Best Overpowered Poems
~the Fear of Never~ A DRINK TO REMEMBER!
And the fire catches every time, my heart needs a sip
I bear no shame pouring, poisoned pabulum whisky down
Lost in a place with hungry whores, ink paying gigolos
This night a respected gentleman put's on his evening gown
He sits in front of a mic playing the same old sad song
Fitted out in drag, his wife has no clue
Holy breeders trying to change my shoes
Lingering from the Cute Chinaman, running his tab sky high
Bluebirds of jealousy, set round the vintage Barstool like fools
Minds overpowered and threaten to the very nub
I am drunk-- in his eye,
He receives a macabre confession of possessiveness
I am drunk-- in her eye,
She has a sick confession of subconsciousness
Broken loose from a negative, regressive state of mind
Sit and enjoy this broken bottle of champagne
Unspoken rage in every empty can left behind
A shot glass drops from my unstable hands longing to hold a pen
I look into a mirror and embrace every meaning of stability
Blotting out the madness behind a metal cage of reality
At times, I feel the need to bring down this masquerade
A drink so hostile, I can't even remember my image and name
Too many scars, from the foster of paper and pen
My dependents are drunken demons from a traumatized childhood
Tonight I will legislate a special thanks
Holding up my cup, until death finds my note
I will smile, at every Judge and Jury, during karaoke night
Shutting down my eyes, fantasizing everything's gonna be alright
I will not jilt knowing, writers block haunted my days away
Insecure hoarding monsters enjoying spoil forgotten words
Tonight I thirst like never before, my tongue inscribes around a tin cup
I am not eating up by it, no matter how long I've drowned in it
This is my kind of whisky, my thoughts, my days of ammo
To tell you the truth, I possess no desire to drink
It's all about the love of poetry and how sober, I become (WITHOUT)
The monsters that reside inside, have one thing to say
"Give me Poetry, or give me Death!"
by: PD
I am immeasurably honoured to have been invited to collaborate with as fine a poet as Robert Lindley. Our first collaborative process has been very quick, very instinctive and very natural. Thank you, Robert, for a very rewarding joint venture.
As I Plot Just One More Day
A collaboration with Robert Lindley
11th October 2018
Desperate as the waking at blackest dawn
I seek only moments within eternity,
for the day upon me is long
and I do not ponder its end.
Forever the blackened door beckoned
in tones of promising delights
who can know what lies in its beyond
perhaps a cure for the world's pains
I walk halls leading to its hurts
echoes that resounded as if playing
with no malice, future screams at my hesitation
as I plot just one more day
as I hide my lusts just one more day.
Decadent as the lust of gloomiest noon
I am immersed in the consummation
and overpowered in the contest, yet hopeful
that still I may embrace eternity's devious charm.
Never ending cycles eat into a wanton soul
they are all too familiar
and their boredom becomes a chain
a rasp in my dying breath
I hear its rhythm and each echo speaks
O' that parade of desires hides deep within
as the dark expands its borders
as I plot just one more day
as I hide my lusts just one more day.
Dire as the languishing at darkening dusk
I seek an eternity of moments
to sate my lust and to quell my rage,
to forgive and to be forgiven.
Based on a quote from Watership Down:
"He fought because he actually felt safer fighting than running."
His experience in fighting battles
had been friendly games of Monopoly
Rolling dice across a colorful board
after shaking, to hear them rattle.
Those were serious acts of aggression
and hotels were POWs, taken in possession
Weapons were a top hat, thimble or boot
Men built houses, not blew them up
Winner, the one accumulating the most loot
Snake eyes moved him two spaces forward,
instead of sniper eyes on roofs of Park Place
resulting in blood dripping from a man's face
He wished he was only playing a game
But shots were fired from somewhere near
Bullets seeking men to kill and maim
War is fought with emotions of courage and fear
It was time to clear his squadron out
That kind of move is what wars are about
With rifle ready he led the charge
Run through a mine field, though weary and tired
He heard a man cry out, "I've been hit, Sarge!"
Without a free space they could'nt stop to rest
No Short Line Railroad upon which to ride
No fox holes dug, in which to hide
Amid shots fired, he passed down the word, "GO!"
only stopping to collect dog tags of his dead men
This time the battle was fought and won
From a shrapnel wound his blood took flow
It was never bravery that he lacked
It was being interred with a bullet in his back.
When asked why he hadn't turned to run,
knowing his platoon was badly overpowered,
He sighed and replied, "I'm not a coward,
So I rolled the dice and landed on Chance.
The top card said Be brave and attack!
So we fought until we took our property back."
As I Plot Just One More Day
Desperate as the waking at blackest dawn
I seek only moments within eternity,
for the day upon me is long
and I do not ponder its end
Forever that blackened door beckoned
in tones of promising delights
who can know what lies in its beyond
perhaps a cure for the world's pains
I walk halls leading to its hurts
echoes that resounded as if playing
with no malice, future screams at my hesitation
as I plot just one more day
as I hide my lusts just one more day
Decadent as the lust of gloomiest noon
I am immersed in the consummation
and overpowered in the contest, yet hopeful
that still I may embrace eternity's devious charm
Never ending cycles eat into a wanton soul
they are all too familiar
and their boredom becomes a chain
a rasp in my dying breath
I hear its rhythm and each echo speaks
O' that parade of desires hides deep within
as the dark expands its borders
as I plot just one more day
as I hide my lusts just one more day
Dire as the languishing at darkening dusk
I seek an eternity of moments
to sate my lust and quell my rage,
to forgive and to be forgiven
A Robert Lindley and Lawrence Sharp collaboration
10-11-2018
Poetry Note-
I am very pleased to have found a new and fantastic writing partner
that presents fantastic free verse poetry in its top form. This our first collaboration was a true pleasure and great joy to create. We both found ourselves in tune, as we worked to present this dark free verse poetry, that depicts the darker side of this world, past wayward youthful experiences and a look at what even today our youth face in this unforgiving and to oft deceptive, corrupt and tempting world that rewards darkness, and giving in to wanton desires.
The magnificent verses my writing partner contributed to the creation of this piece sincerely awe me- as I am learning of the depths, beauty, great and high artistic value in creating and reading free verse poetry, Both my thanks and my appreciation come from a sincere and very appreciative heart.
Under the Christmas tree sits a nativity scene in the old town square. I sit on a rustic wood bench and reminisce on the stories I’ve been told about Jesus being born on Christmas Day. When all of a sudden, I hear movement in the bushes; I turn my head and look over my shoulder. With a sudden fright, a tall pure white stallion with feathered wings, steps forward and says, “My name is Peg, climb on my back and I’ll take you to where it all began.” I arose to my feet and got on Peg’s back, held on tightly to his mane. He galloped off at full speed facing into the wind and took off soaring into the night full of stars, being guided by a large, bright, glowing star.
Peg turned his head and said, “That is the Christmas Star ahead.”
As I looked down below, I saw coming from the east, three men. Could they be the three Wise Men?
As we reach the star we slow down to a town. Peg said, “This is Bethlehem down below.”
Peg starts descending close to a stable and lands. I anxiously dismount and we both walk towards the stable. My spirit was overpowered with awe, there in the small dim lite stable, we found a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger, with his mother Mary kneeling beside Him.
The shepherds that were watching their flocks near the stable also came all elated, one of them said, “An angel appeared and told us a Savior, the Messiah, had been born and that we would find Jesus laying in a manger. So, we immediately came to see if truly Jesus our Savior was born.”
The three Wise Men arrived and said, “Where is He who has been born King of the Jews? For we have seen His Star in the East and have come to worship Him.” They gazed at the young Child and immediately fell down and worshiped Him, they presented their gifts to him of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
We stayed for a while in admiration of our Lord Jesus.
After a time, Peg said, “I need to get you back before you are missed.”
Together we flew into the endless night back home to the Christmas tree where I had been before.
11/18/2014 © 2014
Like melted chocolate,
words dripping
from his velvety tongue
rippled to her heart;
she tasted their rich flavor,
inhaled the aroma,
succumbing to
emotional intoxication.
She craved for more...
Seduced by luxuriant words,
her defenses weakened,
overpowered
by an irresistible urge
to bathe in love’s indulgence.
Opulent pleasures
caressed her thoughts.
Each syllable drew a sigh.
Her wish: to be sated
His unspoken promise: to fill her
with abandon – to thrill her.
She no longer dared
inhibit the demands
her soul was making;
this was hers for the taking.
Warning signs: DENIED!
She tasted the sweetness
gratifying her cravings
in his indulgent love.
-----------------------------------
A Collaboration between Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian
This is dedicated
To this girl
Her eyes told a mysterious story that exposed her danger
But my sixth sense was overpowered by the hearts need to love
a stranger
The perfect dime to my ninety which completes me entirely
This. . .
Girl
Was a gift from the universe, filled with distorted energy
Which then combined with mine, and I confused with synergy
From the start, gave her my hand
Invited her to my world,
Then gave her my heart
A heart that considered her a good habit
Which caused it only to beat in the presence of her love
and like a dove
I was then pictured as a symbol of peace and flew away in the skies
I was peace. We were peace.
Our light moving towards cloud nine, but past that to cloud infinity
Our future together was clear, close my eyes and I could see it vividly
we were like Siamese twins, take us apart and death is a possibility
I was here to stay,
my love was here to stay . . .
I thought you were here to stay so
you could NOT. GET. RID OF ME...
or could you?
I closed my eyes and I heard steps
And like a ninja, out of my life you crept
And this thief...
This thief came through the darkness of the night and snatched you
Grabbed you up
Dazed you
Flashed you
''I could do better than him'' through his false aura he screamed
Funny thing is, you believed.
I was deceived
Received with open arms
But later on replaced.
Thought of as the man of your dreams
But later on erased
Running from reality, when in reality I had to chase it
Love was a crutch to me, but I had to face it
You were the lost soul
That was seduced by the bandit
Now my heart considers you a cigarette
In other words a bad habit
Granted
I don't need you
All I need is mental stability
Acceptance of reality
This notebook
And my pen
So then...
Me and you can just become
Strangers, again.
In their eyes a disingenuous dream, pertinacious pestilence in their stream,
Solitudes sanctioned in their scheme, sacrificial surrenders in their scream…
Hearts contused crippled and crushed, of their voices hindered and hushed,
Landscapes forgotten and flushed, bruised, and battled for death has brushed.
In their world, a cataclysmic crumble, as they rejoice in a homeless humble,
All surrounds their squashing stumble, traumatized in a tenebrous tumble…
Hunger a friend through the night, an empty shell awakes the morning light,
Ecumenical echoes that do excite, as pious pretenders plague their plight.
Subdued souls within a shameful storm, trampled tears of their nomad norm,
Against their will, they must conform, white gloves command in a sinful swarm…
Vanishing views in their mist overpowered and oppressed in a tangled twist,
Will their love ever be missed, for we are all God’s children upon His midst.
_______________________________________________________________
...listen to the poem after 30 seconds of the video...
June.16.2020
CRUSHED
Sponsored by~ Anthony Biaanco
N/A for contest
As I wend my way around curving roads
up high into the mountains
I finally arrive at the Eight Gables Inn.
I wonder what it is that drives me here!
Perhaps I have developed wings
and flew across the Atlantic towards
The Great Smoky Mountains
on my adventurous ride
to the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Tired I hope the Inn
will live up to its reputation.
The sun is setting as I view
the purple orange skies darken,
whilst here and there lights
in desolate cottages twinkle in the dark.
I hasten to my private bath
and slowly sink in the warm water,
overpowered by the smell of soapy foams.
Pleased with my silky skin
I put on a plush bathrobe
luxuriously enjoying the feel
of the soft fabric against my spores,
and with a graceful dive find myself
on top of a feather-top bed.
This is the life of luxury...
Until I feel the taste of blotting paper
that cover my whole mouth.
I open my eyes and know
it was all a dream, alas.
Like melted chocolate,
words dripping
from his velvety tongue
rippled to her heart;
she tasted their rich flavor,
inhaled the aroma,
succumbing to
emotional intoxication.
She craved for more...
Seduced by luxuriant words,
her defenses weakened,
overpowered
by an irresistible urge
to bathe in love’s indulgence.
Opulent pleasures
caressed her thoughts.
Each syllable drew a sigh.
Her wish: to be sated
His unspoken promise: to fill her
with abandon – to thrill her.
She no longer dared
inhibit the demands
her soul was making;
this was hers for the taking.
Warning signs: DENIED!
She tasted the sweetness
gratifying her cravings
in his indulgent love.
A Collaboration between Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian
I saw the knife like shape approaching,
The woman holding it was smiling,
My mother was weeping profoundly behind,
My little aged eyes were watching
Trying to know what the knife like shape want to do.
My bead danced off from my waist
And, I saw tears filled a cup in front of me
Ready for me to drink it and eat my wrickled pains,
But I shoulder courage to be a woman;
Even though I hail from a lost barberic people whose minds are black and thirsty of knowledge,
I tried to run but couldn't because they were mightier.
That woman grapped me and whispered to
to my craving ears that it is my traditional right,
My right to be called a woman in the emerging years.
My fears overpowered me as I screamed in pains,
The fan swirled and the clock tick tack and the
Light bulb gave out an angry flame in tears,
I was lowered in an unconditional madness.
The knife like shape went straight in my opened legs,
It went closer to my womanhood, the pains shot;
The fears broke my ribs and my vein shouted.
The opened woman tried to escaped but my emotions
Held her back to my body.
"Jesus"! Mother screamed with her eyes closed,
The two women continued their work in my angry woman.
"The circumcision is done" the fat woman said
" You are now a woman" the other said
" Would she be ok ?" mother asked but no reply to her.
"Women circumcision is bad, so bad!" father cried
Years later, black years later, here I am childless;
I can not even enjoy the sensional joy of meeting a man who could service me like a woman.
I can't behave like a woman any more?
Here I am like a tree planted in a desert of shame,
I am now the problem of my problems, the custodian of the woman I am through shamed illed tradition of circumcision of womanhood;
Standing in gap between ancient and modernity,
My road to yesterday cannot be close until I mother a son who can call me mother.
(C) John chizoba vincent
#morning sadness# against woman Circumcision#
#speak out for women#
In the box with overpowered silence
Dripping with sweaty tension
Wanting glory…fearing three
Those eyes precise measured quarry
Javelin of Ash loaded at the ready
Stilly prepared…ironed gripping
White pale streak of the assailing foe
Red seamed threads spinning unseen
Coursing in…aimed true
A crack that exhales the collective breathe
Eruption within the faceless crowd
Cacophony…movement’s flurry
Charging towards the much sought prize
Just for the chance to be victorious
Guarded…standing strong
Diving headlong toward canvas safety
Outstretched beyond human limit
Colliding wreck…jarring hard
Percussive thump of stitched tooled leather
A thumb shot skyward yelling failure
The cheering…mixed jeering
Screaming sighs…and whistled respect
God I love baseball…
Manipulated into thinking I know not right from wrong
Overpowered by his stature; my weakness makes him strong
Loathing at the thought that the time has come to go to bed
Escaping all the nightmares; forcing them to the back of my head
Sexually deviant and wicked; he’s completely out of control
Twisted are his thoughts, as he finally takes my soul
Evil vicious cycle; spinning round and round and round
Devastation lasting a life-time; still waiting to be found
© Stacy Lynn Stiles
Joy dances in even to the bereft
She cracks my frown with a tango
Then she leaves my house swept
Joy is a hummingbird trapped indoors
Her iridescence lights up all my grime
Usher her out before I’m enamored
But, happiness is like fish overstayed
His cloying perfume overpowered
He is a rhino to her phoenix raised
Sometimes joy is an elephant
Hiding under a tablecloth snickering
She exits invisibly like an ant
Sometimes she’s Mary Poppins waltzing
Scrubbing a spot that I cannot dirty
Sprinkling a spoon full of sugar on salt
A lifetime of joy waltzing in wears me out
Then happiness retires to a piece of furniture
I’ll give her a ticket to dance and not pout
Someday when I am old and feeble
Too tired of laying ashes down
I’ll let joy lift my frown with needles
I’ll let her cat sit on my lap untamed
When I’m too demented to sully joy
I’ll let joy feast upon my remains
Till then I’ll leave the door ajar
** Luke 12:36
"Be like men who are waiting for their master when he returns from the wedding feast, so that they may immediately open the door to him when he comes and knocks."
Overrun with covid
Overpowered with stress,
Obligation their aim
Otherwise our health spent,
Oxbridge to the rescue
Outlook fashions a smile
On the front line of hell.
© Harry J Horsman 2021