Best Maneuvers Poems
The Fall of The Winter King
He had risen to power
fueled by a vicious and ruthless determination
to reclaim a lost throne.
His tactics had stunned the unsuspecting,
laid barren the fields,
blanketed the forest,
silenced the sounds of life itself.
A dictator, seeking no counsel,
accepting no offers of surrender,
driven by the desire to destroy
the kingdom that had usurped his throne.
Rumors spread of a daring bud – sprouting -
a tune hummed by the imprisoned trees
adrift on the whipping winds of war
in defiance of the heartless king.
A call to arms sounded
by the most gentle, the most delicate.
The first acts of open rebellion,
The resounding crack of the ice jamb
the aching roar of the river’s rage
surging over its banks
awakening those still held captive.
Slowly the insurrection took root
buds gathered in hidden clusters,
trees quietly bloomed
muffling the screeching gales,
offering safety to bands of rebels.
Flocks of warblers met -
feathered archers - hurling their
darting arrows against the glare
of a cold king’s horror.
Sweet grasses spread across
the brown, despoiled fields -
a verdant gauntlet tossed in the face of dread.
Flowers crept from thawing dungeons
waving their colors,
swarms of banished pollinators
followed the call to duty.
The ebb and flow of battle -
frosted retreats,
clandestine sunrise maneuvers.
The resurgence of heart,
the growing hope of warmth.
As memory of the chilled repression
faded preparation was made
to receive the beauty and bounty
of a new and peaceful King.
John G. Lawless
1/11/2015
For SKAT’s Winter’s End – Poetry Contest
I douse myself by melodious waves of music
As he maneuvers me into his gracefulness
Clasps of our hands draw my ebullience like magic
In ecstasy, feet slide to and fro to express
The pleasure at ritzy hall in ballroom delight
Huge array of lights shimmers on our gala dress
Oh, I am sheer brought to the crest of his limelight!
He sways me and turns, our balancing pays the price
Wearing my confidence in the spectator’s sight
I can feel every beat with his most sumptuous spice
His perfume wafting on air, I’m more than alive
Clutching back our body close, great passions arise
All in delighted spirit, convivial grace thrives
Ballroom dancing paints the beauty where love survives
Nov. 30, 2014 10.55 a.m
- In honor of Victor Gabriel Gilbert, a great painter and artist.
I like him so much and his masterpiece.
Imagining to dance with him in consummate ease:)
Seventh Place
Contest: Ballroom Delights
Judged: 12/16/2014
Sponsor: Poet Isiah Zerbst
Thrusting his knowledge inside , his strong hands hold my hips
His thoughts enter into my essence as I kiss his full lips
I savor the sweet smell of perception all over his skin
As his prophecies penetrate my depths finding solace within
I open the secret chambers of my soul, freely allowing him to explore
Passionately he places his spiritual goods, behind my guarded doors.
I wrap myself around his wisdom, as I invite him inside
Eagerly embracing his ego and stroking his pride
Down the small of my back inspiration caresses my curves
Releasing the desires of his heart and the strength of his words
His understanding carefully maneuvers through the maze of my mind
Easily navigating the intricacies of my intellect, each and every time.
Pressing tightly against each other, inhaling his spirit from the air
And I gaze into the eyes of my Poetic Love Affair
Chiquita(Chiamaka)Baity
^^^cdi^^^
Women are roses
Beware of thorns
With tactful maneuvers
Lest you get poisoned
Women are oars
They sail your boat, without roars
And, the calm waters
Conceal the abyssal horrors
Women are children
Give them big sweets
Hug them with heart beats
And show them trustful smiles
'Cause they sniff the wiles
Women are wireless spies
Aired through airborn flies
A mouth-to-ear news murmured
Faster than any transmitter
Woman are thieves
They steal your heart
They laugh when you grieve
And cry when you leave
Women are men
They do all they can
Go to war, hold a pen
But without men,
They never can
Women give all their heart
It seems they won't depart
Once real things are getting hard
They leave like never did start
But, We can't live without them
Life is duality, woman and man
Happiness and Sorrow
Let's share them life's joy and pain
Until we both, leave this Earth
To the Power '' Supreme ''
Dolphins
Watch the aquatic mammals reigning warm waters
Riding ocean waves zestfully flexing playful behavior
Jumping high in air performing acrobatic maneuvers
Synchronizing movements impressing fond watchers.
Be dazzled by their graceful moves peeking up for air
Turning around buoyantly raising caudal fins in pairs
Diving elongated noses under great depths of ocean
Resurfacing with gallant jumps stirring up emotions.
See a dolphin show joyous amid human interactions
As gray mammals emerge like torpedoes in action
Looping in air artfully, bowing to cheerful reactions
Dancing on water regally evoking rush of passions,
Admire as they toss a ball delighting in jovial acts
Walking like penguins to rise and kiss human hands
Splashing water impishly they rejoice as kids laugh
Dipping under water to perform upside down dance,
Amazing to see how they obey human instructions
Jumping through hoops upon listening to directions
Adorning choreographic motion for grateful crowds
Waving hello intelligently as people loudly applaud,
Don't miss gracious goodbye as they retreat in style
Being aware children are grinning with lofty smiles
Saying thanks, rising high-up to accept their reward
Brilliantly they pause to acknowledge the applause.
December 29, 2017
First place in Dolphins contest
Sponsor: Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
Placed 3rd: Strand Pick 6 Contest by Brian Strand
Silent is the echo as pride shouts
selfishness causing pouts...
self-conceit triumphs over jealousy bouts
self-glory reigns with discontentment clouts
self-reliance wavers upon attacking doubts
self-pity maneuvers toward false humility-routes…
The echo returns not indeed...
as self-sufficiency does arrogantly succeed
self-exaltation declares me-I-my-mine creed
self-inflicting pain midst guilt continues to breed
self-denial actually hoists covetousness and greed
self-love matters most, not recognizing God with His deed.
I am an evening of scented season,
wondering if you've given me
this stairway with the gold curls.
Who changed her name to Stacy?
Later in my throbbing red heart,
you were forest green and lush apples.
I have learned to pick my apples,
the reddest ones no matter what season.
Then you wormed your way into my heart,
gnawing away the discretion in me.
I wish I had a pretty name like Stacy,
and sunlight in my spiral curls.
A snake who maneuvers in curls,
you savor the tartness of granny apples,
dreaming of girls with names like Stacy,
who are cherries of the spring season,
while courting an old dame like me,
careless about breaking my heart.
I've wondered about the color of your heart.
It has wound its way around me in curls,
so tightly you almost suffocate me.
Now I am just the core of an apple,
tossed to the dirt in a cold season.
Maybe I will reincarnate as Stacy!
My childhood nemesis is named Stacy.
Oh, how she left an ache in my heart,
with blushed cheeks of a peach in season,
and glossy lips in a perpetual curl.
In everyone’s eyes I was the apple,
until that Snow White replaced me.
The whole world has replaced me,
full of young versions of Stacy.
My wrinkled skin is like fermented apples.
Now I tell people, hey, I have a kind heart.
I need no curler to make my lashes curl.
I change with the colors of a new season.
You've handed an apple to the piteous me.
It is love's season, nothing to do with Stacy.
The warm cushion of your heart is where I'll curl.
Darkness Where Now Poe And Raven Reside,
(Part Three)
Poe slowly gave distance to this great fight
With sweetest glee, his heart pounding its beat
Glorious would be this blood flowing sight
Better both should die, give beasts more to eat
Dragon came forth, hero drew his sharp blade
His weapon forged in Elves's hot fire
Its razor-sharp steel, for monsters was made
Recalls his vow after this to retire.
Alas! A snake there at dragon's clawed feet
Its fangs long and its slit-eyes cherry red
Hissing, it raced forth to hero's blade meet
Lightning fast swing, off came its giant head
Dragon came, its tail gave a mighty crack
Look out hero , cried hellish tortured group
Hero just in time saw this quick attack
Moving back to avoid that deadly swoop!
Brave warrior now leaped from that bloody stage
Lands closer to lost souls in heavy chains
Dragon thwarted, bellows its fiery rage
Releasing streams of its fire-born rains.
Hero's shield covers him during that blast
His body armor tho' scant did the trick
Again he maneuvers forward so fast
In his plunged sword through scales very thick.
So nimble was this deep and deadly thrust
Dragon felt it after it was too late
Hero knowing time was right, death a must
His true prayer, told him his win was Fate
Then his razor-sharp sword found tender throat
His vengeance increasing with each new breath
Thrice with deeper hacks fallen neck he smote
Separating head, sealing dragon's death!
Then Master Poe gave out a mighty shout
Steeping back on stage, on guts and gore
Proclaiming this warrior true, brave and stout
Telling lost souls, those claps, lets give him more
With their chains rattling they did just as told
Chanting hero, free us from this hell now
You are ever faithful, valiant, strong and bold
We beg of thee this, caring not the how!
Robert J. Lindley, 5-02-2019
Dark Rhymes, ( As Raven And Poe Both Survive Below )
Part Three...
Syllables Per Line:
0 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10
0 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10
0 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10
0 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10
0 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10
Total # Syllables:400
Total # Words:306
In the grip of Rivers of Babylon
Arise to consolidate your fight for faith
And God pain and strain from your comfort zone
Will slay to renew and reinvigorate the breath
Essential to make a way
To the salvation you deserve
As on bended knees you pray everyday
Your God in due season you serve
Reminding the Devil is a liar
Whose maneuvers to lead you astray
Can no longer soar higher
When into your life returns the ray
God shines brighter and brighter
Clearing dark clouds
That for an instant held you tighter
Enveloping you in doubt shrouds
You fight better and better
As faith grows stronger
To break away the sin and temptation fetter
The Devil squeezed a little longer
When you prevaricated
Granting him room to ensnare you
As your faith vacillated
Until your faith resolve in Babylon grew anew
To consolidate your path to salvation
Whacking the Devil
Into submission
Alongside his bags and tags teeming with evil.
befuddled with liquor
hearing noises in the distance
unclear fuzzy thinking
faculties blown
lah-lah-land feeling
outer space beyond comprehension
inhibitions gone
someone maneuvers your body
you do not care
fences gone
whatever happens happens
a dangerous place
She slips in late, almost every day,
begins her work, though it’s mostly play,
first catches up with her office mates---
every detail, her loves and her hates;
each story repeated several times or more,
to everyone passing her wide-open door;
after some minutes, she grabs up the phone,
most often personal, frequent calls home,
how many messages can one woman take?
Guinness should be called, for heaven’s sake.
Some little tragedy and the drama begins,
so many times, taking all different spins,
each little event spun for more sympathy
in grand scheme to move up the company.
Then acting begins, depending on need
as she maneuvers for additional leave.
How can that be? Can there be more time
left over on this generous company’s dime?
So by morning meeting, is anything done?
Likely not, but she hoodwinks everyone.
“Oh my. I’m so busy. I think I must ask---
someone else here to take over this task.”
Then down comes the boss, and up in a flash,
she’s amazingly quick in the three-meter dash,
“Look here old man, see what I did for the job?”
And in response his weary head starts to bob,
“such a good girl, keep up the great work,”
and we all know she’s angling for a new perk.
“I worked hard at home, for at least two hours,”
she tells the guy who holds all of the powers,
while under their breath her coworkers sneer,
“she doesn’t even work when she’s stuck here.”
After morn meeting she’s back on the horn---
to mother, brother, broker, lovelorn,
not to mention her bevy of needy friends,
to whom her ear she willingly lends.
Now---perhaps---she’ll get some work in,
unless it is time for her daily luncheon.
Scheduled an hour for her time to eat,
but ninety-five minutes she seldom will beat.
And then for three hours in the afternoon,
if she works even one, it will make her head swoon,
although she’ll get up for the middle-day break,
she never misses it, don’t make that mistake.
Finally the day reaches five on the clock,
but somehow she slipped out---with earlier flock!
Once in a blue moon, in the circuit of the cryptic sky appears the transcendental fusion,
when the acquiescence of the sky emerges to display two heavenly bodies most exotic phases of union.
On those, mesmerizing venerated nights, the new moon and the wolf moon in juxtaposition,
supercede the perceived notion of eclipses; when the earth's shadow devours the pearly moon, its unparalleled companion!
Contrary to the credence, they recline and mingle, into one in secret paranormal amalgamation!
At that spectacular moment, the blood of the luna oozes, turns scarlet,
and the venerated Full Moon turns into Blood Moon in unison:
when the earth's umbra covers the moon in its arms, passionately to hide pains of her bunion!
They have clandestine agreement, beyond the mortal comprehension to fathom their cabalistic union!
Although, once in a blue moon, even the cynical corporals,
turn fortunate to witness the epochal communion!
Deluded and hypnotised, they come out with their finite, shallow persuasions!
Even waning, the luna in all her immaculate purity, maneuvers the blue planet, her matchless companion
in various alluring phases, in exuberant magnificent manifestations!
Those rarest phases in rotation connotes their cryptic indulgences in culmination!
The momentum of the earth-moon collision forms curious rarefied condensation,
causes in its beloved's bosom, the tidal ridges, the ebb and flow, a unique phenomenon!
When the luna grows from New Moon to Waxing Crescent, whispering the earth to cast its beams for illumination
in diverse evolving phases from Crescent, First Quarter Waxing Gibbous, Full Moon, Waning Gibbous, Last Quarter, Waning Crescent to the New Moon,
both the celestial- bodies embrace each other
in variant robes of orientations!
Their hide and seek, merging enigma, provokes the lunatics for musing bardic explorations;
as once in a blue moon merges the peerless pens to extol,
the unfathomed metamorphosis of earth-luna's metaphysical communion!
All Rights Reserved © Silpika Kalita
>>1111>>STRAIGHT TO THE POINT<<1111<<
Straight to the point,
No stopping this,
I'm your rival,
This life is about survival,
Or survival of the fittest?
The dopest most explosive lyrical genius writing this,
Beats are tight and vital,
About to take and claim my title,
I'm a nineties dirty ghetto kid,
Accessing detailed memories through subconscious files,
Skateboard connected to my feet grounded,
Pen and paper writing for miles,
Embracing life in a system of madness,
Always doin my best with a huge smile,
While fully grateful,
Within the game with no shame,
On a different level,
Nothing is ever the same,
Imagination left wild,
Positive tendencies learnt through experiments,
Some failed,
Listening to greenthumb, inhale,
Giving anything a go,
within a system i'm not labeled,
Minds collectively lacking cognition,
Brain function disabled,
Getting a message across in rhyme,
Mailed to your mind,
Will it consciously reach ya? teach ya?
My krew never far, we have a laugh,
And hit the footpath,
Skating to a spot with steez,
Stomping tricks but it’s not enough,
Gotta skate fast and master our craft on film,
A skate process of learning patience and pain,
Falling constantly, never giving up,
Fully mindful maneuvers landed consistently,
Converting new skate knowledge to life instantly,
Brain cells firing with high energy form electricity,
Synapse resurrected for the very first time,
Elevating effectively with positivity and productive activity,
In the eyes of society I’m on the same level as workers in a factory,
Trapped but found my way out,
On an alternative route,
I’ve knelt,
To the source creating all of our force,
A seeker without remorse cause that don’t matter,
There’s no deity creator,
Just innocent ignorant talking as a hater,
Instead be like ill mind of Hopsin seven,
Questioning sin, Dismiss,
Listen up, I gotta state this,
This strategic system using the majority of countries citizens,
What I’m consciously witnessing from a distance in the South pacific,
Is insanity at its core to be specific,
Writing from my imagination sober and sometimes stoned,
Striving for balance,
On my skateboard I feel the same,
Sending this out,
You know my name,
Just another street nobody with fame within my clan,
My man Fury this is for you Homie.
Illumination from the entrance
Make it vivid that Jefferson is ‘crazy’
Scripts splatter on the bare floor
Engulf with writings from the mind
Dramatizing the lines with emotions
Aghast! I stand watching the Jefferson
Displaying competency in a dramatics loom
Madness of characterization of the lines make the
Poems visible from his drama the dance steps
in resonance with the utterances as he maneuvers moves stealthily
is Jefferson crazy?
Before I could write the last line
Suddenly, he falls and breathes endlessly
He lay like a tired butterfly…
Have you seen one before?
‘I don’t have a pen’ he recounts
‘I don’t have a pen ‘ he utters breathing heavily
I don’t have a pen too I respond
I was just writing from my mind
On the table I see the line
‘I don’t have a pen’.
You can tell a cowhand by his trappings
Head to toe.
He’s not a drugstore cowboy
who tries to fool you, though.
His boots are manly footwear
and they’re pointed at the toe.
They’re made to fit a stirrup
and show the way to go.
The boot tops climb toward his knees
and turn back thorns and fangs.
Their soles are smooth and scoot on floors
where he dances as he "sangs".
He cleans them both fore he steps inside
so he won’t make a mess.
But I don’t think he takes them off
even when he’s at rest.
His jeans are straight cut at the leg
and stop atop his spurs.
His chaps protect his jeans and legs
from abuse that often occurs
when his mount maneuvers the heavy mesquite
To turn a cow around.
And if you check his pockets
a wallet won’t be found.
Instead you’ll see a circle worn
where a can of snuff is bound.
He wears a plain old leather belt
and the buckle’s just as simple.
His trophies are in a trunk, at rest.
to win them all was ample.
His long sleeve shirt is made of cotton.
He wears it no matter the season.
If you go to church on Sunday morn',
there’s a white one for that reason.
A cowboy wears a hat for a crown.
It’s a signature of his character.
And, if he ever lays it down,
it's best for you if you leave it there.
Yes, a cowhand has a certain look.
You can tell by the way he dresses.
Those drugstore boys are too flashy,
their hair in those beauty shop tresses.
They can dress like a cowhand, but still,
when you look them both in the eye
you’ll know which one is the cowhand.
Just gaze into his eyes and see why.