Best Foreordained Poems
There is a solace in his silence, a servant of his solitudes,
As he comforts in compliance, a jester to the multitudes…
He stands alone a neophyte, struggling within his confines,
Actions that do excite, impugnable inhibition when he signs.
Master of the satirical sad, a foreordained flounder of many,
Like a narcotized nomad, wandering wills a penniless plenty…
A calamitous circus in mind, his heart exposed in the limelight,
Dolorous detentions unkind, amidst filling his formidable finite.
A bombarding bombast, with words falling to the desolate deep,
Sailing with a maudlin mast, wearing a facetious frown as to weep…
Layered with lecherous lashes, upon wounding the sacrificial soul,
His anguish turns to ashes, within continuation of his dramatic role.
A buffoon protected by providence, metamorphic minstrel of laugh,
Lacking in canopied confidence, recklessly writing his eternal epitaph…
As he mimes until the morrows, living amongst a false fading reality,
With a smolder to his sorrows, court jesting as a nilpotent nobody.
Feb.28.2020
Repost From May 23, 2019
Clown at the Abyss
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Placed 7'th...Thank You
With Presidents Day coming up this Monday, I submit my tribute to the president born Feb. 12, 1809:
Ode to My Hero: Dear Abe
At many things, Abe Lincoln was the best.
From boyhood to manhood, how he shone.
Foreordained to lead, dear Abe was blessed.
I picture him a farm lad poorly dressed -
kind soul and working so hard all alone.
Foreordained to lead, dear Abe was blessed.
Entertaining, Lincoln liked to jest.
Tall and strong was he when fully grown.
Foreordained to lead, dear Abe was blessed.
Great intellect and talents he possessed.
Many things he learned all on his own!
Foreordained to lead, dear Abe was blessed.
He led a nation facing great unrest,
for slavery dear Abe could not condone.
Foreordained to lead, dear Abe was blessed.
Feb. 15, 2020 for Sheri Fresonke Harper's
Ode To A President Or Politician Or Leader Past Or Present Poetry Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Reformations amities amid poetics tour de force overture within, virtuoso's....
Fatalisms exuberant pas de deux; foreordained this ballet in exquisites verse
To cross dimensions of spatial extent; the new promised frontier?!
Paragons quintessential interludes gracing the paramouric stages
Amid divinities design a birth, borne upon the canvas of touchstone time....
Fantastic phenomena; parting these cosmic curtains in yesteryears ambivalence
Watersheds cardinal red moment in predestined manifestations crossing thresholds
Parallel spheres once bound by catharsises hand crafted crucibles reasons!?
Eclipsed, from limbo to be carried unto Eden; loves, eternal cats cradle palms....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
.... * “Imagine” ~
If we could look into the seeds of time,
and say which grain will grow and which will not,
we would arrange our affairs defiantly
in the face of current opposition.
If a thought should geminate and flourish
in the barren soil of the status quo,
it would likely be by sheer providence
that ideas would come to fruition.
Our dreams, our very imagination,
are what keep our momentum in this world.
Sans the prospect of incremental feats,
we would not strive to attain excellence.
If the portent of riches entices us,
would we forsake every value system
to attain the pinnacle of success?
No one could portend the foreordained path.
the fragility of a flower
quavering in autumn's draft
infallibly will succumb
to the rime of night
the capability to shield it
prevails in your hands
if only to prolong its life
from the foreordained path
imagine your own life
retained in your hands
your trembling fingers
grasping the tips of needles
wary of each droplet
perceptive to the fortuity
that each could mean
extended life or inevitable death
Imagination of my heart, be still
Is it not true that thoughts define our world?
And bring to light obscurities that thrill.
For in the mind, new ideas are unfurled.
Genesis, like Einstein’s Relativity,
Embrace complex concepts still swirled.
Religious beliefs seek sanctity,
The pursuit of truths proposes questions.
Imagination sees ambiguity.
Theories evolve, offering solutions.
Discrepancies in the mind’s eye revile.
Daydreams and fantasies launch suggestions.
Within the brain collected thoughts stockpile.
And the heart of imagination stays.
Therein lies progression’s basic beguile.
Knowledge and true belief soon parting ways,
That brings us to the heart of imagination.
Are hope, truth, and peace lost in latter days?
Has the brain become man’s great coronation?
The crowning point too often worn askew.
Sometimes men thrive, beneath domination.
The heart of imagination breaks through.
It is not found imbibing happy pills.
It is found in the woodlands or a coo.
Imagination seeks God’s foreordained will.
For it was set at life’s ordination.
It is the brightest view within man’s thrill!
Be still, heart of my imagination.
My faith combines with facts to find this truth.
Man like beast was formed by God’s creation.
All…discerning Heaven’s declaration –
November 8, 2014
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Challenge Title 'Words - The Heart of Imagination?' - Poetry Contest
Sponsor Brian Johnston
There is a solace in his silence, a servant of his solitudes,
As he comforts in compliance, a jester to the multitudes…
He stands alone a neophyte, struggling within his confines,
Actions that do excite, impugnable inhibition when he signs.
Master of the satirical sad, a foreordained flounder of many,
Like a narcotized nomad, wandering wills a penniless plenty…
A calamitous circus in mind, his heart exposed in the limelight,
Dolorous detentions unkind, amidst filling his formidable finite.
A bombarding bombast, with words falling to the desolate deep,
Sailing with a maudlin mast, wearing a facetious frown as to weep…
Layered with lecherous lashes, upon wounding the sacrificial soul,
His anguish turns to ashes, within continuation of his dramatic role.
A buffoon protected by providence, metamorphic minstrel of laugh,
Lacking in canopied confidence, recklessly writing his eternal epitaph…
As he mimes until the morrows, living amongst a false fading reality,
With a smolder to his sorrows, court jesting as a nilpotent nobody.
~~~
First Released: May 23, 2019
Repost: Nov 18, 2019
Writing Challenge 2, November - A Poem Meaningful
Sponsored by: Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode
Placed 1'st...Thank You
I don't need an astrologer
To find what's written in the stars.
I don't need an astronomer
To see that you're my guiding star.
I don't need no fortune teller--
I've known for years that you're 'the one'.
Seeing you, I see forever,
Even more clearly than the Sun.
There must be some explanation
For all the sentiments I feel.
Maybe like reincarnation,
Our love keeps cycling like a wheel.
Did we make promises before,
In some eternal spirit plane?
Exiting the Well of Souls' door,
Hoping to find us once again.
Whether we've loved a thousand lives,
Or forgotten endless desire,
There's something in my soul that drives
Me to you, like a moth to fire.
Our love is unavoidable,
Like destiny, kismet, or fate.
Since our love's inevitable,
Let's embrace it before too late!
The oracles and the prophets
Would certainly foresee:
It's foreordained and predestined
For you to be with me.
I think our love could be the love
That spans both ends of time.
That's why I'll always think of you
As my 'Forever Valentine'.
Nature's, raw fury can no man withstand,
nor deeds of malcontent brothers understand
Natural calamities from: wind, water, divine command;
Man-made disasters by: leader, follower, brigand
Nature's untamed, mystical hand;
Man's marauding, sentient brand
Unseen forces generating chaos in each, hurricane
band ;
Contrasted with marksman's contrived, murderous stand
Without warning, listless gales shiver each, balmy strand;
Foreordained. work strikes with targeted violence planned
Mysterious, random tornadoes o'er storm trough spanned;
Calculating armies o'er demarcated lines fanned
Perilous, isolated earthquakes no instrument had scanned;
Callous looters colluding when supply does not meet demand
Spontaneous, volcanic emissions scar the land;
Gangs marked by sign; through attrition sculpting an urban island
Unforeseen floods lawful lives, endeavors do remand
Dictator coffers overflow; with taxes, kickbacks panned
In the strange land of mother earth
Where the creatures there dwell in
obscurity
While some rear the eagerness to
break open the veil
Some rare the solicitousness of the
fate of the unknownness
Where we find ourselves
A foreordained deed of mother
nature
Feels shunned by the ignorant hearts
of men
But learning nature's ways is open to
the one
Who puts his heart in the
unidentified
And his brain in the island of
knowledge
I am strange, you are strange
Surely not to mother nature
But to who?
To even the unsung feelings we
nurse
In our innocent minds and hearts
Towards each other
Even though our hearts
Have been connected by nature
Which birth us
Mother nature has done a great deed
Birthing and connecting us
But our hearts have been kept away
From the hidden fact of nature's
deeds
No matter how long we estrange
nature's deeds
Realizing the truth of the unknown is
failsafe
And nature can never be cheated
SHE shines with joy, like one in love
with love itself and all that’s lush;
and when the Grecian gods above
perceive her from the underbrush,
she takes wing like a fearsome dove
with the shrill of a mighty thrush.
With yellow locks, and fairest hair,
and limpid, liquid eyes true blue,
none are like her or can compare
to her likeness of pearly hue,
which gives light to the brave who dare
beseech her for her grace anew.
And foreordained as goddess Muse,
and well-revered as though a saint,
whom none can spurn nor can refuse
or with vile words corrupt or taint,
let therefore all beings freely choose
to worship her without constraint.
Oh how the King has loved you
your beauty is rare
and your fealty unsurpassed
let us traverse the garden meadows
in the mountains along the foraged trails
alongside the thickets into the redwood groves
I will call you to my side
there always to be present with me
the bride price was costly , a kings ransom
but I have redeemed you for myself
no others shall have you , I have made you mine
I have loved you with an everlasting love
with the promise I have given you
that your confidence may rest in my word
none in a thousand , one in tens of thousands
but you are beyond price, inestimable your value
have been foreordained to be for me
hand chosen by my own father
Where justice has met compassion
power has betrothed meekness
wisdom has married foresight
and love gives birth to truth
will that these qualities multiply
for these are the virtues
that will be the healing of the nations
All that is mine , my gifts for you
born of a love incomparable
even as my father has given me
I will make your joy full
and grant the desires of your heart
though you have been terrified
you shall rest in my security forever
remain on the watch
for I will show you
the things that yet must come to pass
for I watch over you
will shield you and guide
you into all the truth
amen , come Lord Jesus
COPYRIGHT © 2012 C. Michael Miller via Duboff Law Group LLC
There is a solace in his silence, a servant of his solitudes,
As he comforts in compliance, a jester to the multitudes…
He stands alone a neophyte, struggling within his confines,
Actions that do excite, impugnable inhibition when he signs.
Master of the satirical sad, a foreordained flounder of many,
Like a narcotized nomad, wandering wills a penniless plenty…
A calamitous circus in mind, his heart exposed in the limelight,
Dolorous detentions unkind, amidst filling his formidable finite.
A bombarding bombast, with words falling to the desolate deep,
Sailing with a maudlin mast, wearing a facetious frown as to weep…
Layered with lecherous lashes, upon wounding the sacrificial soul,
His anguish turns to ashes, within continuation of his dramatic role.
A buffoon protected by providence, metamorphic minstrel of laugh,
Lacking in canopied confidence, recklessly writing his eternal epitaph…
As he mimes until the morrows, living amongst a false fading reality,
With a smolder to his sorrows, court jesting as a nilpotent nobody.
May.23.2019
By Winged Warrior...^WW^
Not for any contest
Inspired by John Hamiltons contest...
Eight-word free verse challenge
Written & Composed by Winged Warrior
Using-A male virtual voice
Background music-Pavarotti in the Italian opera-
a prologue (Il Pagliacci)-'The Clown'
Composed by Ruggero Leoncavallo...Opera title~"Teatro Dal Verme"
Men fly The War-Plane of Mutiny
By querying their Destiny
And fly The Very Flag of Mutiny
When Destiny they mock with scrutiny
Vowing to no more drink Martini
Nor in other coolers harbor any tinny
Just like Britain can’t erase her felony
When Nigeria was her colony
One can’t A World of Monotony
Through ceaseless appearance in a ceremony!
Into it I read a mutiny
And a rebellion against Destiny
A Can-Never-Stop Glutton
Checking quarrels with his shirt button
Or a Decreed life of Celibacy
Fighting this with Ecstasy
Or even with The Slowest Immediacy …
Against Foreordained Destiny
We unwisely mutiny
With our Wise Scrutiny.
Upon the songbird’s inception
A young breath of air, its lungs did make
For the fledgling knew not of any deception
A prominent flight, the songbird did take
Unknown to the bird, there were exigencies in store
In the event that a hawk should loom
Presumably, fear did strike the bird’s core
Lest the songbird could escape this foreordained doom
As surely as the sun rises, the songbird is caught
And in it went, to the clenched jaws of finality
Assuredly leaving the bird’s mother distraught
For the songbird was known for its vast vitality
By this one can learn, not a thing is guaranteed
And by the wise one’s words, one should surely take heed