Best Displaces Poems
Woman of Sorrow She o'the Morrow
Drink to her whose sorrow Nay... I'll drink to her on the morrow...
Has aroused a poet's sigh; She who'd set my thoughts a'fly...
A woman who brought tomorrow She from whom I'd borrowed...
What treasure can never buy. Treazure grand from silken thigh...
Her words are penned with sadness Her words o'pen o'gladness...
And often an empty tone; Feelings oft thought as madness...
Along with all those feelings Full cool crost river's stone...
In a sea of tears from feeling alone. A'drift in sea o'tear... o'smile felt hers alone.
Here's to her whose sorrow Here's to she of morrow...
Has made many a poet cry; Whose gift I so shall try...
Her words are read with tears Her words thus through the years...
That rain like love from the sky. Shall be as rain o'love from sky.
Now the sea will drink her tears Aye! I'll toast then on that morrow...
With those we try to hide; Gone thus her fog o'sorrow...
Here's to her whose sorrow As joy displaces fear...
Flows free from deep down inside. When then our sea doth drink her tear...
Mine as well fast by her side...
Elizabeth Wesley Winds of pleazure set high our tide...
So shall I my glass lift high...
To she that sails on winds o'pride.
SeaWolf
Gentle eye, mellow heart, love outpouring
Our void like presence, spacial and vibrant
Magnetic bliss currents, enlivening
In stillness, to each nuance, sentient
At first stupor interrupts staid silence
Over time, silence displaces stupor
Assigning thus, innocence preference
Signalling consciousness fulcrum stabler
Upon internalising attention
Within the domain of our heart, spacial
Our divine connect prioritisation
Reveals blissful hues of Gods miracles
The pathless path; journey without movement
Vibrational ascent, in contentment
06-February-2021
Striding into the snowy fortress my tepid heart at double time
paces
Entering a pine colonnade sprouting a wintry mane, saddled with
velvety laces
Cloaked with icy needles forming a brittle, hooded trellis
Golden beams seap through the shielded parapet gilding the frosty
mantle with an iridescence
The distant peaks shrouded with the glow of satin evanescence
Following an unmarked, winding trail spurred on by an eery
prescience
My unbridled senses discharged; my tempered spirit for the
mysterious journey braces
A haunting stillness shadows my movements; stealthily my
boundary encases
Shuttered from the outside world and its vapid spaces
Where time is muted and nature's discordant rhythm races
A pristine environment where tendrils caress, limbs bristle, the cold
wind chases
A cloudy fondue swirls overhead and each spiralling steeple
embraces
Squawking squirrels prance freely on the floor without leaving any
traces
Bald eagles glide above the crenelated spires crowning the summit
with their magestic graces
A maverick-cardinal's chirps funnel through the shrouded mist,
temporarily the dreary damper effaces
A Snowy owl crests over the hollowed thickets scanning the tight
nooks and crawl spaces
White-tailed deer cautiously trek through covered thickets, matted
fields which their camouflage erases
Filtering through the blustery labyrinth, an open field the rough
terrain displaces
The broad meadow teaming with yesterday's cares my
adventurous journey replaces
Looking longingly back on my charted path, my bridled heart the
solitary life praises
Salons and beauticians carve beauty
Today beauty and makeup are considered as duty
What implies these beautiful faces?
Reality and honesty in some cases
Other hide ugliness and show they are fruity
Is it fair or a cruelty?
For ourselves a complete dishonesty
As our beauty old age surely displaces
Really? The Makeover
To focus on eternal inner density
And promise to step back from fake makeover's city.
Soul proposes man dispossesses
Let us oath to remove these twisted phrases
I pray, a day may come of truth in majority
Really? The Makeover
Twinkling stars come out at night,
as silent as rising cream.
And I float above the clouds,
tucked snugly into a dream.
Outside of reality,
solitude liberates me.
And approaching the heavens,
my fledgling spirit soars free.
The calm of tranquility
displaces anxiety.
And my conscience speaks to me
unshackled from piety.
Obscured by a veil of hope,
truth is nowhere to be seen.
For within fantasy dreams,
imagination's Queen.
My life has travelled roads less taken,
a tumbleweed, east, west, north and south,
all around the world.
Sprouting, enticing horizons beckoned,
each just as fair, opened to discover
by youthful emancipation from entangled roots.
Never an answer to who my grown up would be,
endless opportunities, challenges and changes,
in effect, constrained ever looking back.
Well along nearly two score and ten later,
sunset in the dwindling distance, I take momentary pause
for a meditative gaze back along the ways.
Lennon said life happens, displaces other plans,
an evolution of maturation from hopes and expectations
to what has been, is, and what is yet to come.
In the distance, an inquisitive, self-assured youth,
unstoppable, for whom failure was alien,
que sera, sera in mien.
In between, the midlife self schooled in life’s reality,
nil tallies begetting pragmatism, tempering intrepidity,
with neither hope nor hopefulness suppressed or quelled.
Today, my senior citizen contemplates its
ageless twenty-something heart and mind,
with as many questions, but fewer answers than they had.
There is no sigh, no lamentation, no regret
as I turn to continue along the current byway,
trusting that I have somehow made a difference.
© Copyright J. Nicholas De Bonis, 2015. All rights reserved.
Phew!! No More, No More!
That internet really works hard for me,
Broadband almost collides with a star,
Races, whirs and displaces latency,
Drives fast as a speedy, sly race car.
Whenever I want information specific,
About something eccentric or opaque,
I get out those long sentences horrific,
For google, to disperse the mystique.
I search using giant, long questions,
And even end them with a question mark,
And it shoots out several hits, locations,
For my personal analysis and remark.
Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 53
Must appearance differ from reality
In as much as front and back of the same body
To negate existence in non-duality
Being the non-existence of duality
Existence displaces both in one body
Must appearance differ from reality
Either and neither one incongruity
Make both come alive in one busy-body
To negate existence in non-duality
Everything comes from nothing logicality
Open your eyes you’re the Purusha body
Must appearance differ from reality
Every time you conceive the entirety
You affirm existence in your own body
To negate existence in non-duality
Time’s the hand draws curtain of eternity
Past nor future exists in any body
Must appearance differ from reality
To negate existence in non-duality
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Vaporous forms adrift through cold dark rooms
Are remnants of passing that in this life looms,
And I’ve felt the touch that this dread embraces
While wandering about in haunted places.
Disembodied voices resounding in empty halls
And those that whisper from ancient walls;
O’ I’ve heard these spectres that time displaces
Where gloom has gathered in haunted places!
Empty footfalls and floorboards creaking,
The lamenting wind and women weeping,
Children singing in vacant spaces,
I’ve heard these things in haunted places.
I’ve seen the dungeon’s mist as midnight falls,
I’ve seen the ghastly events that time recalls,
I’ve seen the airy forms that relive disgraces,
O’ these things I know of haunted places!
Embittered wailing and inhuman screaming
Have awakened me when I was dreaming.
O’ from the darkness the dead come creeping
Upon the night, for they are not sleeping.
Wailing spirits from times amiss,
Wander about, O’ I have witnessed this,
For these fitful souls without earthly graces
Are forever kept in haunted places!
I’ve been touched by hands where there were none
From unseemly acts and deeds undone,
By murder, by mayhem, there are always traces,
That lurk about in haunted places.
Shrinking planet changing place
barbaric acts shame mankind.
Human species in disgrace
fortune driven future blind.
Corrupt hearts exploiting hate
modern madness ancient brew.
Inner anger molding fate
flawed logic displaces true.
Children starving babies die
begging food poverty grinds.
Hungry bellies anguished cry
twisted bodies crippled minds.
Exciting times untamed fun
holy war justifies thrill.
Early grave revengeful gun
God's blessing sanctifies kill.
Pushing limits people bare
cunning minds always agree.
Burnt forests polluted air
life’s priceless apathy's free.
Solid Ideas
A solid idea has a myriad of concrete corners
When you step off the curb take one with you and iron boots
It follows you with definable mass and weight
With cold hard facts to anchor
A solid idea is one that is frozen in time chiseled
Like a statue of hard marble it is always there
Asphalt and trees fill in the landscape by the river
Solid ideas sometimes bathe in the sun by the banks
Hold on to railings of the ship if you should sail there
Metallic footwear will not save you
If you float down the stream of consciousness
Or away into the atmosphere
The edges of street blocks are covered in salt
Under a microscope the crystalline structures take shape
Are cube like forms bunched together
A solid idea is one that grips you firm like that
It replaces, displaces water on the brain
I keep my solid ideas locked up
In chains, in basements, in refrigerators
To be taken out on special occasions
Poured over ice to thaw conversations
STEP -CHILD
Small boat,
Step-child of the sea,
Feels its way cautiously,
Knows its role:
Is merely tolerated.
Uwanted offspring
Feels the roll of the waves;
Unwelcome intruder
Momentarily gathers her strength
In a rare flat calm,
To withstand the buffets:
Splash of salt shaken
Into the eyes of the bow,
Shudders at comber-crash into side,
Wave-driver wind chops the deck
Rocking and pitching entirely
At the mercy of the sea.
The sea holds the boat’s
Life in its hands,
Resents the volume she displaces,
Always ready to say goodbye
With one final wave.
A relief to make land -
Welcome solidity,
Hold cap, raise collar, turn inland.
Here it comes passed starting,
close to the end of the party
in between the laughter and the jokes
the first last kiss of goodbye to hope
as the apocalyptic clock
holds a breath at two minutes locked
waiting for the word
push button feared to be heard
lost to common sense slurred -
who's the man of the hour
if all is lost, what good is power?
Threat and rhetoric
displaces time and leverage
and children bow and cover
in threat of losing what life once discovered
in past forgotten wars abhorred
memory disposed by bombs and swords
could the mind or time erase
the holocaust of the human race?
Step away a second,
give peace, diplomacy a chance
there is nothing beyond this chicken dance.
Updated for Doomsday Clock 2/10/2018
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Eight
At her feet gather daily plumage dark white to brown leather
Pigeons geese crows sparrows larks and wild ducks in sunset colour
And the resident owners of the waters by the fleet
The snow-white swan-lake ships gliding majestic in clover
Every day come older women with children or decrepit
With sling bags stuffed with golden crumbs of yesterday’s baguette
Some Berber women with sacks of semolina for couscous
All to seek good works at her feet where waves lap up and beat
Where the lazy louts of the spoilt winged clans wait on one leg
Pretend to keep an appointment though not to seem to beg
By rushing to providers with an air: hail dope well met!
Till some Labrador runs amuck just missing a juicy leg
Just then on that well-worn wooden bridge past the portcullis
Did Old Khayyam steal in a glance a wisp of a form bliss
Doe-eyed leaning on the rail in a gossamer negligee
The infinitely lamented thing that’s this lady all miss
Once more the Lass from Lahore lifts her dark diamond eyes
The breeze softly displaces the cowlick from vision’s disguise
Does she espy the Bard strain his thoughts fingers through his beard
While the Dreamer Dame of the lake leaves without much choice!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Upon my intransigence, I seek solitudes,
sovereign of their state…
Pertaining to my pensive pertinacity,
rigidity reigns supreme…
Idol inflexibilities sustain my endurance,
thus my punitive perseverance ponders still…
For love be the catalyst that displaces my fortitude,
my firmness, my patience, my stamina staggers…
My valorous veins victimized with a wounded will,
I lay to rot a mortified morsel a malignant mammoth...
But yet I hold ground, entombed by the presence of love,
harpooned through the heart,
enslaved by its tentacles of tenacious tyranny…
For I am a man of vigorous valor,
violated by the view of Venus.
July.13.2019
Intransigence Poetry
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
Placed 1'st...Thank You