Best Patronage Poems
A Look Back at Eighteen Months Here-The Show is Over
When your poems reside in a shoe,
like mine,
pounding the pavement to nowhere.
The onset of blisters isn't imagined.
Those blisters take roots,
hindering your motivation
to move-
and to continue to write.
It hurts.
Seeing those poems take residence
in pity.
Sans the
comfort of
leather and lace,
shine and sole,
all of which would have been nice.
But all my eyes see are my poems,
tucked away in worn loafers,
unpolished,
unnoticed.
Not exactly eye candy.
But eyesores ...judging by the lack of views, here.
And undoubtedly my shoes made of synthetics
and sneakers
to the purveyors of good poetry
and good shoeshine.
I look down for good reason,
defacto
and stigmatized,
no contest wins,
no poems ever in the top 100 (new) list,
no scent of roses (or views),
nothing.
Nothing.
An abyss of sublimity,
save for the white bird
that chirps
to nobodies ears.
To wit.
For he who signs up for this site
got a handful of mixed emotions,
confetti less tomorrows,
a begotten rah, rah,
a ladle of spiel,
poems published ...
and in my case alone footnote
that I was a member
sans the shoe shine.
I really have to admit,
writing here,
eighteen months now,
has taken its toe.
I have no one to blame but myself.
Kind Regards,
connie pachecho
4/26/2018
The proprietor of the show has decided to call it quits, citing mental health issues here. The posse of black bears got to me. The guises, pretense, and hate towards me eroded my spirit. Tell her she can play with my insanity but not my spirit. To my readers, I really appreciate your patronage during this journey here even though the crops are bare and the barn fronts a blank stare.
The cows fight with the pigs, and bacon went to waste. One thing I take is the seed in me to aspire elsewhere, which I've already planted at HP under the name Logan Robertson. Thanks again. Wish everybody the best.
Categories:
patronage, change, sad, mental health,
Form:
Free verse
Her heartbeat echoes like a love moan in my mind,
summoning centuries of refined romanticism soulfully enshrined,
the contralto of her voice a fillatio upon the cock of my consciousness,
through her eyes I see that mystery is the Mistress of meaning beyond regress,
my manly mouth serenades & suckles the rosy pussy of her prophecy, homage cunnilingus,
revelations irresistible in their heretical invigorations excite our imaginations
as we fornicate a ferocious forsooth soothsaying love's reincarnations,
a vignette of virility forthcoming from fate's far side fortifications
presents a primal promise in paranormal inceptions,
Premonitions primitive in heart heat paint
streak the skin of our desire to design an indigenous heaven,
flesh tones warm fast and feral revealing a vitality of spirituality that tongues detonate,
the Universe blooms into a Multiverse as she spreads her spell of star spice scintillation
onto my ripened body rendering her rites fertile in rich freight,
within the brain's wildfire I feel her unction,
Becoming the shaman of our secret skin ceremony
I invoke the spirit of solar youth into veinage voracious for passion's patronage,
sanctifying the unifying lust between the bodily and ghostly unlicensed liberty,
shadow temple of temptation gives offering of blood and song from astral page,
death dream extremes fire hot ejaculation of divine vindication into cosmogony
as she and I have won our now with a win over age,
My Love Muse is more than a woman
she is a savage seduction and a sacred sweetness,
a Goddess of her own Cause...a lover known as Poetess,
her name changes from lifetime to lifetime, yet she is always beauty shown -
J.A.B.
Categories:
patronage, beauty, desire, devotion, dream,
Form:
Ode
In the name of blood, for it is the source of life itself,
Plasma's crimson essence of liquid infusion, to the undead's
Pulsating heart.
Intravenously feeding cravings passion, through the carotid
Artery at the throat of humanity, thou'st not love, suffer
The pleasure indulge the pain, the out come shall be the same,
To be embraced by the black ebony arch angel of death,
Release thy darker side, let the instinctual behavior of the beast,
Know freedoms unshackling at last.
Become one of his sacred disciples, a creature of his dark dimension,
A kindred being, unto the legion of the night.
In the moon's elliptical light, shadows thus move from
Left to right, shifting as transparent figures, phantoms of
Illusions, taking winged flight, soaring on the currents
Of air mingling with their ancestral brethren, the vampire bat.
Run does not the lone wolf, along the side path next to man,
As we do so walk amongst them, yet never attempting to belong.
Oh are we not the a shunned, the accursed, by a God known
For his forgiveness, to love all living things under
Heaven, but for us this mightiest of lords, turns
His gaze away, not acknowledging our existence.
Our we not his lost sheep, missing from his flock, why
Does not this Sheppard seek this black lamb’s wool,
Is it too coarse for weaving's wheel, as it spins thus
And is it not said that he created all life within his image.
Nay I pray this vamperic prayer, why has he abandon
Us, the darker of his creations.
Behold the unascended, begging to enter beyond the gates
Of light, children of the lost are we, seeking a father blind
To his responsibility.
Harvesting, by the basic instincts given unto us,
Taking only what we need to survive, for this he has turned
Against us, and thus taking the light of day with him.
So my father of damnation's hell, has offered salvation's
Darker domain as a sheltering harbor of comfort, I will not
Abstain his patronage.
For I am the ashunned, living by the moonlight's haunting glow,
Yet yearning to see one last horizons sunset, but the Holy Father,
Hears not my humble vamperic prayer.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
patronage, dark, evil, gothic, halloween,
Form:
Free verse
A parting shot
Baristas bang to level the grounds
Constant caffeinated sounds
Murmured speak of 'where to next'?
Lonely figures sit and text
Gluten-free on plates piled high
Condensing people passing by
Foreign tongues that click and slur
Counterpoint a song from Blur
Buy 'to go' to cut the cost
By patronage the past has lost
Dusty corners, crumbs they've missed
Pierced lip and tattooed wrist
How strange our habits, then and now
That beg the questions when? and how?
Suspended nylons now replaced
By skin-tight leggings trimmed and laced
Time has changed the way we think
Of what we eat and what we drink
Like poetry that used to rhyme
Now lost in Jabberwocky slime.
Categories:
patronage, today,
Form:
Couplet
I AM AFRICA
I am a mother not a murderer
Patronage of numerous natural resources
Filled with beautiful creatures are my tropical
My heritage, adorned with glorious cultures
In the forest of the night I form
Seeds of great black minds
I am a mother of many gold medalists
Guardian of prolific writers
My sons and daughters are recognized through the ink of their intelligence
I am the virgin land of habitats and wild life
I am who I am
I am the great mother Africa
Fifty-four nations have me
Enriching with tribes and traditions
So favored by nature I boast
That my foes demands my departure
Tears of regrets I now shed
For my seeds have dispatched and torn me apart
Where abides my seeds I seek
The ocean of Democracy I adopted
Now lies astray with confusion as its mat
A dirge I present to you Democracy
Is my own world a different universe
Depressed I am in this silent captivity
Savoriness present in the face
But sadness, my daily food
Hope still stands in the future I believe
Admiring the consequences of the present
My aura shall once again romance
what have been laid bare
The milk of my breast is still breathing
Come and suck with caring honesty
My Philosophy of Neo-welfarism by Zik of Africa
Seeks to harmonize ideologies
Leopold Senghor of Senegal appeared with his Negritude
To rediscover and awaken our culture
Kwame Nkwuruma still lives
Through his Philosophical Consciencism which opposed capitalism
The great Ujama principle of Julius Nyerere of Tanzania
Continues to rule
I still have Achebe; who still advises from the depths
Adiche and Wole are still living legends
I sleep in silence in pure delight
As the brown dust turns to green
As daylight breaks and jet sky turns to blue
I wake up refreshed of glorious dreams
O! My great seeds; Never let me exist outside existence
Categories:
patronage, 6th grade, africa, art,
Form:
Elegy
I am corruption
A citizen of all Nations
The UN calls me complex social, cultural and economic phenomenon
Nevertheless, I do not mind
Countries of the world detest me publicly
However, they romance me secretly
So I relocated to Africa
To become a citizen of many African countries
Where I thrive with impunity
I am embezzlement of public fund
I am the looting of public treasury
I am economic crimes
I am bribery and receipt of illegal proceeds
Some call me theft and privatization of public resources
While others shamelessly refer to me as extortion, clientelism and patronage
However, I do not care about that
I manifest myself boldly as illegal appropriation or forgery and falsification
I am also blessed with quadruplets: abuse of state funds, waste, nepotism and favoritism
To maintain my citizenship I employ abuse of power(intimidation) and election falsification
I steal the continent’s wealth and fritter it to foreign countries
I live in slums of Africa
I live in cities of Africa
I am as ubiquitous as I am powerful
I have caused so much pain to Africa
I am the most powerful agent of African impoverishment
As you fight against me
I fight back with venom
Most African leaders love me so much
They cannot do without me
All religions worship me
The military is powerless before me
I hold the Executive to ransom
The Judiciary is my familiar abode
I am the permanent occupant of the Legislature
In me, there is no separation of power
I corrupt independently and collectively
I am a citizen in whom most African leaders are well pleased
As you can see I am well entrenched in my adopted continent
To eliminate me requires efforts
To diminish me is herculean
To tolerate me is dangerous
However I must die so that Africa can live!
Categories:
patronage, africa, anger, corruption, evil,
Form:
Free verse
Chalk-white faces, chapped lips and infected footsoles,
Harmattan, she has come again, announcing her
presence like a proud royalty's entourage.
Mothers clad their infants in thick clothes
like north pole elves,
motorcyclists cruise around town with watery eyes
mourning the chill of the early morning continental
trade wind.
Dry tree leaves dance to the rhythm of the wind,
the dance of death, as they fall to the ground
amid rising dust, dry air and hazy skies,
gathering mist sits atop the mountain like a crown
on a King's head.
The local tea shop owner beams with a toothless
smile envisaging high patronage, and from the
eastern horizon a seemingly shy
thermal source rises slowly
Categories:
patronage, change, earth, environment, weather,
Form:
Free verse
Santa is the grandfather of all children,
he lets them sit on his leg and tells them many stories;
if they are sad, he laughs hard and promises them toys:
they think is funnier than a circus clown!
Santa knows that some of them won't have a Merry Christmas
without a mom and dad who can buy them presents;
others are ill and need love more than dolls and trains
and for them he's got some special to make them smile for hours:
a sleight ride to the North Pole while reindeers wiggle their tails...
over towns, over clouds they fly to reach the land of Polar bears!
Santa is the grandfather of all children, they are the reason of his cheer
and he understands them regardless of their native language;
they hold hands and dance around him singing, " Jingle Bells. "
How happy and proud he seems for that wonderful and precious patronage:
the innocence of the little ones who can and will build a world without fear!
We can be like them by putting our differences aside and be true friends!
Categories:
patronage, children, christmas, grandfather, happiness,
Form:
Rhyme
Through seventy years of change,
Orb and sceptre in your hands,
Serving your people, young and old,
You have reigned over these lands.
To duty called when you were young,
You took the oath in Edwards chair.
The crown sits well upon that head
That doth its precious weight still bear.
A beacon to your people,
To all your commonwealth,
You show us what devotion means
To something beyond self.
Prime ministers and presidents
Have graced your royal court
Charities from every sphere
Your patronage have sought.
A mother and a grandmother,
A loyal and loving wife.
A Queen with whom the nation
Shared the milestones of your life.
You could not give us any more,
You’re an example to us all.
Of the meaning of self sacrifice
That answer”s duty’s call.
You too have suffered pain and loss,
Part of life’s kaleidoscope.
You empathise, you sympathise,
You bring a nation hope.
You’ve led us in remembrance
At war’s sad and bitter loss,
You’ve shed tears at the cenotaph,
For the fallen and the lost.
You truly are respected
By every generation,
For standing by your people,
For fulfilling your vocation.
Not for ourselves alone are we
Born to this life we’re given
You’ve shown us what can be achieved
If we too are truly driven.
You”re our pride and our identity
Loved and held in great respect.
History will remember you
As our beloved “Lillibet.”
We celebrate these seventy years,
Your Platinum Jubilee.
And I, for one, am glad to be,
A subject of your majesty.
Categories:
patronage, anniversary, celebration, england, inspirational,
Form:
Rhyme
They are so designed
that cannot to live without any territorial pretension
for other country
around them, inside, outside and far away.
It’s just a matter of time
when, where and with which scale
and result starting realize the plans and dream
of mystical Russian soul.
Geogiam, Ukraine and Moldova
that is only beginning,
after conquering them
this mystical soul starting to dream about Baltic states, Poland, Finland, Hungary
because she utterly believed they had been the part of Russian Federations.
But if Russia joined them that not stopped her and not quenched her hunger,
very soon she starting weeping and dreaming about lost land and relates
in other part of Europe – in Balkans, East Germany, Scotland
if the Word presented her these countries,
certainly Russia actively starting for colonization
what else left from World after USA, UK and China.
Had better if these nations get away from planet at all,
than done such problems for mystical Russian soule.
So peace in world would be established
only under the full patronage of Russian Federation,
when you got it, stupid gentlemen and comrades,
from NATO, US, EU and United Nations?
https://plus.google.com/103096123498800662474/posts/bbkvSB1jCXD
http://www.fishpond.com.au/c/Books/q/Kyrgyz?rid=1803077585&outprint=1&format=Hardback
Categories:
patronage, international, social, planet,
Form:
Verse
Carlos Bousono’s poem : Recordando a pastora imperio
for Damaso Alonso
(Poem published in the collection : Metaphora del desafuero, 1988, and dedicated
to Damaso Alonso, who exerted on Carlos Bousono an avowed influence and
patronage, concludes my own present tribute to the Maître. I confess I had not
read Bousono’s poems – I may have glanced at a couple of poems when I first
bought the Espasa-Calpe anthology some years ago – before I began translating
them on October 16, 2013.)
I have always thought that in the state of sudden immobility
of the immemorial dancer of flamenco the entire dance
is concentrated of a sudden in this posture
of an instant,
under the weight of centuries,
all of its foregoing agitation,
in such a way as in its absolute fixation is to be found
its passing and its minute ad mysterious simulation :
the flight of sea gulls over the sea, their avid and sudden swoop
onto the prey,
and she herself, the flamenco dancer herself, becomes in that instant,
like the form most refined and pure
of such an incomprehensible paradox : velocity and paralisation,
becoming more dense in the procès
between Aquiles and parsimony,
or the tortoise and despair…
No, there is no différence,
because to differentiate hère is to make a descent,
while here there is but an ascent.
And has the flamenco dancer understood suddenly
that to make a move
is an intolerable imperfection
for whoever aspires to the most arduous achievement,
to the supreme compromise with the fire in the beyond
and the surprise, sacred and full of rejoicing between
the fresh flames,
a compromise, then,
with the truth of the highest form of living,
and so the dancer of flamenco
remained for this reason without moving
in a difficult equilibrium
to see if that position, without touching it,
in not moving any of the pièces,
without turning a page, without causing the hinges to friction,
could by chance last, keep enduring there,
on the razor’s edge,
maintain itself on the head of a pin’s unlikely verticality,
balance itself on tip-toes, without breathing, each instant
succeeding the other,
on the verge of the abysm itself,
earth and boulders coming loose,
and one after another in succession, and in succession…
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Categories:
patronage, devotion, , memorial,
Form:
Free verse
Your visits or comments mean very little unto this myself; actually
Too many years now left wading through a glimpse, be her Babylon..
Thinking that perhaps Ancient allotted such a right to carry on wayward
Confuceous in their fortune's crumbling secular cookie jar ? Splatter it about
An abductive writ and everyone wishes to be part of, something; pasted particles
Just ask his fallon, Lucifer ? He's going to have a baby Rosemary's child we all shall know
What the little lad is experiencing while they mature into this foreboding cinematic creation ?
Shedding these sentimental telepathic tears; upon her set as an advisor from afar his patronage
With nine extras drapped be long black robes the reapers and their kind ? But nay not homage script....
Love's infant tender still mild amid time's manger; beginning without end sprinkling His stars yes; Actually.
Categories:
patronage, art, baby, cancer,
Form:
(Please! Donald! You Need Help!)
Yes, "Not invented here" it seems Trump's motto for today!
So, institutions long revered are taken out of play.
"What is not mine cannot be saved," the lesson through the noise,
The truth is elementary: You like it? Hates your toys!
Yes, baddest bully in the school, don't doubt it or he cries
Glib prostitutes his only friends, for friends are treats one buys!
The rich are laws unto themselves, let others pay contracts,
If they resist, use scabs and launch Orwellian attacks.
Yes, only fools owe any tax, it's cheaper just to cheat,
Corruption (learned at Daddy's knee), a voter's prime red meat,
Our government, rich swallow whole, your children their dessert,
And golf (where they keep score) life's game du jour. Time to convert!
Yes, patronage is game he plays, "Me patron, you peon!"
And competition's no problem if Donald's champion.
Unless the Russians are involved, then Putin is the man!
"He whups my ass, just like my Dad! Dictators! I'm a fan!"
Yes, moneyed folks know Trump's no mensch, keep daughters at arm's length,
But secrecy surrounds his house; in death throes, still shows strength!
He rants and raves and says he'll sue (it helps keep folks off-guard),
But if you look over his fence? White trash camped in his yard!
Yes! Donald's wife? Hates her life too; don't think you are alone!
The only sex toys still in use are "Fox and friends" by phone.
As global warming melts earth's ice, moves planet toward shipwreck,
Crimes mortify close fiends, his flesh; may gravestones read "Oh Heck!"
Long Tooth
April 21, 2018
Categories:
patronage, bullying, humor, political, truth,
Form:
Rhyme
In a kingdom afar
Dispute broke out and transfer
Through the land like wild fire
Then came an old man with eyes of sapphire
With wisdom that equals that of Solomon
Without delay he summoned the powerful, high and common
First to arrive was the Head, Hand and Leg tribe
Then came came Belly and Heart tribe holding plaque, war inscribe
"Your strength is in your diversity,"
Thus speaks the wise old man
"There has to sincerity
To coexist in this blessed clan"
The head Tribe grumbled and boast
"We play the best role so we deserve the biggest share,
Without my brothers mouth, brain, eyes and nose the tribe is unquestionably lost,
So if we ask for more it is thus fare"
"Nonse" Shouted the Hand
With a thundering Clap
"Unbelievable" barked the Leg clan
With a quaking stamp
"Selfish" belowed the Heart tribe
With a forceful pump
"Thats appropriate heart" screamed the Belly Clan
With a rumbling yup
Amidst the uproar
The old man voice's soar
Calming The Fury
That blinded their reasoning in a hurry
"Great men without vision,
Thy strength is in thy cohesion
A race without its head,
Associates with the dead
A tribe without its hands,
will only lag behind
A clan without its legs,
its first choice is to beg
A tribe without is heart,
Cease to enjoy breath
Its our belly that stores the taste of life,
From its bank we gather strength to laugh
A nation in turmoil,
Is never free from boil"
So the wise man verbalize
While they sat and gaze
"All leaders of all tribe
Hide not under ethnic patronage
For your show of intrest is only gibe
The cause of this strife is the result of your pillage
Inhibit your greedy bowels for a year
See if grasses won't grow in this desert
But I know what you all fear
That the commoners will get wiser if they have a sniff of your dessert
Which man will you spear that will not bleed?
Can a lamb survive in the mist of wolves?
This nation is in discord cause of your deeds
Your children are in safe haven while others in ignorance lose their lives
For the sake Of unity show patriotism
Shun ethnic jargon and favoritism
Uphold Justice
This land will know peace"
Categories:
patronage, heart, old, heart, old,
Form:
Rumors of spirituality, rumors of knowledge,
kings and queens of the past rumored it wisdom.
Rumors very existence hails patronage,
providing comfort through a baby’s thumb.
As time engulfs solidifying thoughts,
traveling faster than the speed of light.
A spiritual transference of Pandora’s box,
opening it’s insatiable appetite.
We assist mistakes...
Categories:
patronage, blue, dark, father, how
Form:
Monorhyme