Best Instigating Poems
I have the rhythm of a winding road
how do I consign myself to being confined...
rows of poplar pillars prop
rendezvous canopies beneath we meet
—I self-cajole on ooh-la-la afternoon
yellow eyes; daffodils watching
lean into gossip groups nodding
a prodding breeze instigating deep-freeze—
I am a sweet weed in this place of sway and betray
with a stranger I stroll my arranged betrothed
height of his black top hat challenges trees
much like Corinthian columns
guards of an aisle I must walk —dear God! must walk
trepidation trips down my bridal spinal column
tiger eyes; lilies watching wish they were me
dare they dream they could uproot their roots like me
wish they could wedding waltz like I must —like I must
but their envy-leaves remain embrace-less
—I secretly envy lilies’ arms empty of yet unmet love
daffodils; empty-headed —laugh
they try to read my mind to fill their own
what do I care of their curdled thoughts lemon tart
and orange lilies’ with their brocade brimstone
what do I fear of fire-breathers burn of words
undergrowth feels the square heels of my lace-up boots
post impression grows more expressive than first—
beware French tongues of sundew and burdock burr
marriage-carriage rolls in ruts to Versailles
where my coerced corset of hooks and ties lie
rhythm of a winding road dies in minuet strangle-hold
The Dark Side of October
Late October moon is waking, through this cemetery shaking,
shaking as the cold wind breaking, walking ‘neath an old oak tree.
Stones like sentries undertaking, guarding graves as hearts are aching,
aching for the still ones staking, such an eerie sight to see –
dark and dreary, I’m so leery, such an eerie sight to see –
is this but a reverie?
In the graveyard shadows shimmer, dark of night is growing dimmer,
dimmer still without a glimmer, shadows ‘round the old oak tree.
Shadows dancing ever nearer, nearer still and getting clearer,
clearer like distorted mirror, twisting ghastly sight to see –
growing vastly, looming lastly, such a ghastly sight to see –
certainly a reverie?
Piercing sounds are penetrating, ear drums deafening pulsating,
ringing louder, devastating, echoes off the old oak tree.
Echoes bouncing screeching grating, ever louder agitating,
instigating, fears creating, from this ghoulish sight to see –
Am I mulish, maybe foolish, such a ghoulish sight to see –
surely just a reverie?
In the dark my head is spinning, round and round these sights imprinting,
fusing on my brain beginning, questioning my sanity.
All these sights and sounds are weighing, weighing as the ghouls are playing
playing as they do their preying, preying on my vanity –
I am praying, ghouls are swaying, preying on my vanity –
have I lost my sanity?
Eerie night just seems persisting, lasting as my mind is twisting,
waiting for daylight’s assisting, lighting up the old oak tree.
Eerie sights and sounds now fading, dark of night for daylight trading,
light of day is now invading, leaving me to clearly see –
seeing nearly, life so dearly, oh so clearly now I see –
must have been a reverie…..
or have I lost my sanity?
July 26, 2018
When one feels like an Outcast, one can over compensate
In ways that are extreme to try and change their fate.
This can make them do things others cannot relate to,
If they know not of such pain one suffers through.
When one is on the outside, always looking in,
Self worth and confidence, existence of is thin.
This aloneness bearing compels the affected heart
To seek ways to be accepted if only just in part.
Often unconventional are the ways selected
And so, often too are the ways by most rejected,
Which then leads to a deeper desperation
Of longing to belong to end the separation.
Extreme behaviours can be of good or bad intention,
But either way they are to seek and to draw attention
To the fact that inside of their instigating heart,
There is a place longing to belong, a very empty part.
Many folks are heartless, cruel, insensitive;
Shun, disown others who unlike them, live.
With those who are different in various ways,
Judgment's cast on through obvious displays.
If one hasn't ever been on the outside looking in,
They can't understand how one's feeling deep within
Who has lost their self confidence, esteem, even worth,
And will even question why, the reasons for their birth.
We live in a cruel world where more and more are mean,
Where more and more care not, it's such a selfish scene.
More find reasons to use differences to others, cast aside,
Than find reasons to in harmony live peacefully and reside.
Too many humans blame those who different from them live
To excuse their bad behaviour for kindness they don't give,
But this reflects on 'them' poorly; they're just too ignorant to see.
Those with malice who are so callous, the Outcast, they should be.
Written by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
©2016-11-13 06:58:00 (EDT)
All rights reserved.
It's good to keep in mind...
"Mature people are inspired;
Immature people covet what's desired."
~ Artsieladie Quote
S - Stunning
P - Proverbial
R - Regalia
I - Instigating
N - Nature's
G - Glory!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
17 March 2019
The Color of Oppression
They trespassed into the motherland bearing nothing but unknown gifts to our small minded leaders
Bartered with them for valuables far exceeding what they could offer in exchange
They drew on masks to conceal their fascist ideals towards us; they pretended to be our friends
Fake smiles were displayed as they greeted us, smiles that concealed their wicked hearts from our midst
My ancestors impressed by sugar, clothes, bibles, and rum sold their people for meager goods
Un-broadened minds restricted by sacred traditions, if only they knew
If only they knew what hell these white demons could bring, the hatred they harbored
They practiced mathematics on us as they divided my people
Our traditional setting, our cautious nature, our yet to be broadened minds
We fell victim as they did what aliens do to conquests…… Brain washed us
Like mineral resources my people were exploited, our minds filled with ethnic propaganda
They whispered lies we believed, lies that dampened our free spirits, and lies that chained our hearts
They imposed slavery, stole our riches with colonialism, imprisoned our minds with imperialism
Decades my people lay captive, their hearts beating to a common voice
A booming call was cast across the motherland; a call for freedom was issued
My people`s hearts became a group of lions, their hearts swelling with pride
White is the color of those who started the first and second world war
White is the color inflicting social injustice, instigating a social stereotype
White is the color of the truly wicked, the color of the third Reich
White is the color of the ashes left behind in Hiroshima and Nagasaki
White is the color of those who lynched my American brothers and sisters
White is the color of the Nazi and the Ku Klux Klan
Yet white is ironically the color of peace, love and tolerance
White is the color of shameful men, the color of a cancer with no treatment
White is the color of those whose power is dwindling with each decade
White is the color of the weak
White is the color of those drained of life, those ruled by death
White is the color of those defeated by true freedom
love
warm exciting
inviting enticing intoxicating
suffocating down grading instigating
cold vengence
hate
WHO was the dastard - Moriarty again?
WHAT was the reason for kidnapping Watson, my friend?
WHEN did Moriarty strike?
WHERE could Watson be?
WHY is Moriarty always instigating dastardly deeds?
5-W's contest
Seventh Place
Beside Every Iridescent Node Grows
Beauty, Eyeing, Instigating, Nodding Gracefully.
Bounty Energizes Inundating Nascent Growth.
Brilliant Emerald Ignites Newborn Grains.
Bathers Each In Nuance Gather.
Beyond Eternity, Infinite Night Gropes.
Beside Emerging Isotopes Nonchalantly Grasping
Bottle-necked Entities In Nature’s Great
Beneficence Engages Ideology's Non-sequitur
Givers.
Bare endings. Idols Neglected Gape.
Basking Ecclesiastic Idiosyncrasies Nascent Glow.
Because Each Idol Names Great
Beauty. Effigies, Itinerant Namesakes, Grin.
Beside Each, I Narcissus' Grow.
being being being being being being being
First Published in Femmewise Cat
Every time the night comes,
Cutting me from beauty of the colourful world
Making my eyes flatter within empty space
Polished with darkest feelings
That prevents me from seeing beyond the river,
Where lies flora and fauna
Pigmenting the view like in the old choral days
Making the soul remain peaceful
Blood to flow freely and happily to the heart,
To deal with fear of unknown
Travelling with darkness of the night
Instigating the need to go up to the sky,
Ask the sun not to go away
Stay with me round and round the circle
Till I get to understand the night better.
Creative Process
Can I really write something astounding, grand, and glorious?
Reality should be a part of all I consider when approaching a theme.
Events often drive and form the poetic fabric of what we write about.
Avenues of passion and emotion pervade our conscious thoughts.
Taking our thoughts, fantasies, metaphors to the readers are essential.
Instigating or arousing excitement makes verses interesting to read.
Viewing themes from a detached perspective gives us variety in discourse.
Every idea or theme is considered fair game when we poets write.
Poetry is a sublime medium for relating themes to human circumstances.
Rigid ideas and concepts can be artistic with the right nuance and metaphor.
Onomatopoeia is expressive sound imitation of words used for poetic effect.
Creativity forms the very warp and woof of what we do as poets and writers.
Exceptionalism is an attitude helpful to poets as we focus on what is unique.
Syntax is the structural medium for how we write and express ourselves.
Sensitivity is an attribute essential to how poets evaluate their themes.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved - May 1, 2015
(Acrostic)
*This poem appeared in my new book with a release date of February 7, 2015
Magically magical eyes,
Instigating skipped heart beats, while
Showcasing her own unique style,
Sparkle like the stars in the skies.
Truly, her beauty helps her rise
Instantly, carried by a smile,
Noticed from the furthest of miles,
Kept up on the highest of highs.
Exhuberant minds, hearts, and souls
Rise to the occassion, on wings
Built for angels with earthly goals.
Enchanting moments often bring
Levels of learned poetic roles,
Like the one that made my pen sing.
Hidden Agenda
Fighting hard to maintain
Instigating while, hesitating on that last breath, on that last breeze.
Taking all things with ease
Thought of as a dream lost in a tease
Staring in to the depth of the night skies
Where there is no time for disguise or sleep
Man eyes creep, others crawl.
How steep is the climb.
Sublime is how it felt when moving in stealth, chasing the dream of wealth
Flying high above the clouds, like a trustee of adjudication.
Encompassed by that fascination of procrastination when falling to the ground in defeat. Please, place a blockade on this terror. Lost souls, but still so much to gain.
Slain in its rapture of pain. Wondering was it all left to chance or lost in vain.
Hidden in plain visual sense. Now lets commence and forget about the suspense.
It's here!
Darius Howard
like wisps of smoke whispering, flickers hope whistling, to misty hopeless whimpering
physically choked sickened, with too much oh no, sunny gone, downhill, wrong side like mono, life can be so cold, I heard the oboe solo, in the motherland flute plays you, ways of making waves and rays when oceans arent blue, monochrome foam the root here not beer shaking up a flurry of sparkles, tears in snow globes, three cheers I don't know, cause bliss can be addicting fixed on asphyxiating whilst in a mix of medicating, anything to ease what my pain is instigating, kill the messenger cause telephones are useless as they are insinuating
i'm tired of these boys that aint no good
i'm tired of these boys that aint goin nowhere, ghetto for life, no further than the
hood
i'm tired of these boys poppin females off and goin to jail
i'm tired of these boys that get out and continue to sale
i'm tired of these boys tryna be pimps, playas, hoes
got the nerve to call us runners, and they pros
i'm tired of these boys thats fine, all in theyself, wasteing our time
im tired of these boys fake blinging, drama bringing, heart breaking, time
wasteing, good looks, wrong attitude, not all that and still rude
im tired of these boys that cant take no for an answer
im tired of these boys that girls are chasing after
filling up their head, got them thinking they whats it
comin at me like their a priviledge
im tired of these boys life about gettin high
im tired of these boys that got the upper hand and choose to die
im tired of these boys thats triffalin, rivalin, killen they own, talk stuff, hang on
corners, always drunk
im tired of these boys that wanna be thug, buck, talk to much, got big heads, little
gut
always who's the man, high fives cuz yo hit that ass, you got hers dont mean you
gone get mine
im tired of these boys thats immitating, irritating, aggravating, instigating,
munipulating, humiliating, degrading, betraying, lover claiming, lust gaining,
coochie fienen, disease springing, baby creating, drug related, dumb but
educated
im tired of these boys that see the street life exciting and the ones that think
there's no other road
i understand it's not easy growing up in the ghetto world
but while you were taught to sale, deal, smoke, drink, drugs
while you were taught money, streets, attitude, gangs, thug
while you were taught babies, babymamas, sex, drama
while you were taught pimps, playas, hoes, who's the man
try to learn how to be a man
my ladies are tired
so much precious existence
found me rooted with mouth ajar
as sigh asper the dentin-cementum
so mud dear reader (with dem perfect
enameled pearly whites), aye har bar
envy for those with a complete set
of eight incisors, four cuspids (i.e. canines),
eight bicuspids, and twelve molars
(including four wisdom teeth) tabulating
many hours in the car (engendering
saddle sore bony tuckus)
plus regarding chunk whereat,
pernicious cementum funk
viz distraught psyche, when muss self as a lil monk
key decades after being examined
by family dentist Doctor Marcus (NOT WELBY),
excellent practitioner (button irate pulp pill
people ' especially children) eater – the grump,
whose private practice located
in Levittown, Pennsylvania,
and when prepubescent underwent
pertinent more explicit focused
intense noninvasive procedures
asper subsequent cause of speech impediment
determined why air didst jump
thru nostrils, (speech therapist at Henry Kline Boyer),
neither thin nor plump
informed parents
of Lancaster Cleft Palate Clinic –
fifty plus miles one direction),
where chief prosthodontist
Doctor Mohammad N. Mazaheri, DDS, an Iranian
whose expert reputation, sans strict manner didst trump
his aura, karma evincing clipped commands
forceful as a vocal whump
before launching into meat and potatoes
of crux comprising real aim
constituting modus operandi
(and cresting away from details indirectly tide
into main intent, nobody aye blame)
for thine dental debacle quandary
(managed by gumshun,
whereby eons hyperbolically toted beyond google),
and despite the optimistic stance
wool worth anesthetized numb skull claim
nascent malocclusion faintly affecting,
hinting, pointing toward Periodontitis
(despite diligence attending to oral hygiene frame)
the manifestation of major looming crisis compromising,
forgoing, instigating, et cetera loss of teeth,
this (after agony in league with separate occasions
twice wearing braces, concomitant Extractions
of wisdom and removal of crowdsourcing –
closeup toward the front of mouth teeth - game