Best Foresees Poems
stitching my lips with neon nylon ~ the worm moon foresees hangry stars
When we travel through the solitary road
Not taken by many of those happy crowd
Hardly we glimpse the direction board
Rather drench in the showers of depreciative words
Pondering over our desired destination
Wondering about the mystical citations
Dreading the results of our action
We may feel perturbed and agitated
Like a daunted child
Abandoned in the field wild
We feel exhausted and dejected
At this crucial time, will emerge an angel
Like the god who appears in a child's dream
To make him smile like a sunbeam
arises as an angel, our inner strength
Help us traverse the road lengthy
The spirit inside us hauls
good spirits and souls
Who will travel along with us
To make our journey successful
So when we travel through the solitary road
Not taken by many of those happy crowd
Never look up for the direction board
Do not carry those depreciative words
Rather kindle your inner force
For the road's end, it foresees
And drive you complete the course
May 9 2022
Petals of a yellow daisy,
windswept on a breeze,
does he love me, soon I’ll know
what the flower foresees.
Faith in a yellow daisy,
will our love affair unfold,
or will the yellow daisy speak
of false hopes bleak and cold.
Who’d think a yellow daisy,
harbored such amazing power,
foretelling my wishes, my desires
in one single little flower
So I’ll pick a field of daisies
that’s what fields are for,
to find that special one that says
he’s mine forevermore.
APRIL 15/2012
WHERE HAVE ALL THE FLOWERS GONEa
Man has lived a hard life
While trying to live free
Voting and living in fine
Houses never intended to be
Somehow treated badly while
Others took away their families
Rosa Parks wanted her rights
In Montgomery Alabama
God knew the struggle that
Man always endured in life
Beating half to death
And crying in the night
They took away their daughters
And used them to satisfy lust
The only way to survive is
To do what they must
Many long years have passed
And many rivers they crossed
Some of them were saved
But most of them were lost
Abraham Lincoln through
God he freed the slaves
But somehow along the way
They lost a lot of braves
With his headquarters in
Atlanta Georgia arose
Dr. King
Now they can began
To let freedom ring
With the dream that he had
To unite every nation together
So their children could walk
Hand-in-hand in a land
He tried to make better
Dr. King spoke of peace
Didn't believe in a gun or knife
He wanted freedom for everyone
To live a better life
His dreams foresees
All nations of children walking
Hand in hand
A better future, a better life
Was always Dr. King’s plan
He said I've been to the mountain top
And I've viewed the promise land
I may not get there with you
For this is God’s plan
I don’t want you to cry or
Mention the honors that I received
But speak of how I've helped this
Nation and tried to supply their needs
Like most people, Dr. King
Wanted to live a long life
He knew he had to work swiftly
To win this holy fight
January 15, 1929 marks the
Birth of a righteous man
April 4, 1968 he was
Taken from this land
A single shot, a life have fallen
And taken from his family
He believed in the movement
That started in Alabama
Because of his dream for
Everyone in this world
He willingly gave his life
And wanted every nation
To seek peace,
And try hard to love
Now we look back at all
The struggles of Dr. King
And we see a somewhat better nation
Because of this man’s Dream!!!
The Bishops bathe in Babylon
while Princes, prancing on the lawn,
watch Queen deflowered, pale and wan.
The King dares not defend her.
The Horsemen, holding broken reins
the Morning of the Hurricanes,
sigh “it’s no use, it’s all in vain,
the Saints will soon surrender”.
They wonder why they ever came,
they have No One whom they can blame,
they have no face, they have no name,
and even less, a gender.
The empty-handed Vagabonds
smoke stale cigars, stroke faded Blondes
while waiting at the walls beyond,
but kneel as Chaos enters.
They’re gazing through the window panes
in hopes that distant Hurricanes
will twist and break their iron chains
defying life’s tormentors.
The Fantom of the Opera frowns
as feeble minded Cleric-clowns
mouth hollow hurdy-gurdy sounds
when blessing doomed dissenters.
The Pirate wields a wooden leg,
with pupils dull and visage vague,
and if by chance he spreads the plague,
it really doesn’t matter.
His Princess, pale, no longer feigns,
foresees instead (down ancient lanes)
the coming of the Hurricanes -
the Stones stir, staring at her.
And Jackals scrape the river bed
as Savants soothe the underfed
and Crows, collecting scattered bread,
adorn, with crumbs, the platter.
The Jokers Wild and One Eyed Janes
weep, winding up in rundown trains
mid whispers of the Hurricanes,
and Priests refuse to christen.
They’re fleeing from the Leprechauns,
the cuckoo birds, the dying swans;
while pitching pennies into ponds
their eyes opaquely glisten.
The spectral Clocks with spindled spokes
remind the Mimes to tell the Folks
the time of day and other jokes,
yet No One looks to listen.
The Hunchbacks with contorted canes
galumph before the Hurricanes,
in melted sleet, in frozen rains,
in bruised and battered sandals.
Their Groans engulf the land of gulls,
the land of stones, the land of nulls,
and lurk between the blackened lulls,
for Nighttime brooks no candles.
Their prayers to Dogs and Nuns and Dukes,
(and other long forgotten Spooks)
are more than random crazed rebukes,
though taunting to the Vandals.
Continued in Part 2
continues from part 1
And I to him: “Show me where I can find,
If you want that I bring your news then up,
Who is who foresees with so bitter mind”.
Then he put his hand at the yaw to grasp
Of one of mates his mouth to unlock,
Screaming: “This is the one whose voice has stop.
This, when was banished, then the doubt could stock
In Caesar, affirming that the supply
Was always late to arrive giving shock”.
Oh how much dismay appeared to imply
With his tongue fully in his gullet cut
Curius, who so boldly could reply!
And one who had his hands both cut somewhat,
Raising his stumps in that just dusky air,
So that his blood then made his face a smut,
Shouted: “Of Mosca memory you care,
Who, alas!, told, “End has anything done”,
Which for tuscan people was seed unfair”.
And I added: “And death of yours begun”;
Since those, summing pain to pain all the way
Went on as people who is crazy and won.
But I remained to look the souls array,
And saw a thing which then I strongly fear,
With any proof, to just relate I may;
Although my conscience looks to be sincere,
Thanks to good partner I have had at side
Under the shield of feeling to be clear.
I saw for sure, and still it seems it’s eyed,
A body without head to go on so
As went others of herd of badly died;
And his truncated head held by hair low
Hanging from his hand in a lantern guise:
And that looked at us telling “Oh me woe!”.
Of himself was doing himself light rise,
And so were two in one and one in two;
As it can be, it's known by who is wise.
When he walking reached then the bridge foot through,
He raised up his limb with his head well up
To get closer to us his words for true,
Which were : “You see by now the painful stoop,
You that, respiring, go and dead souls see:
Observe if any is worse than this you scoop.
And so that you to bring my news agree,
I am Bertram from Bormio, just the one
Who gave to the young king bad advice plea.
I made foes among them father and son;
Achitofel with Absalon had no more
And with David evil innuendoes done.
Since I divided people close with sore,
I bring my brain divided, oh weary!,
From this truncated where it was before.
So here see retaliation dreary”.
It is from my thoughts you have come
It is from within sensation that you have become
Yet…It is I who feels brought, it is I who is befalling,
Transpiring into what is beyond sentiment
Grasped in your presence, that in form is
A cloverleaf, an intersection of all
Realities and chimeras
Yet…In feeling, it is the winter, summer, autumn
And spring that season my years
Imane… afar the distances I yearn to reach, upon
The horizons of your outlying skies…
Shall we meet one day?
Or is it only the tip of my pen that foresees?
I shall only linger…upon these many pages
-Imane: An Arabic female given name which means Faith; Pronounced (E.man).
-Imane is the main character of a novel I happen to be writing. I have never been in such
marvelous experience before :)
Demitrios the golden Spartan captain sets sail for Italy
against the western wind; he will certainly mourn Piraeus,
and with sorrow-striken eyes, he'll invoke Poseidon.
Then he'll depart carrying the long hunting horn.
The small vessel will hold out and he won't fear waves,
but he laughs at Ares--who despises all kinds of irony.
Occasional gusts soothe the skin on his noble face,
unwrinkled and unrugged. Spring water should
quench his dry tongue; it's too warm and tasteless.
Stored in a huge amphora which depicts faces
of gods and warriors engaged in warfare,
it has the same warmth of the sweat that drips
from his hot forehead that has turned red.
Ahead, wisps of fog arise--an imagery whale.
Beyond there are perils and certain delights;
thoughts of danger will perturb him, thoughts
of discovery will enthrall him. He will be experiencing
them on his voyage--what he desires is smooth sailing.
He has heard of sirens and cyclops,
of fertile valleys and fields of yellow wheat;
of buffalos that roam, of goats and sheep that bleat.
How amazed he will be to find rocks
to build the New City*on that pristine shore--
he will declare his Queen sitting in the marble throne!
Demitrios the golden Spartan captain sets sail for Italy
to escape Achille's curse; he refuses to hide in the wooden horse,
he will never return to Greece. Athens and Sparta will not fight
with swords and arrows; their grand plan is to win war by deceit.
Cleverness will defeat the Trojans. Only Helena foresees the worse;
they don't heed her words--Troy will fall to the enemy.
* The New City: Neapolis ( Naples ).
I am what you call a bearer of the "caul"
I was born with a veil that covered my face
It's supposed to be a sign of many things
For me this caul has given me the future
It is not something I can control
These things I see or feel
Sometimes they just overwhelm
I'm brought down to my knees
It's when they're strong and frighten me
I don't know where to turn
I know I'll sound quite insane if I share
The feelings of gloom that pain me so
But every now and then, I get a hint
From one close and dear,that shares the caul
Of something coming near
We do not have to say or explain the feelings
In our heads
We know by now it's from the caul
That wields and shares its doom
I never know exactly when or where
The tragedy will occur
Only feel the emotions that each event procures
It becomes a albatross I carry round my neck
This gift I was born with,Foresees fear and death
I wish I wasn't the one to carry this cross
It's knowledge is not of hope just misery and loss.
My Super Power Is Contest
Sponsor: Lewis Raynes
I have many powers handed down from generations,
My father gifted me many obscure competent abilities,
My favorite power is the capability of regeneration,
But being able to do that is probably a big liability.
I fly in the night and tomorrow’s sights appear,
My mind foresees the future as my arms spread,
I’ve seen the look in their eyes, astounded with fear,
As my hands whisk away objects over their heads.
The fated days arriving are seen when there’s trouble,
A gun may be shot and I can sweep away the bullet,
I immediately throw the perpetrator in a glass bubble,
I fly to the cliff, land and effortlessly push and pull it.
When danger arrives I sense the apprehension,
Poor lost souls can’t fight off demons themselves,
The towns people have absolutely no comprehension,
I’m bummed my powers are lost at the strike of twelve.
The witches and warlocks wish they could do what I can,
I don’t need potions to conjure up my fluent capacities,
They gather and get jealous with rage and don’t understand,
They try to compete, how dare they have the audacity.
See, my powers have been given to be used for good,
I’ve learned to adapt and fill my spirit with adoration,
I realize many people get confused and are misunderstood,
I have many powers handed down from generations.
Date Written: June 7, 2016
The One who writes the music
In notes of hope and peace,
Leaving out the darkness, embedding
Grace that relieves…
The One who writes the story
Between joy and faith,
Echoing life through the pages
Inspiring such thanks….
The One who writes the moments
With a pen of sun and rain,
Silencing the worries, easing
Even the past…
The One who writes the smiles
Through intimacy and light,
Foresees the edges of sweet joy,
Enlightens and enlivens…
The One who writes my colors
In hues of wonder and love,
Brightens all my heart’s yearnings
With dreams forevermore…
The One who writes my journey
Through blessings so unique,
Miracles and Godsends – consenting
To bring me a full book…
This volume is made up of wonders
Far more beautiful than the eye can see,
Far more brilliant than the sunlight,
Far more amazing than I can explain
For it comes to those who know Him
The One who writes with a creative hand,
The One who inspires and understands,
The One who answers all my prayers.
Because of Him, I know what it means
To love beyond my wildest dreams!
The bad year befell when the prior had passed so well,
With no warning night descended and a charmed existence ended
As a starving bird of prey came to roost one average day,
Ate the blue out of the sky, pecked the sparkle from the eye.
It dragged its talons slow across the life I used to know,
Never paused to catch a breath, simply put the world to death;
Relentless and remote, ripped the soul and sank the boat,
Black reposed and ghoul surveyed all the changes it had made.
The bad year befell and with it tumbled hell,
Crushing love and passion dead beneath a fire and brimstone tread,
Breathing poison to erase all designs without a trace,
Until all it left to hold were some ashes sour and cold.
Looking back on everything with a future painted grim,
Thus conclude and contemplate on the cruel hand of fate;
Rise to curse complacency, that Achilles heel decree,
Who foresees without a doubt when time is running out?
The bad year befell with a parable to tell
That no matter who you are you can push your luck too far,
And no matter what you do you are always left with you
And despite your best endeavour nothing ever lasts forever…
The god of greed, of power and of haste
Has wrought in silence all the joy of Love
From hearts of men and, in his anger, placed
His shield of gold upon the throne above.
Far down below, among the crowd dispersed
By petty brawls, debate and brutal screams,
His slaves sweat out with every breath immersed
In search of treasures and of silver streams.
The clever lord smirks slyly on his seat,
Amused that his devices are in swing
To daze the race of men. Let them repeat
The wrongs which, when committed, make him king!
Despite his mighty craft, the master does not know
That somewhere far, well hidden from his stare,
A greater force, well known to be his foe,
Is stronger still, all-wise and truly fair.
This power trumps the lies and masquerade
Which avarice and fraud have set in place.
This ray of light, which does not fear the blade,
Is earnest Love, immune from all disgrace.
In her angelic shrine, she is unmoved
By selfish men, and boastful malice shown
To those who prize their honesty, who proved
That honest life is often life alone.
Unseen and quiet, she descends to aid
The weary and aggrieved, who lose their way,
Who stumble blindly and whose powers fade
As they traverse the world in gloom and disarray.
The haughty master sees but worries not,
His aimless servants droning on bewitched,
But in the purest heart there lies a plot
Which, every minute, is by Love enriched.
With time and faithful patience, devotees
Of truth, humility and unrelenting grace
See, deep within, a vision which foresees
Relief from grief and justice for their case.
And thus, although the selfish men at large
Live out their days in lassitude or pride,
A few remain in the majestic barge
Of those who prove that kindness has not died.
Such is the world: a place of right and wrong,
Where those in power laugh—though they are blind—
And those who seek the truth are bold and strong,
Though very oft to silent pain confined.
O, reader, if you’ve loved and grieved,
Allow these humble words to urge and plead:
Though you were slighted, or indeed deceived,
May you forgive the world and be forever freed!
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
The Final Hour
~~~~~~~~~~~
Contest: Oracle-Rick Parise
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They tell us when it will happen
They tell us many different ways
They always keep me laughin’
Those who believe them get distraught and crazed
While I sit and watch them riot, completely un-phased
Only one foresees the end
Only one can tell the time
Only one, forgave us of our sin
The final judge of all crime…
…God, lead us to sublime
Hit your knees and pray, any could be our final hour
Any second now, the entire earth he could devour
©2011-06-30
Rhyme Royale
~*Wandering*Butterfly*~
~Miranda Lambert~
Death separates flesh from spirit,
as souls leave this physical plane.
And it's a natural process,
for awareness foresees life's end.
For people who truly believe,
Death's their pathway to paradise.
And they embrace the soul's release,
strengthened by their unflinching faith.
They believe souls experience
rapture upon exiting life.
And regain their lost innocence,
in God's sanctuary of love.
At the instant of our demise,
our souls discard their mortal guise.
And partake in a miracle
that only asks that you believe.
Life can end at any moment;
how can you not be curious?
In death, all speculations cease,
only the truth shall be the truth.