Best Plunders Poems
*Based on Plato's Allegory of the Cave
Numb fists with bloody wrists
chained to crumbling walls.
Glazed eyes that never spy
a single truth or fault.
Dim light impairing sight
in spaces dark and shallow.
Stone walls where lies are scrawled
by murky phantom shadows.
One breaks free on frail knees
stiffened by disuse,
to leave behind the dumb and blind
who welcome this abuse.
He climbs in pain against the grain
toward a distant light.
With bloodied hands, he finally stands,
exhausting all his might.
Dazed at first, he's cursed by thirst
beneath the blazing sky.
The sun is bright and plunders sight
from eyes too dry to cry.
Lesions crust as eyes adjust
to find a foreign land
with greenest grass and sea like glass
caressing strips of sand.
He stands amazed before this maze
of truths he's never seen
and vows to save those in the cave
whose ignorance demeans.
When he returns, his words are spurned
by those chained to the wall.
They have no will to brave that hill
or risk the chance to fall.
He cannot go back to this show
of living shadowed lies.
Now that he knows the truth below,
he needs the open skies.
And so he climbs to search, to find
the knowledge that he craves.
No more a slave to the dark cave.
He's left that mindless grave.
"Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood."
Ralph Waldo Emerson
In this performance we call life,
my spirit searches for an interlude of peace.
My poetic mind riots consumed by rhymes,
savaging our memories of grieving beliefs.
I'm a soul rasping winter's woeful wings,
afraid I'll become a poet who ink will forget.
I'm trapped in the desert of dejected demons,
wandering in aching avenues of dreams,
forgotten in ferocious frozen vine's of time,
surrounded by meadows of blood poppies,
Season of death is a cursed caricature of memories,
full of salty tears, bitter goodbyes with spiteful sentiments.
Let me sleep in the synchronicity of angels,
as ebony horizons drift into darkness.
When crimson clouds bleed to paint the sky,
I scream at silent scarlet skies,
as black rain from a dark storm plunders.
Like acid burning my metaphorical paper wings,
I float like a butterfly cursed by moths of deceit,
as hope dances dangerously with my malevolent muse -
grace and hellfire waltz with my heart's chambers.
I can't help but remember last November,
when death clung to the air around me,
as answers we found turned into a designated dead end.
In delirious desires of deathless shadows,
I still see your daggers and cigarettes in a charcoal silhouette,
with your every breath laced with guilt.
Yet, the ghost of your voice lulls me to sleep,
as the silence crawls along the walls at night.
Who are we to judge who is a sinner or a saint.
I wonder if you will walk down the stairs of heaven,
hold me in all my fragility, remind me of childlike charms,
or will rebellious regrets open the gates of hell.
I scream at the Grim Reaper to take my soul,
ravage me, before I go,
but put a white veil on my corpse,
so each night when I visit my grave,
provocative eyes with loose desires,
can feel the wind beneath my sails.
But, gift me one more midnight,
to create my final masterpiece to paint my dreams,
carved with marble white ink,
engulfed in sentimental verses -
for this is poetry, formless suppressed speech.
One day our quill will eternally slumber,
as our conscience passes from poetry to dust.
In the plight of adversity, only I, truly know,
that stars speak stories how simple words were not enough,
as truth only prevails through poetic justice.
In a social society,
where I'm not a priority.
I'm sick and tired of being strong,
when they only see me as wrong
I never read the terms and conditions,
so I'm mute, like forgotten musicians.
Misplaced in a place I do not belong
I have no desire for a final song.
Maybe its a sign of age,
or the suppression of rage,
that this bubble is bursting.
No one knows how it's hurting
You can't see it through my face,
burdens of each brick they place,
results in emotions stumbling,
as foundations start crumbling.
I never read the terms and conditions,
so I'm mute, like forgotten musicians.
Misplaced in a place I do not belong
I have no desire for a final song.
When rain plunders like balls of steel,
it increases the pain I feel.
I search for the sun's reflection,
but dark skies show no affection.
The flame that once kept me alive,
has now lost the will to survive.
Without devotion, spirit dies,
as soul sings a medley of sighs.
I never read the terms and conditions,
so I'm mute, like forgotten musicians.
Misplaced in a place I do not belong
I have no desire for a final song.
Silent One
22 December 2019
Chirpy birds disturb my deep sleep.
Sky pastels reflect in a somber ashen tinge.
Sun seems to be lost in a floating mist,
cloaking wet slates and chimney smoke.
As lamp lights reflect upon puddles,
poured into uneven pavement slabs,
it seems like an abundance of angels,
wept like irritated insomniacs overnight.
In the backdrop of contemplation,
a trash truck thunders and plunders,
with boisterous waste collectors,
wheeling bins into its hungry mouth.
Sky paints in an apocalypse aura.
Mind is intrigued - pondering,
if only it wasn't just palpable garbage,
that was taken away and forgotten.
The Devil wears Armani
By Steven Cooke
She was eighteen, I was thirty two
She was an unread poem,
I was yesterday’s gift.
Her heart she gave gladly,
Her beauty mine, to enjoy.
Given away in youthful sacrifice,
The Guilt was all mine.
But I take this gift,
For business is good,
And I seek many rewards.
What was love for her,
Was ego to me.
This man, her dream,
My dream, the pleasures of the night.
Her attraction, my Armani suit, my Astin Martin.
My attraction, just another bloom,
Found on the florists shelf.
So follow me, for Chanel no 5 Paris awaits.
Young beauty with eyes, so blue
And hair, so fair,
Who men desire
And women, love,
Come, your catwalk demands.
Look into my eyes, and see your future.
You will see my strength.
I will see my deceit.
You will see my friendship.
I will see my betrayal.
You will see your perfect love.
I will see a naked fool.
But do not judge me,
For my disciples are lined up.
Flashing their Cartier time piece, on life’s bar stool,
Intoxicated by their illusions,
Waiting, with a fashion house web.
To claim the next face,
The next soul, looking for love.
Just As the deserts wait for rain.
It is ordained
For the dove will find no love hear.
Only the thief,
Who takes her beauty, and plunders her love.
Who will tarnish her soul,
And steal her youth.
Only false Honour left
Kept in, A Gucci hand bag,
Full of lies, for friends to envy.
So look again my love
Choose wisely,
For the devil wears
Armani tonight.
And Prada will be his next victim.
Can I buy you a drink?
Love the dress.
Its beauty yet again plunders me,
Into magnificent realms that hide
Deep within my every thought
Where I ,like a new tenant,
Seek comfort to reside
In the warm abodes of Winter.
It has come yet again
With its white painted sky
Like a dripping white towel
Whose waters slowly subside
Like a pain that has been eluded,
Avoided, denied
Its gusts that blow across
The many prolonging miles
Bringing all windows to shudder
Like lost whispers and voices
Found and compiled
Into a vague resonance.
Its unmelted snow
That at every corner lies
Lingering for the tepid
Sun of Spring to rise
To melt away
Like an unwanted memory.
And all that it holds
Is but a fraction that glides
Within,
A sheer reflection of the world
Outside
The snow, wind and rain of
The season inside
Pondering perils
of writing poems in rhyme,
it plunders my mind.
A poet's plaguing problem
so I propose to pen prose.
Chaotic rain divulges errantly
how can this be God’s poetry
it plunders like a tsunami
the Devil’s masterpiece
How can this be mercy
torrent waters surge
floods creating oceans
inescapable drowning
Each rain drop becomes louder
caught in the line of fire
no escaping the bullets
tranquil peace destroyed
Peaceful melodies are lost
storms reflect unpleasant music
senseless evil heavy metal lyrics
no purpose – shouting and screaming
Doused, drenched, engulfed
suffocating – soaking strain
where is Noah and his Ark?
Will this barricade conclude
The Silent One
Originally written 7 January 2016
Repost: 1 January 2018
Ardor feels are divine
Bodies erotically entwine
Caresses eagerly connect
Desires meet to intersect
Emotions feed passion
Fondlings sassy fashion
Gasps praise movement
Hearts pump excitement
Intimate whispers tingle
Joining lips mingle
Kisses feed desire
Loins share ardor’s fire
Moving hips enthuse
Needy bodies fuse
Outcries express zeal
Pleasure pulses appeal
Quenched libidos slake
Ravenous wants take
Silk sensuality grooves
Tantalize rhythm moves
Unleashed hunger plunders
Velvet kisses thunder
Waves ebb and flow pleasure
Xanadu houses flesh treasure
Yearnings flame with lust
Zing intensifies thrust
"a thief of my words who plunders my reflections- a leech parasite"
___________________________
December 26, 2019
Poetry/Monoku/disgusting thief
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1211-751-02
Written for the contest, A Thief Who Steals Your thoughts
sponsor, Bobby May
First Place
Lava thoughts stream from my internal computer.
Some days she rests with no gumption;
today a seething volcanic monstrosity.
Muse has kicked into overdrive; she will have her feast.
Over worked, I am drained like a marathon runner.
Quivering and shaking; muse belches dream schemes.
Too many to count the numbers; on and on she plunders.
Mind can’t stop the flashing phantasmagorical imagery.
Why does she deny my needs?
The brutal taskmaster blows her top.
Again and again I plead; she just will not cease.
Dreams rise and fall; I can only save one.
Oh how I long for sleep, when her rant is finally done.
Pleasure primes pain,
Wit wonders why?
Glimpse gutsy gain,
Style sanguine sigh.
Fancy feels faint,
Big blossoms bulge;
***** questions quaint,
Ideas indulge.
Prompt payment plays,
Ask apt award;
Death delays day,
Reap real reward.
Action aids arm,
Buzzy blooms bounce;
Cherry cheeks charm,
Pretty play pounce.
Wanting woos wealth,
Migraine mulls meet;
Hurts hurling health,
Gloomy groans greet.
Desire dreams day,
Big blossoms beam;
Pure passion plays,
Dear dancing dream.
Sense sensuous surge,
Bright bearings boom;
Play plunders purge,
Greet glory gloom.
Bright blooming book.
Charm creams cherry;
Lasting lines look,
Love leaps lovely.
Soar sweet stanza,
Choice charms charade;
Apt agenda,
Poise primes parade.
Grab grouchy gaze,
Loss litters lull;
Doom defers daze,
Moments mimes mull.
Dare describe deuce,
Loose lines lessons;
Meet mindful muse,
Words weave weapons.
Leon Enriquez
29 Apr 2014
Singapore
In the thickets of the forests and grooves
On the paths through the deserts and the wild
Walked in the robe of nobility
The one who defied the wind and tidal wave
Who throned on a mighty white horse
Decked in regalia of a consummate conqueror
A blue-blooded woman that ascended a throne
In the reign of men, under a the glare of a proud race
Her power and dominion beyond the great Elizabeth
Her rule grim and firm than Margaret Thatcher’s
The wind and wave did her bidding at battlefronts
She was ruthless and wise in governance
Her sword thrusted to the sand blood and hearts of men at war
Bent on conquest she knew no defeat
Bu spoils, plunders of warriors, kings and horses
She held court over men of wisdom and age
She dispensed justice with dispassion
She rode home in triumphant sound of trumpets
To the waiting arms of loyal subjects and servants
In the days when women stood in full heights.
Grand thief, lovely fraud
That plunders waning sunlight.
A cold, lifeless thing.
Silver lies, reflected rays
Passed off as dreamy moonlight.
fuchsia nectar flows
honeyeater’s bill plunders
bountiful blessing