Best Grafts Poems
Written: September 08, 2024 For Edward Ibeh Contest
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He has blue eyes and lovely blond hair,
Curls rose above his pink and pretty ware.
Do not mention his background or affairs,
With Africa by people who settled there.
His father's family tree has extensive roots,
Has Swedish, Cajun French, and British limbs.
Grafts from Choctaw and Cherokee wood routes,
That got some black stems from long-time whims.
His mother comes from a Creole background,
Descendants of a native African tribe.
Parentage from France and Spain was found,
And mingled with Bayou Indians and more vibe.
Because intolerance and hatred confine,
They also obstruct the expansive plain.
Therefore, bigots are vindictive and supine,
It is only clear to observe the gutter drain.
There are no pleasant views of the spleen,
There are no cloverfields or rolling greens.
Restricted minds lack the ability to see,
a breathtaking panorama of the scene.
And biased men with pretentious pride,
While in white, they become narrow-eyed.
who despise Blacks, Jews, and Native side,
They are completely sealed and closed inside.
Written: October 12, 2023
Cinquain Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Ink Empress
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Guile gust
I grasp your gasp
goad grafts gently glowing
the gray grove greenery growing
glean grace
Skies Straight
I snared your sight
Schizoid swing of Steward
sewn souls spewing as oxblood stems
stark stance
Wince, wight
I've weaned your whiff
the world-wedged wink was wrapped
while not washing down the wild waft
when whet
Froth flow
your frisk frame flits
follow fall foliage
freshly framed flimsy fruity field
faint flame.
Sand stake
of smog steam sieve
you stride in silence steps
by slamming a skulker-shaped slope
spread string.
God, earn a place in our hearts
As we feeble being
Sighting us, we strive for grafts
Save our day of rising
Love each day, is his way
Share thoughts, set time to pray.
Try to grasp facts each day
save us from spates
god, earn a place.
Written: February 04, 2022
This is where black breaks open into bright bleeding feeling
as souls suffer the fire of flesh to enter arena Earth screaming
searching the ether for Adam and Eve's answer to forbidden fever
while angels wear snake skins of war to remember the carnage of this theater
and demons adorn their horns with the rose thorns of newborns,
in the blue garden of aging Eden every breath has a burn, every flame forewarns
denuding knowledge of it's pretenses, unveiling appetites and their prices,
we begin to realize that the Great Mother is a killer as well as a provider for our vices
feeding us the fruits of fortune along with the fate of decay
building our bones, branding the brain, electrifying, crucifying and rectifying our clay,
she communicates, educates and fascinates with looks of lightning and sandy kisses
the Mistress of Lucifer and Christ, she supplies the wood, nails and rain for our wishes,
civilizations rage, rumble and crumble in the judgment of her storms
there's mud and rock for every foot of fury, a cave and castle for all who defy the norms,
in her imperial urn she will cremate your eyes in flames of crude oil
baptise hearts in pools of rose water filtered through eons of soul soil,
her gravity will grind you to the ground where grief grafts prayers from tears,
in the sanskrit of sunrises she will summon songs that give your love ears,
this cradle and cataclysm of her erratic elements is where hearts are born and buried,
Earth, a womb and tomb of ancient bloom, oasis in eternal space where life is carried -
J.A.B.
pain is
a mind thing
blue skys
Each day I awake and kiss the stubs on my hand - - - now, five of them. I never broke! Remembering each day, I thankfully kiss the feet of God in my mind. I thank him for the fact that they have only cut off another joint. All night they threatened - - - and had finally cut it off. I recoup while they get some sleep. I never broke, but I cried. I begged, pleaded and cussed, because they wanted a show more than the information. I had learned self-hypnosis as a kid. Little did I think then of how I would use it.
So, here I sit today. No fingers, no toes. I need about fifty skin grafts but you know?- - - I’m all right !!. I’m all right. I have loved and felt love. I have had the joy of being a son, a brother, a husband and a father. I don’t owe anyone an apology.
Now, I pray to be able to look deep within myself. I want to retreat far enough into my mind to find that bridge. I want the path to the other side.
So, sleepy, so much blooo ......... . . . !
Now spring will bring another time of change
As apprehension raises my eye brows
I welcome beauty to these days so strange
Though family values take an exit bow
The closeness that we cherished long ago
Has slowly faded like the winter days
While everything we use we now dispose
Including principles of moral ways
Technology replaced talks face to face
Divorce now grafts new branches to our trees
Adultery is viewed as commonplace
And vows to God and spouse we break with ease
I welcome beauty to these days so strange
But wonder what the next thing is we'll change
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
Brutus Iulius Trois page 02
Where Trojans are there will be Troy
In Hesperia the elder cousins the new Dardanoi
the sons of Silvanus Dardanus shall inherit
and Lavinia's bloodline shall dwindle down
caught by a curse not even Anna Perenna can protect
as the very last drops are given to wolves
Thus purified the Dardanoi become a great nation
As for the house of Ascanius and the true Trojans
Two bright stars that flame and fall
Troy is lost, Trojans are lost
a matricide, a patricide an orphan child
shall escape his curse and rescue Creusa
who cries all alone in Troy's ruins
Where Trojans are there will be Troy
Ascanius did not weep or cry in anger
Ascanius did not try to stop what was to come
doing such things had never helped his father Aeneas
Ascanius placed his faith in older prophecies made
and his trust in the protection of grandmother Venus
with peaceful prayers sent he pleas to the Parcae
Nona spin your finest threads for my son.
Decima give him a full cup of life leave him not wanting
Morta keep your knife idle until after my time.
Ascanius paid the Auger in silver coin
one eyed Merlinius bowed and left
To his soldiers Ascanius said slay me this soothsayer
but the mage Merlinius staged his own suicide
drinking a draft of false death
disappearing some said into the west
Silent stayed Ascanius, keeping secret his son's fate
In time Silvanus Trois inherited his fathers crown
and wedded Julia Dardanus his close cousin
tying the Trojan grafts tighter to their newly Latin roots.
Julia Dardanus died in birthing a beautiful son
she breathed her last even as he breathed his first.
In sorrow Silvanus lifted his son aloft to show the courtiers
as he hefted the babe, he named his heavy burden Brutus.
In true Trojan fashion Ascanius had raised Silvanus his son
In such fashion Silvanus in turn raised Brutus Iulius Trois
Desert Head
The tales they told of ole sailor Fred,
Had skin-grafts a grafted on top of his head,
To keep out the baldness, a triangular patch,
Touch of a p smell coming, perhaps,
with the new hairy faerie thatch,
stay upwind & have a care,
They
Hand grafted his pubic hair,
The curly stuff sort-ov a growing there,
no cause for blinking despair,
like a new turf a growing instead,
on yester-years billiard ball head,
there goes Freddy the Lair * : }-
tuit sweet, complete with new hare,
and the curls begot curls, so they said,
{pretty boy}
Don Johnson
Was absolutely healthy, fit and fine
With Lifestyle of jogging, gym, laugh & be merry
One day ... alarm bell rang at odd time
Angiography led to Heart’s Bypass Surgery
Situation critical, Heart went under scalpel
Reports, X-rays, Veins cut, Grafts inserted
Operation successful, Health went on to propel
Heart overhauled, new lease of life injected
Am absolutely healthy, fit and fine
With Lifestyle of diet discipline and stress no more
Every day.... alarm bell rings in time
For Yoga, Mind-Body-Soul now peaceful, blissful to core
Operated, for Others Life's countdown has begun
Rejuvenated, to me Era of "By-Pass" to "Surpass" has begun
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Sonnet Rhyme scheme - abab cdcd efef gg
HM in Members Contest - How will you Stand by Drakes Eszes
By Hitendra Mehta
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People all over the world need organs to survive.
Donate what you can spare to keep someone alive.
Kidneys, liver and bone marrow too.
Maybe someone else will take your cue.
Some parts you can donate while you yet live.
So open up your heart, this precious gift to give.
Eye tissue, skin grafts, what are you waiting for?
What is it that we need to say to get you through the door?
What family member or friend is on the waiting list?
We know it's someone special that will be truly missed!
If we don't help others out - can you tell us who will?
We must now act swiftly or people's hearts will soon be still!
Donating life is easy and more fulfilling than you can know.
So take a stand for others - your love for them to show.
Actions speak louder than words - so donate life today.
From this worldwide problem - no longer run away!
(Addendum to poem - I actually donated my left kidney to my mother in November
of 2009. I'm not just throwing down words here.)
“A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.” – Jean de La Fontaine
Trials amid tribulation
failures, gradual adaptations
life a series of grafts
some taking, others left for dead
a simple weave
making their way thru your head
stitches try to make scars
more bearable
but the shameful still bleed
from within
where are you my destiny
as I battle life alone in this bed?
stars have come out tonight
and music begins to play
sync my soul with happenstance
our future sits at bay
sip slowly from her chalice
don't let this one slip away
dreams aren't meant for dying
let the living excite the day
His anger plows my heart
but does not plant any seeds
weeds of anger he grafts
on the ridges and valleys
of work I can do so well
Feel fancy flow feed flavours free
Sweet secrets show succinct sightsee
Glimpse grandeur's glow graciously
Bear blooms bright blessing boom
Zooming zesty zeal zooms
Gifts grafts grand groom
Charm calm choice
Please poise
Voice
Leon Enriquez
27 February 2016
Singapore
Krakatoa Kritic #007
Let those comment who kill with soft words when they ‘get’ you!
Should we hold praise hostage, retreat when we can’t see
reciprocal giftings that laud what we write in return?
My take’s yours if you like it, still yours if you don’t, but
a gift I hope serves you! My joy’s to encourage,
not harm. This might be the sole poem I post here (1), that’s fine!
Let all praise what we glean, words hearts join with mind’s sinew
praise noticed or not as you pass, whistle ‘Dixie,’
fly all flags half-mast! Share your muse though I freeze, melt, or burn:
blow my top at poor rhymes, curse free verse! Friend, inhabit
your prose, don't let rhythm and rhyme be a bandage
that grafts a snake’s tail on a mouse! Sing! Canary in mine!
The “One and Only” Krakatoa Kritic #007
(1) By here, I mean on this ‘Krakatoa Kritic #007’ site. I will continue to post poems under my actual name. I will try to respond to all questions about any review. I will not review others' work on request but seek to reward those I see contributing to others' growth, whose poems and whose comments appeal to me.
PS: I have published quite a few poems on PoetrySoup now! And I’m grateful to all readers if they comment or not! I think, however, that numbered, anonymous comments that only PS could identify the author of would be a significant improvement to PoetrySoup’s much-appreciated site! Members can already delete any comment that offends them! In this spirit, look for comments from me, ‘Krakatoa Kritic #007,’ on this site, on your poem! All payments/bribes are acceptable but will not get you nothing though I am a gold-medal receiver. A more loving, healthy community is my primary goal. I will post my reviews of all poems on both PoemHunter and PoetrySoup. I hope this will increase your poem's readership, and draw new readers to poets on both sites.
Comments might be more efficacious if it was impossible to construe them to be solicitations to read the commenter’s poetry (on both PoemHunter and PS). There is enough false praise in the world.
I do not claim to have the ear of God! The poems and comments I offer on this site are my suggestions, hoping to help both sites to become even better servants of poetic expression. InshAllah!
In a place of unmarked beauty;
Lays a stone dead and cold.
The ear the dirt covering lays hold;
The outside of the stone.
As the crust of the earth begins shaping the stone;
Grooves and rough edges appear.
The dirt becomes heavy and the stone is pushed into the earth deeper still.
The earth engulfing and swallowing the now grooved rough edged stone;
Rests with peace unknown.
A tree planted and grown sits tall above the earth taking the high winds and days of scorching Sun;
Dead of winter nights;
And raindrops not In sight.
The tree bends with the winds and never breaks;
The heat of Sun only brings New leaves front he buds;
And dead of winter;
And no rain has caused the roots of the tree to plummett into the depths of the earth.
The root of the tree that stands tall above the earth;
Catches a rough edge of thes tone that the earth has grooved.
Now together the root and stone go into the earth deeper still;
To find the moisture of water left by a rain of days gone by.
As the root of the tree entwines the stone;
A seed is planted and a small sprout begins to grow.
While the small sprout buds above The earth;
Its roots take hold of the earth, the stone, and the root of the tree.
Over time as the sprout grows its roots start cracking the stone;
And grafts into the root of the tree moving the earth and leaving the grooves of the shell
Of the cold dead stone in the place of still.
The tree holds entwined a beautiful stone that is yet to be seen.
The grafted design of one beneath and two above and greater still;
The tree with it's branches and leaves overshadows and protects the small sprout beneath.
By Christy Teas