Best Conventionally Poems
Burning candle
tells a tale of
pure selfless life
Be such a flame
let your aim be
to tame darkness.
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A Than-Bauk, conventionally a witty saying or epigram, is a three line "climbing rhyme" poem of Burmese origin. Each line has four syllables. The rhyme is on the fourth syllable of the first line, the third syllable of the second line, and the second syllable of the third line.
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< he took the fall
dressed blues call now
hearts wall skips beat
Written by Katherine Stella 8/7/11
A Than-Bauk, conventionally a witty saying or epigram, is a three line "climbing rhyme" poem of Burmese origin. Each line has four syllables.
The rhyme is on the fourth syllable of the first line, the third syllable of the second line, and the second syllable of the third line.
Tribute To U.S Marine Corps
Hu RAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH
How 'Bout Stoichiometry For A Conversational Hook?
Nary a clue exists about
the relationship between
relative quantities of substances
taking part in a clean
(non GMO contaminated)
gluten free reaction,
or forming a mean
compound, typically a ratio
of whole integers umpteen
place holders long proudly,
(albeit microscopically)
swaggering analogous
to a prideful
home coming queen
walking with her beau
appearing much older looking
than a latte (drinking) teen,
the third word up above, (affright
full looking, isle
lid lashing sorely,
trying, torquing, and
testing vision, i.e. eye sight),
where with insight
red left to right
across conventionally,
sans persons write
ting, and/or read
ding English, who might
live within neck of the woods,
how zing this knight,
where the whirled wide webbing
haint so bright
this smart aleck (comprised
fancy title), excite
ting immediate uptight
reaction came to "light"
just in the nick of time
to spur a sprite
lee chary reader to take
pro nouns hubble flight
(at what the ĵ** -
in reference quite
understandably to multi
syllable chemical airtight
romance masquerade),
this barred bard did write
unfamiliar word, which undoubtedly
triggered consternation,
and fierce urge to bite
and/ or sentence this "FAKE" cur,
who whiz unable to height
ten interest toward me senseless
poetics with supreme delight.
Three lying deacons
swim in a handbag -
and a lone, celibate pastor
paces longingly bemused.
Michael, the Arc Angel,
poses silently,
in dusty Gabbana drag,
cursing the lipstick-painted laymen
writhing in rancid attar -
naked
and intentionally
unused.
Four wide-eyed boys
dance on a daydream –
kissing ripped posters
of a white collared rapist.
Saint Peter understands
the jovial jokesters -
the foolishness
when blackened specks darken the void;
the flurried flutter of his eyelids
casts a tainted shadow
upon a fractured sexual ballet.
They continue to kiss
below the waist.
Three lying deacons
and a pacing pastor resides –
five lip-smacking nurses
massaging your head.
Four wide-eyed boys
caress your knuckles
as the well-trimmed priest
pronounces
a poorly
scented infant:
"anally dead."
Seven cardinal sins
slip and divide
into 3 venial ratios.
"Hi, Sonny"...
Greed, lust and vanity
are mortal crimes;
Father Fragrantly Fresh...
quietly proclaims:
"snuggle a bit closer and
sniff a hint of Genesis."
Say I’m to blame
and cause-count the afflictions –
smaller undetected lumps
hump the jaded addictions
brain dead and haughty –
the zombies
circle and laugh!
I wasn't born in a dark discarded
Parisian tunnel but -
can you Roman Polanski me,
please?
Kill the poet...
and make him pay -
below the waist.
Crushed words embody
a forgotten loner’s
epitaph!
(force him to stutter stupidly)
and within a last breath -
and within a last breath -
and within a last breath -
GOD...
"the string-strangled
puppet
conventionally chokes -
and quietly succumbs
(to a textured landscape)
of a youthful
silenced dying...
...swaddled
and swallowed
in a heavenly -
haloed chosen
death..."
This leaf possessed
of newest age,
with zest, upturned.
05 Aug 2014
"Than-Bauk, conventionally a witty saying or epigram, is a three line "climbing
rhyme" poem of Burmese origin. Each line has four syllables. The rhyme is on
the fourth syllable of the first line, the third syllable of the second line, and the
second syllable of the third line" - From Poetry Soup Forms
I'm sleeping banana leaves
Who sprout at your summon
For every liquid led onto my sleeves
I'm a wandering savannah breeze
long gone, at your beck..
shelters 'r abode from heat, lays you with warmth
I am a Manky lanky little corgi
who barks at ur call
for every liquid that bled onto your tongue
I'm a saney pacific ocean
would pacify your appeal
eventhough I'm that menace of salty flood
I'm a naughty hinglish slave
who enjoys every slash and splash
of drowsy-rage I cleanse at your wrath
I'm a wimpy castrated eunuch
I do know what it is to crave pain
And feel guilt from ones you most envied
I'm a randy fanny scavenger
would rather die by sliced flesh( a pound for you)
than watch u bleed from your naked fingers
I'm a livable and inseparable day and night
would be sorry when i appear in sleeps
And nowhere to be found during your wake
I'm a lonely forgettable yesterday
would be your memories
even when not with you in the farthest future
I'm a skeptic unwelcomed vandal
would make you aware of my scandal
damages I 'ld cause to us and ways to solve 'em
I'm this shady pool of words
fetch them from my lips
and I 'ld never abstain from your plight
I am a reliable and forgivable adam
Would betray you conventionally
Cos you have a heart which forgives me
I'm our sizeable and amiable human
Who give these memories
And take them with a kiss when I leave
I'm their crude revelatory dream
Would like you to hold on to me tight
Eye to eye, detect my lies
I'm your little irreplaceable Mr.right
Whenever you leave for tomorrow
Tell your spouse I was never wrong but only at night
I'm a lovely and beautiful you
You 've been that pride of living
Need I say my strength, weakness and muse
I'm your only and inconsistent world
Those aliens may come
What 'ld you tell them?
Saying ‘hello’ around the world
is more than a vocal projection
It’s a movement of lips, swaying of hips,
and at times complete physical expression
Saying ‘hello’ in Asia,
calls for your best leaf of tea
While Europeans make do
with much less conventionally!
For Africans and Caribbean’s alike,
the cordiality of our 'say'...
could make ‘hello’ in the morning,
last until well past midday!
Do not be shy.
Never cry or
Comply to fear.
Sponsored by: Constance ~ A Rambling Poet ~
for contest-- Forms of Poetry 101 --Cecil Hickman
A Than-Bauk, conventionally a witty saying or epigram, is a three line "climbing rhyme"
poem of Burmese origin. Each line has four syllables. The rhyme is on the fourth syllable of
the first line, the third syllable of the second line, and the second syllable of the third line.
s/he thought that s/he was
something,
growing up in a small town---
biggest fish, hottest thing
running & everybody wanted
a piece of him/her,
but when s/he got bored of
it all, s/he wanted to move to
the city &
s/he even hummed the tune on
the way there,
riding in the significant other’s
ride at the time, whom s/he
subsequently ditched,
the minute s/he set foot in
the concrete jungle---
but his/her eyes
did not shine as shiny as they
had been, in the dinky little town,
nor did all his/her attributes
deemed attractive by others,
shout the same shout of physical
victory,
when walking through the streets,
as they had before---
this once crème de la crème,
now is nothing but the standard,
a shine that can be outshined
easily,
something conventionally
beautiful, whose luster
simply does not wow the crowd
like it once did &
it makes him/her have to rethink
their whole reason for coming to
the bigger pond,
in order to flaunt what they thought
they had,
whilst the jungle wails in laughter,
a guffaw reminiscent of Nelson
Muntz on The Simpsons---
“heh heh!”
When we laugh
When we cry
When we smile
When we're sad
When we're excited
When we mourn
When we sorrow ,
The world becomes silent
When we die
Our spirit goes to unknown land
Termites host conference on us
Maggots conventionally gathers
And we become dust and nothing, but dust.
Death is the last phase that peel off our skin from the eyes of the sun and leave us lost in thin air- nonexistence.
Life is the only sorrow we have
It gives us no option but choices
It tears our memories and beings
We have different track to walk on
But the symbols of who are still stay when we leave the surface of this painful poetry called life...
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent.
Sitting up at 8 AM
writing a poem
I’m really not a morning person
A tissue box is my desk
A Horizon of Hope pen
That’s PEN
not PIN
I remember you don’t seem to mind the acoustic difference
And I’m writing all this down
on the back of complied bad pick-up lines
No glasses
no contacts
all blurred
This is me
coming out of shock
Finally
Because you drove so far
only to sleep beside me
One night
with appointments far away
in the morning
Set my alarm for 6:41
didn’t go off (that was a coincidence, I swear)
but you were out the door
by 6:54
You told me to stay
in bed
Don’t walk you out
I did this
but now I’m awake
and desperately tired
and spelling every other word
completely wrong
Sitting up
cold, blanket less
with beginning sunlight creeping up my back
Sitting up
at 8 AM
writing a poem
I’m really not
a morning person
The cut bashed from a hike in the woods , and the roll down the
Hill and the wound if not washed and dressed with the proper
ointment will fester and have a malodorous odor. The wounded
hiker should as duty calls rush home, head to the closet , seize
the first aide kit, and wash the laceration conventionally as a
nurse would. And apply ointments and gauze to avoid problems.
But left untreated one part of our anatomy is unseen and forever
hidden of the prying eyes of X-rays, ultrasounds and surgeons on
operating tables or exam rooms. Its even hidden from the one
whose body it was given to before all ages. And we know this
because the Holy Spirit has given us our soul to enrich and
enliven us. I can talk to my soul by telling him I love him and
listen for responses and welcoming guidance.
What can I do to my soul after years of wounding. Addiction,
sexual exploitation, lack of nourishment of prayer to God,
neglectful adoration of God and degradation of my soul left
alone imprisoned through indignity after indignity until the wound
festers and my very being lingers on the verge. No ointment or
gauze or bandage may be of service to the substance of my
being. Alone the body moves as the soul watches a silent
tear ,gradually, and slowly gushes out of the heart of mine own
eye as he lingers crying.
Those lasting words pour through my lobes as with each gasp,
reaching further inside of me for something hidden, I see a
shadowed face tear struck and wanting, reaches and pulls me
forward.
When we laugh
When we cry
When we smile
When we're sad
When we're excited
When we mourn
When we sorrow ,
The world becomes silent
When we die
Our spirit goes to unknown land
Termites host conference on us
Maggots conventionally gathers
And we become dust and nothing, but dust.
Death is the last phase that peel off our skin from the eyes of the sun and leave us lost in thin air- nonexistence.
Life is the only sorrow we have
It gives us no option but choices
It tears our memories and beings
We have different track to walk on
But the symbols of who are still stay when we leave the surface of this painful poetry called life...
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent.
hindsight
a vicarious sanctuary
exhiliarating fluctuating
harmony
conventionally coidtered
exquisite enchanting
in mysterious patterns
changing tones&
textures immersed
in stunning images
depictions
tinged with
wistfulness
chaos
from desolation
of emotions awry
Make the world feel blissful
By Michelle Morris
26/11/2024
You eventually say those words
The three most important in the world
I can't believe it's true
It's our own blessed miracle
"I love you"
Like water quenches the earth in a drought
It lets your cup overflow
And your mind be free of doubt
You thought it was too late
And I guess I thought so too
But secretly we both wished for this
Our love is a dream come true
It may not have happened conventionally
It may have been a rollercoaster ride
But ultimately love is a crazy experience
And we're together for the rest of our lives
Because you came closer
And I came closer still
And now we're one field of loving energy
That can make the world feel blissful
© Michelle Morris, 2024