Best Offsprings Poems
Modest woman moderate woman
Your inner beauty strikes me
Like the tongue of noble eloquence
More than gold even refined gold
Or our purged fulgent silver.
Black woman proud woman
Your pride is not haughty
But a humble pride of eaglets;
Your black eyes are so glittering
As the eyes of our dark rivers
Filled with messages of peace
That banish the broody turmoil
From those panting hearts
Of your foreigned offsprings.
Gentle mother diligent mother
Your kindness kindles the fires
Of my heart –
Your dexterity dresses
The table of our ageless history
And the thought of your being
– Oh kind mother! –
Makes the most delicious menu
For my heart.
I remember your naked feet
Fast and fair as a pigeon’s limbs
Treading the invisible paths
Almost covered by shrubs
Small shrubs misted by the prime mist.
I remember the wood from the wood
The water from the water
And manifold items from jungle alleys
Borne by your delicate hands
And upon your soft black-haired head.
I remember the constant match
To markets and to farms
And your bright face smeared with
The ash dust
Making you more beautiful
Than any woman whose feet
Ever touched the naked earth.
I remember those burdens
Upon your cheerful kin-souls
And babies strapped to your backs
Babes full of unspoken words
To unborn others in patient wombs
Waiting in an endless turn –
Indeed, mother is dove!
A black dove and a dark huntress
A hunter’s gift from the maker?
Mother is like a weaver-bird
Building a big foot-like nest
Filled with corn and warmth
A bundle of eagle-flight
Mother is dove
And the hunter calls her
The clan’s eternal dove.
Oh, mother loving woman
Gentle as our black horizon
To you we humbly come
From these far and lonely lands
Hoping to grace our love and beauty
Before that jealous grave
Makes her temporary feast.
A whistling wheezing hamlet, whispering and emanating, tunes euphonic,
In a remote isolated valley, far-flung from the abode of the temporal,
Warbling quietly to whistle scads of tranquil cryptic songs;
Lying spasmodic, a sparsely inhabited mellifluous hamlet, Kongthong!
Not to hyperbole, a singing utopia, uncustomary to the core!
Where innate and mellow are the naive dwellers' rustic tinkling timbres!
A rover's riddle, the natives' pride, a unique heritage, their blissful strains!
Ringing with an ancient tradition of tune-giving in honour of the root ancestress,
Customary to the matrilineal surviving unknown folk of the thorp!
The chirping region's dispositions and practices outlandish, vague and obscure,
Primitive and bizarre, mere to merge with nature's absolute accord!
Voices buzzing in whistles, murmuring and chattering, lilting,
Arcane, pervading the virgin thicket of the sacred thorpe!
To entangle, passerby and wanderers in dream like metaphors!
Those magical murmurs in quirky tunes, mingling the breeze of the secluded hamlet, intoning own tinkles!
Blessed are the tuning terrain's offsprings, nameless!
Rared by ditties, hailed sacred by the clan's conviction!
Outlying, by the uninhabited enchanting wilderness of East Khasi Hills,
Sleeping quietly the untrodden, nature's lulling lullaby, the whistling Kongthong!
Yell! Immaculate and serene, the saga of their undeciphered airs, mumbling in exquisite ethos!
Inimitable and gripping to eye, how the denizens of the tribe,
Are crooning to dub and call each other by indigenous intonations!
Pitching and whooshing, to tune their melodic identities unique!
Whew! The picturesque terrain is tweeting, whooping, and whizzing!
Heaven! Bless anomalous nature's absolute pamphlet,
The ringing Kongthong, God's own whistling hamlet!
Oh, Mother India,
The sacred smock of your cremated children
Over your revered land, I see
The lamentations of the death-stricken families
I daily hear
The unbearable agony of your offsprings, in my
heart, I constantly feel.
Do not despair holy India, for it is not only me that
shows compassion
But
The whole world, with sympathy, has turned its
Eyes upon you
All nations are willing to assist you to overcome this
Horrible affliction
Thus
You to return to your illustrious status
And
The love of humanity to be glorified!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
01 May 2021
*There have been at least 300,000 new infections every day in the past week, with more than 360,000 new cases and more than 3500 deaths in the past 24 hours.
Two hearts owned
Two people of same interest in a canoe
Two people, four hands to row
Lovers are immortal
For their existence never shatter
To one, for the other to live, is what matters
Love is immortal
Living through ages and offsprings forever
A bliss in eternal
Like a rune on the sky and on oceans like henna
Lovers live through each other
Lovers live for each other
Lovers live in each other
If one dies then the other has the memories and name of the gone
Its a result of what their togetherness has born
And if both dies, their love still stays
Stays on earth and continue its crave
For love never had a grave
Never can be buried 'cause it never dies
Its like a carving on a rock, which forever in history's been dried
A name which forever will be high
Lovers never die, lovers never die
The serpent's evil doctrine he'd tried to inflict
Tore peaceful communities assunder; causing conflict
The ghost soldiers would come in the dead of night
Taking on the evil serpent with firepower and might.
They would infiltrate the serpent's lair and be in disguise
And unleash hit and run tactics with the element of surprise
This enraged the serpent who put a price on their head
And he would pray to his god of evil; wishing them all dead.
It was in the Middle East that the serpent came to light
Waged a killing spree thinking it was his god given right
All the ghost soldiers' had to do was follow the trail of the dead
Then corner the evil serpent and cut off its head.
Offsprings of the serpent are now starting to nourish
But our civilised world must ensure they don't flourish
All nations must come together and stop this pure evil
And stop innocent people from suffering unnecessary upheaval.
Our world would live in fear but for the ghost soldier's sacrifice
But to rid the world from evil someone pays a heavy price
Some of these ghost soldiers paid with their lives
And would do it again to ensure; evil no longer thrives.
Written 24th February 2020.
Dedicated to the special forces of many nations who waged a behind the scenes war on ISIS in the Middle East.
Their covert missions' helped bring about the end of the self proclaimed caliphate and freed many people who were slaves' to ISIS.
The caliphate is no more but the behind the scenes war continues to this day.
400 years Today
Although my feet has bared the mercy of my body
I used the stars ? to guide me
I am no longer present in this moment
For I am not a slave
I am not a bastard
Oppressed and marginalized
I shall not bare the thought of my offsprings
For what will become of them
For miles I’ve ran to freedom but freedom had forsaken me
Arm and arm we’ve marched
Only to take a greater lashing
For what is freedom
I have no rights and there is no justice
Return me home
But there is no home
Native to the land but the land is theirs to own
Burn it down with my ashes into the flames
This ain’t no life of mines
Have mercy on soul
For I am not a slave
Said the indigenous people of their land,
"Our Lord,
Since time started we lived here,
before prophets and their offsprings.
We built sanctuaries and prayer houses.
Our Lord,
today like never before,
we are under siege
as suffering invades our homes,
steal our sons,
silently rape our daughters,
and imprisons our men.
Our Lord,
when will you end this siege,
this carnage,
this destruction,
this inhumanity.
Stop the collective effort by mighty nations
to suppress our people.
Do we not show solitude in prayer to you?"
Do we not show humility,
to those who seek our brotherly feelings?
Yet these evil outbursts and suppressing efforts to batten us down
keep us enslaved within new walls in our lands,
of ancient times,
which we had never forsaken.
Our Lord,
Four thousand years back,
we took in their father Abraham,
treated him with love and kindness in our homes
and when he wandered off,
raised his children as ours.
Do you not see how they repay us?
With evil upon evil,
Our Lord,
We beseech thee,
free Palestine and the Palestinian people from this siege.
© Al. Juman The "said" Poet 6/29/2016
-'
-,
It is not my intention
to discriminate against anyone
by race, sex or religion
I write human err
There are sad and happy days in our life, that had gone by,
Like the strong wind and storm, stricken the deserted land…
But there are few still remain in our heart and mind,
The bullies, laughter, fighter and the love teams you never deny…
Though, It’s been decades we had this kind of fun,
Believe me, these are the good memories of all time…
But even how long the years had over and done,
High school life is still the best, we’d ever undergone…
Though we are now getting old, white hairs are starting to grow,
Few became plump, bald and others remain the same…
Some are still single, searching and ready to mingle?
And others are happily married, and blessed with offsprings,
We still remain young at heart, and just the same…
And even how long the time had passed by,
The camaraderie is still the same when reunify…
I guess this is the best of all and will last long for sure…
We stained our life with good memories, and history to keep…
So this I may say, “Good ones last long, and lives in our hearts…”
Admirable Almights all I ask appreciatively allow me to attain,
be beyond bourgeois breeding ballads for the brain.
Create colloquialisms that cast competently into chimeras,
directing dramatists with doubtful determinations to
delightful dactylic discriptions.
Edible expressions that exite eyes and ears,
by freely forming a firm fire you'll flog any frigid forlornness fear.
God glorifies the good, my given gift Godsent thee,
my hardihood's husky, heart hungover with honesty.
I inscribe impenetrable insights, my individuality's
inanimate without improvisation,
other jaws jabber jargon jokingly, my journalistic journey's
like Jesus's justifications.
I know to keep with Christ a close kinship,
lie low then leap to light life is limited.
Maturing moderately I molded motives to mentally
manufacture music,
now naturally notions are necessary, abnormal novelistic natuarlist.
It's obvious this optimist ovulates obscure poetic offsprings,
perception pastel's perfectly personify the pen pusher's
potentcy passionately.
You're quasi qualified like Franz Kafka no question,
respectable written reflection ramble rampant even while resting.
Some scorn and show sentiment towards sonnets I've
scriptured successfully,
the toungue-tied troubadour tallies towering totals of
synchronized terms intentionally.
My untimatum is ultimately unrivaled when using unbreakable
utensils,
my voice vibrates vigorously, visionary with a victorious view.
Why waste what you wrote, wake up, wonder in a writer zone,
poems have vibes like a xylophone.
Heart young, yearn for God 365 times a year,
my zodac is wrong, attitude zealous.
Ama you are a father
Father my father
Whose basket of fishes
Sweetened my mother’s dishes
Whose naked feet danced
The jungle drum you drummed.
I remember
Father I still remember
Those joyous days
When like brooding hens
You employed your hands
To shield the offsprings
Those several bodies
O! the little bodies
That clung to your bare wide chest
Like the eaglets unto their nest!
I remember
The sun-burnt days of the hunted panther
When the full moon-light chimed
The rhythms of jungle drum drummed
Rhyming with the story told
By the white-haired.
Then your roaring march
Along the prime paths of the forest
Then your rustic touch
Touching the weapon-hilt
Making carcasses of beasts
Making fresh clan feasts.
I still remember
The raw feasts of the drummer
Which strewed this universe
Like young Mbari warriors
Taking the spear from several clans
Turning their crowns into tributes!
Ama, you are the drummer
Whose communal tongue echoed
From the hidden chambers of the Niger
The drum of your conquests echoed
Everywhere in the universe
Like the gusto of the Sheik
Confiscating my land from the Sahara
In her eternal desiccation.
You are the royal father
Whose royal eyes woo the moon
Whose black hairs detain the sun
Like Joshua at Gibeon
Even in the deep valleys of Ajalon
Bringing the heavens to abrupt halts
When their course possesses progress.
O, Ama! you are a noble father
And like the gold-laying eagle my Africa
Your natural pocket flowers gold
Which fills the coffers of the household.
O Ama! you are our race
The clan greets her farmer
The tiller of my earth
The earth of the ancients
The ancients of my blood
The blood of my race.
The clan is still drumming
On the drum that now is a mere echo
Of the eternal rhythm of your drum
Ama, you are still our clan’s song;
O, you are my song
The song my jungle
The jungle of my blood
The blood of my race:
A race
Waiting
Now and ever
In a forlorn clan
Awaiting
A return of the drum?
He tried hard not to break away
But could not keep them together
After all, he would never again stay
So he left in search of life better
Like scattered leaves after a storm
Was the root of family foundation
Aching high hearts were born
To play their games of destruction
Their home became colorless rainbow
Dad said he wouldn't return again
So with meager hope for tomorrow
They sat on a beach without sand
Do innocent offsprings deserve it
Trust on parents like flowerless spring
Why did their happiness now quit
Their favorite song they do not sing
Alone, the boy and the girl must cope
Plant new seeds of peacefull living
Even in hard times they hope
For any other joyful yearning
I pray that others do not taste
What the children went through
With no support worse they faced
Struggling to come up with food
They deserted school and worked
She as cleaner, he as errand boy
Helped sick mother who lost her word
And on Christmas they got no toy
Victims of such sudden violence
Saddened with snatched love and care
At such tender age they lost guidance
And grew for life only total scare
One of the stars on The Big Bang Theory, Sheldon Cooper
Thinks constantly about himself as being so super
Asperger's Syndrome is what his symptoms loudly proclaim
As he works out scientific formulas but seems not sane
People who suffer from Asperger's Syndrome often show
intense focus, highly logical thinking, and exceptional
abilities in math or science. This disorder is considered
part of the Autism Spectrum and is probably inherited.
If there is Alzheimer's in one's family there is increased
risk of Autism or Asperger's Syndrome to show up in
the offsprings..
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Contest: A Clerihew_And Make It New!
I scorn thee, Puberty! Damn thee as well,
Thou abominable herder of shame,
Will thou findeth glee by my told sarspell?
I beseech thee of ineffable name,
Rendereth thineself as quiet slain game,
For thine cruel ends be reached, let thine eyes droop,
Immortal Rite, meeteth Poetry Soup.
Forsaken specs findeth young Phillip (me),
He the first noble son born of Sir Mike,
That betrothed Diane, mother of he (me);
Neareth NASA lived they by Houston’s dike,
We plus two girl offsprings I still dislike;
Turneth back time to nineteen ninety five,
Thus now the setting as ocean, we dive.
I of ten years then plus three more years aged,
By mine mom’s woven hand rags yet adorned,
Draperies bindething spirits encaged,
Mine lot too ignorant still ‘be forlorned,
For two years would pass ‘fore Nike I yearned;
Looken now friends, at thine narrator’s dress,
Mine costumes for school were each mismatched mess.
And hath we not yet speaketh mine afro?
Then let us for humor’s saketh too laughs
For atop mine snow pale flesh did it grow!
It was beneath that nest mine brain did graphs
On one Tuesday morn; during sixth grade math,
Unbeknownst of a sneaking wretched pest:
That ineffably named prepubescent guest.
Still in present times remember I can’t,
What the hell kindled mine loins ablaze,
Yet fiery flames of embarrassment
Secretly smoldered through my brainy haze;
When mine teacher upon me called that I raise,
And thus stirred the scene I’ve oft reflected,
The moment I’ve chosen for my most embarrassing?
When in 6th grade math class I stood up…
…fully erected
All you Souper know me as Jack
But in reality, my real name is Charles
I will try to explain this seemingly strangel turn of events
I was the last of ten children in our family
The first nine offsprings were girls
And then came a BOY... li'l ole me!
Well the word quickly got around our small town
The Ellison girls have a baby brother, WOO HOO!
Word also got around that all nine sisters and my Mum
Agreed “Jack Norman Ellison” was to be my name
However, on the way to the church for my Christening
My Grandmother changed my Dad's mind at the last minute
And convinced him to christen me Charles Byard
After my Dad's brother who died a hero in the First World War
My sisters were livid with anger
And decided from then on
They'd call me Jack irregardless of what my birth certificate said!
And they did... so now you know the rest of the story
Strange or what???
© Jack Ellison 2014
Chemical Engineering is a fluid field to get into
The new advances do yield an interesting view
American Institute of Chemical Engineering started
When the jobs came into fruition and imparted
Unit operations is the Chemical Engineer’s key
Davis is the founding father who coined the lead
Other offsprings of the field are coming nowadays
Process Systems Engineering is one that stays
So does Bioengineering with courses I would enjoy
Some did I venture into, when I was just a boy
Chemical thermodynamics sounds hard to do
That another thing that people must get into
This field sounds difficult, but one I wanted to view
Never did I think it would help create my brew
Russell Sivey