Best Momentously Poems
Moonbow magic held me spellbound,
Momentarily enthralled, I climbed to new heights,
Momentously inspired, I painted the ultimate,
Making magic with oranges, reds, and pinks shooting
Magically into a dark, happy, explosive background
Mystically honored, I watched my dendrites bring forth that
Merriment which I could have never brought forth without
Moonbow magic that set inspiration on a
Mystical, magical,rejuvenated path of pure enthusiasm
Maximizing my poet's heart.
See the impacted eyes, heavy
and the frozen heart, begging
to be released; the tongue
dry, but the cheeks like a flume.
See the round table keep things
close to their chest, lest they spill
the fragility, each glass fragment
that stabs, glues together like
a madman’s vase, complete
with a bouquet of black roses.
Indecent the descent of disheartening;
refusal to believe in uncoupling;
what a crap shoot, show, expletive.
See touch, the tangible eyedropper,
mike drop, warm shawl; a momentary
squeeze of a lemon. Lies go down the drain -
momentarily, mightily, momentously;
bubbling up as a panacea when drained
of all kith and kin; their comfort
and understanding underwhelming,
often pitiful, a pittance. what is needful
is others likewise in a sinking boat,
keeping one another just above
the water line; bailing out each
other’s pain; finding camaraderie
in the breaking; the flowers in the vase
turn dark blue and purple - deep.
See the healing begin, for some.
Some run, some squeeze the lemon,
some rely on the lies. See the death mask
tremble, then a phantom’s half;
never quite whole but jewels
replace the wizened half.
See the pain, the cuts, and crimson eyes.
Don’t become a master of disguise.
See the help, the forest through the trees,
remember your honeybees
given to eternity; find them in the honeycomb.
Beyond a sweet zephyr
whorled a scent,
something so familiar
amidst that breeze,
'twas like warm apple pie
sitting 'pon a windowsill
wafting delectable
reminiscence of long ago,
children's laughter
full of caramel & pepper,
petunias, summer rain
and hot cayenne spice
all delightfully refreshing
in a blast of fragrant air's
momentously blissed nostalgia
Meow
meaningfully echoes our unique distinction
making functional feline existence
mightily declaring our sacred raison d'etre
marvelously designed by the great Creator.
Meow! Meow! Meow!
Meow
magnifies the expression of what we are
moving us to communicate with others
mirthfully exposing our gladness
moods as well as anxieties.
Meow! Meow! Meow!
Meow
may be mystical to others
magical for pet lovers enthralled by our miracle-moans
mysterious among those puzzled by cat-behavior
meanwhile myth-filled vis-a-vis scientific management.
Meow! Meow! Meow!
Meow
maintains lofty order and integrity of our species
momentously asserting Felis catus' worth in relationship-mingling
majestic as mansion dwellers and palace guard keepers against mice
magnificently starring in movies where people learn from our mentorship.
Meow! Meow! Meow!
Meow
more than ever to our sacred society
mesmerizes humanity for our wondrous contributions
minimizes mankind’s misery with our stress-relieving music
most of all, praises God* Who is our Maker.
Meow! Meow! Meow!
Personification with alliteration
*Psalm 95:6 O come, let us worship and bow down: let us kneel before the LORD our maker.
March 11, 2023
7th place, "The Sacred Meow Society" Poetry Writing Premiere Contest
Sponsored by Mystic Rose Rose; judged on 3/14/2023.
If, as they say, the cells
of the body are replaced every seven
years, then I'm a new being
since my sons were newborn.
I have died and been reborn
neither better nor worse yet remembering
feeding them while dancing to Moment's
Notice, as they attended with new minds.
Having died, as such, I find I do not mind
quiet living with the purpose of a cell
unbound by minutes or moments
as men know them. There are seven
deadly sins, seven ways of remembering,
seven stages in which to have been or continue being.
None of them recur after one's reborn
and none are known to us from before we're born.
Of the two young people to whom I was born,
one has lately died. I do not so much mind.
Although I do not, he believed he'd be reborn
and who can say what happened to his soul or cells?
Perhaps in Christ we continue being,
or with some other deity, as the churches claim monotonously, momentously,
demonically and deviously. It seems about as relevant that seven
rhymes with heaven and rhyming's a mnemonic device (for remembering).
But remembering
what? To go to the daily discipline to which you were born?
I fought seven forest fires, took seven
lovers, my sons are seven, and my mind
is the sole owner and subsidiary of these memories and moments.
Unless I am to be reborn
they disappear with me. Masefield's poem continues to be
the most honest and chilling assessment of our souls' and cells'
disbursement. I can imagine stem cell
research may lead to a cure for dementia, loss of memory
about who you are and where you've been.
If one's not been born
this doesn't matter. But if you're being reborn,
in the sense of "he not busy being born is busy being reborn" (Dylan),
then it is best and most correct to consider your last moment
of a continuum with moments endless and entirely in your mind.
The mind is made of cells and moments, seven billion of them.
Remember to be born and reborn, early and often.
Have You
I’ve been around and about awhile
Seen pain cogently hidden by a smile
I’ve seen the concluding moments of the day
Saw clouds roll away as blue turned to grey
Have you?
Felt so dearly loved and loved in return
Saw joy and tears enough to fill an urn
Tasted bitterness incited by a bitter heart
Saw compassion enter and acrimony depart
Have you?
Been blissfully partnered, enough respect to atone
Until a parting of my better half, heart turned to stone
For a fleeting moment that feeling would remain
Felt that comforting sweet assurance, we’ll meet again
Have you?
Sojourned in Namibia this beautiful blessed land
Saw its majestic undulating dunes it’s faraway strand
Found in its people an abundance of caring and love
Healing virtue hovering over me like a snow white dove
Have you?
Ultimately my very soul momentously satisfied
Realised this was nothing else but grace personified
Finally I depart a downward glance till I lose the view
I am content we’ve made memories and good ones too
Have you?
she cowers in the corner
when he comes home the
mere clomp of the boots
make their way to the room
wherein she is hiding her
breathing rapidly increasing
her heart thumping louder
than his footsteps growing
closer while she tries to
work out her next move she
is pulled out from under
the bed by her ankles what
happens next you imagine
in your worst terror if you
can picture a glass bottle
being forcefully thrown
point-blank at a plane of
brand-new asphalt smashing
splintering all over the place
cutting slicing hurting
maiming everything in its
path the shards never to be
removed but instead to inflame
infect to etch permanent
physical scars in her skin to
mirror to echo the emotional
the mental scars vibrating
maddening throughout her
body the cycle continues
day after day week after
week year after year the
whole while making any
possible memory of what
he was before it all began
when she swore herself to
him when they smiled
together when the proverbial
demons were nowhere to
be seen yet now they are
all that she sees without a
free moment to breathe
anything but fear sadness
blood still caked on the side
of her cheek she slides
quicker quicker quicker
into the red the darker the
color as the pain explodes
in her brain as each day’s
torment torture brings
what she never thought
possible a new surprise of
momentously malicious
proportions until she breaks
like the glass he broke a
hundred thousand times
she closes her eyes grips
whatever is heavy blunt
sharp killing device with
both hands comes crashing
down hard swift powerful
with every bit of strength
that she has inside her that
she has kept pent up inside
the whole while she has been
beaten beaten beaten for
years now always covering
up her wounds sharing not
a second of her story to
anyone always lying to her
best friends her family now
all ending all wrapping up
the story when his head
smashed like glass spattered
gushing flowing a maroon
pool all over the floor she
drops the instrument of her
freedom from him her freedom
from all the pain she lifts her
head she does not cry a
tear for all her tears have been
cried out she leaves the room
in silence a silence so sweet
it sings a million new melodies
which illustrate the possibility of
a new beginning.
A slice of is figment is not stone carved melon nor mould of moon cake nor is it moaning marbles moving momentously. It is fascinating to note that steam rolling over headlines using big heavy wheels can induce a certain amount of jelly, carbonated drinks, hexagonal fishcakes, and seaweed to jump from the cupboard climb out of packets and sing very loudly in simultaneous song. The voice of a vortex is a visionary visualising vivarium vicariously vibrating vocabulary. And all the while the little letters let linking lemurs laugh. Lemurs laugh lovingly and love is not an itemised bill with googly eyes nor is it a meter reading a tome. So all hail in a pail for a puffing puffin is chewing on a boiled sweet today. Hahaha millionaire millipede moving many mice. Hahaha a pair of eagle faces in skintight shirts prancing. Xxxxx synchronisation z z z z z at seven thirty six a m on a dusty humid track of a bathroom floor with no b side eclipse effect. Z
BLACK BREWRIES BRAVENESS
Black brewries braveness
In ink incorporative individualism
Those Thinny tracers ticking Time
Be-little black braveness baselessly
Mirror my motion moves momentously
Directed diagonal deeply
Hurt humans heart heavy
Because better black believes
Dedication, determined destinies
Of our oddity obviously occupied.
We welcome world words with warrant
Blacks built braveness buxom butterflies
Enlightment enchanting ego enlarged
Decade braveness debut delightfully.
surrendering in blind faith
seeking genuine serenity
afraid deep down
to let go without reservation
to the point it may
change my life momentously
that it may change everything
thinking i’m not ready
AP: 1st place 2020
It’s time for another rhyme
flying through the space
of time
cracker jack diamond
space
writing at my own
pace
tasting colours of light
fantasy invades my
lucid sight
nights will pass and rest will
come
time will drip momentously
numb
bones will scream like sheets of
white
bringing promises of new
sight
mirroring sadness of another
sky
thirsting through the war-dust of
why’s
we write we dream of
fantasy
words float up in clear
fallacy
how blue is your star
how true are you
ajar?
© Kim van Breda—4 April 2015
A poem written on the spur of a moment taken furtively
from another busy day slipped into a secret pocket of
a too over voluminous jacket slipped on to cover a
favorite silk shirt. A mixing of double meanings designed
to thwart casual critics and entice the cleverer into time
wasteful mind games that entertain with ever twisting wit
and rewarding salutations. Sunday leisured pleasure
twixt sips of spiced black char.
Cooling too swiftly and biting at tongue roots
in stinging frustration as the day ever screams
to be used in more suitable ways of activity
Spurring momentously in anguished flailing wrath
As the memory taste of the last dregs fades into
sugar salt bitterness of sweet saliva
He looked beyond those flaws
To gain the needed
understanding which was
Required to fix those flaws
That made the sound of a
Great song more perfect,
More defined and more
Liked, loved and needed.
His study of natural things
Like animals, streams, and
Storms, lead him to look
At making the song more
Rythmic and flowing.
Wanting each instrument
To compliment the other
And not having an audience
Miss when certain instruments
Weren't used in certain spots.
He would have the string accompany
Each exit and would have woodwinds
To introduce each rythmic change.
Bassy enough to move you
And treble enough to invite you.
Loud enough to mean business
But queit enough to allow
The songstresses and singers
To be heard.thus to make perfect
The intro beganing and the
Exitiously end..A pause to
Start each stanza, momentously
Enough to let the persucions
Perseade the need of a new
Beganning.
This must be done to create
The perfection needed to rework
Lyrics from interpret scripts.
And needed to allow a smooth
Flow in each translation.
Stepped aside whilst candles die
Momentously denying their lives
Stepped inside and handled fire
Desperately dousing lies
To go against the laws of mind
It seemed that I could no longer try
To go against the laws I find
It seems it’s me against all kind
Laughing widows handing kids their guns
If only you could open your eyes
But when you die from closing these wounds
Perhaps you’ll see this side
It’s only real once you can feel
But hiding out denies the wheel
Moving onwards and through this place
I guess spinning round has lost all appeal
You throw me down because you cry
Dig up a grave and then deny
It’s only you but you’re in my
Reason to speak and help you find
You lost your soul and closed your eyes
Stepped away before you died
You never had time to see the world
When you felt you just saw lies
So whilst I try and make you see
Take some time to think this can be
Forget all time and look within
You’ll find the answers to everything
But only if you really want
Otherwise you’ll die for nothing
And I have never said a thing
Although I do believe that ET was a very good movie,
I'm not convinced that there are aliens anywhere out there.
I believe that earthlings are now bound by the Law of Gravity.
I believe in what the Bible teaches about an event called RAPTURE.
I believe that Christians will be 'CAUGHT UP' at God's appointed time.
I believe that God has mysteries and scrolls yet unfolded and unrevealed.
The last trumpet will sound, and Christians will be, not beamed up like ET,
but changed momentously. Defying gravity, RAPTURE will be our exit mode.