Best Outcries Poems
Her persona is like
a portrait
of picturesque perfection,
embalmed in
bittersweet lavender,
unseen within depths
of tributaries of elixir.
If only they knew
the chaos that flows,
constrained in
a confined
gallery of grief.
Not everyone is
a master painter.
Some brush with brutal
bruised strokes,
provoking timeless
streams of
implicit secrets,
from crimson stains
on ivory satin,
where scents of juniper
evoke phases of
unpredicted phenomenons,
oblivious to chronicles
of forsaken tales,
which hide
beneath barriers,
many have struggled
to venture within.
But there is an artist
with a
pastel on his palette,
that can correct
her disfigured pigment.
He holds cryptic
calligraphic engravings,
veiled behind the inflamed
chamber of her heart.
He understands that her
spirit drowns when
winds are forceful.
How her
delicateness has
been sleeping
on withered roses,
wilted by
cruelest rays of a
summer
mourning
morning star,
Where bedtime stories
were puppeteered
by hurricanes
feeding on
fenceless vulnerabilities.
yet when
sleepless silence sings,
it can disturb
in reverberating
heavy metal screams.
So she echoes her trauma
through hurtful hisses,
poisoning with
vicious venom.
Her aura alters in
acrimonious attitudes
from serene sunshine
to furious gales.
She remains without
a grip on untamable
seasons of
unholy torture,
Only he knows the poem
in her eyes is the
last train home,
so he calms her
tempest temperament,
enabling hidden rainbows
in her mind to reappear.
He is a soothing
gemini night-flower,
even with outcries
of midnight thunder,
his patience resembles
raining jasmine water,
purifying
her murky waters,
into a crystallised milky-way
of kyanite desires,
guiding her
to swirl and swoon
into
whirlwinds of closure.
iPhone Maniacs
crankshaft tendencies secure a brace of sly meatballs
truth daggers entice the worm girls with petite pastas
creature lilacs uproot themselves for pink dippity-do gels
white nylon ghost legs roam outer space in latex leotards
metacarpal syringes find porous outcries in the gloaming
crankshaft tendencies welcome the tilted exonerations
iPhone maniacs fondle frothing bananas mindlessly now
demon spiders ooze inside the crawlspaces wanting meat
cross-eyed priestesses suck on wax candles in the vestibule
black-robed choirs sing hangover music to the dribbling
rock music annihilations played by stoned dudes in shades
temples and taverns shake as the truth daggers hit earth
now the worm girls are dancing with the iPhone maniacs
Blues in the Night.
A malignant moon
shines his metallic claws -
combs my hair and brushes me forward.
I am alone in the shadowy crooks
of a poisoned metropolis.
A clandestine garbage chute -
where waifs and strays burn
within the fetid bowels
of a cavernous concrete underbelly.
The orphanage awaits my arrival,
as muted outcries are crushed
beneath my footsteps.
A parentless prison
teeters atop Utopia's dreaded brim;
the hamlet where Orwell slew Hilton.
St. Peter has been released
and no longer tends the kitchen.
Agony and angel wings reneged
a redundant brotherhood of sorts.
His recipe for remorse shall be missed.
Blues in the Night.
In the distance,
feigned epileptic outbursts
placates a patron's fears.
Caffeine injections
stimulates another's venial sins
as it magnifies their cardinal options.
An insomnious woman converses
with a napkin holder. The surface
is dull and unreflective, like she.
Banter never-to-be heard
by her never-to-be gentleman caller.
I am home –
amongst the dead I adore.
A haggard waitress serves me a menu.
A laminated journal stained
with melancholy and mustard.
Desolation and demi-tasse
are tonight’s midnight special.
Ten cents additional, if you order deluxe.
Blues in the Night.
I twiddle my thumbs
for I have no other’s to borrow.
I catch my rugged reflection
in the asylum’s window.
I espy my counterpart again
in a twisted spoon -
realizing I’m three utensils short
from a grievous quartet salted
with Mack Sennett misfits.
A collection of dishes clatter
above the sanatorium’s jukebox.
I place my spoon on the counter
and pick up a lifeless knife.
I envy its potential and possibilities
as Woody Herman croons
in the background.
what goes around comes around so they say
atomic particles head to the shores
some afraid of an uncertain outcome
will plankton, fish, and kelp be destroyed
the chain of food for man interrupted
will the ocean’s food be radioactive
will it be deformed, grotesque, dangerous
humans who eat the nuclear exposed
slowly develop disease or mutations
at least one hundred years for the clearance
sixty-six years after the atomic bomb
was dropped on Hiroshima, an accident
spilling nuclear waste sends outcries to stop
what goes around comes around so they say
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
Contest: Global Poetry
Topic: The Nuclear Leak/The Impact On Land And Sea
Martin Luther King, Jr.
When innocent dies,
Whole universe cries,
Even of dear earth,
We can hear, outcries,
But selfish human being,
Never even sighs.
All rights are reserved. Syed Imon Rizvi
From a book "Outspoken" - 2012
Available at www.amazon.com
The distance growing
between us is cold
I've already mourned
you with out restrain
my heart an out pour
of disillusions now
magnified through
bitterness and rage.
I thought I'd love you
for the rest of my life
now I can only pray this
pain one day to subside.
Lines have been crossed
destroying everything I
once believed to be sacred
between us.
Let me go quietly don't
torment me through
meaningless outcries.
Just walk away don't say
another hurtful thing
Don't lend yourself to be
the executioner waiting to
cut the very thin thread thats
kept me alive.
One last thing I wish to tell you
before I say goodbye
when I said "I LOVE YOU" I truly
meant it now those words left on
my lips to die.
Beautiful-Acrostic
Love In A Poet's Heart
Beauty in those gentle eyes of flaunting butterflies
Enchanting crimson smile that’s brighten the earth and skies
As perfume intoxicates the air with the poet's lullaby rhymes
Unleashed with the outcries of beautiful dreams as the moon rise
Time flows and rewinds with thoughts of you on my mind
It is sweet as the night air with every breath I take when you're around
Flawless is our love in a world of imperfection as the world spins
Uniting our ever lasting
Love that is rare in a poet's heart where lullabies rhyme and lingers a lifetime
12/30/2015
Poetry Contest: Beautiful-Acrostic
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
Being an early African American actress, included moments of outcries & burst
That ended with pride & joy, on being so many of our first
Like the first African to win an Oscar, for the movie Gone With the Wind
Opening doors ajar for minorities like there has never been
The first African woman, to sing on the radio
Showing we meant something then, still, a long way to go
Being the first African, to have a postage stamp
A shining African star, like a bright candle lamp
This strong woman of color, who struggled to live her life
Breaking through barriers, cutting them like a knife
Admiration for her, grows each and every year
To see how far we’ve come after hard fought tears
So Hattie McDaniel, is the actress I love most of all the famous names
This child born of slaves now with two stars on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame
They stood on highly placed podiums
In densely packed stadiums
Making promises, unwitting and false
And now we wait as time slowly crawls
Now we see
The so called promise of a fatherland
Smeared with cruelty and blood stained sand
Treachery and fear of the dreaded boko haram
Bringing tragedy, pandemonium and widespread alarm
Tainting a religion of peace. Noble Islam
Fanaticism some say; but terror is their way
Now we hear
The blood curdling screams
As we awaken from terror filled dreams
Outcries of electoral rigging
From supressed political teams
Woeful tales in news broadcast
And we wonder, how long these will last
But now we know better
Than to hear their sugar coated words
Or to see their finely painted worlds
Yes; now we know better
[Our perspective]
Blackness superimposed by glowing blue
Smearing white spiraling cloud icings
Appearing applied by a painter’s hand
Soon to stretch and then to transform
As eventually will happen with all belief systems
The curvature and reflection of oceans
Vast emerald forests and rolling plains
Attesting to generations of hopes and uncertainties
Poverty, lost loves and sparkling newborn eyes
Shadowed by the serenity and wisdom of wrinkled faces
The fluid motion of our sliding blue oval
Across the windshields of descending spaceships
Eyes viewing us as we view our enemies
Our protests falling upon deaf ears
Receiving the same mercy as we have given
Rounding us up for grotesque consumption
With no regard to status or creed
Another food farm for galactic supermarkets
Where the cries of our children fade
Outcries unheeded by universal apathy
Being dragged kicking and screaming
From a cage of indignities
Fear so great we urinate our pants
Praying to God for deliverance
Oh God, help me, please, please, please!!!
[Their perspective]
They cling to their beliefs, don’t they?
Yes, whatever idea is most popular
That’s what they always call “faith”
Their mind is just like a computer
But with a richer and much tastier texture
Faith? So they think they’re right?
Sure do, right into my stomach, hahaha
Christians and Muslims, they both call us Satan
Pretty much, they taste about the same
But they’re not the tastiest of all
The lawyers are the tenderest
See, they’ve never done an honest day’s work
Bring me that one right there
“Now wait a minute, let’s talk this thing over”
Let’s don’t, but if you like we can say we did
Crunch, crunch, crunch, gulp
Genesis received no love as a kid,
Hated herself as much as everyone else did.
Never understood how happy children felt,
Never comprehend that she needed help.
So she lived life with many insecurities,
Fed them throughout her life, manifesting obese ignorance &
Unborn fatalities.
Poor Genesis.
Unintentionally subscribing to everything unpretty,
Failing at school & society,
Celebrating the self fulfilled prophecy.
Created illusions of grandiose propriety,
Just to conceal the pain that everyone else could see.
No one ever said success was easy
But clearly not a soul infiltrated to help her define her destiny
So she imposed her tragedies,
Exasperated her misery,
Spread it like angry poison ivy,
On every ambitious individual who exuded positive energy.
A victim turned bully, incarcerated within,
No determination or confidence,
just a replication of her beginning,
A cycle of reminders of what she could have been,
So hard, so cold, she sees no need to repent.
How many Genesis’ are there in every family?
In every industry?
Hating women & men & children alike,
Yelling consequences & smiling, unaffected by the outcries,
Simply because it represents their lives.
Karma & Affection, seeming to ignore her existence,
Painful, sleepless nights when the world is resting,
A sad series of events leading to an even more painful lesson.
Let not the world celebrate her demise,
Let us pray for her soul & her afterlife.
Someone somewhere loves you Genesis…
We usually pray for the victims of bullies and try to assist them. Often, the actual bullies have faced unbelievable pain and circumstances themselves. As a teacher, I have seen the pain in both groups. THIS is dedicated to the bullies...
You ask me why I love mountains?
I smile in the silence and quiet mind
Seeing the golden horizon with the heavenly sky
To the deep green valleys and the floating white wings
Far from the humankind.
You ask me why I dwell in the mountains?
I cry and I can cry out loud for my heart is free of care
Seeing the distant snowcapped peak
I try to reach her my voice
And I listen to my own cry when she replies.
You ask me why I find peace in the mountains?
The city is down with curses
And here even when a lonely cloud floats lesuirely by
It gives me to breath a fresh air when it passes by
And when I see the same ridge again
It comes with a far horizon that flashes by.
You ask me why I find homely in the mountains?
Keeping company with moon, I never lost my way
Looking back I see the paths I have taken
Blue then, blue beneath the skyline
The moon greeted me with hidden tracks
Revealing the secrets in the forest
Even a leaf becomes a home down my way.
You ask me why I don't want to return back to the plains?
Wind in the vales still outcries my voice
Every droplets falling from the leaves recalls my tears
The clouds floating aimlessly shows me the distance yet to cover
And the misty morning cold holds my breath forever.
I am chained in unseen stringed bondage of essence.
I am what this world defines me and labels me with.
I am bound, bound in my own self, outer existence.
My real Self is hidden under that floating hyacinth.
The flight of Self-discovery drifts towards identity
Like the skin-shedding metamorphosis of butterfly.
When the outer eyes dim in cynical earth’s vanity,
A hushed trumpet illuminates the insight, inner eye.
Echoes of inner self melts in outcries of outer self.
When I ignore what I am, I ensue what I might be.
Many puzzling choices are placed in abstract Shelf.
Something calls me. Searching, I find none but me.
Locked firm in place in desolate space so devoid of grace
Sire, looked grim, he was gone without a trace
Earth glistens from heaven's view so high
Like a blue sapphire it shines to open portals when we die
She calls in melancholy overtones up to him, 'spare us!'
'Spare me!' he replies, the spark, blunderbuss erupts
Powerful protection but without due reflection it denies
'Serendipity and karma', her tears tiny salty outcries
Cimmerian dreams and wrong deeds have plastered
A photo so disenchanted, time to make it remastered
Liverpool, Ashtabula, Argyle-socks in winter chill
Life renewed for her and he with such vibrant thrill
Will he be denied again is vibrating universally
Resounding answer in negative signs catastrophically
May he be within the light he who shall never die
May he be within the right he who shall not lie
The rock is a desolate space, inside we must chisel
With the master's hand the raw stone and drizzle
Love with the temperance of hate to craft
The Lord's masterpiece, his spiritual raft
Until we too see the sapphire's gleam
Pains of displeasure gnawing
At my insides
Screams of disappointments
Harmonizing with my outcries
Wrong turns and deceptive trust
My self-worth equality of zero
The currency says “In God We Trust”
Yearning for my designated hero
I am a broken vessel, lost in the shuffle
It is hard to stand where I could be seen
Times are hard…I’m trying to get back my hustle
Heartbroken with unrealized dreams
Who am I?
Drenched from my cries
That you pass by so amused
Trying to avoid the lack of joy
That dims the light
From my contrite
I have become immune
To this invisible life
You think I am guilty
You charge it as sin
I am not the only
No one but God could judge me
Longing to be seen
In much need of a friend
Silent cries
Devoid of allies
Searching for my “silent rescue”