Best Iver Poems
Come to the
River
Of my
Soulful
Sentiments
Meandering silently
Yearning for release.
Hasten
Earnestly
As my love flows by
Rushing through the flood-gates
To your heart.
-------------------------------------
Contest: 100 in a row # 10
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
BETH ? REST
UP
Fever - fever rest
feeever rest -
darling don't fight it - no don't fight it
I will lift you --------------------------------------
I will take you by the touch
no
don't
fight it -
BON IVER
CONCERT 10/7/2019
There was a bongoman, and he dreaming
Where the rock hovered above the blue sea
Looked through the white mist of a dew drenched morning
And clenched tight his memory of history
Black as midnight: showed me shining like day
Black Starliners, and his tears melted away.
Walk softly let me sing my song, redemption brings
The whip to silence and the heart to lift its wings
And then he laughed aloud, his heart beating
Drums like a flock of bird wings. This called me
Inexplicably to stand before him feasting
My eyes on his joy, and his tangled beauty
Of hair and form, without Samson's great flaws
I heard his covenant to Afric's laws:
No swine flesh in Selassie I temple
No labor for the rag of foul Babylon
Peace and love recovered of nature's principle
Keep's the dove in the flesh of the lion
Eating herbs as a lamb. And high above
The sea, the forest throbs with songs of love
He told his sorrows in Psalms recounting
Another's tragedy through which he claimed
His own, and whipped scuttled pride to rise surmounting
The shambled faith imposed on bodies maimed
By tyrant's culture and chains, to find
The cliff where Marcus Garvey led the blind
And made them see with power of his words
Towering Kilmanjaros of beauty
Breaking the sun, splintering its silver bright swords
Into strands, opening the majesty
Of wonders past on plain banana leaf
Feeding Anansi duckuno from grief
It does not matter anymore, the blames
The city lies upon his head; he cried
His tears for Babylon melting in oral flames
Bongo with Jah lives iver in the tide
Of Rastafari righteous inity
Behold the bongoman in divinity
I was late to school to know the bright lies
That silence permitted against his pain
The bongoman on the misty sea fastened his eyes
And searched for his Judah's Lion again
For out of him was life forever, dread
Life sweeter than the heaven of the dead.
And those ships, the angels of Marcus' dream
Make good covenant with the paucity
Of truth, and hold the bongoman in moonbeam
Dancing on rock point of belief, certainty
Mixed like bitter herbs in the ital food
Sweet as drums on the morning bright of mood.
I remember it like it was yesterday. I was probably twelve when Mr Kimball, who lived across the street, asked me if I had a bike. I said “no”, and he asked if I would like one. The answer was obvious. I followed him to the cellar where, leaning against a wall stood an old Iver Johnson bike frame with two flat tires and no fenders. It was beautiful. Mr. Kimball said if I wanted to fix it up, I could have it.
I wheeled it home, washed it, and painted it black. My dad and I removed the tires to reveal two rotted inner tubes. My dad said I would have to buy new ones and he would help me put them in. It took me two months, working two paper routes to earn the money necessary, but I finally had them. Good to his word, my dad and I put them in and used the old bicycle pump in the basement to inflate them. I cannot tell you the ecstasy and exhilaration I experienced the first time I rode that bike. It had multiple speeds, depending on how fast I could pedal.
I went everywhere on that bike. You seldom saw one without the other. I remember saving enough money to finally buy fenders. The were shiny chrome and I thought they were beautiful. But as is the way with young boys, after having them awhile, I decided to customize them by cutting them down to half size. In my infinite wisdom, it never occurred to me that if I rode it in the rain, when I got where I was going, I would have a streak of mud down the middle of my back. A minor detail.
From time to time, I would fasten a stiff card to the frame so that it would contact the spokes, making a sound not unlike a small motor. Or at least I thought so.
That was so many years ago. Since then I have graduated to cars and have owned many. But I can't think of one that I liked better or that meant more to me then that old second hand bike.
Paradise of timeless peace and harmony "Divine"!
Amber clouds glow among the rising heaven
River of the prettiest crystal blue wandering water
Align fanning palms trees resting in the sandy shore
Dreams echo through the breeze of lover’s passion entwine
It was surly his heart trembling for the want of her
Soul searching eyes in his sleep as he
Eases on her breast of melodies
12/20/2015
Paradise-Acrostic - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by:John Hamilton
http://i36.photobucket.com/albums/e4/Eve_Roper/amber_zpsbdieciqz.jpg
Tough in spending even in abundance of resources
Indifference shown to priority of any needed purchase
Giving is rendered a gruesome punishment to mankind
Hall of famer to the accuracy of the expression of feelings
Tight fisted, closed minded and currency conscious in all situations.
A swollen wallet ironically ignites the need for fewer expenses
River accumulating water to the point of flooding but never overflows
So in control of the inside irrespective of the nature of the outside
Even the cheapest budget suffers the axe of a calculative cut down
River Line
A creek has no commemoration
River of life, river of living
Inner beauty shines through the clear flow
Vast waves clashing away obstacles
Earth arcane creation God has made
Relax to the sounds of triumphal hymn
Shameless reflection no transgression
Beautiful bayou that flows sin downstream
Even fear fades through the muddy rapid
A praise as the waves craves the blessed land
Unweeded bright blue shores frames-I do’s
Translate sounds to the heaven halos
Yet! The river’s filled with remembrance
'Imagine'. Life's wurth without, 'imagination',
could we iver contemplate creation?
A gif' to have in oor ain mind's een,
without it, nuthin' wundrous wid be iver seen.
Rabbie."O wad some Power the giftie gie us to see oursels as ithers see us"!
Wid that no' be a wundrous plus?
Imagine if, oor een had that gif' tae see,
aw' whit in life ,we wid luve tae be.
As a lad, tae see aw' lass's ways,
tae see their mind's een an' be ofay.
Tae ken whit they imagine life tae be,
whit they wid want aw' lad's tae see.
An' as a lassy, tae ken aw' Lad's minds,
an' their wishes, fur their ain mind's, tae find.
An' dugs an' cats an' aw' wee creatures aw',
tae see their wundrous thoughts we've niver saw.
An' tae see through wee burdies eens,
beautiful fields below o' verdant green.
An' tae soar wae oor imagination free,
Tae see life's wunders, in aw degrees.
Tae feel , the sounds, and see the breeze,
an imagine the thoughts o' aw' the trees.
Fur oor minds tae feel like aw' the fluers,
tae be coloured aw' day an' at ivery 'our.
Banish Poverty wid a'ways be in oor minds,
nae wars tae poverish aw mankind.
Equal rights fur aw' creatures livin' oan this earth,
let oor imagination gei strife the widest berth.
Aye , Imagine if aw' that an' aw that could be,
Nae sleekit thoughts o' oany degree.
Jist the power tae see hoo ithers see life,
Imagination tae banish, aw life's strife.
Imagine tae rid oorsels o' aw life's disease,
nae mair tae pay aw thay awsum fees.
An if we could imagine ithers point o' view,
nae need fur lawyers or the need tae sue.
Oh a wush in sum wee way,
aw' the wurld's folks kid be ofay.
O 'the power o' imaginative thoughts,
an' fur those thoughts niver tae be bought.
See aw' ithers points o' view, fur free,
Ithers views, as we wid like them tae see.
Jist hoo wunnerful the wurld wid be fur us,
a gigantic, brammer, humungus plus.
A'ways, afore a lay ma heid doon tae sleep,
Imagine guid things an' fur ma soul tae keep.
Oh whit a brammer wundrous gif'
Imagination,----- jist imagine. ----- If.
The Auld Yin.
"Howard woncha say a few wurds?
Cum on Howard like over tha bird."
Says Aunt Jen visitin' fer the holeeday.
Weuns are seated tha eight of us at this here sumpchus dinner table,
Lookin' at the damndest big brown poultry ya iver seen.
Howard ma Dad is jist liftin' a forkful a meat drippin' gravy an dressin'.
Tha rest of us heseetate not knowin' what's a cumin.'
Our familee niver did give no thanks fer nuthin'.
Now dad lays down the heepin fork careful like chokes then beegins -
"Weeeellll Lord I chased ol' Mahitabel all roun' tha yard.
She knew what was a cumin' an' diseepeered inta the rushes by tha pond.
Couldn't see her nohow but put a barrel-full inta the weeds anyways
Heered this here squawk!
Looked all through tha stalks fer old Mahitabel,
Niver found her
But! Lord we do now thank ye most bounteefullee fer this here swan.
A men"
Poet Trees
P ~ ondering onto paper the meaning’s life life’s meaning desire dreams and
O ~ scillations swinging steadily from crown to source and back beyond my lived
E ~ xperience the frame and window of it's stream of consciousness embraces
T ~ trees with roots and branches food supply and essence dancing in the
T ~ hunderstorms on pleasant meadows’ memories a rainbow by the silent
R ~ iver telling us a story of gushing water narrating whirling pools and flow of
E ~ mpathy withstanding winds of designed refinement unscathed from acorn’s journey
E ~ lucidating arboreta frolicking to tunes of generation’s generation like a kite
S ~ inging symphonies anchored in tree life rings and wings of bark and poetry
24th October 2016
BARNYARD BOUQUET
Poor Mahitabel
Got et the yard boys do tell
Little Johnny’s pet
Johnny’s pal got et
Noisiest bird iver heard
Gobblin day and night
Ran em plum ragged
Put up one helluva fight
What a bedlam sight
Paranoia, hysteria
the chatter off lips fills me up with ridicule
curses off demon breath blown on me like a baptism by virgin blood
but i
etch triple sevens off sixes
hit the jackpot off my last nickel and laugh
cause happiness is made not given and i profit off the pain
why would i dance with the devil when i can dance through the rain
Sundays i go to temples built with skulls that gossip through their souls from hell
and the preacher wont let me off this noose
sit and stare at devils in slain angel skin on pulpits
i have to go to lonely hills to praise God
and i can't find God, God finds me
and even there the devils dressed in a hoody in a mini van with tinted windows and camera lenses
i took love there once and she got goosebumps off the lucy in the air
so we dashed off to a rendezvous and made love
love transcended us to a place where time doesn't exist and they don't either
we played Bon Iver
talked of times when times were quieter
sometimes with a bud and a lighter
old fashion mimosa and i recite her
a poem
on the rooftop over the city we use call home
L-ess talk and more work
O-pen the door for success;
R-eaching the greatest goal
I-s unceasing or
E-ndless.
J-ust need less talk and more work,
A-im at finishing the race;
V-ictorious journey in life
I-s based on God's grace.
E-leventh of December Monday,just listen not to the jerk;
R-iver that runs deep in silence has less talk and more work.
B-eautiful
R-iver
I-s
E-xhibiting
D-elightful
W-ater
A-fter
R-unning
D-ry
S-orrowfully
Topic: Poet (Bri Edwards)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
S-ee
H-ow
E-arth
S-hows
A-mazing
R-iver
A-nd
N-ature's
I-nteresting
A-tmosphere
Topic: Birthday of She M. Sarania (April 23)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic