Best Livening Poems
A delusory pleasure bristled the solitary abator
And the dusky night rides down the sky
An ethereal beauty demoed with her au naturel demeanor
The solitary abator bumps with illusions, thus far realisms high.
Elated with red-hot mysticisms the abator closed his eyes
And mildly felt the zephyr over the mum wispy time
She reposed in her bareness beside his devout envies
The abator fluffed up ca-cacing his limbs to ease with spirit and bine.
An awaited soul perked up with flavour of lust and zeal
And the midnight silence prolonged to be livening with insidiousness
She abreast herself over his frvid spirit of unreal
The abator matte-up bosoming her with barmy tenderness.
The ravenous abator intimated himself in the same state of bareness
And the dark moonless night beamed with perfect ecstacy and elan
She ooohed legalizing the demon-ridden enduringness
The abator held himself with an abrupt spasmodic movement of his organ.
The wonky estrus abator coaxed himself with the pleasure of onanism
And the gentle breeze was felt to soothe the pragmatism
Slowly her au naturel beauty faded, idling the eroticism
Bequeathing the abator's midnight oneirism.
(In December 1936, English poet John Cornford
was killed in combat near Lopera, during the
Spanish Civil War. It was the day after his
twenty-first birthday. Could this be the poem
he was formulating in his last hours?)
They switched from cubes to cylinders,
those knights of Calatrava,
when cannon chipped the corners off.
We’re still playing at that palaver.
I’m lying in a scratch-mark
(saying “trench” insults true trenches),
about to take Lopera,
mired in medieval stenches.
Sunlight’s livening turrets
on the ochre-amber castle,
and we’re about to murder
its “Fascist-lackey vassals”.
We glided through the olives
like viruses, infesting:
since no-one gave us shovels, we
scraped fox-holes with our mess tins.
Amusing, isn’t it, pondering
exactly what a fight is?
Do I help humanity by
contracting enteritis?
The whole thing seems to hover
between contrary poles:
by killing (or by dying)
do we achieve our goals?
I’d hoped to fire some shots, then go,
but war’s prolonged, extensive.
I can’t defend aggression, though
passivity’s offensive.
Lopera – is it Cordoba,
or is it part of Jaen?
We’re lads with rusty rifles,
but do we count as men?
And am I now a soldier,
or a Marxist doctrinaire?
Five turrets glow down on me,
three round, while two are square.
He's the product of a ladies man
He knows how to take command
Grab her hand
Livening up those strolls throuigh the sand
And for you he will speak to the sea in a voice so deep
It could lull troy to sleep
Although nothing will become of it you"ll love it
Since he did it for you in public
And now your defenceless
To his sexual advances to his advantage
He's not a player but a slayer
Wants her body for unmusical chairs
So young ladies stay youthful be aware
More wolves than sheep and they bleachin all they hair
This beast that roams these unleveled streets
Has many names like hidden grief
Or he who eats but wont provide meat
The one who sleeps like born without feet
The passive addict with an aggressive come down
Your babies baggage that dont never come around
Mr no benefits and no working background
Or Mr she's headed east He's tryin to meet her westbound
He's that monster that would even ponder,
having her introduce her lil sister to the corner
So I emplore you be stronger, live longer,
and be a alterior motives conqueror
There is a wave of New Orleans music
I cannot grasp... it throbs inside me swooning,
crawling quivering as whiffs of tempo gyrate
around nine seventeen pm in a bistro:
the sax, piano, drums railing notes on crest
of wild grace, ever buoyant amid sultry air.
And I listen to a groove vibrate ,
rousing the marrow of my body
with primordial tones livening
classic groans and modern jazz--
that my hips cavort in a dance unbidden,
a fire rippling along bursts of instinctive thrill:
four hours after nine seventeen pm--
near twilight’s cadence lilting
upon my bosom-- I jam joggle jive
floating in crazed matters that no longer matter.
Brian's Strand no 770
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: 42
If you pull a long-bored acrimonious face
Looking hardly at anyone passing your way
Your sunken cheeks spiting your own face
But those bitter bitten lips will give you away
If you keep pulling that long forsaken-look face
Wondering why each face will not own mask betray
Slop around in slippers not deigning to tie shoe-lace
Know that « la caque sent toujours le hareng »* all day
If you then must keep pulling your long sagging face
To thwart all and everything not going your way
The noble Fa-Ling lines stop at the mouth without grace:
The « Flying Serpent enters the mouth", the Chinese say
If you still insist on pulling that long worsted face
Since no-one will miss you once you’re gone, you say
Just think how many have not even by « contumace"
Pulled a long lost face some weary dreary day
So if you're the kind to pull a put-up pleasant face
See no smile lurking in within the Sun’s awakening ray
Hear no Garden Warbler trill livening up the pace
Know then, Friend, you’re loose change in the cash tray
Note: * Literally, in French, means: "the herring barrel always stinks of herring », but figuratively, as in this instance, means:
« you can’t hide your origins ».
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, September 18, 2019
A warrior, a man of integrity and honour will bow to his enemies some see that as a weakness,
He has respect for all, as we live together, on this isolated planet far away from the stars,
His beliefs are not shared by all, some think their existence much more important than others,
What makes these men better men is it wealth or power, are they lost in righteous indignation.
The warrior asks for nothing he has simple joys and lives a life that does not effect others,
He has strength to show weakness that is real power, real courage, and bow down to ignorance,
His life is his own life and he scatters petals in the wind and enjoys them as they fly high,
They are so beautiful as they rain back to earth a pink snow storm on a brilliant spring day.
He is as tender as nature, nature can show kingcups as perfect blazing plots of living gold,
And listens to the cry of a woodpecker the harsh tunes of jay birds the dusky squawks of rooks,
Watching bees hovering into the bells of flowers, making sunshiny hums in springs happiness,
And he watches over the green fields men, women and children livening and working a landscape.
When he is called he has no fear and listens to the nightingales with their songs of sadness,
Through dark green grasses feeling the whip of the stems on his knees careful of wild flowers,
Shepherds lead their flocks to fallow fields to graze on sweeter grass they follow each other,
The warrior takes these memories with him to God knows where and as nature he can be a storm.
shadows in the woods
exotic and erotic
livening the day
Cradled by rain and wind
weeps the tree bare of green
recalling sunlit days of spring
birds romancing by foliage hid
birthing life in flowery inns
fruits swinging like rosy kids
waving colors pushed by wind
orange cherries nectarines
strawberry hoods in festive green
robins songs at brake of dawn
sparkling tears of marigolds
all of a sudden whistling wind
rips memory sick limbs
tickled by bite of icy kiss
laughs the tree turning green
aha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
do I make spring
or does spring make me
aha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
laughing within is forever spring
God's love print in voiceless tree
makes it share its pulp and drink
rest in serenity winter bliss
explode like fireworks again in spring
with brilliance of colors in fields of green
and nights of songs with fireflies dreams
man has only four seasons at best
can't circle back on its aging steps
always forward on untrodden path
free to believe or God reject
with power to love or destroy at will
but only the chaff eyes can see
can't touch paradise or hell within
the eternal wheat that lasts
livening the chaff that pass
joy is staying in God's love nest
keeping faith's treasure chest
a princely crown awaiting head
that bows down to Him with yes
kingdom of marvels without end
circling in love with family of friends
in vigor of spring at the banquet of joy
with the King forever in love.
Fifth Place Winner: A Brian Strand Premiere No. 1215
First Place Winner: Brian Strand-All Yours May 5- 5/5/21
Abominable Aborigine
Boycotted Baltimore’s Bakery
Canady Canola’s Cannery
Decoded deceitful debauchery
Endless energetic energy
Forwarded farmyard frolicking for a fee
Geographically greeting in Germany
Hardcopy happiness hee hee hee
Ignoring ignorance illegally
Juicy juggling juggernauts
Kettledrums, Kenya and Kentucky
Livening up our literacy
Maniac madness in a manatee
Nightingale nips so nervously
October’s ocelot obviously….
Paralyzes Petunia Parkway’s parenthesis
Quaking quail quickly qualifies me
Relaying relative radioactivity
Scapegoats and scarecrows so scantily
Treat Tajikistan twice tactfully
Undermining Ukraine’s utter ukulele
Vaporizing various vanities
Wicked Washington warrants wisely
X-rays xylophones ‘xtra-instantly
Yellow jackets yield young yearly
Zippy Zeus’s zesty zoology zings with zeal between you and me.
T Tassels of stardust flicker across
clouds ' awninG
W Where beams radiant flaunt their
heavenly appeaL
I Igniting nightfall to weave more hues ,
ornatE :
L Livening twilight's show ,on sky's
panoramA:
I Into kliegs of this pageant...ray of glory
enhances our dreaM
G Guiding our fervor, our trail like a
quest from holy MagI;
H Hope abides now, a lasting balm
against fears unbiddeN
T Then to rest, to wish upon twilight's
tasseled winG !
She’s a voice untouched,
But still hurts as much.
God takes her hand while alone she stands.
She fights hard not to slip in the cracks.
So many follow the wrong tracks.
Good in this world can’t win,
But were speaking of a virgins wombs.
Tears are salty but gods cleanses her as he feels her pain.
He only hopes she sees the gain that his way obtains.
Gods little follower,
Not accepted by a school trying to swallow her.
She’s a voice untouched
But still hurts as much.
God takes her hand while alone she stands.
Only she’s not alone.
Gods little follower.
Gods watching over her.
Not only her but also everyone
Even the non-followers.
Set aside from the crowed
She goes her own way.
Livening his way day to day,
Even when she hears what others say,
It’s him she obeys
And its him she will answer when she pays.
Gods little follower,
Not accepted by a school trying to swallow her.
She’s a voice untouched
But still hurts as much.
God takes her hand while alone she stands.
When the chose their titles
She stands by.
Inside she dies watching at homecoming from the sidelines crying to understand what her peers planed.
Four years gone and here last she has yet to stand on the field with all her achievements in hand, not one title has been given that she hasn’t earned but she yurns for one that says she’s welcome as tears burn.
Not accepted by a school trying to swallow her.
She’s a voice untouched
But still hurts as much.
God takes her hand while alone she stands.
Mama mallard
Shaped like a well-sailored ship
From Columbus' voyage
With a flipped up tweakable tail
Enjoying motherhood
Followed by five ducklings,
Quacking and cavorting
Livening up pond
Feathers shining,
Proud beak,
Sharp black eyes,
missing nothing.
Helping ducklings
Gain confidence they will need
to raise their own ducklings.
a musical trio
livening up the prairie
enthusiastic beatnik dog on bongo drums
terrifically talented tambourine-playing Tomcat
Romanian beauty with flashing eyes with a ukulele
people arrive to sing along and dance
it feels like the seventies
Woodstock sixty years later
water rushing in the brook
livening up the forest
dainty dew drops on verdant grass
lady bugs fly
daffodil leads the flower parade
sharing brilliant yellow
robins and cardinals
sing today's praise songs
brightly colored tulips
showing off their Dutchiness
lilac's unique fragrance
opening up the gateway to summer
June 4 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on Job 16-18
Key Verse – Job 16:20 My friends scorn me: but mine eye poureth out tears unto God.
PRAISE BE TO GOD TO WHOM WE POUR OUT
OUR TEARS UNTO
Praise be to God to Whom we pour out our tears unto for:
Joy of no joke
Justice midst jesting
Joviality against jitters
Jubilation beyond jackpot
Job that jolts us to jolly journey
Job 17:15 Praise be to the Lord for assuring us hope in His:
Kingdom along His gracious kinship
Kindness with His granted knowledge
Kingship, governing us along our kneeling
Keenness, guarding us from being knocked-out
Keeping with His gloriousness beyond kindling kaleidoscope
Job 18:18 Praise be to the Saviour for His light:
Leading us to His love
Livening us by His lawful lessons
Liberating us against lamentations
Lengthening our lives for lovely legacy
Letting us listen to and laud His loftiness for our learning. Amen!
June 4, 2024