Best Construe Poems
"A mute tongue is a slave to silence."
I've danced with the devil.
now he's tired,
so he's left his demons behind -
everyday there's a new arrival.
Sometimes, I struggle to use my voice,
especially when I get too choked to converse,
most of the time I don't get a choice,
so I keep it all hidden within my heart's vault
and no one has the key to unlock it,
but you who lives inside -
promise me you will never confide my secrets.
It's easy to smile,
but when you forget
and my silhouette cannot help,
I become too fatigued to feel,
yet, I refuse to surrender and kneel,
but regret the questions I did not ask
and when there is no metaphor for meaning,
tears I refuse to reveal are released
upon virtual visions, where only strangers
can connect and construe.
My emotions are a cocktail of
confetti fireworks kindled from your lava.
You who claim to love me,
are you as patient as a sunflower without rain?
You hide behind a veiled vocabulary
and I ponder am I the only poem
in your pearls of poetry
as when there are no words,
like Rumi's recital;
"I choose to love you in silence,
for in silence, there is no rejection."
Would it not be poetic,
to take your last breath,
upon the day you were born?
Would you celebrate my birth or
feel sadness and continue to mourn?
I wish I never become a flower for a florist.
I hope you are never seen as a weed.
In my Gemini garden you are my twin,
different shades, but the same scent.
A tongue offers nothing
when a servant to solitude,
but a muse can never be mute,
such is the power of the mind,
as I find freedom in verse
even when life feels like a curse.
Tiptoeing fond emotions how playfully you tease
Titillating seductively my memories to appease
Springs that once blossomed passionate appeal
When indulgent eyes met contours of your zeal
Tantalizing tenor of love quixotic rhythms reveal.
I hear those melodies, romantic heartbeats revive,
Pulsing strings of heart on its tempo they thrive
Promising forgotten vibes, fervid past is still alive
When gently you arrive awakening frozen dreams
Delighting love-beats, crooning amorous themes.
You sense as I do, why unsated feelings still woo,
Why the un-bloomed seasons are trying to renew
Autumns full of gilded hues you once withdrew
Disheartening two ardent souls beholden and true;
As love now rustles anew, what am I to construe?
Oh! how ebulliently you bloomed in our first kiss
When blazing impulses tolled moments of bliss,
I recognize those footprints as delicately you spree
In courtyard of longings, venerating you and me,
As whispers of intimacy implore in euphoric plea.
July 18, 2021
Poem of the day on July 19, 2021
Placed 1st: A Brian Strand Rhymed Contest
Barefoot in a field of daisies
hair blowing in the breeze
smile beaming ear to ear
babbling brook streaming nearby
A picture, no words
A story, unheard
Sunrays shining down
from the cerulean morning sky
a parasol twirling in her hand
shading those beamish eyes
The cottage of stone hidden
in a bed of spruce trees
ashen smoke flowing
from the ancient chimney
A picture, no words
A story, unheard
The picture won't change
It's what you construe
Each story may vary
based on a point of view
Pictures, paintings, natural beauty
drawings, photos, or sculptures
A picture, no words
A story, unheard
“I carry your heart within me (I carry it in
my heart )I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go…)”
e e cummings
You are a part of my world
(for you reside within my heart)
your thoughts, like whispers, neatly furled
around my heart while we’re apart.
You are a part of my life
(for you reside within my soul)
I’ve never known a breath of strife
for your sweet soul makes my life whole.
You have become a part of me
(and I forever part of you)
I know not why ‘twas meant to be
I can’t construe but always knew…
that you are a part of my world
(for you reside within my heart).
“When one resides within your heart
they are always a part of your world.”
John Gondolf
November 4, 2019
Ink of my skin doesn't define me,
nor does it construe my poetry.
A Monoku by: Ink Empress
The ink of my skin doesn't define me nor does it construe my poetry.
Am I not human to your eyes?
Do you not see my soul inside that streaky mirror of yours ?
Have you forgotten, that I have a story too?
Beneath the canopy of heaven
God has Bisqued me and left you white,
some he even inked them yellow.
We each have our own unique skin tone,
bone is bone I wasn't meant to be alone.
Bigotry is not acceptable in a world where our heritage
is something we are born in, not something we chose.
Love me as if I were your neighbor, treat me as a brother a sister,
for I hunger just like you and I dream just like you
Am I not human to your eyes?
When you look at the color of my skin,
do you see me, ...as your next of kin?
By: Mystic Rose
poet, you called me?
oh no - that’s not I ...
there's truly just ONE
he writes ‘pon the sky
of sunsets and stars
of space without end
with bold dazzling ink
from a masterful pen
rhymes of dust devils
cloud anvils and rains
mists from the moors
or wind-tickled plains
meadows a-blooming
or snow-crusted peaks
odes made for sunrise
with blush on its cheek
a green flash, auroras
the comets and moon
intense constellations
that rollick and swoon
bright, stabbing bolts
to pierce a night’s sky
huge, spiraling storms
with a sun in their eye
the sonnets He writes
are authentic and true
surpassing the greatest
my words can construe
and yet every-so-often
He’ll bless this old fool
to impart me the grace
and make me … His tool
so, I'd love to take credit
but I must keep in sight
that I'm just an aged pen
with which He may write
thus, I might seem poetic
for the tales that I've spun
but regarding TRUE poets
there's really ... just ...
ONE.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, May 6, 2024 (rewrite)
Your kiss from heaven caressed my cheek.
It made me feel safe, yet a little weak!
Confusing thoughts ran through my head.
Is this for real, or just misread?
With the Risen Son, they claim I’m new!
But in my mind, I cannot construe!
I’m not standing on a small hill.
I’m still climbing, I just can’t be still.
That little hill became a mountain.
In my heart I cry out, shout’in!
“If the Risen Son has made me new:
Then why am I so sad and blue?
In the dawn of day, I just can’t see.
The dark of night won’t let me be!
This parched ground makes me athirst.
From whence will water be dispersed"?
With the Risen Son, newness falls!
And with it profound wisdom calls!
Your kiss from heaven is slowly fading.
In my mind, Satan is indeed raiding!
Oh my goodness what can I do?
I think I heard, spend time with you?
I just don’t have much more to lose.
I guess my bible I will use!
Many years, have since passed by.
But that kiss, still makes me sigh!
O’ that kiss, that touched my cheek:
Made me strong and not weak!
Because of it, inspiration grew!
With the Risen Son, can I be new?
I know from heaven your kiss came.
And with it, you took all my shame!
I gave nothing in return
Yet, for my heart, you did yearn!
In the Risen Son, I believe I’m new!
Could this really be my point of view?
Yes Yeshua, you have made me new!
Your kiss from heaven pulled me through!
You gave me strength within my soul.
In my life, I give you control!
I am now your devoted wife!
Jehovah, your kiss changed my life!
Stacey Brown
9-11-2013
Temple of the Gods
Within the realities, unseen deified admits a parallel preen
A shielded smokescreen for their succus is made unclean
In the matriarchal machine a throne tallat for the Queen
A calumnious convene in illusions that dered and demean
The fallen Angels level in their banishing bedaubed bedevil
In ruins ravaging, they revel a tenacious tenet of their temple
For their mendacious meddle we are the reifier of our vessel
We wilfully wrestle and retire in our denned deceived nestle
We are the many among the few evitative as we quietly ensue
For we must rise and renew all sexes seduced within their skew
Time to be trusted and true him or her who sees the veils thru
Constructs that construe dimensional drifts solos in the goo.
A Palindrome is a word or phrase which reads the same backwards as forwards, such as madam
deified – past tense of "to deify", meaning to consider as a god
succus – any of various liquids excreted by animals or plants
tallat--A loft.
dered – past tense of "to dere", an archaic word meaning to harm
level – various common meanings
tenet – a belief or principle
reifier – someone who reifies (considers an abstract concept to be real)
denned – past tense of to den, meaning to live in a den
evitative – a grammatical case indicating fear or aversion.
sexes – plural of sex
sees – third-person present tense of ‘to see’
solos – plural of solo
May.08.2018
Palindromes
Sponsored by: Joseph May
I’ve an anger which cannot be hidden!
A burning passion that comes unbidden!
My Soul desolated with grievous rage,
reacts with furious justified outrage!
Occasioned by the offences of ignorance,
bigotry, discrimination and intolerance!
Though evil are the ravages of vandalism,
they pale to the magnitude of racialism!
Colour, creed, even the shape of the eye
is little enough to make bigots cry:
“He’s not of us! He’s a different breed!”
“Watch him close or he’ll do us an ill deed!”
There is no cause for remarks such as these,
but pestilent views are like a disease!
Some ill chosen words expressed in vague
terms, insinuate like a fatal plague!
Ethnic slurs in the guise of humour, fester!
With but one angry response one protester,
can incite more slander, which raging out of hand,
foments a backlash! Runs rampant! Inflames the land!
But racism is a sword with a two edged blade!
It cleaves not only those on whom it’s laid
but those who scorn to curb their vicious tongue
from whom such defamatory words have sprung!
Can we not accept those who are not as us?
Must we blame the innocent for the fuss
instigated by such biased perception?
Let us quash ignorance at its inception,
or by default we shall be guilty too!
By using diverse conceits we construe
to make imprudent acts lawful decrees!
While disregarding all impassioned pleas
for tolerance! Unless we denounce this blight,
or take a stand and with fortitude, to fight
and end disharmony, discord and dislike!
Racialism and hatred will flourish alike!
Rhymer April 1st, 2017.
“Precept”
Death’s reign is but a world of carnal minded concepts,
Within which illusions of it own harlot are kept,
As minds counterfeit the Sacred Hearts of the precept,
In containments of worldly forms of the mind’s inept!
My precept withstood this selfish whore’s galore… to the face,
As she sought to hid herself in complexity’s mace,
I gained a new precept face, standing against concept’s disgrace,
As economic whore sought to remove truth by it's fast pace!
Death concepts thereof are conveniences of the mind’s absolve,
As compassions of grace, of brotherly face, are not involved,
Truth is seldom heard in this world of which it’s scribes resolve,
Bribes of scribes, politicians have lied, around this they revolve!
The carnal of mind knows not what they do as death pursues,
The goat will gloat, sheep the mind will not promote...bid adieu,
I’ve stood in the gap of mind’s mishap, the gap(!), I construe!
I’ve stood the test, I've earned Father’s rest, I receive my due!
I bid adieu to the death of the stubborn minds astute,
In heaven’s choir, they will never give Gabriel’s flute.. a toot,
The carnal mind just doesn’t compute...the precept acute,
For higher cosmic affair...holds no flair...for brute's pollute!
Miz Liberty welcomed Luigi to America's shores to begin a brand new life.
He arrived at Ellis Isle with piles of baggage, three kids and his addled wife.
He knew not a word of English but there's one thing he understood;
He must soon learn the baffling lingo so as not to be misunderstood!
Luigi enrolled in an English class and was bewildered from the start,
Trying to absorb the meaning of various words the teacher did impart!
There were so many words that sounded alike that he could not construe,
And how to fit them in a sentence or a conversation, he had not a clue!
"For example" he asked, "How and when do I use-a you, yew and ewe?
Please-a told me once-a more when it's-a proper to use-a do, dew and due!
When I visit da zoo, is da beast in da cage called a new, knew or gnu?
Can you tell-a me if da tree colors in fall are called hue, hew or Hugh?"
"How can I know if I use-a these-a words correctly, too, to and two,
Or if I get-a sick which of these-a words do I use-a, flew, flu or flue?
I'm-a having all kinds of troubles with these-a words, heir, hair and hare!
In da market I can't figure if I should ask da man for a pare, pair or pear!"
He strove to comprehend the perplexing language and all its doublespeak.
His kids could speak like natives but for him things were looking bleak!
But over time he learned to parse and spell and the jargon he did subdue!
Last I heard of Luigi he was a tenured English professor at Columbia Yew!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Towers collapsed to foundations,
The planes exploded in air,
To gratify firebrand preachers
Destruction and death everywhere.
Bus became coffin on byway,
Train torn up beneath ground,
Fanatics end innocent life,
Spin godless chaos around.
Child kneels broken at graveside,
Tears drip down to the earth,
A consciousness of pure evil
Deems human life of no worth.
Enemies fester within,
Harbour a doctrine and creed,
Under the guise of religion,
And nurtures a virulent seed.
Enemies hidden within,
Feral smiles, baring of teeth,
Approve of a racist agenda.
Murder by twisted belief.
Why should we drown beneath?
Fundamental waves of hate,
Why should we have to live
In this an altered state?
They can go to other places
Where their twisted creed is rife,
Where martyrdom and slaughter
Construe their way of life.
The simple, sorry factor
The ironic doctrinaire:
The places of their genesis
Won’t stand them living there.
Thus decent, honest people
Are left unto their fate,
A homeland under terror
Remains an altered state.
At early dawn, the view’s superb.
Sat upon my bed scrolling thru
My phone’s pictures, I got perturb.
Your brightest smile widespread imbue,
On obituary reverb.
Life seldom gives joy alone too,
So I’ll cherish your life reverb.
With tears of peace, I will construe,
Your gallant life acclaim the verb
Of possibility pursue,
Peace of divinity superb,
Giving hope in painful adieu.
Oh, My Dear Walter, how your words have slayed
Humbled me, broken me, molded, remade
To taste of your world, see above or below it
Wit of a wordsmith, wry pith of a poet
To so construe love without using the phrase
Scrawl the sinew of war, yet delight in the days
To yawp of the grass - journeywork of the stars
Help heal a nation, attend to its scars
Find grace among horrors, sift beauty from death
The soul-pull of tides - briny kiss of their breath
To habit us all ... to the dazzle of light
Celebrate ourselves, bequeath us the night
Ask recurring questions of romance and life
Of presidents, boot soles, and moldering strife
Demons and mockingbirds, Paumanok's dunes
The pale, horrid witness of unstinted moons
'Twas sad-blown, a bugle, convulsed, was a drum
Yet exquisite, the dirge for a soldier and son
The sorrow of clouds in a ravening sky
The weep of a child should the Pleiades die
Knit airy-fresh words, with uncommon phrases
Draw Apollo and Neptune in all of their phases
Be there adoration as hapless as mine
Yet no soul more ardently leveled, supine
No writer has reached deeper into my heart
Idioms and phrases ... such allurement, impart
Ah, yes, what I'd give to have just one chat
With the rare human being who afforded all that
And maybe I'm biased, if perhaps to a fault
But the name of MY Captain, O Captain ...
Is WALT.