Best Inversely Poems
I dream poetry;
I breathe poetry, for poetry
calls your name, feeling your
inerrant essentia—
your soul bleeds into mine—
a collision of cosmos,
diffused magnetically, once
a vagrant in a haze of miasmic
vapors—wildered and exposed—
you unshackled me from
this purgatory;
inversely immersing me in
your sphere of solace, and
blooming artistry,
lulling the vast polarities
splintering each layer of my veracity.
I dream poetry,
for your love drizzles
burgeoning constellations, amid
rosette sepals galvanizing my
orphic nuclei, with
every spark we sigh,
tethered to the infinite composition
of our unwavering love compellingly,
beyond heaven and earth,
devoted to you—
your fallen star; no longer silent, circling
nocturne arias entwining our destiny.
Stands on the land of heterodox
Who's the mightiest God of all?
People live and die on their equivocation thoughts
Those who exclaimed about the God who never fall
Inversely proportional to what they always do
Who's the mightiest God of all?
Seekers, believers, heathens and philosophers with their point of view
All still seeks for the truth and uphold one they call peace
Inversely proportional to what they always do
Compiling the ideas piece by piece
Who are we without all these idealism?
All still seeks for the truth and uphold one they call peace
At the end world leads to anarchism
They failed to adhere what they create
Who are we without all these idealism?
The idea of God and religion become skeptical trait
They failed to adhere what they create
Stands on the land of heterodox
People live and die on their equivocation thoughts
*This poem inspired by the contest that held by Richard Lamoureux, which I failed to join, but somehow I come up with this idea. Thank you for the inspiration :D.
I wonder who I am sometimes, what seems to be a universal phenomenon. As everyone remains looking to be someone other than themselves, because those who are themselves are persecuted and dreams hung on the cross by society.
But as I wonder the colorful atmosphere of those around me tend to judgingly remind me exactly who I am and what I’m capable of accomplishing.
Because they assume before they even get the chance to know me, my story, why I act, talk, or dress different, why I smell another fragrance, perceive, taste, and feel the world inversely.
Under my skin they shoot before they ask, a trigger finger itching as the deadly explosion blast piercing the body of another innocent soul. Slavery is illegal now but we still hang.
Hang pictures up of loved ones taken through an unjust act, if you listen closely you can still hear the sound of invisible shackles as I walk and fall to my death…click clack, clic clac, click…a heart beating but dead now the heart no longer beats…
Under my skin if I put my hoodie up I might as well wear a mask, to hide the sinister agenda people assume I carry. Sometimes I just want some shade to block out all the negative rain on a summer day.
And when I succeed they assume I’m cheating, because my plateau has no high point or high ground. I’m a flat line, dead to success, and they put me here.
It’s a little misleading when all your hard work just falls off the deep end, because they look at you as if you have a red hand or you’re the bandit.
And if I bought it I could never own it because under my skin without acting I’ve already sinned.
How can you win when you can’t control the end?
All I can say is never stop praying and keep grinding until the end, because God controls the future. So never let someone else control you through “You cant’s or you’ll Nevers.”
P.S. I am black lives, THIS IS JUST A POST SCRIPT.
She covets luxury so unprecedented
especially a lingerie made by a thousand hands
with sparkling diamonds out of bounds to human sight
and covers made out of a century of crafting.
He wants a green eyed Caucasian female
with typical African voluptuous curves
and an Asian radiance and rare brilliance
rendering an unthinkable level of submission.
They want a colourful and commanding job
giving a bank-staggering salary which is inversely proportional
to its official tasks and responsibilities but go hand in hand
with luxurious benefits and jaw breaking allowances.
We want a locality made up of
Australian cities, the British police and German manufacturers;
Swiss leadership, Chinese flowers and Italian designers;
French delicacies, American entertainment and the wealth of Arabia.
Thus the world of our fantasies is limitless
and the map of our imaginations is borderless and endless
even as our wishes and good life temporarily date,
we should always shake up the senses
to the realization of the actual existing world
while we pursue in all honesty, the one’s within our reach.
written on the 6th of January 2016
sponsor- Broken Wings
As dawn it roosts, to the early lids of my opened eyes,
Never ever has been a happy feeling pleasant comprise.
Quinquennium back I can clearly remember,
The morning’s plea scalds my thoughts like burning ember.
My blanket festooned body, on the bed it stirs & moves,
The immensity of my drumming head, ever hopes it improves.
Rise as I to the early morn’s sunshine,
Try to smile and reminiscent, it’s surely futile to whine.
And so I sooth my dreary mind,
Impel the mind to elude dismal thoughts & unwind.
Alas! I’m timorous, those dull & dismal thoughts befall,
My mind ,now I know I need to overhaul.
To edify my mind I have to seek,
Muse must I, think ponder reflect every day of the week.
Tall happy positive thoughts I must now contemplate,
For these are those that will bring me peace and joy once they ruminate.
When I close my eyes to tardy nites,
Am gonna be happy at morn the thought itself excites.
A long dark shadow of doubt it always looms,
It’s foggy dawn and my dull thoughts they resume.
From dawn to dusk I carry on a low,
Pessimistic spirits, they make me slow.
Explicit thoughts are sought desired,
A sound body and mind are always admired.
Forlorn, behold it in my mind’s eyes,
Set tone the work ambience my passions cries,
Throttled are my dreams, dismayed are my desire,
And Brutus knife it’s uncouth edge stabs the back in holy attire.
In a Quinquennium span, and time it ran,
But my spirit at first light is like a weary man,
Now I cognize to him his destiny a bloom,
And to me my destiny untwined from his , so not to doom.
Must alter my retort to suit me fine,
And joyous days will transcend me to cloud nine.
Aghast I am for I have lost,
The crusade within me and am weary exhaust.
Forlorn I am to the day’s time,
Often mull are they my thoughts, that are all slime.
Forlorn I am to the nite’s time,
I know it’s time to clean up my heart’s grime.
Forlorn it will be till I inversely think,
From insanity, I’m now on its brink.
Forlorn ,I want to say good bye,
For many eons before I die.
What seemed an unrealistic painting has disappeared;
a sunset too beautiful to linger has gone to sleep.
Sadness is felt internally, amazement externally.
Use your imagination to reconstruct that blood-smeared sky;
you may perceive it differently from mine.
In each new season, it changes from azure to gray.
Livius, a small island, was once owned by the menacing Cyclopes;
whose greedy attitude the Sirens fiercely hated.
Too sorry for them who couldn't sing a merry note.
My determination to discover overrides a fright many cringed at;
I look beyond and all voices have ceased.
Something inversely imagined can become a real threat.
The limpid sea with shades of light green and medium blue glitters,
It's the same one that the Greeks beheld.
They settled here and started another Hellenic civilization.
The pungent smell of the lemons and oranges sweeten the salty breeze;
they are a testimony of a people tending their fertile land.
I am the observant of a scenery that others envy.
The Clothes Within My Closet
By Franklin Price
6/24/2016
The clothes within my closet
Are such a sight to see
They tell quite a story
About the history of me
The range of sizes offered there
Thirty-two to thirty-six
The lower's where it's happening
A snugly upper needs a fix
Exercise a little more
Get up and move around
Amazing how the sizes change
Inversely to the chewing sound
"Eric's Second Fundamental Theorem of Love"
by: Eric L. Boddie
Love is....two minds plus two hearts
It's you plus me to the first power, there's no division in this part
It's the sum of two Souls, this equation is the best
It's the quantity of you and I, minus all the rest
It's respect and compassion over spells and potions
It's when you divide all the negatives, and integrate the quotient
It's the only thing that's given in any ship's relation
And only a well-calculated attempt will balance It's equation
It's emotion and devotion intersected by stress and pain
And It's only calculated naturally so it always yields a gain
It's a bi-product of lust or sisters and brothers
And It is always squared in the eyes of a mother
It's Faith Times Forgiveness, The Product Of The Word
And in It's simplest form, the bees and the birds
It's my blood, sweat and tears raised to the power of you
And since we both give it to all, it is inversely received by just us two
It's the rate of instinct, the highest power of dedication
It's The Derivative Of God, our Angle Of Elevation
To me, It's only known as you, the constant known as my better half
It's not hard to figure out, are you ready to do the math
I walk alone on the street
Among the buildings in a queue
Among the cars running for pursuits
Among the subjects knowing not their names
And their thoughts by which they struggle for
The scene, they walk their own crowd
Aside from emotions, and smiles
They are idiots off-street
I walk alone in puzzlings for
As a kite flying among the birds
Or inversely the kite floating around
The upper and lower lines
We are walking longly on the glare
Into a scene that the person stare
A tiny glimpse of your face
Makes my soul
Blossom
From its roots
A casual gaze of your eyes
On my face
Makes my heart
Expand infinitely
You’ve lifted me
From the darkest pits
Of this ill-fated journey
That's long been taken
Falsely for life
At present
You've scanned
My entire being
To inversely transform it
To suit your
Mystic motives
and
You've taken
Complete ownership of my
Whole heart
With absolute authority
At present
You've fed my soul
With your blessed nectar
To merge it coherently
With your
Eternal heart
In this precious moment
An ultimate truth
Flashed into my conscience
Like a blissful lightening:
"All through my
Tedious voyages
With uncountable
Sharks and whales
And
All through my
Uncharted flights
With innumerable
Storms and hurricanes
You’ve been
My safeguarding angel
And my only goal
To be attained
To abruptly end this
Ultimate chaos
That's long been taken
Falsely for life!"
An abode, i have to hurry
early every morn
if not next part of diurnal
of constipation and gas i
shall mourn
so early or not, but squat
abreast with the open
windowed wall.
As the day proceeds
gravity pull for stool
becomes weak
is sun's heat inversely
proportion to gravitate
faeces?
Is the case same for nigh
by coconut trees?
Early the day, is there
more force for pickings?
Nevertheless, gravity
factor asks us not to
wake up late
gravity during morning in
toilet is always great.
A soul in flames daunting the discordant canvas, eradicating the supreme veil. To be
drenched in apathy coincides inversely with the stench of a bitter legacy. Severed
souls search asunder for a subversive scent, only to be oppressed in an overt art.
Begging death for a drenching darkness to obliterate this dire desolation. Complete
in nocturne this grotesque being of infinite hate commands coercively.
Hear the muttered snivel of our kids
Puked away to gloom, twinge and disease
Wrecked by creeds
To fulfill an antique mores
Whose ruin is beyond scientific darn
See the boulevards and the creeks
Before sight are male Mal-nourished toddlers
In rag togs, blistered feet, beseeching alms
And ingesting the remnants
From the poorest buffet
They toil in tackle capacity
Inversely allied to their weight
From sun rise to sunset
To earn much less than you
See the boulevards
How they stir; bunched
On the trot to any kind of dub
To good and to evil
Death becomes a familiar friend
At first light and at dark
From toil, food, water and sleep
Such a despicable way of live
But then the espoused antique mores, woes
Regenerated by ills of the society
To the blanketed vision of the moneyed
To plunge empathy and impious reliance of all
Can this be our way of life?
Trouncing fortunes to antique mores?
Reticence to rascality?
And nationhood to meanness?
Bedazzled in a opaque beauty, trapped deep within the colossal caverns of
senseless agony.
Lie await the nefarious to bestow, conjuring assailing flames.
The hindered habituated set free above all inversely to conquer, retake reality
the pulchritudinous moonwake captivates
inescapable
implicature is
inevitable
as our psyche thirsts for light
so poetry shines into the recesses
illuminates umpteen flaws
inversely
provides balm for forsaken