Best Frenziedly Poems


Premium Member My Sister Says

My sister says
               my father was a good man --
but, how should I, 
                        who never "knew" him
    (except as a far-from-good man)
          buy her stories?
                        Am I, the last child
   of that union, 
              too, too judgmental?
     Too far removed in time from 
                              what she knew 
    and now recalls?
My memory is of a different man, 
              who died when I was twenty-two:
       one rarely present, never talking, 
often jailed,
                      unsupportive -- 
  someone I really never knew.
He was no bearer of familial tales, 
              no imparter of the history
                       now I only wish I'd heard...
Obviously, I differ from my sister 
          about what constitutes a good man.
He never seemed to feel that he
      needed to provide basics --
                  food, shelter, clothing, health care --
  to his offspring -- and he almost never did......
         I do remember how he staggered 
            on the street,
                             fell off of curbs, 
sought shelter 
                       and often could be found
asleep -- or at least 
                  stretched out unconscious --
                                          in some vacant lot; 
how he foraged 
                  frenziedly
                                   about for beer, 
or only Gallo muscatel 
                          (thirty-five cents for the flask).
Should I not ask 
                what makes my sister think
                         I could remember him as does she?
In such a different light?
                                   As victim,
                                               and maligned
              by inlaws or by circumstance?
All I know is what I do remember,
               what I survived
                           when she and others,
 grown, were gone.
 
I do not think 
                that I can accept
                                 or change
(nor in absentia, forgive) --
                        and, no, I do not yet
                                                        believe
            what my sister says.

Premium Member Whole Day and Night Birthday Party

Like an impetuous dash of time
Everyone  are frenziedly falling in line
As we all eagerly await  at the carpeted  floor
The arrival of our charming celebrity in allure.

Gents got pretty roses… white, yellow, blue and red
Eager to see the majestic beauty -- so great! 
We, ladies make a toast with the best champagne
Cheering and wishing  while her confetti rain

                 Today,  we’ll spend the whole day and night
             Dancing and singing with great delight
      With towering cakes, colorful sweets and big balloons
    Best orchestra   on stage  now play in boon

I sing first in solo for my dearest friend, 
Wishing  her all the happiness which never end
May all the desires of her heart be fulfilled
And her birthday wishes and  dreams be achieved


               Today,  we’ll spend the whole day and night 
           Dancing and singing with great delight
      With towering cakes, colorful sweets and big balloons
Best orchestra  on stage now  play in boon


I play the sweetest melody on my piano
And everyone jigs and  sings for her, too
I recited sweetly  my dedication poem
As we  give our loving hugs,  kisses and roses in bloom.




©2015Leonora Galinta
     All Rights Reserved


October 6, 2015     8.25pm
© Len Gasun  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Bleeding Skies

Flaming shperiods descend
As the clouds swirl frenziedly
Uprooting erections

The seas withdraw then rise
To swallow the earth
As death enters

The grounds depart
To sail the seas
As ember paints the skies
Form: Haiku


Premium Member Ultimate Nightmare

In total darkness
My helpless naked body 
Like a mere rag doll
Is tossed precariously
Into the cursing unforgiving
freezing sea
My body in shock
I am petrified filled with fear
And find it hard to breath.

My limbs tossed and thrown about
At the mercy of the towering cursing waves
That has taken so many unmercifully
To the murky depths
And a watery grave.

The freezing cold cuts and bites my tender skin
And as I swirl around against my will
My head is in a spin
I'm getting tired and more tired
As the waves crash and get increasingly higher
Drifting in and out of consciousness
Never knowing what will happen next
And when I will expire.

I just want to sleep
I hope I will soon die
I give out primal screams
But  there's no one to hear my cries.

The sheer noise of the thunderous waves
Deafens me and hurts my ears
I become delusional
Calling out for mother
And cry so many tears.

I sense the sharks are gathering
To frenziedly rip and tear my flesh
And drag me down into those dark, freezing  murky depths.

My bones to lay on the ocean bed
And soon to be covered by silt and sand
Soon to be forgotten
As though I'd never existed as a person
Or a man
At peace at last.



Peter Dome copyright.2014.
© Peter Dome  Create an image from this poem.

Fanaticism Runs Poetically Amok As Pseudo Tribalism Village Two

Case in point comprises emotional state of euphoria 
would deafeningly, definitely, deliciously get 
frenziedly expelled from stadium. Roe ting for 
“our boys” packing every last seat in the bleachers 
all manner of humankind would (during lulls) 

Instagram, Kindle, Messenger, Outlook, Quicken, 
Snapchat, Twitter. Santander, Verizon,Wells Fargo 
might be sponsors for major competitive challenge. 
Zero tolerance imposes winning at all costs versus 
grievous miserable rapacious violent yawping 

linkedin loss outcome of sporting events. Under
stand able home team owns an advantage (true 
for rival players on their turf) predicated on avid 
loyal fans boosting morale from family members, 

friends, neighbors, et cetera. The ear splitting 
roaring cheering hoopla emanating from spectators 
(housed in relatively close proximity to handsomely 
paid putting Pontius Pilate and bad ass Brutus brutes 

rolled into one mean human fighting machine. 
This previous comment meant as an honorable 
kickstarter, hyperbolic endearment. My humblest apology 
if said statement misinterpreted as a NON off fence sieve 

strong moderate slight against any creed, race, religion, 
et cetera. I merely sought an analogously effective 
impact asper these hypothetical Popeye muscle 
bulging arms length professional athletes plush residences 

lodged in general metropolitan area to rubber baby 
buggy bumper screaming banshee spectators. A 
winning score affiliated with bruising, cutthroat, 
dynamo...fierce-some giant, heaving, indomitably 

jinxed, “killer” macho no nonsense, outlandish packed 
quintessentially robust searing troopers translates 
into utter screaming, quaking outrageous merciless 
krazy individuals generating ecstatic cacophony

Infatuation

Into the jungle, the realm of all hazards
With love and a tucked-spear armed
The infatuated sphingid his way bravely wended
Heedless, the  hostile beasts all around scuppered.

In shady corners their merciless fangs sharpening
The sphinx moth the orchid’s love shielding
All perils boldly daring, all around hovering
His sweetheart frenziedly for eons seeking

Never flinching, never faltering nor huddling
Breezes he rode whilst his love whetting
His sweet maiden’s scent to his senses wafting
His wing beats to her fabled nectar guiding.
Form:


Recalcitrant Rhymester Demonstrates Reasonable Raillery

spoke kin like 
a true non establishmentarian.

Wily wordsmith wields wisdom and wit
renders requiem welcoming thee to visit,
no matter foisting poetic riffraff (mine)
necessitates applying figurative tourniquet
to staunch potential
life threatening hemorrhage
oozing out fifty shades of
your gray cerebral moon unit,
thus best be extremely cautious
heed warning to preserve
self interest and quit
while ahead, i.e. stop reading
and surreptitiously exit,

now lest noggin contents
rendered into pureed blivit
causing irrevocable damage,
now just for fun grab
amusement park ride ticket,
and picture yourself
in a boat on a river
squarely bobbing along...
barely staying afloat
courtesy soaked sponge square pants
within skeletal ricket
tee skiff analogous to
time warped white picket

fence forever lost and seasick
out of desperation imploring malefic
powers that be while moored thick
within (think) Scylla and Charybdis
not caring a lick
despite super tramping cheap trick
worse fate than death,
where metaphorical flick
finds one human flotsam and jetsam (ye)
violently sucked into realm wick
head witch, which
in toto along metaphorical yellow brick
road nsync cues soundcloud

faintly reminiscent of Herman's hermit
mid nineteen sixties approximate
time Beatles made mop top headlines
both bands selling
one after another smash hit,
where half crazed lasses frenziedly
screamed and threw maniacal fit
activating advent of groupies
they made nun sense sickle habit
to shadow many rock and roll band
initially majority identifying as Brit
nowadays global musical hodgepodge
synthesized linkedin with fitbit.
Form: Rhyme

Musical Love

Musical love

Our love forged on the Mount Fuji
Dining, wining and dancing to the beats of Garbage Fuji
Many times shot were we with the film Fuji…

We sit crooning to the songs of apala
Where the drummer frenziedly beats the apala
Our dance steps perfect to the beat weren’t palapala…

And we also saw the need to sing our own juju
Stringing beats of love, people wondered we used juju
Young, old danced, fell in love – unscared of the ojuju…

We are not musically like Fela
But our love for good makes us Fela
We are nothing but jolly good fellas
Who will gleefully dance like Rockefellers…

The power of love will make you sufe
Like the days when our parents danced taka-sufe
And we near-nakedly played, hopped in turns at suwe
And innocently called all Hausas Sule…

I won’t leave you beloved – hence this waka
The song of mothers birthed from love, sang despite shouts of waka!
From neighbours, far and near, as they rock us to sleep – shaking their baka
To their own sonorous voices, with no instrument – unlike the commercial waka!

© YTC… ‘019
Form: Rhyme

Dehydration Quenched On An Island With Females - Part 2

gratifying grand PooBah gnashing happily. How envious 
eye feel. This generic guy hallucinates (walled within his 
lovely bones) incredulously, jealously, knowing lackluster 
marriage never ordained plentifully, quintessentially, royally, 
satisfying throbbing testosterone undulating vibrantly within 
xman yawping zen. Ah know this phallus fantasy tubby 
merely a whet pipe dream, yet no logic can extirpate 

frenziedly gyrations glum husband images. Just kindling 
lasciviousness massages nude oeuvre provoking quaking, 
rip-snorting tooling uniting Venus, with xing yummy zone, 
absolute beauties, bunnies cozying dear Emir, fathering 
Hugh's illustrious joys, keeping libido murmuring, nesting 
on papa's queued rocket ship, thrusting uber vintage weasel, 
*** y zapping adroitly buoyant consecrated dick, Ernst 

found Grafenberg hallelujah, injunction jerking like mad 
naturally oiled pussy, quivering red redoubt stimulated 
the unavoidable Vagina, whereat xyz attainment brought 

******** delight eventually fomenting gusto, heavenly 
induced juiced Kung Lee masterfully negotiating ******, 
penultimate quest regarding sexual torquing, ululating 
vocalization wailing women XCI yogi Zorro

absent, bye Casanova, deemed expert ******** great Hefner, 
honorable Hugh invictus, joyousness kept legacy maintained, 
now...only phantom quietly rubs shoulders, thighs, ubiquity 
vibrant viz World Wide Web.

Mother Elephant

If only you knew…if only you knew…
How a mother’s tears flooded her eyes;
How blood oozed from her aching nipples;
And how she quarrelled with a stubborn quarry,
Lashing the quarry with her shrunk trunk, 
To save her drowning son. 


She commoved herself,
Looking for her darling baby,
Running up - the rocky hill,
And tumbling down – the prickly valley, 
Yet, no laugh, no groan, no mourn,
No whine…nothing did she hear.

She ran, wailing and mourning,
Frenziedly smelling his footprints,
Blowing the dust and oozing the blood.
With rocking, swaying and head bobbing,
She headed to a quarry.
  
She screamed like an angry wind,  
Spinning, beating her heart, 
When seeing her drowning baby, 
Feebly groaning, “PaWooing”   
In a mud-splashed, narrow quarry.

With flood-smothering eyes,
Oozing, aching blood from her nipples,
She lashed the quarry with her shrunk trunk, 
To save her drowning son,
Her darling son, her life —
If only you knew how…if only you knew…


Oct. 24, 2020 
If only you knew Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsor: Silent One

Benediction To My Deux Daughters Verse Number One

(Thy lovely lasses unwittingly 
unstintingly unexpectedly 
taught me selflessness)

Every Holiday time each year, 
a rocketing increase asper
doling out Uriah Heap ping 
largesse imposed upon each
citizen banker (coerced, forced, 

induced to buy baubles,
bibelot, curios, et cetera striving 
to outspend a competing
shopper, which faux grand 
handedness, and crass exhibition

generating mega sales (as Tale 
of Two Cities, or more)
earns management stripes viz 
embracing the Christmas spirit
(via blithely deftly, frenziedly, 
et cetera) per avidly boasting,
coarsely displaying, eagerly 
flaunting, et cetera prices paid

for the latest curiosity, doodad, 
gewgaws (whereby un
avoidable advertisements), flood 
mass communication airways, 
causeways, driveways, et cetera 

to plug reduced priceline sans 
gaud dee, knickknacks, gimcracks,
encompass companies blitzkrieg 
for those, who disparage being 
labeled Scrooge plunk down
every red cent, and empty 
their pockets, purses, wallets

to snag the title of topnotch spender 
no matter no need exists to snatch 
every last kickshaw, novelty ornamental 
tchotchkes, (which modus operandi, 
(visited upon the populace, a tidal wave

vis a vis figurative manifestation, 
laceration, inundation, whereby tenet, 
maxim, credo, et cetera broadcast 
to general public amply expending 

fistfuls of dollars fulfilling 
Great Expectations
(for family, friends, relatives) 
buy giving liberally,
Form: Ballad

Forgiveness Part Zero

the effects of nature versus nurture, 
   an age old enigma, as countless agent
provocateurs, one can argue, discuss, formulate 
   (with excel lent powerpoint graphs straight or bent)
   (betting every last cent)

infinite linkedin opinions re: 
   unequival x act definite gradient 
cradle to grave impact, nonetheless both induce a dent
upon the body electric 
   (though many factors not clearly visible), 

   yet both constituent key aspects contribute 
   (impossible to deduce, 
   an equal fifty percent), yet excellent 
   conjectures proffered to help explain 
   net resultant behaviors as postulated by this gent,

whose own personal history 
   conveniently, favorably, and kindly lent
from a chap, one would never confuse with Clark Kent
though super tramping, cheaply tricking, 
   foo fighting powers meant

to cope with the plethora of environmental 
   and genetic swirl of cumulative pent
up emotions particularly 
   red hot anger, I suppressed 
   back in my days of childhood, 
 
   or more recently when responsible to pay the rent,
nonetheless self acualization brought 
   figuratively brought to light, 
   the emotional energy spent
corraling frenziedly incorporating 
   loosed outrages repressed, 

   and in sore need to vent
thus myself (viz case in point best example 
   at thy own acquired behest) 
   now does understand where 
   unleashed mailer demons went
Form: Bio

Alice In Wonderland

She frenziedly smeared the rogue make-up about... 
Her ivory malaise face; contorted seemed vanities glass
While breaking orange's gloss, laced lipstick as painting her
Cheshire cat's up turned smile currents of excitement and she rattling
Silver streaks in highlight's hair her favourite, champagne pink, stilettos
Tapping a memoir's mania beat upon, revamping's boudoir's floor peignoir, with 
frills....
Palpable fanfare, held the essence be her creed ? Porcelain ballerina's dementia 
and, dreams.
Form:

Alice In Wonderland

She frenziedly smeared the rogue make-up about her ivory malaise face...
Contorted seemed vanities glass, while breaking oranges gloss laced lipstick
As painting her Cheshire cats up turned smile; currents of excitement and she
Ratting silver streaks in highlights hair her favourite of champagne pink, stiletto's
Tapping a memoirs mania beat upon, revampings boudoir's floor; peinoir with frills..
Palpable fanfare, held the essence her creed ? Porcelain, ballerina's dementia dreams.
art
Form:

Hamlet

To dream, or not to dream: that is the question:
Whether ‘tis well for the mind to picture
Worldly treasures longed for and desired,
Or to know the sting of disappointment,
And fight against it? To suffer: to dream:
No more; and by dream we say to end
The failure of wishes made upon stars,
Shooting through a once black, forsaken night.
To suffer, to dream; to dream conjures light;
Light destined to rescue a broken soul,
And deliver the pain from past mistakes,
That crawl; broken in circles overhead. 
Like demons, they shadow triumphant steps,
And feed, hungrily, on each staggered breath;
With darkly smiles that congeal the spine;
Laughing, frenziedly, at a soul’s demise.
Failure ignites fear, destroys honored pride,
And cripples the power of armored dreams.
To suffer: to dream we end suffering,
And persevere with unyielding valor;
Terminating the demon’s poisoned grin,
And exile it to Beelzebub’s hell.
We steal its manipulation of fate,
And acquire strength to dream once again.
For in a dream, ambition conquers all,
And steers away unwelcome misery.
Like angels, dreams protect our fragile soul;
While guiding us through a brisk, starless night,
And conceive faith for an unknowing heart.
I know not my fate, but trust infinite dreams.
Form: Verse

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