Best Multitudinous Poems
If I had wings I'd outdo unfortunate Icarus
and soar up to the highest stratosphere.
Buoyant, I'd defy gravity and glide
over the loftiest snow tipped mountains,
or slide headfirst towards some deep vale
where iridescent meadows stretch into verdant pastures
where myriads of healthy cattle graze, placidly, alone.
If I had wings I'd play with high white clouds,
or scatter misty fluffy cumulus from over the fields
or cause precipitation to make our produce grow
in our windswept lush and fertile heartland.
Should I forget the poorer drought struck lands?
You know that I would not, not me.
If I had wings I would delight in competing
with all the various winds, and fly quiescent
savoring the multitudinous scents that emanate
from all the lovely flowers and all the well kept lakes.
But alas I have no wings and as I look up
and see the birds flying free, I feel it would have been
a better deal, if God had given me a pair of wings.
I
Did I tell you my poem on the urge to write was lost?
Did we talk about meeting Jesus in the Gospels, seeing His heart?
For days now, I’ve been unable to post
Yet, God has been the same, healing Pastor Ray Kingrea’s palate
After surgery to remove a cyst, and reconstruct sinus “bones”
Yet tonight we did our joint Church presentation, “Culture & Truth”
While globally, He is turning tides of war, to save, to love everyone
II
My LORD is beyond Bible & biography, not a God bent on being Missionary
To destroy every faith and culture that does not follow The Way
Jesus died so that he would have a big family
Multitudinous, multi-colored, varied-skinned sinners turned siblings
To the delight of Abba-Father’s heart, who never forgot Adam
Out of whom He took a rib, and made Eve, the one wife, First Woman
Ever wanting to make us complete, with Helpmate, Glorious Good Father
I smile as I look at the clock, know I must awake at 6, to worship together
With hundreds of children you adore, paid the highest price to save
I fail to do my part, to share your heart, from Mountaintops of Wonder
South Of The (United States) Border...
(Reigns A Welter Of Disorder)
Caravans comprising multitudinous
peoples plodded a steady course
analogous to iron filings drawn by
strong magnetic force
gravitational pull generated
by North America
an irresistible source,
which tug felt
nearly all the way round
webbed wide world beckoning
for waves of humanity
figuratively donned as spawning fish,
toward which currently dimming
beacon of democracy flickr
Trump might extinguish
though tis quite heart
breaking to experience
vicariously as one collective soul,
these desperate folks
ambitious to seek asylum,
(and eventual citizenship),
while this "FAKE" president
invents many a...holy SMOKES
outrageous, nefarious, and malicious
dagger o type cruel barbed wire
accusing, condemning, and emasculating,
(I could continue),
but ye dear reader would tire
unless individuals
affected by xenophobia
countenance same stance
as Commander in Chief,
or contrariwise some
like minded
thinkers, rack coon sitter
the migrant situation dire,
would effectively serve me
as preaching to
the Unitarian choir,
yet any sensate
person must admit
tis quite upsetting, lamenting,
and agonizing to witness
hordes of persons treated like
some pestilential
eyesore dagnabbit,
yes this chap can
endlessly spout flibbertigibbet,
though thee crux of my opinion,
inspires a poem express
sing supportive emotions
particularly acknowledging,
how these masses (thousands)
of vulnerable individuals
show true grit,
nonetheless yours truly,
would be hard pressed
for an immediate
humane solution to corral
this extensive kit
and caboodle, though this generic guy
with a poetic knack
shakes his noggin
watching armed flack
delivered from border patrol agents/
United States military, lack
restraint, and who outright attack
trespassers at point
blank range that pack,
a deadly (Judge Judy ish
huss) punch smack
king young ones
upside the head forcing
everyone to backtrack
to their homeland of
persecution by crack
headed gang members, which thugs
violently land a deadly whack!
In the flush of hot summertime, I took the scenic route,
Up a hill of pine trees, when all of nature was in fruit!
All along the fragrant path, I relished that winding road,
Swept away by multitudinous colors, beauty had bestowed!
The dawn had grown so lovely, with its cotton candy skies,
So like the debut of springtime, in its blushing surprise!
And I was welcomed with sweet songs, into Birdland Manor,
In the blooming golden age, of nature's youthful glamour!
It's time for a serious poem
So I can truly show 'em
That I've mastered metaphor
simile, prosaic petit fours ...
I'll pull out all the stops
rhyme and meter, extra hops
Brew up such a batch of phraseology
as befits an epic of eschatology ...
My vocabulary will absolutely astound you
as to the heights it soars and leaps-'n'-bounds you
And as for opaque literary allusions
why, there will be multitudinous profusions ...
But if all this still does not pass critical muster
~ I'll hire AI to adjust her
~A Salute to Wind~
Ah, the wind in the trees!
Bends lovingly about to hug my knees.
And the whoosh of their leaves,
brings back multitudinous memories.
Of being sixteen on the back
of a hog,
And riding with a biker gang.
Clutching my boyfriend's strong back
so hard, I thought it might crack.
Or high winds in Chicago, their Arctic
winter, so fierce.
My daughter, just two, and oh so tiny!
Was nearly blown across icy Michigan
Avenue, blimey!
In those heavy downpours in San Francisco,
good Lord!
That not so kind wind contorted my giant
umbrella like a pretzel!
On hot summer nights, dear wind, is always
a loving delight.
Blowing the heat of the day away from
all of us.
Creating a wondrous, starry, cool California
night!
Ah, wind, with a mind of it own.
On that you can count!
I salute your freedom, bowing to no man and
cannot be bought.
Free to be fully you and going whence yoou
ought.
Without one judgemental thought!
August 21, 2019
The Willful Wind
Ah, the wind in the trees!
Bends lovingly to hug my knees.
And the whoosh of their leaves,
brings back multitudinous memories.
Of being sixteen on the back
of a hog,
And riding with a biker gang.
Clutching my boyfriend's back
so hard,
I thought it might crack.
Or high winds in Chicago, in
winter, so fierce.
My daughter, just two, and oh
so tiny!
Was nearly blown across icy
Michigan Avenue. Blimey!
In those heavy downpours in
San Francisco...good Lord!
That not so kind wind contorted
my umbrella like a pretzel!
On hot summer nights, dear wind,
is always a loving delight.
Blowing the heat of the day away
from all of us.
Creating a wondrous, starry,
cool California night!
Ah, wind, with a mind of its own.
On that you can count!
I salute your freedom, bowing to
no man and cannot be bought.
Free of no one, and going
wherever you ought.
Without one judgemental thought!
December 22, 2019
My muse is like a carnival,
a celebration of kaleidoscope colors,
a dazzling display of light and sound.
Circling slowly until I feel dizzy.
Will I crumple and fall?
A house of mirrors
with peculiar shapes and sizes
evoking flustered feelings
and contorting my cognitive map.
Which avenue shall I follow?
A tunnel of love where my mind
lingers on the ways emotion
plays with my heart, at first
soothing, then exasperating.
Liberating or beleaguering?
A house of horrors where
I live out my darkest thoughts
and flex my remarkable resilience
to the beckoning of the dark side.
Can I be truly free?
The roller coaster is exhilarating
and sets my mind free again
the ups and downs of life and living
and the fear of death
Is that so wrong?
Titillating tilt-a-whirl,
multitudinous perspectives
twirling one side then another
seeing with curious fly eyes.
Am I, or my muse, to blame?
Multitudinous bells secern the tones
as may resound sharp bamboo xylophones.
Pulchritudinous bells have rhythmic ding,
others that linger with tedious ring.
Some little bells can echo a jingle
that surely bestow a Christmas tingle.
Quite many bells ting melodious chime
prompting our schedule's punctilious time.
A carillons' unique, harmonized bells
swing from gentleness to overtone swells.
Suspended bronze discs reach resonant gongs,
characterized by gregarious songs.
A bittersweet bell that distantly tolls
announces angelic release of souls.
Him fountain of eternal joy from
Where life is renewed,
Ageing and life to be drained out, exit
From the world is nigh,
When suddenly comes a call from him
Above, who regulates
The flow of life through cycles of many
Births and deaths, to stop.
Suddenly sounds the drum from sky for the
Second act of play,
Life really awakens, drooping life
Joyfully responds to the call;
The wintry night desolate soon turns
Into a joyous spring day,
Undoing death, His rhythm and dance
Rejuvenates life force.
The flow of life from star to star
Follows the rhythm of his dance,
Freed from the confinement of matters
Th'Earth finds salvation;
With multitudinous fruits and grains and
Flowers of myriad hues
Her baskets of seasons are filled to the
Till and brim and all.
Thus she attains the fulfillment at the
Touch of his dancing feet,
The flow of life gushes up from death
Following incessantly
The pattern of his rhythm and dance, to the
Tune of his golden flute;
In the tornado of this violent dance,
All that is withered falls.
The triumphal arch of life is erected
Midst the joyful tunes,
And the journey of this spring meanders
Towards the fountain again.
This poem was originally written in Bengali Language by Rabeendranath Tagore. Its Bengali Title was Udbodhan. It was then translated into English by Mr. Rabeendranath Choudhury who expressed his wish that somebody from some other generation may attempt the rest so that all the English-speaking people may enjoy India's Pride. And here it is, slightly edited and recast in the true poetic form by P.S. Remesh Chandran, Editor, Sahyadri Books & Bloom Books, Trivandrum.
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There was silence across the land
People had been forced indoors
By the fear of living in the dark
On a thick black sky
Appeared multitudinous tiny stars
They seemed to be helpless
Defeated by the seemingly undefeatable darkness
Then from a shadowed horizon far east
Ascended an angel, the moon
Her garment pure white as snow
She rose up very slowly and confidently
And fought bravely against darkness
Until he was reduced to ruins
And suddenly all over the place
Started a hullabaloo of cheerful fowls
The death of silence across the land
Declared her victorious
The moon an artist; painted the sky in white
Carved the world into casted shadows
Her victory melted fear away in the dying night
And made the world look romantic instead
The image reveals to its audience, four light slices of tall, stale bread
Being held upright alongside five glasses of warm, thickening honey
Filled to the very rim, coagulating as the bread stales due to time’s extended hold
A long table embracing these entities, blurry life buzzes in the backdrop
Neighboring me close, waiting to pervade me
Stands Opportunity, ambrosial in sight and smell—sticky in persistence
Opportunity is multitudinous, overflowing, enticing—though often overwhelming
Days pass and Opportunity lingers in different shades
Bright orange in corroding inspiration, spread around and behind
Even dark shades of its power peak out of the glasses waiting to break
Waiting to release its freedoms upon me—to freshen, moisten my stale existence
I continue to stand in equal portions, life outside a mere haze
Distorted shapes afar…tranquil colors of whites, silvers and greens
They giggle, for as time passes, Opportunity is still good
Not I—no; I must stand wait forever on this wooden surface
Drying and aching for the moisture I cannot dream to touch
Though perhaps if life outside becomes clearer, a hand will reach for us,
And I will be drenched in the generous overflow…a nourishment for all I know
For Giorgio A. V.'s Contest : Ekphrasis Contest 01
This was fun! Hope I followed the rules okay!
Though it was as quick as a flash of light
and as light as a plucked feather
that even a lazy wind would have
swept it away with ease
still on my lips glows your first kiss
A silent audience of multitudinous stars
witnessed as we held each other tight
on that September night
and can testify how warm we felt
yet the freezing air of a dying winter
And maybe some astronomers
were riding on the moon
with cameras and binoculars
to capture that historic moment
and preserve it
in great books of astronomy
for we are stars too
living on planet earth
Bojosi Ditshwele ©
In English classes my skull would be reelin' with a myriad of perplexities,
Strugglin' to cope with English Composition with its multitudinous complexities!
I could never comprehend (and never will) the mysteries of verbs and pronouns,
Or danglin' participles, prepositions, conjunctions and irregular nouns!
"Your future will be mighty bleak", my patient teachers hinted indirectly,
"If you don't learn the intricacies of the English lingo now and correctly!"
The long-sufferin' teachers considered me a dunce and their hopeless bane!
I wanted to be a pilot! How was this folderol gonna help me fly a plane?
Incomprehensible to me were past, present and future perfect tenses!
Invariably, I bungled those terms in trying to compose any of my sentences!
Fiddle faddle! Why, I mused from my naïve and youthful perspective,
Would I ever have any use for a comparative or superlative adjective?
My favorite classes were glee club, art and gymn, each in which I did excel,
But adverb clauses, proper and predicate nouns to my mind just didn't gel!
The use of consonants, vowels and indefinite articles left my head a-spinnin',
I couldn't understand the use of predicates or proper titles from the beginnin'!
Thankfully, after the vicissitudes of high school and bewildering frustration
I somehow managed to accumulate enough English credits for graduation!
Well, I reckon I ain't never gonna be no good at parsin' a sentence no how!
(Wouldn't my teachers be proud of that line - or would me they disavow!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
"'Cause when your back's against the wall
That's when you show no fear at all
And when you're running out of time
That's when you hitch your star to mine
We won't be leaving by the same road that we came by"
~Keane - My Shadow Lyrics ~
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There is no celestial place for you to guide my thoughts
Can you not see that I am free from you?
I am a black bird perched high in the treetops
You will hear my crowing and you may hate it
But my dear, you cannot take away my voice!
Yet still, as fire oppresses forests of life,
You can abuse my freedom to find your glory
You may discard these words for your love of gods,
And in so doing you may simply ignore
All the cries that I so passionately utter
But my infectious species will guide your mind straight back
To that once so lonely treetop where you merely glanced
And there will be multitudinous, oppressing thoughts
That shall enslave you and bind you unwillingly
The crows will only grow louder when you turn away—
When you pretend to ignore with your remaining, strangling pride
For my voice is a production sent from above
Dispatched to judge you pitilessly for your swelling lies!
And the choirs of ferocious beaks shall open forever
Harmony and dissonance as one