cannot stop hitting, hurting and killing each other
Stop! Title yells. I want some kind of legacy.
I have no words to add, being mute and respectful of my elders
I am a mere homophone,
too consternated to know these two warring factions
well enough to take sides.
I once knew a bloke
Who hailed from Stoke
He saw me on the street
And so we did greet
But I said to him with much ire
"You're a liar
You call me your chummy
But you hate me mummy"
To the allegation he did respond:
"You are mistaken, of your mum I am fond"
"Nay" said I
"You just like her black pie."
After much thought
To his lips he brought:
"Caesar really was a decent bloke"
I once new a lad
In dog tooth suits he was clad
As I boarded the tube
I yelled "Hey rube!
You slept with my sister
Explain mister!"
He consternated
And maybe debated
But he said:
"Caesar really was a decent bloke"
I once knew a sod
Who seemed quite odd
I was watching the Blues
When I said "Those are my shoes!
Explain saucy knave!"
He replied: "To me your girlfriend gave
After that
Unforgettable spat"
"That's a false report!"
I said in retort
To which he said:
"Genghis really was a decent bloke"
"Don't you mean Caesar" I said
Reply: "Forgive me cabbage head
I have no abode with which to rest my node
Be gone with you
I have two
That'll make you stew
If you don't shut your gob
Don't talk of Caesar my name is Bob!"
One day
On my parlay
Through Southhampton way
I was confronted
By a man with head bunted
To me he said
"I wish you were dead
200 pounds you owe me"
I shrugged at the fee
But did reply
"Caesar really was a decent bloke"
Misplaced anger
got you kicking the dog
Unleashed volatile attitude
got you punting the pooch
Poor little doggie
don’t know what’s wrong with you
Master’s in a rage ...
even the dumb beast knows,
that madman
needs to be put in a cage
Stifle that anger,
put a muzzle on that violent passion
Clouded judgment
got you living in a consternated fog
Watch yourself ...
or your battering hands
one day is gonna get bit by the dog
I am as confused as Alice has ever been, she thought
And I am not a figment of a sliver of an imagination
Of a man who was probably under the influence of something.
I am consternated by this situation. I see no way out.
I have never been this discombobulated and turned backwards.
Her mind rolled its eyes; having heard this daily for years.
Braggadocios Colonel McBragg
caught a truth bomb
gag shrapnel frag
This sent his damaged, prideful heart
on a flatline drag
His coffin was dress uniform covered
by a neatly folded flag
All those in consternated attendance,
wondered ruefully ...
with fretful thoughts a-sag,
that brain prickly did nag:
What classified secrets loose lips McBragg
had let out of the intel bag
skittles got ambushed by slap happy griddles
bending and bowing, flexible in their middles
happy tea dunkers hung upside down from the piddles
consternated, I played six of my craziest fiddles
teacher was astounded; her name is McLiddles
orchestra complete, we thanked the musical griddles.
Cougar’s growl shakes me awake in the worst of ways
Her realism prances forth in my mind; I am disoriented.
The last line of a poem waffles through my brain,
And my eyes are not fully open yet. Poetry already?
I grab a piece of paper and take it with me to the bathroom.
Sitting, I jot down six phrases, and a poem begins to write herself.
She flings herself onto the page in dots, lines, and dashes.
I find myself writing seven poems before breakfast.
Without any energy at all and little conscious effort, it is a poetry day.
Who decides? Which muse is about in my head today?
Is she going to distract me from my morning drive?
I turn my I-phone’s tape recorder on, as I get into my car.
There are no more ideas for a day and a half. Then a full writing day.
Thirty six poems in twelve hours, my new record!
I am gob smacked, consternated, confused.
Where do these days come from? Who is in charge? Apparently not me.
BEWARE OF ENEMIES AND ENEMAS
Beware the scare to share with sharpened steel
To note the difference ‘tween fantasy and or the surreal
Take heed for what I say ‘tis truth unclothed before thee
Three routes but bear right and wrong you couldst just be
Oh that old trail’s been there for too many years to count
That road be akin to a mustang who no one would ever mount
The other two lead to a place where no one has ever returned to recount their tale
And obviously it’s not a place where someone could send me any mail
Tread contritely to the ones you’ve hurt who bare now the knives
Because it could be a matter of who lives and which one survives
This is no missive to depress you nor make anger the way of the day
And I know because you’re all young but my black hair has now become gray
So I give you this lesson not to order you, discipline you nor tell thee what to do
You’ve got three ways to go but only one leads to peace and tranquility for you
I’ve known where to go when the road splits and I’ve known since I was an infant
And here you are at fifty-five, still consternated and no, I will not give you a hint
I ~© 2011.….free cee!~
The bees could not have been more annoyed.
The faerie convention took over the marigolds.
Let’s zoom back to the lilacs, Worker Bee Dee suggested.
The lilacs had been commandeered by a bunch of brownies.
They could not squeeze their way into a single blossom.
We need to give the fey a few rules, the worker bees agreed.
They asked Worker Bee Dee to suggest staggering fey conventions.
It’s just a brownie family reunion, she told them.
How long will it last? The worker bees asked her, shocked.
Not sure. They told us to take a load off and relax.
The bees were consternated, they had never done this before.
They were fearful that the Queen Bee would be angry.
In actuality, the Queen Bee had set up the reunion and convention.
She wanted the worker bees to become riled up.
They make their best honey when they are frenzied she told her maid.
Lady in waiting was shocked; but wisely kept queen’s confidence.
Dreaming of frogs playing guitars, lounging on a campfire pyre,
Her manifestation of these little hopping miniatures tickled her
Naturally nude with an upside down hat, she was uninhibited, fully exhibited.
Two prissy potential suiters ran out screaming, recognizing her strength.
Attitudes of grandeur did not play in her head.
She meant no harm to these males; yet they had been clearly terrified.
Women who are fantastical and barbastical confuse ones who are weak.
She did not wave, frankly, had not noticed they left. She was playing a harp with her bear.
Is she bizarre, modern, an alien or just weirdly avant-garde?
Status quo relatives who were watching were also consternated.
Their brains often pitter-patted by the norms society revers.
Creativity was outside their jurisdiction, thank God!
Pink woman’s frog dreams led to a parade of unicorns and eunuchs,
Horrifying the refined who sneaked peeks at her surrealistic attitude.
Why can she not conform? What is wrong with her?
Hell. How did they get into my dream state Pink wondered.
The watchers did not realize her spontaneity was a result of natural play-ity.
Which is why she moved away from them, for how could brilliance stay?
She took the frogs, unicorns and eunuchs with her of course.
The bear elected to remain. He loved frightening the relatives.
Thirty hours early for her interview.
Impressive or ludicrous?
She ordered everything on the menu.
Wanted to taste each dish before accepting position.
Is she the new chef? I inquired.
No, a potential hostess.
I stared at the woman.
She looked more like a bouncer.
Will she fit into the skimpy kitty cat uniform? I asked.
And if she does not, will there be a discrimination lawsuit?
We were consternated, confused, worried, concerned.
She are her feast daintily, holding her pinkies up.
Confident that in some way or another it was a win-win for her.
Not her first rodeo apparently.