Best Inciting Poems
WRITING IN A BLACK PERSPECTIVE
Why is it that someone's pain is felt pleasure to another?
I arrived with fears. I cared to find a friend, anywhere
But I wasn't taught to be my own; no school helped me to look within
I heard of God of deep blackness; with words, inciting light
One voice, one eye in our universe
My voice to converse felt crippled.
My family pools held many colors; warm as Caribbean sea breeze
Each person was of significance. Two were like gazelles, alluring
One was as dark as night, the other was near blinding white
Those in between were earth tones.
I looked out beyond decked windows. Multicolored Christmas lights blinked
Nonchalantly in dark of morning; snow was falling, and had covered bare
limbs of a cherry blossom tree- such picturesque view, i decided:
'On this most snowing, all white reigns supremely pure, as the black of night.'
The irises of my eyes were dark brown pools, merging with black pupils...
I was cinnamon; yet found solace in my shade of dark, no harsh light
Soft was my dark. No more depression lurked within. Mine eyes, my ears craved
Transparency; then came clarity. I understood triggers triggering depression
Revelations were as treasured as exercise. Fresh air, rain, sun, I was in awe of
My Higher Power's helpful hands- simplicity and clarity were blessings
I needed no Prozac.
At the start of a new day, I'd submerge in warmth, and baptize myself
I would bring soothing light to mesh with quiet dark
I would lounge, meditate, and pray. Sometimes I'd sing or hum a tune
I'd go fearlessly in the dark, knowing when not to rush
I'd go fearlessly near blinding lights, knowing where to focus.
Who am I? i am as soft as the sinews of you; yet steadfast
A dessert flower with dew of faith- even in winter
I am a flower, thriving like evergreen...
Amid histories fiercest touch to my roots
I know of grace, granted by the Source
Transcending me to live as never before understood.
I need not cry out my fears, in ways that let others fear
I must cry out injustices, so that others, too, may sing
I go fearlessly to face my fears, knowing scars are lessons learned
And good visualizations are as friends, not foes.
*
Written: October 28, 2023
_________________________________________
Among the living is where perfection is found.
Stoicism is a path of life that acts as dull ground.
The advice is to focus on the bright side of life.
Dispel the negativity, and let vanish all strife.
Inciting people to enhance their morality
To foster resilience in the face of adversity.
Strengthening your resolve and impediment
Beat iconoclastic wits for a fine pediment.
Grasp of the overarching rationality
Sustaining integrity even amid adversity
The Stoic Path is a philosophy of such depth.
With wisdom and tranquility in your breadth
Life taught us to persist in the face of hardship.
To sustain balance while still preserving worship.
Maintain calmness under challenging conditions.
Surmount your inhibitions and avoid suspicion.
And to welcome fulfillment with dignity.
Handle highs and lows with stoic sympathy.
Stoicism, truly, provides solace and calm.
A way of living that allows us to fully qualm.
How? By concentrating on our inner proclivity.
And shedding our bonds is an act of loyalty.
We are liberated from the bonds of conflict.
And accept a promising, significant life profit.
The Stoic Way is a philosophy with lofty stature.
steers our deeds into an improved, sound future.
Integrity and prudence in the face of misfortune
To mold ourselves and have a vital life and fortune.
Dawn
hopeful, expectant
tantalizing, exhilarating, inviting
friends, citizens, government, politicians
inciting, embezzling, dictating
greedy, covetous
Darkness
Her lust for you is fierce.
She spreads it out before you
as if it were a lavish bridegroom’s dinner
of caviar, oysters and shrimp;
spears of warmed asparagus and
artichokes stripped of leaves to dip in luscious butter;
truffles too with fragrant muskiness;
all foods of succulence - inciting appetite.
Her tender lips are moist - champagne to further whet desire.
Entreating you to take your fill, she whispers in your ear,
“Partake of me, my love. Take more and more.”
As you imbibe her and consume her,
your feeding frenzy peaks
when she offers from her fingers- sweetest fruit:
honeyed figs with cream, peaches, plums, and kumquats;
and one red well-ripened berry.
Utterly sated,
drunk from delectation;
motionless, you lie upon your bed.
And when your eyes move rapidly
beneath their heavy lids,
she slides her body carefully off yours,
slips back into her gossamer gown,
hastens on tiptoes to the door; turn the knob;
and without looking back,
steps into the blackness of the night.
You'll waken and want to feast again
but find that she has parted.
(to banquets such as hers,
one rarely is invited more than once).
And so you'll live and love,
knowing that you can never resume -
a coupling so completely gratifying.
Your passion was consumed in
your consuming of this goddess
who takes from men again. . . and again
But the nourishment that she requires
must always be fresh,
and that is what
eternally
sustains her.
A Revised Oldie for the Heart of Seduction Poetry Contest of Justin Bordner
AMERICA, OH AMERICA
America, oh America, the mother of Exiles,
Mighty woman with a torch,
Towers high as a top notch
Whose flame is the imprisoned fire
With conquering limbs empire,
Astrife from kingdom to kingdom
Aiming to regulate the world's freedom
Fooled the world, psychopathic savagery
Comes a nightmare nation's can't win. Sadly
Inciting the world's pain
Just for a self-centered gain.
Why enforce anti-coronavirus vaccine
To reduce the world strain
And population via an epidemic never seen
Earth quacking, nation's unconscious
Micro chip initiative, a sociopathic barbarism,
5th Generation arising but the world is suspicious
Now terrorism unites the Christians and every Muslim
Illuminati illuminating ill-boding injuries
With unimaginable wealth and affluence,
Obsession for power and control influence
Implementing the Luciferean agenda,
On a mission of no retreat no surrender,
Initiating a Bill through the Gates,
Deaths baits? Well, we will willingly wait.
Bill's Billions breeding bioactive vaccines,
Satan launching his arsenals and machineries,
Forby mendacities leading to deadly advancement,
Deceitfully enforcing a One World Government
Suggestively and opinionatedly by Pope Francis
Preparing the ground for the Antichrist menace.
"In God We Trust" means God's own country
Now oridinary a slogan to all and sundry,
Deviated from the Godly path of ancestors & esteemed,
No more the dream the dreaming dreamers dreamed.
America, oh America!
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © 8th April, 2020.
"Where flowers bloom, there is color, beauty and fragance, adding joy to life"~ By Poet
My garden now presents a lovely scene
So colorful with flowers unfolding their immaculate petals
And greeting me every morning
In varied shape and size and in sparkling shades
Among them are soothing little white flowers
Which open themselves at night in the lunar light,
Sensual red roses, multi shaded orchids
Flowers of pastel hues, colorful adeniums
And jasmines on creeping stems,
Intertwined and inseparable
Which send out a spray of heady aroma
When the gentle breeze sweeps past them
There are Bougainvillea’s of red, purple, and orange shades
Reflecting the iridescent colors of a setting sun
Rightly called paper flowers with their light weight
And lack of softness and synthetic appearance
These flowers, like torn pieces of crepe paper
Fly about with every sweeping wind,
Landing down scattered here, there and everywhere
Inciting mischief, but causing no harm
Pentas of lavender and white shade are seen
Nodding at butterflies wishing to be kissed and wooed.
Along with flowers grown in pots and soil
There are lovely water lilies in my little pond
Flowers brighten the indoors and outdoors
Lifting our mood and giving us immense joy
Oh Lovely maidens, you are one of a special kind
You bloom and smile for everyone to enjoy
But aren’t you there in my small garden,
Staying regal and proud especially for you and me?
When Summer starts her transitory reign,
King Sun, her beau, has steadily ascended,
brightening a sky that, for a time,
shall be his lovely mistress’ domain.
He reaches out his welcoming warm rays
across the span of Summer’s first official day,
lengthening them just as far as he is allowed
so he may well receive his paramour,
enveloping her in the fullest of his golden grand embraces.
But when night descends, Sun’s power wanes.
His wife, a goddess, the fair and steadfast Luna,
arrives to spell her king,
along with her attendants, a host of radiant stars.
Meanwhile, Mistress Summer softly slumbers,
faintly breathing out the warmth that Sun has wrapped her in.
So even in the dark’s coolness, she prevails.
In the dewy dawn, when she awakes,
Summer sees the beauty of her lover’s light and eagerly,
she spurs her King Sun on.
No two were ever so well-matched as these,
for both heat up the days with their consuming ardor
till the time of the equinox
when Summer is exiled for nine months,
to have her rebirth in the following year.
And year after year, for what could be eternity,
Sun bides his time, for he has many lovers. . .
But as lovers go,
it’s Summer who’s most expert at inciting the passion in his soul.
by andrea dietrich/ Motif is nature. Also romance
For the Impress Me Contest III of Giorgio V.
“THE APPEAL of the SEA” ©
The troubled torrents upon the beach pour
Constantly claiming the sands of the shore
Vexed for good reason with purpose assured
Pounding and thrashing some threats are here stored
Restless in action and heady with need
Racing so often much creatures to feed
Dashing & splashing inciting some fear
Meanwhile inviting to those with more dare
Roaming all over companion the sky
Giving all color no matter how high
Crashing & churning with consummate ease
All as if playing or perhaps in tease
Shifting & prancing is just to get back
Sustaining the life with all it may lack
All finding succor in shallow & deep
Determined by nature each one to so keep
Ebbing and flowing is one & the same
Feeding all nations in His Holy name
Moving forever as if in a dance
Honoring nature not merely by chance
Shimmering often pervasive in sleep
Still holding your stare while yet dancing deep
Embracing rivers regardless of state
Where else could they go before it’s too late
They too conspire to dump more than silt
Aided by humans who bear the most guilt
Were it to be steady as lying in bay
Then all would be lost to rot & decay
Not only its tantrums will it best be known
But giving with pleasure for life to be sewn
We should be caring for both land & sea
Long taken for granted by both you & me
C-More ®
Lincoln never imagined
today’s white victim zeitgeist,
pouting persecuted supremacists,
their clenched jaws and fists.
Civil war rages in limbic memory.
Encoded somewhere,
the panic attacks and mirages.
Nobody is qualified because everybody is responsible.
So many whites have graduated from the struggle,
showcasing their diploma from the mill.
Lincoln never imagined
modern virtual vitriol,
merciless memes lashing out at specters,
infusing, inciting depravity among the sleep deprived.
These words are battleships aimed at the reviled.
The unshielded summon civility.
They beckon familiar principles.
But rabid cougars wait in hiding, eager to pounce.
All the feeble markets for platitudes have failed,
as subliminal cavities endure each generation.
Mental lynch mobs, rebel flags, supremacy’s utopia.
Lincoln never imagined
a 21st century cartoon president,
a white nationalist clicking social network epithets,
a whining overgrown tormenter
with a cult of Stalinist believers.
Where are the intelligible?
How is all this animated fury converted?
What is the lesson plan?
Who will bury the code?
How long this agonizing journey into normality?
Lincoln never imagined.
Published Tuck Magazine 04/ 2019
At times I write my verse in rhyme
So rhythmic words may travel time
My hope is that they will endure
E'en though my name remain obscure
The clouds had cleared, the moon was bright
Illuminating thoughts, at night
Abounding from both near and far
They paused to watch a shooting star
I watched until it left my sight
It led me down this path tonight
Into a realm of secret dreams
It's gate unlocked by gold moonbeams
All sounds of night, in silence slept
When from a corner murmurs crept
From darkness voices came to me
In moments of insanity
I heard a moving epitaph
A voice spoke on his dog's behalf
Another had a light brigade
It questioned, "Did their glory fade?"
I heard a drunken miller's tale
The voice a faint and distant wail
A female voice was underlying
She asked if I heard children crying
Above it all, I heard a prayer
Irreverent laughter everywhere
Yet all at once, still making sense
Each speaking with such eloquence
They left as quickly as they came
Somehow their presence left a flame
Inside me it began to burn
Inciting me to read and learn
There'll be no engraved slab nor bust
No urn of ash, to gather dust
The Abbey will not house my bones
Among the poets 'neath the stones
But still I write my humble rhymes
Within their classic paradigms
In hopes that someday, one will read
And thoughts of mine will plant a seed.
by Daniel Turner
The writing is on the wall.
The writing is on the wall, an old saying used even until today
for those found lacking or deficient, Divine judgement is on the way
It means that there has been a weighing done on the scales of justice
by an impartial God who knows us, and the good or bad we practice.
The writing is on the wall even today, in our ultra modern society
for those who choose critical and independent thinking, instead of piety
for those who deny there is a God, or who simply worship in their own way
for those whose judgemental hypocrisy is super abundantly on display
The writing is on the wall, for all warmongers filled with nationalistic hate
For all those inciting our youth to violence, malevolent voices that resonate
The writing is on the wall, for those who say good is bad, and that bad is good
and for those who kill the innocent child, it's well deserved and understood.
Writing on the wall comes from the Bible Daniel chapter 5 where the Babylonian King is judged by God's handwritten cryptic message on the wall. The prophet Daniel interprets the writing and the King was killed and replaced that same evening. Consequently the expression the writing on the wall portends judgement and destruction.
John Derek Hamilton
April 19, 2016
An Abecedarian Spring
Against the graying beard of winter
Buds push defiantly through the
Crush of weakening ice,
Daring to challenge the strength of,
Entertain the possibility of a
Failing winters frosted farewell.
Golden warmth seeps into the folds of
Hardened soil melting its resistance,
Inciting the seeds of a rebellion.
Jester Jonquils dance in the snow
Keeping time to the icicle drip,
Leaves, long fallen, are consumed
Manna dropped from heaven,
Needs met in Karmic peace.
Overhead, a shadow-less hawk
Preys on the hope of dawn,
Quietly riding its warmth.
Robins begin the search for a
Suitable neighborhood,
Turtles climb warily to feast
Upon the hatching swarms.
Visitors returning
Warm themselves in the soft
Xanthic shades of sunrise
Yielding to the innate
Zen of Spring.
2/13/2015
submitted to – Abededarian – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Shadow Hamilton
Axe the old Don, a trump peter n piper
of incredulous hellish crud - be gone
ha air brushed pompous ****
Sunkist in Macy's window
then like a jackal hound, he doth run
after public outcry yelps
for his hide leaving
proletarian discord re: pyrrhic victory won.
Donald Duck Trump ™$ - a pompous ass
makes war with his big brass
knuckles and bucket of crass
maligns vis a vis character assassination
while kissing thing kith
darting forked tongue sharp as bro kin glass
inciting banal deathly hallowed
expletives toward lass
sees – especially Fox Television
news anchor woman Megyn Kelly
(quite so many ill mannered indiscretions ago)
inducing said personality
to bear the brunt of brutish mass
of vitriolic n vile insults sacrilegiously
maliciously, noxiously, opprobiously
incriminating, hellaciously,
desecrating opportunistically as hiss oh piss
so…NO amp pull VOTE of confidence from me
(thus far ohm host halfway to 2020 election
toward such a volt char quite rude, snooty
arrogant simian with sass.
I van (terribly hard pressed)
to describe while sitting on me rump
how he oh bomb in lee rages
gnashing false teeth
Wilma backside doth slump
still blasting Democratic nomination
(pa hill a reed) as sham –
from special interest bro and sis turn pump
he, the epitome of
crass bloviation, a malignant lump
whose rants,
sans presidential outcome a shame
bullying with his millions beds this,
that and another woman to bareback jump
disseminating gene pool
birthing more Quakers
and additionally doth hump
the mass media as some foolhardy charade
and caricature of a frazzled grump
this arboreal clothed ape erected Taj Mahal
phallic symbol, where players dump
and gamble away hard earn cash
for his kitty, as if that cachet
to grind and bump
lambasting with maniacal
like "Stormy Dan" yells
leering oafish ill pout
while hair rum
(of red follicular) bulls ad hocks
atop his bulbous aerosol sprayed locks
resemble a flock
of bronzed sea gulls mocks
heady measly shaped Muppet Ox
dis eased cranial hologram shocks
of a cretaceous, facetious tocks
(sic) exogenous, insidious, and obstreperous vox.
Her language drips with intelligence
The slow drizzle of innuendos
and proclamations from which
she speaks is like witnessing
stalagmites and stalagtites
finally touching as if
each syllable was measured
by a drip
so edifying
And it's not just what she says
but how her lips catch the light
of a candle glow
and how the corners of her mouth
dance with her dimples,
her essence is edible
quite incomprehensible
how one can starve
by tasting it
I love every morsel,
every crumb that falls haphazardly,
to the floor, jealous of the way,
her tongue can be so judgemental,
inviting then inciting, enveloping
making me wish I had
lettered in spiritual dynamics.
I would have been a star
without ever touching a ball.
Her hello, and me running a million miles
in my mind trying to think of some other word
that rhymes with this title
other than bed...
I am fed
Looking deep into your invitingly,
warm, brown eyes, I suddenly felt
intoxicated, as if I were drunk,
Drunk, dizzy, and unbalanced,
Unbalanced, I stumbled right into an
old tree,
Tree, it wasn’t any old tree; it was
the tall palm tree, our secret meeting
place.
Place, a heart-shaped rose garden,
where endless hours of daydreaming
and making plans,
Plans of things and places we
would visit and explore,
Explore and wander through some
of those great cities around the
world,
World! That wonderful world was our
dream. How nice if I could return to
those old, carefree, lazy days.
Days where we could just lay in the
warm tropical sun, listening to our
favourite love songs, enjoying the
cool sea breeze, oblivious to time,
drifting us right into
sunset,
Sunset worked its magic on our
souls, inciting feelings of romance,
Romance, throughout our romantic
phase, you were thoughtful and
generous, and always did everything
with great love.
Love, our love was blooming
beautifully like a Rose garden in
Springtime,
Springtime sadly doesn’t last forever,
Forever wasn’t meant for you and me,
Me and you, it was our destiny to
meet and then part,
But alone and abandoned, I could
never be, for in my heart,
Those unforgettable memories of
the “us” dwell in a perpetual embrace,
undisturbed in eternal bliss.
By Zyrool