Best Darks Poems
On a dark Friday night, creature crawling
The darkness silenced, frogs in swamps shuts
Croaking and the hissing create muted at once
To perceive the whistlers whistling in turns
PaMushika-shika, To board home, Combies
After being dropped off by the combi Pahasha
I opted for a quick thriving by the darks, Ana
Sisi Pamumvuri. A quick one to say, quench
My absurd sexual appetites, lips left so dried...
Two steps forth, leaking my white rimmed lips
A bite too, appreciating a sultry maze in front
Never did I thought of my ED condition. Oh
Had long forgotten about understanding my ed
And his symptoms, Ed and my lifestyle as well
His common causes I had drawn a blank eye.
A short skirts fitting her slendern torso, as of
My utterance she became the defined beauties
Of the night, Eh... so eloquent alike Mugabe's
Speech in Native language, mocking the chaps
Whom taught him of vowels a e i o u. A ei ou
Quick to react, she gets to talk business as of
Her routine, A five dollar note for short time
Not a bad fortune for her well decorated torso
In her dark room I found myself in, undressing
And her radio, powered on spelling the melting pot
It spelt of the misfortunes of the domains vividly
How we queue in long impetuous lines to refill
How the price hiking and shelves emptying wry
How the bond note manifest into bondage, more...
And more dilemmas spat by the voice in her radio.
The heraldings left me a quagmire, I was stunned
In a state of confusion and conflicts, I was naked
So rinsed were my thoughts of independence awry
And to her nakedness I found not any pleasure more
An ED to her rescue, Victims of circumstances
Never did I thought of stress to lead me an ED
Depression, anxiety, and alcohol often trigger it.
In this case maybe my physical factor of diabetes,
My kidney disease and blood vessel diseases been the culprit.
An Erectile dysfunction to her rescue. Victims of ED.
Fuchsia panels
Standing parallel, like soldiers standing to attention
Push them forward, and venture onward
Like a woodpecker pecked cloth spread across the atmosphere
A permeable shelter of green does cover the cobble below
The darks and the lights of the jades and the emeralds
Add shimmer and flatness to this world of calm
Suspended from somewhere, someplace above
Hang scattered hues of violet
Almost candy floss like
Breaking up and breaking through the veil of green
Clusters of red also
Climbing up, up
Reaching towards the skies
Though forever trapped within their own dwelling
Observe, the kaleidoscope of colours
.............................................
And then, once more, the fuchsia panels
Standing parallel, like soldiers standing to attention
Push them forward - and leave behind…
The crimson sun still up
as she woefully walks
in an abandoned rustic railways;
Her feet ~ as heavy as the stale steel rails
almost buried in forgotten soil;
Her hands as cold as tombstone plate
whilst holding a gun on her left hand~
She grips a quill pen
to write the obscure death
of the man in blue suit~
and the deaths of twelve passengers
still unsolved...
She was here some decades ago~
aboard in an old steam train
The memory of that macabre ride
haunted her for thousand days and nights.
She writes in scarlet ink
on a bloodstained scroll
that says like this:
" To all the victims who died here,
I lay my hands before this forgotten railway
and the weeping willows as my witness;
I never thought too much love would kill.
I killed my beloved man in blue suit,
the driver of that tortuous train journey...
Yes I killed him to save the three million people
dwelling on the final station;
Using the twelve infected people,
He was sent to spread that virus
that he thought would change the world.
I didn't understand till now~
Yes, I killed him with a silencer
and unlocked that explosive weapon
before it reached its final destination.
But I was spared~
not the twelve people;
Now, with this gun I’ll give justice
to all people who died here
by killing the undersigned murderer.
Till death,
Anonymous ”.
The gun silently flicks
pointing her head~
Darks clouds hide the day
as her blood flows
on the thirsty ground.
1 May 2021
Modified for “ Guns Poetry Contest”
Sponsored by Anthony Biaanco
11th place
Two successive dates
I failed to hit the mark
I'm sorry for the mistakes
And the crestfallen shark
On the first, I didn't use
Much needed commas and slashes
Flowers I failed to produce
Absent were the flamenco flashes
I now do understand
Beauty of punctuation
Undulations of the land
Whispering illustration
And the slanting slashes
Those acute angles
Poetry to eyelashes
Loosening many tangles
Superb instrument dash
A pause to look at your work
Warns you before being rash
Watches where lightning lurks
Stanzas bring out sparks
Red violet and pink
A ray between two darks
A fillip to potent ink
Thanks for your expertise
It has made me mature
No mistakes in the next exercise
I'm more than sure
Especially the short stanzas
I was unmindful so long
Now these will be in bonanza
Lilac lyrics of a song
Do fix the next date
Mistake-free poems I'll give you
You will feel a tidal elate
Like the autumn silver dew
_________________________________
August 31, 2019
Overcoming Mistakes Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Let those failed lights
keep their starry darks,
no hidden treasures have
they –
gems who hoard
their sparks, as bushel
a-cap heaven’s dearest
light,
blessed with angel appearance
and nature
now in free mirror fall
kingdom sovereign pool of self
worships self-love, that’s all --
I heard an owl last night
as I walked in the forest.
It was just past the full moon
and so there was some light.
It's screech raised the hairs
on my neck.
Suddenly the lights
and the darks became
clear.
The trees and bushes
all stood in high resolve.
I felt the cool air intake
throughout my lungs and
a sense of smell long gone
suddenly returned.
My ear heard a flutter
of wings to the right.
On my left from a long dead ear
I heard,
the frantic scurrying of small prey
in flight.
What if, what if,
in some other place and time,
I had been the prey?
Would I have known what to do?
As my senses cooled down
I became more aware of
what an alien I was in the forest bare.
Books I can read but I am
illiterate here.
What must it be like to always
live life
in a screech owl moment?
PART I
The Joy of a birth, his own shine penetrating his eyes,
The new out born fruit of a long spend love,
Her hands rubbing against her red shiny chin,
Her legs crossed, the beauty that sings till the last breath.
Her thumb in her mouth, blowing, saliva flowing all over,
Her tiny grassy hairs and a sensational smile!
His mind throbbing with a pleasant paternal pain,
Oh, the enduring love!
He curls her onto his lips, the roses of affection,
Fell on her bright cheeks and a spurt of emotions,
Through his blood, that glowed the heavens between
And his two round globes filled by a sea of passion.
“Come to me, my baby, my love, my little daughter….
My sweet little doll,
I will love you till my death…
And I will carve a heavenly doll,
For you to sleep with….My angel…”
The man thus became a father and a true paternal love
Flew through his heart, into the unknown worlds.
PART II
The enthusiasm of the youth, and desire for the taste of love,
Her tiny grassy hairs grown long,
The soft fabulous filaments of keratin hanging by her curves,
The dream of a girl, for a handsome prince haunting her nights,
And eventually flourishing into a full blossom shiny daffodil,
Her lips wet, her legs crossed, her red cheeks burning
And the sweats flowing through the blankets.
Oh, the youthful pleasure!
The ghostly love takes her into the world of souls
From there the memories of her father,
Pulling her back, into the past world.
The affection fought heavily with the gods, but, only in vain.
And the gods decided to keep in their beds, the beauty of hers.
Unknown of these realities, he opens the door
And finds his love fallen prey to the love of an unknown.
All his dreams to carve her a heavenly doll to sleep,
Perished only in the mightiest darks of the underworlds.
The life in his soul had gone and the bird shall sing no more…
“Not yet, my love, not yet ….
I haven’t died …my love ….I haven’t”
He fells on his knees and takes her into his arms,
Her head hanging down by his flexed elbow,
Her breast pressing hardly into his heart,
His face bends, lips on her forehead,
And his teethes hurting her pale feathery skin,
Tears of unfinished love dribbling from his spheres, her face wet,
He cries loud with no breath in-between.
THE END©Anees Rahman
I wish at times I was a tree
I would have been happy and more free
I wish at times I was the rain
I would have washed down all fear and pain
I wish at times I was the breeze
I would have been living in peace and ease
I wish at times I was the summer
I would have woken all sleeping in slumber
I wish at times I was the winter
I would have got all hatred to freeze
I wish at times I was the light
I would have given all darks a fight
I wish at times I was a day
I would have made friends with the night
Fairest of the fair wilst thou be as wife
For thy breathe though lips elixir kisses
Our future can allow me true immortal life
I see mine eyes transfix and I am lesser free
A willing prisoner of a royal court
Unto passion's spells and gazes slavery
As winds of change bow me to mine queen
To feel the fables of inner beauty
The Gods of blessings that they bring
And loss of love becomes, mine only fear
Also time, the marble pillars standing
Still, grandeur when thee do appear
One is to dream of love passed the morrows
Be a man and mind never deviating
Setting straighter than Eros and his arrows
To deep, pierce through the soul to heart
Binding all of us whole altogether
Like the morning shadows to the moonlit darks
This nomad here and once, now a cease to wander
Outward towards scattered raging storms
But, in the eye the treasure is love of lover
And I must call thee mine dearest dearest wife
Surely I canst pay Venus, or then the piper
But, under heaven what cost shall be much higher
But, mine entire heart which I give thee
A chance to hold an angel, I ask from bended knee
And through out the world words echo "Wilst thou marry me"
There she was standing
In her small tiny room
The city was so big
Shining under the moon
She looked at her clothes in her closet
She was ready to pack
'How man times', she said to herself,
'Am I going to have to do that?!'
The case was still empty
But soon it would be
Filled up with some clothes along her memories
Filled up with tears and laughter and feelings so pure
Where she would go to
She still wasn't sure
Sad feelings surrounded her
Tears she had to fight
Took the last look at the room
Then turned out the lights
And soon after walking
In the darks of the night
The sun slowly cam up
Telling her,' it'll be alright!'
Moving on
(Reviewed by a snooty correspondent)
November dons her coats of warm terries,
tans, a few ochres, but surely not bright.
(Except for sneaky, red-coated berries,
peeking from bushes, agrin with delight.)
November's dress: pretty dull, never shines.
We prefer October's boisterous charm.
Branches bare, it's said limbs often recline;
sunbathe to keep their tans, and also warm.
Fashion designers often grow somber
and turn November into works of art.
Choosing russet offset by burnt umber
we find those dull colors lacking in heart.
Whispers of Summer heard in fashion parks.
Soon we'll write of a new bridal-white show.
Days ending sooner, dusk now wearing darks;
Winter waits coyly; looks lovely in Snow.
November 10, 2021
November or December Quatrain Contest
sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
First Origin Realisation Cosmological Existence
The Dark was so lonely
Yet in the depths of its despair
Its energy became stronger
The Dark became darker, deeper
Growing with such haste
Until it reached its pinnacle point
Then a sudden lull
Calming, comforting itself
Realising the power it felt
In the lull a new energy
Ignited by the contrast of
Evolutionary movements
Forcing something from nothing
In order for Dark to feel purpose
To connect and feel alive
This new energy lit a fire
Deep within Darks soul
An eternal bond ensued
A consummation of Light and Dark
Their connection inspiring creation
A design for Life and Death
Lady…
When the cities sink nightly
In the sea of longing
I swear to drown in your depths
When you sleep
I swear to wander in your dreams
When you laugh!
I swear to melt in your breathes
When you cry!
I swear to freeze in your tears
Lady…
In your eyes
I swear that silence is full of words
In your heart
I swear that love is full of wishes
In your lips
I swear that perfume is full of kisses
Far of you
I swear that world is full of darks..
Deep in the darks of the ancient tomb
where smoky white whispers drape the walls like tapestries of silence
where succulent temptation meets the hunger of desire
where the Sirens arise from their treasure rooms
is where we thirsty men prepared for sin to be committed--
The women...so many women, all fluttering about the den like decadent fireplace aroma
attracted our gazes from every angle, prisms of beauty and fascination
each masters of allure, they were all-knowing of their curved angles and seduction
they were the magicians and we were willing to pull any amount from our black hats to see their tricks
it was, in its essence, a house of haunted mirrors
showing us all the reflection of our invisible virtues
We dined like lions that night-- at the flesh
the women bit at their lips while we drank their wines..every, drop, in the house
our fanged fury and carnal impulses mocked at romance and all it stood for
so much so that the next morning was actually ashamed to arrive
but when it did we all realized what we had done
it was a ravage of the soul for all involved, a night of roars and future scratches to our Rosaries
It was a grim tale told that night, scorched with wicked and sin
it was one that no one was proud of, one we hoped would ultimately die with the whispers
it was a tale we told in secret to help us forget
not about the sins of our present
but of the sins we were destined to commit
for this was the doorstep to bloodshed only known by those in the Seventh Circle
It was an evening to prepare ourselves for what was behind the Gates afire
it was our fleeting moment to live like the Devil before we did his work
it was a tale that I wish I was destined never to repeat
if only the battles wouldn't continue to bloom
February 17, 2016
Dusk finally breaks
so we assert ourselves with ecstasy
and weed.
We claim omnipotence in pills and
crystals, whose uneven facets
reflect our fractured souls
shone through the darks of our
eyes.
Whose catalyst propels our
transmission down highways of
perfect pavement and engraves
narcotic hieroglyphs,
gashing chasms eventually.
The bittersweet glitter in matrix
with potentiations of piperazine
and lactose.
We toast to the eve with ale
and liquor--
the sapor of chemical licorice before
an overdue nicotine stick.
It tapers from tongue and
touches stomach and makes
me feel pure again.
Whose rollercoaster ride excites lust
and leaves me caressing
myself hours long.
My innards are robotic and clang
with metallic echoes--
I am a machine of total creation
whose gears are greased and
grooved marvelously.
Driven by emphasis of metamorphic
eroticism transitioning between
infinite colors--
they drape above;
it is a nebula and brushes my
cheeks.
And smiled on endless lips
ear to ear
and didn't mind a retorted,
confused frown because she didn't
understand what I was on.
She should be on this, too.
She should smile with me.
She should hear this music that
is coming from nowhere--
the weightless melodies of jazz
and blues
and the screwdriver bits of
electro-pop and trance.
They kept me until morning,
just as the flooding turned to
drought--
the barren Mississippi,
the barren Mississippi!--
it won't rain for weeks
and my chasm is complete.