Best Plenipotentiary Poems
SIGN OF THE TIMES
Stones will be thrown down. The temple succumbs like Lazarus.
Inconceivable evil hurled inside and outside satan’s circle.
Good perceived as bad and the reverse a similar fact.
Noah’s days before our rainy eyes, hankies blowing it.
Other christ, the false one, the devil incarnate arrives.
Feast of beasts will turn the world upside-down in defeat.
Torrential weather, hate and great distress to impress.
Heaven looks on in horror but not surprised.
Evening becomes the norm without moon or stars.
The persecutions worse and worser, God’s children cry, wanting
It to end sooner than later, having suffered and died, blood
Mixes like a cultural conglomerate - we knew the rat race
Eventide, on its plenipotentiary screeching wheel, couldn’t
Survive but for Jesus Christ — His victory secured at the cross.
4/22/2018
The temple in line one is Jesus. In the final line His victory.
Dedicated to Robert Lindley. Warning this tale is dark.
THE DOVE
A bloody stain upon the sheets, how cruel!
Soulless weight of the wretched beast who’d rule.
With his bare paws and downward thrust he’d crush,
Rake over the virgin, ignore her blush.
Her pasty-skin, red eyes that swim, unloved.
With his scepter and crown he’d beat the dove.
Dainty wings he pinned, imprisoned her light.
Tall shadowed tower, the terror of night.
The wraithlike scream of his anger he’d wage,
She cringes and clings to the walls, her cage.
His mother the evil queen nods, approves.
Wears silken-black, her shoes - cloved hooves.
In the distance a kinder soul, he sees
Her vomitus-plight - sallow of her pleas.
Not to be tangled with when purpose hails,
He prepares the strongest steed, onward sails.
The King he mocks, “You jest! Stay out of it!”
The hero’s strength in eyes, in frock and grit
Unnerve his goliathlike flesh, it crawls.
He shakes off the warning, his voice it squalls
With a torrential force, thunder, lightning
plenipotentiary frightening
And this illuminated stranger dusts
Off his shoulder the dope’s dander, thrusts
A chivalrous blade, toys with this mouse-king.
Meanwhile the slice of a whip, witch sings
As she tears up the back of the princess.
The sadistic royal duo ceaseless.
The two-edged sword, the strike faithful and true,
Butchery of the cattle and his crew
Done with precision, with no time to waste.
In his vision, beheld the “beauty” chaste.
With his steed, he races upstairs, hooks whip,
Drags the witch to window, releases grip,
Throws his white robe over dove’s trodden flesh.
She forgets - her dwelling brand new and fresh.
Awakened to peaceful serenity.
Wears royal white, dove of infinity.
1/24/2020
The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, one of my favorite films, hauntingly irresistible in black and white. The sun neither rises nor sets as the words stir in the tide. Like fabric, I touch and feel the throng of poetry, and roll the plenipotentiary words between my palms like playdough.
full-throttle captain
he ponders and tugs his beard —
ethereal sea
Mrs. Muir welcomes
his salty words of times past —
this ghost is her muse
The grit on my fingers, its mineral on my tongue, its scent of salty fish I inhale, as I tap on a cordless typewriter, my billowing blouse compliments the snow-white window treatment flapping in the windswept seaside cottage - but a dream.
the sand beneath feet
bare and entertained, tickled
by my inward muse
8/1/2019
to proclaim your love
in the morning
and your faithfulness
at night
to the music of
the ten-stringed lyre
and the melody
of the harp
— Psalm 92:2 NIV
Light of lights
O Sunday morning,
steeped in faithful light,
we’ve sprung out of bed
to delight
to soak
in the melody of birds,
their harmonious call
to all who’d sacrifice sleep
and bathe,
and get in cars —
fellowship in adoration
of our Lord.
the music men
have faithfully practiced
on ready,
on time
for this sprung ahead lark —
like the breathing of Adam,
Hallelujahs in plenipotentiary seed.
last night and tonight,
will disperse the Spirit’s wind,
but for me
tis but morning,
the glory of dayspring song.
the dawn
the dawn
that lights the vigilant candle.
music, melody,
lyre & harp,
tambourines —
like the ringing of a bell.
the alarm alerts
my feet to go,
not too solemn slow
but in passionate procession.
we, the candles flicker
as we move in and out
of a building, not the church,
for that is us
that is us.
and as we love, because He loved us first,
the golden flames touch
hearts — may
it be deep to those who sleep.
awaken the body
and trust Him to lead
follow the Light of lights.
“Good Sunday Morning”
3/8/2020
“Something,” a compound
word, wondering why,
back in the early days,
I enjoyed it so, until
“serendipity” came along.
The “knock-knock,”
“who’s there?” “Surprise!”
The knockout of my voice,
the showering of my dishes,
the blending of daiquiris
and splendiferous guests.
Then the more potent,
poetic delight of “plenipotentiary,”
the dictionary, the thesaurus -
better than the yellow pages
and Sears Christmas catalog.
No, the catalog was cool!
I miss it - my first babbling;
I wonder what sound
first caught my attention
at my mother’s knee…
It must have been something.
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY : LXXIV
IF ever I had a country proud of its sacred Soul Patrie
And if ever by a long shot I was nominated - not spuriously elected - Chef Ministre d'Etat
Plenipotentiary
The first thing I'd do is to give the Minister of Justice the sack in a hurry
I'll then take over his post and issue a long awaited (you'll agree) and needed decree
That henceforth any razor-sharp lawyer and his erudite team appointed by a client for a
very very high fee
To defend protect and facilitate the " escape " of any known criminal whose ill-gotten
gains burst bank-vaults to a brain-numbing degree
That the lawyer and his team be given the DOUBLE of the sentence meted out to the
criminal and be put away minus their licences to practise LAW in an Alcatraz-like
penitentiary
And this even if I never ever had no country to call my own with or without any patrimony
(The late eminent Vietnamese-French lawyer, Maître JACQUES VERGES, renowned for among other feats the defence of KLAUS BARBIE, the NAZI " chief " under the French Vichy regime, was also the Secrétaire de la Conférence des Avocats/Examiner for those wishing to practise law in France. And yet, in a case where I was concerned with revolting Master's and Doctoral students at the Sorbonne-Nouvelle University, he subtly had my case scuttled to prop up mainly Muslim and African-origin students - openly backed by JAMES BALDWIN - who objected vehemently to being taught, besides numerous other Commonwealth authors, V. S. NAIPAUL's The Guerillas, together with Eva Peron and The Killings in Trinidad, students who also took exception to any comparison, by way of structural influence, of WOLE SOYINKA's The Road, with Greek tragedies.)
© T. Wignesan - Paris, March 8, 2019
E-nvoy extraordinary
D-oes what's best for the nation;
U-nder the Lord God's guidance,
A-id is brought to fruition.
R-epresentative of the country,
D-ealings are made with another;
O-verseas Filipino workers will truly be in proper order.
M-inister plenipotentiary
A-ccredited to alien government
N-aturally ranks between
A-mbassador and minister resident.
L-egate is sent as messenger to meet the task of an emissary;
O-fficial agent to accomplish the job of envoy extraordinary.
I don't remember ever applying to be a plenipotentiary
But now that I am a septuagenarian
I realize that this is precisely what I was meant to be
~ A septuagenarian plenipotentiary
Lemony pines spring from my Summer mind,
dangling their scent, like Christmas ornaments.
I close my eyes and follow the sapphic breeze.
My bronze feet bounce through the mossy sea.
Feeling giddy in this faerie paradise.
I dosado amidst lichen and bark of ancient trees.
Buzz of bees, and rustic call of feathered friends.
A cup of honey and birdsong, a virtual violin —
played by the lonesome and serendipitous wind.
A long-winding face, a leprechaun plinking gold
through his kaleidoscopic fingers — I see him, who
never procreates, but his coins multiply — he has sinned.
Daffodils dot the streams of open pasture.
Eye-popping delirium, as if I am in oz.
Butterflies in conjured-hues, plenipotentiary patterns.
Suddenly, the wholesome forest burns with unrest,
as it turns to look at me in tatterdemalion dress.
“Be gone, you witch! Eden does no dalliance with slatterns”
I fall to the crackling ground and sob with salty tears.
Beggar, I’ve become — closely matched
with my seedy occupation. “Change me into a good thing.”
Pity in the form of clouds sweeps through the handkerchief-sky.
A dusting with faerie wand — magenta and cerulean magic.
A brand new pixie feels the purity of spanking-new wings.
7/22/2019
Tri-Con Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Emile Pinet
24 Lines
Tri-Con (listed as verse) created by Connie Marcum Wong consisting of at least 4 three line stanzas. Each line has no set meter or syllable count. The last word in each stanza must rhyme with the following Stanza and then you need to change your rhyming word again in the third stanza and so on.
KISS OF DEATH
full-bodied wine
felicitous lipstick
smile glistens in goblet
gregarious sips
~
rogue wave
of purple grape
plenipotentiary drink
steals Juliet’s kiss
11/4/2017
Rick Parise’s 8 Line Poem Contest
Theme: Death
Into the fog I fell,
amidst the bone chilling cold,
caterwauled by silence -
eerily the end
of the year, dismal.
With the call of a forefinger,
I float through the mist,
silence switches
to a whisper,
rays appear through the haze.
Into the cradle I amble,
dizzy from 2024 strange happenings.
Lemons and apples fill the trees,
bright, juicy, bountiful, and
plenipotentiary fruit
of a Happy New Year.
Here’s where it gets weird:
we must take care
to love and serve
and the trees will prosper.
Love, joy, peace
patience, kindness, goodness,
gentleness, faithfulness, self-control* -
the kind of fruit that will produce
good results
for years to come.
The Whos in Whoville give praise.
The pennypinching Grinch** gives in.
Bells ring and voices raised.
Cheers, hopeful and kinetic.
*Fruit of the Spirit, bible reference
**Whos, Whoville, Grinch - Dr. Seuss book references
IF ever I had a country : XLVI - XLVII
XLVI
IF ever I had in Andromeda a country
And if ever by rights I were the Chief Collision-Conglomerate Six-Star Plenipotentiary
I'd moot and execute a permanent plan for the establishment of a concentration camp penitentiary
For all the Milky Way terrestrial chieftain priests and leaders of the twenty-twenty-first century
During the aeons-long Andromeda Purification-Invasion of our choked and soured Milky Way of uniting humanity
And set up the Sixty-Four Wise Yijing Learned Men and Women Councils to rule each and every confounded in-human country
That is, if ever by rights I were the Chief Collision-Conglomerate Six-Star Plenipotentiary
And even if I never ever had in Andromeda no blasted country
XLVII
IF ever I had in Andromeda a country
And if ever by rights I were the Six-Star Armed Forces Commander-in-Chief of the Milky Way invasion
I'd warn all Inter-Stellar Fleet admirals and generals to guard against sharp human practices ruses and gifts of pretension
Marked by the human mania for masking their faces crown of heads bellies but not bums and their servile submission
To lying cheating imitating stealing back-biting fornicating bum-licking maiming killing and splitting the Almighty for selfish possession
All for the sake of amassing more money more pleasure more fame more pride more hatred more envy more of everything as their only ethnic life-mission
That is, if ever by rights I were the Six-Star Armed Forces Commander-in-Chief of the Milky Way invasion
And even if I never ever had in Andromeda no green patch or parcel of a country
© T. Wignesan - Paris, August 3, 2018
Validate Spring with its plenipotentiary pollen.
Green sawdust all about the ground, car and porch -
Shaken free from the jocund trees with budding leaves.
Before the season’s even warm, they’re all in.
The celebration of pubescent branches causes us
Below to agitated fits - eyes water, nasal drips.
Still we admire the fashion of pinks, whites, and greens.
The youths, so lovely in their resurrection dress.
3/21/2023
SUMMER’S END
staying cool, in the pool,
where children are cruel,
on a very hot day—
Summer’s officially over.
from submarine fool,
fishy bubbling school,
plenipotentiary fuel—
a payload parade.
when the ping-pong jewels
surface - whirlpool
of fleeing ridicule.
afraid of riveting stool—
a flotsam snicker’s bar.
The worst part is the noise—
that awful fartastic that destroys
the floats, duckies, other toys.
it lasts and lasts…
it’s a spastic stinker,
a ferocious clinker —
it channels the sulfur pits of
Turkmenistan’s door to hell.
officially over,
the pool in deep cover—
no one hovers
near
the episodic rear of Summer.
9/24/2021
Fart-tastic
I hate beginnings, plenipotentiary prattle, use-
less sedimentary-sounds. A preface and first chap-
ter betwixt the suc-
culent kiss, the marvelous mystery unfolding.
wash your hands, bobbleheaded-yes.
that was the third part. typhoid
mary, not important to this quiz,
yet she opened the door and peaked
through. i slammed
it
shut, rolled my eyes.
how yummy pages
that jump into the deep end
and we drown in ecstasy’s eaglet
nest. eggs cracking cuckoos
collaborating.
long, drawn………..out
beginnings not
for
me
the setup goes on and on and
oh kind of like this steam
letting off
done
1/22/2021