Best Placates Poems
Though she holds his hands, he feels all alone
As moonlit desires sense his dissonant vibes
Emanating from pulses beating in discord
Plundering away ambiance to vacant thoughts
When a cogent conversation becomes a task.
Silence he placates discarding her prompts
Preferring the dark over company of stars
As a lone-bird sits forlorn on a leafless branch
Awaiting for daybreak to build a new nest.
Steadfastly she holds on to her view of galaxy
Undeterred by forces of invisible black holes
Comforting his woes till he rejects her call,
Deciding resolutely to abandon her place
When the lone-bird flees before daybreak.
November 5, 2018
Placed first in contest #520 by Brian Strand
1.
Within Elysium Fields, the souls of the dead find their peace but there are those souls who do not think they deserve such peace. Those already within Elysium sometimes try to bring these sad souls into the fold by extolling the beauty of Elysium.
Oh, beloved grace, open sapphire eyes,
standing now on emerald green expanse.
You are glory, within a paradise
where sun brightly shines, beauty you enhance.
Shadows mar my view of Elysium
Regrets I carry from a life wasted
There are no oaks or pretty psidium
Nectar of Norse Gods I’ve never tasted
Emerald green carpet reaches the sea,
where azure waters to horizon reach.
Up high on a hill your villa shall be,
where love and joy no darkness ever breach.
In a hovel I dwell, ruing mistakes
Elysium’s bright lights behind closed gates
No joy in my soul, just torment and aches
For a life filled with sin, nothing placates
Swim through the beauty which awaits your eyes,
into life's new dawn Elysium sings.
Those who enter with love find paradise,
find the peace that Elysium love brings.
Coveting rewards for those who lived well
Is the destiny of my own making
There is no escape from torments that befell
To think joy had been mine for the taking
07/01/2019
(Collaborative Poetry Series.)
Thank you Carolyn for letting me share ink with you on this wonderful write. It has been an honour and a pleasure to work on this collaboration with you. You have made the experience so enjoyable and easy. Have a wonderful Monday. Hugs....Mike. XX
Blues in the Night.
A malignant moon
shines his metallic claws -
combs my hair and brushes me forward.
I am alone in the shadowy crooks
of a poisoned metropolis.
A clandestine garbage chute -
where waifs and strays burn
within the fetid bowels
of a cavernous concrete underbelly.
The orphanage awaits my arrival,
as muted outcries are crushed
beneath my footsteps.
A parentless prison
teeters atop Utopia's dreaded brim;
the hamlet where Orwell slew Hilton.
St. Peter has been released
and no longer tends the kitchen.
Agony and angel wings reneged
a redundant brotherhood of sorts.
His recipe for remorse shall be missed.
Blues in the Night.
In the distance,
feigned epileptic outbursts
placates a patron's fears.
Caffeine injections
stimulates another's venial sins
as it magnifies their cardinal options.
An insomnious woman converses
with a napkin holder. The surface
is dull and unreflective, like she.
Banter never-to-be heard
by her never-to-be gentleman caller.
I am home –
amongst the dead I adore.
A haggard waitress serves me a menu.
A laminated journal stained
with melancholy and mustard.
Desolation and demi-tasse
are tonight’s midnight special.
Ten cents additional, if you order deluxe.
Blues in the Night.
I twiddle my thumbs
for I have no other’s to borrow.
I catch my rugged reflection
in the asylum’s window.
I espy my counterpart again
in a twisted spoon -
realizing I’m three utensils short
from a grievous quartet salted
with Mack Sennett misfits.
A collection of dishes clatter
above the sanatorium’s jukebox.
I place my spoon on the counter
and pick up a lifeless knife.
I envy its potential and possibilities
as Woody Herman croons
in the background.
A Lady Waits
The sleepy sea massages a creaking ship which slowly navigates
through blackness the sky emanates and the great Atlantic integrates.
A sailing school of serenading seagulls dips and dives and celebrates,
and amongst the sea-sick shipmates, a welcome murmur swiftly circulates.
A wave of steerage class splashes onto the seaweed-soaked stern and congregates,
viewing a line of lights which levitates on the horizon it incubates.
As fingers point to a distant shore, the name “America!” reverberates.
The salty air invigorates, and the chorus of commotion escalates.
A cry pulls the tide of faces to the rear row of citizen candidates.
Her wind-whipped shawl barely insulates the ravenous newborn she placates.
As if Moses were parting the sea, the silent congregation separates.
Gleaming with gratitude, she glides to the front rail the moon illuminates.
As her baby’s throat pulsates with mother’s milk, through lash-locked lids he fixates
on the Emerald Empress whose torch radiates on the dreams she consummates.
Beholding the beacon who beckons brave believers, his mother boldly states,
“When this restless night abates, the misty morn of a daring dawn elates,
but tonight, sleep well my child … for across the harbor, the lady waits … ”
- E. V. Wyler -
Feel fond feelings
Words weave willing
Bless bright billing
Love looks lovely
Glimpse gains groovy
Claim charms curvy
Profound play primes
Touch treasures time
Rapture reaps rhymes
Trust truth timely
Deed drills deeply
Feel fine fancy
Drool dreamy day
Peace placates play
Speak solemn say
Heal hurting heart
Spread succinct start
Craft charming cart
Begin bold brief
Groans grabbing grief
Bless bright belief
Word wealthy wit
Hurl healthy hits
Frame flashy fit
Wear wild wonder
Touch truth tender
Please prompt plunder
Meet mingles more
Sweet stirrings store
Pride pleasures pour
Move mighty minds
Keep kitchen kind
Such savvy signs
Bear blessings bright
See sacred sights
Live limpid light
Dream dreamy days
Spread simple say
Choice creams cliche
Play precious poise
Create calm choice
Vibrant verse voice
Leon Enriquez
24 February 2015
Singapore
This index finger of mine loves discothèques,
Amber sunsets, pretty faces from heaven, wanderlust hybrids & violets,
Those are just few of my fantasies surrounding me,
Now let’s share some of my secret language, the B-a Story!
That will entail no point of return,
Let the Herculean games begin,
My heart will wade with only dominics’ who are wired for this evening spree, Tetsuo”
That’s why I’m always losing my old brooms that make several detours & pit-stops,
So who am I?
I’m Bryan, the Bye! Bye! Butterfly with good enough wings,
Who is espoused to his career and talent for now!
But today is another day away from that,
Now let’s go spinning with what placates me on this amazing day,
Music alone placates me, because it wades me down to the river bank,
Regardless of any genre!
I listen to Rock music, Cause’ it’s the music for the Darby kids like my Sis #Liz!
I heed to Trance, Cause’ it uplifts my animal ecstasy,
Trance music alone makes me to transgress my 99 problems one less #DjProvocation!
Hip Hop is for us the wordsmith & my brother #Pak Seeker,
We Hip Hop fanatics, we are the G.O.A.T, 2Pac Lives.
Soul music melts my soul and spurs along my entire love to rest besides my violet,
So #Seal, shall you croon again that “Kiss from the rose”
For the love of my gad dam birthday!
R&B is my affectionate music genre for my precious Venus!
Dancehall & House music cloaks my club house with #Joan,
Dj Guetta & Dj Novelli can you please stamp my house party,
So that the electrons can mingle with atoms!
Tell the storm that this is my B-a Story.
T.m.TS ©BryanDePoet
The first, a soft exploration,
That asks without exploitation,
Are we ready for all of this?
My lady holds me in her kiss.
The sleeping senses slowly wake,
As nerve endings begin to ache,
Our souls unite in love’s twist
My lady holds me in her kiss.
A simple caress upon lips,
That leads to our sensual eclipse,
As love placates the heart’s abyss
My lady holds me in her kiss.
Form: Roundelay
the sun placates now
traffic passes, escaping
the cold afternoon
A Sonnet to a Sable Poet’s Pen
(Apropos Disrespected, Suspected, Neglected and Rejected)
I want to write poems
of flowers and birds;
Fragrant poems singing
beautiful words;
Poems praising the ebb and flow
of evening tides
Splashing shores searching
where love abides;
But my pen refuses to ink
such seemingly simplicity.
My pen refuses to ignore
today’s blatant iniquities.
I must write for and to those blinded
by the cataracts of injustice;
Those who suffer deafness from
cancer of abject prejudice—
Immobilized by sclerosis
of uncontrollable apathy:
That coveted placebo that placates
infectious pity.
Yes, I must write wailing words decrying
flowing blood in the street;
Leaving sobbing sad sable mothers
with only dried tears to weep.
This pen of mine must mark our time of vigilance
and what was neglected;
I must write poems of reality—how down the years
our liberty they rejected.
Queen Elizabeth I
A ll things are as it may, beckons a queendom of two faiths,
B orrowed Boleyn's "B" blue brocade the better choice made,
C ancer claims the spring, agrees with the passage of her sister,
D elves to part the heavens anew throne, amidst assassins, lurking
E ffervescent Elizabeth surrenders calmly a surreal destiny,
F orward justice by the will of grace, and a whimsical gestured cloaked puddle
G reat be her ascension not quiet to title claimed by Mary,
H eretics purged sweetly returns, catholicism stands down
I n a realm of stories a chapter freshens a protestant queen
J oyfulness echoes chambered walls, as a parley of power slithers
K ing bequeathed in a woman's dress, as a pence-less nation recovers
L ustrous gems befall righteously, as Spanish gold doubloons are pirated
M en neath ruffles maneuvering positions placates a capricious court
N orfolk his grace whose days are numbered for treason, pride begs none
O nly wisdom and loyalty keep heads secured, within a fickled court
P alace breeds a treacherous bedfellow, proffers an end worse than death
Q ueen banished him to seclusion as a fading insignificant consequence,
R ewards Drake, Raleigh and others from a grateful empire as her saviors
S aves her empire whilst arrogant Philip of Spain loses his in humility,
T enders Raleigh to his Virginia pretense in her name,
U nsettling execution of Mary Queen Of Scots, in harm's way, opens floodgates
V ersed in archery and horseback riding ascertains her birthright,
W ell endowed in the role of the sciences versus human endeavors,
X enial role model for women, mirrors removal tames loose tongues
Y ields to her title as the Virgin Queen, as her treasury is restored by the West
Z eal was her marriage to England, strengthen via the bogs of Ireland
2020 February 07
*1st Place*
ABECEDARIAN CONTEST
~~Caren Krutsinger
*Honorable Mention*
STRAND SELECT G any form,any theme
~~Brian Strand
She feels the urge to ask,
And in a different time she would have,
I guess it’s just another mask,
Removed by hands of time.
A child asks a mother in attempts to understand,
A fool asks a brother for the faintest hope of what he’d planned,
But what’s become of her?
She, who feels that urge to ask,
But every ‘magined scene evaporates because at last…
She knows a thing that needs no validation,
Her heart and head align for once in pure determination,
And in every situation,
Her conclusions flow the same,
Like the ocean from the river from the highest snows from whence it came,
Desire o’re the years and years
Shaped through all the tears, the tears,
They form a being needless of a voice to tame the proof
That’s found,
In every tingling nerve and heartbeat dancing to the truth
Around,
A fire lit within,
She won’t believe it anymore
That what drives her is a sin.
The sin of resolution,
The futility of absolution,
Oh, so heavy lies the crown
Upon a cool prevailing head,
No more in need of sought or proffered
Whispers of the ones who led
Her
Much too often to the stagnant pool of false reflection,
Softening the empty burn of grudging genuflection,
At the base of some familiar altar,
Asking far too much,
A sacrifice of every smile,
Every notion,
Every touch,
Of every single fiber weaving who she’s born to be,
Fraying all the threads,
Blurring all the lines,
Convincing her she cannot see
The Self that’s in her eyes,
Prompting her to ask
~ Like a fool, like a child ~
Which parts of her are good to keep,
And which are remnants of the wild,
Ancient,
Gorgeous,
Magic,
Sane illogic,
Pieces of her soul,
Mold them,
Shape them,
To this thing called reason…
Expectation…
White picket fence of civilization.
Does it make her a good woman to conform to this?
I guess that depends on the meaning of “good”,
And whether she gives a $h1+,
She asks now only as a curiosity,
Offering her story, but never an apology,
And truthfully,
What she came to see,
Is an answer that,
From the mouth of another,
Placates like that from a brother,
Or a mother,
But that answer heeded from deep within,
In all its frightening truth,
Relentless and unabashed,
Yes, that answer heeded from deep within
Is the one that caused HER life to begin.
weather... restricted
yet people turn a blind eye
innocents suffer
weather cannot see
a natural phenomenon
pollution effects
humans have reason
yet still don't understand
jeopardising lives
we pollute... which kills
live on the banks of rivers
expect to survive
now knowing the facts
living in denial... why
natures rights to clean
malice... no intent
four seasons... man only named
can never contain
wildlife takes its lead
follows weather... placates needs
yet humans don't heed
life on a mountain
wildlife adapt... sense danger
instinctive feelings
man has never learned
lives on the ground of floodplains
stilts... no... stilted minds
Solitude inculcates not just silence
Adjusts your mind, serenades your heart
Most definately redefines serenity,sanity
Unknown to my senses it calms and placates
Void of attention, content within
Storms too shall pass
Completely
solitary
A plush monk’s life was my designation
Before the process of dissolution
Then back to now, fast extrication
From enforced seizure and desecration
A simple life it was for me
Amid fertile land, its fruits aplenty
The chapter house was full of deals
lucrative ones that ensured good meals
The venerable relic in sacred place
A mecca for pilgrims upon which to gaze
And tourism fast filling the chapter house coffers
Ensuring the refectory is full of scoffers
A rural retreat in which to languish
Organic produce, not just a sandwich
free range and fresh by home kept beast
A buttery and flour, just add the yeast
The spartan dorm is plain and crude
But no money needed and even free food
Just say a few prayers and work on the land
Outdoor jobs that leaves one well tanned
A stroll in the cloisters, then meditate
Plainsong soars melodically when it is late
It soothes the mind and placates the soul
Even more lovely when the bells start to toll
This monastic decadence now at its peak
Espied by Henry who’s got a damned cheek
The supreme head is after its dough
O dear, I think its time to go
My trusty machine will ensure my return
Refreshed, better and much I’ve learned
Ruthless old Henry their land he took
Their fate outlined in my history book
,
Sense spacious silence speak
Prize primal pattern peak
Void vets vibrant vile voice
Cream clumsy changing choice
Toilsome thoughts tunnel time
Meet moist motionless mime
Feel fond fancy flavour
Opt old odd off-odours
Form fleeting formal face
Glimpse gaudy grinding grace
Face funny faulty fix
Meet most memory mix
Mull mushy momentum
Treat taut touchy tantrum
Unhinge used unseen urge
Ply preachy poignant purge
Edgy echoes ease etch
Sanguine sadness soul sketch
Impact indulgent ire
Messy moments meet mire
Languish lavish laughter
Adjourn ample after
Listening lastly lurks
Jumpy jest justly jerks
Sober sleepless soul spice
Promptly puzzles pure price
Numbing nonsense now nibs
Tasty touching time trip
Nimble nasty notions
Pace placates proportion
Time travel through twilight
Indulge instant insight
Lift lasting lustre loud
Petty plots pretty proud
Ply puzzling poison pill
Size spacious silence spill
Leon Enriquez
17 October 2018
Singapore