Best Glibly Poems
They kill a body and to prison go
Behind the bars with time they have to pay
A life that’s deadened with a life exchanged
So law and justice see the light of day
But tell me what of those who kill the heart
Who murder love and glibly walk on by
Incarceration is not their reward
The weight of guilt to bear, they do deny
A greater crime than this is yet to be
To kill a heart and form the living dead
Someone who walks and talks but is not real
Who shoots away the day and weeps in bed
Imprisoned they should be who now walk free
A murdered heart, a greater crime must be!
Jade Celeste
In her tear and dirt streaked face
Her melancholy eyes still seek
Shifting memories that flit and flee
Shadows of the past still speak
A Spark of Hope for each passing glance
Searching for her love long gone
Rain or shine in this spot each day
Rejection plays its own soulful song
Deep in the echoes of her sighs
An unrequited love not died
Whispered words speak of eternal love
Tripping glibly off a tongue that lied
Yet she lingers on a departed promise
Her nuptial dress ragged with age
A key deliberately tossed-discarded
Trapping true love in a rusted cage
To her tear streaked cheek a locket she holds
I see a beauty that once was strong
And I weep for her and her shattered heart
Holding broken dreams - far too long
If I could but give her back her YESTERDAY
Bestowing on her a true love to stay not stray
Footnote:
Dedicated to an unknown melancholy young lady whom I saw sitting in a busy subway dressed in tattered lace, with a soulful look in her eyes and it instantly brought the Beetles song ‘Yesterday’ to mind.
The verses are not written to match the music.
"Only a good guy with a gun can stop a bad guy with a gun."
So says the gun lobby—the bad guy with a gun!
School, shop, and street wax wet with blood,
But the hum of the gun works drowns out their cry.
Their tears, still, run deep in our ears
Sweeping away old lies about guns
That gun shop bums so glibly put forth.
By caskets in a ditch, they make their pitch
To conjure gun sales out of every shooting.
"Strap a mop to a gun butt to blot the blood," they'll say
Knowing that in our fright they can fly us like a kite
And lead us by a string to gun shops and the like.
Soon, though, we see not more sales alone
But in their red wake more hells too.
By right we arm but by love disarm.
Now is the nation called to love:
By gun control we challenge not your rights
But your heart to sacrifice that love entails.
So give me not a reading of the law
But tales of love's deeds in hearts and homes—
How racks have shed arms like autumn leaves
And turned the land from red to gold.
As moonlight strolls where sunlight glibly danced
along the awkward stairway to the lake,
I chased my mind but didn't have a chance
to catch its bouncing beams across the wake.
I wondered why the moon's path always seemed
to find me hidden somewhere on the shore -
no place to hide nor question without dreams,
was it just me alone that it adored?
So simple and complex our lazy thoughts
that stop to take a measure of the night;
alone is where each perfect peace is fraught
with truths that tangle minds in fickle flight,
just like the frantic course of wayward sparks
that drift until they're lost within the dark.
April 9, 2019
Once a nation
Supremely white as driven snow,
Singularly Christian, white and male,
Purely untarnished, and aglow,
Grandeur unparalleled in fairytale.
Hence a grievance
Punitively bold as bloody hellfire,
Potently prosecuted in seats of power,
Oppressively waged against objects of ire,
Prisms of nonwhites seeking justice in the hour.
Now a leader
Colossally void as sterilized weaponry,
Glibly sanctions white phobia and rage,
Lethally enflames this proto-fascist fancy,
As corporations provide aid to the rampage.
Thus a faction
Devoutly for leader, they stand down,
Steadfastly ready for the order to kill,
All woke-ish elitists, and enemies black and brown,
That white men reclaim their rightful place at the till.
Violence of mind
Shocks no one in America,
Where thugs are part of romantic lore.
With our ascendant authoritarian replica,
Are we ready for what washes ashore?
Published in Dissident Voice: 01/09/22
Passions de l’amour vrai
The texture of your caresses, soft like an egret’s plumes
When you touch me, my soul’s sheathed longing ruptures
Your fragrance engrossing adorns scents of jasmine perfumes,
Sheltered snugly within your arms, you disrobe my bosom pleasures
Your kisses honeyed, scorch my skin mildly like vernal sunshine
Flames fiery of your desires smelted, consume my agile passions
Like prairie fire I singe, you’re summer’s sensual warmth pristine
My heart’s entranced wholly. Your breaths feel like aphrodisiac portions,
Like leaves lithe in air floating, our bodies glibly levitate
Your crystal eyes, glisten with a luster than sapphire illumine
Our emotions like lovecrests leap, their fervent thirst immaculate
Pure rhapsody erupts, your thrills satiated to mine entwine
Like a balm you salve tempests of my ecstatic enamour,
Toujours commence maintenant, Je vous adore toujours mon amour.
© Maverick Nyambu
PS:
Last Line is French for “Forever begins now, I adore you endlessly my love”.
Trust not glibly
Observe the flow
Truly honor.
Tonight my sweetheart shook his head
As fortune cookie note was read
A baffled look; his countenance
"How do I take this? Makes no sense!"
He read it out to understand, that little
slip held in his hand...
"You're as intelligent as you're good looking..."
He paused a second, I could tell that
phrase was really cooking
Then glibly, in his satire, he gave that
slip a flip
He rephrased the cookie's fortune,
A misfortune quip...
"That could mean I'm ugly,
As Ugly as I'm dumb!"
He threw the cookie in the trash
And swept away the crumbs
I found the slip of paper
That message was quite grand
I'm thinking he's the smartest guy
In all the blessed Land!
And so the little fortune
Has grasped me in an awe
To me, he is the handsomest
Dear man, I ever saw!
Yea, victors jest. They out-sped the cast of hunger’s cave.
Their cantors, ragged kept, did reach an faithful end.
They in the din o’ drizzle laugh, licking cool drams from stone,
as had they crawled o’er hot pools bled to prod ‘n prattle.
And who’d, when quenched, a saunter risk simply to gaze at greener gray,
who if by haze be fraught, need merely fathom sky?
Lest be displeasured he to whom above could clouds be prone to tattle,
go but shy requests, voiced dryly into azure.
For so the victims passed, betrayed by breeze and snitch of brush,
though Him on High, with just demand, they had beseeched.
Each life a tale brought to lie, defaced, in scattered, muddy tomes.
Torn is the silver lace, which once linked bone to bone.
Yet risen, too, had wanton sighs, whereof his Mightiest to ask,
whilst the ground, as should it care, received the rasps.
For what doth emptiness command and what the unseen sovereign willeth
are left matters later glibly to be bantered.
Know oft’ the hunt finds one befuddled, spelled by guiles of a wraith.
No taunt of tail waves, no wake of twig gives sway.
With head to hang, his rack he gathers in a push to halt
to stand bequeathed a chide of birds and chipmunk heckles.
There, the timber rout delays with naught but mettle left to drain,
as the mars of rock and thistle mark the wait.
Chafe of paw, tongue feathered fowl, the foiled dashes stream to words,
whereto the blood, in ruddy tones, by droplets trickles.
carnival -- indoors
instead of outdoors -- has a
stifling air to it
silk wearing psychic --
mouth with an overbite -- tells
the future glibly
basketball game -- hoops
too small for tossing -- gives a
large dust-covered prize
Anchors Aweigh...Destination Unknown
Weather beaten cap'n,
and watertight bewitched craft
time tested since maiden voyage
(circumnavigating the globe
back in the day
of my youth),
I ranked tough as a pitbull,
when severely pitted
against raw elements
of swiftly tailored,
harried stylish nature
against leathery faced
reptilian skin, hard drinking
(actually as corked
poetic convenience - vermouth
arbitrary bottle of choice
if for no other reason,
than to rhyme
with the above line),
and tobacco spitting, while
colorfully swearing as an uncouth
Furies (of Agamemnon) fighting (tooth
and nail) Pirate,
where rickets, scurvy,
and thrice unconscious,
currently ample proof
could not forsooth
bring me to
Davy Jones's locker,
cuz I never wanna
get relegated to an underwater
whale schooled booth,
this raconteur can nonchalantly,
glibly, and blithely attest,
with braggadocio, despite
no warm welcome will
ever greet mine tinnitus
pained ears, I can plainly
imagine acrimonious retort
upon me behest
his far more'n lifetime
bobbing (like a sponge)
buoyed atop crest
longing e'en for
(carping, caviling, hen pecking,
or shrewish) wife,
and loving family
forsaken, sans living
antisocial upon briny deep divest
many opportunities to
experience wedded, webbed
and whirled bliss,
and hence for everest
as bachelor, especially
at present junction
of twilight years,
my crude manners
makes foreign (for
an) ill suited guest
boot e'en if yours truly
became inured to life on land,
(as a "FAKE" father figure
feathering his nest
my coarse behavior, as basic
electric koolaid acid test
would force even
the most tolerant proprietor,
perhaps a bank
manager at Univest
would utter VAMOOSE,
e'en if eye covered up
my heavily pierced,
and tattooed breast.
I really should'a read the fine print,
it got hidden by belly button lint,
'cause while I signed it quickly
her lawyer laughed so glibly...
now I'm off doing a thirty-year stint!
Stepping backwards into our future,
blowing into the bag of our achievements.
Fabric stretching reality; ready to burst
Indianapolis track of progression.
Conscience, hard wired from the system
and morality, a discarded well worn tyre.
Digging mines to bury nature,
while we sing a laments lie.
Wailing that our television dreams
no longer satisfy.
Rosacea landscapes “proudly” proclaim
testaments to our “care.”
While we machinate on peaceful accords.
(A bloody blade already drawn.)
Subfusc faces, in rainbow towns,
knock fairytales to the ground,
all wrapped in debts boa embrace
we wear our plastic crowns.
Hero’s come, hero’s go,
like ice cream around children.
Old warriors barricade park bench castles,
sipping 100% proof amnesia.
A generation weaned on high fibre ignorance,
apathetically observing Pandora’s box.
Glibly strutting towards suicidal genocide
beneath peroxide standards of progress.
Do you see the white flag of innocence?
Blowing in the ether of bull-sh1t.
Do you see the hand of hope?
Dead flesh from the severed arm.
Do you see the words of faith?
That fall so easily from blasphemers lips,
and what of love; a four letter word spelled f-u-c-k.
An enlightened people? We shield our eyes,
bounce from walls of our tunnel vision.
Forever throwing problems at the framework,
expecting it to hold.
The faster we run, the slower we move,
sowing dreams on barren ground.
Death; we’re breast-fed on its demands.
Can’t you hear the world screaming,
or is fairground music to loud?
Evolving devolution,
green-mile macadam,
we rush to oblivion.
“In a rundown, the runner is in a pickle that could become a rhubarb.” ~ by poet
Rundown.
He's trapped between
bases being pursued
by the fielders who glibly smile
because they know they have the advantage,
to perhaps overtake and tag
the beleaguered runner,
to foil the run.
Rundown.
This is dedicated to the
walking conversation pieces
to the crazy geniuses waiting until tomorrow to
procrastinate
this is for the night writers and red bull fighters
to the strange and the brave
the dedicated and sleepless
this is for all of us
the ear hustlers and track runners
prodigious polemicists built for this struggle
we rhyme slick and shine sick
glibly Iridescent lyricists typically dissonant
and weird
and fierce
and beautiful
This is for you
The impetus to dismember your worthless fears
The inner strength to live within your purpose here
Your oddity is a commodity
You weren’t meant to blend in
It is beneath you to dibble or dabble in the typical
ascend into your infinite potential
and glow from the highest apex
become the incarnate gods and goddesses
you’ve been set aside to be
humble yet subsequent to none
this is for us
we are the people movers
spiritually fit individuals mentally equipped to lift the densest
ideas
we are the Ummah
the conduit
creations mimicking the creator
plugged in to the one
Summum Bonum understanding
understated over comers
lovingly cutting the puppet master’s strings
upsetting the imbalance
disquieting the comfortable silence
and freeing the people
with a song