Best Manner Of Speaking Poems
Come candlelight, tango with me -
Your bittersweet, tri-colored braid,
Dramatic, stealthy, twined esprit.
Your piercing angst, my eyes invade.
Your bittersweet, tri-colored braid -
Blue, orange, yellow sizzling flame.
The piercing angst, my eyes invade.
O mi amor - you are not tame.
Blue, orange, yellow sizzling flame
Your pinta of wax - cold and hot.
O mi amor - you are not tame.
Stilettos feel the burn, the plot.
Your pinta of wax - cold and hot.
Dramatic, stealthy, twined esprit.
Stilettos feel the burn, the plot.
Come candlelight, tango with me.
8/26/2022
Contest: Pantoum - Old or New
Sponsor: Joseph May
Rhymezone.com and howmanysyllables.com
8 syllables per line
*pinta — Appearance; presentation: Includes clothes, grooming, posture, expression, and manner of speaking and relating to the world.
**mi amor - my love
On a Painting
Hey, what are you up to?
here is a sliver of earth
between two gravid rivers ?
Swelling with milk
they quelled dyslexic lands
that dried and cried in nobody’s tongue.
they too had a fateful beat.
only it was random or circardian.
Obscurity is clarity, here and now,
of mitochondrial stuff.
methodical minimalisation
inside a faceless river of black milk.
languorous flow to wet phenomenal banks.
Who would not notice
the hyperlinks dripping nectar?
like running nose, perhaps,
in a manner of speaking.
they flow into a fulfillment,
Or into wind-swept islets!
Inspiration: The Frida Kahlo Painting “ My nurse and I”
By S.Jagathsimhan Nair, 12 Aug 13
For Cyndi's contest.
THE SECRET LOVE
It's the secret you told
never young never old
to her eyes when she wanted to see
and the deepest of you
was a thing that she knew
though you hid, it was all meant to be.
In the plan of all things
for all beggers and kings
in a manner of speaking it's free
but the price is so high
that you sell never buy
and she needs to know how it could be.
There's a song you have heard
and she sings every word
you must sing them along in her key
and her voice soft and clear
is the sound you will hear
through the rest of your life willingly.
If you touched her you'd die
or melt into the sky
so you hide everything that you know
from her eyes that have seen
all that it's ever been
when she looked then you let it all show.
She's the dream in the night
and the dream in daylight
and the dream is where ever you go
like a mist in your mind
and you never can find
any end to the dream that you know.
So you hide in your shell
every word that you tell
every time that she looks there to see
and she wonders at you
what you never can do
how you cling to what never can be.
© Vee Bdosa the Doylestown poet
HYPERBOLE MODE
It's the secret you told
never young never old
to her eyes when she wanted to see
and the deepest of you
was a thing that she knew
though you hid, it was all meant to be.
In the plan of all things
for all beggers and kings
in a manner of speaking it's free
but the price is so high
that you sell never buy
and she needs to know how it could be.
There's a song you have heard
and she sings every word
you must sing them along in her key
and her voice soft and clear
is the sound you will hear
through the rest of your life willingly.
If you touched her you'd die
or melt into the sky
so you hide everything that you know
from her eyes that have seen
all that it's ever been
when she looked then you let it all show.
She's the dream in the night
and the dream in daylight
and the dream is where ever you go
like a mist in your mind
and you never can find
any end to the dream that you know.
So you hide in your shell
every word that you tell
every time that she looks there to see
and she wonders at you
what you never can do
how you cling to what never can be.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
The place, the Twenty Third Precinct, Brooklyn, Vice. Detective Rodney Townsend,
The time, four thirty a.m. Report of incident, death of one John Doe. Ally on the
fourteen hundred block, Forth street. The deceased IE; perp is a white male,
approximately thirty five years old with lots of tattoos, some of them are kind of
indistinguishable. Hair, black, Mustache, black...Lots of rings.
The victim, person attacked, Maria Wiegold, tagged for prostitution seventeen
times in the past five years, was apparently in the process of being beaten and
strangled in said ally. She said the perp had a knife, the Homicide boys said
it was a flensing knife, I had to look that up. Flensing knife, I'll have to remember
that. The perp was struck down before he could kill her. Is this the Ripper?
I think we got us a live one here, in a manner of speaking. Maybe the killings
will stop now, by the Grace of God! " Yo, Brick"! " What do ya want Mikey, I'm kinda
busy here. " I done some checking with the ME, and your ice berg aint the Rip" He's
the broads Pimp, name's Gino Rondo" " arm long rap sheet, attempted murder
more assaults than I can count" " Your lucky you can count to ten Mikey, and
that's with your shoes off" "Awe Brick, cut it out, will ya"!
" Cheese Whiz, Mikey, I thought we had this one in the bag" " You always was a
hard luck story Brick" Yeah, yeah, I'm goin down to the Morgue, check on our
stiff. " William thirty Baker, central, show me 10-9 at central morgue, I'll be on
portable if you need me" " Central, William thirty Baker, will do Brick". Yeah....
" Hullo Doc"! " Hello Brick"! " I'm here for the skinny on my stiff" " You mean MY
stiff, don't you"? " Well....the Skinny as you call it, is, One cut, powerful, downward
thrust, begins at the breastbone and ends at the groin" " Very precise, almost surgical,
except"! " Except what Doc?" " I don't know any surgeons that
use a sword to cut into people" " You sure Doc?" " Quite sure Brick, I've seen
something like this before, in Japan...If I miss my guess, this was done with
a Japanese Katana".
Samurai !!!
Here we are
a title of a song, a transitional statement with no meaning
does it really serve a purpose
delaying the inevitable train-wreck these words will incur
I concur
words are meaningless, disastrous
If they were of any help
citizens would clean every bit of earwax building in their ears
to make waves in lines to city halls
for the hammer of justice to...
I have no manner of speaking for this
my chest can be ripped bare with insufferable pain
to describe all the things I wish to say
but with my voice and lack of utter talent
I can only whisper blanks for modesty betrays me
Believe me I want to scream
scream at men and women in blue
who swear by the law and citizens to keep us safe from harm
do right by society
scream how they are the stars of their own TV show
scream how we've glorified these acts without really realizing it
scream at the government for making "getting away with murder"
a nationwide trend
I want to scream
but my voice would be deafened by the millions of others
out in the streets, protesting, standing for something
my voice would be deafened, put in handcuffs, silenced for all to see
I want to scream
but there's enough people doing that for me
I want to bolster myself up like a bear
stand tall above all
to scream, to shout in defiance of people praising murder upon families
to scream, to shout in defiance of people praising revenge
praising physical retaliation like it ever solved anything
We have enough wars to fight, we have enough everyday worries
this avoidable conflict doesn't need to continue to escalate so rapidly
so tragically
but I'm just a muted voice behind a desk
attempting to fill a quota for a day
to just not be seen as lazy today
I'm just a muted voice, listening to Volbeat
pretending like I'm shouting this rhetoric in front of a crowd
but that very crowd would just pull out their smart phones
run my name through the ground
and I will be trending worldwide as one more person
shoved under the rug as non important
Why am I even still typing I've said nothing, am nothing
I'm alone
and with the world so quick to rip itself apart
I can't tell if that's a good thing anymore
YOUR SECRET LOVE
It's the secret you told
never young never old
to her eyes when she wanted to see
and the deepest of you
was a thing that she knew
though you hid, it was all meant to be.
In the plan of all things
for all beggers and kings
in a manner of speaking it's free
but the price is so high
that you sell never buy
and she needs to know how it could be.
There's a song you have heard
and she sings every word
you must sing them along in her key
and her voice soft and clear
is the sound you will hear
through the rest of your life willingly.
If you touched her you'd die
or melt into the sky
so you hide everything that you know
from her eyes that have seen
all that it's ever been
when she looked then you let it all show.
She's the dream in the night
and the dream in daylight
and the dream is where ever you go
like a mist in your mind
and you never can find
any end to the dream that you know.
So you hide in your shell
every word that you tell
every time that she looks there to see
and she wonders at you
what you never can do
how you cling to what never can be.
© Ron Wilson Arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
THE SECRET LOVE
It's the secret you told
never young never old
to her eyes when she wanted to see
and the deepest of you
was a thing that she knew
though you hid, it was all meant to be.
In the plan of all things
for all beggers and kings
in a manner of speaking it's free
but the price is so high
that you sell never buy
and she needs to know how it could be.
There's a song you have heard
and she sings every word
you must sing them along in her key
and her voice soft and clear
is the sound you will hear
through the rest of your life willingly.
If you touched her you'd die
or melt into the sky
so you hide everything that you know
from her eyes that have seen
all that it's ever been
when she looked then you let it all show.
She's the dream in the night
and the dream in daylight
and the dream is where ever you go
like a mist in your mind
and you never can find
any end to the dream that you know.
So you hide in your shell
every word that you tell
every time that she looks there to see
and she wonders at you
what you never can do
how you cling to what never can be.
© Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Hawaiians speak like
Soft rain falling…Asians talk
Like popcorn popping
----------------------------------------------------
Germans sound angry.
French… like clearing their throat…Mutes
Say nothing of note!
What is that which is always becoming and never is?
This image we call Time.
What are those which are always becoming and never are?
This image we call Men
And to the voice which they heard coming from the passing shadows,
we call it Echo of the conscience.
In eternity you can appreciate
The diffuse figures of them circling as in dance
running about at the Dionysiac festivals,
and presenting a strange variety of appearances
diffuse as, when rain stirs.
Men if the created copy is to accord with the original
in order that each of them might attain the highest perfection
the copy became the ally of sundry pleasures and satisfactions
can´t see the reluctant and unsociable nature of the other into himself.
Original or copy. Which was the swiftest to fall?
I don´t know, but secretly
I am glad to be honored by lesser and meaner people.
Although they constantly invoke the aid of gods and goddesses.
Men are like the punning riddles
equal in number to the stars
but just they don´t shine at night.
and finally, they merge in the dark
Now the nature of the ideal being was everlasting,
and ephemeral the nature of common men,
moving in the universe of the diverse,
A profound theory, although in reality
these words are just a random manner of speaking.
~ Portuguese Corpora-tease ~
If, in a manner of speaking
as it were
The thing is, to my mind
in all honesty
Transparency, at the end
of the day, is our #1 priority
at the heart of our mission
the foundation stone of our culture
And you have my word on that
so to speak
~ Copyright, all rights reserved, 'Doubletalk Jabberwock,' Anywhere, USA
I Equals MC Squared
It's the secret you told
never young never old
to her eyes when she wanted to see
and the deepest of you
was a thing that she knew
though you hid, it was all meant to be.
In the plan of all things
for all beggers and kings
in a manner of speaking it's free
but the price is so high
that you sell never buy
and she needs to know how it could be.
There's a song you have heard
and she sings every word
you must sing them along in her key
and her voice soft and clear
is the sound you will hear
through the rest of your life willingly.
If you touched her you'd die
or melt into the sky
so you hide everything that you know
from her eyes that have seen
all that it's ever been
when she looked then you let it all show.
She's the dream in the night
and the dream in daylight
and the dream is where ever you go
like a mist in your mind
and you never can find
any end to the dream that you know.
So you hide in your shell
every word that you tell
every time that she looks there to see
and she wonders at you
what you never can do
how you cling to what never can be.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa
In a manner of speaking nonsense is the name
Of the wisdom you preach with thy clipped tongue
Your rusting roots where never planted,
In the prophets philosophy
As
Peace, Peace,
Peace endlessly departs your lips
Yet it has never descended,
Or embraced a soil
Embraced by wars dagger
In a manner of speaking you’re not a man,
Lesser TO of a man, she whispered to your fist
As her will scattered
Never to reunite or reminisce
The 4 letters of her once glorious
L
I
F
E
He's Everywhere
When first born to stay alive do try
But eventually one day have to die
To stay alive it often had been hard
When our life is lost body will discard
So maybe in a manner of speaking
What is it that we are really seeking?
Perhaps God who our soul did allow
And energy into it He did endow.
A speck of dust just happened to be
Only the distance between God and me
Close must be when we are like that
Unless you are dumber than a door mat
Why should you bother or ever worry
Have to be upset or continue to hurry
Not only is God both here and there
He and His enigma are everywhere.
getting off the d-train one morning
@ the 125th st. nicholas stop
&
walking toward the soup kitchen
where i was going to work that
day
i saw a young girl of maybe 6, 7 or 8
(i’m not good with age)
sleeping underneath a black garbage
bag---
she was sleeping outside the soup
kitchen,
no doubt, waiting for it to open---
& when i had crossed the street
completely
she rustled and got up from where she had been
laying
and moved out from in front of the
establishment
whose large gates were still drawn down &
locked.
what can there be said about this image
that would make it any more clear in your
mind?
when she was walking quickly away
i wondered where she was going &
what would become of her---like
any person with an ounce of
compassion in them
would---
still, i felt as ineffectual as a doorstop that
won’t keep a door open.
because when you don’t have money yourself
to pay your own rent & you are living in
an american city
where you walk past people who have been
forgotten
or
ignored
or worse yet,
they are being pushed away, out from in front of
stores on 5th avenue & the like
you are crushed by the weight of
hopelessness---
when you understand that there isn’t
enough that one person can
possibly do---
& no matter how much your heart could
bleed
you are still just one person---
and in a manner of speaking,
you become just another component in a
failed system
in a
failed city
that perpetuates its cruel reality in a
failed country
that has left nothing to the imagination
when it comes to
neglect.
this vulgar truth
more profane than anything your ugly mouth
could ever muster
smacks you in the face as if someone
blindsided you with a baseball bat & like a
domino falling---about to hit the next &
then follow, colliding, one
after the
other---
you might find yourself sick to death of the
obscenity of it
all---
wanting to burn it all down
& to start over.