Best Deafeningly Poems
The hallowed evening is deafeningly here
Goblins and witches' loud shrieks are near,
Shelled corn raining down our outer wall
Our whimpering dog is cringing in the hall,
Some snotty-nosed kid bangs on the door
A plastic pumpkin for candy wants even more,
The tiny young princess calls out trick or treat
A four-year-old drummer boy never misses a beat,
That big-footed clown lives up our lane
The kid with the rattle is driving me insane,
An older woman whom I cannot figure out
Is collecting for UNICEF, somehow, I doubt,
One more creature from the black lagoon
Or a big, black hairy animal like a baboon,
I will take in my candy and drop out of sight
Turn off the porch lamp and call it a night.
FIRST PLACE GOLD MEDAL WINNER
"Brevity - Halloween" Poetry Contest
All Poetry - October 9, 2021
FEATURED POETRY SOUP POEM
June 20, 2021
FRONT PAGE PICK
All Poetry
October 5, 2022
October 7, 2022
Submitted to: "2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 16" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
"All animals are equal. But some animals are more equal than others."
—George Orwell
A dozen of chickens and a number of horses, a cat and a raven, a few cows and other hoofed ones—all of which are perfectly silent. Poor wolfie. He can't even find a voice to growl. "Your Honor, if I may request for a short recess," I whisper, humiliatingly like a dying dragon. But my timid voice is drowned by a sly-looking pig's pouring of whisky into Dis Honor's gilded cup.
"Have you no respect or have you no eyes?" Squealing, he deafeningly squeals. He reminds me of that scaled wyvern whose head now sits in my living room. It roared deafeningly loud but breathed no fire. "His Honor is having his brief period of refreshment at the moment!"
With eyes too dry to cry and throat too hoarse to howl, the defendant meekly weeps. But only I hear it; the jury listens to only the silence, loud as a baby serpent's inaudible hiss, of two semi-digested pigs in his gut.
Who on earth build houses with flimsy hays or sticks nowadays anyway? And was it my client's fault that the third genius Doctor Porkchop got killed when some stray earthquake crushed his oh-so-unshakable fort built brick by bloody brick? Just whose brilliant proposal is it again to have Napoleon presiding the trial of the so-called Big Bad Wolf? If only he was a dragon—a pig-dragon at least— I would fain put the beauty that is my sword into good use right now.
Countless charges of premeditated murder, culpable animalicide, et cetera. Of course, do sentence us all to another life. I turn to look at the audience right behind me: a mare, a goat, a donkey. A soft motherly neigh followed by an intelligent baa, then by an astute silence.
"Please, Your Honor," Ridiculous. This stupid courtesy reminds me of tiptoeing past a mother Couatl guarding her eggs. "Shall we resume—"
Slams of gavel.
"Objection! Objection! Objection!" Dis Honor oinks vehemently, his mouth reeking of poorly brewed whisky—and I thought Tiamat's droppings were bad. The way he repeats the slamming of his gavel with every disgustingly pronounced objection gives me a headache as if it was my head he keeps hammering on. For the first time, being hit by the Basilisk's tail doesn't sound so bad at all. "Here you call me 'Your Honor Napoleon' in full," Oh, believe me, the honor is fully mine.
I’m flabbergasted at how the streets are thronged
Could You be the one for whom twelve years I’ve longed?
Oh say, a Physician like no other before seen?
Different from the kind to where I had been?
Could Your timing have been more impeccable?
And Your approach be more unbelievable?
But I’ll undoubtedly put the last of my trust in You
I have much to lose, yes, indeed that’s true
But out of options I’ve finally run
And now even money, I truly have none
So I will find my way to your garment
So You can put an end to this bloody ailment
With an old blood-stained dress
I start out and on I press
I hurry through the deafeningly noisy crowd
Each one giving a careless, yet imploring shout
And it feels like You move further
With every step I take to get closer
“Please, if You are the Saviour”, I think,
“help me to press on, for I’m at the brink
Of breaking down, about to forfeit
I’m helplessly at the mercy of defeat.”
Not only will I touch your garment
But You will make my life to Your goodness a testament
Finally, after pushing past the multitude, I see an open space
To my advantage, in the other direction, is turned His face
Unworthy I am, so I really do not have to talk to Him
All I truly need to do is swiftly touch His hem
The hem of the Saviour’s garment, that’s all I really need
And then from this sickening bondage of blood I’ll be freed
I touch His garment, and it really was not my intention
To in any way catch the Saviour’s attention
I find it strange that no change in me I see
Until that mysterious Physician spots me
And confirms soothingly to my soul
“…thy faith hath made thee whole.”
So not only will I touch the hem of Your garment swiftly
But I will praise You from the bottom of my heart sweetly
Not only will I touch the hem of Your garment as I said I would
But I will ever bear in my heart of hearts to my Saviour gratitude
Not only will I touch the hem of Your garment, but strife
I will, as I hold onto You, Lord, for dear life
Not only will I touch the hem of Your garment with my finger
But in Your presence I will overstay my welcome and persistently linger
Not only will I touch the hem of Your garment as scary
As it may seem, I will cling to You, oh, loving and lovable Redeemer of Calvary
Our awards night, my corporate boss thought this up
with fine dining, much cash and chairman's gilded cup;
as awardee, they shacked me up in a five-star
in Hongkong where I felt I was some superstar.
After a warm bath, I consulted the mirror,
checked my body for any overlooked error;
inhaled, puffed my chest up, flattened that beer belly,
flexed my biceps, almost convinced I was Bruce Lee.
I even thought it should not have been Pitt but me
as the champion Achilles in Troy, the movie;
for there stood I, a demigod of mythology,
proudly prancing, preening in self-love's apogee.
A thump on the massive door smashed my reverie;
with a towel round my waist, I peeped out to see;
finding no one, I stepped out to catch the prankster;
must be the aircon wind for not a soul was there.
But then, the door slammed deafeningly behind me,
locking me out in the bright hallway with no cardkey;
from nowhere, young lady guests elegantly dressed
with smooth tuxedoed escorts, strolled straight towards me.
I panicked and froze in indescribable shame
though they didn't and wouldn't even know my name;
so there stood I, a semi-nude dude from the sauna
nervously blinking like a startled iguana!
I am light dawned on an eternity,
Promising tomorrows, giving today
A traversable feeling growling into conviction—
I am the fuel for the flame,
A rock for the lame
Where do I find home in which to land?
Do I seek refuge, or do I seek danger?
Am I vulnerable in my strengths?
Am I solicitous in my aims?
Do I laugh?
Do I cry?
I am in the air you inhale, frequently skimming your ground,
Sometimes I move deafeningly—
And at times I float without a sound
I have seen the change in your eyes,
The moment you grew into a man
The moment you sobbed away sin
And exposed the evil hand
I am light dawned on an eternity,
Promising tomorrows, giving today
But who am I?
Why do you hear me, when others vow I am myth?
Why do you listen, when the thunders threaten to deafen you?
Why do you doubt, when you have seen my wonders eye to eye?
When you have felt my hand on your lips,
Quieting your writhing, screaming soul?
Who am I?
I am the revealer,
In hope I am your chief
The spark in the dark that galvanizes you
The smoke in the air that sooths you
Forever and always,
I am the best of your heart,
And I am free with fires impermeable!
Flourish,
Flourishing as the sun shining you daily
Rejoicing as abundant rain watering your fields
and creating some dams
for farming fish and feeding your animals.
You are burgeoning in the eyes
of some lazy folks
who have big mouths
to talk senseless speeches in the streets
and forgetting their arable lands
which are fitting for industrial agriculture.
Flourish,
Oh! Laughing deafeningly sometimes
when I focus on some tête -à-tête debates
Which concern poverty in rich continent like Africa.
Some folks suffering because of some circumstances
and others dependence due to sluggishness.
Flourish,
DRCongo has more billionaire businessmen
and some politicians
who keep their money in their mansions
and banks
in Europe, Asia America and other African countries...
Other rich people hide their money under the grounds
than investing in industrial fishing and agriculture
and infrastructures to uplift
the economy of the Country.
June 23/2023
Written for poetry contest sponsored by
Constance la France
....F WORD CHALLENGE....
Kara Jo
Kara Joy is what we named her
Not so very long ago,
But as long as I remember
I’ve called her Kara Jo
Now you could say the acorn
Didn’t fall far from the tree,
Cause what you get with Kara Jo
Is a pretty, female, “me”
We share a love for reading
And movies, good or bad,
And she can spin a story
Again, just like her dad
No, we’re not carbon copies
One look will tell you that,
Because she’s young and beautiful
I’m getting old and fat
She has her way of doing things
And doing things her way,
And if she thinks that way is right
She’s kind of hard to sway
Much like her aging father
It seems to be the case,
“If everyone were more like us
It would be a better place”
She’d follow me when she was small
Trailing close behind,
But one dark day, life got real hard,
And we lost so much time
We went from daily interaction
To every now and then,
And if I’ve known a greater pain
I couldn’t tell you when
Sometimes I’d text her in the night
To say she made me proud,
In those times of darkened silence
That were deafeningly loud
She got her scars and bruises
Most I knew not of,
But in my ignorance and absence
I did my best to show my love
We both walked down some rugged roads
That led us from the Lord,
But in the end she set the standard
For me to strive toward
She left her pain and turned to God
I stayed beneath its cloud,
Sometimes at night she’d send me texts
To say I made her proud
By faith she did amazing things
I remember to this day
She prayed for a stranger’s broken-down car
He got in and drove away
I’ve watched her take some hard life blows
And still do the best she can,
Unaware that she inspires me
To be a better man
I turned my blessings into curses
And struggled through each day,
She turned a “curse” into a blessing
And named her Rylie Jae
She’s watched me through my failures
And saw me when I’d fall,
And she always tried in her own way
To help me through it all
“Pure Delight” is what her name means
And it has proven so
But until the day I’m no longer here
I’ll call her Kara Jo
I have not ceased—
I have not.
The things of the past
Do not rot, do not decay,
But I have not ceased—
I have not.
Once the pitchfork's prongs
Did so deafeningly twang,
I shriveled and cowered,
And found myself prancing
With the headless chickens.
Beneath the naysayer's feet
Are six cockroaches:
One for good luck,
One to ward spirits,
One to find holy favor,
One to initiate a curse,
One for venting,
One for simple disgust;
And the massacre was denied.
I stopped,
Trapped in translation,
A transparent body in an opaque cage;
Bleeding profusely on a sterilized table,
Compromising the hygiene of this place
And questioning my helpless wounds.
Please, where is the salt?
The bitterness to cleanse me?
Pain before numbness before death?
He blinded me with a sound,
With the violent beat of drums
The size of islands,
Jarring my excitable pupils
Forever.
Who is she?
Then came a day of mourning:
On the morning of a day
Of mourning
Of a day,
Lost.
Belief is philosophy.
An idea was conceived,
Was found to be nonsensical,
And standardization transformed
Into an inert totalitarianism,
But who are we to rebelliously be
The pompous leaders of nonconformity?
We write poems
That influence books
That influence manifestos
That influence wars
That influence consciences
That influence bodies
That influence wars
That influence wars
And wars
And wars
And dullness
And brokenness.
Why do we detest exhibitionism
But complain about kept secrets?
When the first snowflake fell,
She was a star of beauty,
And lauded by many,
For she was unique and unmatchable.
The Satan cursed his creation
For being whiter than the pure,
And she melted, never to return.
And then she said,
"Hell spoke to me to say,
"'My little girl, come hither,'
"And I went and was felt
"For insecurities,
"And they were removed from me.
"I was like the waterfalls
"And tingly with bees beneath my skin."
Savvy scientists scoff at the soul:
Can't poke it, prod it, pinch it, probe it
~ and clearly can't claim to contemplate...
an empirical, egg-headed, experimental
all-enveloping ecstasy of erudite exactitude
elegantly and eloquently embossed, embedded
~ in its entropy of effervescing exegesis.
Whereas
I know of no one -- nowhere -- nasty or normal
knock-kneed, neck-naped, nose-gnarled
neuron-nitpicked or nucleic-acid-nested
Who
denies indubitably or dubiously, definitely
or deafeningly--deranged, demented,
debauched or denatured -- the sacred
sanctuary unsullied, where sits, serene and
silent, the small, still sound of said soul
swilling, swelling, seeking, sailing, soaring---
sensitively, sensorily, yea sentimentally---
til he sees, then sighs, then seizes
so surreptitiously the serum of sentience
Within!
Entry in "An Inner Knowing, an Absolute Feeling, My Mystical Soul
Self Poetry Contest," sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
Listen to the gossip of the rain,
dancing on my windows and jumping on the pavement,
thrumming and battering on the roofs,
plays a little sleep-song on my roof at night,
when it hits the ground, becomes a rivulet.
Listen to the rain falling from the sky,
tracks blending into the fresh sky-fallen trickles,
crackle dry verandah like an old walkie-talkie coming to life,
beat the panes like timorous wings,
and quench our endless thirst.
Listen to the pouring rain,
pouring from dark skies,
crashed deafeningly on the corrugated metal roof,
fell down constantly like an endless bucket of water being
poured down from the heaven,
sounds like the heavens are knocking on my door,
droplets thrashed at the ground, with ferocity matchless,
beat upon my heads with silver liquid drops.
Smoke drifts across the field,
explosions, distant and blurred.
Machine guns discharging rounds,
Scorpions launching slugs.
Flashes of fire,
plasma blue, violet and emerald.
Constant noise, deafeningly loud.
Longswords rocket above,
Banshees screeching past,
Seraphs wheeling about.
Carriers,
their strange curves and mauve plasma,
float ominously above, charging.
Beams strike down, waves of heat,
splitting of the ground beneath my feet.
Before me, as I run,
my comrades are impaled,
by phantoms.
Cyan double swords,
carving the air.
Glowing jade trails knock back my lines,
followed by lilac needles,
exploding on contact.
A whisper of the air,
as if it were shivering itself.
A mirage.
Moving fast, growling at the sight of me.
Searing pain,
the worst I’ve ever felt,
skewers my stomach.
I look down,
into the eyes of a monster.
Onyx eyes, large and livid,
Four jaws, razor teeth.
Gilded armour, highlights of burgundy.
Suddenly it screams, and I feel more pain.
Looking past this monster in gold.
I see another.
Black and platinum,
Faceless and unrestrained.
Blood red blades of light,
lancing the beast’s golden chest.
Indigo flows from the charred wounds
as the other draws its weapons out.
The monster slumps to its knees,
Gurgling and choking.
I fall to the ground as well,
sliding off the cyan sword.
Night is creeping on my vision,
whispering of relief from the hurt.
There, standing above me,
the black and platinum being.
Robotic in appearance,
human in movement.
Staring down at me.
The last I hear,
from this monstrous savior,
is a strange tune.
Issuing from its helmet.
“Olly, Olly Oxen Free”
“I am Spartan 0D- One Three”
I feel the need to say a real loud poem,
A poem full of WAILS!! HOWLS!! and YELPS!!
It doesn’t need to be about anything at all,
But if it is then I guess that that helps.
AAAARR!! Now that feels better,
BOOM!! THRASH!! BAP!! WHAM!! and BAM!!!
Just like in the comics of old there’s a VRAP!! SMACK!! ZAP!!
Then a CRUNCH!! and a BIFF!! and a SLAM!!
Actually, in the comics of old, it was profoundly loud,
With all the yelling and fighting.
Those words were in yellow, in bright red shiny stars.
It was all so thrillingly exciting.
With a KABOOM!! and a THUD!! the hero saved the damsel.
Then a POP!! and a sudden KABANG!!
The hero was muscle bound, long hair and strong jaw.
Always one man against a whole gang.
Imagine writing poems where words can be invented,
Just block letters with two exclamations.
BONK!! or WHACK!! followed by WHUMF!! or PHOOMPH!!
Even your words are your own creations.
Written 19th march 2016 but never for any contest..... Till now :)
Case in point comprises emotional state of euphoria
would deafeningly, definitely, deliciously get
frenziedly expelled from stadium. Roe ting for
“our boys” packing every last seat in the bleachers
all manner of humankind would (during lulls)
Instagram, Kindle, Messenger, Outlook, Quicken,
Snapchat, Twitter. Santander, Verizon,Wells Fargo
might be sponsors for major competitive challenge.
Zero tolerance imposes winning at all costs versus
grievous miserable rapacious violent yawping
linkedin loss outcome of sporting events. Under
stand able home team owns an advantage (true
for rival players on their turf) predicated on avid
loyal fans boosting morale from family members,
friends, neighbors, et cetera. The ear splitting
roaring cheering hoopla emanating from spectators
(housed in relatively close proximity to handsomely
paid putting Pontius Pilate and bad ass Brutus brutes
rolled into one mean human fighting machine.
This previous comment meant as an honorable
kickstarter, hyperbolic endearment. My humblest apology
if said statement misinterpreted as a NON off fence sieve
strong moderate slight against any creed, race, religion,
et cetera. I merely sought an analogously effective
impact asper these hypothetical Popeye muscle
bulging arms length professional athletes plush residences
lodged in general metropolitan area to rubber baby
buggy bumper screaming banshee spectators. A
winning score affiliated with bruising, cutthroat,
dynamo...fierce-some giant, heaving, indomitably
jinxed, “killer” macho no nonsense, outlandish packed
quintessentially robust searing troopers translates
into utter screaming, quaking outrageous merciless
krazy individuals generating ecstatic cacophony
Hallowed evening is deafeningly here
Goblins and witches loud shrieks are near
Shelled corn raining down our outer wall
Our whimpering dog is cringing in the hall
Some snotty-nosed kid bangs on the door
A plastic pumpkin for candy wants even more
The tiny young princess calls out trick or treat
A four-year-old drummer boy never misses a beat
That big-footed clown lives up our lane
The kid with the rattle is driving me insane
An older woman whom I cannot figure out
Is collecting for UNICEF, somehow, I doubt
One more creature from the black lagoon
Or a big, black hairy animal like a baboon
I will take in my candy and drop out of sight
Turn off the porch lamp and call it a night
FIRST PLACE GOLD MEDAL WINNER
"Brevity - Halloween" Poetry Contest
All Poetry - October 9, 2021
FEATURED POETRY SOUP POEM
June 20, 2021
FRONT PAGE PICK
All Poetry
October 5, 2022
Write me a poem, urged the Lover
As I slipped into bed with him,
Fearing the tremors of the night
As heavy rain poured outside,
Bidding thunder to growl its boisterous song
Compelling lightning to dance in ungraceful ways!
Why should I, asked I in a detached tone
While keeping my eyes glued to the bedsheets
Why should I? Would you even care to read
If I wrote for you?
Why should I not, asked the Lover in a dangerous tone
Can you not see the genuineness of my intentions
Reflected in the expression of my eyes?
Can you not hear the laments of my heart
In my deep and profound voice?
Can you not feel the booming beats of my heart
As it somersaults each time I merely think of you?
I lifted my eyes and let them plunge in the expanse of his
Pray, how I am to write for him
If I did so, my heart would be left bared and defenseless
If I did so, my feelings would be exposed and disrobed
If I did so, the shield protecting my vulnerability
Would be thrown off, broken into millions of pieces
And I would be left unsteady and unguarded!
But the expanse of the Lover's eyes pulled me closer
In these I could see how stars birth
In these I could see what lies beyond the veil of the universe
In these I could see my meaning
In these my pulsating annoyances felt soothed
In these I chose to plunge, even if I can swim not
And soon, I was no more in control of myself,
Barely conscious that outside, the rain poured harsher
While thunder sang still more deafeningly
And lightning danced, caring not if anyone was watching it!
When he turned over to sleep
I got out of bed, opened my diary
And wrote a poem for him!
16 October 2017