Best Feasted Poems
Devils deadly dime
The sign said no grown-up at the playground.
Tripping on a penny, like a mime!
My hand is in my pocket with the dime I found.
Its all mine, I asked for the devils hand that time.
Echoes in my head, bounded by a screaming sound.
Paying for a forgotten crime,
on what comes around goes around.
A prison with greed that carries an evil musical chime.
Jumping off the merry-go-round!
Encouraged by the devil,
the pleasure of his deadly nursery rhyme.
Now the world is measured by my blood level.
The devils delight feasted on my youth before I hit my prime.
Bashing my mind, with thoughts implanted by evil.
Entering the day with no beauty to my sublime.
Begging him to remove this anvil!
He laughed while he cursed me with a favor for a favor.
A fallout so violently in this world not civil.
One can only lust on the taste that only he can savor.
Hanging out by the swings wounding me with prey,
on two victims to his delicious flavor.
I climb my way to teach a lesson in hate not love.
Two siblings who always scream for each other.
Giggling as I offered each a push and a shove.
Stopping they give each other a big hug.
Defeating and proving love is a stronger disease
The devil wicked eyes looking at me like a bug.
Clawing at my inner guts with remorse that he will win this war.
Until another day one skips the penny,
and begs a poor fool like the devil for his dime.
Tossing heads for his tail when times hits rock bottom.
I will stray away from his deadly reaction time.
He will not own my soul so freak'em,
and his greedy deadly beg of a dime.
by;pd
I was a planetary climatologist, who studied climate variability and change,
Like sweet variability of stunning, green tulips, in lavish garden rearranged.
Studying the said effects on the biosphere, absorbed so many daily hours,
Like industrious days of fragrant, amber honey, after tumbling into flowers.
My labors impacted energy usage, along with food production and health,
And the survival of endangered species, like golden rays of natural wealth.
Faddish flowers fascinated friends, who flattered them, at my broad fence,
Under fleecy, lemony clouds, fast moving, and orange sun, grown intense.
Famished, feasible family feasted, in lavish flowering fragrance of Fridays,
When fugitive, frosty stars flickered, winking at green garden bonsai trees.
I lived in the house of emerald echoes, in vivid memory of nature's sound,
From birdsong to crickets to evening wind, and brook of babbling renown.
Sachets swept away a sudden sadness, as robins sought another summer,
On my street of starry-eyed forget me nots, like a tune with no drummer.
Nobody knew latest neighborhood news, like my nearest friends next door,
Like chameleon sun, crisscrossing teal sky, wholly ignorant of 'nevermore.'
Pink birds were living high, and red butterflies viewed a world, ultraviolet;
And yellow bees went about their sweet labors, since queen bee desired it.
Strawberry clouds sailed around the world, for clouds ever love adventure,
As dogwoods barked in summer's dog days, during a gold noon surrender.
As I was walking home one day, the sun vanished as skies turned ominous.
There was a lightning flash just before the thunder, loud and cacophonous!
Suddenly, I saw a male face in the clouds, that was bellowing and enraged,
Like blizzard winds through naked trees, howling at a lush year that's aged.
Taken aback, like butterflies in gusts, I had come face to face with thunder-
The mighty, furious face of the storm, and I was filled with sudden wonder!
Then came the silver rains, sideways slanting, at the dead end of drought;
And I raced home like all uneasy nature, in the successive hours of doubt.
Scintillating sun had returned next day, after banishing the tangerine mist,
As benevolent nature was no more angry, its tale ending in an orange twist!
If truth had a color,
when twilight bleeds
burgundy rivers,
you’ll find these garnet
eyes pleading
to be heard through
poetic sunsets.
For I’ve been swirling
and twirling
through nomadic illusions,
like a goddess of
thunder with a tiger spirit,
never letting go of
the history of hurt,
left by the unkind mind
of inhumane humankind-
which throbs deeper
than the sharpest thorns
in peacock feathers,
that I’ve danced to -
in flawless frequencies
amongst abstracts
of an architect.
If truth had a tune,
It would be too ferocious
to be unraveled,
the kind of fire that
dares to burn,
the hellish tombs of terror,
constantly pushing
every contrasting dream
to be feasted upon
satan’s last supper,
painting every salvage sunrise,
with strokes of petrichor scent
dipped in astral rain-dreams.
As I’ve been the
queen of the night,
longing to soar
across the horizon
where unconfined
eagles and golden dragonflies,
shall tranquilize
this publicized heart caged
as a motionless mannequin
in a glass mansion.
If truth was covered in furry skin,
to glaze skeletons veiled
beneath crooning clouds,
it would be the beginning
of an unstoppable ending,
of an immeasurable
brokenness resting as
irreversible numbness.
As I’ve seen storms
brewing bruises
through seas of sorrow,
amidst illusory lakes
of rose quartz,
streaming down
emerald hills,
hiding the grotesque
kingdom of fragmented gates.
But what if truth
never was a matter,
as it’s all but mere myth
floating along golden ripples
in a pool of sentimental stars.
What if truth was
once a maiden in distress?
What if truth was
once a shadow in search of light?
What if truth was a fool
hoping to be dressed
in dancing dandelions?
what if truth is what
has got this onyx heart on fire?
Perhaps, truth lays in
the arms of a clock,
waiting for it’s turn
to make time stop,
when lovers destined to meet,
rebuild chess of life in ruins,
as footsteps on
glistening glaciers
reveal the secrets
left by snow angels
leading us back to
an unbreakable moon affair.
’Tween hither and thither while wending our way,
skipping, dancing through sand dunes in seascape croquet
and woven in waves watching dolphins at play,
I first tasted her lips in the ocean’s wild spray.
Mystic moonbeams, suffusing clouds’ shimmering sails,
then unleashed us and whisked us down sensuous trails,
soon evoking the trills of untamed nightingales
as our passions pervaded green valleys and dales.
Being specters of splendor in wanton sashay
we mastered our meaning in love’s matinee –
sultry breezes, in passing, slowed down to survey
blazing bodies embracing youth’s blooming bouquet.
With the wind as our wings, chasing rainbows we flew,
two gypsies on junkets through dusk’s residue
sometimes following pollen to everywhere new
beneath the empyrean, painted pale blue.
Rising higher and higher, the sun lured our sleigh,
teasing time was our temptress, night ’n day after day
as we gamboled and gambled, two waifs led astray,
with our shackles afire, our anchors aweigh.
Yes, we’ve drifted, like dreamers where sprites rendezvous
having stars in our eyes with all time as our view,
and feasted on laughter and sipped morning dew
while rambling forever as one made of two.
I dreamed that I stood in a valley, and amid sighs,
For happy lovers passed two by two where I stood;
And I dreamed my lost love came stealthily out of the wood
With her cloud-pale eyelids falling on dream-dimmed eyes.
William Butler Yeats
Notions had gathered inside my head;
a wanderlust that refused to be denied.
Within my mind, the need of love was bred,
burned in tongues of fire that torched a hole
inside my heart and seared my soul.
I sought the finest wine from the valley floor,
to sate my thirst when he'd stand at my side.
I climbed heathered hills; crossing streams
Down twisting paths I ambled, taking wrong turns
until I found the enchanting vision in my dreams,
and feasted on the fruit of my heart's desire.
But too soon he slipped from my arms.
Left behind were his vespers in passion's embers,
and fading echoes of his whispered words.
Time rushed through years like sifting sand
but the fire he kindled has not died.
I remember the gentle touch of his hand,
and sweet moments of devotion we stole.
Now, with feeble steps I remain in pursuit
of memories we made long ago in the valley.
I hear his voice in the wind, and I cannot refute
that love's flame still burns within my soul.
An interpretation of ''The Song of Wandering Aengus,"
by William Butler Yeats.
For This Is The Story, An Old Poet Sought Not To Miss
(Part One)
I've ate Eden's last apple, coveted Jason's* golden fleece
chained myself in caverns of darkness, begging no release
refused mighty crowns of power, fed myself painful feasts
crushed my beating heart, as if it were a ravenous beast.
I've tamed the lions of Serengeti, sailed around the Horn*
trekked unarmed, darkest jungles, where fiercest beasts are born
slain dragons with Sequoias, tossed Rock of Gibraltar*
walked in realms of Hades, spat upon its first altar.
I've outran Hermes*, sank my teeth deep into granite walls
sat beside Odin*, gave Thor's* first crown in Valhalla's* halls
wrestled mighty Minotaur*, its armored hide I ripped
stole the Nectar of the Gods*, laughed at them as I sipped.
I've shot Eurytus' bow*, killed Titans* with Heracles sword*
defeated dark Elf* armies, massacred Atilla's* first horde
swung Hammer of Hephaestus*, slept in Forest of Burzee*
trained Arminius army, taught them to show no mercy.
I've quenched Vesuvius fires, held lightning in my hand
flew bright skies over Asgard*, defended its precious homelands
swam with Undines*, feasted with beautiful Amphitrites*
fished with friend Ao Qin*, dragon king of the Southern Sea nights.
I've seen this world of fantasy, inked its splendor in words
sailed in its oceans of love and flown with magical birds
dreamed in its word-paradise and found true love's deepest kiss
for this is the story, an old poet sought not to miss.
Robert J. Lindley
Rhyme
original version written , March 9th, 1977
edited/updated today- August 9th , forty-one years later
You seduced, you stole, you exalted, you annihilated,
You elevated, you decimated, you connected, you sucked me dry,
You opened me up, you closed me down,
You delivered me to ecstasy, you devalued and discarded me,
You were sensual, you were sardonic,
You made my heart smile, you tore out my soul,
You put me on a marble pedestal, you stoned me with your vicious tongue,
You bathed my heart in liquid gold, you buried me in quick sand,
You crowned me as your princess, you burnt me at the stake,
You were my prophecy, you were my satan,
Your hands knew every inch of me,
You tore out my essence and trampled my boundaries,
You pledged unity only with me, you cheated,
You held me tightly in your arms, you suffocated the life out of me,
You cast, you hooked, you netted, you feasted,
You made every nerve ending shiver deliciously,
You became my nervous breakdown, you were my divine intervention,
You disconnected me from my higher power,
You were luminous, you illuminated, you are an illusion.
You loved and yet you didn't.
Because love is real. And you are not.
I, to the pasture's green could run,
and fly a kite beside the sun,
but choose, I do, to linger still,
among the dirt, what is my frill?
Low, be it may, to sink my feet,
into the slimy, pungent peat,
but with my grandad by my side,
would daily stroll along the tide.
To rescue guls stuck in the mud,
or gather sticks for firewood.
As luck would have it on one day,
the tides did change and under clay,
a viking boat from days gone by,
with shields of pine and rivots ply.
Unmasked itself from muddy deep,
a secret for ourselves to keep.
Each day, we returned, with a spade,
with picnic full of marmalade,
and feasted there beside the boat,
in our wool hat and winter coat.
Charmed not only by history,
but by such untold mystery.
Then on one fateful dreaded night,
the waves were high, the wind a fright,
storms blasted down upon the shore,
Until the longboat was no more.
My granddad early on that day,
forgot to mention or to say,
he felt unwell, or rather ill,
but trudgeoned on, a soldier still.
But in the haste of wind and gale,
I didn't realise he was pale.
By the morning when I awoke,
to no smell of cigarette smoke.
I went downstairs and saw the fridge,
his oatmeal there, still on the ridge.
Maybe a lie in, thought my head,
I ran upstairs to grandad's bed.
There asleep, I thought at a glance,
I nudged him, but he kept his stance.
He was gone, how? I hugged him tight,
and ran for the river at twilight.
So here I am beside the tide,
Waiting for the mud to reside.
But if it does, what shall I do?
For treasure is nought, without you.
Black Bird
Sitting on a wire
Why is your back turned towards me?
Do you wish to hide the intelligence of your eyes,
or do you wish to create some mystery?
I have seen you
Here at this old dump
Picking through the unwanted wanted things
I wish I could search along with you
Check out what the Jones's have no more use for
The bits of unfixed
The not new enough
Their "I think we deserve the very best"
"This ain't good enough, let's buy more and more stuff!"
At one time
I wore their discarded clothes
Wore them without pride
I should have been proud
For I dug for them with wanting hands
Hands that waded through decadence
Refillable
Recyclable
Usable
Black Bird
I watched you and your brothers
As you feasted on our last suppers
Ripping open black bags
Fighting for morsels
Unconcerned with the rotting
Intoxicated by fermenting fruit
Pungent aromas
Bones that needed to be picked clean
Me noticing but not recalling until now
Back then
I was hoping
Praying for a bicycle
Desperately wanting to ride far away from here
Escape my then
My embarrassment
My, I hope no one sees me!
"Garbage picker!"
"Where did you get that coat?"
"We threw that in the dump!"
Boy oh boy do I like clothes now.
No one makes fun of what I wear!
Part of me wishes to return with you Black Bird
To see what I left behind
Reclaim
Recycle that little boy
But I can't
The dumps aren't open anymore
It is like those old bones
Bleached
Picked clean
Manicured
Items placed in appropriate piles
All the while
You sit on your wire
Back turned to me
Intelligent eyes hidden
Knowing I can't disturb you
In a while you will feed on yesterday
For this place
Is not closed to you!
Raven was Death. She dwelt in death. She lived on death. Ages past, she had worn
the blue-black, purple, feathers of the raven and dined on royalty at Tower hill. A
tumble from grace had lodged her here in this fragile form. No more would her maw
drip ruby red, no more would her caw fill the mourning, or her soaring flight slice
the air like a Frenchman’s sword. A Raven, with clipped wings, was she.
Centuries had passed since she, in her feathered form, had feasted on the King.
**Bran the Blessed, giant, King of Wales, had been her down fall. Cursed was she,
as she dined on his eyes, in the field of battle. Ah, what did a raven know
of the curses of man. But, she knew now. Bran's head was placed,
as a talisman, on the grounds of Tower Keep in Londontown. She,
transformed, cursed, walks the night in this beautiful, weak, human vessel for
as long as, Bran's name is remembered.
Her satin-sandaled feet hold her earthbound. Just as superstition
holds her clip-winged brethren in the Tower courtyard, Bran's Curse holds her here.
No longer can she fly, but, she is free to roam. The churchyard calls her. Ashen skies no longer welcome her, but the gravestones, spade-shaped like the tails of carrion feeder, beckon. The evening corpse has arrived. Draped in mourning weeds of black, her death-like pall, luminescent in the moonlight, her lips a tell-tale crimson, she arms her self with a firebrand. The bluish steel glistens. Death with a gun, certainly, one could see the
over kill? She laughs. Looking skyward, she calls. “Husband*, children…”
she mimicks the caw of her unfettered kin. “Come to Ma Ma..dinner is served.”
*Raven's mate for life...or death? ;)
**Bran is the Welsh word for Raven/ King Bran the Blessed
***A NIGHTMARE
From our youth, we have been taught that beauty is only skin deep;
and “It’s in the eyes of the beholder”, is what we like to teach.
Many a head has been turned, and our hearts have taken a leap.
It was breathtaking, as our captured hearts skipped a beat.
I absolutely understand this, and I do tend to agree.
Many were the working hours of driving through the marsh mellow wetlands.
I paused but could not stall as I took in the blessings of beauty in the Fall.
So pleasing and peacefully, the feathered fowls played, rested, and feasted.
So honored and privileged was I just to watch and breathe with the birds.
I have witnessed the carefree and feathered beauty of butterflies flying by.
Such artistic mixtures of colors often arrest and capture even this stoic guy.
And I’m reminded that such beauty was earned in a cocoon, and not given.
It was born out of strength and patience, and not made-up quickies.
Time was crucial, and the work was hard, as the moth long endured.
The butterfly has taught me that beauty develops in stages and unfolds over time. I must continue to learn to wait and dutifully labor through the hard times. Millions of the Monarch Butterflies spend their winters in Central Mexico. Come Spring, may I too, like butterflies, spread my wings and take flight.
12052015PS Contest: For Men Only( Would You, Could You) Write About Butterflies. 2nd contest entry 6/29/20, Butterflies And Marshes Mellow,
Kai Michael Neumann
The Sowing
Upon the wind feasted hillside
The jagged edges of used rocks swell
With the fatless skin of babes and wenches
Below a field of blood, no less a Flanders Field
A continuous swell of rape roll like waves
In the pallid squalor of leaking huts wooden tales tell
The scars ironed in the backs and inner thighs
The voices crying with no listening ear
Blood shines bright in moon's glow sons birth upon the fields
For eons it seems men stack rape like barley and wheat
Small ones soft ones and inexperienced virgins too
Daughters bled away dignity men their respect
Born work and ravished in the fields
Where is their medal of bravery
Today the summer sun washes over the fields
Each ray eclipses the dark memories of sin
As the sons and daughters rise
This poem was written for Joann Grisetti's Copycat contest through inspiration of Debbie Guzzi's The Sowing, one of the Greatest writers here on the Soup
There once rose a man; Adolf Hitler
Who established himself as the world’s conqueror,
Thought of himself as an immortal
But nothing lasts forever.
Seasons come and go,
For every high there’s a low
Span is always a thought to consider
‘Cos nothing lasts forever.
Green leaves may turn brown;
Great trees lose their crowns.
Smiles,slowly fade into frowns
Nothing lasts forever.
In all the pain,
Set your eyes on the gain.
It’ll be fine someday,
Nothing lasts forever.
Enjoy it while it lasts,
For it’ll soon be of the past,
Flying away into the skies like dust;
Nothing lasts forever.
Sani thought himself a butcher,
Slayed as many as stood in his way,
But where is he today,
Nothing lasts forever.
Charles tailored his schedules intricately,
He sought to establish longevity.
But for every sprout, there’s a shrink.
Nothing lasts forever.
I mean! Dada was ferocious;
Wilder than the beasts of the jungle,
Today, he’s feasted upon by maggots,
Nothing lasts forever.
Hope was brought to the south.
A man delivered them from their shackles,
Nelson could only do as much as his life would permit.
Nothing lasts forever.
I could go on and on,
Write from dusk till dawn.
But certainly, this piece has got to end
‘Cos nothing lasts forever.
She looks at him and whispers, "I'm afraid of falling."
He smiles at her and replies, "I'll catch you."
A poem was brewing in my head
like the tea bag in my cup
drowning in roiling water
Ribbons of steam spiraling up
Two sweet verses had been written
Two sugar cubes slowly melting
sweltering in a cup
a dash of cream to cool the tea
My mind lingering on his words
not sure of what I'd heard...ummm
What was it that he'd said ~
"Whoever forges the key to your heart
will be a lucky man."
Were those lines he'd written for a song
or had he composed a melody for me
Was I wrong to lock my heart away
and was he the one who'd forge the key
Had I been denying myself the chance
that love would nourish my craving
I was imprisoned by shattered dreams
a scheme devised to keep me safe
but long deprived of love, I was starving
My tea was cold, but I was told...ummm
What was it that he'd said ~
"Don't be afraid of love happening."
It was a fear I'd come to dread
but when this man held out his hand
I peered fathoms deep into his soul
and gave in to my heart's demand
We feasted through the night
Hunger sated for I'd been fed
the sweetest morsels after fasting
What was it that he'd said ~
"No key did I forge to unlock your heart.
It knew you belonged with me."
It is not tea that fills my cup
I drink from the look in his eyes
I opened my heart and now I thrive
Alive as a candle flame, burning bright
Shattered dreams were swept away
when in my ear I heard him say ~
What was it that he'd said ~
"I love you, darlin'. Come to bed."
We raced on our sleds down hills of snow
and skated on ice as winds would blow.
How lovely it was; how crisp and clear!
A season so special was Christmas one year
Gift-gifting with those I was able to meet
at our big reunion. What a treat
to have all of my relatives near.
We feasted with Yuletide joy that year.
A big talent show our small church had.
Sweet goodies made all us children so glad.
Later we whispered in Santa's ear
things that we wanted for Christmas that year.
Mom had us string popcorn on the tree.
It was a new thing for our family.
Laughing and talking filled me with cheer.
Togetherness reigned in that special year.
The night before Christmas - so hard to sleep!
Like souvenirs are memories I keep
of my Christmas day with family dear.
The best Christmas ever was that one year.
(Some of these things happened every Christmas for me, but I recall one year in particular when all of these things occurred. I think I was around 10!)
for A Christmas Gift Memory Poetry Contest
Sponsor: BJ Legros Kelley