Best Herewith Poems
Dearest,
There would be no nightfalls
thereunto your eyes but partly goosebumps
nor would be nightscapes along your brows
even an inch above their shorelines
where darkness heaves
no. When shadows dance in tip-toed pirouette to the tune of your hairfall
whose breaths breathe nothing but the fumes from your sigh.
You are but a psalm
the Tibetan monks hymn and a mantis prays with a vengeance
for three full moons bedecked with diphthongs and rhymes
only to show beyond doubt
that every squint of the lids of your eyes
is proof of all the gods' existence.
There are no sundowns
thereunder your limbs but scarcely woundscars
nor dimlights throughout the length of your nape
all the more onto its coastline
where thoughts
bloom. When crickets perch and croon
whose hymn chants heretofore each syllable of your name.
My breathe rests each time your eyes meet mine, my love,
for nothing falls thereto except my heart.
Tears herewith,
Samson
Author's note: Finalist September Poetrysoup International Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsor: Poetrysoup
Hereupon
I hear a song
Hereunto I embrace the near of dawn
Hereunder I ponder long
Herewith birds to sing the strong
Heroic verse
I'm a hero
I don't need to rehearse
Hero worship gone wrong
Being a hero can make things worse
Been a hero so long
It's a heroic curse
A hero now withdrawn
Becoming perverse
Heroic heroin and no nurse
Understandable... the sensible
(three ringed circuitous) logic
to trumpet necessity
each individual moost heed
bedecking, cloaking donning,
ludicrous interloper facial covering,
(I prefer sporting
latest custom made
invisible máscaras faciales),
when commingling amidst madding crowd,
nevertheless coronavirus (COVID-19)
makes laughingstock kickstarting
maniacal paranoid testing yapping
authoritarians blabber ceaselessly
bleak household pandemic
plagues (sear ring)
robust human specimen,
hence yours truly,
a feckless (gibbon) primate
breathes sigh of relief,
why? cuz he counts himself insignificant
absolute zero worth
versus microscopic prickly orb
aging long haired pencil neck geek
best beat hasty retreat
to his man cave
not necessarily avoiding microbial denizen,
yet any potential suffering
scouting out troubadour woefully
jackknifed inept hideaway
availed no choice
rolls out Harris tweed Scottish matt
courtesy minuscule germ man
greeting me with gotcha!,
I willingly surrender
the only thing at stake iz my life,
which would immediately
ebb fate (mine),
automatically buzzfeed chap
offer no chance
for symbiotic relationship
as pathogens indeed choreograph
(dirty deed done dirt cheap)
loft hilly doth waft
through cellular skeins comprising
garden variety/ generic gent
herewith essentially crafting
his poetic epitaph
before onset disables,
disallows, and disvalues
one humble, intelligent, jesting
kindhearted, literate, modest
nincompoop aimlessly adrift
within Brownian movement
(*****sapiens random motions
viewed miles skyhigh)
ostentatious, piteous, querulous,
ridiculous, superfluous, et cetera,
thus forward donations
and/or pledge
(I promise you -
swear to dog
portion of me ashes)
to favorite charity
and will hoop to visit thee as repurposed
noun, verb, adjective, adverb, pronoun,
preposition, conjunction, interjection,
numeral, article, or determiner...
SPEECH IMPEDIMENT JOB-SEEKER
An aged respondent called Smith
Answered the newspaper job-list herewith
“Man wanted as geologist
Great skill at digging out schist
And now and again a large batholith.”
But this geologic skill was a myth.
Because like rock-hound kin and kith
They just wanted a man,
Not the lisping old gran
That they thaw when she gave them a kith.
4TH OF JULY, INDEPENDENCE DAY ,YOURS AND MINE
- OUR INDEPENDENCE DAY
4TH OF JULY -UNITED STATES’ INDEPENDENCE DAY
YOURS AND MINE - OUR INDEPENDENCE DAY!
COLLECTIVELY, WE ALL CELEBRATE IN A WAY
SPECIALLY, TODAY, FOR EVERYBODY
DONE THIS VERY DAY WE GAINED VICTORY
UNITED, BLACK OR WHITE OR WHATEVER RACE , IN ANY
PRESENTLY HERE,WE, ENJOIN ,CONSECRATE THIS DAY
YOURS AND MINE -OUR INDEPENDENCE DAY.
IN THIS LUCKY PLACE LAND OF OPPORTUNITY
HEREWITH ,LOVERS OF PEACE AND POSTERITY
WITH OR WITHOUT ISIS* OR AL QUAEDA THREATS THEY
WOULD RESTRICT, CONTEMPT, TRY OR ATTEMPT DENY
BUT CAN EVER STOP US OUR CHERISHED SACRED LIBERTY
TODAY, OUR INDEPENDENCE DAY!
OUR HEROIC FOREFATHERS WHO STOOD SACRIFICE
SO THAT HER CITIZENS ONE DAY, TODAY, ENJOY
GOD BLESS AMERICA, LONG LIVE OUR INDEPENDENCE DAY!
*Islamic States of Iraq and Syria
By: GUILLERMO WILLIAM S. LABTIS
I hesitate to make it known but it’s true.
The Jack /Beanstalk story isn’t quite right.
Telling the correct version is long overdue.
Hence, herewith I will shed needed light.
Before Jack fled from the giant so scary
He spied a basket of multi-colored beans.
He stuffed his pockets with all he could carry.
Then went down the stalk with bulging jeans.
Safely on earth, he eyed the beans with care.
They were warm to his hand and had a sheen.
His father proclaimed them to be very rare.
And a professor said they had an alien gene.
In the following days Jack gave them a name.
He called them “Magic Beans” on finding out
If rubbed on grass they would burst into flame.
“Dangerous,” dad said, feeding them to trout.
Jack cried hard, his magic beans fish fodder.
When he told his friends of the giant and beans
They said they hadn’t heard a tale any odder.
And that’s the real story out of my dreams.
Jan. 15, 2015, Paul
A man like you considered I a myth...
They just do not exist in nature.
There must along side something odd herewith.
Dark and poignant. I meet you, stranger.
You read, you write, you're just great with people,
You are decent, honest and content.
While you are caressing my bare nipple
You like my jokes, laugh and pay the rent.
You are genuine, creative, daring,
You try new things out and you like kids.
I met you weeks ago and now I'm scared
How in the world would I get a grip
On all these feelings, such strong affection?
You have simply set the bar too high...
But you gave me purpose and direction.
I grew a tumor, thank God, benign.
You play guitar and you compose music.
Yet you are successful in a biz
Of suits, agreements, you like my pubic
Hair. You can pleasure me, you're a whiz!
You're into arts and theater, ballet.
Balzac and Rodin - those you admire.
You are set to win while I fell astray.
You will sing and sculpt when you retire.
You are tender, fit, cute and you do sports.
How do these get along together?
You are attentive, kind, you rule in court,
Want to dress me in suit of leather.
You sing, you're politically correct,
Feelings take in consideration.
Oh how losing you one cannot regret?
You brought me hope and liberation.
Oh yes and you negotiate too well.
This art you've mastered long ago.
You are insightful, you are bright, you're swell!
You are simple and you drink Bordeaux.
You prefer treating women like a queen.
That still exists? I thought it doesn't.
You feel real deep but you are made of steel.
I slumped in love all of a sudden.
I surely saw a lot of men before...
I played with them, I tried to tame one
With no success, was left completely sore,
Longed to dissipate. My song was sung.
I closed my eyes, ran from all this hassle.
Negotiating with scum. Little use.
Was occupied with survival, wrestle.
It's when I met you I was set loose.
None of the men I have ever been with
Could touch the bar set by my dad.
Among the boyfriend myriad you're fifth
You topped my dearest dad. I'm glad.
My heart is rocking. Can't believe it! Wow!
Your daughters have a hard time choosing...
I have to learn again to live the now.
They? They'd better get used to losing...
The box was small, quarter inch tall,
why it was just so tiny!;
to see her face, on poet’s place,
don’t want to seem too whiny;
there was a smile, in photo file,
but view was not define-y,
I’d like "enlarge," in rant I charge,
to see her looks more finely!
[Herewith my humorous response to someone talking about their stalker issues on PS, which apparently is more common than I thought. It was originally a bit more ribald, but decided to avoid getting flamed. Someone should post a "Against My Stalker" contest.]
It was really hard expressing
my artistic point of view,
When I found I wasn't crafty
in the crafts I tried to do.
I tried my hand at candling
I couldn't grasp the trick.
The candle wouldn't stand up straight
And it refused to take the wick.
Bob Ross's "Joy of Painting"
His creations all were magic.
I never should have tried to paint
It was wasted time -and tragic.
In the ancient art of tool design
I flunked out crafting gourds.
Fights between my left/right brain
Denied me artsy craft rewards.
I tried my hand at making bread
I love its ancient tasty prize.
Proof -yeast- is such a fickle thing
When it chooses not to rise.
How about that Quilting Guild?
It's where I tried to stitch.
My 1/4 inch was always off,
My quilting -quilted "in the ditch."
No satisfaction from those tries
Though I strained to be creative.
I' m forced to learn to live with it,
Not long! Cause I'm in my eighties.
But if words mean 'crafty' in this race
This is where I'll place my bet.
Cause words construct inspired thoughts
I'd rather capture in my net.
Forget those crappy crafts I've tried
They're in the past-herewith ignored.
Those crafts that didn't call for words,
Were always dull and left me bored.
Of all the crazy crafts I've tried
Only one comes shining through.
I finally got it in my head,
Word-craft is the one I can do.
Nor do I feel free
akin to noble savage
(gratis to Jean Jacques Rousseau)
completely unfettered, and able lee
to fend off unseen banshee,
comically swatting for all to see,
though today February Eighth,
2019 quite similar (i.e. dime
a dozen) to many previous twenty
four hour blocks of time,
herewith metering poetic testimony
hashing out another rhyme,
I feel considerably less mindful,
as if complicit in a major crime,
(yes absolutely more remorseful
regarding entire lifetime
of indifference) prime
err rilly linkedin into call lapsed
shoulder shrug, shrink into self, or
other convenient pantomime
schizoid personality disorder diagnosis,
asper this pronounced emotional detachment
more painfully clear climb
ming pyramid of self actualization -
engendered through longtime
therapy in tandem with
half dozen prescription medications
and cathartic, holistic, therapeutic...pastime
writing poems delving into scarred psyche
aftermath years burned by quicklime
writhing, when aware impacted me now
evincing unrepentant blank affect
behavior couched, established, fostered
during in utero stage, characteristics
manifested by full termtime
tidbits shared by parents chime
how my body tensed
like tightly wound coil before schooltime
reinforced destructive coping skills
resident in this older chap
aroused during bedtime
poking, seeping, violating...dreamtime.
(alternately titled fancyfeast feeds finicky folky fungi)
No matter this omnivore
experiences stomach rumbles like birth
(pains) of a nation (loud enough to be heard
clear opposite side of Earth),
this self actualized (1% Neanderthal
ask my eldest sister while sitting close to heath
(genetic results from 23andme.com as proof positive)
thar haint no dearth
where genealogy traces origin of *****Sapiens, while girth
of Gaia swollen with present burgeoning population,
whose gestalt swings between moroseness, mirth
or emotional gamut, such sentient being such as mice elf
(i.e., a generic male)
undergoes self guided heightened sensory
quintessential existential awareness,
the effort wool worth.
the idea sans art of mindfulness –
analogous to a sixth sense
plus active listening (with consciousness) quite intense
said silent credo, dictum, ethos...fueling gutsy cents
and sensibility (without pridefulness nor prejudice)
herewith, this poem doth try to condense,
incorporating laser re: mental focus
involving munching or drinking favored beverage
at necessary survival at substantial expense
on food in mannered mien without offense
naturally with healthy, nutritiously plentiful,
quality meal in company of aye gents
provocateurs or alone, nonetheless
(consisting of adequate ruffage sustenance) dense
enough to satiate appetite,
and hence able to function utmost energy –
practice taking mouth-size bites, and dis pence
with hungrily wolfing incredible edibles –
rather I strive to measure core rents,
and paroxysms germinating deep
within bowels of this body electric,
implementing prolonged chewing whence
I (in presence of family)
usually heal chow digestion at light speed,
thus (no syrup rise) tend to be
last person to consume entire meal
enjoying tasting every last morsel
conjuring awareness to appeal
avast realm of numerous textures,
qualities, characteristics, et cetera
per culinary delight allows,
enables, and provides sensation feel
ling dissolution concomitant with each mouthful
prolonging basic function to appease
famished "beast" fur real.
"Candle in the Clouds
The day I lit that candle,
It was meant to burn eternal,
For the wick which I have used,
Makes its flame just last forever,
Herewith light that passion smile,
Which you gave to me to treasure,
yet it glows your tears today,
To illuminate your eyes tomorrow,
For I know that you will cry,
When alone with memories shy,
It's that bond that melts together,
Two components like no other,
Like that stone dropped in a pond,
Has its ripples that belong,
For that castle in the sky,
Grew its roots in you and I.
Do not listen, be then deaf
And misinterpret circumstances
Do not see, be then blind and stumble
Thinking in change there is no use
You herewith decide to seduce
And break your bread of fame
You framing life in your name,
Can't you reduce yourself to shame?
To change that fashion to the old
Do not change your behaviors if you can
Be enslaved and become like that
If you feel needy
Locate a straw in man's pocket
Suck all he has
Suck the whole world
Feel fully contented
Drop your head on a greasy stone
Slide along and burst it
Wait to be composed together and buried
You who search your own death alive
Booze and get intoxicated
Do not change, be then still
Change belongs to the right ones
WHERE TRUE WORSHIP LIES
Listen carefully incline thine ear,
For those with inner ears to hear,
It is not a saying deep or dark,
But even the simple can embark,
A Word to both the aged, and youth,
True worship is in Spirit, and in Truth.
True worship, is not to be confused,
With faithful warmers of the pews.
Fellowship with the brethren is good and right,
Right living in God’s unfailing sight.
Not in whose service is left right at the door,
though he is rich in giving; his spirit is poor.
Not the one praying skillfully, bold and loud,
Nor the one whose self boasting, arrogant and proud.
But the man within, although unseen,
A man of conscience and conviction, living clean.
He has a gentle heart of love, by which his faith is fueled,
And by God’s Holy Word his spirit ruled.
His work is not for praise, recognition or advance,
His gifts only known by given chance.
This worshipper’s life, often judged and despised,
He wishes he were loved as much as criticized.
Not at all complicated, a simple woman, simple man,
Hard to figure to the world, they just don’t understand.
Suffers in quiet unknowingly, amongst his friends,
He’s the last to even ask, for a hand to lend.
He looks to God to raise him up, from being low to the ground,
Seeks daily to only hear the appointed trumpet sound.
Seeks not his own, always bearing his own shame,
But boldly proclaims the rugged cross, in God’s Holy name.
True worship lies herewith, in the heart and soul within,
God seeks such hearts of true wordhippers to worship Him.
Where true worship lies, is in Spirit and Truth,
The love of God is the true worshipper’s living proof.
John 4:23
But a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and in truth, for the Father is seeking such as these to worship Him.
Where True Worship Lies
Copyright © Lovie Divine | Year Posted 2023
Amongst the speechless... Choirs of drift-n-stilly...
'Tween a deep mouth... And hollow paradise...
Herewith breath and ~ Deep invisible sleep...
Cometh the dark brass... Oft a Raven's plea...
Betwixt a knee's bend... And deeply rooted slice....
Of earth's aye pastures ~ 'Neath the rose's blush...
Flirting with curtain's murmurs...Bound by sweep ~
A crescent breeze.~ Mid morning's cup of tea...
Hush mid restless dreams ~ Tamed to entice...
Soaring to heights of dizziness.... Too steep ~
To see scars oft left behind......Mid the rush.....
Tending to madness ~ Might amidst fury...
Sing I the song of the stars.... Boundless hush....
Loft an ease.... That only the stars shall see....