Best Garde Poems
THE AVANTE-GARDE OF VELLUM AND INK
The avante-garde of vellum and ink, like Cupid’s bow and arrow,
Carte blanche to choose the muse we love - imagination’s marrow.
Bullseye of introspection, a deep inkwell — my bona fide intention.
The juxtaposition — a cacophony of the archer’s winepress contravention.
Well-perched anomaly, like high-wire birds, of hitchcockian suspense.
A honeyed deja vu, a kiss well spent, on charismatic common sense.
Ennui, eventually, my pen withdraws, a flatline — without insipid beat.
Paddles renew my heart — this dilettante soon rises from her invalid seat.
My spirit glows rainbow baroque, pearls vagabond dance with abandon.
Ambrosial-sassy elan drizzles like syrup, on sweet spot pancakes land’n.
1/16/2018
Silent One’s Ten Words Ten Lines 2 Poetry
Words: avante-garde, carte blanche, bona fide, cacophony,
anomaly, deja vu,ennui, dilettante, baroque, elan
melting snowball
Fall-out started with the spring-break competition;
Errors were made as team effort slid downhill.
Then when name-calling sparked a partition,
esprit-de-corps broke to a stand-still.
“Butterfingers!” the dig of choice,
sabers, rifles drop in flight.
“Cretin!” answers a voice,
winter guard backbite.
“Bozo, Clod, Clown”
teenage jeers,
meltdown -
tears.
written March 20, 2018
Line Gauthier's A Melting Snowball contest
Inspired by a new contest
that has recently appeared
in The Soup.
It seems the gauntlet, (has been thrown down)
A line drawn in the sand
A challenge made to see "What's What"
To those who'll fall or stand
And strips away the accolades
Of poems that are bland
No more X's, no more O's
No more patting on the backs
No more two word kindly comments
Just the straight but helpful facts
And when dissecting poems
Try not to use an axe
You might be toting genuine skill,
Or blessed with parity
But writing Great Stuff, takes more than just will
Now, that's been a rarity
To get critiqued on ones own bill
Instead of pop-u-lar-i-ty
rapier in hand
satisfaction demanded~
franks roast over fire
Someone new resides inside of me…
Someone confident, bold with humility replacing envy…
Someone who gives gratitude first, forever quenched from greed’s thirst…
Someone who has embraced their inner goddess…
Someone capable to mirror this amidst the outer realm bringing forth a mate of the soul…
To anoint the goddess with Jasmine oil is to anoint the soul of love...
To anoint the goddess with honey suckle is to forever receive her love...
Someone new resides within me…
Someone exuding power; sprinkles of compassion braided in ropes of empathic relations…
Someone aware and focused upon the piece of the creator within…
Someone understanding; Creator is the omnipresent thought before being received by mind.
Someone cognizant; Creator is infinite intelligence, the life force that pulses through us.
Someone knowing what we do within ourselves affects the entire universe…
Someone fully assimilating we are the hands of creation nestled in gloves of manifestation…
To anoint the goddess with Jasmine oil, is to anoint the soul of love...
To anoint the goddess with honey suckle is to forever receive her love...
Someone new resides within me…
Someone with strength to love thy self….
Someone with wisdom; giving forth this original energy…
Someone at peace; mystical, magical,philosophical …
She governs my heart...
she rescued my once
weary soul...
...found abandoned
on a derelict ledge...
...many years ago...
...a bereft soul of a time past
stolen innocence...
...of a soul near death...
...held together by one
distant promise...
...one dormant wish...
she reached in with her
courage found one lone
tear of love...
...her soul had not forgotten...
...not forgotten this power...
...this love...
...An angel lead her by the hand...
to fields of love bountiful fruition...
where true love discovered...
without temptation...
where love cascades...true love
has no threshold in time...
where the mere thought of love...
where the mere thought of truth...
this place where hearts combine...
where the thought of the above...
where our souls align...
Ask for insight,
Visual impart;
Attend clear light,
Note avant-garde;
Trust weird vision,
Glimpse twist and turn;
Aim sets traction,
Reap inner churn;
Dance with frolic,
Enter quaint style;
Sense weird logic,
Tend a child wild;
Address ***** proof,
Yield surreal truth.
Leon Enriquez
25 August 2014
Singapore
Your avant-garde home fills a crucial niche
ensures the perpetuation of outrageous kitsch
The painting on the wall entitled 'Insemination'
keeps this admirer on the brink of regurgitation
That chlorophyll-fish oil drink your butler foisted on me
helps me every fifteen minutes or so to pee
As for your 'petrified out-of-water deep sea plants'
Don't look now; they're on fire with carpenter ants
Then there's your 'mahvelous' retro pet rock collection
pinched, no doubt, from the local House of Corrections
I must confess that your house is, indeed, quite impressive
~ considering that your compulsions are beyond obsessive
Artist
Play with colors on canvas, impressionist, naturalist and poetry connoisseur
I have two daughters, a brother and a sister
I love archaic rocks, pristine nature, and butterfly flutter
I feel content with small things, grateful for help, and divine pleasure
I fear to find me in dark, to lose my dreams, and to see relations split asunder
I would like to see a peaceful world, tolerant people, and equality of gender
Resident of an eastern ancient land
Avant-garde.
January 15, 2019
Contest : Writing Challenge 2, January 2018 Bio
Sponsored by : Dear Heart
zip zap
what is that?
flish flash
we're fighting for cash
wing wang
this is a mighty tang-o
cling clang
the fire bird sang
and this is the battle for out lives
all i wanted was to forget you
i just wanted to be free
no, you have to be differnt
you had to hurt me
so now i say
not tomorrow,
but today
that i dont want to fight
from dawn
to night
i just want some peace
just understand
and leave me be, please
i know this is useless and dumb
but since the day
you made my heart go numb
i feel no love towards you
i want this crazness to end
so what do you do?
you slam me and yell
"i used you,
oh well!"
and i write back to you,
"i hate this,
curse you!!"
why are we doin this?
what is the meaning
behind all of this mis-ery
what are we doing!
why are we fighting
when we use to be loveing
i just dont want to get into this
i dont want to hear
about you and you new girlfriend kiss-ing
i just want to be safe
but instead
its my heart you chafe
i am only defending myself
but instead you rip it out
and display it on the shelf
just leave me alone!
here is what i say
"izazush marone!"
i just want you gone
so grant my wish
because i did nothing wrong.
good-bye.
-D.E.S.
Soaked up the atmosphere of Montmartre
Found café enjoyed French citron tart
Double shot of coffee went down so well
Then I heard the Sacré-Coeur bell.
With hand on my heart, I honestly say
The shades of the past forever hold sway
There's something unique about Montmartre
Air so different totally avant-garde.
Picasso, Lautrec, and my favourite Monet
Inhabited these streets and with colour did play
With hand on my heart under azure blue dome
Healing achieved its Montmarte syndrome.
With Hand on My Heart
Poetry contest
Sponsored
by
Mystic Rose
23/10/2021
Our Daily Bread
David J Walker
Give us this Day
Our daily bread
As the garden grows in rows of
Mimicked articulation
I stand
Shovel in hand
The morning's supplication
Interrupted by the rising sun
The morning song sung
by the
Turtle dove flawlessly
Accomplished perfection
Give us this day
By the rising Son
The twilight absorbed
In the eastern sky
The morning will fly
And the day
will be done
as I stand guard
in the garden
There in the ghetto,
rising with the pain,
it is as if the one deprived of consciousness—
targeted by ignorance, ego at the helm,
was born to anger—
there, where raw emotion rules,
there the roots are suddenly exposed,
the unctuous light prevails, sardonic
in contempt of an intruding day.
The night is queen,
her reign upon the sodden street perpetual;
the housetops' failure to release it, slumbers,
drones through the torpid hours tenacious
as the sponge-like air of summer.
There are no choices here, no one
to single out the breath as savior,
to tender just the moment as a space
to set apart...no one, save the self.
Below persona,
buried as a blanket earth keeps faith,
the fever rests and bores into the soul.
The Trojans march and tears are burning.
It is night.
It is ever night.
~
Advancing the soul,
metaphysical orc, promote
original thinking,
experience all, I need sleep.
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCgZCmCJJoCVwq2M3GH8VzLQ
AVANT GARDE
contemporary implications
delicate
exquisite & appropriate
a startling
formality
habitual
accepted
simultaneous&
hectic
aspects
freely
integrated
evident not posed
loose bland
austere & severe
monumental
versatile
indisputable
impatient&
absolute
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived