Best Imperious Poems
Two owls charmed me
moments before I embarked
on the hours of industry to come.
Their silhouettes were dark and secretive,
their voices wistful and low.
I had a moment only to be soothed
with no thought to the truer meaning,
sinister and cruel,
of their flight from industry to come.
Mere yards from where I sleep
the tree has grown large
much like its older cousin
mere yards from where I brood.
The loeries return
to a place that may once have been theirs,
and they speak with voices
almost as those of children.
They charm me as the owls.
In the small fertile garden
among acres of mortar and stone
and grass largely ignored,
I may see with fortune
the frog that enchants me,
the spider that does not much haunt me,
the serpent that surely does.
The Indian myna, relentless, imperious,
will not be denied.
The idiosyncrasies, kind and mean,
gave them form and breath and motion,
and domain, before our domain.
26th July 2018
Last flickers of a dying flame still burn
I strain to see every bitter remembrance
lain before my feet
pain stained mendacious propaganda
blackened and singed upon my soul
words have risen and taken toll
right or not, secrets have been sold
out of mind into the hands of masses
such asses, cutting out the tongues of old
forcible suppression unfurled
into self-made sterilization
white sheets billowing in the wind
masking an unpure infantile soiling of intellect
sociopathic manipulation
senseless stripping down of the senses
we're utterly defenseless
gather round as smoke heaves
and smothers imperious will and wit
free thinking dies as another chapter
cries out and is carried
to an unmarked grave
CLERIHEW REVIEW
Sir Isaac Newton
Though genetically close to an Orang Utan
With his larger cranial cavity
He discovered the law of gravity
Atilla the Hun
Was a man who liked innocent fun
After a day of rape and pillage
He played cricket for his village
King William the Conqueror
Breeding not from the very top drawer
Put that with the deeds of a dastard
He was known as Bill the Bastard
Julius Caesar
Was a really imperious geezer
Though he headed for a fall
You must admit he had the Gaul
King of France: Louis Quatorze
Loved to dress in silky drawers
When asked “Do you feel that’s alright?”
He said: ”Yes, when they’re pulled up tight”
Heaven must yield to glory
Accept our orphaned children
Come light gentle bathe
These black forgotten corridors
Distorted images of death
Dance imperious before our eyes
Struggling to live right
Surviving the darkened dread
In the calm balm of amnesia
We float in carefree laughter
Defying the anchoring ache
Inhaling expectant death
Exhaling desired life
Walking the dichotomous path
Twinned joy and pain
Offspring at heaven’s door
Inheritors lost upon this earth
Seeking to reclaim the future
Bastard products of despair
We live in the dark alleys of history
The sunless realms of loneliness
The blind lanes of misery
Mystic impossibility
We claim divine birth rights
Watching deep into midnight
For the promised sunrise
Insipid timid reality
In disfigured disguise
Life is stone and bone
For the children of paradise
Let’s take a ride, how about traveling, to outer space,
Just accept anything’s possible, it’s our cosmic chase,
Moving faster than light speed, in the blink of an eye,
Unleash your imagination, laws of physics, don’t apply,
Maybe stay closer to home, getting carried away,
Not that it’s impossible, Probably better this way,
I bid to free your mind, open up Pandora’s box,
Some controlling egotist, may be keeping locked.
Might think this is fantasy, I promise you not,
Keeps us unrestrained, from an imperious lot,
Rather we’d stay stupid, believe everything’s fine,
Brainwashed all our lives, left to tow the line.
Too many gaslighters, out for personal gain,
Call us troublemakers, having gall, to complain,
I am not preaching, just offering sound advice,
Keep your independence, for life’s full of choice.
Well thank God for google, if needing a little help,
Press a few touchscreens, a tonic within itself.
Always some caveats, beware of computer trolls,
Half decent firewall, should suffice on the whole.
Is too much knowledge, really a dangerous thing,
Worse than owning shotguns, barely aged sixteen,
I agree in some cases, ignorance truly is bliss,
Only if comforting, from the inevitable abyss.
Many poets shone light, on history’s darkest times,
Obscure aficionados, emancipating reality with rhyme,
Fighting nightmarish wars, writing obituaries home,
Bleeding ink upon paper, never flinching in their tone.
Others encapsulate landscape, frozen in winter snow,
How they portray nature, this rhymster will never know,
Beautiful form of art, smashing out from all restraints,
Poets you set me free, lest my tribute is mundane.
By
David Kavanagh
You grieved his soul when you stormed out that day;
Such vitriol re-echoed in your wake.
To spurn a father’s love and walk away
Was more than his poor aching heart could take.
You squandered his benevolence in vain
For passing pleasures brought no lasting joy,
Regarded his wise counsel with disdain
A libertine existence to employ.
And yet he always spoke of you with love
Forgiving your imperious self-pride,
You were the vulture, he a turtle-dove
Hoping with fervent prayer you’d turn the tide.
Your name was murmoured in his parting sigh;
How tragic that you never said good-bye.
30/08/18
'Sour grapes contest' sponsored by Mark Massey
September Premiere 2018,Any Form,Any Theme,Upto A Max Of 20 Lines Poetry Contest sponsored by Brian Strand
He, a seeker after Truth, set out
on an audacious journey
to see his old master
with a handful of blooms
he paused before the open door.
from deep meditation
the squatted figure, looked up.
in a trance, he saw the silhouette of a man.
on gazing intent, emerged distinct
his former disciple, left long ago
seeing his hands laden with flowers,
the master smiled a recognizing smile.
in close surveillance, the penetrating eyes
gauged him through and through.
the master’s pursed lips opened ajar.
from him, arose a single word-
‘’ Drop”
gentle but firm was its timbre.
he dropped the flowers, one by one.
in sterner voice, the master said,
‘’ Drop”
all at once, he let the remaining blooms
go off his clasp
and down they fell around his feet.
folding empty hands, he stood,
waiting for the master’s behest
after an eerie silence,
once more came the hefty command--
‘’ Drop”
stupified, the disciple queried-
‘’ what more should I drop? “
eyes emitted sparks!
‘’ not the flowers, but your ego”-
instant was his reply.
a spear stuck deep into his self.
as by a whirl wind, his body tottered.
he felt a deep twirl inside.
unfastening the hinges
of the imperious shutters,
a boulder rolled down,
dropping to the ground with a thud.
back home, the disciple gleefully walked,
the clogged fog clearing from his head
ego shorn, here now reborn
in a state of divine transcendence
feeling as weightless as a feather
~Placed First~
8. Jan. 2022
This or That.Vol.9. Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Edward Ibeh
~Placed Fifth~
In 'Ego Shorn, Here Now Reborn' Poetry Contest
Sponsored by-Unseeking Seeker
"The Queen's Slippers - Part 2"
There goes my heart
with bags packed
no turning back
or final wave
seated hooded next to huntsman
innocent, gauche, temperamental
There will come a time
to save,
but save oneself
on this dark road,
one must -
There will come a time
to talk,
but walk the talk
on this dark road by oneself
‘tis the True Lesson,
to Win-Win,
one must.
A gold wedding ring
A delicate diamante crucifix
An open heart
Some words inscribed
Latin to remember
casually tossed aside
Sterling Silver
broken in seconds
That is the past
Life now beckons.
Lost. Much later. Lost.
A Soothsayer sees –
A Soothsayer knows.
A Soothsayer has walked
the same Road.
Bluebird's and Cuckoo's nests
glittery material things
carrots dangled by withered carrion minds;
True wealth are the hidden maps
buried in the Lost Forrest of Time.
There is an owl it perches
on my heart
digs it’s talons in like
nine inch nails piercing
it softly hoots, too diabolical
for screeching
The Owl slowly turns it’s eyes
towards the Reader
a silent voyeur trespassing on the kill,
it digs it’s talons in sharper
blood flows claret stained
drop by drop
into the Poison Chalice, again,
blood flows warm and free
it’s pumping with life yet, see?
Soon, too soon it will come
tomorrows are never guaranteed.
Above it’s right talon a sterling silver anklet
it holds life in balance, still,
Warm with life
Cold with death
The fine line drawn between
Imperious over lifeblood’s flow
Inscribed, in font Gothic,
The Owl’s name is POE
Gently, the writer places the hood over POE’s eyes and kisses the top of his head. Our writer, dear reader, brings out her Queen’s Slippers. Hearts are in her mind, she’s playing “NO TRUMPS”.
(Lovejoy-Burton/Feb 2018)
1. In Australia, the Joker in the Queen's Slipper brand of playing cards depicts a Kookaburra, a bird native to Australia with a call that famously resembles human laughter. In Australian games of 500, the Joker is often referred to colloquially as "The Bird"
2. "Do You Love Me", Nick Cave
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lZGPB4463mM
3. "The Day the World Went Away", NIN
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YtmI6j3R-Y0
It need not rhyme, it need not flow
It need no essence of truth
Just proliferate, exaggerate
And be sure to convolute
With flexous and circuitous jargon, fruiton soon to find
Scholars will praise your erudition,and vilipend the simple of mind
It need not passion, it need not soul
It need not emotion convey
For imperious wordsmiths write verse to cajole
With nothing of substance to say
Just aberrate,divigate, affirm you wish not to profess
Just cloak, conceal, as you disseminate your page's emptiness
It need not sorrow, it need not elation
It not your mind reveal
Words are just wasted with no explanations
Nihility holds no appeal
Exacerbate, exasperate, as fading tales of yore
Leave you unremembered for your words are too obscure
Neptune must have used as parchment
Mother-of-pearl to inscribe his laws
For he’d richly rewarded the oysters
With an oceanic spa.
So, while seeking calm through deliberation
And enjoying the mud bubbles of my bath
Who should I spy in the distance?
But Calamity trudging up the path.
His foot arched out proud and haughty
Like the neck of a noble steed
As he pulled his crustaceous carriage
At a break-neck snail speed.
The mud began to feel like mortar
As I stonily watched him draw near
That audacious, contemptuous clam
Made my heart cry out with fear.
He passed by slow and haughty
Like an imperious, dismissive sigh
But as my tension began to dissipate
He kicked a mudball at my eye.
I watched warily, his insolent passage
Until he was but a tiny speck of dirt
Knowing I'd formed another pearl of wisdom,
From that impetuous, narcissistic squirt.
My Rhetoric Rhapsody
Oh! I am a Poet
It’s me again pretty poet of the century,
Breaking through till I reach mercury.
A pretty poet with popping phrases,
A poor poet with perpetual personality.
Praying that my poems pulls out pieces of pleasure,
Arouses interest, motivates and inspires.
Oh! I am a Poet
Who teaches as he preach
On every inch that becomes a cliché
And leaves your ears aching when reached.
Who frees frozen feelings of Refugees.
Who unfolds fundamental mysteries of false phenomenon.
Who washes and enshrines shameful ships on a sea shore,
Assuring Sheppard of Shelter by Lord Krishna.
Oh! I am a Poet
A rock solid hardcore poet
Self proclaimed Fundi
A super duper verse creator
A self sufficient professor
A prodigy not a protégé
A dictator not an agitator
A toughie not a roughie
I don’t recite to hear myself talk
I don’t talk to be noticed
I don’t take Hobson’s choice
Nor hobble to a hoax
I don’t settle for a bird in hand
Nor crawl for half a loaf
My reaches exceeds my grasp
My wishes akin to my riches
My poems are my pillar
My wits are my tools
No hocus pocus for my hoi polloi
I’m not a hoity-toity poet who scribbles down hokum poetry
My poetry is impalpable,
Inexplicable and impeccable.
My creativity is infallible.
My verses so impregnable.
I am an imperious poetic licensee
I am a rusty epic epidemic through youth poets’ wannabes,
A penurious poet who indulge in perilous peripheries.
My masterpiece is not some common handwritten handiwork on handkerchief.
I craft them like a handicapped handyman with no haphazard!
And this is my Rhetoric Rhapsody...
See, when I rhyme my rhymes that hum like hymns
And step on my Poetic Stiletto heels to find open minds
And dine in a pile of my rhymes...
My mimes start to mime my rhymes
And this is a route where I quote that this is not over yet...
At my own admission I've grown black hearted, Find it hard to cry for the dearly departed. I've started with myself and made no difference...
my reflection ain't healthy I've been plagued by ignorance. An insignificance to that shown by my people offering deliverance.
Belligerent my mind state, no room for benevolence. I'm gonna times fate by two and make my own destiny. Remember without you there is no me!!
Contemplation on occassion as and when neccasary, no abrasions mental and or physical. Raisin like im spiritual on the mountian gazin like im quizical, I ain't doubtin I been dazin lyrical too busy blazin that's not critcal. Don't be phazin past the miracle.
Far from superior closer to inferior goes some way to explaining why my message isn't clear to ya. Far from delirious nah man, this is serious!
Remains 2 be seen weather its imperious. Far from laughin this materialistic gapping will drive us appart and continue trappin.
Can't be scared to talk bout it. We're conditioned in a way in which we doubt it.
So in ya face its a disgrace. I need a bit of saving grace. Saving face be paving waste, am I misbehaving as lm gaining pace? The blames in place and its plain in taste. We can only learn if we share with eachother!
Sounds disearning coming from a non-veteran brotha, discova the soul ja in me. I ain't on the front line wouldn't want to be. What they fightin for!? Territories, minerals to fuel our principles. I'd like to appoligise for being so cynical. This is a perfect time to take an interval.
Ahead, the bear in sudden motion stands.
With a surge of strength, I turn unstayed by fear,
a welling force inside to take command.
A grim rivalry, but respect we share,
yet, uncontrolled the bear imperious roars.
With enraged might, he swings his bloody head.
His pain in a thundering bellow soars.
Off into the dense forest, he has fled.
I slip haphazard through death's devious plan,
and kneel in the damp crimson covered ground
with survival hard-won by these two hands.
I rise to face night as darkness surrounds.
The wild's full of creatures, stealthy and bold
I must build a shelter, to fight the cold.
Monstrous
gruesome
hideous
odious
nefarious
ugly
yet
imperious
brainy
grainy
strainy
cranny
and
snooty
about
petty booty
passionate
in dark
quite stark
shameless
deceptive
grave
terrible
she is screw brained and gets in brain.
MPD-Multiple Personality Disorder
There comes a point that my poetry has to get serious
I try me best to focus and be imperious
When I write of love loss
Not that I don’t give a toss
But a funny thought creeps in and leaves me delirious