Best Peculiarly Poems
Each Friday recedes in burgundy
Bathed ardently in Luna’s kiss
But, Sunday will dawn cerulean
With dulcet tones of lovers’ bliss
Bearing flavors wantonly consumed
I greet each hue voraciously
I taste the spectrum more than I see
My senses piqued peculiarly
As kaleidoscopic concertos
Obscure my sight in grand array
Each blending shade completes the phrasing;
Brilliantly, prism love songs play
*For Brian Strand's "Intervals" contest.
Note: The concept for this piece was inspired by those who experience a phenomenon called
Synesthesia.
Vanishing vestige of dank cavernous lobes
My lonesome forsaken heart adrift
Under the most alluring midnight crescent moon
Towards a horizon yonder daubed with
A loaded paintbrush of golden luminescence
While levitating melodic whispers
Of charm and sorcery perchance connive
Mingling heavenward to set the stage
For a divine encounter with a goddess
Her wafting cloud ever so sublimely hovers
Peculiarly fine exotic spicy fragrance
Ensnaring my compliant heart
By glorious happenstance
Spellbound and mesmerized
Flutters on the wings of dusk
Reawakening a drowsing lust
Rekindling and resuscitating the passion
To a sublime apogee of celestial folly
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on January 18, 2019 for contest EIGHT WORD CHALLENGE-BARDENESQUE sponsored by JOHN HAMILTON - RANKED 1ST
There once was a magician in Vegas,
who needed a flat more spacious,
the bunny from his hat,
was peculiarly fat,
stinky farts from carrots were contagious!
Rhyme Scheme: A-A-B-B-A
Date Written: February 20, 2016
What's In A Name
(Heritage, Proudly Honored)
From ancient lineage comes my last name
Brave warriors that drank strong ale, spilled blood.
Some were letters men, spoke in Irish brogue
foot loose fancy free, set for any game!
Patrons of olden villages and their pubs
They daily, drank to sing and sang to drink.
A few were artists, painters and that lot
sworn to clan, beloved clan was their club!
Masters of vast lands, in valley of trees
Shepherds of flocks defended only by staffs.
Others arms makers, broad-swords forged true
More recent times, sailors of seven seas!
Yet I dare to honor father's proud name
With pen marks and compassion's flaming glow.
Family dear, loved beyond my own life
As I breathe, teach my son to do the same!
With humility, pray these words hold true
Each day, I shall bless those I most cherish.
At night, guard lives even should it cost mine
With honor, pay great homage that is due!
January 9th, 2017
Syllable count checked : www.howmanysyllables.com
For Contest :
What's in a name? - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by SilentOne
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
1. BROGUE
The term brogue (/bro?g/ BROWG) generally refers to an Irish accent. Less commonly, it may also refer to certain other regional forms of English, in particular those of Scotland or the English West Country.[1][2]
The word was first recorded in 1689.[3] Multiple etymologies have been proposed: it may derive from the Irish bróg ("rough or stout shoe"), the type of shoe traditionally worn by the people of Ireland and the Scottish Highlands, and hence possibly originally meant "the speech of those who call a shoe a 'brogue'".[4] It is also possible that the term comes from the Irish word barróg, meaning "a hold (on the tongue)", thus "accent" or "speech impediment".[5] A famous false etymology states that the word stems from the supposed perception that the Irish spoke English so peculiarly that it was as if they did so "with a shoe in their mouths".[6]
Prevarication permits pretend perception, presenting
piquantly piqued, pimply pimping playboy, plucky
pulchritudinous previously pusillanimous, prevalently
puckish, psychic packman, pokemon playing proletarian
puppeteer pygmy, peevishly punky, plummy, plumy,
pompously pushy, pampered, prefabricated pinchbeck,
pokily plying plowshear, plodding peregrination, pied
piper pitifully peppy pornographic potato pealing,
parsimonious paradoxical protagonist, proposing
preposterous panicky pacification plots, prioritization
pertinent penultimate peroration, perhaps perceiving
perjuring, perplexing, perverting puzzling pronouncements
projecting pulsating pixelated pulpy pinball pinging
packets prompting pacific, poetic, phlegmatic purplish
psoriasis plagued, plumbum pallor pallid, Paleolithic
protuberance pronounced, psychosomatic prohibitionist,
polarizing perfunctory peculiarly progressive, patriotic
postmodern pathologically proud paternal panache,
peripatetic panaceas portraying prescient perfidious
puerile president, predominantly proposing parochial
principles, plenty public parking, purposefully
promoting pharisee phalanxes, pilates practicing
paragons, perennially peaceably proficient protesters,
profitable polygamy, pugnacious pitbull powerball
players, pandering polyandry, propagating professional
palindrome pensive peeping people, peddling,
proselytizing predicating prostitution, proliferating
phenomenally, populist persona promulgated peyote
phased physicians pioneering prescription promoting
paradisiacal pricey photographic pictures, placating
phrenetic physical perturbation partaking place
purchased (paid paltry pennies) por palatial piazza.
Did the creator(s) of his chemicals
wreck his chemicals ?
Or did he recklessly
wreck them on his own ?
He stormed almost violently
through the evening, half an hour after dark,
scowling and barking at enemies unseen;
he seemed to be peculiarly caught
between reproachful suburban streetlamps,
always half a pace ahead of and behind
the previous and the next.
He marched almost violently
through the midday, cool and bright;
his scowl and bark were armed
with a lead pipe to secure
his next square metre of temporary space,
and even the speeding traffic
could not deny his belligerent passage.
He sat almost violently
in the cold, grey defeat of early morning,
scowl and bark, as always, I think,
and the bricks and cars and shopfront windows
may have quivered or laughed,
I haven't had time to ask them,
not that they'd be bothered with me.
The uniforms were calm, unflappable,
his bark and scowl remained fearless as ever,
but became oddly innocuous,
they knew each other by now.
He may be smart enough and unsound enough
to understand that a dark, familiar cell
is a place to go
when you have no place to go;
or it may be simpler or more complex,
he may be smart enough and unsound enough
to not know the difference at all.
It's Friday, late afternoon,
and I have no idea
where he'll be tonight.
24th August 2018
Wobbling on the edge of utter desolation,
Where thoughts of death become a fascination.
I take a step backwards and continue to sway,
Is this the final hand that I will play?
While what lays behind me is probably eternal rest,
Is this decision the very best?
Death is certain and that much I know,
However there is still life in me left to flow.
Perhaps this anguish can evolve,
Maybe this question isn't impossible to solve.
If I pay a visit to the abyss,
There are so many things here that I will miss.
Some things good and some things bad,
Joyful events and those which are sad.
When will this perspective shift?
I desperately need my spirits to lift.
I look in the mirror and remember every scar,
The result of my despair I need not look far.
Thoughts race through me, shackles tighten,
I scream and then peculiarly my sense of awareness begins to heighten.
A new thought washes through my being,
I take a second glance in the mirror unsure of what I'm seeing.
The burden within me feels far lighter,
A winning result for this righteous fighter.
The ground stops shaking and I gain some composure,
Taking a step towards what was once an enclosure.
Shadows fade away revealing what they left in the dark,
Being pulled forward my soul begins to embark.
I’m put upon to ponder the problem of poetry
& thus, I proudly or, perhaps, perfunctorily,
Ponderously pronounce with a preponderance,
Even a plethora, of p’s:
Poetry is pithy, prankish and perky,
Pertinent and impertinent, too
It’s prophetic, pathetic, pragmatic and proud
Poetry pretends, preaches, points out,
Points to, and down, and under
Poetry’s petals promise purity and peace
Poetry’s pristine, picky and pale
Poetry is practical, prudent, is pregnant,
Gives pause
Poetry’s precise, prayerful, powerful
Poetry’s presence is portentious and playful
Poetry’s a mosaic portrayal, a
Painted portraiture, perfect, profane
Prosaic, it is not,
Preposterous, it is
It is ponderous, political, porous, pontifical
Peripatetic and perennial,
Prescient, pedantic, possessive and puerile
Perfidious, perceptible, perplexing, perfectible
Poetry perseverates, preserves, perseveres
Sometimes perplexing, never perishable,
It pulses it prowls, it probes and it pries
Poetry is a perverse, precocious, pubescent prankster
It prances, and preens periwinkle plumage
In place of deep purple prose
A persuasive, peculiarly pleasant peacock,
Poetry promulgates poems!
Poetry, dear poet, exists
Poetry, dear poet, persists
Poetry, dear poet, persists and preoccupies
Poetry can never desist
Poetry perpetually propagates poems
And that
is the problem
with poetry…
Phew!!!
By a stone near Saqqara
Sand blown from the Sahara
Mixes with dust from Ankara
Particularly near a pyramid
it peculiarly disappears amid
Two ascetics on a pilgrimage
They observe the strange vanishing
With great verve while brandishing
A saber at a passing Saracen
They wondered if this was transcendence
And blundered towards repentance
Hearts thundered in this Presence
Definitely dealing delicately in dense danger.
Peculiarly perplexing poking pioneers of pride.
And catching coding cautions
When windy weather was wasted warming
Worries with a whistle when we were
Watching winter whizzing by.
Then there's the spring of things when it comes.
Every floral pattern that exist you're thinking
Pastels, every lavender laughs hilariously
After me
Every yellow yelling yes, yippi!! That's the
Thought. Twist thrice, then twice. Toward
Thursday thirsting for more.
Be at ease. Winter's worries warning
Wound and wounded ready to be astounded.
You have found it.
My wounded heart made of art.
The cause is in store, instead forge ahead.
There once was a land
so fiercely beautiful and diverse
I recall exquisite creatures
and plants that would seem to burst
into the most peculiarly pretty shapes
With colours as bright and spectatuclar as flames
And all that this land embraced
when seen from its glorious sky
what a masterpeice did it create
Even iron lungs would become breathless
it was a view worthy of only the greatest gods gaze
I would give up the gift of sight
to see this land once more
but you see it suffered a terrible plight
its natives gave suffering instead of support
as they broke, buried and burnt it alive
I watched its land turn grey and coarse
All of the earths glory lost to greed
I have wondered so deeply within
how do you ignore whats under your feet
all that you see and all that you eat
to express my disgust I cant even begin
All I Can say is, destroying nature is
the most potent of sins
Widened lips in an inert ligneous watercraft, fervent eyes gazing the moon,
Her mane of aureate intriguing hair in a wintry night, the dark cranium of a dainty loon.
Unblemished ivory gown glistering under the umbra of gleaming stars, wondrous quietness of the prodigious forest.
Benign fog over the serene skin of a highland tarn, beautifying the panorama as a fragrant florist.
A fugitive moment's princess, the waterscape peculiarly blithesome,
A dream breathing itself out of wisdom, am I earnestly painting a poem?
Blood-warm rain drips from the peculiarly thick and vile cloud that follows me as I traipse around the twisting and topsy-turvy morass that fashions the hallways of my memory.
Is love just another word for lost?
The music that emanates from the walls to assail my ears is sobering and joyless, the beat is all wrong; much too bright and airy while, simultaneously, seeming ponderous and dirge-like.
Metal at its worst.
As I brush away the obscuring detritus from around each, the memories that stir should bring forth sunlight and passion’s heat, but, instead, conjure forth forbidding feelings of frozen desolation and dark despair
.
I yearn for a warmth that is promised, but not delivered.
Approaching yet another of the infinite crossings in the boundless maze of my mind, I pause – left, right, or straight, or should I simply turn around and retrace my steps to an earlier choice?
Would it make a difference?
Uncertainty becomes a millstone hung around my neck and the weight forces my steps to slow to a crawl as I watch the motes of dust race by me to make each new memory a hazy dream.
Does it really matter…
at all?
Form:
There once was a man called Boris
Who loved a wee deoch an' doris
Whether his tipple was whisky or brandy
Foreign affairs made him peculiarly randy
When he indulged in extra-marital coitus
It's early, as I enjoy my coffee this morning
Birds are chirping, as I hear a blue jays warning
I look outside and see a young red breasted robin
He's Jumping and dancing, his head’s busy bobbin
Goldfinches appear in their bright spring yellow
Chirping, singing their songs sweet and mellow
A pair of red cardinals land and take the show
They’re always together no matter where they go
I decide to take my coffee and go outside
Watching all the songbirds soon scatter and hide
I relax in my chair, smelling sweet lilac blooms
One of my favorite scented spring perfumes
A Baltimore oriole appears on the fence
His black and orange feathers are still and tense
A blue Jay swoops down and lands on the ground
He looks at me, then peculiarly looks around
He takes off quickly, lands in a nearby tree
The oriole is now feeding, chirping with glee
I need to go in now, and get ready for my day
I enjoyed my morning watching spring birds play
4/25/2020
Contest: Spring Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
(Syllables checked on Howmanysyllables.com and rhymes checked with rhymezone)