Best Perforce Poems
THE BARE INFINITIVE
Look: up above the stratosphere
Outside the earth's blanket veneer
Beyond planets stars and galaxy
Past even faintest nebulae
Far from the pull of gravity
Free of Dark Matter's hidden vector
In existential cavity
Untied to any spacial sector
All human weakness risen above
In solo freedom primitive
Beyond the bonds of hate or love
There sits the Bare Infinitive
No cares nor problems, fears nor pains
But there's one question that remains
From Liberty, took a blessed kiss?
Or to false seductive promise succumb
Is he in sublime unfettered bliss?
Or formless, endless tedium
COROLLARY - The Meaning of Life
So perforce the very asking of the question
May reveal the answer to that greater plea
Why suffer slings and arrows, pains, anguish, oppression
When we might, by NOT opposing, be set free
The gloomy prince omitted consequence unsaid
In agonising on the walls of Elsinore
Endless nothingness holds nought for us but dread
Perchance to dream preferred to void; that we abhor
Thus life’s meaning may be: to be within a life
Then if we also have a purpose vied with strife
Result: interest, time, curiosity, interaction and aim
Or the elements of what we call: A Game.
Lest you think this demeans Creation to mere caprice
Then observe to be the player, not the piece.
24 May 2019
A silky moonlight the water walking
As lovers entwined their lives while talking.
Spring softly warm, blossoms upon the air,
Time's gentle memory when she was there.
Stars bright after sunlight reveled in youth
Or might we more have considered the truth
Of philosophy and kisses so bare
That perhaps we gave too much to the air.
To summer we could not forever cling,
Must autumn mean loss, must it perforce bring
A harsh threat of change, hint of winter stark,
As a cold, still gun may glint in the dark.
All energy we find within a thought
Of what Fate bought, of what we might have wrought.
Mrs. Robin, busy as a bee
visits my home's skylight annually
She builds a nest there carefully
her private retreat, only I can see
She commandeers my yard militarily
hopping to and fro imperiously
Ever seeking bark or twig assiduously
to feather her penthouse more comfortably
A half-dozen blue eggs she lays surreptitiously
Settling down over them protectively
Sheltered from the elements so cunningly
She awaits their hatching expectantly...
One day, her chirpings' cease, inevitably
Mrs. Robins' dreams realized successfully
She's flown the coop, perforce happily
Her nest, forlorn ~ stares at me emptily
July 10, 2020
Bird Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
The FLUENCE of FRIENDSHIP
Each spring, the source of every brook or stream
Rises from the land which has perforce been fed
By rain that falls on earth the which would seem
To return that gift, become a fountainhead
And issue in a rich and vital flow
That feeds all life to flourish and to grow
With this metaphor I seek to realise
The interaction of a friendship that I prize
The one whose words as gentle rain sustain
The spirit or the muse with which I weave
The language that might then have dormant lain
And who granted me the being I conceive
Each spring, the source of every brook or stream
Rises from the land which has perforce been fed
By rain that falls on earth the which would seem
To return that gift, become a fountainhead
And issue in a rich and vital flow
That feeds all life to flourish and to grow
With this metaphor I seek to realise
The interaction of a friendship that I prize
Taken from poem: The Fluence of Friendship
28 April 2019
Contest: Rithimus Divisa Poetry
The flotilla of the ivory-varnished sailing clouds,
gliding across the cerulean sky of serenading spring,
turned into the menacing fleet of sudden scare.
Its shadow of invisible danger has changed our lives,
maybe forever.
Tangled in the complex social web of modern life,
the distance created on the track of changing times,
enhanced perforce at coercion of survival instinct.
The widened crevice in kinship will remain unclosed,
maybe forever.
But I still see in the sunburst splendor of dawn sky,
rays of hope etch golden lines on gloomy clouds,
it won’t be long when surely they will melt away.
If there is a time to venerate the ravaged nature,
it’s now.
Wrapped within collapsed wings of the caged bird,
confined psyche crumbles in the abyss of desolation,
fortified it’ll rise from the debris like the sphinx.
If there is a time to keep the morale sky high,
it’s now.
April 1, 2020
Contest : What Matters Most To You
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke
"At Times I Wonder"
By M. Taha Effendi
(Nazam)
At times I wonder what life would have been worth
Spent cloaked in soft shades of your sable tresses
If ill-fated darkness that shrouds my wrecked hearth
Was slayed by vigorous radiance of your eyes' recesses
Oblivious to earthly callings would it be so unfair
If I remained in your mesmerisms so eternally engrossed
Your heavenly allure my parched eyes would ensnare
On the fabrics of your existence my love I embossed
When plagued by the bitterness of life's onerous race
I would drink the glacé elixir upon your crimson lips
Bury my distresses within the calm of your embrace
Build my sanctuary in the shade of its eclipse
Sigh! This traitorous heart pounds even in such dismal state
I breathe with no hope of mirth nor a word of protest
My vacant eyes resigned to this inescapable fate
I stand unwilling to rebuild my plundered nest
Clasped perforce to my bosom the agonies my love bequeath
I heave my wounds through accursed corridors that adorn
Deathly shadows that loom, daunting horrors that wreathe
Where every step garlands me with camouflaged thorns
With not a course in sight, neither a goal nor any thrill
I trudge with bare feet across the scorching earths
Dreading the inevitable plunge from edge of sanity and still
At times I wonder what life would have been worth
(Finalist - International Poetry Soup Contest 2012)
COPLA 81 INVOCATION : This Bad Guy World
Bad Guys perforce ressort to prayer
They pray to augment the harm they wreak :
Should Good Guys pray
Who then assesses prayer power
Who dispenses what Bad Guys seek :
How fare the lay
All the evidence is in the genes
Just as the Earth’s in ocean cells :
Bad Guys impose
If Good Guys react by all means
Out of season all by themselves :
World’ll decompose
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Looking for time on roads causes wonder
Where will they lead, here, there or under
Possibly an object to hold in the hand
But seeming more nebulous flowing like sand
It's threads are woven to sunlight and gold
With power that moves stars in heavens untold
It is unseen with strength so great
Worlds it does crumble, worlds it does make
What is its virtue, from where has it come
Where will it go in a moment or none
Has as it's prisoners those small and great
Nothing escapes it, all must on it wait
It can't be captured and placed in a jar
Is it here, or there, can it be far
It spools unseen for all to have wonder
Without its dominion be all cast asunder
Traveling back is forever disavowed
Forward the only law that's allowed
Heavens are clockwork run by its measure
When it has ended all is lost, gone forever
Darkness would cover worlds such as this
Creation would perforce cease to exist
Such is called time but none see or hear it
It brings the workings of all who know it
If the unwary would seek where it goes
Find them it's fabric solely in black holes
This is the nature of that force called time
A word well known but not yet defined
Tomorrow never comes
It is always tomorrow
In numerous locales countrywide, they hold sway
Pirouetting at intervals like ballerinas from Bolshoi
Beauteous, feline and very feminine
Slender to the point of emaciation, not quite
Cultivating the undernourished look on a frugal diet
Decidedly austere for a longer tenure in the limelight
Basking in the fleeting warmth of an adulatory audience
A gathering of the doting kindred and the upwardly mobile
Some dirty old men on the sly, dirty young men too
Glued to their seats craning for a better view
By and large captive by choice, a handful perforce
Sitting through to pen their weekly column
Giving those they fancy their due in the sun
Witnesses to a parade of demure eyed lasses
And a few with flashy looks walking tall on stilettos
Essentially female and contoured though not prominently so
At least not to a marked degree, yet with excellent muscle tone
Opulence, no longer deemed a career necessity
Once considered right stuff, now rejected as wrong size
An hour-glass shape belonging to an age bygone
But hardly so, from the viewers’ mind, in retrospect
Enchanting and alluring yet not overtly titillating
Each in a state of dress and undress
Willing tools of designers flaunting their creations
Sporting dresses and hats and shoes, and lingerie too
In black or white and loud or subdued hues
Displaying formal wear, casual wear, swimsuits and sleep suits
Some scanty and figure hugging, others flowing and loose
A bony look required for some, others fulsome
A voyeur’s paradise, to be sure
Indulging a fetish without stooping too low
Chilly weather was never reason enough to cancel a show
Heat of arc-lamps taking care of goose pimples
Or brandy taken neat infusing the needed heat
Harbingers of tomorrow’s fashion and pall-bearers of today’s
The strobe lit platform of the pageant
Serving to launch new faces or is it legs?
The leggy look personified by Twiggy of yore
Carried through in the interim and sustained by the new genre
Captivating without doubt, and thorough professionals
Displaying unruffled demeanour and tutored bearing of thoroughbreds
Exuding confidence with every graceful step they take
Cool as ice despite the harsh glare of stage lights
And callous catcalls from boorish males
Performing in a backdrop of future fashion trends
Money and fame finding some, eluding others
Be it centre stage or in the shadows
It is bread on the catwalk for all
I.
O Bacchanalia! O wild Mania,
be this crazed ecstasy the touch of God!?
To be transported bodes Arcadia:
but this sense—this awareness!—is too odd.
O manic shape! Touched attitude of thought!
This sudden, unlooked-for, deranged climax
of the mind inspires with enraptured thrill.
Calliope! thou hast me overwrought:
whence springs this manic grammar and syntax,
this wondrous expression which melts gloom's chill?
II.
Thou rhapsody! Thou monumental bliss!
What euphoria overwhelms the brain?
With eloquent Calliope's moist kiss,
thrilled ravishment uplifts the head's domain.
O Joy! Great, great Joy! Intense happiness,
with rapture mingled, revives the psyche
with grandiose delusion of the mind;
then glee that transcends efforts to express,
like preternatural Being whose frenzy
all at once overpowers, strikes me blind!
III.
Erelong is the psyche sorely distress'd,
as slowly is ruined the one diseased
by dire imbalance of the brain! Oppress'd,
and finding Mania now none appeased,
I wane with her then fading servitude;
for in her wake she leaves a deadly unrest
(that will perforce require the mortician).
For wretchedness of mind damns the unblest:
but o'er souls where with angels devils feud,
God can heal as the Divine Physician.
by Michaelw1two
Thinking’s challenge is to weigh,
all of one’s life substance;
quandary thus, illogical fuss,
which blinds the mind's acutance;
adscititiously into thoughts bleed,
vitiated indurate boastance;
corrumpable sequella fortuity,
each thought, is truth’s desistance.
Retrospectively choices trial,
stands outside an untidy purport;
merycism seeps beneath one’s deep,
questions mythical adhort;
ex postfacto, pride’s precious précis,
ideas from ideals besort;
denouement cryptic episode,
Sphinges contend, issue alamort.
Sapience elusive rapture,
most minds need bethink acology;
humanity’s Id mulled,
without reference to a doctor of alethiology;
furgacious notions, become the norm,
arguments chime atheology;
Toison d’ or, parley prewar,
else high angels deem eschatology!
Medullary substance rare,
within rabid beings Tour de force;
coarctation, indeed strangulation,
dire result for living's bourse;
Nationalism's agenda, wiled racist theme,
keeps élan’s cry hoarse;
emasculation, Republican dream;
equates rule of thumb perforce.
Contemplative ideas abound,
behind the veil of Arriere Pensee;
insinuation to middle class,
jokes on all, laity economic refugee;
elucidation simplistic, vote for change,
or be laissez-faire etouffee;
sublevation, certifiable eminency,
party GOP national expellee!
Jan 2010
ISALE EKO (LAGOS)
A rooster of discrete tongues
Culture, tradition
Where,
Zillion specters resonate
Quantum croak.
Cock crow,
Erupts whirl, barge at Alaba
Descry of sea of soul cases
Kibbling in, out as Emmet over nectar,
As husky ell of murk drench dawning,
Eviscerate NEPA's spasmodic spitfire
To stupor, obloquy.
The hindmost geezer nestling,
Drenched in diaphoresis of animation of dog days
Eludes unforgiving hail of bug blitz,
Hallowed howl of ole! ole!
Arched in his decrepit nest
Deploys a taper
Until,
Sunup deflowers night jaded sockets
As,
Resonance of one more Naira
To breast billion mark
Percase, perforce, precipitating
The epogee in mores
Rummages his cranium:
Top dog never capitulates
Vanquish countermands blossom
In kernel of hovel, wreck, quagmire
From mainlands of Iddo,
Bog of Badagry
To Favela of Ijora, Ilasamaja
Colonize the cocoon
Which,
Burgeoned Whiz Kid, Davido and Nollywood
Confuting phantasm
That,
Golden fleece
Is muted in the jaws of no man's land.
A colossus who never unwinds
No arrears in innuendos
Paris is your headrest
Rio de Janeiro your ottoman!
Villanelle: The dilemma of the non-violent – Part One
The dilemma of the non-violent
How best to withstand the misuse of force
The nonchalant imbued with mal-intent
Be it your neighbour or your own parent
The country cult sect religion or race
The dilemma of the non-violent
The more you bear in silence your tyrant
The more he’ll rally his rights to enforce
The nonchalant imbued with mal-intent
And if you so much as by instinct relent
Fail own family to protect perforce
The dilemma of the non-violent
Krishna to Arjuna: non-attachment*
Panacea for all abuse of force
The nonchalant imbued with mal-intent
Either way done for in this firmament
Victim or oppressor without remorse
The dilemma of the non-violent
The nonchalant imbued with mal-intent
• The philosophy of the Bhagavad Gita (Song of God)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
My tenant body constitutes a lease,
A rented fabric owed to landlord Time,
From smoothened silk to wrinkled leather’s crease,
This shuttled thread is bound in deed to grime.
My mind he stakes a vested interest in,
Its vibrancy is forced perforce to fade,
The stain of Lethe’s dull oblivion
Shall wash and sink this mind in murky shades.
Immortal dyes Arachne used to draw,
(While mortals die unraveled, naked, sheared)
Her strings contested Nature’s with their awe,
Art’s golden wool outwears the looming Weirds.
This trunk of life is tailored for a fashion,
Yet timeless wove is art’s transcendent passion.