Best Emoting Poems
Your face
is a love song
of exquisite and matchless appeal
Your eyes
a duet of violin and cello
sonorous, deep
Your hair
an orchestra of euphonious instruments
playing in cohesive harmony
Your smile
a fantasia
of unearthly delight
Your teeth
a legato line of 32nd notes
in a concerto played to perfection
Your hands
a conductor’s baton
emoting wordlessly
Your voice
a rhapsody
of supernal joy
Your heart
a sumptuous lyric
a poetic paragon
Your soul
a sacred oratorio
set apart and holy
You are a sinuous melody
I can’t get out of my head
…nor will I ever wish to
Written 1 Mar 2020
The life of pain enters suffering
Molds together righteous gain and restructuring
Of self love emoting happiness
The mistakes create foundational lessons
With so many unanswered questions
What to do with this information
Needing liberation
Stay consumed in weakness
Or to always be tough and fearless
Knowing what is best
It’s life’s test
Showing how to prepare for the review
Process of a redo
Helping others bond together in life’s journey
Discovering what is really worthy
You today and everyday!
Gentling touch, emoting love pure,
we see God’s light in hearts aflame
and whist ego’s always unsure,
it plays no role, in our life game.
Each soul is God’s reflection, so
gentling touch, emoting love pure,
we flow in tranquil stillness slow,
with desires holding no allure.
For all conflicts, love is the cure,
still like the eye of every storm.
Gentling touch, emoting love pure,
with God’s laws, let us all conform.
In staid silence, garner clear sight,
making our childlike heart demure.
Let’s enter God’s light in delight,
gentling touch, emoting love pure.
"Mirror Image"
in the silent mirror a reflection of love stares
a glass figurine emoting radiance with savoir faire'.
a tender smile extends sweet thoughts to cherished hearts engraved
fashioned for Eternity to love on journey paved.
two lights illuminate to feed two souls once were starving
wallowing in Sun's warm glow while Destiny stood carving.
etching future memories lasting far beyond forever
complimenting in every way as words touched too deep to sever.
reflections often resonate both happiness and sorrow
yet, you remain my counterpart for each endless tomorrow.
from first breath to last we contemplate reflective view
believing in our "love story" prefacing with "I Love You".
*For Michael J. Falotico's "The Reflection Contest"
I write wildly,
Expressing, emoting
Fierce,feelings flowing
Quickly, quietly through my head
Placing, pen on paper
Releasing, recurring ,wraths within
Clearing, cleansing, the clarity conquers
Images influence entirely everything
Piles of pictures purged from my mind
Silencing my souls, shadowed secrets
Freeing a forbidden feeling of my past
Slowly, solace seeps
Renewing and refreshing
Entirely everything
Free to forge forward
To try to trust
Here it comes again, the daily reminder ...
cold sweats out of nowhere that hit me like a slap
on the face, my entire body turning clammy wet in an
instant, three-or-four times every day. Then there's the
uncontrollably exaggerated yawning and eyes that won't stop
watering, a runny nose as if instant hay fever, and that nearly in-
tolerable creepy muscle thing ... that's the worst symptom of all by
far, (akathisia, it's called), because you CAN'T hold still - all your bones
and muscles have to move at once, or you quite simply can NOT tolerate it.
I always say a prayer that it only happens a few
times each day, and only lasts for a short time, but
to be honest, it's a nightmare, and inside I'm cursing ...
cursing myself for this reminder. The reminder of a terribly
bad decision that I made thirty years ago. Oh, my "problem"
is under control, thanks to a wonder drug that did indeed save
my life, (when my heart stopped thrice), and while I no longer abuse
anything, that accursed monkey is still there, riding me like a two-dollar
mare, and reminding me a few times each day, that it's completely in control.
Yes, I'm alive and writing this because of it, and
as thankful as a human can be, truly, but I'm light-
years from the obliged kiss-off I dream about giving it.
You see, it creates another problem all its own, one they
don't tell you about when you start on "The Program", that
this particular monkey, while having the power to save your life,
is also the strongest, most tenacious monkey that exists, by FAR,
and the chance of you ever giving it that dreamed-about final goodbye,
are easily the longest odds you've ever had, especially with a weakened heart.
But you push your mind to try to remain thankful
nonetheless, because after all, you ARE still alive ...
alive and kicking and getting these wonderfully horrific
reminders each day, of just how little control and charge
and health and power you have over your own life ... alive
and moving through life like you have a giant condom on your
body and mind and emotions, not really FEELING or emoting or
experiencing much of anything in the way a human being SHOULD be,
but alive and breathing and functioning ... you ARE still alive ... aren't you?
Hashtags polling
virtual war, viral
naija stand by
wait!
Fall they will,
like pack of cards
in the face of cash
Sandcastle disco!
Sing-song voice, rings hello
trained roll of the tongue
cultivated baritone
a pitch here and there, emoting
Back in chains
tongue under this blade lies
cool, feeling cool,
hugging the chains
listening to the Cool FM
What a way to be cool?
Mangling words
tangling slurs and extended 'r's
silent 't's revving
superiority screaming
welcome back
Voice picked out of the box
tailored, washed&Iron dried
even those whose fathers'
couldn't afford a tube
told stories of summer school
in harmattan
Gonna, wanna, perhaps fonna
from the mastery of their tongues
came out slightly, then wholly
half baked sausages
dropping with a dum!
announcing back in chain
Laugh, they laugh at 'my fellow widows'
her version of English mimicry worthy
strength of character makes a wife
not the slurred 'r's and dimmed 't's
Don't get it twisted
So the next time she comes
thinned out at her vitals
'nasal-ing, tangling& mangling' words
be patient to tell her to untie her knots
before cavorting you to sleep in peace
back in chain your fathers bled off their necks
Thirty years on, across our globe, my daily ritual.
Alone, surrounded, marching silently forward,
the vast weight of humanity moving back and forth,
in an awkward dance, street theater for the masses.
A piano and a flute, emoting to this interlude,
the analog broadcast, my chosen soundtrack, together
with the metronomic pulse of my worn out wipers,
as they collaborate with the falling snow. Half asleep,
I contemplate the sweetness of this etude, on the radio.
Two instruments, a man and his car, a piano and a flute
building a theme and gathering speed, captivate me
as I am drawn in, the audience applauding in gratitude.
In this exalted state of grace, the light changed a little too fast,
and I was caught by the flash that soon will be a demand for cash.
so many unknown variables to consider for such a tasking pursuit
a conditional ‘If’ but what if ‘whether’ reigns in a supreme challenge
conjectures battle refutations and synapses blocked in surrender
as long as suppositions succeeded in their hypothetical contemplation
the world may as well be flat and circle unhappily one of its moons
the ‘I’ would be futile a self negating deprecation on auto-destruct
and endless loop of no Self on a path to nowhere and nothingness
not of Buddha like Nirvana but hell on earth as we know it too well
a spinning confusion of gravity with levitation spared its flight of fancy
when meditation and pondering could not lift the soul above the mind
‘ruling’ that wishes to overcome suppression domination and power
appears a futile concept when freedom should be the ultimate aim
of course anarchy holds its merits but people cling to being governed
by false leaders fake news and an insatiable need for crude abdication
in an attempt to cast responsibility and shred all courage and hope
‘the’ poses the question of this or that where and when whether at all
a simple adverbial adjective refusing to rest on quiet incomplete duty
bereft of solitary meaning and such an imposter of clarity and precision
no stand alone metaphor of context and contingency lost in the process
but the planet needs answers and I do not give up easily if besieged
is there a ‘world’ out there a compass and globe in my restless attempts
to understand question emphasize deconstruct and give a sweet home
to live up to its promises and dreams as opposed to terminal decline
word has it that there are only illusions betrayal and survival of the fittest
engulfed in delusions conflagrations raging inferno straight from its core
‘I’ if it was able to resist compartmentalization of Ego Super Ego and Id
might not want the elusive generational torch snuffing out a last breath
maybe I am overthinking under emoting and have surrendered in vain
to lost beauty and a vacuum of distant echoes of an unforeseeable future
therefore I conclude that if I was the ruler I would ask my kids for advice
14th August 2020
Castle grounds at midnight
Spookily lit by moonlight
Black clouds were lowering
Ghost Hunters together hoping
Their collective thoughts emoting
Came greenish haze glowing
Tinged by ectoplasm denoting
An apparition visible floating
Long grey dress soaking
A grimaced face moaning
Panic stricken all noting
Few skeptics now disbelieving
Heard high pitch screeching
Saw bats come weaving
Temperature dropped to freezing
As someone tried communicating
Each attempt was disappointing
Until fading to dematerialising
They tried an exorcising
Fires of hell stoking
Their meddling chants invoking
All the ghouls residing
Gleefully saw them fleeing
As rain came teeming
Hunt no longer appealing.
The blackest night wrapped around the lake of Votna - snow fell fast what is up and what is down? A fist held tightly not allowing a single sound.
Below the murky waters lay a creature unfound.
On its serrated time timetable and its unfounded clean the concoction mirrors the souls it has taken, they could not find his place of refuge, but a cauldron of
whispered tensions among a deepening tragedy of history and evocative lies of
the breath of wrath that must be emoting in constance.
In the belly of the beast grows a hunger.
Earth and still life start to crumble. The eyes of the beast look into a bleeding soul – don’t ever, ever grow old.
A swimmer gazes under the cold lifeless moon. Tensions rise on the shore of steel knives. Violin strings cut through the wind. Mirrors of blackness - warmth seeps in steep pools - mid winters child learns of white dawn.
In the boarders set, and a blundering storm of mimicry, before the sights of knives, teeth, and his kneeling stance of predercoutship, we could sense the shifting season arrive, landing on the very night and the poor guy, never feeling a drift from the pools depths come alive.
COLLAB POEM WITH JIMMI CANADA
A dainty Dandelion Puff
was waltzing with the Wind,
donning white feather headdress
and black suede mary janes.
She graced each twirl with poise,
emoting sweetly to Heaven's voice.
Like a starlight in the morning,
she strucked Daisy with awe;
like a pixie in the meadow
she dropped Butterfly's jaws.
Alas, her dance was thwarted to a halt
by two clasping Hands that hitted her like a jolt.
It was then followed
by a Breath so warm
who whispered,
He just wanted to wish,
He meant no harm.
Seconds after, She was blown in the air,
still a bit dizzy, she danced with flair.
Once again, she danced and waltzed
'til another pair of hands clasps her to a halt.
Rapacious Itch
It felt things coming,
The undeniable bottom feeder reality,
Where thought had no credulity,
Where irrational emoting ruled,
Void of mind’s prep,
Blind of light’s revealing purpose.
Such remained
This well-rehearsed and produced
Pulp life infestation.
It remembered…
Once many clambered to the marble steps,
Where dreams born of teachings
Promised delivery of reward.
But today…
All that is found
Is perpetuation of schoolyard practices,
Where bullying,
Mocking,
And “my dick is bigger than your dick” war-cries
Intimidate life’s playground with slippery slopes.
Down 5th Avenue,
Up Park Avenue,
The viral contaminants parlay their wears,
A far more contagious disease than Ebola.
And it knows…
Unlike a possible cure for a biological virus,
This consumerism equation seems without solution,
Given little of non-material worth remains
Visible on the species’ blackboard mess.
Today’s squirming parade of absence
Is dominated by the pounding of urban-warrior chests,
Of Armani jackets atop unlaced “made-to-look-raunchy” boots,
Ken Doll fantasies courting the strut of Barbie Doll dreams
Clicking attention with stiletto heels
Beneath ripped shorter than short-short insecurity.
On it spreads,
Past the Wall Street reviewing stands,
Where unlike the fickle nature of society’s infection,
Market makers understand a fever’s ups and downs,
Vulnerability’s capricious norm endorsing today’s
Debauchery fashion to Trump-taste,
Loudness to drown out worthy music,
Shock to shatter the true awe of discovery,
And the drowning of excellence
As it continues its desperate clinging,
All while mediocrity’s narcissistic sell-off
Creates another closing-bell windfall.
The pestilence holds firm its lock on discernment’s immune system,
Mutating daily into a mind-shrinking captivity,
A synaptic virulence rapidly rendering this once simple discomfort
Into an insatiable itch that will never realize its pursuit of “Ah!”.
"Melting Pot"
in passionate promenade'
a steamy melting pot invites
two sultry silhouettes
into labyrinth lovelight
beneath the searing sunrise
emoting a sonata as
sizzle emanates.
heat ascends from
crimson sheets of satin
invigorating pulses of
intimate paramours
excited by forbidden fruit
evoking a tempting scene
deep in clandestine
as glaze of bodies glide
in simultaneous groan
pleasured fascination
energizes Summer heat.
mellow afterglow
radiates upon lovers
as they contemplate
a repeat performance
...once is not enough...
inhaling the perfumed essence
of bedroom fantasy
under an umbrella of sunset
infused by blazing rays aura
basking in humidity
of emotion.
weaving a delicate design
of memories to linger
softly in subconscious palette
simmering heat of romance
entwines
as the dance continues
in mysterious scalding desire.
*For Debbie Guzzi's HEAT Contest ...
Her words were soft like a summer breeze
with thought as gentle as the wind
Printed or spoken to put the mind at ease
Emoting deep feelings from within
With love as her quest she sojourns through rhyme
Telling wondrous tales passionately placed in time
As you read her thoughts on the printed page
The wisdom of lost love
Gentle passionate rage
You feel all the hurt
and bask in the warmth of her smile
She invites the curious hearted to stay awhile
Caught up in the rapture of loves soft melody
You let yourself go easy and drift most gracefully
Easing through the fires of loves raging embrace
She dances with your inner soul
To a warm and caring place
With sweet poetic reason
She will slowly reel you in
With a smile warmed by the season
For true love to begin
There is no fear of leaving
True loving hearts they will stay
The lady of poetic reason
Her words will show the way