Best Lunge Poems
I find you alone
in your favorite room of sorrow and suspense,
the woman I cherish more than victory or divine sense,
long untouched, you stare into a sonnet of romantic sadness,
supple shadows dress you in stubborn, gothic passion, a quiet finesse,
they know that I am the speed of your tears and the lover in your trance,
as I see what your heart has wept for, tender acceptance
I understand why my soul seeks your emotional opulence,
with my powerful hands I hug those lonely, sexy shoulders of tired independence,
knowing by the ease of your neck's pining tilt, by the searching gap of your starving lips
no longer are you startled by our love, no more will you deny the lust righteous,
gliding the backs of my fingers up under your smooth chin skin, beauty so generous,
I find you passion thrown,
I undo your bodice and your soft feminine flesh opens onto me
radiating craving that glorifies yearning,
I entreat you to grab my hard affection, to feel the firm rush replete
to place the head of my love within you like a heavy heartbeat,
you obey with unquestioning need, eyes alight, thighs wide
I lunge in deeply, completely, pushing through you a pleasure tide
as you breathe in the handsome shock of your fulfillment
I kiss the soft space inbetween your sumptuous breasts and taste wild wonderment -
J.A.B.
Featuring: Keith :)
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Fresh sand garments
The Mental Colosseum floor
Self-infliction's--waging wars
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~ AND THE POEM BEGINS ~
A mask, tiny holes
Breathing heavily
Dancing around my toes
Broad carbon steel
Safe behind my will
Equipment of revenge
Fencing the world with my eyes
I bow, with the morning dew,
My mind a dual in its own world.
When the curtains lift,
I prepare myself with a weapon--
Epee Crest to protect my chest
A sword sharper than fangs
I circle my blade around the door knob
Ready to face the world
Practicing --in hopes today, I won't retreat
“Fencers ready!"
ATTACK!
A magical knightress
Painted in white
"Let's dance!"
~ THE SHOW BEGINS ~
Queen Amri "VS" The Damsel
Wishing it was over
Stainless steel echoes
“Every poke counts”
Hoping & Taking
No room to disengage ---I retreat
Peacefully I secure my stance
On Guard!
I lean in, I disengage ---I flee
Back again, I lunge
The Queen is too smart to retreat
I -Amri, parry away from the argument of the lunge.
Recoil & Double tapped
In and out….. I'm struck
Boldness---
Back to the drawing board
On guard, I stand like a statue
Out of breath; feels like I'm dying
Yet I am still fighting.
The Queen knows what to do.
TODAY~
I Yield, She Wins!
Raising our foils
---At the on guard of another day
I move in swiftly, cutting like razor blades
Using refreshed energy
24 / 7
I attack, She provokes!
Sand runs its course
Victorious against the queen
Touch – tied – triumph -- Touché
Standing on my own 2 feet
I am the
-Grand Finale Show-
Conquering The Battles Inside
TODAY~
-I WIN!-
by; PD
I revisit this realm where your actions cannot,
Will not,
Stifle my nascence
Never enough,
Never enough
Forward,
I tear away my onion skin
Embattled by a loathing humanity
I throw solaced emotions
Upon rusted turnstiles
Spinning round,
Right round,
Round,
Right round
But, you wouldn’t call me baby.
Good.
Because I was told
That it is better to be hated for who I am,
Then loved for who I am not
So, hate me.
HATE ME!
HATE ME!
Forever…
…always.
Lunge at me with your preconceived notions
Of why I mean(t) the world to you
Open your arms of Fort Knox and
Tell me why I WILL NOT ASCEND
Upon your generic wings
Made of Atheist smiles
Because,
If you don’t believe in anything,
Why
Oh why,
Would you believe in me?
©D.J.E. -11/19/2015
Yield? Not to you, I certainly won't.
I'll parry on hot coals, I'll lunge to your affront.
Succumb? I'll not breathe your air of lies,
Since no honeyed sweetness makes me compromise.
Supplicate? Then throw down your armor at will.
Once freed from this battle, you will be my love still.
where the heart leads
adventures follow
daring hearts
geared up to go
enthusiasm soaring
anticipating the challenge
forging ahead with confidence
thriving on the lust for conquest
lay groundwork for elation
swooping in wholeheartedly
eager to launch each escapade
lunge and pounce with conviction
high on the taste of freedom
riding the waves of time
deriving satisfaction
biting into life
measure man against himself
alone in the universe
master of his destiny
owning his achievements
implode with passion
Published in my 24-page photo book ~DIVING IN~ 2019
Read on air by invitation ~ August 25, 2020 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
When you said to me,
"Climb up here, It's pollution free."
Sacred. Safe.
Your rarefied air.
Calculating, you seemed so free.
Safeguard. Sage.
I said I could breathe...
Underrated your density.
Saintly. Sane.
High-minded insight.
When anticipated terror
denuded me,
cool rarefied air
regulated insanity,
far gone fear.
I will breathe
in your rarefied air.
Let it burn brisk
in brittle, brave lungs.
Gasp and grasp
life's flame, full flare.
Lunge for high notions,
those far-flung schemes.
I will breathe in
High mind's smoke,
hung in air-
that ghostly stroke of genius,
rare token in disguise
Well spoken word flurries
whipping away thin guise.
Floating crown
adrift on high.
I will breathe in
Your rarefied air,
because I listened to you.
"Clamber up, high!
Unfazed view will circle you,
miles on end surround you.
No going around the bend.
Nowhere else to go.
No zig zag escape.
No spike in pressure.
No deep depression.
No bad atmosphere.
No stabbing shove.
No push or pull on edge.
Just your pledge to breathe.
To move in one direction.
Forever. Mentally "together."
Stay in good shape."
I will breathe out.
Your rarefied thoughts
congeal life's force,
slows down blood flow.
Till body gloved heart
faintly, faintly glows...
Concealed fire's torch,
caved embers die down.
Stripped artfully apart,
Your rarefied airs
blanket my mind in snow.
13/10/2018. Purely fiction. On the pros and cons of mentorship. "Higher" education is not necessarily a good thing. Learning lessons are.
The Merry Minstrel of Mickleover
I strike this chord without a sword
For I am not so brave
Whence came a knight with armour bright
Who vowed princess to save
The wicked sire of the shire
Had seen well to kidnap
The daughter of the king and bring
Much wealth into his lap
Handsome he thought the ransom
The king was sure to pay
For fear his precious princess dear
The wicked sire would slay
From his abode the knight he rode
Through wind and rain and storm
O’er hill and dale and muddy trail
His quest to keep him warm
The castle wall it looked so tall
Impregnable in height
Banged on the door and yet once more
His iron fist with might
The surly sire quoths to enquire
“Who raps upon my door”
“Tis mystery, now set her free
Or death you’ll lay before”
With lunge and slash with swords they clash
Upon the open plain
Died his desire there in the mire
As evil sire is slain
The princess freed from needless greed
Sort knight to gift reward
“Place in my hand just thine hair band
If this please thy accord”
( The minstrels song lived large and long
Was sung all o’er the land
Where ‘ere he been could still be seen
Rebec ‘dorned with blue band )
Rebec; A medaeval violin type instrument
Mickleover; A village in Derbyshire, England
Though now a suburb of the City of Derby
The residents still refer to it as ‘The Village’
For Medaeval Idealism Contest
Sponsor, Isaiah Zerbst
There is never an ending
to the spending
a world of paper
and plastic to collect
and horde
clothes
and cars
and homes
and jewelry
and fine wine
and paintings
stocks and bonds
vacations
and expectations
entire vocations
devoted to
disguising the numbers
the Caribbean masquerade
to volumes of recorded
purchases and voices
of invoices
making
discreet
choices
all
to extend
the accumulation
of dates
and names
places and faces
communications
and connections
at breakneck
speed
must fill the need
must fill the need
a shouting browbeating
broadband
handing over
fistfuls of cash
to make sure
make certain
only the best
the finest
the rarest
of air is not available
for
the underwater martyrs
the silent box dwellers
the empty bottle collectors
the wheelchair drifters
the SRO limbo sellers
the workers at
the bottom
of the
fast
food
chain
and the indigent gamblers
who line the halls
to knock on doors
of government departments
crippled by reckless
and corrupt state
administrations
choking the dwindling
sources
and resources
that have
nothing to do
but
count the days
and ways
to disappoint
disarm dismay
dispute the reputations
and applications
held in sweaty palms
eager
to begin living
to end the doubt
to end the not having
the counting of pennies
the slow heroin erosion
the unbroken hollowness
the whiskey-soaked
ravages of vacant histories
better-forgotten memories
of cold emergency rooms
to end being
in a world
apart
a world
of resentment
of fear and hate and anger
of dark empty streets
empty recriminations
empty promises
made to themselves
by themselves
harming themselves
or
arming themselves
to rob to steal
to maim
to take whatever they can
for as long as they can
to approximate
the wonder and magic
of having what you need
when you need it or want it
to not have to beg
to not have to humiliate
or be humiliated
to not have to watch
the ease of others
who have a casual
contempt for misfortune
and respect for nothing
but their own wealth
of deception
to breeze through
tall golden doors
to an unbroken string
of shiny bright todays
and tomorrows
to not have to
lunge for hope
and
never grasp it
in all ways
and forever
just out of
reach
I stood amidst the maddening crowds
drowned in cries of disarray....
Something about this gentle captive
Encouraged me to stay.
Through the crimson rivets flowing
his eyes they pulsed with love.
And through the swarming sea of fists
His gaze was cast above.
They kicked him down, with every lunge
a vicious spite fuelled taunt...
They marched their prey atop the hill
to torture kill and flaunt.
I braved the writhing mass of spite
as i was in his debt i felt.
I shuddered at his broken form
every open wound and welt.
His mouth grimaced in sheer torment
as nails were driven to his wrists.
Blood thickened on the sun scorched sand
trickling from his tight clenched fists.
They mounted him on the cross
As he was raised for all to see.
Anger toiled deep in my heart
as the high priests howled in glee.
All silenced by his final cry
his broken chords in lamentation.
He wailed unto the heavenly Father
The God of our creation....
Father God forgive them.. for they know not
what they do ...
Love was spilt from the beams that bore
The man so pure ... so true ..
And as he hung his deadening glare
which faded in affection..
Death had lost its mighty sting
as he awaited resurrection.
Demonically Dispossessed
...man has the ability to express great love,
and dispense great evil...
The legions of darkness descend as they beastly bewilder and offend
The serpents of Babylon attend as their ecumenical evil does extend
In a pandemonium plunge with pernicious pains and succulent sponge
With tenacious tongues they lunge and fast fade away as they expunge
~~~
In their fallacious faculties fermenting feces frolicking the wasteland
Demonic disciples preach profanities before the sanguineous sand
As they efficiently eviscerate exigently under their hellion command
For they are curious to castrate the condemned as their cries demand
~~~
Within their taunting tantalize as hearts bleed amidst the scarlet skies
Their goal the soul to compromise and for love to cripple and capsize
In a vortex venomous vile blasphemous broods of a damnation defile
For we must battle the bile as warriors of light with a sagacious smile.
Music by Slipknot-'The devil in I'
June.28.2018
Eight word challenge-7
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
Placed 2'nd
(my part six entry into the crown sonnet started by Debs)
Ahead the bear in sudden motion stands.
I want to turn and run, but this is not
my way; I grasp my knife in trembling hands.
This fight will be like none I’ve ever fought!
The beast is greatly wounded; I can tell
by how he weaves, and I must take his life!
His neck I’ll strike. I breathe in; then exhale. . .
With all my might, I lunge out with my knife.
My free wrist he has clawed, but I am good!
Again and then again, I thrust and thrust.
Blood gushes from him as I knew it would.
I willed his death, for in myself I trust.
His warmth I’ll take by scraping fur from skin.
I bow before the bear to honor him.
When Faith turns fanatic,
When the mind, like a sponge soaked in dogma,
When the lure of money overrides,
When reason is hoodwinked
With the promise of a Heaven in wait,
A terrorist is born!
He moves around armed with ammunition.
Joins other desperados with loaded guns and bombs.
Like horrendous beasts unleashed from the den
They lunge on a rampage, with threats at gunpoint.
In God's name violence is concocted
Spewing hatred, hostility, and horror
When interests clash, when the greed for power overrides
Between countries, tension builds.
In the war between Russia and Ukraine
In the turmoil between Jews and Palestinians
How many have died leaving their families wailing?
We are on the brink of an apocalypse.
Guns roar, bombs blast, causing,
Death, deformity, and destruction,
Mushroom clouds rise high.
Dark clouds hang on the horizon.
Frivolous ideologies kill lives of innocents
Leading to distress and doom.
With the world turning into a battlefield
We need an escape from this inferno.
Combined efforts alone can subdue,
This formidable enemy of gigantic proportions.
United shall we stay to get all wrongs right,
Muster strength to catch the bull by its horns,
To let the doves of peace take on wings,
And build a world free of hostility and war!
_________________________________________________
Aub
Aubrey Gordon Joseph Mc'Govern
by Don Johnson...
he was born in 1895 to a land so different then,
one of three boys born at Brenda station,
near to Hebel up the river near the water on a bend.
though just a child he told me of his life upon the land,
of strange things seen and space ships strange, with
coloured lights so grand.
how he and Walter and the boy had seen it flying past ,
but never went to look for it though it fell with a mighty blast.
he drove the coach for Cobb & co, held six horses by the rein,
these 3 Mc Govern's never married though,
so no Mc Govern's will remain.
he worked on Cubbie station as a station hand
their fences he did mend, delivered mail a sulky
mailman to the squatters he was friend.
no radio on the airwaves then, the news would come by him,
by word of mouth the bush telegraph, bare facts with no garnishing.
one time he was a shearers cook and cooked o'er an open fire.
he was on the rum, maybe seeing things, old Aub. he was no liar.
as he stooped to check the boiling pot he saw the Devil lunge at him.
so he flogged him off used his boiling spuds,
made a goodly campfire dim.
old Aubrey's gone where the old drovers go,
but i sure remember him.
as a story teller i did know,
when i was small and thin. …
I fell in battle, sword in hand,
Invading someone else’s land.
Then I saw her, and she reached down,
To escort me from the battleground.
I’d let her take me anywhere,
With her winged helmet and braided hair.
She had me stand ‘neath Odin’s throne,
Where each warrior must stand alone.
One-eyed Odin judged me to be
Worthy to serve in his last army….
Daily killed and resurrected--
(Not quite the afterlife expected!)
Samurais taught me to sword-fight.
I learned spear and shield from a Hoplite.
Vikings taught me the battle axe,
And the Persians taught me sneak attacks.
We die each day and then come back,
Always practicing for Ragnorak.
She brings me mead, my Valkyrie,
And sometimes at night she favors me.
Since she’s nearby, it’s just as well--
This isn’t Heaven, but not quite Hell.
We’ll fight and sing to the war drums,
Waiting the day that Ragnorak comes.
(Chorus)
Our days are spent in miseries,
But at night we have the Valkyries.
Riposte and lunge, thrust and parry;
That’s all we do in Odin’s army.
Who would believe your slim elegant body would win my affection,
when you gracelessly step on toes? Your soft doe skin of cream
spotted brown, floppy ears I threaten to turn into gloves as a joke.
Through many chain jangle calls for walks where you race and lunge
and bark fighting for the right to be with me, how could I turn you away?
When you almost die I am ready to give you away to death, hating the sick
green puke, you become skinnier despite the surgery until finally
one simple shot brings you back to us alive, slurping our hands and faces.
Busy days of science and humanities and government tucked up in a chair,
I forgot you, but you begged let me even eat your apple. let me sit in your lap
but you’re so big now you don’t fit and don't like apple. Chocolate chips cookies, though, a whole batch scarfed from the table and then you wiggle and wag tail,
snarl, your teeth clenched when I offer just one more. We all know who is guilty,
not you, your innocence, your steadfast defense, says it is our family who has forgot.
Finally, it is too late. You hurt too bad, spine enflamed, barely able to walk
or eat. Tomorrow your last day. I pick up the chain, you race happy to join me
down the row of maples losing their last autumn leaves, where my brother and I lead you plodding like an old man, stopping to breathe, and I see stars in my eyes,
saying goodbye. Goodbye to the lady of our family, the Dalmatian Duchess
who loved us best, walked beside us through our childhood days like a guardian.
11-16-2013