Best Midas Poems
~Do Not Trust a Word, He Says~
He speaks of sunken treasures the way no other man
The map of his essence is drawn in the stars
His smile of gold ride out the waves
The moon is pulled by the prestige of his masculine art
With great pleasure, your heart now sits in a glass case
His love lavishes making every moment memorable
This gentleman cultivates you from every direction
Your blood rises to his flirtatious ego
His eyes, manipulate you, invade every dream,
Endless lust, pulled by the enigma of dragon dust wind
Falling flowers of forgetfulness, when lost in his touch
He endures, he breathes in ways you can't resist
Uttered words easily wrap around your heart
In a game of trust, his lips persuade another kiss
Like a syndrome, you babble and drool ---- stepping all over yourself
You are naught more than a fool in love,
Trusting and believing every golden word spoken from his lip
~I LOVE YOU~
( A Poet Destroyer Collection)
Cerulean blue on blue, the sky is in the lake,
In a season of windswept clouds, sun baked,
At yellow hilltop cottage, a chirrup outbreak,
Red flowers line its winding path, no mistake!
The prince of noon and queen of blooms meet,
In red and golden splendor, a fragrance treat!
Green is everywhere, with the colors candied,
But red rose emerges, with its own mystique!
a stone , grey and cold
midas touch , my heart ... now gold
greatest story told
New Year's Midas Touch
You have the Midas touch in 2016!
My antennas stood up, my neck did preen
Like I had swallowed centre shock
My two lamps glistened and head did rock
I sucked in a deep breath allowing my thoughts to brew
Asked my palmist friend if it was really true
She smiled and told me to wait till the year ends
My stars are going through favourable bends
But I had started sensing it sieve
A fortnight before new year's eve
The obstacles in personal life had kept me in a sway
Were miraculously being blown away
Expedited with unusual unexpected ease
My tensed nerves were tranquilly on a cease
Or was it meditation that had wizened me?
Eureka! Wherever life would lead me!
Destiny and fate dances with the wind
It lifted dad in its arms to far away land
Tears rolled down streams of migration
Into my heart for permanent felicitation
His love for flora was observed with ardour
His nursery of winter flowers blooms in my arbour
Comfort zones of dependency snipped away
Emotional independence opened a new doorway
Past is frosty, new year's beginning is interesting
Eureka! The Midas Touch on my palms say something!
January 2, 2016
Contest: Any Poem You've Been Writing On New Year's
Sponsor: Skat A
All of us do endeavor and struggle hard
To become successful in all that we do
But our pursuits don’t pay much dividend
And very few persons are really blessed
With what is called as a Midas touch.
In spite of putting in satisfactory effort
The goal set forth remains a distant post
In the quest of which, the objective is lost
But few lucky persons find the right tract
With what is called as a Midas touch.
Notwithstanding the sincere leaning
Some find it too complex in achieving
Friendliness with all in social mixing
But a few we find acclaim embracing
With what is called as a Midas touch.
Hard work and untiring efforts yield not
Sincerity and transparency support not
For enjoying the fruits of achievement
But few we find benefiting from the start
With what is called as a Midas touch.
It is neither labor nor diligent striving
That pushes up one in life’s gathering
All these are but hollow words yelling
If not one is blessed from the beginning
With what is called as a Midas touch.
Like Rip Van Winkle, she confronted a new world;
Hers was one of commonplace and acceptability,
not exceptional nor eager for excellence.
Remember when bacon packs were a pound,
and diesel was cheaper than gas? 16 ouch packs
are now replaced by 12 ouches with higher prices.
I understand inflation. Have you seen Common Sense lately?
Craftmanship and the Midas Touch are disappearing also. Perhaps you
will find them with a gallant search, but be enduring and patient; for it
could be a rare find. Like many things of quality and pricelessness, The
Midas Touch appears to be quietly exiting the stage. The curtains are closing.
Unfortunately, some things don't get to be made great again. She gave her
best as she sighed by day and wept late at night. She could not compromise
the essence of her soul. She wanted to stay, but could no longer compete.
Often outbid by style and mediocrity, she maintained her integrity.
122622PSCtest, Edward Ibeh.
Contest Name: This or That, Vol 15
He has Midas touch in reverse
Lost is mercy, lost are morals
Everything he touches gets worse
Cruel wars and senseless quarrels
He thinks himself higher, greater
He has Midas touch in reverse
A despicable dictator
Ideals and methods perverse
No king, just a man with a curse
Of evil, hate. No discussion.
He has Midas touch in reverse
Hope for peace before more rush in
We stand with those he thinks as foes
Those he cannot turn nor coerce
Who fight a war they never chose
He has Midas touch in reverse
Dec 19, 2022
This or That Vol 15 Contest
Title Chosen: Reverse Midas Touch
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Oh how I love you, Darling.
Your beauty is too much
for me to behold!
But I am not a person
you can ever be with.
My body you may never hold.
Please come no closer.
Stay your distance, Dear.
Dare not to be bold.
I can trace your face,
but I can only wish your arms
around me could enfold.
Though I may kiss your lips,
you cannot kiss me back.
Resist the urge. Don’t fold.
You see, I am a Midas
but of a different type.
What touches ME turns gold.
This is my curse. Believe me.
Hold not my hand to solace give.
Your blood would then turn cold.
I suffer; how I suffer.
Untouched I must remain.
Alone I will grow old.
Jan. 2, 2023
For Edward Ibeh's This Or That, Vol 15 Poetry Contest
The mobile mind of the indomitable mariner,
the resolute sailor floating on the waves of life,
rolling on the curled crests with splintered moon,
drawn into dark agony troughs of drowned stars,
spread to oblivion breaking on the shore of past.
The crushed sands carve seaward footprints,
designed by the crumbled contours of decay.
Time arrow points to terrain beyond the shore,
away from the abraded wilderness abandoned,
where the chasm consumes the collapsed hopes.
The weed-webbed wasteland defined deep within,
piles up the washed out wreckage of life unlived.
The withering garden garners metallic bleakness,
as the path paved outside the familiarity fence,
waits to be walked by the mesmerized wanderer
to the mesmeric meadow of tantalizing tomorrow.
The invented alchemy aptitude of mystic memory
makes glittering gold on the rusted crust of ruins.
Marigold blooms in the scrap heap of abiding hope
in the Midas touched junkyard of the metallic mind.
_________________
February 19, 2023
For Brian Strand's Your Choice Again Contest
Today, he’d be, affectionately, Gus.
At fourteen, his talent was precocious
But his paintings of women caused a fuss.
To this, his reaction was ferocious
Ending in apoplectic rages plus
Tsunamis of swearwords quite atrocious.
A lot of Klimt’s patrons were mesmerized
But critics and public were scandalized.
His paintings, too erotic for that time,
Those works of wonder from his Golden Phase:
“Tragedy”, “Judith”, and “The Kiss” still chime
Striking instant chords with us as we gaze
At the work of an artist in his prime
With flowing lines and colors that amaze
As magical as ancient alchemy
Creating his own immortality.
Klimt’s conduct with women was outrageous.
Although it appears he never married
Females within his reach were courageous.
He wore no undies and those who tarried
Found this naked state disadvantageous
As many were bribed, cajoled, and harried
Such that he fathered fourteen kids, at least.
He must have been a really sexy beast.
But this aside, he had the Midas touch
That turned his paintings into solid gold
Literally and commercially - so much
He never worried about being sold.
Buyers came knocking at his door as such
Begging portraits. So, in the money rolled.
His art charmed both Fascists and civilians -
Gus’s paintings now cost many millions.
For Job…
Feeling like loss
Was simply a part of him,
His very nature, existence, being
Dependent on the whims of One
Far greater than he could appreciate,
So great, in fact, that no one
Not him, not me….
Could describe this wonder, the wonderful
The serenity or sincerity, the soothing
That trembles in the distance where there is
The Light, silencing the darkness, breaking
Through every doubt – destroying every fear
Wiping away the trembling tears, stirring
Breathless memories of all that is pure,
All the joy and peace, the winds of grace
Feeling like loss
Would never leave his presence,
Never let him be – without injury,
Without the thrashing sounds…
Slaughtering peace and gentleness,
Erasing the promise of serenity
Could there ever be light
In the darkness of such black night?
Could the One who created him
Ever find a way for him to know victory?
Could this be the end for him…
Who had always prayed for His blessings,
His forever peace, mercy and grace…
The chance to be filled with true faith?
Feeling like he would forever bring…
Shadows to the dreams, blackness to the light,
Dejection to the hope and depression to the belief
Feeling like he would always be the one
To know the reverse midas touch, the dreadful
Knowing that anything he touched would soon
Turn to dust, darkness and despair – left him silent
On the edge of each prayer, erased by the fate…
That seemed to him a curse,
an affliction from hell
This or That, Vol 15 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
December 23, 2022
The flood of agony inundates the debris of hope
The weed-webbed fallow terrain languishes within
Piles up the wreckage of the life unlived
As the garden of rapture turns into bare badland.
The meadow of future waits for me to be walked
The alchemy of fantasy invents the magical glitter of gold
Gilds the rusted crust of the withering present
Marigold of ecstasy blooms in the Midas-touched mind.
Wrapped by the golden rays of the setting sun
The entranced mind rolls on the high waves of life
Pulled within the gloomy trough of anguish
Crashes on the shore shaped by the shadow of dismal past.
The castle I build with golden sands disappears in the sea
And I follow over the decay the footprints of destiny
To the eroded wasteland of the time present
At the end of the aureate dream I dreamt.
_________________
December 22, 2022
Title Chosen : Reverse Midas Touch
Contest : This Or That, Vol. 15
Sponsored by : Edward Ibeh
The bluest of blue
in the eyes of my sweet child;
the most golden gift -
the Midas touch with her life...
the sweet tenderness within.
Not for the "Blue and Gold" contest.
Dedicated to my loving daughter.
the alchemist
turned sand into gold
an irreversible transmutation
the beach has disappeared
he now carries the cross
alone and despondent
07-February-2023
Remember the Glorious Gold Queen with the Midas touch?
We treated her with aloofness, hesitation and such.
I was fearful that she might reach out and give me a slap.
I do not need any stress, disappointment, strife or other crap.
At parties I promptly made an excuse and left when she arrived.
She was possibly fooling others, but I was terrified of her and dived.
Before others caught on to her talents, there were statues everywhere.
Glorious Gold Queen could parade around the hood in her underwear.