Best Forswear Poems
I brushed water colors with thoughts of Adam's Eve
and the fallen one who was disguised to deceive
this naked nymph, who strikes a nubile pose
offering a ripened apple and a crimson rose
Both face and body, painted innocently pure
her femininity was unquestionably demure
but with forbidden fruit bitten, it was all lost
From Eden's paradise she and Adam were tossed.
Uprooted as a tree, she forfeited divine favor
The evil reptile's lie succeeded to enslave her
Woe to the male offspring she was created to bear
One killed by the hand of the other, his plight forswear
To them, closed forever was the garden's gate
The finality of death then became mankind's fate
A wrong path was chosen when she'd been warned
gave way to mortality that all of us have mourned
To disrobe the lion’s ego,
would be to destroy a charismatic higher light
dethrone a regal rightous dominance
denounce a fierce protective energy
with pride of a warrior, never repudiate royalty
forswear fealty is to renounce a king of truth
whilst in his den, uncloaked he and his lioness
of regal virtue, love eternal and loyalty
when you engage with ultimate hierarchy,
roars of authority warn and ward risk taking rivals
with gifted instincts, a supreme stubborn strength
and a keen bond and respect for his own
an affectionate and generous warmth
confident yet cautious in their garden of Eden
defeatist disrobes the ego, only when defeated
deep within the soul, we yearn for substance
a spiritual substance sustaining us
the creature sustains as messenger
deeper significance beyond physical form
depicting qualities from the universe
butterflies symbolize transformation,
the turtle patience, the elephant a mighty sooth,
the lion links divine wisdom and perceives truth
To be blessed
May the Lord Almighty set me free
To peacefully pace in His island’s lee
When the vice storms in a lusty surge
And Eden earth is thrashed with its scourge
When ethics to the right, to the left, adrift
And loosely swings in the tiring rift
When trains of thoughts on logic cease
And apothegms of love are trampled apiece
When war and war and war and no peace
And themes of strife are the best release
When peacemakers procrastinate
And terms of truce wholly terminate
When vacant words are in phoniness drenched
And policy pageants of the world are clenched
When nations forswear ingenuous deeds
And on travesties their heartache feeds
When hearts are sullied by Lies and Sins
And eyes deny afflicted beings
When stingy hands, know none to lend
And on vagrant feet sufferings descend
When man misdoubts “where is the Lord”?
And “when will He drum his heavenly chord”?
I pray to the Lord to set me free
For a blessed soul, I wish to be
Your friends with benefits are no true friend:
as (au contraire!) your friends when used are a
perverse weed from which you must then defend
against when trust and friendship sweep away;
your friends aren't lovers' toys to be abused
or spent on reckless nights of screwing (them)
where prudence is forsaken and unused
because you just feel like it on a whim.
But if you choose to love your now good friend(s)
then do so at your own risk and danger
as oftener than not you'll in the end
only create just another stranger:
if you err in this but ne'er broke your word,
then this you may forswear you read or heard.
Forswear search my eyesight,
A view of beauty beyond the
twilight,
Lunar enchants us with
honeydrop flowers,
Gifts of heaven are praised by
the bees,
Sweetness of the sun kiss
berries,
I beseech your sweetness
upon my lips!
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
Shall I suppress the hankering of love,
And behold one’s stifle whispering bare,
Or quench thy besmirch of venom thereof,
Or bedight thy fog, doer of despair?
Before perceiving wisdom of thy crime,
Judgement of thyself no question make,
When desires approach years of prime,
Must respect and morals themselves forsake?
Though slavery gone captured we still be,
Yet must we all have thy person to blame?
Praise thy duets of similarity,
Forswear injustice and love all the same,
So even I not man still do yet swain
For love alone must I wish to gain.
A Sonnet for Jayne
O,'Tis such a rare and beauteous thing
Amidst the turmoil,who can explain
That which inspires a man's soul to sing,
Or to reflect its light in loud refrain.
Were the stars so sullen before we met?
Did both the moon and sun forswear to shine?
For I could roam the whole of earth, and yet
What beauty gazed upon compares to thine?
With but the lightest touch my heart combusts,
A whisper bids all other thoughts depart,
Ensnared within love's stormy throes and gusts,
With passion found, does life then truly start?
I pray thee say it's me whom you adore
Or let me go so I may die once more.
To take thee as my wife my dear, I do
And kiss thy lips as lovers often do
With love and trust I'll promise not to do...
Forswear thou vows or swear damage to do
Of dreams that thy desire for me to do,
I'll do, unquestioned what thou breath saith do
Thus compliment and care for thee I'll do,
Until thine life answers what death shall do
with all due respect to the Bryan Adams classic, this is my Bardish version:
heed my visage close thou wilt mark
to me thou meanest all
thy bosom enquire soul beside
wherein shall I be found
thy searchings done
hold thy tongue ere the effort all
speaketh not of a full forfeit
knowest thou forsooth
mine whole intent only is for thee
thy bosom enquire discover there
aught of secrets be
my impulse be thine stay mine breath
bequeathe my lot in surrender all
speaketh not of a full forfeit
fair taken I for aught I desireth
verily thou knowest
mine whole intent only is for thee
none ardor is belike thine
nor couldst return beyond its like
none adobe prevail cept thee therein
fully and in perpetuum
thy bosom inquire
verily
hold thy tongue ere the effort all
not stayed am I for full desire
wouldst war for thee
forswear for thee
take leave mine footsteps
givst mine breath for thee
thou knowest verily
mine whole intent only is for thee.
Her lovely smile, you should be told,
is like a pint, that’s topped with gold.
Tight curls surround the comely face,
just like a golden carapace.
Her many lovers, so we hear,
forswear their cider, (some their beer)
when promised by her little scheme,
to share a pot of clotted cream.
Temptation is a real curse,
when passion leads to something worse.
Performing on a milking stool,
breaks every Health & Safety Rule!
~
For Craig Cornish's "Funny Poem" Contest - 5th August 2012.
Ugh, Why Must The Missus Vacuum At The Crack Of Dawn?
(circa: early December 27, 2018 morning)
There appears to be a
virulent (possibly deadly) strain
of housekeeping virus
Hoover ring in the air
asymptomatic tentatively linked to rein
deer droppings (micro-organisms) blare
ring and trumpeting beyond
the threshold to humans, though plain
lee send audible wavelengths
to symbiotic species clear
as a bell, which organisms don
nano size MAGA hats, and main
lee set up shop in carpet threads,
and chiefly thrive on deer
pellets, where one bee bee
gun size bullet serves long lane
of critters unseen can easily
make headway into ear,
eyes, nose, et cetera other
orifices, and Kane
inject unsuspecting vacuum sealed
byproduct to forswear
unsightly piles of dirt, debris,
dust bunnies, which Jain
Dharma would find
appalling horrifically glare
ring at desecrating supposed germ
carrying pests calling utterly inane,
the constant effort
to keep house beautiful heir
ruled ding disinfectant resistant,
whether mite tee Germaine,
or itty bitty teensy weensy siblings
many named Oh Fair
Roe One Wade for me, nonetheless seek
out porous fleshy terrain
allowing, enabling and providing
pinhead size portal
i.e. vector to engineer
transmitting a fast
acting alien entity
without any explain
nation, an immediate urge to spruce up
the place applying interlinear
trigonometry (of course adhering to
Feng Shui when rearranging), without drain
ning, lessening, zapping,
et cetera, but meer
really loose sing a whirling dervish
(mini tornado) fiercely
finding the spouse on feverish spree
to clean entire apartment chain!
Three walk the path to darkness on this night--
one to embrace, one to observe, and one
Deus ex Machina, a travesty
of the divine; the role is mine to serve
as I create. I am death's man.
There is a fissure in the earth
and I must stand alone
upon the other side
against all time.
Though on another day I might
perform the hero's art,
there is no part of me
that may be left to be redeemed.
I am death's man.
It matters not that my commission is
but once or many times--
that I am sweet and fair,
that I may laugh and lust
and forswear luxury before
all humankind,
I am death's man.
There is a shell around me; though it is
invisible, it still may hide
the gaping wound upon my heart.
It was my choice to be unique
although I could not know
the ultimate perfection
of that dull inchoate dread
which gathered over me
when I became death's man.
And do I pray, you say?
No hope, no penitence
may reach the void inside of me.
My smile alone is alien
and unreflected in return.
It is I you do not know,
nor may I ever fathom you.
How may it be
the beating of your heart
resounds in me?
Now stand aside.
I am death's man.
~
When dark despair and dismalness oppress
how then does joy keep its too, too brief cheer
when life and health forswear bliss no longer dear
and then embrace dark thoughts, dark days that depress?
When the claws of melancholy’s distress
seize, choke and kill death’s then too close, too near
for peace, for rest, or for freedom from fear:
how then does one so wretchéd suffer this stress?
Although fate can assault with great despair
hope and faith in God’s love and Jesus’s blood
withstand the trials of life that one may bear
her tribulations as something made good
and perfect through him, for as a loved joint-heir
with him her unbelief is nailed in dogwood.
Alone, I camp below Cathedral Peak –
God, I know you’re not who we say you are
and you certainly have a case for slander.
What fantastical tales we tell of you,
and the more nonsensical, I wonder,
absurdly, makes you more believable.
The cold, night sky ascends from below
until only the mountain’s white peak glows,
I perpend how you are our double-bind –
Antithetical, yet inevitable,
omnipotent, yet shirking the onus
of sin, disease, and immorality.
I have backtracked my last fifty years
from the convenience of nihilism
and of nullity, which once embraced me.
I loved that luxury of arrogance
and conceit to everywhere forswear faith.
Over years, I’ve shed those simple vestments
to now plead the argument’s opposite –
But not Faith. What emerged is a mountain
from igneous intrusion and ascending
within until it now glows as beacon.
I, a conjoined blind man with elephant,
unable to wrest your entirety,
but know these three aspects of your being:
I know of your love, your love of beauty
and your love of life. These would and could not
otherwise emerge from the darkness and
the absolute void of time and space.
Nullity is too facile and stays so
unless there’s more – More, for black begets black
and cannot create something from nothing.
And one should not grow old without seeing
that there is something; that an Is, is;
a wisdom and grace that originates.
It is hard to deny both denial
and a god who insists on penitence
and sacrifice. Here, below Cathedral Peak,
an epiphanic edifice, I see
a parent god who prods and acclaims her
progeny’s progress and accomplishments.
For it is enough to inhale the air
of her love written into scripture for
humanity to now warmly embrace.
I am the axiomatic master of my fate; the King of Maxim state.
I sit on a throne of axions, maintaining discrete time symmetry to keep my line in place.
With ordained and sovereign rule, I rise to the dominion of my life’s decisions; even when they do not translate to my intentions.
Blazon insignias are inscribed by my position.
Posed by social status and affluence, alongside it a physical constitution.
Each of us having idiosyncrasies by means of paradox.
As if to say I'm right handed and made of left handed particles, with momentum opposite to intrinsic spin.
By what parity could this arise?
Alas a vast enigma, derived by the perceptions of body soul and mind.
At ease and at odds to forego and prevail.
In concert of my peers, I will unsheathe the Magnus Opus and uncover the vale.
The ignorance of our own empowerment that I overtly forswear, and so goes on the allegorical tale.
It’s given narrative defeated, torn to tatters by The Sword of Gale.