Best Postures Poems
I believe that poetry is and of is was were have has been of as one pretenses a
poetic practical pompous, pro (p) ransomedramatical postenses
pretending to prose promise a
predictive premise primatory practicum politicallty
polishing practcoriam process of primary
preliminary postures pragmatic promulgates
telling the ta ta tumultuous tillo tales of tawdry
banal blog lists calling me to quali-quantify the reso-resolutes
resounding in resilient quo quotients that bear a
breach bridgeborn badge billed
barometer bearing broad billboard
catatonic catashrospies creating caustic crill
coffinistic coiffures canonizing
socio unsettling leo linguistic lies in a somewhat
lovevoid livid liquiditoria regal
ransom based regalia resonating
rawbone residual retinal real time
tombosoties transitioning with
toying transient trio tide tooth
crass cavity craino creep mandibulo master mildew
mold molecular mamsy-pamsy sillopsuedo master of
ever me present I , me , mine, maestro
sitting back and looking at the world as a place to be
not to be, hope to be, wish to be, be to be, in the
proper primer of humino yesnomenclatureculture of that which is u
me us our belief sem radical of our prim-ordeal sociodiscontentselfevident
irrelevant mean fullness, to countercure our quick/quack quotient
umbrella upbringing to say do write feel text tank athink
all that is emo exit everpresent to keep the fecal faces free of
founding father status inquo man although time is time in place.
Mindfulness is a mute place ill unattended by sociocrap everlasting.
Treasure travel inviting innate needs netherly nodding to the primo positive
practitudes of acoustic ancillary annotated awareness, allowing all annuities
ancient archaic to willfully wind wind waveringly wish away intrinsic id-ideas.
It it is what u want it it to be, say, scroll, live, plural, self to self. Use it, lose it,
share it, beware it, con-cure it, it. Know it it's criminal capitol is wary for before
u know it it, life it before it its u, and will its it and
ego ale all eek out the precious profit of its itdom idiocracy illusionary in its
illogical inness so mad made as not to gravely gravitate ungracious griefs
upon your its it.
scary huh. Karma it, Big Daddy.
it comes in rapid progression
parting reality with subtle lisps. brown eyes
a forest floor of fern
ever changing with the seasons
(a smile, a smirk)
preying hands collapsing
across sable skin too soft to wear. desire
wanting nothing more than
a moment prescribed as birds fly northeast
( a touch as noticeable)
just a sidewalk untraveled. saturated
by the wishful wisp of morning
softness of dew fingertips, thrust of a pulse
wanting nothing more than to be inhaled
(breath chasing the calm)
sensation measuring the lazy waltz
of the second hand,
time calculating reflections. frozen
in the simplest seldom fleeting look
(walking while talking)
our embrace mimic the trees
arm in arm--stride in stride
you have become myself. scent
of winter chanting a glance mirrored by deflection
(welcome the bundle of fire)
twisting our words imitating sounds
nearby vultures at a feast. carnivores
circling our mouths with no purpose
wanting to say what we know
(speechless sleep)
awkward postures resembling
Greek gods bathing in spilled nectar. measurement
of mathematical equations
melding together thoughts through
(a passing glimpse)
In the dreary tune of a city's groan,
when streets escape the raging claws
of haggard breaths, a line of stars blink
trading some warmth with human arms...
beyond sighing notes the dusk possesses,
there are more wrists handcuffed on tainted
steel of unjust labor for children and women
who toil beyond midnight hours.
A single violin strain bites the screeches
of grief and pain, of humanity rendered
in ruins wrapped in tattered gauze: outlines
of freezing shapes coiling in fetal postures,
and they swallow a victim's blood, wondering,
if the god of freedom star can restore
power of life where mangled lungs
cry in despise.
Yet, the candle burns inside their hearts
to feed dire hunger of jailed souls
as the will to plod an inner odyssey blazes,
searching for some need to give this slavery
a voice: that birthright of choice
ordained by one divine, universal law...
the kind that fires the oneness of all mornings.
.............................
Cyndi MacMillan's I Can't Breathe... Contest
by nette onclaud
~ Currently, the Human Rights of many women
and children are violated in Asia.
There are women who are victims of sexual exploitation
under military dictatorship, and children who become
involved in human trafficking and are forced to work.
~http://hrn.or.jp/eng/g-activity/activista/
Miles in a coaster, a day and hours elapsed,
Felt the utmost relief when the whirling wheels halted;
So weary and dizzy, even a smile seemed so hideous
But an in peace slumber I desperately craved for;
Eyes wide-opened at the chirping of euphonious birds,
Stirred myself with hankering for the glimpse of exquisite village,
But still a dawn blanketed in frosty mist, sight diminished,
I’d only steal the blurry scene of Tang valley;
An hour after, when the glorious sun showed its perky visage,
Outside I stood relishing the splendor of the hamlet
And savoring the icy breeze wafting underneath my nose
With succulent aroma from the Mother Nature;
Amidst undulating hills and mountains down lay a quiet place,
So called Tang enclosed by rich vegetation and iridescent river
That embellishes the heavenly place superfluously picturesque,
Enticing all man into the blissful homeland of Tang Valley;
Houses clustered and down beneath the farmyard,
Divine school stands with its pride upheld
And hallowed veneration anyone would esteem,
It is so-called Tang Central School elevated of late;
Established in 1965, primary to middle since last year,
Now shines the school proud and gratified of its new recognition
As the central school bestowed with prerogatives and autonomy,
And concurringly, rejoicing its Golden Jubilee in eons;
Postures upright like inert figurines in a park,
Crescendo of unripe singsong voices spring at eight and thirty,
Crooning the sincere words of praise and homage to Tsa-Wa-Sum
That infuses the all hearts with never like joie de vivre;
A trickle of erudite whizzes and astute greenhorns
Gathered deep delved into a bond of kinship with no antipathy,
But an unremitting fondness amongst solicitous brethren-
A purveyor of ecstasy as its depiction I call for the beautiful home.
Blame it on the moon
The moon, who’s intentions, I believe
Are not beyond her muses to deceive
Casting down her beams so they reflect
The postures and the features to perfect
For lovers meeting secret sets the scene
Colours dim and svelte will be her sheen
With shadows for effect she does create
So each believe they see their one true mate
The atmosphere she shrouds in mystery
Adding strings of unheard symphony
Sets the mood with melancholy strains
Removes all senses common from their brains
And yet I find myself, I’m not immune
With ease she has me dancing to her tune
When she smiled at him ----
the world could wait,
with its myriad of contradictions
and infinite postures to feigned joy;
there could be no deceit in her light....
That gorgeous assurance that he was as alive
as the vast heartbeat of the cosmos;
what a whetted pulse to quicken and burst
upon the shoulders of stars,
and saddle comets to flame....
ride the rays of the sun....
As a child again under the spell of ice cream,
shiny-toy and heroic dream;
the world could wait,
(when she smiled at him)
Humans are we with bodies of structures complex.
Death comes to all of us though in varying effects.
Flesh. blood and bone are we, held together by
sinews. Also we have organs on which we rely.
Bipeds are we –meant to walk with postures straight.
We dance and ride and run, adapting to our favorite gait.
Intelligences are we, but few have the audacity
to use perhaps a fifth of our brain’s capacity.
Mortals are we, unlike One who had the power never to be dead.
Had He not been willing, He’d not have sacrificed Himself instead.
We are a mystery. To scientists we come from evolution.
Unfaithful souls refuse acceptance of any Godly solution.
Together all as one, we are called Humanity,
but racism and cruelty show much insanity.
We are parents, siblings, spouses, and the list goes on and on.
Our ancient kin are many. By the time we’re born, they all are gone.
We are workers; we are slobs; we are losers; we are winners.
If wise, we learn that love is all, even love for sinners.
We are members of societies with presidents and chiefs,
many who start wars over differing beliefs.
We are colors of our skin, called black, brown, and white.
And even red and yellow. Such titles don’t seem right.
We are categorized by classes though most the world is poor.
The middle class knows comfort; the rich live in grandeur.
We are sufferers of hardships, of trials, pain and grief.
Joy we also know in this earthly time so brief . . .
We are our brother’s keeper, and none deserve neglect.
All we really need are love, kindness and respect.
i.
Evil sleeps in an orchard
not far from here.
The apples sweat him out.
Dressed as god, the Sun
watches and nods.
He bleeds for them
out of his own mouth.
A god's mask
means protection.
But in time,
he will suck them dry.
And autumn will fall.
Postures will fall.
Pulses will fall,
like pills,
like poison.
ii.
A cloud forest
signals the first
of the shadows.
Summer is nocturnal.
A buttery Moon
leaves the world
warm and breathing.
The trees stir,
the stars hiccup,
and Nighttime climbs onto the birdbath
where it tells you all its tricks.
iii.
Evil blinks from a tree
where the apple skulls
intrude.
The garden combs you
through its arteries,
scooping
your midsummer grave.
A beautiful accident
closes in on itself.
And then a light like milk.
And then the whistling.
iv.
Summer whistles in the dark:
The sound of Evil kneeling
to the imagination
undoing him.
A deadly glow
becoming
a romance
on the white fences.
Nighttime draws dust
away from your shoulders,
translates Summer sound
and says,
You are your own harvest.
Your madness is only there
when you want it to be.
**Haiku**
bitter wind blows stout
pelting icy snow crystals….
cold winter’s harsh thoughts
**Senryu**
treed primate postures
like Indian totem pole….
new politician
Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Second Place Winner ~ "Natural and Beyond” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Freeman
Sept 22, 2011
All he is rackety-raggedy walking the streets.
Talking about things that are conflicting.
His mind has been captured by the wrongful deeds of people.
He has been cheated and depleted of his meaning.
No more power brings no stronger will to live…
That is the will for bigger and better things.
The arms of a vagabond are covered well even on a hot summer day in the
Mississippi Delta.
His educated presence states that of oppression.
His historical era is that of social injustice.
He laughs to himself.
He must be thinking on once better days.
He swigs his wine and squats to drop his bag.
He looks up to speak to the woman sitting on her porch.
He asked her could she share some coffee.
She responded and says sure Bill here you a cup.
She knows his family very well.
The arms of a vagabond are revealed.
He is slim and handsome to the life he lives.
His educated presence postures a friend.
She admires him for his intelligence.
A further walk down the streets of life brings forth new insight.
He shows his self-worth as he sits under a tree to eat.
It was a nice place to relax and think.
He knows that his life has been negated.
However, he fared just the same.
How his story defines his path now.
How his mind coexists with his conflict.
Can he undo what has caused this perplexity?
The arms of a vagabond strength are shown.
Through manual labor, he overcomes the challenges he knows.
Once he felt he would not make ends meet.
Today as he proceeds, his thoughts manifest the skeletons seen.
To all, he is rackety-raggedy walking the streets.
Talking about things that are conflicting.
His mind has been captured by the wrongful deeds of his people.
He has been cheated and depleted to his self-meaning.
No more power brings no stronger will to live…
That is the will for bigger and better things.
_________________________________________________________________|
In the dreary whisper of midnight’s groan,
when streets escape the punctured cry
of thinning breaths, a line of stars blinks
trading some warmth with human arms...
beyond numbing sighs this dark possesses,
there are more wrists handcuffed on tainted
metal of cups and breadcrumbs for waifs,
as youngsters huddle in damp corners, till
a single violin strain bites the screeches
of grief and pain, of a crowd rendered
by lesions worn: a gauze of dingy shapes
coiling in fetal postures like bruised grass,
................
For Rob Carmack's Contest: Screwed lll
Theme: Pain of night
3/01/2015
Yoga, a Sanskrit word, an abstract noun meaning oneness
It points to the meeting of soul and the Absolute or Godhood
To attain this oneness one has to go through eight stages.
Five kinds of mental anguish associated with ignorance
Ego, attachment, hatred, and fear of death to be discarded
The way is to practice yoga and total renunciation.
Renunciation is to do away with all thoughts and desires
That arises out of direct perception or indirect knowledge
The practice to perfect renunciation is Ashtanga Yoga
There are eight stages of this Ashtanga Yoga of Patanjali
Yama-moral codes of behavior, Niyama- self-restraint
Asana-physical postures, Pranayam-breathe control.
Pratyahara-sense control, Dharana-concentration
Dhyana-meditation, Samadhi-absorb in thought-free trance.
To attain final *Samadhi, the Sage Patanjali advises God’s help.
If one overlooks the first two stages of Yama and Niyama
It is a wonderful exercise of the body and the mind
Hope for the heaven but at least you will reach the clouds
***********
Dr. Ram Mehta
Contest Epic by P.D.
6th place win in the contest
========================================
**Yog kchhamam Vahamyaham- the Sanskrit phrase meaning I carry the Yoga safely
which is the sum-total of the Yog in Hindu Scriptures
The word yoga is derived from the Sanskrit for "plow," which is also the source for the
word "yoke" -- which joins the oxen and the plow. From the spiritual point of view, yoga
means "union with God."
*Complete absorption in thought-free trance
Park bench encounter
Old man staring;
Faraway look
~~~~~~~~~
Financial district
Business downturn;
By this fringe
~~~~~~~~~
Stormy evening
Rain flows like oil;
Lightning dazzles
~~~~~~~~~
Lift landing
Blank faces congregate;
Alone together
~~~~~~~~~
Wind on my face
Rushing home;
Rain water wets
~~~~~~~~~
Somnolent interlude
Cricket musical;
Deep dark night
~~~~~~~~~
One by one
Bougainvilleas wither;
Floral carpet
~~~~~~~~~
Pre-war terrace house
Old time architecture;
Four bougainvillea pots
~~~~~~~~~
Bus stop crowd
Two others plus me;
A long wait
~~~~~~~~~
Chinese barbecue pit
Chinese roast meat shop;
Long customer queue
~~~~~~~~
Unique antiques
Old proprietor smiles;
Curious shop sign
~~~~~~~~~
Fashion parade
Glamour girls waltz;
Runway postures
~~~~~~~~~
Beer and buzz
Evening outing;
Boozy conversations
~~~~~~~~~
Parkway passage
Playground gossip;
Maids chatter
~~~~~~~~~
Hymn of morning
Birdsong choral;
Lost in translation
~~~~~~~~~
Huge ancient tree
Witness to change;
Silent sentinel
~~~~~~~~~
Humid overtures
Sun without wind;
Temperature runs riot
~~~~~~~~~
Chit-chat moment
Old lady neighbour;
Market trip
~~~~~~~~~
Weary legs struggle
Heavy load in tow;
Footsteps homeward
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
24 June 2016
Singapore
Solo sylvan-hued
Oregon Grape postures firmly;
Spring kisses blossoms golden.
Ooh a triangular prism made out of eighteen purple sashed curtains. Wow. Movement. Vortex of a synopsis and a synchronised swirling pattern. When a pea jumps into a swimming pool and performs the backflip it is time for the potatoes to go proportionate. For portions are neither potions nor postures. And a pas a doublet is a particle of an easy iron. Jump then. Off and go. It is interesting to note that the sailing of a peel from a left over carrot can travel vast cubic measurements especially in sand storms. Storks staking stalks. And a wide angled visionary swamp singing in the woods. No do not stamp on a leaf from a mushroom or a rhododendron would chase you out of the clearing. And a pretty and capable doe bakes a nice tree sap cake for the herd. Who gather in a very large circle. Not a rectangle. Ok then. It is wiser to accept the pacifying notions from one single fish rather than a shoal. And coals are never the same twice if placed in a radioactive formation near a fireplace. Versions of the tunes created can be heard on the world wide open airwaves. And a singular plural can loop with an antonym at a stellular ball in linkage with the paragraphs. Shrink no ball of paper nor papyrus into a pot. And leap twenty-five times over a dish to create a heartwarming broth. Of stems. Of leaves. Of berries. Belly bouncing bustiers bring booming boogieing breaths. And a waltz with a fish is best performed in a yogurt container measuring exactly forty-two and a half centimetres. One two three tick tock. But no rock. One two three four. And here is a shore. Arriving to speak if truth and wisdom from across watery expanses. Seek no hill in a cave then. Hahahaha funny flimsy frameworks frolicking. Hahaha branches beaked beaming. Hahahaha and now eat 90 eggs, 10 toasts, and a slice of lentil. Yum. Fantastic. Wow. Xxxxx dragline drainage droppings. Xx,x, dele rational beings ***,, choo Choi xxxxx and a code cackling. Xxxxx beastiology q. P y q z.