Best Maddens Poems
That cologne was the aroma of her love, I was sure,
Spirit within her crystal-like innocence finely pure;
Innateness born in her at very time of conception,
Divine decorum that pervaded her each perception...!
Herbal, spicy, floral perfume of her perfect psyche,
Within flutter fancies flawlessly like flowery niche;
Cherubim and Seraphim flying midst clouds of heaven,
Fairy of finest form, fascinated in clouds seven...!
And her fleshy fussy feminist fiber and flavor,
That, like satiating honey, ceaselessly I savor;
Beauty within and without; and her virtuous morals,
Amalgamation of wisdom and wit and love-laurels...!
Nail and flesh like combination of care and compassion,
Toward love-filled-reciprocity her endless passion;
These precious pearls have become parts of my lasting treasures,
Fragrance of this frankincense maddens me beyond measures...!
13 July 2022
Rhyme Rumi Quote Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
You want to know what annoyeth me? Let me count the ways!
I could weave a veritable tapestry of all my aggravations, mostly in
light and deep crimson hues which signify the violence in my Heart.
Easily I could write a novel that reads like a laundry list of everything that
vex me to no fathomable End.
Pretentiousness, which is the ultimate Sin of Sins, maddens me more
than mere meager words can describe or accurately articulate. An example, perhaps?
Someone who claims to be a better poet than Shakespeare! Such heinous poetic heresy and blatant blasphemy! ONE WORD: HA!
Let's see...what else? Oh, how I loath- despise! an unannounced and
unexpected visitor, a "knock, knock" that sends shivers, like shards of glass,
down my disturbed spine. Yes, I know all about Jesus. No, I don't want to come to your church but I'll smile, be polite and friendly as I decline the invitation, then send you off on your merry way to pester someone else with your nonsense and throw your "literature" in the trash. I wish I lived in an impregnable fortress surrounded by a moat and guarded by ten-thousand Pinkerton Guards. They never sleep.
Driving, what a bedeviling task! Anyone remember the old video game "Spy Hunter" where your vehicle was equipped with bombs and lasers and such? How I wish my car had a machine gun or rocket-launcher turret to get everyone out of my way! Going too slow? KABOOM! Didn't use your turn signal? Ratta-tat-tat-tat-tat-t-a-t-t...-a...-t. So long, buster!
Bad hair-do's are ALMOST as sinful and unforgivable as pretentiousness. I cannot abide a bad hair-do. It's a good thing I'm not a socio/psychopathic autocrat or I would have anyone with an offensive coif shot on sight. When I was in school and big, poofy Aqua-Net shellac soaked , giant crunchy big bangs were all the rage, I took great delight in smashing those immense, granite-like monstrous and monumental mega-pompadours. Some of those do's were hard as bricks, like they were surrounded and protected by some kind of hair force-field. I demolished many a poof in my youth!
This diatribe is just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. I could on and on and on and on and on and on...but I'll trail off here...
*What Annoys You Contest Entry*
JustThatArchaicPoet
Expectation's a sure path to pain
First we cover our gaps with dreams
And let them dreams grow within
Tall, thick and feasible
Turning to purpose
Then obsession
That thwarted
Maddens,
Hurts.
Festered lament maddens me
Why must the despair of my heart’s desire
Truly enlighten me?
I rested among the sick and lame
And found myself no different from the rest
For a troubled mind holds endless poverty
Penniless regret marks as a sickness no doctor can prescribe
For the bottles of balm are empty
And medicinal hope grows angry
I derived my madness from creativity
Revealing the remains of my humanity
‘Cool off, child’, I heard a soft voice whisper
But can’t you see I live off the flame?
It asks for no nickel or dime!
But it seeks to destroy all the same
The small voice returns at times
And often my heart listens
But we all listen
And only believe in the inevitability of pain
I speak of the majority
Not of you
For you are blessed and beyond disgrace
You have a life—a beautiful face
And most of all, you are rich
With attributes I can only dream of
You are rich with life and purpose
Holding inscrutabilities I can only wish to understand
You lift me without touch or care
Disposing me from your treasures
Because though you meant no harm,
You are rich with blessing
And must remove all possible threats
So my festered lament
Remains an enlightenment
I can say I am rich in poverty
But you are forever rich
In Mystery
What hurts the most is knowing
I may be wrong about you
For you are so obscure in this mind
And as empty as I am I wish to be filled
In your richness
But we all are filled to the brim in the end
And sometimes I cannot distinguish the good from the bad
There is nothing I wish to discard
So I hoard in constant deficiency and despair
And I hoard the idea that you are beyond compare
That you are rich
And always will be richer
Than me—or he
Villanelle: Kill not Mad Poets the Soul-Blood of Mankind
for Emmanuel MACRON
Kill not mad poets the soul-blood of mankind
Better kill gods teacher-preachers saviours
Their words stretch galactic aeons of the mind
Who kills trills of the fine feathered chirping kind
Never clapping thunder smother lonely warblers
Kill not mad poets the soul-blood of mankind
The Merle Noir maddens the Warbler Subalpine
Will not the Woodchat Strike tease Yellow Hammers
Their words stretch galactic aeons of the mind
aiOoo loie loieC screEch screEch tWine tWine
dingk dingk twingK clUt clUt aiOoo sRoothers
Kill not mad poets the soul-blood of mankind
Who but raving politicos seek to bind
Mad poets lyrical fill hungry beggars
Their words stretch galactic aeons of the mind
Who recalls greed-fed conquests all anodyne
Blissful mad morning trills drill Orphean Warblers
Kill not mad poets the soul-blood of mankind
Their words stretch galactic aeons of the mind
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
This house doesn't need ghosts to scare anyone
The walls take sanity for fun
They'll hex you with whispers in tongue
Arrive with confidence, you'll leave with none
The longer you stay, the further undone
The air stifles, it thickens and numbs
It weighs down on you like tons
Constricting every cell, it stuns
Skeletons in these closets tote guns
Heat comes at you like fire from dragons
I mean heat like the fury of a thousand suns
Your mind weakens and maddens
This house kills souls like it's a soul assassin
A suffering only the wicked can fathom
The Missing Season
27/07/2020
Whiffs of summery air grow startlingly unfresh
Dying like a withering dream yet almost deathless
Ruffled by an impasse of a senescent, uncrossable viaduct
that goes beyond my knowingness, beyond my conception
Of an unknown poison instilled merely into my air
Blossomless springs, rainless winters and sunless summers
Yet the missing season is still an untold story of a tired self
Trying to winterize itself for the soon-to-be winters ahead…
All of the un/randomness -of wintry possibilities- maddens
She, all the same, awaits for thousands of summers instead
Away from the insufferable stuffiness that strangulates her
She willingly remains afar yet unwillingly she goes further
Not in the dark does she detachedly dwell, nor in a beacon
In a semi-dark room of her own, she scatters her thoughts
to get drowned into their boundless, unfathomable oceans
toward the innerness of thoughts she steps back and forth.
Dreamless nights very drearily resemble her dreamy nights
Those of the dying birds. On her own she fancies the Quail
That reminds her of the once brawny nest by the mountain
One season with an orphic symbol is still forever unfindable
And the pretermitted leaves remain rigid though shriveled
Unwilling to be vulnerably wept, they embrace summertime
A summer of their own from the figment of their imagination
Softly it drizzles upon their souls, and again they are revived.
You promised to come back soon
Instead I received your letter of love
You had gone away to hunt for a boon
I am dying to be with you, by Jove.
The message from far away that you sent
Nevertheless fills me with an anticipation
It excites and spreads in air your own scent
In my otherwise forlorn, empty damnation.
Now, in the morning, bright flowers blossom
And in them, I breathe your sweet essence
At night the twinkling stars look awesome
Reminding me of our secret acquiescence.
The distant melodious tune jingles in me
An overpowering presence of you deep inside
The magic of your sweet words maddens me
Tears of joy gush down my cheeks besides.
I forget myself and in the trance of your love
I believe that I am in your strong, safe arms
I belong where you are, as if a hand in glove
My heart only beats for your love and charm.
I am thirsty and your love’s elixir I want to sip
My world now comprises of only waiting for you
Before my patience gives me a big bang and slip
Come soon and embrace me, love, I beckon you.
Date: 6.8.2014
Is it sanity or bravery that I come to you like this?
Wanting, no needing something to live for
Something to see
On the long marched across the sea of grass I wonder
What maddens possessed me?
What in sanity led me to this place?
Out here looking for friend
What have I done to myself?
I’m mining my own gold
Yet can I trust the value it will bring?
Can I trust myself?
Is it sanity or bravery that I came to you like this?
On the long dark nights I lay awake
Doubting my nightmare dreams
I’m standing at an alter
The women beside, my bride
Is weeping nothing tears
I keep whispering to her
It’s ok love
And she keeps
Shushing me
I close my eyes
When they open gold falls from the sky
I look up
There are my eyes
Weeping rain
Breathing thunders last game
I close my eyes
I’m not afraid of the darkness
I trust that the moon shall guyed me
So is it vanity or brave that I came to you like this?
Is it saintly last strand?
Madness in a brandy glass?
Or
Has the game of loneliness come to its end?
What do I do?
Shall I press forth into the unknown?
The unseen?
Mining my own gold
Or
Do I stay here?
Like a child hiding beneath my mother’s dress?
Is it sanity or bravery that I come to you like this?
With my heart out there to chow
I don’t know what else to do?
So I write and walk
Think and talk
Yet how can I be share
That I’m welcomed with open arms
Is it vanity or bravery that I’ve come to you like this?
Out here looking for a friend
Among the black sheep
The folks that no one needs
Except for me
So is it saintly or bravery that I stand before you
With my heart out there to chew
I didn’t know what else to do.
And then ..
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire
And then..
The ribbon and the cuff link
Escort the gent..
That annoy
Man about a woman
On the long wait
Of her dress up
But then..
The afterward will
Be splendid
When the deal is done
The beauty of her
Smart on your arm.
Before then ..
She vexes and maddens
And makes the blood boil
Too much wick and tick off
The man go nut's
He is in rut to go.
The stockings go up
The lipstick on.
The right way ?
Thats right
Her head rotate's
"How do I look
Is this colour right"
Inquiry ?
"My hair is sitting
In the chair"
She complains
Her miff continues
As if the mirror foils
Round and round she twist
My blood boils
As she pencils
Her lips red for minutes
Till it ends.
But then !
When she grabs my hand
After make up
The twist starts
And another gent
In the foyer
Get's the goat.
I feel A millionaire
When she leads
Me arm on
In those stilettos
Balanced and poised.
And then..
All worth the wait
We look superb
And me I feel like
the main lion
In the den.
The ribbon on the cuff link
What a hit !
And then
Bling !!
We cream the dance floor
And all the other penguins
Look on ..
Supreme la belle le beau ..
There is a sizzle.
This heart broken and shattered
With palpitations at bay.
Shan't ride the storm before the morn
For I can't stand the pain.
This nausea, this sickness, the pitiless aches
My lingering illness.
Torments my mind and maddens my brain
She's gone, my love is gone.
To climb and explore,
The high and large elevations, her Everest.
To fly above each somber cloud, the patches hued with gray.
Who will save ye now ?
When left battered and bruised from falling
While lost within your endless bipolarity.
What angel will swoop down from blue skies
And save thee from those rippling tides?
Allow me,
To offer you my broken heart,
And save you the effort of breaking many more.
just as moon melts slow
sharp pin pricks in each taste bud
so soft you opt glide
first you eclipse top
lips on beats at closed eye lids
scent maddens nostrils
it's now velvet shift
meandering footsy falls
pink heat from gold sparks
moon now in mid sky
half lost in your blue onslaught
it's cannabis mist
warmly soft journey
full river orange massage
moony soft fingers
now the cup is full
purple calm with restive bull
stories of dream wool
July 20, 2019
Multiple-Haikus Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Jamie Pan
shipwrecked delirious at 89 bunker street
there lives my cloudberry doll
singing the songs of the blue hour
there lives my chantress with wax wings
my dormant (tor)mentor of keyhole view
reanimér les mémoires d'automne
in cryptic silence of a ramshackle silo
too late! I noticed the pallor of peonies
now here come the sleepers of far-off borders
les visiteurs de minuit,
the soldiers of melancholy
obsessed with sacred orders
and the sleepers shall not be awaken
for their spirits are in a perfect rapture
along with the pain that maddens my brain
that's when the hunter becomes the capture
that's when their sight turns into sick
la gloire ignoré, les yeux fatidique
It scorches; it sears
It burns in the veins
It maddens; it deranges
It gives exquisite pains
It entices; it provokes
It lures to its lair
It boils; it combusts
It lays the heart bare
It consumes; it exhumes
The forbidden dreams
It demands; it commands
That you follow its schemes
It explodes; it erupts
In a firework display
It throbs; and pulsates
You can’t get away
It moans; it screams
It gives you no choice
It pants; it groans
It gives love a voice
It’s passion; it’s desire
It’s pure ecstasy!
It’s wonder; it’s magic
Come live it with me.
I.
The echoing din of hammered steel
Anviled and tempered strong,
Resounds in your head like a blacksmith’s song—
Clanging till you feel
The heat of the weapons shop.
II.
Old Thor and apprentices, forging new
Weapons for gods to wield:
The clatter of crafted blade and shield
Deafens and maddens you—
Your brain is their weapons shop.
III.
The gods go to battle, valiantly.
Clattering swords engage
Each other, as breakers surge and rage
Up from the storm-struck sea—
With throbbing that will not stop
As waves—and the broad-axe—chop!