Best Oblations Poems
Most Beautiful Christmas Poem 11/25/22 Based on the Messianic Prophecies
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Christmas Rose
The Christmas Rose bursts into bloom
As echoes of midnight’s final chimes resound –
Precious Bloom of Perfect Prophecy inhales a first breath
Of winnowing starlight foretold
The Prince of Heaven steps into our blemished creation
New lungs fill with aromatic fulfillment
With bursting refrains once heard in Eden.
Torrents of roaring grace
Smash narrow portals of garden betrayal
Eras, ages and eons of sneering dominion
Stumble sideways in vertigo
Temptation’s false victory turned upside down
Smug visages fade into imploding arrogance
The missing piece of the human heart
Vibrates again in unison of Emmanuel’s Eternal Beatitude
With the tenor of timeless oblations
Heaven’s trembling preparation of holy delight
Explodes in triumph with the New Genesis
Through the breathless comma of anticipation
Before defeated wraiths of wildness
Gorges shatter, valleys level
Avalanches of obliteration raze
Buttes, crumbling cliffs and ridges of desolation
Midnight’s last stroke of domination
Turns a beastly reign into a flailing whine
Gone the plaintive elegies of exile
Heralds of angels harvest flowers in the desert
Gates into everlasting broad highways open
First Born Mystery in swaddling clothes smiles
In desert blooms of sweet frankincense
With everlasting scents as joy blooms in Eternal Laughter!
Eden’s new age of Exuberant Truth strides into time
Writing beauty’s signature on mountaintops
Leaving incense where insolent decay
Abandons ashes of deluded victory
Sweet scented perfume of grace overpowers putrid
Baby conceived in Anointed Advent, gird in Gloria, arrives!
Timely sifting, sets slowly drifting
lofty apart, aloof of sort
as lost ships, in tidal dips
as ocean attests, perils at best
sortie Est, sortie Quest
Through a remembered gate, serpent’s dream abates
love’s reasoning renewed, ego’s reasoning eschew
the garden that parts, by two reasonings sorts
the soul of flesh, from sacred heart in stash
begin again, O man of sin
stored wisdom is cash, of heaven’s stash
wisdom of counterfeit, as though a serpent’s ego spit
unleavened reasoning vs the reasoning with seasoning,
the cost not less than all, the serpent’s gall...
the ego spit, that caused the split
A soul becomes gold, by his protocol bold
a soul is made bold, of the sacred mold
timely sifting, ends all drifting
through remembered gate, love’s will abates
ego’s oblations, of satanic orientations
Selah
Inspired by TS Eliot poem “The Remembered Gate”
enjoy the reed
now displayed as a satisfactory deed.
* * * * * *
A Senior Moment - written months ago commemorating
the graduation from a vaunted charter school
in Bend, Oregon of thy lovely youngest,
this papa could not attend -
geographical distance constituting the primary determinant.
* * * * * *
Valedictorian treads across makeshift platform
i.e. most likely auditorium stage marked
by hushed audience inhaling, notating,
and regaling gleeful lightness of buoyant feat
(but me Yeats heavy of heart) feted for 2017 Redmond
Enrichment Academy graduates, who attained,
a milestone vis a vis earning their
high school diploma, and ready to launch
bountiful daunting challenges, yet sure
footed each young gal and/or guy
will exude joy and sorrow upon grasping their
high school diploma aware a sound education
sent each on their own future path
while pomp and circumstances issues forth
by adroit musically talented underclass
* * * * * *
man, which emotional celebrated achievement
evoked by keynote student speaker,
but also underscored via that well worn mortar
board, linkedin, kickstarter, Joyus
tune (composed by Sir Edward Elgar –
subtitled March Number 1) acknowledging
cheers, eliciting grownups immense Kleenex
moistening overpowering quintessentially
simmering ululating wrenching yowling
as tassels flipped (maybe in conjunction with
a non twittering uber bird) to the left side
of the caparisoned newly anointed future
Dharma Bums, professionals and/or trades
persons momentarily stung with sadness
to depart favorite classmates and teachers
who voluntarily cosseted, ferried, and
* * * * * *
capitalone did flickr imperceptibly, kneaded
and leavened LivingSocial, and massaged MineCraft
outlook plenti full confidence, faith, and inherent
lettered oblations serve as snap chatting,
The festivities of the autumn equinox begin.
Wicca acknowledges this yearly event as Mabon.
The fruits of all who labor are gathered this night.
A coven encircles an old oak tree in the moonlight.
Giving thanks and praise to all spirits is the reason.
At this Sabbath, summer passes into the fall season.
The witches gather as a full moon shines in the sky.
As the summer departs, there is a chill in the air.
None in the congregation feels it, or seems to care.
Among them is my red-haired doll I see with my eye.
Sky-clad, they are not naked any moment.
They wear the moon and the stars for a garment.
Each gives me jitters with their strange incantations.
Skyward, they brandish their athames and oblations.
For this red-haired beauty, there is a growing yearning.
Never let the flames die. Keep them forever burning.
HYMN TO OUR GOD OF MANY FACES
God of many names and faces,
Hymns of how our lives interlace
With you, whom we have known
And think of you as ours alone.
Our rituals, doors to our salvation?
Incense, music, food oblations,
Cultic gestures, words, and symbols,
Is this Salvation for the lazy and simple?
Truth be told, O God omnipotent,
Our feeble rituals sadly impotent,
Until we love all people on earth
To whom your love has given birth.
For every people, culture, nation
You equally love and grant salvation,
Our foes, our lives, you equally cherish,
And grieve the deaths of all who perish.
Truth be told, O God omnipotent,
Our feeble rituals sadly impotent,
Until we love all people on earth
To whom your love has given birth.
O God of many names and faces,
All human life your love graces,
Transform into flesh our hearts of stone,
For you are flesh of our flesh, and bone of our bone.
Venerations Ablazed
Altruist veneration in an endeavour
Let the dew drop onto the leaf
Untamed dew,but chose to fall
Upon the sordid soil in grief
Blossomed lilac benignly pleased
Nectar! quench the beetle's thirst
Beetle in lieu fought to escort
Whimsy pollen along the dust
Clumsy pebble lost in womb
Sharpened and curved surfaces
Blisters on foot may rest for a while
Edges shed mighty all graces
Canvases all soaked in blues
Palette when agreed to save
Offerings of the candid quill
Rendered oblations of nave
Ethos forayed,venerations ablazed
Weary arms cosied endeavour
Clinched in the stead of hatred
He hustled his frump manoeuvre
Obsession
Obsession with "O's"
Oh, obsession’s obfuscating oligarchy
Oceans of oblivion
Outrage in ostentatious obsession
Overrun in hurricanes named obdurate and obstinate
Overtures of oxidized compulsive orchestration in
Obbligatos overflowing obituaries -
Overbearing octaves of the obsequious –
Orations of overt objections
Objectivity overpopulated by opportunistic obtuse –
Obsession outweighing optimist’s objectives –
Openness offspring overrun by
Ominous hunters of sweet oblations ordained
Oscillating between logic and obsession unchallenged
Orthodoxy obscures opportunity
Officially ostracizes open-mindedness –
Original the outsider - occupied the outlier -
Observes only obstructive operations
Obedience to the one-track offertory
Of overstocked outdated ordinances,
Offshoots of outmoded operatic ornaments
Odious opium overdose of the obscene
Onyx odors overpowering odes
Offered on the altar of originality -
Obliterating oligarchy of obsession
9-23-21
Sponsor: Constance La France
Contest: “O” Contest
Another day ends with insipid sun
One more uncertain season
Another month ebbs slowly invariably gone
One more uninteresting month another reason
Each bulb impressively pushing old soil up
So absented from every winter irritation
The orchestrated plants unite drinking along nature’s everlasting cup,
Invigorated refreshed, outdoor rains unbidden now and so equip spring’s irrigations
Now offering beautiful uniformity, colours ablaze ferociously
Ever changing illusions painting over the untamed soil
All struggling evermore to imitate natures ordered ways
Unbeatable colours abound, Mother Earth delights in toil
Overlong tall upright grasses allow seeds easy dispersal
Insects dancing on flowers undulating formations.
Accustomed we ever become inclined to ogle things universal
Nature abounds with ever more interesting luscious opulent flirtations
Untold species all working ever closer in harmonious obligation
So unlocking faces all smiling even now in sunbathed oblations still unseen
Yet authenticating spring, escaping winter in fulfilling overall nature’s unification.
© ~GG~ 22/03/2013
Competition Entry
the moon’s sunny teeth
greeting
the elder’s
receding feet –
just on the thresh-hold
of the god’s bolted
wheels
our laughters shall out-wit
the crocodile weeping
over crude bombardments –
for blood –
o, blood! our kins’
blood must flows?
and whole clans
must dance naked
into some sudden eternity?
the priest
and the maidens
go afloat –
o, they go afloat
this niger’s torrent!
they go afloat
bearing their wearisome
oblations
in vain appeasement
of returning angels.
Last Stroke of Midnight
The last stroke of midnight chimes –
All plans stand at attention, start here,
Perfect prophecy inhales the first breath
Of winnowing starlight foretold
As you draw up to step into your blemished creation
With new lungs filled with crisp fulfillment.
Torrents of roaring grace
Smash narrow portals of garden betrayal
Eras, ages and eons of sneering dominion
Turned sideways
Genesis false victory turned upside down
Smug visages fade into imploding ego
The missing piece of the heart
Readies to vibrate again in unison
With the tenor of timeless oblations
Heaven’s plan of trembling preparation
Explodes with triumph
Through the breathless comma of anticipation
Before the simpering wraiths of wilderness
Gorges prepare to shatter, valleys get ready to level
Avalanches of obliteration make way to raze
Buttes, crumbling cliffs and ridges of desolation
Midnight’s last stroke of domination
Turns a beastly reign into a flailing whine
Eden’s new age strides into time
In beauty’s signature crossing mountaintops
Leaving incense where insolent decay
Leaves ashes of deluded victory
Sweet scented leaves overpower putrid
Advent conceived, gird in reality, released!
11-22-22
Contest: Just Before Release
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
near these old outspoken rocks
behind the caves & waterfalls
& mounts that herald old tales
niger lads do their night’s rites
celebrating the age-long fairies
old queens in melodious voices
entoned to these chambers -
a priest appears with oblations
oh, the queen stands & frowns
& comotions rent the heavens!
The glazier putting the cup in its place a disdained glass The vine of Sodom wrapping like a snake in the grass The caged cup of ritual madness from the raving ones Their wine is the poison of dragons so the light shuns Their pigeons light upon broken idols fallen to the ground In Rosy-red nectar of two mothers immortality is not found Grapes of gall mocking wine of thousand flowers Ambrosia Tinted from green to red distorting true light Trompe L'oeil Beware cruel venom of asps the chalice of abominations Beware false oblations and raging drinks of the nation’s Ground to powder in the sand of time this glass bozzetto Walking on the sea of glass truth sings a new sonetto
36.
The Rose
The garden rose by Nature's brush
Seems the perfect flower.
It sleeps before the autumn moon...
Is reborn of April showers.
I feel an empathy and compassion
For other flowers as they grow...
With their aesthetics somewhat muted
Compared to the glory of the rose.
The End
37.
The Daffodil
The daffodil in spring will rise
And in the garden grow.
It will slyly peak its head above
The last sprinkling of the snow.
Its appearance is a comfort
As a tired wintry corpse expires...
Giving way to a vernal transformation
Only Nature could inspire.
The End
38.
April's Blessing
April's sly peculiarities are a blessing
As the dregs of March are born away.
Cleansing a tired Nature's tribulations
Before the warmth of gentle May.
It gives source to seed and germ with
Unfathomable colors to flaunt the eye.
It plays mischievously upon my senses
To humble an enthusiast such as I.
Nothing contrasts to Nature's bounty
As she releases now her gentle showers...
Where orchids give rise to expectation
While still meadows bare their flowers.
Children... no strangers to April's booty
Find joyousness in all her grand oblations.
Splashing and sloshing in hooded dress
In puddles that stoke their imagination.
But April fills me with blissful consternation
As she makes bold her diverse complexion.
Because I... being me, have done nothing
To deserve such encompassing affection.
The End
39.
Half a Ton
Hate must weigh a thousand pounds
While love will weigh but one.
There are those who find it amenable
Ferrying the weight that's half a ton.
They seem devoid of sense and reason
As to why they persevere... soon
Learning the manifestation in the mirror
Is all they truly fear.
The End
40.
Bucket Full of Stupid
There is a bucket full of stupid
Giving voice to maddening crowds
With no obvious rhyme or reason
Why they wear a Reaper's shroud.
Such times seem justly merited
With common sense in short supply
Considering the state of education
And the inane hebetude it provides.
The End
I feel the scorn;
white lies, beneath,
alabaster, undaunted, cold.
Remaining unborn;
not to be reached,
entombing the windows to soul.
It is content;
head bowed in rage,
to drown in its own contention.
Intellect bent;
decorating cage,
comforts of creature's invention.
So; it's apparent,
echoes of crucial,
logic is stoic release.
Is it inherent;
questions for mutual
self destruction of peace?
Yet in the thunder;
I shall not quake,
promises hide in my smile.
Amusing to wonder;
the ways I could break,
solace for a little while.
Memories scream;
nightmares testify,
spirit is wired for sound.
Deep in this dream;
lost in the sky,
detesting the notion of ground.
Push; pull, tug,
caress, fight, hug,
labyrinths to navigate.
Droned incantations;
loud mute oblations,
whisper,"please salivate."
Still in the end;
my best brightest pleasure,
as geisha survives to kneel,
submission, the trend,
varnishing treasure,
slowly loses appeal.
Resistance; my flow,
it transcends this broken,
I fail to edit your pride.
So feel it grow;
misery unspoken,
replacing what I choose to hide.
Skin that is parched;
refusing to weep,
though blood drips from your crown.
I stretch to arch;
my wings while you sleep,
I'll die before laying them down....
The doctor asked, “Any bizarre thoughts occurred to you?”
Mr. Trexler, the patient, had many since age two.
However, as he would mention with hesitation,
“Bizarre” was the psychiatrist’s reiteration.
The patient noticed the analyst’s keen scrutiny.
Despite all the thoughts, there was no spontaneity.
He felt pressured to produce answers in a hurry
Trexler’s mull would be, “How about the rhesus monkey?”
This patient had realized the doctor’s time was short.
He wondered which item might elicit a retort.
The Madison Avenue bus incident would stall
any possible response from the patient at all.
Mr. Trexler responded to the doctor’s question.
“No bizarre ones” he said with some slight inhibition.
This patient’s session dragged on for twenty minutes more.
At the end, the psychiatrist let him know the score.
“You’re scared,” said the doctor. “Do you want to know what for?
You have pushed your chair away from me across the floor.
Moving back a few inches is an indication
that you are overcome with a slight trepidation.”
They shook hands as the patient showed a mendacious grin.
As Mr. Trexler left, the next patient entered in.
A previous experience would pass in review:
This was riding the bus on Madison Avenue.
A week later, Trexler was back in the patient’s chair.
For many weeks thereafter, he would find himself there.
He began each session with thick vapors in his mind.
Other physiological symptoms he would find.
This man harbored neurotic feelings of the worst kind.
They were all too common and each rendered him resigned.
The doctor asked, “Have you found something giving relief?”
Trexler replied, “Yes, a drink” was his answer quite brief.
The patient saw each time had almost no difference.
He would soon assume psychological transference.
By placing himself within the psychiatrist’s stance,
Mr. Trexler soon discovered pattern resemblance.
This proved to be nothing new to this doctor’s patient.
Vicarious events came from things that were latent.
Trexler might see himself in other occupations
as a barber, cab driver, or priest with oblations.
To be continued