Best Immediate Poems
at the highest heights
from the time i arrive here
that first crashing wave
Magnificent and marvelous earth - an abode of ----------------HEAVEN
Obsigning man to live a life in peaceful secure------------------HAVEN
Thriving well to luscious fresh fruits and air surely -------------WILL
Home and support the best possibility of life, humans -------- BE
Enjoin! Counteract global warming and pollution-------------- PRESENT
Remember, each day IMMEDIATE ACTION is NEEDED NOW--- HERE
Elevate awareness! Empower all resources! ------------------- PRESERVE.
Abstain from greed and corruptible acts, instead, ------------- RESTORE
Resurrect nurturance and sensitivity, pour out nothing but---- LOVE
Torment the devil and be like that of a compassionate--------- MOTHER
Hunger! Thirst for better living here on our one and only ------EARTH...
By
Olive eloisa
5:17 pm
April 22, 2014
CONTEST: ACROSTIC/ END LINE WORD
SPONSOR: JARED PICKETT
HONORABLE MENTION.. :) PRAISE God!!!
PART 1.
Morphine intoxication
PART 2.
Coronary artery atherosclerosis, sleep apnea
28a.
ACCIDENT
28b.
June 8, 2008
28c.
17:35
28d.
Ingested prescription medication
28f.
Home
We’re just being ourselves
We’re not presenting ourselves
on a plate, commodifying ourselves.
We’re refined and pared-back—plain
but with an intriguing complexity.
We’re simple and indestructible,
our diasporic styles, assembled in a frenzy
by spontaneous instinct, need no audience.
You’ll find us in the coffee shops, the libraries
streaming and scrollin’ to unheard, noise-cancelled, beats
or in the bars kickin’—let the music play—I can’t talk much about it.
We’re not overly thought-out, sure, we ruminate, but then we’re
automatic rather than laboured, creative without overthinking.
We’re emotional and immediate, but clearly avoiding
slightly scurrilous condom entanglements—yeah
—there are reasons. true, true, true, true true.
.
.
Songs for this:
Let the Music Play by Papik & Sarah Jane Morris
Soda Pop Confusion by Variety Lab & Kidsaredead
Three hours suppressed before breaching the tight-lipped
container left neatly wrapped in homogenous foam
and smoky demeanor. Its lid caved in, having been tapped.
Through misspoken holes sprung arcadian visions,
lacking Peloponnese disposition, still semi-smoldering
with the tinder touch of Hephaestus extracted from
less subtle artistry attributed Zeus, high up on his steed,
bare-chested. Arms crossed.
How he used to look down on we mortals, wee, buttressed
by oxygen, in two-
parts hydrogen, one-part dioxide.
But this was real, not some Florescent church.
Outside the perimeter lay black stacks of texts I had gradually
gathered through time’s non-existence, way back when time
weighed as factual matter. Of course they still mattered.
Yet, I chose them to lay there, bathed in the soot of three daughters
I failed to veil. What do you say, Rita Dove? to wear
my white-skinned daughters spun lesser as still lovelier silk?
Is there anything clumsier to misappropriate than weather-vane hate,
with its gallant gait, with its augmented pigmentation,
when there’s no room in storage?
A grey-haired protestant behind me prayed;
“Oh, Thank God!
Oh! Thank God”
He praised through my bedroom window’s socket, shocked to shatter
by fire, fresh come splattered beard. I had not known him prior, this man I would learn was a fair-weather friar. So; I blew him a kiss.
But in my eyes,
he saw an unwell wish, so;
It needs to be done with this.
PERFECTION,
The type written page,
SIMPLICITY
No matter the age.
COMPLETED,
The document mailed,
NO MISTAKES
It told a tale.
FOLDED
In a envelope of satin
IN THE CORNER,
An emblem in Latin.
RETURN ADDRESS
Written in gold
INSIDE THE WORDS,
Had never been told.
RECEIVED,
By the messenger, then on to the guard
SUCH A RAINY NIGHT
In the Palace court yard.
SECURITY,
Trying not to be seen,
PASSED IT ON
To her Majesty The Queen.
IMMEDIATE ACTION,
She picked up the phone,
SEND THIS TO ALL
Who sit on a throne.
A COMMONER,
You might well know it,
BUT THIS MESSAGE OF PEACE
Could only come from a poet.
Lynn Hanna Barany
The that that is
Immediate and intimate
Ecstatic bliss fizz
Bubbling joy that elates
A silent explosion
The elixirous bliss current
Slow motion ignition
Melts in the space element
Each pore a door
We can feel it on our skin
As bliss inpours
Percolating deep within
Space layers subtle
It is right here before our eyes
Touch of Gods miracle
Felt in silence by sages wise
12-January-2021
Identified no more with form,
with spatial silence as the norm,
poised in stillness, one with the all,
we feel God’s touch, tender and warm.
No images left to recall,
our vaporised presence stands tall,
as pure awareness self-aware,
bolstered by a benign bliss squall.
This revelation which we share,
is for those souls who choose to pair,
with love and light in heart aflame;
aura of soul we always wear.
An unexpected burst of energy
helped fashion a second poem he
ving up from deep within the key
per of Matthew Scott's ideas - nee
i.e. unexpectedly manifesting que
cull lee coalescing, buta not three
endeavors crafted since quota we
kind to exhaust passion before zee...
land revisited, when
a call for shot eye
guarantees, a dearth of ideas
will no longer fly
with plentitude, whereby
exertion from this guy
will necessitate to type
briskly before hie....
ah...whew...just when
I felt at a loss what to write...
bitta bing bitta bang
(optional chitty at no extra cost),
lo and behold ear splitting,
appalling sounds did in vite
until dusk hands clapped
over each ear tight
to muffle noise pollution spite
fully generated by
rambunctious youths,
who know no right
that gunning engines quite
obnoxious, and that conviction
edited (by me) tubby polite
buffer this chap hunkers
down for the night.
the following constitutes the e-man
soup pay wanton declaration
emphatically, independently,
and obnoxiously
transmitted thru ether
these loathsome roar of dirt bikes
punctuates the formerly quiet air
where local high school
teenage mutant ninja
male turtles blare
(an educated presumption)
at top notch threshold decibel
definitely inducing deafness,
which will soon be clear
to those motorheads
flooring accelerator scaring deer
and other sparse wildlife,
whose engines I hear
miles away, cuz this bard ****
got extreme (ear river rent)
hyper sensitivity to sound
perhaps linkedin
tummy predisposition,
could allow ma
self to expound,
whereby scrawling how painful
eye experience,
where 21st century
urban jungle doth abound
to exacerbate anxiety and panic,
aye noticed round
about puberty, and plugged up ears
to dull the nerve wrack
king Breitbart cacophony
even family pet
dogs (part Border
Collie and Hell Hound)
barked with shrill torturous yap,
which reverberation did
assault and pound
delicate constituent
audiological organ of mine
impossible to avoid unwillingly
being part of loud culture club
emanations impossible to dub,
thus helplessly bombarded, exposed,
and subjected to discordant
damaging noise found
me to flub
attendant tasks, especially grub
bing to earn chump change
to avoid mingling at social hub
rather remain hermetically
sealed, where nub
body cant see me, hence
that concludes thine literary rub.
young people all across this country
(The United States Of America),
this middle aged papa doth adore
stand arm against
pervasive arms that didst bore
un-necessary slain school students
robbing society of core
as unwitting targets,
sans vibrant youths
forever snatched to enter door
of homes, where loving
kith and kin no longer behold
a cherished biological product
lowered six feet under into cold
terra firmae, where Mother Earth
entombs the fruits
(ripened to their prime), now...en fold
did taken down by random bullets, which gold
din precious person murdered,
where maniacal gunman didst hold
down the trigger, which high powered weapon
loosed asper indiscriminate aim
mass destruction
of sons and/or daughters killed fired,
whence slug didst claim
another abhorrent statistic
from easy access snatching a darling dame
or handsome lad, while soundless horror
many a countenance
doth non verbally exclaim
the profound sadness,
now murdered offspring
solely enshrined within picture frame
where sorry lost life haint no board game
yet, random dice throw
courtesy of second amendment
fuels American's passion
asper right to bear arms, particularly re: cent
spate of wanton mounting killed
(within storied halls of academia)
spurred many well organized national event
reached a tipping point,
where lock, stock and barrel deadly age gent
brought together this day
(March 24 th, 2018), an immense crowd
staged across America within major metropolitan areas
(from sea to shining sea) with actions loud
her than words,
suffusing this older dada to feel proud
unsure if thine eldest progeny joined
the Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
swell organized protests, which wowed!
I-mmediate
M-ove
E-ndorses
L-ife's
D-etermination
A-s
C-hances
U-nder
N-ice
A-ction
N-ever
A-llow
N-egativity
Topic: Birthday of Imelda B. Cunanan (September 09)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Your obscured heart spouts hatred
Stop!
1/5/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
hidden in plain sight
closer than our skin
spiralling thoughts blur
truth of existence
innate awareness
choosing to pause
the flow of thought
we abide in
eternity
so simple
we connect
with the flow
clear light
then thus
dawns
07-May-2021
The day was tender when they met,
their mouths were roses, warm and wet.
The earth held still, the sky leaned nigh—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
Her hands were lilies, trembling, white,
his heart a torch that burned the night.
The wind bent low, the stars drew nigh—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
“O angel, I cannot breathe without you,”
he whispered into shadows’ blue.
Her silence cut, her rage was high—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
Her laughter shattered like broken glass,
his smile remembered the fields they’d passed.
She turned away, the world asked why—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
Beneath the willow he pressed his face,
the soil drank tears, the roots gave grace.
His body trembled, he could not lie—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
The winds that once had stroked their skin
now screamed like wolves that clawed within.
The sun went blind, the rainbow shy—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
“Roma is queen, now wed to the king,
forget the touch, forget the spring.”
The fairy whispered, soft, awry—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
His chest collapsed, a cave of fire,
his blood a river of lost desire.
He cried so loud the stones replied—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
Upon his bed of ash he lay,
a candle flickered itself away.
He dreamed her lips, her shadowed sigh—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
She came at last, her beauty whole,
her fingers thawed his freezing soul.
He kissed her name, and then he died—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
And when he fell to endless sleep,
her wail shook heavens, oceans deep.
The world grew deaf, the night replied—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.