Best Intonations Poems
A whistling wheezing hamlet, whispering and emanating, tunes euphonic,
In a remote isolated valley, far-flung from the abode of the temporal,
Warbling quietly to whistle scads of tranquil cryptic songs;
Lying spasmodic, a sparsely inhabited mellifluous hamlet, Kongthong!
Not to hyperbole, a singing utopia, uncustomary to the core!
Where innate and mellow are the naive dwellers' rustic tinkling timbres!
A rover's riddle, the natives' pride, a unique heritage, their blissful strains!
Ringing with an ancient tradition of tune-giving in honour of the root ancestress,
Customary to the matrilineal surviving unknown folk of the thorp!
The chirping region's dispositions and practices outlandish, vague and obscure,
Primitive and bizarre, mere to merge with nature's absolute accord!
Voices buzzing in whistles, murmuring and chattering, lilting,
Arcane, pervading the virgin thicket of the sacred thorpe!
To entangle, passerby and wanderers in dream like metaphors!
Those magical murmurs in quirky tunes, mingling the breeze of the secluded hamlet, intoning own tinkles!
Blessed are the tuning terrain's offsprings, nameless!
Rared by ditties, hailed sacred by the clan's conviction!
Outlying, by the uninhabited enchanting wilderness of East Khasi Hills,
Sleeping quietly the untrodden, nature's lulling lullaby, the whistling Kongthong!
Yell! Immaculate and serene, the saga of their undeciphered airs, mumbling in exquisite ethos!
Inimitable and gripping to eye, how the denizens of the tribe,
Are crooning to dub and call each other by indigenous intonations!
Pitching and whooshing, to tune their melodic identities unique!
Whew! The picturesque terrain is tweeting, whooping, and whizzing!
Heaven! Bless anomalous nature's absolute pamphlet,
The ringing Kongthong, God's own whistling hamlet!
an orchestrated night glitters
to the wand wave of the maestro unborn
sweetness licks on liquorice sticks
fingered on silver keys
the moon melts like a honey drop
as sopranos sing
in harmony the coyote calls
base notes cajoled by passing horns
meld as cicada rub the reeds
legging each sharped phrase
with intonations of delight
Chiromancer
Placed inside some wisp of perfections chalice
The intonations gather which
The tears have shed
For gratitude released their happiness
I loved you some when in another life
Where the pink purple forest bows
Hung their silver leaven halls
In marble sunsets painted wash on cloistered walls
Their reminiscence of Arabian ankle bells
As you walked barefoot through blue grass fields
The moons luminescent as soft pale to your skin
Echo timeless on a blanket of stars
These iridescent reveries linger in cobweb threads
Set bejewelled in morning mist
They brush the glitter-frosted powder from your cheek
Dream you are awake, eternal, sleeping Princess
I love you this time in the calligraphies of ink
Kismat writ in both our palms lovers make
Standing on the water rivalled glitter of the sun
Falling maiden of the Crystal Lake
Should time bring chill the mountains to your feet
And shades drown the light of auburn hair
Remember me then; where your dreams began
I will always be waiting there
So etched in the fairy tale lines of our hands
Was a destiny life had just not planned
As we danced in the wake of hearts tidal wave
United some day to the promise we made some when
I love you next time in another life
Though in each time I have asked you to be my wife
The curious connections of infinite souls
Will never let you go
I love you this time in the calligraphies of ink
Kismat writ in both our palms lovers make
Standing on the water rivalled glitter of the sun
Falling maiden of the Crystal Lake
the ether is alive with oscillations
pulsations and electric frequencies
satellite and shortwave intonations
invisible, yet carried on the breeze
neutrinos and photonic modulations
infrared and x-rays, promptly spun
ultraviolet streams and applications
gamma rays and ions from the sun
ozone filled with radio transmission
microwaves pass thru us constantly
the residues of past nuclear fission
all that we have yet perceived to "be"
I've always had an issue with believing
the paranormal "ghosts" phenomenon
yet, with all the atmosphere's receiving
who am I to say what's here ... or gone?
~ 8th Place ~ in the "Ghosthunters And Spiritualists" Poetry Contest, Kevin Shaw, Judge & Sponsor.
"Though passing through sad and sombre times, let us be gladdened by the joy and peace Xmas brings"- by Poet
She felt the kicks, this time more intense
A mother’s primal instinct told her thus;
‘Can travel no further, need a place
To rest and ease your birth throes’
Mary and Joseph at last spotted a manger.
Temporarily secured from imminent danger
Sheltered from the gaze of the ruminating herd,
She delivered the babe when darkness still hovered
There lay on the hay, baby Jesus haloed in glory
The one who came to script a new story
Singing with cymbals on that wintry night
His birth was announced by angels bright
“Glory to God on high and peace on earth”
Its intonations creating rising waves of mirth
The shepherds, getting that message divine,
Came in hordes to behold the face benign
They knelt down and worshipped the King of kings
While seraphs hovered around on petite angel wings
On every Xmas, His nativity is duly remembered
And in all corners of the world it is joyously celebrated
On that night the star spangled sky glowed radiant
Sending out a light- luminous and lambent
All was bright and calm that serene night
A rare tranquillity drowning every nook in delight
Waving a magic wand, he has come to reign
To liberate mankind from the bondage of sin
Across the noise and strife of today’s weary world
A festive scene of celestial joy is unfurled
The peace of Xmas, as it sifts through the air
Fills each and every heart with overwhelming cheer
Placed First in the contest
Nov. 28, 2021
“X” Contest, New or Old Poetry
Sponsor – Constance La France
Where Has All The Beauty Gone?
There is no time like the now times,
The ever-present blood-swooshing times.
Time again to surrender as a smitten lover surrenders,
To the never-ending rhapsodies of erotic impulses,
Which exhale as a listless leviathan exhales,
Basking in the swishing waters off the windy capes,
Naked, but kept hidden, in the unknown anterior rooms,
Of a hundred dark mansions in the draping hollows,
Encased with ethereal atmospheres and essences,
In stony gold, glittering emeralds, and smooth diamonds,
All dazzling the senses with spurting explosions of light,
Of helpless exaltations and cooing astonishments;
Now they’re seeking the old nights and the old embraces
In the gaping moonlight, amid intense and timid arousals;
Their blinking black eyes squinting from behind the papered walls,
Of dustless airless rooms with drooping statues of dead poets,
Alive still as they rise again in mythic intonations,
Making suave movements with pointing soft fingers,
Upon the moist nape of blond submitting desires.
Watching in spirit now as they once peeped at lovers;
Peeping and prying and peering from behind infinitesimal holes,
Never seen before by the living or the bereaved,
Nor by the delirious or the unjustly defamed;
Now they just bite us, the souls of the dead boys in blue.
And they watch us from behind those bare walls,
Those breathing twitching snarling walls.
So, where has all the beauty gone?
By Vicki Acquah on Thursday, April 18, 2013
Prince Kennedy & Oladeji Vicki Acquah
Disappeared
We- are gone
diluted into oblivion
we have nothing left but our footprints
The handwriting is no longer on the wall
The noses are broken off
we are no longer us
Obscurely written out of
life's script, no future roles to play.
The primitive man and all modern
day caveman - and sand men have
forgotten the people of the soil-and
the trees and the water and the mountains
women behaving _nonchalantly___
as they watch -us being erased;
Written out of history.
What is left of us
we who write poetry
that does not impress wealth,
they eat, we die -- they drink
we go thirsty, they make
merry with their Dirty sex;
While we imitate our exterminators.
we disappear with
broken noses and borrowed hair
We are no more.
Our costumes died
then our children
with no past and no future
we are no more~~~~
Now that we are being
created by our scribes;
penned down ages before we could
realize that our solemn but
equivocal art, superimposed
with fervent sentences bore
more intonations & meanings
than maidenly sought;
We lie within our meditative silences.
Reminiscing the helter,skelter and
dither, through which our stories
were told in words.
While the strokes by our quills
fade & shiver to sheer posterity
but eventful mileages;
We beseech this forthcoming generation
To voice out in unison the
unfinished phrases, but clauses
yet again.We are now no more.
Although there were a few scattered
prospects yet to be achieved;
we lie abed not asunder,
With no regret or fear or whatsoever
We are no more.
Only in fiction shall we meet
To play our parts with unsung aptitude.
As our styles are pursued;
Until then, we are no more.
As life still beckons on
with trajectories being preached
but sold,We pray you, this age
that celerity & glee fuel your
palms but gumption's with
deepened emotions & thinking caps.
As the die is cast,
Till the results are known;
We are now no more!
Trying to understand:
in an information culture,
evocation is more important;
explicit saying counts against us.
People need to be well
into believing
being educated is more
than information:
less hypnotized
the incoherencies and
what they’re saying,
the musicality
of people’s voices
and intonations;
would get more
from them.
Effectively, psychoanalysis is
something other, not the coherences;
it listens for words
that are saying more,
It’s got something to do with being;
it’s a form of listening,
not distracted by incoherence
but evoked by it.
I’m sick of hearing that guns don’t kill --
Without an assault-style weapon in his hand
no bullets would have been fired in Uvalde, Texas.
Nineteen children would be alive and happy;
Two fine teachers would be grading papers!
Trample me down, if you really must,
but these children were blown away like wind picks up dust
and, as far as I can tell, those who could do something
have done nothing to stop it since Sandy Hook!
Shame on our state and federal legislators!
You commend the dead to the care of a heavenly father,
but you do absolutely nothing to stop the carnage!
I’m here to tell you, Jesus isn’t the answer. We are!
When I ask myself “What Would Jesus Do?” I know.
Jesus would say rid yourself of your precious toys, for they
are instruments of Satan!
I am appalled that so-called Christians,
who rage against abortion
refuse to support gun control, while assault-style weapons
are killing real live, human beings…not fetuses,
but our sweet, loving children!
Spare me your righteous intonations, for
until you see the problem for what it is
and do the right thing to stop the killings
they will proliferate and you are to blame!
Don’t pontificate and tell me you are pro-life,
for you are not!
You are not, I repeat.
If you were pro-life, you would be standing up for our kids,
You would be doing everything you can to protect them,
You would be supporting anti-assault weapon legislation,
You would be for confiscating them,
You would be for penalizing those who traffic in them.
Wake up and admit the truth,
Guns DO kill people…every day!
Written May 25, 2022
A Woman’s Voice
Enter the universe after the billions of eons
Girls grow from it on a song
Evolve with perfect sound and pitch into a woman
Their voice is everything the universe is not
Men adore the cosmic storm and war
But prefer the soft sensuous sounds
The perfect cure
Of a woman’s whispers in their ear
Music resonates from their lovely lips
Made in a mystery on the mist
A woman’s voice is softer than an ocean bed
Calms the fever born in nature
Tragic life is darker in the silence
Love and whispers fill in with sound
Warm kisses with the softest touch
Speak volumes when it's found
A woman’s voice fills in all holes
Lifts their song along the wind and void
Launched in laughter light escapes
Enters the soul and sooths
When women cry, babies are born
Both sing and feel the sound of warmth
Cuddle up beside the cozy fireplace
Mom reads stories in her gentlest intonations
Eons take us back to the creation
Melodies formed from that deep womb
A women’s voice is magic
Listen… It sounds like this
you stare ...
wink, and walk over to me
leaving your circle of admirers in disbelief
sullied manner, (and skin), of a Magdaline
prospect, differently indifferent
(a vestal view of Heaven)
faultless form, lulling the room with your sway
smile dressed in coral bows, blossomed
I say hello ... (hello back)
then stumble like a boy over the shape of your words
locution, sound, meaning - adrift
lost to the roiling sweep of new portent and sensation
pounding heart thrums my bones
coursing fevered arteries …
thoughts, a dervish of combustible ideas
bewitched - transfixed and hungry
and no focus but those bows -
the dewy fruits that frame your lilt smile, dancing hypnotically
curling, closing, pouting, pursing …
toying with each other, (and with my core)
o'er a glistening white chiclet expanse
speaking to me more of temptation and taste
than whatever words may be forming
(or whatever sound may be tangled in the air between us)
intonations I can NOT hear
for sake of what has become my sole pursuit
a crave, singular -
my adventure, sublime ...
your kiss.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 12" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
I'll hold fast, cling to the echo of your fading chime.
Remember the intonations of your wisdom, revel
in the moments that were a balm to my soul as it
was young, and breaking free.
Your blood still runs, in these veins..
alive in my journey.
My heart beats in rememberance,
the song of my ancestors;
I'll hold it here, in this blood
that you gave and know
that you are still with me.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
I searched for you through the endless expanse of night’s long blackness,
The shimmering light from a crescent moon offered little help in my quest for your elusive form. The pale light dimly lit inconspicuous objects and cast shadows of their beautiful contours upon the ground to thwart my pursuit at every turn.
Radiant eyes peered at me from within the cover of darkness,
And mysterious intonations and melodic resonance echoed into the night air, confusing my sense of direction until I was lost in a maze within your protective purlieu.
Fighting my frustration and fear that I may never gaze upon your majestic beauty, nor hold your rapturous warm body against my cool skin, or savor the taste of you on my tongue, I gathered what was left of my strength and resolve, and continued my silent pursuit.
Guided by my heart and uncontrollable emotions and hunger for you, I somehow broke free of the discountenance feints set upon me to mask your true course. The hunger within my heart and the vision of you brazed within my eyes, guided me toward your lingering essence and ultimately to where you now hide, deep within the confines of your sheltering den safely held tight within the cool moist earth.
As my long sleek form slithers into your place of refuge I strike and sink my teeth deep into your neck and as my coils embrace your supple body, I am overcome with powerful emotions emanating from your very being, and at that moment I knew my hunt was not in vain. To taste your sweet flesh wound be unlike any that has ever been known between predator and prey.
When Heidi Klum
Only the secrets of nights enveloping
Could hear the whisper
Heavy breath gasping
Heady whimper murmuring
The lover’s touch
A purring black panther
Set all at once to devour her
In tender mouthfuls
Of the Teutonic fruit
The flush of blond
And flare pink-rimmed nostrils
Heidi’s lips shivered
On sensual words uttered
Had she ever known such a brute of tenderness
Such dexterous intonations
Of his finger tips
Fire by a language inscribed on his tongue
She softly moaned…….
“C.h.r.i.s…s…s”.
And coil un-twine to the heat of flesh
She tore the night from sleeping swans
And ragged by her arching back
To a lover of such brute tenderness
She scavenged each caress
In a German poem that made the night blush
For surrender
While the ceaseless wave took her
On the dark velvet of his skin
The beauty she was; held forever
In the press embrace of his moonlit shoulders
Such a lover she had never known
A purring black panther devours
When Heidi Klum
I get jealous
over prose
who possess the room through her lips
phonetic,
white lightening,
kissing the air with their intonations,
evoking
my frontal lobe
with alliteration and rhythm
the shoes
upon which to stomp
my feet, my feet, my feet
aloft
this stomping ground
in my head
where I hunt the mush valleys
for
a single
lotus blossom
of inspiration.
If I could covet
this poet's thoughts
her words, her tone, her imagery,
my poetry beast
would awaken
and shake his mane
roaring.
Instead
I sit spellbound,
listening to her vowels and consonants
fall on the roof
of this auditorium like rain pings
on aluminum,
wondering
when her thoughts end
and mine begin.