Best Gestate Poems
I want to ride a zebra
and race the rays of radiance
through heat-waves’ sailing gradients -
a folly wild - a mood untamed
elated hands in bristled mane
unbridled veins uncorked champagne...
yes! elevate sedate heart rate
I WANT to ride a zebra
stripes yin yang oasis sweet and
whimsy rules a drumroll beat as
gallop sways euphoric roughness
crossing plains of dreamy lushness -
steed’s exotic tender toughness
pacing thrills in state of luscious...
yes! animate to sate my wait
I want to RIDE a zebra
savanna grass a grand expanse
a lion’s roar - hyena's rant
amuse myself with peril’s speed
adventure sows romantic’s seed... so
gestate date with fancy’s fate
YES! I want to ride a Z E B R A !
Categories:
gestate, adventure, animal, dream, fantasy,
Form:
Rhyme
Shadows of yesterday eclipse reality,
but in hope lies my dreams;
mired in doubt and frustration, I'm left waiting.
Waiting for love's elusive touch, indulging in pleasures
that are never enough; always wanting more,
and as fledgling feelings flex
impatient wings; I wait.
When desire suddenly morphs into lust,
and love is consigned to dreams;
it means the lies have won
and I'm left waiting
for a better tomorrow; so close,
and yet, still, I wait.
Failure deflates inflated egos,
allowing time for thoughts to gestate.
Happiness can't thrive chained to tears,
and trust is essential to make love real;
so, I wait.
It doesn't help to cry when steeped in hurt,
for this too, will pass,
and I'll do what I've always done;
wipe away my tears, and wait.
My whole life is spent waiting;
waiting for that perfect someone, the right moment,
the time, the inclination,
and the willpower to do something;
anything; other than wait!
Categories:
gestate, feelings, how i feel,
Form:
Free verse
Porcelain shroud slowly falls;
hapless Mother trapped inside.
For the next twelve weeks at least,
her time she’ll be forced to bide.
Returning from his exile,
Uncle Jack’s come out to play.
Across our world, it’s been said:
free to have his wicked way.
Undeterred, life struggles on;
endangered mammals slumber.
Safe, secure and snuggled down,
climate does not encumber.
Signs of season everywhere;
glassy ice and icy glass.
Crisp, consoling cracks ring out;
the crunch of frost-crusted grass.
Deep within the forest’s womb,
hidden seeds of life gestate.
Once this weather does improve,
eager to embrace their fate.
Newborn shoots raise sleepy heads;
late frost strikes a grievous blow.
Others will soon take their place,
bursting from the soil below.
Wisps of freezing fog linger;
this last vestige Jack did grasp.
But ‘tis futile, this foray;
Winter’s final, feeble, gasp.
--------------------------------------
(C) John C Michaels, 5th March 2017
Submitted to Rob Carmick's "Screwed XVII" contest (judged 6th May 2017)
(3rd Place)
Originally submitted to the "Open Poetry Competition" sponsored by Charlotte Jade Puddifoot (5th March 2017)
Categories:
gestate, daffodils, seasons, snow, spring,
Form:
Rhyme
Forward momentum shuffles desire
from conceptual states to real;
the leaves on the boughs glow with autumnal fire,
drift down to the carpet of grass.
In times of transition a slow burn proceeds
until spring bears the fruit of rebirth;
the gestate of feelings trickles and bleeds
like rainbows of oil upon glass.
Steps beget steps and before one knows
the travel of vision begins,
traces of footprints on virginal snows
follow the dreams to the lair.
Walk slow beside me, holding my hand,
patiently keeping my faith;
perhaps we will see from the place where we stand
how we made it from here to there.
Categories:
gestate, life, love, nostalgia,
Form:
Verse
POETIC BIO
Alliteration,the starting place, alongside
cinquains,apace in time,crystalline
lanterne and rhyme.Inspiration drew forth
footle,broken monoku for a while short
imagist was my style.Sequenced longer
poems metamorphose within this crysallis
changing into ekphrasis.Open,and free to be,
as you see,structured prose poetry.With
cadence and pause,others hear my voice,
aural phrasis now this poet’s choice.
as exampled below
What intimacy is its cause,perhaps
an immaculate conception of words;
too swift to comprehend,see or
recognise.The moment is there
and then is not.Gone with the wind
the seed of idea remains, to
germinate and gestate,fanned by a
mental fragrance of elation.Slowly
self-transcending a word into a phrase,
a sentence to a strophe;a rhyme
rides a waterfall of cadence,
into a chasm of verse. Terse or
long, the sonnet becomes a little song,
struggles to arrive.Thrust forth upon
my page;a bastard-born of pain
Categories:
gestate, people, poetry,
Form:
Bio
Words have power don't forget,
What comes out of your mouth is what you're gonna get.
If you're filled with anger, contempt and unrest,
You must purge it and kill it this is no jest.
If you speak anger, hate and revenge,
This type of thinking, will never avenge,
The pain you once felt and still feel right now.
If you will find peace, put it down and avow,
To think only about the here and the now,
Whatever is worthy and virtue endowed.
Peace is the order from this moment on.
In time you will find that the pain is all gone.
It's that which you think on, how you meditate.
What goes on in your mind will sit and gestate,
Till it finds a way to become manifest,
And affect your whole life in your heart make a nest;
For thoughts are alive but you give them their power.
It's what you allow to grow and to flower.
Whatever you nurture, whatever you feed,
Will take root and grow and produce many seeds.
Categories:
gestate, anger, anxiety,
Form:
Couplet
The beach gathers its dead. Thousands of horseshoe crabs
come home on the full moon’s tide. Their courting dances,
scrawled with claw and carapace in the wet sand, leave
with the ghost hands of nursing Autumn wave.
Their nests of jewel-colored eggs, covered and soothed
seasoned in salt sea, gestate beneath a slurry of debris.
Right side up each skin colored husk with its barbed tail
rocks in the bubbling broth of Cape Cod’s bay.
Belly up, they appear as an open invitation to the plovers
who flock overhead and arrow down en masse to dine.
Piping plovers, masked in black, hopscotch through the
detritus, connoisseurs of this turquois egg-like caviar.
Among the life and death of sea we walk, barefoot, and
cautious wary of the scramble, the jutting barbs, the bits
of un-soothed glass, the desecrated cairn which barricades
the dying life from the living sea.
Published First in Sounding Review 2015
Categories:
gestate, age, autumn, ocean,
Form:
Lyric
Faking feelings is what you do best,
undermining hope with false feelings.
And deceived by lust's many guises,
increased your vulnerability.
Fantasy divides reality
into darkening shades of despair.
And feeling all alone, you struggle,
believing that no one even cares.
Anger fuels your disappointment,
while jealousy extorts love's absence.
And truth provides little protection
from the bittersweet lies that flatter.
Sadness deflates inflated egos,
allowing time for thoughts to gestate.
Happiness cannot be chained to tears;
Love requires trust to make it real.
Spent on a splurge of self-deception;
Hope is the last treasure you deplete.
While frustration is a side effect
of dreams scuttled on the rocks of doubt.
Loneliness lies heavy on your heart,
but a smile masks the pain you're feeling.
And yet plastic smiles, like cheap jewels,
have no value, but to veil your tears.
Categories:
gestate, angst, depression, heartbreak, loneliness,
Form:
Blank verse
Villanelle: Dare you stain the portals of your deity’s sacrosanct citadel
Dare you stain the portals of your deity’s sacrosanct citadel
Which mortal mammal’s primal address the rapists desecrate
Be not taken aback the yoni passage leads astray linga infidel
Seeds of life ever come tumbling from out the sacred temple
There to greet in meiosis and in secret reverence gestate
Dare you stain the portals of your deity’s sacrosanct citadel
Do heathen women toiling in the dark draw the blinds on hell
And Gorgon heads of demons deep in them shudder vibrate
Be not taken aback the yoni passage leads astray linga infidel
Yet deafening tunnel shrieks of the human species’ s carousel
Re-winds obsessive tinnitus ear-pounding thuds to celebrate
Dare you stain the portals of your deity’s sacrosanct citadel
Who keeps the sanctum sanctorum well-cleansed spiritual
But the defiant procreator linga tireless distending inebriate
Be not taken aback the yoni passage leads astray linga infidel
He who bestial disembowels the temple in a frenzied spell
His own mother disowns and hysteric squats on life’s dictates
Dare you stain the portals of your deity’s sacrosanct citadel
Be not taken aback the yoni passage leads astray linga infidel
© T. Wignesan – Pars, 2014
Categories:
gestate, mother, symbolism, woman,
Form:
Villanelle
Buried beneath blood-shot baby doll eyes
where drowns dark truths dwelling empty despair,
finds five fraught faces from false idol lies
clinging cold-coffins caused by cruel affair;
Saddled by sorrow seen in mother’s stare,
washed while awaiting where water is filled
pouring in porcelain planned to be killed;
Languishing lost lacking warmth much less love,
ended in eerily foul episodes,
angrier now than Almighty above
mumbling murmurs in murderous modes;
Ripe for wrongs reversed through revengeful roads,
tantalized terrors too tempted to taste
blood brought by bathwater boiling in baste;
Chastised and chided, these children chilling
journey for justice with jealous intent,
mystically moving, maddened minds milling,
howling horrific while haunting content;
For sins suffered by souls salvation bent,
never they rest now, now nestled in night,
purposed, their plight, seeks parents punished right;
Aiming as arrows at any ones found,
dripping disgust at desolate devils,
grumble gigantic than gnash to the ground
lustfully lashing in lunatic levels;
As rancid bells heard, rusted rung rebels,
thoroughly thrashing throats within their reach,
fifty fingers, if figured, ten for each.
And why wouldn’t what withered weary do,
dragged desperate to death by der’lict brain,
taught terrible things when tongues tied untrue
incited mother inside turned insane?
Silence should swallow who speaks sour on slain,
judgments be gentle, gestate not Hell’s gates,
for these are the children of Andrea Yates.
9/16/2016
Submitted For: Scare Me Good Poetry Contest
Categories:
gestate, death, scary,
Form:
Rhyme Royal
What intimacy is its cause,perhaps
an immaculate conception of words;
too swift to comprehend,see or
recognise.The moment is there
and then is not.Gone with the wind
the seed of idea remains, to
germinate and gestate,fanned by a
mental fragrance of elation.Slowly
self-transcending a word into a phrase,
a sentence to a strophe;a rhyme
rides a waterfall of cadence,
into a chasm of verse. Terse or
long, the sonnet becomes a little song,
struggles to arrive.Thrust forth upon
my page;a bastard-born of pain,
ancestry unknown,no more to roam
Hear me read this poem aloud here http://youtu.be/GiD8JdYi-jw
and my other video poetry at this link
http://youtube.com/ichthyschiro
Categories:
gestate, imagination, on writing and
Form:
Verse
When women argue how men have
More than women have ever had,
That it’s unfair that men can be a
Much faster Olympiad.
They’re playing the victim to the man
Where they’re handcuffed to a womb,
And they alone go through the hell of
Being in the delivery room.
What they don’t get is that men would
Love to grow a living breathing soul,
Instead our only job involves planting
A seed in the small key hole.
So, to compensate, men build towers,
Faster, concrete worldly things we create,
You see, man is a victim of the woman’s body,
The woman’s body that can gestate.
Categories:
gestate, gender, life,
Form:
Quatrain
Deep inside the deepest realms where I reside
Were fragments of the day's holocaust
Finds windows to darkest dreams
So dark they can gestate resinate contemplate
Sinister things and ancient beings were
There be nightmares, my inner sight dares
As days cast forms into thoughts
Cresting deep into empty cluttered halls
These crowed rooms of my disorderly mine
They like briars from a windy shore where waves
Roar along a desolate beach blares white fleeting
Feeling something dark dire oily reeks
I find it stuck…
Deep in my mind like seedlings both
of horror and divine germinate resonate
with wild fantasies like tornadoes decimating my soul,
my dreamscapes where mental hurricanes conspire.
As deities flock like ravens at black masses
the burning landscapes…
Passes.
They breakdown the daily images,
the ethereal words, the feelings at play
recycle it back to my decay…
These things can be inspiring
or insane but found in the deepest of my dreams…
One can find new worlds
to explore alternative realities…
Were I may decide to roam,
or to know different universes
or to burn the worlds, my inner soul
In the deepest of dreams or nightmares, bold!
or
annihilate this rarest of earth.
Categories:
gestate, adventure, allegory, allusion, analogy,
Form:
Free verse
Before there was a word,
there was a loneliness
within the pin pricked night.
Waves of vibrations, sound,
coalescent’s gestate.
Planets were birthed with souls.
There was only the soul
and a longing for words,
synapses gestating
wavelengths of loneliness,
the aching lack of sound,
and the celestial night.
Man was born to midnight
with eyes and ears for soul
to din’s discordant sound,
no harmony, no words,
aging, aching, alone,
thoughts thus, wordless, gestate.
Circular gestation
for the day became night
and weakened loneliness,
woman kind brought her soul.
Ether resounded with words
for those souls, the God sound.
Strong, sweet, silibant sound
released from gestation
song formed from combined words,
crooning fills the nubile night
joining of mated souls.
The Word freed loneliness.
No longer alone, vibrating within the sound each atom relates to the soul
Gestation continues in the never-ending cycle of night and the Word.
*dedicated to L'nass Shango & David Smalling for their inspiration.
Categories:
gestate, devotion, faith, family, holiday,
Form:
Sestina
A poet is a man with words,
And words a weapon are.
His words are sharply stropped and so
He makes them travel far.
He makes them cover many miles,
Emotive ones at that,
Digest those miles, absorbs their styles,
Gestate them, thinking back.
Then, having indigestion, our
Young poet now must crumble,
Or re-invest those travelled words
In a new song, strong but humble.
He reaches in to get the feel,
He crawls to depths un-shared.
He wonders is that’s all there is
And dances with despair.
But he reaches out to touch
The great Designing Hand
By whom all things were made, who took
That great creative stand,
Whose mind spun wildly when He thought
Of making man like Him,
With vivid sensitivities,
A heart to reach and dream.
He stretches, and the Hand is there
To touch and know the power
Of gentle sensitivity
In this harmonious hour.
He starts to write he knows not what,
Marvels at the sight
Of these rich words that tumble out
In order neat and tight,
The words are sharp. They know their place.
Their rhythms dance and play.
He dances too, though the tune is new,
The words make no delay.
They place themselves before his eyes.
His eyebrows on the rise,
His eyes wide open watching while
His hand the keyboard plies.
He takes a breath before he reads
What he has written down.
His heart expands, and satisfied,
He thinks of what he had inside
And finds it grandly multiplied
While he seems just the clown.
Categories:
gestate, christian, culture, language, poets,
Form:
Light Verse