Best Eponymous Poems
Unsung on the world stage
Heroes of the African continent
Diverse lingo, diverse souls
Capture minds capture hearts
Most unappreciated
Their rhythm echoes
Their wisdom ancient
Music unconventional
Yet heavily intoxicating
From Papa Wemba "show me the way"
I gyrate to Kofi to Fela Gola "vita imana"
I don't have to understand
My hips do as I sway
You can go the whole night dancing to "malaika" by fadhili Williams
But don't drink too much "umqombothi"
You still have time to remember
From the shores of jazz to the apex of jazz
Hugh Masekela always eponymous
For when those hips are exhausted
a break to the sound Bembeya Jazz National "Ballake" always soothes
And the list never disappoints
There is a bite for every saccharine moment
A melody for every savory memory
A satisfactory note
Your ancients called it "engoma"
Rhythmic drums whose sounds traveled
From the eastern tip to the jungle
Now Kingoma is the apex of swahili rhythm
Your "engoma" carried across the shores
Upon many a downtrodden slaves stole
And your rhythm salve for the souls
During periods of darkness and plight
In slavery and apartheid
Through many of your children's plight
Only pleading for their rights
Sam Cooke "A change is gonna come" such delight
But you liberating spirit of "engoma"
Not confined, Cesaria Evora the barefoot diva
Dared break the bounds of boundaries
Trailblazer for your brothers and sisters
No longer a confined orphan
But a shimmering star
And now you fuse a new generation
Always so creative psquare "personally"
To Wes "Alane" to Yossur N'dor
To D'Banj to Akon, shimering stars of the continent
Your children were called the passionate ones
I agree
There once was an eponym maligned
Whose gender was quietly confined
Now away with your fears!
Turn those tears to cheers!
As nature intends your defined!
© All Rights Reserved
I am the eponymous A. Floating-Voter!
I do know my mind, but I’ll follow the pack …
My vote’s up for sale now, to the highest bidder.
Yes! What was that offer, sir? You at the back?
One fellow offered me ‘less unemployment’;
Another one’s promised a crackdown on Crack.
A third says my kids should get more education!
Now who’s gonna offer me tuppence off tax?
One bloke is standing who’ll never be sitting!
So if he’s elected, he won’t see it through.
He said I could choose ‘Not to be European’.
I thought I did that back in ’72 …
‘A’ says I’ll have more disposable income;
‘B’ says he’ll build us more roads and such-like.
If I vote for ‘B’, I’ll have more roads to drive on;
If I don’t vote for ’A’, then I can’t run a bike!
All of them claim to be fighting corruption;
Opening closets; exposing the sin …
Though naturally, MPs are above suspicion!
Now, what was this ‘Members’ Expenses’ thing?
I’m already beginning to feel some confusion.
Which of the parties is really the best?
They all claim the others are nothing but liars …
But none of them passes the ‘truthfulness’ test …
I really do not have a clue who to vote for!
I’m starting to wonder if I should abstain …
But ‘Say what you want!’ was my Mum’s favourite motto,
‘And if you don’t get it, then you can complain!’
So, come voting day, I’ll be down at that station.
I’m going to vote, and I’m keeping close tabs …
So go for it, candidates! Try to attract me!
‘Cause, ‘tween now and then, chaps,
My vote’s up for grabs!
..........................................................................
This is how we tackle elections in Great Britain - not so slick, but lots of fun!
Entered in Dana'lynn Smith's "Politically Educated" contest by Frances King
(Those who are familiar with the legend of
"The Flying Dutchman," or even the Wagnerian
opera with that title, will find it easy to
get into this poem; if not, I urge you to
check it out. Within the saga of the
eponymous captain and the endless repetition
of his seven-year sentence, it is a
fantastic tale of mystery, and still has
its mesmerizing effect upon me)
It is quiet on the bay
and boistrous on the shore;
the ship awaits its destiny,
romance awaits its foil and soon
departure claims its troth
above the lovers' agony,
beyond adventure's lore.
The sails are turned again to open sea,
the mast is high, all hands on deck,
and through the mist is scanned
the pathos on their faces,
eyes upon the land, and hearts
upon the lea they'll never cross again.
The Hollander is resolute,
the capstan locked, the deep possessed
for yet another seven years
of still horizon, salt upon the lips
and tales once more down in the hold
of tragic irony,
of love forever left behind.
Now in the night off foreign shores
when that dark hull appears
within the fog, or just above the clouds,
the captain might be seen alone
behind the wheel, and silent
as he listens for a distant bell
to sound the dawning
of his wedding day.
~
Without further ado
i offer my literary missives anew
fur ye to ponder and brew
from meister mwm of his motley crue,
whom dwells in a nada very complex edifice
which numb burr oof offspring equals deux
whereby this spouse i.e me kind of resembles an emu
whence money a edified reader considers
dis goy wit sum brain cells 2 few
chomped on by an carnivorous elder gnu
and said two female progeny sired
from one ova plus super seminal glue
swimming swiftly via viscous hue
genetic heritage comprised predominantly Jew
with one late uncle lou
who himself a milch cow and frequently did moo
which found me to rue
what comprises reality to be true
that all humans originated from the primate zoo.
*****Sapiens Sale hums lot
witnessed vicious thermal winds that blew
thick mass of cremated ashes
across rubble strewn,
and severely cratered landscape!
The devil made mince meat
as like one huge lumbering ogre
and grim reaper
rolled up into one
not so jolly green giant did slay
good will to all men,
and spat out pox with an emphatic nay
triumphing over godly salvation
using eponymous accursed pitchfork
made merry and rolled in the hay
simultaneously sneering out in delight
at wanton death and decay
whereby civilization forever mutilated
perforated said spindled
and inappropriately sensually fondled
world wide web structure
where once proud arm strong spikes radiated
now sundered in total chaotic disarray!
The temporary altar, Translation of Etiemble’s quintet: Le reposoir by T. Wignesan
For us
As for me, I have renounced the noxious vault
where the other life child concealed a father
whom he had sometimes betrayed his mother
who took him for someone else
the baby she sensed to be a clone.
For you, I have renounced the death mask
which earlier on I yearned leaving on this earth,
baked dust. Pride? But tomorrow you wander about
looking for me in this me, void of feeling,
i‘d rather leave nothing: all: my image in you.
For you, I have renounced the common grave
where, in me, eponymous heroes mortify themselves.
Pride of another kind – hero and zero, these rhyme! –
which provoked me to disown my verse thanks to theirs
in swarms: for you, my passing is not news in brief.
For you, I have renounced the morgue’s formalin:
life lingers on in me as a Sorgues medic
glides me in a body-bag after the great organs
of the death mass. I’d hardly serve to
disgorge your viscera live, and dead, to undo you.
For us, I’ll burn in a crematory oven:
not love’s fires which burnt their poems:
not loves gone cold which had me in thrall
-the floodtide of sperm and blood, mixed with anathemas-,
but of wood and for you. Death, where’s your victory?
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Armageddon wold be an amazing boon
to accompany ourselves amidst others in rubble strewn cocoon
or perchance an arid extra dry spell blows humungous dune
donning any brave soul to weather
fierce-some dust bowl appearing like a ghoulish goon
vis a vis via global sand man disallowing any inhabitant 2b immune
whereat autumnal days will mimic those analogous to tropical June
day where nary a species of flora nor fauna,
which latter muffled cry viz Claire de lune
barely heard above the blindingly pitched
(scoring major lunar home run) when earth's moon
appeared to be batted, snatched, and whacked -
piñata like casting darkness at high noon
this out of other worldly debacle
(viz: a scene of apocalyptic, cosmic and epic rune
from twilight zone re: outer limits offsetting
sole millennial Gaia satellite believed rigged forever) -
which end of planetary status quo came soon
er than expected, accompanied by Gustav Holst eponymous tune
once Luna rung seismically, titanic ally uprooted, violently wrenched
prior to crash landing at ground zero rocked and rolled out of orbitz
before careering, and screaming thru the atmosphere
analogous to a near full term baby in utero yanked out of womb.
though the above dynamic gigantic jack-knifed
nihilistic quantum spectacular universal wreckage
sans the inner sphere of solar system
(known to mankind, when said creature, an outlier)
whence even amidst the early
bipedal hominids that throve a sage
no event (whether natural or caused by human error),
would compare neither cap cha, when are bit rage
emasculated, and wrought onto the terrestrial firmament
no way to measure nor gauge
the depth, length, and scope of total and
absolute value eradicating any trace of simian equipage
reducing the arrogant, conceited, ego-maniacal, dotage
boot far-fetched science fiction phenomena would
witness civilization captive in their own technological cage!
Form:
this anonymous weaver spins his written tapestry
to acknowledge your ninetieth year
no matter this author unknown who deftly weaves
(for pete sakes) with english poetry
which rhyming threads fire away
(from axons to neurons)
at warp speed way out there
attempting to coalesce into some semblance
of comprehension from non other than me
a veritable stranger,
who considers your a folk icon
that hoop fully destiny will spare
until one grain of sand takes thee
to eternal blue skies astride
astral throne like king henry
with minstrelsy folks housed in a place
like my father’s mansion poised far and near
intent to discern the adroit banjo finger picking
plucky talent admission for all – free
whose eponymous trademark
je nais sais quois legendary voice
rings like a bell in the air.
every March seventeenth, the glint froom
a perverted imp finds me achin'
and if aye dig deep enough,
this Goyish pseudo judo day yo criss chin
can figuratively unearth a puckish
(gnome like) elfish sprite
with a layer ring ga Erin
which byte size (key) ah man able troll
help pan for treasure hunters
plume bing the underworld
with his (aye farm lee bull eve
moost har male) sly grin
stirring thy faux set (head)
feigned Irish with in
new mutter nada trace,
(boot perhaps juiced an iota)
o' Brogue kin
Celtic gene found
within me genealogical tree,
an itty bitty min
newt chromosomal thread,
(which with assistance of Crispr)
i.e., a more discerning Quaker can pin
point how this predominantly
(decrepit ole coot)
Semitic baby boomer tub hoot
(whale hugging
ma gude look four leaf Shamrock)
can locate long buried loot
according to legend
(plus devout avid fervent
Irish Aunt Fib B. Hen
aka Sally Salamander Newt)
doth avail her excitement to help up root
(perhaps revisiting a previously dug oop ditch)
maybe treasure undetected
cuz ova technical,
and/or mechanical glitch
truth to the tantalizing myth
whar hike can hitch
my dreams to a morning star,
that would make a par man rich
and put an end
to mine fingers that hoo twitch
which i roan nick pie rite (of quartz)
alluding to healthy appetite,
sans tea zing alluring
(whet started as byte)
size nar invisible craving,
which fantasy easily didst excite
(necessitating yars true lee) to don robe of foo fight
tar, yet persistent and nagging lust didst light
lore (akin to un hearth thing
pot o' gold at rainbow's end),
cuz hum ma penniless plight
such dogged pursuit, a mirage,
whereat aye drool in plain sight
thus conk clue ding this
hip poe eponymous droning pome
though, tis plenti mo' hie hood write!
Form:
he heard the golden trumpets calling
sounds coming from an empty mansard
as heat rises over his copper head
over his eponymous cosmos
the maker of secular arts
shall fall before he could rise for the first time
only because there's a leak sur le jardin
the maker shall fall deep down
bound to his cloaked heart of starkness
The offspring of a demonic creature and a mage
Attempting to stop doomsday predictions, judge:
In a dissent to paradise, the proper arm of doom
Such a young child is guided by his pastry loom.
Brought into the world from the hellish recess.
which he will twice reconsider and reassess!
a position of respect and honor in society.
He is emphatically worthy of godliness and piety!
Demons, skeletons, specters, and eidolons
Both holy and profane matters must be dealt on.
He is currently in office and is an honorable man.
shielded by the colossal force of his clan!
Both his wrap and cord might serve as storage.
to counteract his penchant for the dark judge.
not to recognize that they were unsuccessful.
He might instantly intend for the neck, dreadful!
Rasputin, Ogdru-Jahad, as well as Baba Yaga
It's a few of the evils he may face in this saga.
Alias of the fanciful hero Hellboy is Anung Rama,
who appeared across several eponymous enigmas.
Written: April 04, 2023
The Women of Hellboy Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Harpoon Loouey - Pseudonym Pen Bukowski
although just a pint size Notre Dame
hunched quarter back
with rock solid state frame
Pen (short for pennilessness),
a generic cents less game
some dime a dozen
day late dollar short left lame
leg quarter back
reminisced to the regular name
mass a chew sitz
bay thing ghosts of shame
full gory days his
unbridled victories on the grid
iron, what he lacked in stature,
he more than hid
as stealth weapon
compensated as air tight lid,
when getting hold of pigskin
grasped for dear life
after he instantaneously
morphed into octopus squid
as his tentacled suction-cupped fingers
dug into the thick
leather as if going
on whale'n expedition
after he did slick
his harpoon, this smirking,
eponymous, notorious,
and villainous sea sunned
marine monster (he proudly and quick
lee happily posed atop cetaceous creature
moments prior to prick
king the infamous Moby Dick,
which briny deep exploits landed him a gig
as one super (albeit pint sized) athlete,
plus adept at performing an Irish jig,
whence (by George) his polymath
"Twinkle Toes" Shaw man ship agility
spread be yon male pig
former and latter noms de plumes
hash-tagged, and etched
on his tombstone after 'til rig
or tenon mortise peri wig
gulled last living breath of salty air
after exhausting simony lick kits bare
meanwhile, forever refining
blubbering profane words crystal clear
aware that his demise could occur,
perhaps during exploit far out to sea
with salty water everywhere,
thus this thick raunchivist
TRANSIENT
made visible
in the eponymous
to
first appear
a
point a
in
linear perspective
relief
with expressive
intensity
a breath
a downcast gaze
with furrowed brow
a presence
of
the
otherwise
as
realism
as
is heightened
by the
remarkable
facilitated
articulated
so processional
readily available
talismanic
effigies
of imagination
realised
by
desire
Men like 'The Hunk' who are monogamous
Often want to remain anonymous
Partners today have a blast
Marriage is not made to last
Yet Hunk's chosen to be eponymous
HIGHIGHTS
my gaze
a mirrored image
reinterpreted
an issue
so unsettling
an eponymous
enigmatic expression
appears &interacts
&thus enhanced
unwittingly
to completely shift
the perspective
chronicles the
inspiration
as a passive
circumstance
to emphasise &
frequent
the inner being
a
focus to
reflect
&
perhaps
regularly
respond
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived