Best Lubricate Poems
The shield riders heading over the Dunlaven bridge,
They ride as swift as the wind,
already their weapons were ready,
they did glint, not, in the deepening shadow.
Ride to your fate Valkyrie,
shield maidens of the red,
shield riders of the city,
bring glory to your mighty Alahsar.
Four hundred and fifty Valkyrie,
they stream forth from golden gates,
turning to the left and right,
three hundred onto Badicha.
three hundred to Dunlaven bridge,
the final stroke from Alahsar,
death is streaming forth,
hateful screams fill the air.
One hundred and fifty shield riders,
they leave the four hundred and fifty,
heading for the Raven bridge,
Speed is now of the essence.
The hundred and fifty, they head to the right,
onto the plain of Badicha,
Alahsar's forces, taken by surprise there,
To glory or death.
Shield riders, three hundred,
they stream across Dunlaven bridge,
so close this bridge to the walls of Alahsar,
Go, fiery warriors.
Across the river, they stream,
the waters coming through a large culvert in the wall,
cool, refreshing waters, from the great white mountain,
ride on Valkyrie.
In the final stage,
the battle rages on,
dark forces never seem to reduce,
They die and yet their numbers seem to be the same.
What sorcery is this?
Bodies so tightly packed,
hardly room to move sword or spear, or axe,
the strength soon to lessen more.
The ground is being given once more,
stride by stride ground seems to be given,
the struggle for life is truly on,
the posture seems to be more of defencive.
Is this a lure for the enemy?
could it be that strength is truly depleting?
only time shall tell,
the posture changes from moment to moment.
One hundred and fifty shield riders,
they smash into the flank of the enemy,
swords and spears striking home,
HALT!
the retreat stops,
a final push,
the Arlagh's are halted,
"Walk In The Light!"
the dark man cries as the dice is rolled.
"Walk In The Light!"
the battle cry is taken up.
Now, my lords and ladies,
it is time for our tale to take a rest,
I must lubricate my throat,
we shall return to Alahsar soon.
We shall then see the outcome of the battle,
the bloody rain of Badicha's plain,
raise your horns to Alahsar's glory,
the song of Alahsar, the glory of a dream.
To Be Continued.
Blistering my imagination
With disappointment and pain
The sand colored landscape
A silent torturer of truth
I walk quickly and carelessly
The water is my destiny
And I can’t walk fast enough
To reach the clear liquid hope
That will sooth my throat
And lubricate my tormented mind
©by Regina Riddle
In the desert poetry contest
Sponsored by nette onclaud
September 14, 2014
A priest once told me that the lump
on my hand was a ganglion,
a fortress of fat besieged by health.
At last it burst and the hand swelled
like an old man's,
shovel shaped and splayed.
It was her black pan, butcher's meat,
too many eggs; backed up
on a plate like silage.
It was her slight hands shaking,
the constant poking with a bread knife,
the endless journey to the
first biscuit from the pack;
a menace that caught our hearts
and buttered them,
teeth marks, crusty.
Moreover, tomatoes,
pulpy and bloodlet,
burnt my wicked tongue,
purged a shard of shame,
dare I eat a box full
bedraggled in juices
and spitting at the angle of a chop kept?
Caked at the start in the corner
of the pan, beached in lard,
over fried, sole fit, chewed in discontent,
longing for more
between the acceptance of juices;
hope swallowed with brittle rashers,
timbered and gathered.
It was the thought, the deed,
the plan, the wait and duty of it.
Potatoes, eschonced in the pot, sullen, strewn;
a flaky hand sliced them deftly,
washed the starch off and raked them in.
It was sausages, flame ripped,
dashed, blackened and wedged
on the barbs of the fork,
heaved in with fried bread,
salty with froth.
It was puddings,
sinewed and cut crooked,
corpuscles of grizzle
congealing the blood,
jaws working the skin like the cud.
Eggs like ignoble sea creatures,
speckled and stiff,
surviving on the rise and fall of breath,
morphing into another gender
or something to wonder,
to chew on, to mention, once.
Perhaps a bean to lubricate,
to allow a channel of liberty
but still reheated to a lump,
a thankless sweetener to a morsel,
not unlike news.
Tea, besugared and welcome,
a scald to erode stubborn detritus,
a wash to emerge from.
Between mouthfuls of talk we glided,
sometimes low to the ground
near silence, seldom
scuttling to any real height.
I suppose that was left for
pipe and ***, in the latter end,
when all offence was shut up tight
and we had regard again;
the smoke curled up
and carried our souls,
and mingled, indiscernible
and flowed away.
Love is the lubricant of the soul and the emollient of the heart, both
Unguent and viscous, it glides like butter in the summer heat
Banish it from your life and suddenly everything will dry up, like a
Rose wilting by winter's call. Lubricate love with a sense of purpose
Invite joy to sit at your table and oil your dreams with hope.
Care for your inner self and nurture your mind and body....
A lubricant made of peace and forgiveness can reduce friction
Nature has a way of polishing and moisturizing the mind and
Truth be told, gratitude can be the greatest lubricant of them all.
Come to me..
And I will quench.
Umbrella free..
And I will drench.
Fill your rivers..
Every one.
Morning grass..
I rest upon.
Cut the rock
In Canyon Grand.
Cool you as
Your skin is fanned..
Descend to earth
As sad clouds cry,
Restore the arid
Desert, dry.
I feed each seedling
Help them grow..
Science spells me
Two H, one O
I shift with ease
From glass, to sky
Can drip or run
No captive, I
I fill you up
In dust you'll rest.
It's life I bring
I am the best..
A timeless presence;
A pool, so balmy..
Respect me though.
I am tsunami
From dinosaur
To new born babe,
I never leave..
Despite the grave.
On Earth I'm gold.
A gift, you see..
My value is
Polutant-free
The greatest solvent
Of them all..
Mix mortar for
The strongest wall..
I lubricate
The thirsty tongue,
I wet the whistler's
Tuneful song
Creator's brush
On canvas white.
A thousand words
With ink I write..
So treat me well
And you will find
To planet home
I will be kind..
Reflect and twinkle
In your eyes.
Rescuing souls
As I baptise..
A miracle of nature
Me.
Reminding of
The Trinity.
Jinjagoliath
15th October 2022
The fairest land among other earthly spot
She is blessed, dark and more beautiful than what other folks thought
Surrounded by numerous river for bath and food
Her shelve is seen with abundant oil to lubricate her food
Her tent is in the west pole with giant children of African black race
Call her name Nigeria, my homeland
Call her name Nigeria my homeland is fast pacing
The green pasture for the worlds continuous grazing
Nature never frown at her and her air is so refreshing
May her children that comes find caress that abolish pain
Call her name Nigeria, my homeland whose soil yields gain
Nigeria my homeland is filled with milk and honey
The salvage ground for those whose land is angry
May this land lay a bed for her babes rather than a hewn rocky cradle
Nigeria my homeland is calling on all to make love our final option
To raise our flag tall in the committee of other nations
With love strong chord Nigeria will never face confusion
Let build our land in unity instead of heart invasion
Let pride in our culture instead of hatred and too much commotion
Let make love our final option in building a great nation
BY
MICHAEL EDISON
Lubricate my lips,
venture deep within-
Submerse in nectar.
(It’s Simply Now) A Matter of When
Verse: I’m phoning up a lawyer, I can’t take this anymore
the whiskey and the women keep pouring out the door
You’re staying out ‘til sunrise, then sleeping in till noon
so you can do your baying by the light of the moon.
Chorus: This can’t go on forever
so I’m through debating whether
Now it’s no longer if!
It’s simply now a matter of when.
Verse: I’d wish you’d turbocharge my bed the way you do your car
Peeling out the driveway, leaving tread marks on the tar
spend the Sabbath watching every pigskin taking flight
If I speak or interrupt you, then I’m picking one more fight.
Chorus: This can’t go on forever
so I’m through debating whether
so it’s no longer if!
It’s simply now a matter of when.
Break: Forgive me Lord for thinking what I know to be a sin
Yet every single day you see the predicament I’m in
Verse: I can’t endure your buddy who shows up here like a slob
to lubricate your liver while I’m dressing for my job
You don’t really need a wife, but you sure could use a keeper
I’m pretty sure that pretty soon you’re meeting with the reaper
Chorus: This can’t go on forever
so I’m through debating whether
so it’s no longer if!
It’s simply now a matter of when.
Break 2: But this man has really driven me right over the edge
Should I end him with a pillow or a twenty pound sledge?
Verse: When you think I’m sleeping and you whisper on the phone
Another night is coming when you’ll leave me all alone
Last night, another hussy, just 21 and married twice
You’ve handing out the sugar while you’re sparing me the spice.
Chorus: This can’t go on forever
so I’m through debating whether
so it’s no longer if!
It’s simply now a matter of when.
(Spoken): MAYBE I’LL DO IT TONIGHT! Finis
If we’ve never needed the Lord before,
We surely do need him now Him now.
How do we get help from Him?
We should all pray that’s how.
We should stop trying,
To fix situations ourselves.
Gather our burdens,
And down at the altar bow.
Say what is needed to say,
Don’t wait for a special time,
Or place. Do it now, today!
Ask God,
To fill in every empty space,
In our hearts.
Beg Him,
To erase doubt and increase faith.
Read the Word of God today.
We all need the Lord, now.
His blessings on us he will shine,
To cure all of the sickness of the world,
To destroy all of the snares and toils.
We need His fresh oil,
To lubricate our souls,
To help us with the world that is cold.
We need a revival.
Only with Him, we have true survival,
Of all the mess that Satan scourges on us,
And from us taking.
Don’t walk around here depressed.
Give it to God and He’ll do the rest.
Once you give it up today to Him,
Everything will be fine.
What time is it, people?
It’s praying time.
wrote 2-9-10
I wouldn't want you to walk away
with any miscalculations about me.
I am about as wild and crazy as society will allow
without confinement for my own protection.
Whenever I read a self-marketing sign
Please Help...
Vacancies of home and body,
Needing to be filled.
I feel bearers of these signs
of proper society's margins
raw and naked,
erased to try again.
When I notice long-haired grunge,
low-budget nomads with backpacks and shopping carts,
heading toward me asking to not be excused
for excusing relationships they need,
I head in their direction
to find our best resurrection
of civility
together.
My husband begrudges every dime
and points out I'm too wild
for pouring mostly alcohol
or worse down throats
without a home.
He claims they're addicted suicides
awaiting death's forgiving embrace.
But, I say this is too often true
and who am I to judge
those who explore doing their best
of worst available options
through self-medication
mixed with sheltered soups
and public kitchens
serving lines of autocracy's dark drama
Were I or he on that street
rejected by our own history of defeat
I would hope to find those wise enough to stay
with me long enough
to help medicate
lubricate
meditate my way
to suffer with human emptiness
and ask me please to stay,
tell MAGAs all my blues,
sing and dance this suffering
buffering away.
I'm retired.
Have more cash than I could ever need,
and don't want to go out that way,
hoarding funds for those who already have too much
while somewhere out there stands
a homeless sign whose bearer
needs to drink her lunch
at least and most this day.
If our legacy manifests
both what we do for love
and what we do not do from fear
and shame
and blame
If both our actions and omissions,
our positives and negatives,
remain behind to feed up and starve out our kids,
then why would I not choose
to offer social caring
when uncivilized neglect to care is so clearly that of which
this homelessness was made.
If really true friends stay by you when time is bad
Then I shall stay for you at the end of love
To catch you as you fall so hard
So to prevent a friend from getting so hurt
If really true friends stay by you when time is tough
Then I shall stand by you when you woo love
So I can untie and lubricate your tongue when they get tied and rough
And give braces to your shaking knees to avoid an embarrassing fall
If only true friends stay by you during hard times
Then I shall stay by you the most on your marriage
Not to consume the Curry and thyme
But to feed them to your courage
If true friends mean helping
Then in that room whenever your bed goes creaking
I will call the police and brigades
Because with that noise and groans, I know something's at stake
That a little tid bit in truth about, myself
This lease piece, you see ? As out of the blue
His other half tains flesh, ofttimes makes me laugh
With these crazy thoughts; entertaining another dull day
Amid his valley of death her Babylon; isn't she, pretty in pink...
Anyway, psycho's latest episode took us to Georgetown and Regan
Bypassing tinsel town's theatrics tilt, a closer look ? Taboo, it's thought ?
Conventional, we are not: love, for every life although shall never part; 'Creation
Yet baby's other side this dynamic in reason brought about images his, transcending....
Daemon clutching their crucifix shouting about the throws be, verb lunacy: lubricate me, lubricate, meeee
Jovial's boy had me rolling once again; such, hilarious visions from beyound her realms ? Ludicrous, bruntly bowed.
Poetry Often is an "Open Prayer".
Or; “What came first “The Lyrics or the Song”?
Poetry could be. Hypnotizing and mesmerizing.
A spell cast upon the receiver/reader to intoxicate -
Lubricate-and thought combine.
Poetry, can educate, eradicate, aggravate-agitate.
A good write, could-incite, cause spite or delight.
A Poem, also could provoke, or choke;
Make you change your vote.
Poetry is humorous, or filled with natures awes –
The link between God and mankind;
A secret heart's revealing’s-
A delightful playful ditty
where children chant along-
A poem could be inspiration
sent from some other place in time.
It could be from an old poet transcended:
Or from the "great Divine".
Poetry will often leave something on your mind.
It is a cultural, spiritual,
and human exchange. Most of all Poetry is
"One spoken heart reaching another”.
My favorite Poems introduces seldom used words.
Real poetry may make my heart smile,
or my fist raise, could be political, sexy, or analytical-
Free style, or pondered severely:
Poetic pens produce poets, poets produce poems.
Poems, can do all the above mentioned and more…
and that’s that poem!
A smile can hide a thousand tears
keeping lies unknown throughout the years
hiding away one's darkest fear
but it never feels the pain i bear....
A tear to unite me with those of broken heart
A smile to be a sign of my joy in existence...
I smile instead to hide my undefined behavior
believing that the tears work is to only clean
and lubricate the eyes
not ruin anyone's life......
At times tears trickle down the cheeks
accompanied by the sobbing sounds that i dislike
and have a disbelief......
no strong intense emotions light up while i cry
but i try to build a thinking about the world looking at me
finding me to be a weak person.....
when i smile, i love the feeling of my muscles contracting near my eyes
and spreading positivism around ......
called the grimace an involuntarily expression of anxiety makes me feel completely different from others and blabbers out many emotions....
some people are too tired of giving a smile
after knowing it will cost them nothing
but yes no one needs a smile as much as those who have none to give....
therefore, smiling is a hobby and tears!!! ohhh!! just forget about it
they are just a small amount of garbage that needs to be put aside in its proper place.....
Chocolate stains across a clean shirt
Sticky stains smeared on pale arms
Low thoughts and dry tears fit right into this gray hazy sky.
Itching and stinging on legs and arms that no cream has the formula to relieve.
Comforter has a roughness that has no explanation.
Thoughts irregular and edgy looking for a press, deep sigh.
Why oh why have these illusions come to haunt me again.
Grumbling and aching are a constant companion.
Unorderly placements of things and verse with no comply.
Deep sigh, again? Not again! Let it go, keep moving
Forward ho.....mush you jello! Bicep reach and contract.
Limber junctions lubricate and roll....Worm not today, Blow fly!