Best Personage Poems
In My Brokenness
It is in my brokenness that I seek
Your face Lord as never before,
it is in my brokenness that I find You
as I open every door in my life to You as never before.
It is through my pain that I see my God that
You allow things to happen in my life not to hurt me,
but You allow them in my life
to bring me to my knees.
And when I call upon You and Your answer comes
and You hold me now so close,
it’s in my brokenness my Wonderful Lord
that You reveal to me Your personage and love for me the most.
Written by: Marilyn S. Jennings
February 2, 2007
There Winter Lonely Fallows Deeply Dream
Long after that ripe golden sunset gleam
Cool silvery tones, wavering light;
Then winter lonely fallows deeply dream
Into the grayish ghostliness of night.
Far off, yet looming bold and strangely near,
Within starry heavens they are aureoled,
Forested mountain-ranges far westward rear
Their high guardian towers as of old.
And lo! above their ancient stormy deeps,
In pensive grandeur, icy frozen browed,
One glorious forest summit there keeps
Transcendent vigil alone, pure and proud.
And we who see that shining symbol turn
A moment's while from its lone transient mood;
From that brief moment we clearly discern
Our lost souls within Nature's solitude.
Robert J. Lindley
Poem Syllable Counter Results
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10
Total # Syllables: 160
Total # Lines: 19 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically: N/A
Total # Words: 103
https://www.google.com/?gws_rd=ssl#q=fallows+meaning
fal·low1
'falo/
noun
plural noun: fallows
1.
a piece of fallow or uncultivated land.
verb
3rd person present: fallows
1.
leave (land) fallow.
Origin
Old English fealgian ‘to break up land for sowing,’ of Germanic origin; related to Low German falgen .
fal·low2
'falo/
noun
plural noun: fallows
a pale brown or reddish yellow color.
Origin
Old English falu, fealu .
Translate fallows to
Use over time for: fallows
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/aureole
Aureole
noun au·re·ole \'o?r-e-?ol\
Popularity: Bottom 40% of words
Definition of aureole
1
a : a radiant light around the head or body of a representation of a sacred personage b : something resembling an aureole UNSUPPORTED CODE
2
: radiance, aura UNSUPPORTED CODE
3
: the luminous area surrounding the sun or other bright light when seen through thin cloud or mist : corona
4
: a ring-shaped zone around an igneous intrusion
aureole transitive verb
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Note- Sorry my friend- I know I promised you a sonnet on winter and Nature written today but my muse insisted on two more verses.
I learned long ago. my muse is a very vindictive beast when disobeyed.
Of all fond thoughts held deep within the heart
Like strings lightly strummed fly with agile wings
Take flight yet never from my mind depart
Soar as wandering clouds where angels sing
Thrilling depths unknown and conscious thriving
Meant for few who’ve neutered malice thinking
Free of hate and void of carnal striving
Loosed from the pull of gravity’s sinking
Launched to heights reserved near omnipotence
God is there, since love is His personage
Displayed, arrayed in great magnificence
Building a home of divine parsonage
Forever to reign in heaven’s glory
Love is the wind and might of the story
The narrow lane led to an awful place
With its own page in the annals of history,
Where once was committed a murder most foul
It’s perpetrator to date still a mystery
Thirteen, Millers Court in Spitalfields
Was the abode of one Mary Jane Kelly
Where one November morn, eighteen eighty eight
She was found, slit from throat to her belly.
A victim was she of a man they called ‘Jack’
A murderer of most savage renown
Who spread fear through the streets of Whitechapel,
And whose identity has never been found
Because ‘Jacks’ alter ego was never confirmed
Speculation and theories are rife
Was he a personage of royal blood?
Was he a surgeon, skilled with a knife?
Was ‘Jack’ an American actor?
Was he sane, was he mentally ill?
Were his only victims the ‘canonical’ five?
Just how many more did he kill?
Why did it all end and where did ‘Jack’ go
Is as mysterious as from whence he came,
But his legacy remains and for many a year
Life on London’s streets was never the same.
Sparring with demons, and dragons and deadheads
It bobs and weaves like a drunken sailor.
Omnipresent, omnipotent and omniscient
I'm quite attached to it - joined at the psyche.
Image of an incubus twirling as I do.
Patron Saint of agony, I curse it
And relegate it to a 2nd-class personage.
Out, damn spot, out - and take the blood with you.
When I am naked, it is clad (no projection),
No libido, no tumescence, no consummation.
How's that for a declension?
When it ascends, I float in the ether.
This hermaphrodite queen is superior
To all mono-sexual beings
And since I am bound and bounded
It supplies the rope, the pins and the Worchestshire Sauce
Third person singular with plural overtones.
No objection for this object of my affectation.
Alas, the narcissus cannot not spin like lilies,
But only vegetate with the legumes.
The coda, finale, epilog await
Looming like a sarcophagus awaiting its occupant
And alcohol cannot still the tooth
That nibbles at its soul.
prosaic prologues bewitch
feeble minded scribe doth undertakes
tend toward lugubriousness ring tone
for goodness sake
echoing across,
a figurative lake woebegone, where quake
shutters latched storm windows,
clapped closed winter season didst make
physical environment lachrymose
analogous to imp pond durable dark lake
where sits inside secluded hut,
this fledgling author named Jake
a former cub (scout) at a loss
to string together an aria
tomb other nature and NOT FAKE,
sepulchral paeon to divine Gaea, Mother Earth
especially incorporating
mutisyllabic (sesquipedalian) words,
which exertion
on par with giving birth
(or so I guess),
a particularly heavily pregnant laden dearth
of help mates, doubling demonstrably
deadly duty devoid of mirth
totally tubular taxing toll,
an essentially unbearable
effort with bulging girth
whereat digestion consumes
latent mental ambition,
especially toasty warm near the hearth
which hitherto unknown to any reader
twas Xmas fabrication and fiction
no crime committed, nor animals harmed
in the making of diction
aery necessary entrapping unsuspecting intellect
to comprehend somber benediction
unless perchance one lone wolf
bait Oven English Major
with Westernization
topped off with a European
debunaire suave acculturation
even luckier if hypothetical personage
dips daintily into forays epicurean,
though careful,
and alert since church fathers
would frown on parsonage
whose natural born ardor,
a spiritual abduction
stealing austerity, complacency, and objection
toward forced irrational schemas
averse to abnegation
unfair imposition
to foist upon pruriant predilection
also impossible
to sequester arbitrary animal urges,
punishing call of the wild,
sowing seeds a beastial accusation
considered averse,
then imposition contrition!
What provides comedians the gift of speech
uncensored with lessons that teach?
Their open mindedness provoking ease
undeterred to speak as they please.
How easily the comedic commentary flows
to places typical populace dare not go
and those few who do
too easily are declared hatred spewed.
I cannot judge, it is not my place
and it stares me in the face.
that history can be lost
at freedoms repeated cost.
Today there are so many points off limits
words not to say in any scrimmage;
should they slip out no matter how you pretend
they are deemed words none dare defend;
unless -
race, gender or personage might use them
it's understood, they are free to abuse them.
I'm not prejudiced, no, really I'm not
but every now and then I have to question saying
WHAT? -
some random thought emerges
with a hint of deceptive questioning surges
Can't I reason and ponder
without fear I am on the brink
of vocalizing what I might think.
Comedic relief displays,
the hidden prejudice revealed in wordplay;
for blacks to say the N word is okay and accepted
but for the whites it is hatred protected;
while LBGT communities seek unity
others are not allowed displeasured scrutiny;
your religion is blind faith for Muslim and Jew
should you practice in this state if it's not my view?
how often is it true
that what we say is not what we always do.
Indeed, there are those
who speak hatred in their prose
but not everyone is afraid
to say that freedom is a sharpened blade.
Freedom of speech, the right to bear arms,
Freedom of religion without harm;
the Bill of Rights fought and well payed
too easily fades away on the paper frayed.
George Carlin revealed it all so well
surely those thoughts and images, could not send us all to hell.
“If it’s true that our species is alone in the universe,
then I’d have to say that the universe aimed rather low
and settled for very little.”
Twas many long years past we know, that Robin ran through forests green
Robbing the rich to give to the poor, or that’s how it would seem
The Sheriff set out to trap the crook known as the Robin of the hood
But the Sheriff was a fool or Robin was just too good.
He laid a trap of many gold coins on the personage of a woman fair
Hoping Robin would steal them all and take them to his lair
But Robin spied the trap and knew the Sheriff was after him
He played him at his own game and approached the woman prim.
Fair maid may I lighten, your load of the golden coins that I see
They will help to feed the poor and one of whom is me.
The lady fair looked at Robin, she sighed at his handsome good looks
Pray take the gold dear Robin; it has not gone through the books
Sweet maid don’t worry the Sheriff’s men, I already see
Let me escort you back and of your load, you will soon be free
Oh Robin of the hood, my heart you have stolen may I say
Sweet maid hang on to it, you will need it another day
The Sheriff wants to catch us, and there begins our plights
His real aim you know is to discover where we buy our tights
We know the gold is just a trap, so desperate he is to know
Our tights he thinks we buy, but in fact Will Scarlet does sew
The Sheriff plays a bad man, but that is just his ploy
You will be safer with him, because he desires a boy
When I left the castle he said that I stole his favourite maid and gold
But it was really because I ran, and he found my bed was cold.
28/03/2014
while figuratively hunting
and pecking around me noggin
force hum theme to write about
lo and behold, the solution
stared me right in front
of my little knob nub nose with gentle clout
cuz, as an avid bookworm, the dictionary,
I enjoy expending hours
to drink up etymological history
relating to the origin and
historical development of words
and their meanings.
with no shadow of a doubt
and most times, this animatronic,
the technique of making and operating
lifelike robots, typically for use
in film or other entertainment
dogmatic, enigmatic fugee dooby
brother beastie boy
(actually a mwm) dislikes to flout
his abilities, hobbies, interests,
as aches hike kant imagine being treated for gout
a disease in which defective metabolism
of uric acid causes arthritis, especially
in smaller bones of the feet, deposition
of chalkstones, and episodes of acute pain.
Boot lemme return full circle
to thematic core curriculum aye started to aim
and express gratitude
to the ghost of Noah Webster,
who gets credit yet also blame
if some snide haughty guttersnipe,
some slovenly individual feels snubbed,
and hence, living personage, said descendent(s)
of oblivion, whatever unknown
man or woman to living persons
stake a valid claim
that his/her many generations removed
heir (Harris), and or heiress ancestor (proven
with tangible researched reportage,
then cited with countless
prestigious explorers of English language),
that a daunting scrivener perhaps
even a courtesan or rich dame
rightfully ought to receive the fame,
thus such living relative might
upend the huck cult personality be game
to dare challenge secure historical niche
ambitiously held by Mark Roget (1779–1869),
British physician, natural theologian
and lexicographer. It was released
to the public on 29 April 1852.
The original edition had 15,000 words,
and each new matured edition
of the Thesaurus grew larger.
Either in the form of verse or rhymes
The poet expresses himself through lines
Throughout the history of poetic literature
Writers have emphasized about its aesthetic venture
Penning our views on paper
Or using new technology like the computer
Liberating the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings
To transmit the message of peaceful living
Exploring the mind in search of creativity
Thereby producing poems of unfading beauty
Focusing on nature as the source of inspiration
Different poets elaborate about it in their artistic creation
Through the writings of great personage
Poems contribute to embellish our cultural heritage
Long have I painted him in my memory
This great man who speaks volumes about faith.
Bishop John Scalabrini whose name rings now a bell,
Becoming God’s grace to be revered and called blessed.
Mirrored in the reality of migration experience
His on-going dialogue to a marginal existence
That seeks salvation, liberation and integration
In expressing the gift of being with the poor.
In vivid and concrete ways, show many faces
The human sufferings linked with structures and cruelty
Disputed aspects worked out with care and thoroughness,
To identify them and be swept along our compassion.
Such a hard and complex life indeed,
That made Scalabrini unite his missionaries
To cross borders and be prepared to cope
With proper attitude, conversion, and hope.
Seeing how we today honour him
In the midst of indifference and scepticism
But we claim him with great pride and commitment
To spread his splendid meaning to the church.
Like other people who sowed the seeds of foundation
He transcended and lived in his vocabulary of service.
Beyond reason, gave himself totally to serve
This raison d’etre of concern to migrant people.
As a way to see more and more
A close relationship with God demands
Maybe creative and largely consistent
To allow perfection sketched in human interactions.
While we define Scalabrini ever in the world
His singularity goes beyond private exaltation
His glory however is a church proclamation]
That stresses totality typified in redemption.
Poet: Ken Jordan
Story: Angel
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: May/2015
Forty cold December's have passed since
the universe yielded me an Angel, a comforter,
when my life was low.
Essentially, before my life saving transformation, all windows to my
happiness were closed, I had no direction, and I
didn't know which way to turn.
But, on that faithful frigid December
day, beneath the frosty rays of the sun, my life
changed forever.
I know now, that God, works in mysterious
ways, with wonders to perform.
I didn't go looking for love, quite the contrary,
an angel found me, and showed what love can be -
The Most High, sent her through
the sun rays, of a cold, cold December,
It was surreal what my eyes had affirmed;
a beautiful being standing in my presence
from heaven, gifted to rescue me from
the woes in my life.
She was pure as an infant child,
with eyes bright as stars. She was beautiful,
caring, knowledgeable, and understanding beyond
earthly belief.
When our eyes first met, she read
my soul, and healed my deepest wounds.
At that moment, in a profound and spiritual
way, something inside me knew, that she was not of this world.
In my lifetime, I had never met
anyone with such a Devine presence,her wisdom
was of exalted personage.
She possessed a peace that glowed like
a halo, I wanted to stand in her spiritual light for
all eternity.
To this day, after forty cold December's,
I surrender all praises to God, for answering my
prayers.
When I just "let go, and let God,"
an angel walked in my life, expecting nothing in
return, she was pure, giving her love to me
unconditionally.
Her name is Sparkle, my angel from
the Universe.
Although we've been together for forty
earth years, I'm here to tell you, it seems like only
yesterday that we met.
As the earth turns we come and
we go, but, the Great Spirit, the Angel Sparkle,
remains the same.
She's a phenomenon that's unexplainable,
what I know for certain is, she taught me that love
conquers all -
Spartan Riches
by Odin Roark
Creation asks not for center stage
How plentiful these quiet treasures
Demanding not a price
Void of glitter
Gaff
And loud acclaim drowning
Senses
Reason
Imagination pursues instead
Honesty’s nod
The up and down gesture
Everyday patrons volunteer
On discovering virtuosity’s subtle essence
Just as a flower needs but sunshine and moisture
So too the Van Goghs of everyday living
Patiently await man’s simple willingness
To emote with the light of a smile
Perhaps even tears
Knowing as in nature
Creative efforts spawn
Reciprocal wavelengths of appreciation
Finding respite wherever
An honest heart and mind’s tuning fork awaits
Often
Creation senses not the obvious
Artistry’s honorific slips
Obliging a personage quest
Unaware resultant luminary trappings
Often engender insecurities
Petrifying life’s inner sanctum
That place where inception seeds the unknown
Bestows lasting memories
Where both a mother’s caress
And the brush strokes of oiled color
Add to the canvas of expectancy’s
Freely shared gifts and rewards
Too late at times
Inspiration succumbs to notoriety’s demands
Obliging a servitude to fame
Risking enslavement
Either to gilded prisons
Or the bridled razor wire of power
Needing to gallop down a home stretch
Willingly adding to the blood-laden turf
Determined the day’s finish line
Will provide yet another carrot
To satiate the bestial appetite for superiority
Fortunately
A meaningful number
Manage to avoid a system’s pandering
Obviating trophydom’s trap
Existing solely as creation’s flow
Appeasing those whose hearts and minds
Seek but revelation of impact
A seeding of possible enlightenment
Respecting the virtue of namelessness
So goes the Spartan riches
Accumulating with anonymous authenticity
Giving it’s own reciprocal nod
Back to that which inspires creativity
All without demands
Without price
Woman warrior invader
of my carefree, waking dreams
Smiting my heart with your charm arrows,
conquering my will so easily
You move stealthily with the grace of a leopard
in the daytime,
and growl, then pounce at night with panther ferocity
Amazon woman,
I didn’t know whether
you were gon be the life or death of me
I was the first to see your war ship coming
Emerging out of the thunderstorm,
raging upon the boisterous sea
As soon as your ship touched shore,
the calm came
You stepped from your war vessel,
onto the white sands,
dressed in full Valkyrian regalia
And I approached your deadly personage
bravely on deferential bent knees
With a raised sword, you spared my life ...
for you admired the courage displayed by me
A peaceful chieftain who was willing to sacrifice his own life,
in exchange for the life of his people,
without any blood being shed
Such an act of selfless bravery brought out
the smouldering compassion buried deep
in the heart of this Amazon warrior woman
And she sheathed her glittering sword
for the sake of sparing me
Warrior woman,
Amazon queen
When you raise your sword,
men fall to their knees
Fierce warrior female,
Jungle born queen
When you swing your sword,
men fall down dead at your feet
Warrior woman,
Amazon queen
When you raise your sword,
men do as you please
Fierce warrior female,
Jungle born queen
When you lowered your sword,
you fell in love with me
Woman warrior interloper
of my carefree, waking dreams
Striking my heart with your harp bent bow,
you captured my love so easily
Now the tiger and the lion,
dwellers of the rainforest,
live together harmoniously in peace
When You Really Discern…
‘Why The Drama?’ Pattern
and Pending-Adoration,
Pertains-Peroration
When You Perceive…
Who Demands and Why?... Proceed…
… to Ply and Pry to Ascertain…
’ He Deserves This Portion-Acclaim’
and Drumming-Heart, Soulful-Desire…
and Defer-Strength to Dry-Pyre
and Humble-Pie, Donated-Data –
in Your Plea-Bargain-Brain- Por-Nada
Disperse the Diaspora
Prefer Real-Deal and Retain Prerogative-Honor
To, The Divine and Peerless…
Person of God – of Pure-Spirits
… Whose Personage Positively…
Remains Due-Homage and Dignity
…The Pinnacle…
Of The Direct-Pact - Empirical
Drawn and Done,
with His Precious DayStar-Son,
Who Deigned to Come
by The Father’s Decree…
Was Dispatched with Poise-Prudently
as Probe and Provision…
for Our Poverty and Pleurisy-Drain-Derision
He is The Pivot-Portrayal of Royal…
and Portal-To-Pace-Immortal
This Diadem-Prince-Progeny…
of Dazzling Famed-Piety and Propriety!
The Possessor and Presenter
and The Permission-for-us-to Speak and Palace-Enter
The Premium-Derivative-Son,
This Potentate Happy One...
Proof-Explained and Patent-Won
Delving Mysteries; Described Memories;
Drawing Forth Miracle-Draperies
and In Deference…
As A Pro-Dative – Proconsul-Presence…
He Maintains Preference
and Displays: That, The Dynamic-Will…
and Determined-Purpose Still,
Definitely, is Top-Priority…
One… and The Preeminent-Same… Pardon-Plea
He Is The Presiding – Deciding-Door-Key…
Precisely! - Praise-Accordingly!
For We Are Wind-Swept, Droves of Dust…
Dirt and Air-Gusts,
Now, Plundered-Seeds… Still-Planted…
Packed to Earth, Properly-Contained and Patted
if We Continue to Divide…
Disfigure, Pilfer and Hide
From SonShine, then in Dirty-Prairie…
We’ll be Permanent-Lain- and Perjury
If ‘We Choose’ to Develop…
Too Low-Down, to Peel-Hope
or Plow-Perverted…
The Preview, We’ll Not Regain…(We Deserted!)
Its Our Duty and Delight…
to Reach Dawn-Heights
and Par-Policy: Dump Rotted Produce…
and Pitch-Pit-Grain- Pro-Ruse