Best Envoi Poems
I
A day, a blessing, misshapen
Careless words, good deeds overtaken
You rise, we rise: building on the trough
Cresting arrested; environment looks tough
We cannot fall further, sink lower
We remain connected, no matter the matter
Mother and child, ocean & waves, eternally
Somewhere deeper, Universe is you and me
II
You were cresting, dancing with siblings
Environments include YOU, both creating
A win-win world, Oceans of happy waves
Even when we crash, the trough saves
It is our connection to the Ocean Bed
No matter the weather ... Curses, words said
You are more, more than that spent wave
You have tasted eternity; you are beyond brave
III
We are more than our profession
We are more than any reputation
We are more than strong, or wise
We are more than traps that surprise
U & I are the universe experiencing Itself
New American loses identity of immigrant
The play of creation depends on disguise
Maybe that God as Spirit borrows our eyes
IV (Envoi)
You are much more than you know
Look for the empowerment in surprise
Go with the flow as a wave, ebb and flow
Maybe God as Spirit must borrow our eyes
NOTE: I am still new to this form and modified the rhyme scheme
From ababbcbc ; ababbcbc; ababbcba; bcbc
Categories:
envoi, angst, creation,
Form:
Ballade
Dawn flings a face
All darkness flees;
Birth of new day
~~~~~~~~~
That Old Man once thought:
"Poetry is not viable..."
Who can eat poems
~~~~~~~~~
In our twilight years
Even time is suspended;
Marionettes know best
~~~~~~~~~
Love is a good excuse
When things go right;
Consider the alternatives
~~~~~~~~~
In my house
I live life brief;
Time excavates my soul
~~~~~~~~~
Haiku soapbox styles
Words in brief grief;
Soon I run away
~~~~~~~~~
Words do not tell
Of many things;
Forbidden and forgotten
~~~~~~~~
My darling calls
My name out loud;
Dreamtime outbursts
~~~~~~~~~
Horrifying nightmare
I struggle with despair;
Awake to gratitude
~~~~~~~~~
Lines loiter here
Linger with motives;
Pregnant envoi
~~~~~~~~~
Senryu sensations
Not much to say;
Pickle me fancy love
~~~~~~~~~
Words line up
Extravagantly economic;
Profit and loss
~~~~~~~~~
Now at last
Someone mimics a monkey;
Is it strange then
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
10 November 2014
Singapore
Categories:
envoi, blessing,
Form:
Haiku
Six wives - three Catherines, two Annes and a Jane
were married to Henry in the course of his reign.
An Anne and a Catherine met their end by the axe.
Anne Boleyn was too haughty, Catherine Howard too lax.
Henry's very first wife was Catherine of Aragon,
both pious and faithful, a virtuous paragon.
Producing no sons, she incurred a divorce.
Anne of Cleves followed a similar course.
Her face was spotty; she had bad teeth and bad breath.
Don’t trust a portrait, the wise man saith..
Jane Seymore very sadly died as she gave birth.
Henry's last wife, Catherine Parr, was a woman of worth.
More a nurse than a playmate, she bathed Hal with affection
and did a good job to relieve his dejection.
Envoi
So that's the close of this ditty,
which I think is rather a pity.
No, I'm not the Poet Laureate,
as the Royal Court never saw to it.
If I were paid to do so,
I'd keep writing like Robinson Crusoe.
Categories:
envoi, history, humorous,
Form:
Light Verse
Pleasure primes play
Rapture reaps rays
Etch each endear
Charm chisels cheer
Imp inks ideas
Odd opts obscure
Use unfurls urge
Soul sees swift surge
Mind moves motions
Oomph oils options
Move mindful match
Ends endow etch
Niche nurtures nice
Touch tickles twice
Sense sweet surprise
Prove primal prize
Offer one opt
True talent tops
Note neither nor
One on one oar
Troubles tell toils
Etch end envoi
Leon Enriquez
21 January 2015
Singapore
Categories:
envoi, beauty,
Form:
Alliteration
POET AND PHILOSOPHER
Political propaganda versus debate with ideology manifestations of today brings forth a new species of political expressions boldfaced.
The hoopla indoctrinates the brain of contenders stating their game.
The panels are in place as a nation of people listen-in to the visionary scope of Politicians.
Political figures desiring the top seat that gives him or her leadership for four years.
Never to be any more prolific then the prose they speak.
But oh, a new generation is in appearance - a new species of political culture.
A poet and a philosopher latitude.
Room for maneuvering dogma that inculcates a greater focus and a better way.
The envoi proselytizes.
A verse and flow of figurative literature platforms.
An allegorical formation shown that henceforth a stronger political forum.
Thus, today informs an eminent tomorrow.
A poet and philosopher typeface the state of a nation time sequentially.
Where eternity is seen.
That is of the United States of America longevity.
_____________________________________________________________________|
Written March 17, 2016!
Categories:
envoi, future, leadership, together, urban,
Form:
Imagism
RECIPE: "Poulet Roti" French Style - Le Chant Royal (Instalment 4)
(Note: Rhyme scheme of “Le Chant Royal” where capital “E“stands for refrain, thus – Stanza: ababccddedE, Envoi: ddedE)
STANZA III
The idea's to pluck the chicken naked dead
But to keep it alive so long as there's fun
Stick pins and needles all the time on its head
So that when the COQ crows you know the bird's done
Was Marquis de Sade Torquemada's agent
The Socialist Mayor now out on tangent
Wishing spindle glass tower turns ivory
To keep him in power sans democracy
Get henchmen to preach comeuppance damnation
Tighten screws on chicken spit sans clemency
Now that lame bird can't fly away sans nation
ENVOI
Vain Socialist pique harks back to idiocy
Lax morals sport with intellect's papacy
Skinned and spiked chicken calls for condemnation
Do Napoléons fear Waterloo or Holy See
Now that lame bird can't fly away sans nation
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Categories:
envoi, anti bullying, family, father
Form:
Ballade
RECIPE: “Poulet Roti” French Style - La Ballade “Le Chant Royal” -Concluding Stanza
(Note: As you can see, I have taken certain liberties with the fixed form, but have always kept close to the spirit of the ballade’s form: rhyme, metre, stanza, envoi, and, now, concluding stanza addressed to an important royal personality. Exceptions are the introductory RECIPE - I and the extension of the FIVE eleven-line stanza to TEN.)
CONCLUDING STANZA
Now you have all seen how the French roast chicken
Not quite different, say, from British cuisine:
Lion-Heart Richard* lies with Jeanne d’Arc in Rouen
Not so different from other Royal spleen.
It matters little if powers visible
Go through motions where kings move invisible
Call it DEMOCRACY, call it what you like
Old shibboleths raise Gorgon heads still to strike
As Greek pauper Prince raised on German Jew brew:
“Seventy years as Pope you reigned recondite,
Never you’ll know the pain you caused all for a few!”
Sol de France franchi
Terre d’asile
A-Dieu!
The “heart” of King Richard the Lion Heart is buried in the Rouen Cathedral - a stone’s throw from where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake - bombarded by the Allied Forces pilot who later let drop the first atomic bomb over Hiroshima on August 6, 1945. (Ref. Cf article by Flint Whitlock on-line.)
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Categories:
envoi, abuse, allegory, child abuse,
Form:
Ballade
Where Should I begin from? My words are like scattered stars,
The fingers rummage for words. Pen is rent asunder. It runs away from me, in reality
I return back to nostalgia; the dead dreams are still in life their,
A castle of fantasia they have built, from broken wishes: a fool’s gold, in reality
The world turns slowly: Great illusion for eternity. Poor departed souls,
Deaf forever! No one can hear them, acceptance is essence. Longing is vain, in reality
Pain is both agony and fertility. Ah! these lessons of Philosophy
They turn my heart brave. It’s on war with divinity. Shameful truth: it stifles, in reality
My heart is an idol worshipper; bring his idols from their height
Enough! I am being cursed by the heavens. Save me. Convert this infidel, in reality
Sins are rolling down from my eyes, bring onto me, The Purity
Now I repent, after no word. Baptize me. Lest end this drama of life, in reality
The moon is imprisoned in daylight, the sun brings anarchy
Moon guides the passengers of night, with her light, not her light, in reality
The effulgence of my rheum, a mirage, for my soul
What guides my mind? Is it filth? Or pursuit for my desires, in reality
The birds on the trees with the image of dawn in their eyes
Arrival of red on the sky, Begins their life. Or counts their time, in reality
Everyone thing is dead, only my eyes alive, they pay homage to my guilt
I have been thirty for years, quench my thirst, or let me be Husain, in reality
Those dear things I lost are forever gone. They envisage my dreams
As you write this envoi Muzzaffar, try to realize what is gone, shapes life, in reality
Categories:
envoi, lifeurdu, heart, longing, heart,
Form:
Ghazal
Stadacona
An ode to Quebec City
1
On the green bank of a mighty stream -
A lofty aerie - a fair city beam
With stately air a queen, she stands -
A gem - over these most forest lands.
An old city (first in Canada)
Formerly humble Stadacona.
2
Hardy Champlain, of proud heritage -
Geographer and scion of Brouage -
Envisioned her rocky shore
And armed with dreams, he did explore
Her woody crest - a verdant forest -
Aloft there on her virgin breast.
3
Her sons were gallant progenity -
Seeds of Brittany; roots of Normady -
Of France. The served with honor,
With bravery and staunchless valor.
All faithful, all trustful habitants,
Artisans, voyageurs and peasants.
4
Her daughter came with chaste dignity
Brave heart and robust vitality;
The cradle to rock, the flax to spin,
The hearth to brighten, the wild to win.
Must dutiful, most fruitful maidens!
Lights of home! Makers of edens!
5
Stalwart pioneers - hence from a rampart
Aery they went to conquer and to chart
Untold regions, where but stealthy feet
E’er dared the wilderness to defeat.
Trail blazers - hence to give name
To the unknown - faith the untame.
6
Here a new world and a new nation
Was conceived - a dauntless bastion
Tempered with faith and loyally blue -
Which kept the pledge, centuries three.
O gentle city! “Guard well thy crown
Of charm; thy quaintness and they renown.”
Envoi:
Royal “flour de lis” no longer remain
O’er citadel proud, yon wide domain;
But memories sacred of past heroes, sleep
On bosom tender ever fresh ever deep.
Written the 15th of May, 1947
by Wilfred J. Bouthillet
Categories:
envoi, adventure, city, courage, devotion,
Form:
Ballade
I read the title as
U - nite- as
three syllables - hard I
And I marveled that a female poet would
write of U Johnny
and looked hurriedly down the page
hoping to read
Of your years leading the Colts
(who were in Baltimore then)
on gimpy knees and guts
when a player
who had it
had balls
not a multi-million $dollar$ contract,
a side deal with a shoe company and....
and of the anger as you
were pushed from the color commentary
by younger has-beens
and sank into muddle-aged oblivion
However, I misread the title
uni - tas
two syllables - soft I
An homage to Aiende and Chile
a democratically elected socialist government
ousted by a CIA-backed military coup
to maintain control over strategic copper
but those days are over
and today the country
produces wonderful, cheap wine
and farmed fish
So I wrote this poem
for U
Written sometime in 1977-1978 on reading Dorthy Livesay's poem from Ice Age - which can be found here
http://envoifound.com/envoi-poetry-festival/poets-dead-or-alive/dorothy-livesay-october-12-1909-december-29-1996/
Categories:
envoi, confusion,
Form:
Free verse
My desert I-land is a great place to be.
Would you care to peruse this brochure?
But even with the Bible and Shakespeare,
my eight favourite gramophone records,
and a limitless supply of needles,
not everything is kosher.
If you're feeling lonely, how about
me coming over to you-land,
or if you like, you can visit me-land
On second thoughts, I'd better visit you-land first,
As in the second person you can't tell nominative from accusative.
In any case, we can always practise the dative,
or conjugate in the first person plural.
We'll see I to I, I'm sure.
Then we can go on trips to him- and her-land,
and even to the continental them-land
(if you can stand the crowds).
But if you come over to me-land,
I'll show you all the tourist sights.
Don't believe those silly stories about swamps,
shark-infested bays, and so on. Lies, I tell you, lies!
Mind you, I can't promise fair weather all the time.
If the wind's in the wrong direction,
you might imagine you're getting the whiff
of an imaginary swamp. Lies, I say!
Can I interest you in a colour brochure?
Visit my sunny I-land--excuse the slip--visit me-land.
Some adjectives can be so possessive.
Envoi
There's no need to get tense
about the future.
After the conjugation
and--excuse my grammar--
things copulative are past,
and we are no longer active,
let us, the redundant,
decline in the imperfect,
and dream of a promised land,
beyond the gloaming,
where the sea ends in
the infinitive.
Categories:
envoi, sea, vacation, word play,
Form:
Free verse
Ballade : In favour of those called Decadents and Symbolists, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s Ballade en faveur des dénommés Décadents et Symbolistes
for Léon Vanier*
(The texts I use for my translations are from : Yves-Alain Favre, Ed. Paul Verlaine : Œuvres Poétiques Complètes. Paris : Robert Laffont, 1992, XCIX-939p.)
Some few in all this Paris :
We live off pride, yet flat broke we’re
Even if with the bottle a bit too free
We drink above all fresh water
Being very sparing when taken with hunger.
With other fine fare and wines of high-estate
Likewise with beauty : sour-tempered never.
We are the writers of good taste.
Phoebé when all the cats gray be
Highly sharpened to a point much harsher
Our bodies nourrished by glory
Hell licks its lips and in ambush does cower
And with his dart Phoebus pierces us ever
The night cradling us through dreamy waste
Strewn with seeds of peach beds over.
We are the writers of good taste.
A good many of the best minds rally
Holding high Man’s standard : toffee-nosed scoffer
And Lemerre* retains with success poetry’s destiny.
More than one poet then helter-skelter
Sought to join the rest through the narrow fissure ;
But Vanier at the very end made haste
The only lucky one to assume the rôle of Fisher*.
We are the writers of good taste.
ENVOI
Even if our stock exchange tends to dither
Princes hold sway : gentle folk and the divining caste.
Whatever one might say or pours forth the preacher,
We are the writers of good taste.
*One of Verlaine’s publishers who first published his near-collected works at 19, quai Saint-Michel, Paris-V.
* Alphonse Lemerre (1838-1912), one of Verlaine’s publishers at 47, Passage Choiseul, Paris, where from 1866 onwards the Parnassians met regularly.
*Vanier first specialised in articles for fishing as a sport.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Categories:
envoi, poetry,
Form:
Ballade
Then Thisbe stole forth as agreed upon
Unobserved her head covered with a veil
Out of city’s bounds edifice well known
Waited for Pyramus near a fountain trail.
In the dim light she descried a lioness
Nearing the fountain with blood reeking jaws
With a recent slaughter to slake her thirst.
She fled dropping her veil out of fright.
After quenching thirst turned back for her cove
Renting the veil in bloody mouth on her retreat
But Venus won’t always befriend true love.
Having delayed Pyramus arrived there
Saw footsteps of the lioness in the sand
And found the veil all bloody over there
Crying picked up the rent veil in his hand.
Thought himself to be the cause of her death
Covering the veil with kiss and with tear
And said, come ye lioness tear with your teeth
Let my blood also shall stain your texture.
He plunged sword into his heart with a shove
Blood spurted tinging the tree with red color
But Venus won’t always befriend true love.
Thisbe stepped out not to disappoint him
She noticed the change in the tree’s color
In the agonies of death she saw him.
A shudder ran as ripple in still water.
She saw her veil and his scabbard empty.
He has slain himself for her sake only.
She said, “I could be brave and follow thee
Death alone couldn’t prevent my joining thee
Love and death join us, one tomb be our grove”
She plunged the sword in her breast near the tree
But Venus won’t always befriend true love.
Envoi
Such tale of the self-less love presented
The two bodies in one tomb were buried
Pyramus-Thisbe tale our hearts do move
Berries serve memorials of their blood
But Venus won’t always befriend true love.
===================================
Rhyme scheme : ababccddede Envoi- ddede
Categories:
envoi, lovedeath, for her, death,
Form:
Chant Royal
RECIPE: “Poulet Roti” French Style - Ballade “Le Chant Royal” - 10
STANZA IX
Snubbed by Churchill, de Gaulle’s June 18th appeal
Saves not crushed Rouen, Paris to liberate
Triumphant Le Clerc hurries after ordeal
Did not Liberation make Resistants great
Nazi Chief’s deaf ear lets not Hitler burn Paris
Do the sacred cow Resistants scorn hubris
“Now e’en Presidents fear veteran Police!”
Ditto whole appareil judiciaire en lice!
Not till the last of veteran Combatants
Take Bastille Day’s Arc de Triomphe honoured place
Nor till Allied Forces be hailed true Conquérants?
ENVOI
Overnight the mother serves as plaything nice
For lawyers judges politicos police
All Free-Masons none resist as Resistants
No place for father and son in such premise
Nor till Allied Forces be hailed true Conquérants?
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Categories:
envoi, anti bullying, child abuse,
Form:
Ballade
O sweet white bloom blushing through snow,
You gently kiss the north winds as they pass,
Whispering to winter ‘it’s time to go’,
From your bluey-green leaves like blades of grass,
Sweet drooping bells that mark the seasons flow.
A tiny flower sets the world alight,
And fills a wintered heart with deepest joy,
New life from bleakest days and long icy nights,
Through woods and fields, her bloom Brigid’s envoi,
As spring returns into our mortal sight.
Form: Sicilian Quintains
Categories:
envoi, faith, nature, seasons,
Form:
Quintain (Sicilian)