Best Lineal Poems
DREAM CATCHER (for Andrea)
Lover of the sonnet she
And fond also of Etheree
Has her certain way with words
That one may catch semantically
I ken she is a kindred soul
Our lineal eddies mingle flow
And seek out those who listen close
That we all might dream-catching go
Time is not lineal
The back of memory
past relived
future imagined --
Time is mind, and mind
Has its own compass and
Essence Navigator.
Love is a perfect example
When perfected, all directions
At all times,
Ever present in the mind and
Heart of man
His Manifest Christ --
Time is Spirit
And spirit is timeless….
Part Two
SEVEN STARK WORDS
Seven alliterative blockbuster words struck so
they rhymed initially in juxta-positioning lineal parallels
pausing but in the fourth
to resume breath in the fifth
Leaving the interstitial morphemes in resonating ellipses
The economy of your parsing has wreaked havoc down the ages
in all trans-explicatory tongues
Tough-minded men come from afar
with other gods to serve
and sacrifices to make in the name of their Lords
bent your versification to limp rhyme
and left meaning a hung pursuit
in the hands of plagiarists professors preachers
who
not knowing nor divining the reason for your craftsman’s
concatenation of weighted phonemes
advanced theories for your elastic pregnant mind
strung myriads of pages in exegeses
each staking a claim to posterity
the villainous hanging on your lips
In a time devoid of papered learning for the poor
When to be born a Sudra or Pariah was a sin
When masters were those top-heavy manically-mantric Brahmin priests
Preying on the duped loyal sycophantic Vaishyas
wishing to earn karmic merit with their agricultural gain at their altar feet
such servant-financers as they by legions now lay their souls down
as even the long-gone royally leisure-dispensing Kshaktriyas
how would he who sought the spread of knowledge
not seek to encapsulate learning in mnemonic couplets
arranged according to rigid design
for those who could not count either
Ten fingers in the hand so
Ten the number of facets of a thought
a subject
a theme
even if theme subject thought were stretched too thin
A very famous champion,
an inspiring enthusiastic man was he
Who has now departed , yet is quoted,
for many pearls of wisdom
Vociferous king ,
of the boxing ring
A sports star
And such a sport too.
A motivating peace star who shot up to deserved stardom
The earth be proud of such mortal "clay"
Who swayed and reigned hearts,
as well as the pugilist's kingdom
Notes: about the boxing Great:
These below are the selected facts about Muhammad Ali that I personally found very interesting:
First of all that he had the same birthday as my beloved bro Alihur i.e 17th Jan,
The info below is copied from Wikipedia:
Muhammed Ali Clay
Other names
The Greatest
The People's champion
The Louisville lip
Children9, including Laila Ali2]
Awards
5 time Ring magazine fighter of the year3-time lineal heavyweight championSports Illustrated 'Sportsman of the Century'BBC 'Sports Personality of the Century'CSHL Double Helix Medal Honoree (2006)Presidential Citizens MedalPresidential Medal of Freedom[4]International Boxing Hall of Fame[5]Hollywood Walk of Fame[6]
Cassius Clay was born and raised inLouisville, Kentucky, and began training as anamateur boxer when he was 12 years old. At 18, he won a gold medal in the light heavyweight division at the 1960 Summer Olympics in Rome, and converted to Islam shortly afterwards. At 22, he won the WBAand WBC heavyweight titles from Sonny Liston in 1964. Clay then changed his legal name from Cassius Clay, which he called his "slave name", to Muhammad Ali, and gave a message of racial pride for African Americans and resistance to white domination during the 1960s Civil Rights Movement.[12][13]
He was known to for freestyled with rhyme schemes and spoken word poetry, boxing and as political poetry for his activism,
Dedicate to human rights Mr. Anna Hazare activist that fought for free corrupt Indian society.
this poem is a result of my disappointment.
Inhabitable lineal consanguinity, paraphernalia under the subordination.
A resourceful visible Bond, to colonize the characteristic of vocation.
To command inhabited Living, to obtain Ledger of human grace,
Aristocrat, Barbarian excommunication, excellence of allocation.
Mom says,’ Son’ go and sleep’ rising Sun brings bounded calculation’.
Intensive, restraint viscosity reliance, consciousness of annihilation,
A grain roaster, provocative nobler, a big bundle of convocation.
Bubbling well being blazed meandering futurist contrivance face,
A winnover shabby, recommital mumpish, a rational versification.
A readymade self imposed Leader fatal solubility calcumination.
Mum says,’ Son, ‘go and sleep, optimist opportunist evaluating eternity’.
Mom never says,’ son, ‘go and fight’ recarnation is a mean formality’.
Painfully the heart beats the chest,
Ember of lineal segregation will come out,
And the ripping blaze of fire will engulf,
Communal harmony consummating peaceful coexistence gulf,
Executing ethnicity, caste, creed and religion smithereens.
Patriot’s spirit yields serene backdrops,
Everyone permanently scribbling down the tales,
And if we don’t improve the stories,
Coming generations will be forced to clean up our mess,
Ending up in the question “what is peace?”
Peace is simply forgiveness,
End of hate, war or violence,
Abstinence of using violence to show our emotions,
Calming silence,
Endeavor to have unity in diversity.
Portrayal of Kenya’s flag is peace,
Entailing every magic spell of her climate, history and culture,
Appraised by her quick succession of seasons,
Culminated by the gentle sun and benign rain that softens the mind,
Endorsing peace naturally.
Wishing a peaceful 2017 General Elections in Kenya.
The Queen
obvious to all who dare notice,
knows no peer.
Drones rush in to orbit in frenetic
sublimation; workers dutifully push
the floor buttons of departure
destinations,
releasing squadrons of gatherers
eager to conquer cubicles of source
data.
The Queen with mysterious grace,
wisely chooses reproduction mates
with visionary lineal accomplishment;
handheld devices whir complex
commands.
......not a word uttered
in the elevator.
04/06/16
I have heard people declaim
That Africa is the dark continent
Plagued by war, sickness and famine
The aridity of such a claim
Has left my people to pine.
Yes, I grant through the years,
Africa has suffered from war, famine, and sickness.
Yet, dear reader, is it Africa alone?
From East to West,
Death has reared himself a throne.
I beseech thee, O reader, let thy ear be attentive
To the confessions of Robin.
For these declamations
Have led many into error.
It is not my intention
To absolve Africa of her share of the blame
Yet my beloved continent,
Is both home to the good and the bad
The best and the worst
Why then dwell only, on all that is base.
Lineal son of Africa that I am
My heart bleeds -
Seeing that the soothsayers and naysayers
Are moving among our villages and cities
Congesting our airwaves
Shamefully declaring
That the Ides of March have come
Unlike Caesar, I dare - reply that they haven’t come and will never come!
For mine experiences have taught me a lot of things
And I dare you to discard that label hoary
Coined many and many years ago by many a missionary.
Allow me then to tell you Africa’s story
For that is my sole ambition.
Of her past glory
I will say no more
For the pyramids of Egypt will testify for eternity
The Great Zimbabwe Ruins
Stand tall and erect in the Savannah plains
A monument to the greatness of their builders
Don’t you dare believe that fable
Told to many a school boy in colonial Africa days gone by
That mine ancestors could not create such a piece of art
Just go to my village this day
And you will see many stonehouses standing
A testimony to our heritage.
Her natural beauty is second to none
Heaven, excluded - for I am talking to men not angels.
Since I am weary
Let me tarry. God willing will continue tomorrow!
Martin,
Not the German patrician, his vision was a stair
But our own peaceful prince
Well he invoked you
And not by calling Samuel back from the dead
He invoked you as seeker
He invoked as our searcher
For history, he said, is built on truth
No, not the lineal story
Of one race's glory on my marginality
Our history is always a collective place
A yard of memory
Where we meet at evening to tell
The honey and milk
Of our emasculated hell.
There is no dying here
How can we
What will the predator parasite live on then
So we are made
Zombies of an eternal pain
And you
Our seeker for the antidote
Between Fiske and Berlin
Here we come again
First son to be honored there
Among the ivy league
The doctor to proclaim
Himself one tenth of all of us
With the same double consciousness
Was it not for Fanon
I almost converged to the monstrosity
But then looking back
Over the Pan-African Secretariat
I knew we will never be divided again
So easily
Just rivers of different colors
Destined to end our struggle
Down awful topography of mountains
Down the callous memory of history
Between the churning white teeth of the sea
From my bridge
I watched that wave rise and fall
A thousand times
Pushing us against gravity.
Garvey would agree with me then
He would shake his head
When you were fled to Ghana
When the merging was no longer tenable
For a man lie to himself only for so long
While he searches for truth
I heard the abeng blow to call you home
William ... was not found in their register
William ... he was a Norse conqueror
Edward ... and all of them spineless kings
Burghardt ... and you ask me why
Why should not a thing like this make Africa invisible?
Du Bois ... so you mapped all the colonizers in your name
No, not you,
Our parents always conscious of their power
Yet I knew every cocoon
Is just another state of cobweb
And you would broke free
And many evenings I see you
Just flying on a page of empty sky.
God moves in straight circles
in rounded lineal
pointless points
at the sharp of blunts
we are slow to catch on
racing about
on oil and ice
a fat ass can be
a saving grace
God loves
Thank God
The yearly line I chose to change course
is a self-afflicted wound
that bleeds each day, as I travel
the universe that spins in darkness
on its journey through the blackness of space
a second, a year, does not matter
if finding a reason to nurture my soul
comes once a year, in the form of wishes
to be met that are useless
where reason is held far beyond
the time I measure
in the lineal thread of changing light
until I measure a new year
where the seed of failure is planted once again
No path is limited, to one mold
fits all journeys – no footsteps a
lineal trail followed or forged~our individual
universes a swirl of infinite mazes, each one
the Father and Mother of
its own invention...we evolve into
our own accidental and willed offspring....
there are no outlets...
even the runoffs, ever further
in....
Time... is a transcendental sense of being
which exists in a perpetual passing that's relative
in a ceaseless motion that never moves
where tomorrows vanish and today becomes past
Time is an interval traveled across dimensions
of lineal value
of what is felt and what is unknown
like the timeless sensation of a kiss
measured in lengths of whispered breath
and heartbeats
Time is the gravity of yearning between lovers apart
as eyes meet from a distance
and moments become duration undivided
It is the scale used when seasons change into seasons
and movements are counted in days
into perpetuity
time is beyond our understanding
that we move within
using clock hands as reality
as we feel what can never be touched or measured
only imagined
except for the unbroken space
between birth and death
Night was closing in.
The blind time-
will start eating fire.
A little less than demigods-
they will shuffle on ‘I’ and ‘we’.
An absence-
now speaks, grabbing
the breasts of a nude.
Here lies the god matter:
the lineal descent of creation.
What was holding you
to the unwanted fallout?
The meaning-
of life was same
as that of death.
A chaos-
will bring the silence of stars.
Let us forget the chest,
till the heart bleeds
and stardust fills your eyes.
Satish Verma
I turn off the spicket of daily business
From inside the cocoon
Of my hammock
My world seems different
As I gently sway, caressed in suspension
No effort needed
To watch the graceful lineal limbs
Of a cedar tree
Rising like a chipmunks’ ladder
With swags of green falling
I lay back to listen. Nature has her own
Noisy silence
More peaceful than the abyss
Of my past haunts
I welcome the release of tensions
No judgement
Inside the womb of safe lands
I feel time spiral backwards
The lullful rhythm swaying me to rest
Indulging this moment
Eyes close to the untold wonder of dreams
Sounds shuffle beyond hearing
I drift to the creative zone
A mile of snoring when she arrives
Then disappearing
To suddenly awake with new vision
seeing words on a page
I jump up to grab pen and new paper
Now the sight fading away fast
I must write
I dedicate this poem to all those who, in this busy, crazy world, can see a vision to share with the world that helps the world be a better place through their craft, be it writing, painting or performance....listening to your muse when she speaks is the first step of all amazing artists.
7-12-2019
'Your Best Poem That is Trophy Worthy (Premiere Contest Trophy) Contest 4'