Best Orators Poems
A small desire like a spark, I do not know lit from where,
Frenzy of becoming an orator in me did flair;
I watched often, like blackbirds, seldom shutting my eye-lids,
Each speech of great orators, staying solid like lipids...!
It's time to perform - said well-wishers, relatives and friends,
Good-time was what all waited for anxieties to cleanse;
I was then a little boy just reaching adolescence,
Emotions and feelings had invaded my common-sense...!
There came, as though the final judgment, the appointed day,
I was ready, on our school stage, to perform my best way;
All applauded, as I entered the stage very happy,
Why this tremor? Why blankness of mind? Why heart goes flabby...?
Many laughed, howled and hooted; my kith and kin stood perplexed;
I left the dais, like a lunatic, humbled and vexed;
Pain of shame, like bark scorpion, my internals did sting,
Despair and frustration within, like eagles, did spread wing...!
I went dumbstruck and plunged into a cave of silence,
Knowing, my people left me to my inner violence;
That I come out, like a lion, courageous and robust,
Excel in performance, full of self-confidence and trust...!
What clicked, then, exactly, I still verily do not know,
Was it the resolve within that like flood of lava, flow?
My oration out-poured like a cloudburst, thunderously,
In this art, now, I shine like Sirius star, wondrously...!
31 May 2022
The Greatest Performance of My Life Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: JCB Brul
Categories:
orators, confidence, courage, trust,
Form:
Rhyme
In endless quest we sought seclusions peace
hiding in the mystery of a strength always thought weak
and so denied the hero the still of death’s parade
waved surrender’s handkerchiefs to fill his empty grave
relied upon the charity of victory’s feeble thrill
struggling to rise above fresh bloodied horror’s sound.
Relentlessly the ears decry the loneliness of empty sound
as furtive eyes no future seek in fear of war, in fear of peace,
the agony of their disgrace, the joy of living without thrill
they know they’re strong, they know they’re weak
for somehow evading battles grave
to march in fiction’s harsh parade.
Solemnly on hush of wind, wars ghosts, in shadow on parade
march to history’s retold lies, leave no footprints, make no sound
for they will not resign their fate to earthen shell of shallow grave
nor will they let it slip behind the fragile wall of unearned peace
returning to a world in which we are perceived as weak
malign them with contrived disdain, condemn their sacrifice as thrill.
Podiums will hail the cause, cheering crowds create a thrill,
rolling drums will precede taps, politicians will parade,
orators with fiery words that make us neither strong nor weak
echoing across dead ears jaundiced by the painful sound
of promises that never are the troubadours of peace
and fall, as soldiers fall, alone upon a grave.
Newsmen mumble, double talk, of situations grave
amusement parks entice us with a death defying thrill
fire crackers, waving flags, noise to celebrate a peace
heads will bow when passing by war’s endless parade
the young will even shed a tear at taps lamenting sound
grit their teeth and know that honor’s tears don’t make us weak.
For freedom is the resting place for the bravest of the weak
who stand in freedom’s honor when the threat is grave
and rally to defend her, to keep her promise sound
not seeking to be heroes, nor the deception of war’s thrill
just honoring the memory of those still on parade
knowing there’s no solace in seclusions peace.
At heart we know that all are weak, that war is not a thrill
that those who fill the graves are shadow soldiers on parade
that the melancholy trumpet sound is the exhaled breath of peace.
John G. Lawless
©6/19/2014
Categories:
orators, courage, military,
Form:
Sestina
by Michaelw1two
Poetic writes speak volumes too,
this profound nature of humanity;
expression’s glyph or determination’s rift,
each soothing rhyme or base profanity;
provoke of consciousness that drift,
so casually or with rude insanity;
furiously incite or simultaneously delight,
set straight a thought or induce banality;
unconscious rubric struggles forth,
within the cleave of line, phrase and meter;
guides a casual readership towards,
all present trends hidden in a bard’s demeanor;
exposing just who seems ubiquitous, who is ingenuous,
or just simply stubbornly ridiculous;
one’s sensuality splayed, our generosity bade,
your critical natures shown meticulous;
senses not semantics, rule of roles revised,
lines of life’s romantic, cleverly devised;
discovering our thoughts on everything,
exposing our minds to Id and ideals contrived;
methods breached lift conclusion’s reach,
an ill-advised tome reaps the thought’s divine;
nurtured reasoning replaced by jest,
releases the distain hidden within a mind’s set plein;
within this relief be it muse or beast,
rests an orators mirth, or an epic myth’s imply;
poetic license freed, such a thing indeed,
that “cat’s meow” bests a graven image’s belie;
metaphors and idioms when used correct,
add intrigue and delight to a word works vamp;
bathos taps one’s inner laugh, hyperboles,
release a poem’s waft, jape and poet’s stamp;
pleonasms reinforce, oxymora juxtapose,
litotes understate, analogies delineate… cognition;
and irony, an express of verbal, dramatic,
cosmic or Socratic, lead to a write’s ideal fruition;
understanding each of these parts implores,
partnership between, these particles and that of yours;
expressing the limits of personal tastes and so much more,
you, your dreams, schemes, hates, fears, tears and rapport;
binding together all of US, and create the bonds that thus sustain,
poetry to living life, to easing strife, within the poet’s world domain.
Michael WalkerJohn
Categories:
orators, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
Dry Facts Can Perform Juicy Acts
In the EFL community
all around the world
it’s an undeniable
and unpleasant reality that
no matter how well-motivated
you and your students are
no matter how real and acute
the need for learning
a language may be
no matter how well-equipped
the language center is
no matter how well-trained
your instructors might be
still, teaching a language
as a foreign tongue
in a foreign country
in a classroom environment
within four walls
is an artificial endeavor,
pure and simple.
Moreover, the minute the students
step out of the classroom
the little language environment
created in the room
is left behind,
lost and forgotten
until the next class.
Minds boggle at how lively,
how attractive,
how delightful and entertaining,
how effective and powerful
languages can be
at the hands of skillful comedians,
orators, actors, poets and authors
while they all become
utter bores, dry and irrelevant,
with chalk-and-talk-addicted
unimaginative, ordinary instructors
in the language classrooms.
Though language itself is dry
and teaching it mostly boring
the way you introduce it
may engage even the cynical students
if only you yourself believe
that teaching is acting.
Instructors must act
to attract and impact
never mind if students
react without tact
each act will surely get
a few shells cracked
“teaching is the art of changing the brain”
that’s a well-known
neurological fact.
Acting will deliver
student participation
a recipe for motivation
a remedy for alienation.
The target is communication
and retention, not full accuracy
nor perfection, and, please,
leave aside incessant correction,
which definitely leads to
disenchantment and rejection.
Value student participation
and production
encourage interaction
feed vocabulary in collocation
grammar, like medicine,
in the right dosage and proportion
and for God’s sake,
keep your chalk-and-talk
at a minimum fraction.
Remember, an ELT instructor is
a confidence booster
not an error-seeker
or hand-pecking rooster.
Who said ELT was
an educational roller coaster?
Nope. It’s more like a bread toaster,
which takes care of all on the roster.
Idris Esen, February, 2016, Istanbul
Categories:
orators, education, language, , cute,
Form:
Prose Poetry
I was born December 5, 1941 on the eve of Pearl Harbor
And I remember the aftermath of the Great Depression,
I remember the horrors and anxieties of World War II,
This generation has little more than a vague impression
Difficult, dangerous, oppressive times we’ve come through
No matter what we endure now, I recall times harder.
Downturns, inflation, social unrest, rioting in the streets
I recall in the fifties, sixties, seventies, and eighties, too,
Decades of political and social division over segregation;
In fact, current disenchantments are hardly anything new,
Even the cry over outrageous gasoline prices and inflation
Our federal government has always had deplorable cheats!
I lived through the Cold War when Russia was the U.S.S.R.
Kids were schooled about bomb shelters, and other fears,
Hey, our government has always favored the upper classes
While we’ve had some orators who could bring us to tears
We’ve also had Gaetzes and Greenes showing their a**es,
And enemies who would destroy us both at home and afar.
And through it all, America has remained the best on earth
If you don’t believe this, then I suggest you travel a bit
Find that place on earth where you’d have a far better life
And when you find more freedom, please tell me about it,
A place with no social, or political, or civil unrest or strife
Take pride in America, many want to call it land of their birth.
Why do thousands flee to our country to better their life?
Coming from depressed countries where life is meaningless,
Seeking basic freedoms, life, and the pursuit of happiness
Because they value things some folks here berate, I guess,
Of course, we have those here who revel in pure nastiness
But I stand for America, beating my drum and playing my fife!
Written July 26, 2022
[The rhyme scheme is ABCBCA]
Categories:
orators, america, patriotic, pride,
Form:
Rhyme
Toothless Dragons
And so the toothless dragons roar
tepid flames of apathy staining the air
regurgitated realities revisited
picked at in search of sustenance.
Circling, they do the hating dance
feet spurred to movement by heat
applied by flaming puppeteers
protecting the strength of their strings.
Moving - the flaccid jaws of acquiescence
beholden to the controller of the strings
paralyzed by the power of weakness
voice-less orators forever pontificating.
Dragons – seeking victory’s defeat
pure fire stolen and defiled
truth’s roar relinquished to their “keeper”
free flight denied to vision’s quest.
There is no power in the grip of power
no freedom in the clutch of lies
no wisdom in the sight of “blinders”
no teeth required of the pabulum fed.
John G. Lawless
10/3/2015
Categories:
orators, political, power,
Form:
Free verse
When Hitler wanted to take over Austria
He didn’t have to employ the mafia,
Instead he slyly gave the people a big thrill,
By mandating a national health care bill.
He then became everyone’s hero,
Even if he was a big zero.
Great orators have consistently led nations,
Their passion and charisma met with ovations,
It didn’t make much difference what they said,
Once Truth and common sense were dead.
Categories:
orators, allegory,
Form:
Rhyme
Our newest entrant, our newest nation, forged in fiery code
Bubbled like red hot lava from a net of connected phones.
This nascent nation, transcending any boundary road,
Passing ports of entry into our domestic pleasure zones.
Is there no folly to consider here, no rampant beast?
Who, we ask, released it from its lair?
How long had this giddy, gyrating force been there?
Is there need, is there greed, is it time to despair?
Did that wingéd patron god of financial gain release
The beast, enabling the mean, to become the mode?
We sit comfy in computer chair, glazed in fluorescent glow,
We reboot, pass the word and wirelessly our blogs upload,
With our mouldering dark suspicions pushed far below.
For our new nation is a force for good, bull not bear,
A force for good, a force for all, a democratic lion to share.
Forces now darkly gather, looking in, rooting round
For sight or sound of hesitation, repetition or deviation.
After just one minute they think they’ve found,
Something wrong, something perplexing, defying gravitation.
Our new nation fights, fights hard for her Liberty.
Advocates and orators, lawyers and barristers rage,
Fanning the crackling flame of their inflated wage.
This Nation with no flag will not go back in her cage.
A migrant, an itinerant, but once met, here for perpetuity.
She has no planes, no ships, no boots on the ground,
No home front, no crying of havoc and barking dog,
The click, click, click, not gun but her keyboard sound.
Her defences invisible, as if lost in coastal fog.
We have this gift from others, a child to raise.
Chains she should not be in, Freedom must turn her page.
©Keith Murphy
Categories:
orators, computer, freedom, internet, technology,
Form:
Ode
In slumbering slope they lay,
their gaiety snores in rhythmic peaks of cadences,
The lily livered japes
Kings from central castings,
Heroes of one hour,
jostling for President with mere words
Resigned to bed now, save one.
Cowards, afraid of prison walls
seeking fame by fraud.
Oh Fame, how Disinterested
oh time, how revealing
motives concealed but not to all,
they were boys all along
impressing us by publicity
with drama for the surface
But the sternest stood alone
though jeered and calumniated, yet undeterred
taunted by the guns of the oppressors
marooned in their prison
confined to Abuja
denied of dignity
Yet his passion soars with coruscation of brilliancy
The quest for freedom stems from the heart
the cause for which he dared a tyrant
who sought a cause by a fraudulent jurist
to make him bend or make him bow.
unlike the cowards he never stooped,
he stirred the oppressed from their slumber,
and made some men by delayed revolution.
where are all the orators who came to bury Caesar by campaign?
They snore in the bedroom unaffected by the groaning of the people
some seeking publicity by suing twitter,
others purloining at the tables of business felons.
In the struggle for emancipation,
the boys are separated from the men.
Dedicated to Omoyele Sowore
The Nigerian Born Activist
who stood alone when other younger candidates resigned to fate after the fraudulent election that imposed Buhari
Categories:
orators, africa, character, courage, freedom,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Alone will all stand, void of lawyers or mentors
no person will escape from the best orators
chance has no chance, gone is the period of options
human deeds are displayed for reckoning to auction
heaven and hell seated and ready to suction
a judge is on the throne not an arbitrator
who condemns to everlasting pain on any traitor.
Categories:
orators, christian, god, jesus, spiritual,
Form:
Rhyme Royal
Organization man. In the best sense
creating the environment in which experiments
can be savored and remembered.
Then there is the world of interlocked
organizations. A world of missions and contracts
finely tuned and binding.
Is the formation of associations
as instinctual as nesting and gestation?
A leader may be one who asks a question.
Or may be one imposing order.
Imposed through consensus and broad shoulders.
Waits, watches, acts his part.
I was impressed by the list of distinguished senators
from Vermont. He placed himself among men,
orators, imperfect, in history.
We march forward, imperfect in our justice
and compassion. Overriding logic with conscience
sometimes, not often, when it counts.
And mercy. A seemingly irrational, total
abnegation of the markets, rules of war, law.
Good to be so flawed.
Categories:
orators, community, environment, history, remember,
Form:
Verse
He's got my heart strings
I want him to be my everything.
I look at him constantly amazed.
He's so entralled in conversation he doesn't notice my gaze.
In still life or up close and personal.
My body, mind and spirit yearns for his soul.
He's art, incredible and unchanging.
He is simply amazing.
Renaissance in words, but modern by birth
Theres no way of truly determining his worth.
His passion compels me.
He's more than I'll ever deserve.
Like the statue of David
A beauty I've never seen
But somehow has the ability to inspire
Incredible things.
He's Martin Luther with his actions
He's Shakespearean with his diction
A person so magnificent,
You'd think could only exist in fiction.
But he's as real as the blood flowing through my veins
He keeps me humble and yet drives me insane.
He's a contradiction that yet contradicts himself
Not even the great orators could explain.
Small things give me joy, like the simple sound of his name.
I speak of him as if I know him better than myself.
The pedestal I've put him on is more prestige than the top shelf.
Holding him close is my deepest desire.
But life's cruel fate has made me just an admirer.
Categories:
orators, art, beautiful, crush, first
Form:
Free verse
Persuasive orators deliver
fiery discourses
messages rendered meaningless
for what can be said or heard
when no one listens
Generations of fertile minds
now give rise to contempt
disillusioned by empty words
poisoned with empty promises
Like parasites
unbalanced minds distort truth
destroying all hope for reconciliation
democrats, the party of genocide
Categories:
orators, political,
Form:
Free verse
The melody of our life is made blanch
Dazing our seats by denying us to blare
We are not orators or sorcerers
We are feathers train from the heart
Why is our tone buried in the ranch
When our melody is so sonorous to hear?
We are not trespassing words for lepers
Nor are we to weed the falconers parts
On the tone is our ditty of ovation
Dear melody, our diary of dialogue
A darling of our locomotion
An era of our useful youthful prologue
A play to watch from the heart in action
A yolk, that may hands for epilogue.
Categories:
orators, courage, dedication,
Form:
Sonnet
Let’s sail away to Acapella,
A celebrity haunt owned by Penn and Teller.
I shall act as your prince, you’ll be Cinderella
When we’re sat on a beach in Acapella.
It’s not as sexy as Cannes or as dowdy as Rhyl
But their choirs and ensembles will give you a thrill,
Acapella compares well to old Casablanca,
As you will observe once we have dropped anchor.
Their libraries don’t hold any musical score,
Acoustic folk singers are considered a bore,
All keyboards and trombones were sold overseas
And whistles restricted to football referees.
So you won’t hear the bagpipes of Kenneth McKellar
Or repetitive bass notes plucked by Paul Weller.
Your voice will entrance all the ladies and fellas
Once we’ve moored in the harbour of Acapella’s.
There fishermen bring ashore haddock and bream
Having sung shanties as a well-rehearsed team,
The salty sea breeze gives their voices a rasp
And the youngest amongst them let out a gasp!
Melodic and manly, the crews ride the waves,
Proud of their seamanship, masters not slaves,
They heed the advice of their mothers and aunties
But rarely acknowledge the source of their shanties.
Once a solitary busker was found in a yacht
And by all accounts he deserved what he got,
He was forced down the plank at the tip of a sword
Then his vintage viola was flung overboard!
On the pier you’ll find orators and callers at bingo,
But no jukebox is pumping out John, Paul or Ringo.
Pop or rock music gives locals the creeps,
It’s no wonder that George’s guitar gently weeps.
So, if Customs Control takes your squeezebox or trumpet
Don’t seek compensation, you’ll just have to lump it;
Those instruments go to a processing plant
Because singers are welcome but musicians aren’t.
We shall seek out the nightlife in numerous bars
Where the locals all sing without playing guitars,
Dodge the Lambrettas in quaint cobbled alleys,
Then stride across hills and along peaceful valleys.
So, if you’re tired of concertos or singles by Queen
Book a cruise to a place where they’re considered obscene,
It’s a magical island owned by Penn and by Teller -
The remote principality of Acapella.
So let us sail forth across the briny
In a luxury yacht - well furnished and shiny
To where your vocal range will be valued quite highly,
And you won’t have to sit through Baba O’Riley.
Categories:
orators, celebrity, fantasy, guitar, imagination,
Form:
Narrative