Best Glues Poems
Temptation Itches On All Living Things
Temptation itches on all living things
often nobody knows just how it stings,
not the icky-glues in its sticky pastes
nor the rotten fruits in its wasted wastes.
She the vixen nobody could resist
her vanishing pleasures - elusive mists,
long legs descend from heavenly skies
later, such dark pains in lamented cries.
Victim once thought to be heavenly bound
lost, voiceless, no understandable sound,
finds temptress, sexy wares designed to win
she that siren alluring to all men.
You scratch that itch, risking your own peril,
finding wounds that can never be sterile!
12-15- 2016
For Daniel Turner's , What Was I Thinking, Contest
15 December 2016
Last verse inspiration, from his poem "Between the Lines
Couplet sonnet
Rhyme Scheme: a a – b b – c c – d d – e e – f f – g g
10 syllables each line.
RED-
Pillar boxes that stand open-mouthed
Waiting to be fed.
And plump ripe strawberries,
Dipped in sugar,
Smothered in cream.
Or just popped in your mouth
And squashed between your teeth
YELLOW-
Buttercups that shine under your chin
To give away your secrets.
And hot corn on the cob
That drips with butter
And smacks your lips.
PINK-
Candyfloss,like fluffy cotton wool
That glues to your fingers
And disappears in your mouth.
And gooey icing on the top
Of long sticky buns.
GREEN-
Grass that prickles your skin
When you run barefoot.
And unripe apples
Hanging from trees
That beg to be eaten
Till your tummy hurts!
ORANGE-
Fruit that juices your throat
And dribbles your chin.
And bonfire flames
Glowing and warm
That crackle and spit
And reach with poker fingers
If you get too near.
VIOLET-
Like the flowers, and the lilac
In blossom time.
And sweet smelling lavender
That crushes itself
On your hands
And reminds you of Grandma.
BLUE-
Sky on a clear sunny day
That dangles above your fingers
Just out of reach.
And the warm sea
That plunges you
Into its' playful waters
And wraps you up
In its' waves.
And then there are
Multi-coloured things,
Like ribbons,ballons and streamers.
Kites that play chase with the wind.
The wings of butterflies
And painted carnival faces.
And of course the rainbow
That appears bright and magical,
Soaring high above
Houses and tree tops
On to nowhere land,
Lighting up the sky
With its brilliance.
Then is gone,
Scattering itself
To be remembered
Among colour favourites.
In the summer Hot Weather, is the season of expressing the ultimate calamity of days of
unbearable treasure. The measure of pleasure is fullfill as the season soon turns bitter
cold. And now we prepare ourselfs for a new-season, a new direction as we get use to the
change in the atmosphere we give respect to the fact that, "Everything is Everything".
That an awsume creator in his infanite wisdom rain comes in all seasons and snow comes
in one season of Winter. I can remember the fun throwing snowball fights I share with my
brother and sisters and my friends growing up. The tree's change nothing seem to be the
same. Yes the cold-winter was cold, but they drifted apart, going in their different direc-
tion their shelter of protection is their own choosing, and we soon started our own fam-
ilie's, "still the season, brought on a much appreachable change". In the fall, we pull out
the rakes and we were given responsibilitie's to keep the yard neat and tiny. "Everything is
Everything", do you remember a season that you-not remember when you began to change.
Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall all you have to do is call, and I'll be there yes I will cause
you got a friend. "Why do those moment seem forgotten", WHY... well those moments may-
be found through your kid's and your kid's are the moments you taught them to get up when
they fall. The season not to walla about everyday crisis is the moments that appears dim
and a season of Uplifting decorum is in all due season. At every believer's front door and
non believers too, is a season that the creator manifested you to be awear and that you
be the one to take everything to GOD in prayer: "Just because the weather turns cold
from the season that it was hot", "it rains on the just and the unjust, in all in all don't for-
get that friendship is the bond that glues the reasons to grap the loose change...
In all due season, "Everything is Everything".
Love too all that keeps the main
thing the main thing!!!.. `Cheryl
doll33` "Everything is Everything"
On earth I know of no such taste,
No nectar of the Gods so chaste,
So pure, so gentle, full of grace;
As my true love, tomato paste.
Good “ketchup”, as you’re widely known
Wouldst that I could all thee own;
Round thee, ketchup, I’m thy drone;
Ascend thee to thy regal throne.
In bottle, you with bright, red sheen,
You beckon like a harlot queen,
And oh, my heart is swiftly keened,
Like babes to mothers wean.
The bottle tipped, thy rich, red ooze
Slips forth like soft and tumbling glues,
And marvel I. Yet I must choose
T’annoint the heads of sleeping foods:
‘Pon fish or chips or stoutly steak
Thy blessing might I deign to make,
And slowly o’er them thou dost snake
In anacondic swirls and takes.
I praise thee, ketchup, and I haste
To glory at thy noble taste:
‘Pon my tongue you swiftly chase
My tingling taste buds, and you race –
O’er my teeth you blood-like flow
‘til all my senses rush to know
Thy rich and red and warmly glow
- - and so!
O ketchup, thou art garnish queen
And thou art gracious food supreme,
Companion thou hast often been
To many foods of lesser mien.
And this I know, dear ketchup, yet
Have I in faith, one great regret:
Though I and you in love are set,
. . . my wife and you are in dissent.
Must our affair be clandestine?
Must I be forced to steal and hide
My fuller portion on the side
Of mashed potatoes, shrimp, or pie?
No, ketchup no: I know that I
With such deceit cannot comply;
Choose I must ‘tween thou and my
Belov’d . . . oh how I cry.
Yet wed so long, I must confess
When “pass the ketchup” is address’d
No more my hand will serve excess,
. . . but my dear heart will cry no less.
Womb of existence
Drum of God, cosmic current,
vibration omnipresent
manifests prismatic hues,
flowing until desire glues.
Stagnation thus is the cause
that puts flow of life on pause.
Free will once boon, is now bane,
ignorance, cause of our pain.
In the womb of existence,
ego offers resistance,
which is but our own thought form
and we suffer in this storm.
True purpose of life is play,
to soul’s rhythm, gently sway,
radiating love and light
of God essence, shining bright.
Let our childlike innocence
draw in love by resonance,
for we are all one soul group,
a part of the same God’s troupe.
02-September-2022
Midnight misty bluebells blossom upon starry blue
Heavenly sunrise sway with chromatic hues
Mother Mary sweetness flows with cornucopia coos
Holy Dove descends with wings dipped in divine dew
with God's instructions for His Christian crew
to dance with prayers while whispering to the world His views
Be brave! Be brave! Do not tremble and slip into the blessed shoes!
Angels embrace all upon the Lord’s lace legacy avenues
Hope harvests all soul-searching forests and leaves are renewed
with grape gardens that grasp the galaxy Holy Spirit that glues
while rose petal scripture stirs with forever steam of truth stew
The Good News!
The Good News!
Resurrection arose as victory Vines seasoning our souls true
April 18th 2025
See the impacted eyes, heavy
and the frozen heart, begging
to be released; the tongue
dry, but the cheeks like a flume.
See the round table keep things
close to their chest, lest they spill
the fragility, each glass fragment
that stabs, glues together like
a madman’s vase, complete
with a bouquet of black roses.
Indecent the descent of disheartening;
refusal to believe in uncoupling;
what a crap shoot, show, expletive.
See touch, the tangible eyedropper,
mike drop, warm shawl; a momentary
squeeze of a lemon. Lies go down the drain -
momentarily, mightily, momentously;
bubbling up as a panacea when drained
of all kith and kin; their comfort
and understanding underwhelming,
often pitiful, a pittance. what is needful
is others likewise in a sinking boat,
keeping one another just above
the water line; bailing out each
other’s pain; finding camaraderie
in the breaking; the flowers in the vase
turn dark blue and purple - deep.
See the healing begin, for some.
Some run, some squeeze the lemon,
some rely on the lies. See the death mask
tremble, then a phantom’s half;
never quite whole but jewels
replace the wizened half.
See the pain, the cuts, and crimson eyes.
Don’t become a master of disguise.
See the help, the forest through the trees,
remember your honeybees
given to eternity; find them in the honeycomb.
This is not the first of our great steps.
It begins in an alcoholic stupor
Someone carves in stone -
"Khufu must be drunk."
Just so,
Red-eyed
Up here, a hot
Sun rising glues sand
To burning skin with sweat.
Another stone is raised - a head drops,
Dwelling on it. Complicated is not
Chiseled here alongside
The river;we breed,
We stink,
We vanish
Into the sand like
Dung-beetles This is
The Old Kingdom and what is seen
As new is tomorrow's murderous sun.
We have more runes to carve.
We have grave issues
With an afterlife,
Period.
Notes:
Khufu: King and builder of The Great Pyramid.
The Old Kingdom: The time of pyramid building.
2700 - 2100 BC.
~The Evil Fairy And the Vengeful Leprechaun~
Late at Night while the chickadees go quiver
A fairy of the forest has fastened to her heart
A bog-reed arrow, white wash dipped in flint
She dances yes she dances, in a conical red cap
Tithing the sundown, to a leprechauns demise;
Not a stranger to mischief, she steels his golden pot
She stitches up his wishes, and spikes his felted hat
She glues his silver buckles up his nose in, far remote
She sticks him on a clover, stewing mad n’ boiling hot
By; Mystic Rose
Early Morning, under the fogs rainbow, twisting and twisting his nose
Little does she know, Lepree's a madman with his own games
Sitting and brewing with a grin, he awaits the chemicals to kick in
A price to pay for stealing Lepree's gold, in such a golden way
He yells and cries, "I hope you dance, rapid like the river away!"
Fairies don't exist! Fairies don't exist! -----A quiver in the chest
For we all know when speaking them words, somewhere out there
A fairy dies, ----shillings from his silver tongue he spoke
A million times Lepree cried "Fairy don't exist!" suddenly--she drops;
By; Poet Destroyer
~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~
A civilised mind has become the gem that glues this broken mould together
it can identify each piece putting it properly in place of origin
with the perfect picture hate attacks colouring around normal
Attacking the source that painted this masterpiece vandalising the canvas
criminal every alteration of the law drawn from the book of Wisdom
direct approval of this deeply disturbing alteration carries a penalty
sell your soul to the highest bidder right or wrong is where loyalty sits
A tale of two paths where knowledge talks to the fool
are you the ancestor of the ape or man this fence divides
whom do you follow when you twist the truth with lies
Last night I had a pair of wings in my dreams.
I was free and brighter and than any sun beams.
It was amazing, flying with the butterflies.
I wish I never had to open my eyes.
I hope one day that you will have the eagle's view.
Nothing in this life could be more true.
I've got to touch that magic sky.
Someday we'll get to see the angle's high.
I can't wait until the sky glues my eyes close.
Then you get to feel how your wings grow.
Reborn in this place, free in the air.
Flying swiftly without a single care.
Part Two
Do you remember your run-up to the crease
your Lindwall-delivery dragging the clasping flannel round hobbled boots
your anger
at the wicket that went on a no-ball
Do you remember your opening bat
that snicked the runs to leg and off
which dozing umpires signalled as byes from pads
Do you remember Brigitte
her perky bobtail
her boucles of prancing hair
lances on her forehead
sickles on her verti-vir-ginous temples
Where are the bridges you have crossed
and those you had planned
and those you saw grow pebble by pylon and cementing stone
where the roads you laid
up virgin forest and limestone
Where indeed the buildings you repaired
erected
re-erected and razed
and the thousands and thousands of miles
you rode the wild seladang of the primeval jungle
hand on hump
with no stars in the paly night to guide you
through venomous blukar
and the boiling green torture
seared deep into your burning entrails
these that now have run out on you
Watch now how the river glues under your fuming stare
when the monsoon torrents sweep the knock-knee-ed pylons to a side
those dry as split-bark legs of yours
itching once too often in comforting company
though a little spindly for a Pied Piper
Yet you made the puppety Peninsula run
down drains and monsoon pipes
to a purge-full sea
Who is there now who wouldn't wake to your fits of irrupting gurgly merriment
to ease the tension
amongst unlikely fellows
Who who wouldn't miss your seething whiteheat glee
at his side
You who knew how to accompany Kay and Richard
up to the closed door of your last night
a very good night on your lips
Your opening bat's duty done
the side shored-up in safekeeping
the last fast breathless ball you faced
nicking the bails off
You needn't return to the pavilion
for the standing ovation goes on
for you Bala
long after the cloddy-stumps lie slain on the tiled floor
© T.Wignesan 1993 August 8, 1993 - Paris [from the collection: back to background material, 1993]
I have never felt so ecstatic anymore like your touch
On my back I laid, looking into the fading light of the moon
The melody from the creaking sound of the wooden bench
Mixed with the feeble sound of my mourn
The skies are blue and beautiful
But my eyes are reddish and tearful
To the moon my eyes glues
It is the exact place and time we always lies
It feels like yesterday, time really flies
So sad you left without leaving me a note
for only that we could vote
My hands always yearns for your gentle curves
And my eyes longed to fall on your gentle moves
My lips mimics the song we use to sing
But my mind has been casted afar from that ring
I search everywhere, even the jungle
With no living soul for me to mingle
Even though I was laying on the bench
My heart travels the world, doing the search
To the moon I asked, "when you will be back?"
And what great tides will bring such a luck?
The right timing for a fun filled moment;
Long awaited is here to caress views...
Of open eyes, soak in sweet merriment,
To which awesome mind's enthusiasm glues.
Her drives on the open dance floor at ease,
Promotes strange moves out of unwillingness...
Shying away what thrilling vibes please,
In return for joyful relief's boldness.
Birthday celebration defines no one,
Either you are been generous or not,
You share things for all with notable pun...
Showing regards for coming to the spot.
Happy birthday dear Ifeoma Victor
So generous; don't tag me predictor!
Friendship: Just Like a Palm Tree
By Izunna Okafor
From the crusts of lonely loams
It gently roots inner and outer
And softly pullulates harder and taller
To register its purpose to mankind.
Like the trunk, the bond glues harder
To the closely open hearts of soil
Who signed for mutual reciprocation.
Its oil heals internal and external wounds
Smoothens the rough path in the journey of life
And generally satisfies the ravenous and thirsty mind
Amidst love, sweetness and uncommon affableness.
It is a shelter
To those who faithfully embrace it
It is a protection
From both the seen and the unseen blitzes.
Though it might be swayed or troubled at times
The frond fans away fears, worries and anxieties
And breezes up pleasure and comfort
Drawing from the wind and coolness of the heavens above.
From its base to the apex
Valuable is every tranche thereof
Beholding its mutual and universal foredeal
Both in the long and the short runs.
Just like a palmtree
Friendship is fecund, impactful, virtuous and gainful
Though bad may fitfully come therefrom
That, the good utterly outweighs.
About the Poet:
Izunna Okafor is a bourgeoning novelist, poet, journalist, essayist, publicist, administrator and an Igbo Language Activist who hails from Ebenator in Nnewi South Local Government Area of Anambra State.
He writes both in Igbo and English Languages, and has published enormously in both.
Izunna, a graduate of the Nnamdi Azikiwe University, has won over 20 literary awards, has four published books to his credit, in addition to hundreds of online publications, which cut across Journalism and Creative Writing.