Best Convergent Poems
It’s hard to keep on writing
when you know your words
never reach quite deep enough—
fail again to plumb prosaic depths
and render speechless those of
greater wit and skill.
But now and then I’ve managed,
when struck with spasms of lucidity,
to write of something tiresome
as if it were brand new, and perspired,
when each word would surrender,
finally, chiseled as if from stone.
All the chosen words, their meter,
form and rhyme in tight procession,
longing merely for convergent glow,
and not to come to rest upon a shelf, to
gather dust and fail to see the light again,
when you’ve written your last word.
Walking past the local used book store,
you might see a box outside marked
All These Books For Free. Reach inside and
take one home and there reflect upon
the author’s soul and listen for a distant voice,
now stilled—the voice just might be mine.
I’m in a mental drought
My mind is empty, my hearts beating
No! Happiest in my soul
My feet sore, no place to go;
I’m happiest when I’m convergent
Penning a verse, whispering a phrase
Yet the poet’s hands are tied
As his eyes witness humanities lies
And all the horrid host invisible as ghost
Daily meals water and toast
I have no words
No one wants to hear
How do I write?
The Poet's Hands Are Tied
With worn hands arthritic hands
Blurred visions can’t see the keyboard
I have no words
No one wants to hear
The Poet's Hands Are Tied
When my muse is sleep
When no one keeps
Pays attention to me
To me attention flees
I have words
No one wants to see
I have voices inside of me
How can it be a poet?
Whom, you know yet I don’t know it
How do I write?
The Poet's Hands Are Tied
As my censorship
Has been relinquish
Penning a verse, whispering a phrase
Yet the poet’s hands are tied
As his eyes witness humanities lies
And all the horrid host invisible as ghost
Daily meals water and toast
I have no words
No one wants to hear
How do I write?
The Poet's Hands Are Tied
How do I write?
Again I say as Poet's Hands Are Tied
The Poet's Hands Are Tied
6/2/2021,
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
Placement in Contest 1st Place
For The Poet's Hands Are Tied Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
there was the cynosure on your sky
you, the convergent point of poetry
I forgot to learn your all inner eye
and failed there to make Buddha tree
here, now, I’m to the hackneyed dark
a bearded holocaust bawl,
I’m to me- a fresh skeleton,
A barren bone of ravished love,
grey yard of withered diction,
the hemlock in dull speech,
caged phantom of prose
-March 06, 2019 Chattogram
At the end of my tunnel I use to see the light.
It was built not with rock but with thick vines green and bright.
I could see my path it was there I always walked,
sometimes I would sit and think, listen as plants talked.
Sweet peas, marigolds and pansies were at my side,
I lived my life with friends in who I would confide.
The air was scented in sachets rare,
coloured in muted tones stripped down bare.
Growing above me were angel lamps,
also gorgeous dahlias, on the ramps.
I remember in the large blue pond, a rare pair of two toned swans,
while below the weeping willow, an almost sleeping chipmunk yawns.
Convergent ladybugs clustering for warmth on the ground,
drifting leaves acted like an ocean wave just to confound.
Back then switched on lights would decorate the night sky with stars
but now alarms sound as they shut me down behind these bars.
22~10~2014
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Contest Name:Pick a Title
Yesterdays Joys
A Deconstruction
I speak of nothing but
destruction
Buttered prose; a mere
distraction
Recited when the flux lines
froze
Resolved, I became a fraction
Convergent series; no inflection
Crossed divisors as I pleased
I would grasp imagination
With fingertips; resignation
Not once would cross my mind
Was each word a permutation?
Mere chance; a fluctuation
In the cosmos more than once
Like signs they go in one
direction
Number lines; clear infractions
They will reach and go no more
Our convergent joint
The rallying point
Mecca to the Pastors and Sisters
Jerusalem to the “Alhajas and Alfas”
Refuge to the weak
Shield to the strong
Nowhere on campus like our building
Life made more lively
Added life to the lifeless
Ever enliven to light up a dead soul
Restore spirit to the soulless body
Nowhere on campus like our
World Trade Centre
Goods and services are synchronized
Prizes are greatly subsidized
To augment sense of belonging to our belongings
No wonder, young and old ones throng in and out
For more copies of pieces of paper
Scrupulously they stay glued to
Modern screen for good job
Ours is the biggest edifice in Nigeria
Ours is the best in Africa
Ours is amongst the best in the world
Swimming pool completes the unparallel
Beautiful scenery that I behold every
Midnight that I lay my head on the
Cushion to cushion the tedious effect
Incurred in my sojourn on campus
Twenty four hours was for
Wisdom chicken and chips
A delicacy prepares with wisdom
Which often times leaves Couples off wisdom
As they whisper pouring out farrago of lies
Unto each others hearing
In a latter day hobo’s manner
Like a Romeo in the world of a Juliet
Savoring the dishes
Drinking all drinkable and all gulp-able
Browsing and dancing to the
Rhythm of Yahoo and “Aluta” gyration
Ours was unarguably the best
Our building clad a chamber
Where the Honourables meet
Where ideas and views are chewed
Where political and cerebral jaw jaw are cross fertilized
Where rhetoric and oratory seed are swallowed
Where we read and blessed with “8 points”
Where we digest skills to become splendid
Managers of human and material resources
Our library is incomparable in quantity and quality of materials
All these before they came
They came, they vandalized
They came, they destroyed
They came, they extorted
They came, they collected and replaced for man
Receipt of hopelessness and anguish
They came . . . killed the spirit
They came . . . gauged the soul
They came . . . stole the body
But . . .
Like the Son of Man
The spirit will rise again
Like an “Ayekoto” bird
The gauged soul will escape and fly away
Like the Biblical Zion
The stolen body will be returned
And restored for better glory.
Alayande Stephen Tolulope
August 12th 2005
4.00am
around
And Around
Convergence news chirality
Convenient use hue rainbow chronology carnality
Fast tracks flashbacks
New convergent reality
Hypocritical political
Around and around
Tangent stanger truth is not fiction
Again realities convictions
Fantasies detention
Why does my spirit soul are mine so hurt?
Reason I'm in a alternate universe
Here on this filthy Earth
Feel like I'm on a Ferris wheel of Life
No lie, goodbye?
6/18/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
A letter To Robert Frost
Dear Mr. Frost or Bob, as the occasion might be lent
We are happy to report a world still turning wild
There are still two roads divergent in the woods
Prevailing, waiting for others to decide
You took the one less traveled
To make a difference as you could
We continue to abide convergent roads
Comply with natures inclinations as our maze
Pulled in some direction not always ours
As for that world that did not die
It did not perish in fire or by ice
As you postulated quite nicely
Both would have equally sufficed
We are in a different place and time
Protecting ages and ages hence in your defense
We will never meet again in fire or in ice my friend
6/06/14 Contest: Letters To Poets
Turned then to tools of bequest
soliciting endurance, not love's voice
and so the prime deliverance turned invoice
is thus provisions entity, survivor's hoist!
Fighting for identity, man's poise
becomes a sheer resentment posting less
agreement to life's beauty so unnerved
as to a growing unity of trust's source!
The World's convergence nonetheless exposed
to empire of indifference, mating, stoic,
the poor, then heartened by provision's gross
then so unravel the false leader's course!
Such then the curse of sanction's trumping rates
the monetary armor of displace
the small concern, seems lost, a child's face
left outwardly to symbols most unchaste!
Such bitterness continues, nor replace
no counselors convergent laws do haste
intelligence rebate is last to place
the moral hull revalue, mourning so . . . .
Encumbrance of the numbers, left to grace!
Ordained kaleidoscopic turn of the time wheel,
the vacillating vista of life’s lattice designed
on mindscape mimicking chameleon skin colors
of the wasteland ash or the meadow emerald.
Convergent vision zooming on diffused dreams,
glances at the tapestry of transient ecstasy
on the wings of the flittering butterflies,
brings to focus of fulfillment before they fly away.
On the journey across desolate desert dunes,
or along the glittering garden path in spring,
my mind’s shutter opens in lightning speed,
capturing in collage the snapshots of beauty.
May 16, 2020
Contest : Shutter Speed
Sponsor : Kai Michael Neumann
May 18, 2020
Contest : Double Exposure
Sponsor : Kai Michael Neumann
The patina of dew dazzled on my drenched meadow,
charismatic crystals crowning the convergent verdance
sprinkled your essence in million sparkles of motif,
a tapestry I had spread on the precinct of my heart.
I thought that was what the feelings of paradise were
until the blaze of engulfing illusion burnt them to ashes.
The footprints on the shifting dunes of desert sand
crumbled inward to the desolate depth of obscurity,
treaded the delusive trail of mirage of togetherness.
The oasis faded away to the hazy horizon, unreached.
The waves of emotion rushing from the sea of desire
caressed my shore with the touch of pristine pearls.
The amorous arms of silver sands couldn’t hold long,
the surge returned to where it came from, disowned.
Cascading moonbeam contoured your face I configured,
glistened under the silver drizzle of the silent stardust,
disappeared with the melted mist of the unslept night,
because, of you behind shroud I couldn’t dream enough.
The propitiating poems so imperfect I wrote for you
rhymed with the rippling rustle of my mind’s petals.
The missing words wafted with the scent of passion,
defining me but dissolved in oblivion, unperceived.
In the air of our nest melody of my lyric didn't resonate
with the cadence of the embraced wings of nightingale
that flew away to sing some other song in another sky,
because sometimes silence called love is not enough.
September 10, 2019
January 3, 2020
Contest : Strand Select 3, Any Form, Any Theme
Sponsor : Brian Strand
Throughout the ages myriad eyes meet in convergent gaze,
drawn to Him who stilled the storm,
who, even now, in face of death, shows calm serenity.
What men are these who gathered here, would seek to comprehend
such tokens, earthly and divine, the consecrated bread and wine?
And who is he whose face in shadow cast
will rue the day that he was born, as silver sears his heart?
The rolling hills and blue skies of Jerusalem
Await the darkness which shall shroud the weeping land.
10.10.19
F F I series 24 ekphrasis : Brian Strand
Rhapsody of rainbow
morphs into morose mélange
of shredded exuberance,
bleeding colors
bleached from collapsed cloud
of twilight zone
embroidered by sunset spectrum,
profoundly permeate
as ingrained blemish
the lilac lattice
of the broken heart,
the sordid shades of blue
paint the linen of love,
f r a y e d....
Requiem of longing roses
resonates tragic melody
in melancholic medley,
wilting petals pine
for forlorn feelings,
the dripping tear drops
of mourning dew
on failing floral luster
desiccate in somber sunshine
of the deserted mind,
fading flowers make
weathered wreath
for decedent passion,
o b s c u r e....
Convergent cacophony
accrues relentless
in the entropic cauldron
of disharmonic music,
bemused chaotic symphony
dismantles incoherent
on discordant waves of refrain,
captured in
strained smiles,
sneering the inane scenario
of lonely life,
where sanguine songs turn
into nonsensical noise,
echoed by reflective soul,
a r c a n e....
Leitmotif of life
seen skeptically
through indolent cynic lens
of distorted essence,
magnifies manifold
into crooked contortion
of convoluted conscience,
a b e r r a n t....
Introducing my roommate Leong to my Saturday morning cartoon binge habit proved to be one of my BEST ideas EVER. She’s a very animated watcher, frequently laughing, gasping in horror and, in the end, delighted by these silly shows.
It’s almost a case for convergent evolution, how two creatures, from opposite ends of culture and the world can be so similar.
I find myself watching her, for her reaction, as much as the shows themselves - I’ve seen them before but I rediscover them vicariously and emotionally through her. We can spend hours dissecting character arcs and plot twists - we’ve found a small, stress-free heaven.
It’s 10:40am Sunday morning and Leong is dipping celery in barbecue sauce for breakfast again. “THAT’s just gross,” I deem, holding my hand up to block my view of this travesty.
“You should TALK,” she says, “Flexatarian!”
I gasped, like a slapped Chris Rock in the face of this naked aggression. “Why am I a flexatarian! I demand, my mind reeling for context, “because I ordered the potato burrito at taco bell?” I look around for some sort of rescue or validation, but we’re alone.
“That’s so FAUX,” I say, in an injured voice, shaking my head sadly. “I’m by the book carnivore,” I say, holding my fingers in a three-fingered girl scout pledge.
“And you have to live with that trauma,” Leong says, scooping an extra large dollop of sauce with her celery as I make gagging and heaving sounds.
.
slang
Flexatarian - someone who’s only a vegetarian when it’s convenient or showy.
faux - untrue
*Convergent evolution: how life evolves in certain predictable ways because they work the best. For example: how flying has evolved independently at least four times on earth: in birds, bats, insects, and pterosaurs. Ultimately, this theory predicts that we will meet other “humans” if we ever get out and explore the universe - those Star Trek green, human aliens may actually be real somewhere.
*I have a no “show off” rule which this may violate..
Two drifting hearts
pining to be one,
hover on the convergent surge
of the winds of yearning.
Once fused, the primal passion
drives their propulsion,
taking them to the carnal heights
of cosmic longing,
consummated in celestial silence.
At the acme of surreal desire
of magnetic craving,
the private spaces of the two bodies
implode to disappear.
Their mingled souls
then turn into the singularity
suspended in deep outer space
where in astral ballet
they sway entwined.
The blended bodies
of sculpted silhouette,
framed against the diffused glow
of the crescent moon,
float to the edge of nebular clouds,
away from the intangible allure
of the blue planet,
that couldn’t thwart
the space odyssey of love.
January 25, 2020
Contest : Picture Prompt
Sponsor : Brenda Chiri