Best Dubiously Poems
Intentionally deceived by those that augmented dubiously.
An Innocence killed by lies that seemed real.
Now, what a heart should feel is controlled by strength of will.
Entombed down deep inside a garnet red does hide.
Tossed away, you lost, I'm afraid.
My inner voice calm, looks for compassion.
To give encouragement, it comes from within.
I look for honesty as my eyes turn inside-out.
Always searching to bend nettles and thorns
into a perspicacious light, intricacy of lace —
intimate in the meaning of life and love.
Gems, like an embryo, form in the dark —
eye-popping wisdom of diamonds and rubies,
sapphires and fiery opals, not endlessly hypnotic
but romantically impactful, not dubiously distracting.
My arms don’t begin at the shoulders but are in the pits
of my inner ken, an amiable passion, like a Winter’s fire
surging powerfully to my hands that draw the waters
of kisses and hugs and the mundane of cleanup
at the end of a day, restart over and over again —
deep deep breaths whisper slowly of strength and vigor,
though the knees ache, the back’s bent but the smiles spark
and the laughs light up like fuel from within. My family draws
from my spirituality, the sense that everything will be alright.
4/23/2020
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
A Poem Honoring Spirituality Poetry Contest
We are all going to celebrate the jubilee!
Buzzed the over dubiously excited bumblebee.
Do we have to pay in pollen? Is there a fee?
Asked his cousin Jeremy who almost dropped his tea.
Will of course we do pay, there is a tiny little fee.
Said the enthusiastic bumblebee. It is a jubilee!
How much is the fee? Do you know? Butted in Spider Lee.
Spider Lee was hanging on to his web with one knee.
Not sure, the bumblebee said, but I know that dried up she
Pointing to their flamboyant godmother, the old queen bee
Will pay the way for all of us to go, yes all three.
She is forever generous, this old queen bee!
Life as a poet was never my chosen profession or vocation
Nor do I aspire to wear a crown in ceremonial coronation
but I am grateful for comments with sincere appreciation
My capricious muse and I conferred, and after deliberation
we offer you a list of poetry resolutions, with the stipulation
that we dubiously hope to keep in this whimsical declaration
1. I will diligently try to pen new forms, without frustration
2. Write with positive karma, avoiding negative confrontation
3. Create more imaginative poems with ambiance and elation
4. Laugh at those who try to malign me with childish vexation
5. My muse made me promise to engage in harmless flirtation
*List appended with a clause stating: 'exaggerated expectation'
December 9th, 2021
Five New year's Resolutions Contest
Sponsored by L Milton Hankins
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
We were both young, carefree, so innocent
Dreams never simpler
Life's fruits tastier
Teenage love just one big experiment
Life a fantasy
Feeling fancy free
Uncontrollable hankering for fusion
Swept up in a fiery whirl of confusion
We were too young to know
While daydreams conjured false embellishment
Ravenous hunger
In one unhinged blur
Oblivious to foul entanglement
Dubiously free
Raw complicity
Infatuated craving for inclusion
Foolish heedless impetuous conclusion
We were too young to know
Gone in a whirl of frivolous torment
Foolhardy treasure
Lighthearted banter
Impressionable wide-eyed reckless bent
Dizzy and woozy
Too giddy with glee
Intoxicated with teenage delusion
Delirious adolescent illusion
We were too young to know
Swept up in lustful impetuous passion
Now seems so long ago
AP: 3rd place 2020
Submitted on May 15, 2018 to contest QARINAGE sponsored by GREGORY BARDEN - RANKED 4TH
Autumn In The Air - Hooray
Respite from punishing
heat wave - yay
which above line,
could "speak" volumes,
and be a stand alone poem
offering readers
a reprieve nsync
whence roasting, sultry,
and torpid unpleasant
weather since yesterday
boot such brevity,
would disallow
me to extemporize,
but more importantly today
this intrepid word
smith doth "say,"
he would never
wanna miss trodding,
the formerly (golden
in their heyday now sketchy),
sections of said roadway,
now where digital electronic
rustily hinged, abandoned,
and gated haunting quay
a throwback, when
private manned schooners
(shaped like a beer stein),
perhaps headed to Uruguay
could ply outlying
waters of cyberspace,
why... just yesterday
when my troubles
did not seem so far away
versus this present opportunity
to risk live and limb
(and Kong like wrath
of my reed ding fans)
while getting way
laid "traveling as
Wilburys soul survivor
foreign ancient groupie,"
the dangerous, derelict, and dicey
dubiously dotting dilapidated,
dark corners information
super high way,
thus yours truly
doth not heed,
but flaunts like some cray
zee (NOT RICH, NOR ASIAN),
but rather some gray
beard (grizzled), curmudgeon
figuratively gnarled, toothless,
and weatherbeaten lackaday
lay about good for nothing
mellow flew wuss depraved
('cept mebbe "robbing"
precious and special time
of some bachelor
farmer from Norway)
all the above
essentially wrote for naught
merely (as diversion) to comment,
how this September day wrought
ascent o' fought
(a scent oh aught) tum caught
me wear'n a corduroy
long sleeve shirt since...aye taut
a "FAKE" hungry
Grimm gimlet eyed trumpeting lout,
germane Don apprenticed
how to become cannibalizing
(without accountability) fuhrer,
(and lastly rendering enemies
into sweet tasting sauerkraut),
this while learning das dialect
(tickle) Matt speak,
(which took me a lifetime),
this preceding the
quirky invention of the umlaut!
She speaks with her nose opened wide
Like that of Queen Elizabeth the none
From the fringe of the nose
She speaks very fluently
Chewing Queen’s language
With her head high up
She must have been an “Americana”
No! Briton, I mean
Chorused the mouth of many.
Yet she was not only born of here
She leaves all her life within
In the dusks . . . thick
Of a town called “Ibara”.
Indeed the other face of “Ibara”
We thought she was of the
Known family in “Ibara”
“Ibara” of the biggest shots
We were hoodwinked again
Its “Ibara” other side
With people of no side or size.
I became popeyed of it the news
That her Father a local referee
I wore it a gown of surprise
Of her fluency even in
Pidgin and Yoruba dictions.
Needing twenty two lies
To support one big heady fabrication.
Does she defeacate or fart ?
Too clean of a skin and look
Selling dubiously nothing but her casing
As many Adams pay for her pretence
Others swayed by her glibness
Skinned naked by her smile . . . comportment
Donate generously to her carcass
Of an empty moving coffin.
Too hollow to be real.
She can’t sleep in darkness
She can’t wash her clothes
Yet she is full of pretence
Too pompous to be genuine.
Enter the knockings of that day
That she will be strip naked
Of her white flying lies
All at the open market square.
Alayande Stephen. T
30th,July, 2006
12.25am
Ola’s very comical story of his
Female friend called Wunmi.
Carl Koontz
1892-1915
Mister Gregg was standing atop my grounded skull,
And so was Mister White,
And the reticent county coroner.
And inexplicably,
They directed two men in blue overalls
To dig up my decomposed body that day.
I must say, the sounds of those slicing shovels,
Upending the dirt of my final destination,
Here in Mt. Olive Cemetery
Was most disheartening, to say the least.
But bigger and better digs
Were in store for me,
Up at Whittier Heights Cemetery.
“Easy fellas, easy,” I said silently,
“Easy now, as you lift me out!”
And “heave-ho” I heard the men say,
As they hoisted me up upon
The four-wheeled wagon,
With two sturdy horses up front
Looking back dubiously.
And together, with my one ton marble tombstone,
I and my lilly white sarcophagus
Travelled to the Heights,
Whittier’s new and spacious boneyard,
Festooned with wild roses.
Though it is impossible to die permanently twice,
I have discovered in death,
That it is possible to be buried a brace of times!
“Heave-Ho” I heard the men say!
As I sat in Sunday school stupor that morning.
I thought without thinking this day was no different.
The sun hurt my eyes as I gazed at the window.
My thoughts were diffused by four conversations.
Each one was mundane in their orientation.
Although their delivery was in no way obtuse.
I heard the word vision and came to my senses.
It holds special meaning for me and my loved ones.
“Hold on”, I caught myself saying in silence.
“Hold on let me speak.” Finally voiced in despair.
“You all have known me to be rational and honest.”
My Friend's story is what I told them that day.
"Robert and I had gone to bed in the evening
It was early but we were asleep straight away."
“Wake up” the loud voice invaded my sleeping.
“Wake up” it commanded, “you need help right away.”
“Your check up was wrong, you are stricken with cancer.”
“A bird will confirm that I came here to warn you.”
“Did you hear that noise?” Robert asked in confusion.
“God was speaking to me, he came with a warning.”
“Or maybe an angel. Did you hear what he told me?”
“Only loud noise, and the brightness, no speaking at all.
I explained what was said, we were up the whole night.
I went in the next morning for x-ray and check up.
On the way to the building from my car in the lot.
A Red bird on the sidewalk flew up to my shoulder.
It sat there, not moving, ten seconds moreover.
My confidence soared though I could never doubt it.
The physician's exam found nothing out of ordinary.
I told the physician where the test should be made.
He dubiously checked and with the very next test
Found my problem as was foretold in the vision.
I now can bear witness to all who will listen.
That God is alive and will always protect us
If we believe he is near and always watching.
And pray in his name to his son for his favor.
© Feb 20 2010 For Catie's Divine Intervention contest
Placed number 1
My dubiously protagonist Self
outgrows toward a co-invested
cooperative
co-governing center
A core UnWhite House communication center
Tao training for sacred positive
and trauma negation memories
Into ecologically
and economically
Right whole open
PanenTheistic MacroEconomic Intelligence
Amping up
co-relational win/win choices
through unconditional regard
of global
inside/outside co-discernment
voiced human choices
Ego AnthroPrivileged
by secularizing LeftHemisphere
health and safety cooperative wants
evolving old tired competitive addictive needs
to defend revolutionary
evolutionary win/lose theories
that predation is normative
whether in a win/win thrival opportunity
or in a win/lose risk to survival time
Not mentioning
survive together to thrive
communal co-empathic
win/win imaginations
empowering enlightened co-governance
animating long-term resilience histories
My intimately win/win highest and best
co-redemption narratives
feel like a sacred housed cooperative
trauma-free awareness
and copassionate intent
to live together EarthTribe curiously,
yet confidently,
win/win animated
sacredly together
On, but not overpowering,
my cusp of traumatic anxiety triggers
and co-therapeutic anticipated compassions
together deepending mutually co-invested
ownership and co-therapeutic
natural health and spiritual safety
intent
Calls my sacred housing cooperative images
merging projects for
and from
cooperative nondogmatic experiences
comforted by food and energy
nurturing resilience
Appreciating river-front environmental green
and clean
co-relational preservation
not at all bully mean
Historical-multicultural
Right-sacred/Left-secularizing
co-discernment spirit-mind/nature-body skills
of cooperative
co-governing communications
For green compassionate resilience
reproducing inside imaged
EarthPeace therapeutic homes
and panentheistic gardens
in/out-sided
wellness-rounded
competing mortal space
throughout immortal time
for EarthTribe's health-cultural
co-responsive resonance.
darling dimpled dervishes
dancing delightfully
ghouls goblins gargoyles
gabbing, grabbing, ghosting,
witches wearing weaves,
wistfully watching watchers
dust of night brings Halloween
Outstanding orange ovarian owls
studiously studying steeples,
betting bulbous bats below
will wind-fly down, betwixt and between.
jealously juicing, joyously jeering
Dubiously doubting daring dust of the night.
Sweaty Palms – Chronic Woe Renders...
Po' Whet Tick Dampened Curse = A
Worse Fate Than Death!
...of Google I now know sweaty
palms sports dignified name
known as palmar hyperhidrosis.
Here all along (meaning major
of my roam'n LIX chronological
hash tagged linkedin orbitz), this
plague constitutes bona fide
medical condition. Cold drippy
comfort! Also (minimally) re:
assuring to realize, this generic
guy need not count himself alone
in sopping wet wilderness re:
this plague. Such problematic
health condition impacts, comprises,
and affects one to two percent of
the world’s population. One
Doctor Riesfeld purportedly makes
hand over fist handsome income.
Will power alone seems a dauntlessly
futile endeavor to rid oneself of
disruptive condition. Try as I might
to put lockdown on propensity
for sweat glands (synonymous
with the term eccrine) packed
within sub surfaces of hands, fore
head and feet. As linkedin to
sympathetic nervous system,
the body electric under stress
activates glands. Profuse moisture
dripping like a faulty faucet
severely affected everyday
activities of existence since a
young adult. Frustration to
complete a simple task such
as opening a doorknob, using
the laptop, and even writing
concomitantly associated with
droplets of water soiling green
sleeves to appear near saturated.
Without fail interpersonal ambitions
hi-jacked when wet as dishrag hands
found me disinclined to experience
social rejection. Though sprung
from overactive predisposition to
anxiety, these secretory organs
get exacerbated with dubiously
honorable privilege of being gifted
with panic attacks, offers little
comfort to sill lake consolation.
The darling, delightfully, dubious, delectable despicable day
No one thought to warn me; no one noticed maybe, never mind
It was an extra special, extraneously exciting, and exacting day.
I did not even notice at first, deliberating about dungarees,
I was exasperatingly naïve about anything except my wardrobe.
Unaware of what was whispering in winter, wishing mine had pockets.
So when the bodies bounced in, and the babies begin burping,
And the men marched madly, at first, I frankly did not notice.
But when I finally got dressed, in my extra special dungarees
There they were – the lonely, lithe, lively, luxurious long fellows,
Picketing, pirouetting, posing, and pinching, everyone notoriously
Not being socialized, seriously sassy. A despicable day in suburbia.
There is one we have not recruited yet, the small minded ones cried.
They chased me for hours, trying to get me to bend to their madness,
But although I had not been warned, I was fast, even in hard blue jeans.
My choice wise that delectable despicable, dubiously dangerous day.
For had they caught me and turned me, I would not be writing poetry.
I would not be throwing paint onto a canvas and laughing maniacally.
I would not be able to live my truth, and stick out my tongue at the masses.
But they did not, and so I can.
It’s boxing day (the Brit name for the day after Christmas) and Pamela, Lisa’s grandmother is visiting our little pandemic ark. Pamela’s a Cowboys fan so we’re watching them slaughter Washington - between commercials - but now a Tesla commercial is running. “Those electric cars,” Pamala says dubiously, “seem problematic.”
“You’ve heard of global warming, haven’t you, Pamala?” Leeza says? Leeza addresses everyone (even her grandmother) as if they were her age (12). It’s both seductive and lazy. “This whole system,” she raises her arms to include the apartment, the city and America, “will collapse - we’re DOOOOMED,” she concludes, as if speechifying to an eager crowd.
“Everyone’s heard of climate change,” Pamela says, sipping her eggnog. Pamela is as well informed as any of us and seems rather envious of the future, even the coming awfulness.
“Leeza’s her own theatre,” Her mom says, grimacing indulgently.
Leeza’s full attention was now on the pastry tray - having spotted two small eclairs under the bear claws - she'd lost interest in the conversation and saving the planet.
“The system won’t collapse,” Will says. Will received his early acceptance letter from Harvard the other day and now he knows everything. “We’ll lose Florida, South Carolina and New York,” he pronounces calmly, “so there’ll be some.. migrations.”
“Thank you, professor,” Lisa says, rolling her eyes as if to say ”Harvard people.”
“I think the Covid might get us all - before climate change,” I say, in the spirit of the holiday.
“Well,” Will says, grinning, “that’s what ALL the people at inferior colleges think.”
Leeza, passing by my easychair, curls into my lap like a cat, gently petting my hair. “Don’t be mean to MY friend,” she says, purringly - I was suddenly her possession. Lisa comes out of her chair, a sly smile on her face, to lay crosswise atop Leeza (and me).
“Ugg,” I managed to say, squirming to get comfortable, then “Akkkk.”
Lisa says, “Leave my poor roomie alone!” and starts baby-kissing my head.”
Will starts in our direction like HE’S going to pile on. “Egggg! I shrek, “HELP!”
Pamela whoops with glee as Dallas scores another touchdown.
“Like beating a dead dog with a stick,” she says.