Best Locution Poems
Written: June 22, 2024
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Lovely, two-week luster.
lasting sylvan smell,
lavender, blue, crimson, lilac, pastel
light lifts people's mettle
leading light is a liking illustration.
loamy land leaning of landowners.
Lubed language is silky and crucial.
land lightly in people's whimsy
locution of literalism logicality
lasts for a lengthy time, if not longer.
Lapis lazuli lanes link labor.
limitless loop layout lends a look of light.
lost from landscape left walls in flux.
looking for love losing out
learning to love may launch
letting love lurch may be a loom.
lift by living a loving life.
lasting love is pulled to lead
Living every day, listening to the wild.
learning life lessons by laughing
lifting lethargy, limiting lemons
loving our Lord, love one another.
love talk leaks recall, lie seal.
loving recalls rekindle love's loyalty.
lips locked, long-lasting.
long, salty lacking friends.
love, latch loss, live for those who care.
looking for a soulmate alone looks cruel.
limping life’s path, listening to voices.
lambaste the bamboozled mind.
laugh, scream your feelings loud
Lustrous eyes reveal loneliness.
lost will, loyalty remains.
lockets and lullabies depict it.
lyrics praise long, dull winters alone.
lacking friendship, grieve less.
Licensed to fix wrongs, omit loopholes of lies.
lure rivals to confess, and learn their lies.
Categories:
locution, light, love,
Form:
Free verse
How else to tell you
of the movement of
the universe that sets my world to tilt?
Where spatial acuity and intuitive thinking fall down
and weep
at the feet of blank spaces and odd numbers begging
direction
I scratch for description of the structure of blue ink
on pulp paper . . .
the humidity of black seas on windless nights,
the way my lips sometimes speak
in dry dust
For the latitude of line and length, the way I like
how they intersect, conjoin,
tear apart . . . forever changed
yet spent
of further locution
And still I dream
I can hear the world
running out of time and tolerance for
small words
. . . for small minds ~
The measure of meter and moments
sit in whimpering, drying ink
falling off the edge of sense and
sensibility
How else to tell
you
who cannot hear?
Categories:
locution, introspection, philosophy
Form:
Free verse
A little low-voltage humor in monoku form depicting a fictional day at the Watt home...
The electrical engineer's wife greets him: "WIRE you INSULATE?"
Husband: WATTS it to you? Don't go blowing your CIRCUITS at least I'm OHM!
Wife: "Don't you make LIGHT of this if this were our daughter, you'd be GROUNDED!"
Husband: "Let's leave her out of this she can CONDUCTOR own business"
Wife: "Don't revAMP your story you know it reVOLTS me when you do that"
Husband: "Honey, I'm sorry it HERTZ just trying to keep you CURRENT"
Wife: "Well, I apologize for my RESISTANCE I felt POWERless"
Husband: "I didn't mean to give you STATIC but I'm feeling the SPARK now
Let's go enjoy an ELO concert it will be a good OUTLET"
Wife: "JOULE be SHOCKed to hear this... that would really reCHARGE my BATTERIES
You sure know how to flip my SWITCH we should do this with more FREQUENCY"
Husband, now whispering to the viewer "I just can't RESISTOR charm"
*** Note: ELO = Electric Light Orchestra (70's rock band) ***
Categories:
locution, humor, husband, marriage, wife,
Form:
Monoku
In light of locution
whispers
dance delicately off her lips
"Lux Vitae"
Tree of Life,
Trinity,
tribal councils conferred
the coffers, re-offers
enriched and enhanced
erectus
three times three
smoke rises from the ash
and anew you glow
a river of gold
connecting
the body to the soul
blue of sky
the sun of spirit's eye
beheld
in fate of copious moon
intrinsic
the sum
not one, but all
in feel
layers peeled slowly back
from black to light
from day to the night
perspicacity, acuity
filters undone
your wit teases
the brain's
restless receptors
insane we see
weightlessness of the breeze
carrying of scent
her fragrant scent
where angels once undressed the devils
and the lion frantically chased
the dainty dragonfly's peace
breathless
she enters
his anchored mind
libertas quae sera tamen
and free you shall be
enplaned upon the shores of love
where blues breathe in smoke filled rooms
and stars do a tango
overlooking
the electric light
exploding
in the reflection of river's bend
your bow, not too tight
wrapping around
the fringes of my tattered soul
kisses
the parched lips of a wanted life
"Vitae Lux"
Categories:
locution, love,
Form:
Romanticism
At any rate ... or any time,
I so prefer a metered rhyme ...
If from a fool or from a sage,
It bounces briskly off the page.
Quick to grasp a mind or heart,
And tickle fancies, a la carte ...
Dancing fast, and hard to catch,
Nimbly footed sounds to match.
Off the tongue to tumble, swift,
Rolling phrases dart and drift ...
Furtive words, so fun and fleet,
Filled with cleverness, replete.
Locution molded, start-to-goal,
To paint an image in your soul ...
Terms entwining wishes, bright,
To dim the day or burn a night.
Letters, turned to eyes that cry,
Lungs to breathe, wings to fly ...
Lines with tempo, sweet or sour,
Blooming runes as phrases, flower.
Words otherwise, just in-a-row,
But set to rhyme, compel us so ...
Thus taking phrases, commonplace,
And giving them a charm and grace.
Turning parlance into song,
Helping verbiage move along ...
Telling tales with tempo, quick,
No matter what the bailiwick.
Speeding up the things we say,
To send them sweetly on their way,
Words in rhythm just won't wait ...
That's rhyme to me ... at any rate.
~ 5th Place ~ in the "At Any Rate It Will Be Fast Moving" Poetry Contest, Julia Ward, Sponsor.
Categories:
locution, metaphor, poems, poetry, words,
Form:
Rhyme
On Devil’s Night
There once was a devil queen on Whispering Lane
Mean and cunning her crew driven insane
For millenniums hurling malice
Content in her palace
Casting a malevolent muse throughout her reign
The King no longer amused by sonnets that shame
Concoction’s of besmirchment tangents that defame
He sends for his men
Calls out to them
bring me an enchanted quill before the sunrise flame
On Devil’s Night…
Along trails a fairy ascends with cascading red hair
Whilst devil queen sleeps inside her musky lair
Dreams of incantations
linking locution associations
Hater of poetry that allures not hers drives despair
As the fairy sings with an angel's voice
The King listens he has made his choice
Let it be so my loyal Jester
the fairy you‘ll sequester
The zealous Jester lures to come rejoice!
The jealous devil queen a tedious word crafter
Responsible for cancelling laughter
Now casts her spell
expelling the fairy to hell
It’s there she sings her happily ever afters
You see she was in a realm from hell, and not even a spell could save her.
The new reign of elect it is when she’s saved, and the devil queen will finally reflect. Denouncing her kingdom and foreboding.
Keep Fairys free! To express their poetic revery
Categories:
locution, angel, anger, anxiety, evil,
Form:
Limerick
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.
Categories:
locution, body, kiss, sensual, smile,
Form:
Free verse
I’m going through pages by pages;
Trying to see whether you have any acquaintances
Oh, look what I found
A mystery looking pronoun
The word I’m trying to forget
Though it might be a threat
To my mind and to my soul
Whether in or out of my sole
A girl with a beautiful smile
Simple but having the style
I took courage to look at those
Either peeking or seeing while no one knows
My words had been cut
With your locution that had the gut;
Or you can see my dearest writing
Of my psyche and my fighting
You look pretty wearing that tiara
Although it will be dismayed by a sciara
No, I will not let that happen
To someone that is enthusiastically clappin’
Categories:
locution, dedication, emotions, for her,
Form:
Somewhere out there in the world
There was a girl, No! strike that—a woman.
He saw as a girl, but knew as a woman.
And loved her only like a man, only a real man can.
A full grown man. Past his trials and tribulations that plague an adolescent youth, posturing while attempting to prove his valor, worth and to much a female’s ambivalent chagrin, his dominance. In his tiny kingdom. Which was really the vast universe of all that crazy phenomenon human beings gave the quirky abstract thing a name. They called it love.
That’s been written about by bards and authors alike. Between a male and a female, the dark to your light. Hey, who is dark anyway? It must be Eve.
Anyhow. Somewhere in the world this forthright, upstanding citizen of a girl, this woman had such an “understanding that she’d see him [in his entirety] like a poem or a story. And "find his words so valuable after all that when he confessed his apprehensions she would explain why they were in fact the very things that made him precious to her.” The Gestalt view of the man. She knew him entirely. Read him like a book. She knew the plot the exposition, the conflict the Rising Action (wink wink) the dénouement and the resolution. As the French would say, n'est-ce pas.
No, like a poem. A poem she wishes she could write. She knew where the best pages of him were. Existing in dog-eared pages with phrases that described earmarked features. Monumental features that tore her heart asunder. Features that filled her up. As god as her witness shed never be hungry again. To lie awake and think of his soul, seeping out of his mouth with words reverberating her own. Oscillating tiny bones, giving semiotics new meaning with each locution.
Don’t over analyze the symbolism here reader. She’d lie awake and ruminate his gestures, his mannerisms. His smile. And the way his face would look in different light. And how when he laughed the crinkles that formed around those intelligent eyes after he eloquently would mouth some truism. And she knew this face appeared throughout history. And she knew a writer of ballads wrote “don’t shove me while I’m drowning… were all just hunting for love” and she read once an author noted: “almost all the people on the boardwalk were paired off into couples.” The end.
Categories:
locution, allegory, conflict, desire, love,
Form:
Free verse
Some say I have a way with words when truly most words have their way with me
And yes, I adore them best without any tautology
Caressing my psyche causing me to purr
Evoking emotions I never knew could occur
Incredible compilations of syllables
Precisely thrown together creating the unthinkable
To surreptitiously eschew
Grammatical errors innately out of the blue
Assembling phonetic chemistry
With sudden cognizance and poetic symmetry
Incessantly pondering over euphemisms
Reprieving the malediction of diction cataclysms
Putting to rest the Z’s in any onomatopoeia
Arranging every article and particle of speech to accentuate the main idea
With exact execution of the ultimate locution in sight
I peruse, comprehend, and write with exquisite delight
Categories:
locution, on writing and words,
Form:
Rhyme
Looking back helplessly
at every foible like Epimetheus.
Born like a weed in the steamy morning,
I was an aimless crude creature spinning
flamboyant cobwebs like a confident fool.
I slathered prismatic patterns, grinning like a jester.
Then, civilization impounded the measures of my dreams.
I became an embarrassed lying chowderhead concealing
my crayons.
I lacked language, locution or parlance.
I sat absent, a prisoner in rote computation.
My night dreams merged with day-dreams.
My solo island became a continent.
I tried phoning out with phony phonetic fumbles
but everyone could see.
So I slipped away, deserting, fleeing,
riding the rails in boxcars.
My passage through nocturnal town and village
untraceable, uncertain, preoccupied with the pigments
of my polyscope.
Later I reappeared, reconsidered and revised,
replicating the decorations of acuity, imitating
profundity like P. T. Barnum.
My spectacle drew crowds until I was discovered.
My retreat and retraction now heavy with
fatigue, I know not the lens of my psyche.
In sobriety, I recall all my splinters and ruptures.
But my rearranged reissues of adornments
will persist until I am expelled.
Published: The Opiate Journal, July 2020
Categories:
locution, allusion, imagery, introspection, myth,
Form:
Free verse
Can’t remember what you look like or even the way you smell
I’ve gazed upon many who fit the description but are any of them you, who’s to
tell?
I’ve told myself I’m over it time and again
But the feelings of abandonment nag at my soul and my aggravated spirit
cries, “Daddy, where you been?”
I’ve ran through bedrooms and barrooms hoping to receive compensation for
your debt to me
No covering over my shame and proudly wearing my badge of illegitimacy
It’s crazy
I named my son Jeddidiah
Simply because David was his father
And mine too
Then from David to Dawud
Man, I don’t even know you
But I do know that I love you
How very strange to me
That my estranged daddy
Has the ability
To evoke from me, a stranger
The most powerful of things so effortlessly, albeit I’m
angered
I was a pretty little girl, so sweet and just as good
How or why did you leave me as unprotected prey for wolves?
I don’t understand, didn’t – don’t you love your offspring?
I mean, don’t you care about the precious things,
About my happenings,
About anything that has to do with me?
Do you even remember my name?
Remember it was me that you potty trained
Now think back to that day you left us in the rain
In front of my aunt’s house over on Paine
Nobody was home that day so we just sat on the stoop getting drenched by the
shame
My mother barely seventeen, us loving you in vain
There have been stepfathers who abused
And many years later, men that have used and thrown me away like refuse
And I prayed and begged to be rescued by you
But it’s all been of no use
I suppose I could go on for a lifetime
And still never find
The ultimate locution to express my hurt over this matter
And even though I was constructed from half your matter
You’ll probably never read this anyway, so what I write really doesn’t matter
But just in case mere happenstance causes you to peruse the configurations of
my pen
I need you to know that over the years I’ve needed you and to my chagrin
It has truly been
A reverberating sin
That your oldest daughter has never known where in the hell you’ve been
Daddy, where you been?
Categories:
locution, childhood, father, life, loss,
Form:
Rhyme
Although there are many beautiful things,
There are none as beautiful as you.
For you are more spectacular than the sunset.
Beyond the many entriging sights,
You are by far the most.
For you tangle me in your large devouring net.
Along the many distant paths,
I become exuberant at your view.
I would conquer any world to set my eye's upon you.
But you and I are two different crowds,
Set in our own societies.
Another day will dawn, along with another queue.
Categories:
locution, love, passion, uplifting, beautiful,
Form:
The blue moon crackingly, magnanimously rose,
As he creeped in quietly, repressed — inconspicious!
His eyes gleaming in appatency yet sorely of passion,
Calm are his actions but embedded monstrously of tension.
Dulcet words escaped his mouth in intimidating fashion,
Beads of sweat rolled down my temples as he stirred conversation,
As his vision fixates on me, I knew he has done his first crime,
He stole my heart and then I realized he'll soon be mine.
I was sad before and I didn't know what happened after,
For when I met him, laughter replaced utter deplore,
I was enveloped with tears, scars and melancholy,
But his next crime of murdering my sorrows made me rosy.
The night goes on, the moon and stars are the witnesses,
How he came, how he chattered on and on — endless!
In his melodies, in his unique locution, his ambrosial morphemes,
He tortured me with love and care — I'm clamming out of joy it seems.
I am readily prepared to call the police and let him be jailed,
For he invaded my ostensibly serene boring night — nailed!
Then I knew, not only this night but the days and nights after,
Was nipped from the ubiquitous whimpers and clamor.
He was truly a criminal— an outlawry in my lonely nights,
He continues to steal my heart even after all the fights,
He murders my sorrow in his calm yet menacing practice,
He tortured me with so much love and care— in his arms I could demise.
Categories:
locution, addiction, anxiety, conflict,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Paper is my palate, the pen my brush and sword.
Agitation, inspiration to set my thoughts to words.
My feathers stain papyrus with words for all to see,
in hopes that they'll go viral, stirring harmony.
For all the world's a theater, the page my private stage.
I strum my verbal guitar, tracking mental gauge.
I feel the beat of bass drums deep within my soul,
allowing me momentum to scribble and to scroll.
Notes of my locution, symbols of my tone,
the sound of lexical music rumbles through my bones.
Composition is my mission and music is my love.
My ode to words, exalting, "I am the Rock Dove".
Categories:
locution, metaphor, music, poetry, symbolism,
Form:
Lyric