Best Presumably Poems
my wonders wonder how would it be
if God had made me an insect a flea
how short of life would life be
and all of God's creatures
i'd fear and flee
so small and fragile
not easy to see
crushed by everything but me
my wonders wonder how would it be
if God made me into a bee
i'd rally with my brother bee's
gather pollen from plants and trees
build a fortress for a queen
work like the devil to keep it clean
if any should bother our domain
where it is
i'll give them my stinger
and no longer live
such is the life for us and he
whom god decides
to make a bee
my wonders wonder how would it be
if God decided an eagle i'd be
noble, honored, swift and sleek
flying in the air for food i seek
secretly fishing with my eye
rarely is seen my deadly dive
I AM the symble for liberty and pride
i'll mate only once and then i'll die
my wonders wonder how would it be
if God had made me into a tree
standing tall above it all
save the mountians standing tall
in it's season making leaves
protecting both birds ans bee's
reaching high into the sky
growing wider than all living creatures
bearing fruit to feed the nations
eating the sun's rays before the hit they ground
my shade a cool shelter for everything around
my wonders wonder how it would be
if God decided a peacock i'll be
i'd strut and wear my tail so proud
my feathers match with any croud
my eye's and beak they match so well
the prettiest of birds
it is known so well
my feathers are emaculate
and my shape is so swell
i take great pleasure
in showing off my tail
my wonders wonder why it came to be
God made me a human being
so different and diverse are each of us
some of us praise , some of us curse
yet we struggle to believe in God above
one they think is evil
and the other made of love
to us he gave intelect
with a capasicity to feel
complicated emotions that shatter and kill
but with this comes motivation
to create and build
an internal competition
to be better and better still
some men beg some men borrow
and some men commit fraud
and most of them presumably
forgot about their god
but in this world of wonder
where wonders never cease
there is a visible God
watching man and beast
"say Brian"
what is your poetry creed?"
POETRY IS AN ORAL ART AT ITS BEST WHEN RECITED
it then becomes a two-way unique one-off.experience .
ok then...to the detail-
"So is traditional line capitalisation ok with you?"
In RHYME ..YES..
but NOT otherwise as it creates a natural pause (ie it stilts) & thus disrupts the flow
"presumably thats why wrap-around lines are also a no-no for you? "
YES but mainly they are not visually conducive to read digitally or otherwise!
"Ok,I see that but what have
you got against those five forms
and the like,you know
acrostic,
kyrielle
terzanelle
villanelle
&pantoum etc? "
NOT against them per se
they can be good for a learning exercise,
a bit like scales are important when learning the piano
but are too contrived & mechanical IMHO for our art form
"Yet you like shape,visuals,emagi & ekphrasis verse! "
Indeed,they reveal my weakness for art in poetry!
"So why do you appear to dislike prose poetry!"
I don't dislike them as such, the two arts just don't mix for my taste.
"Are there particular forms that appeal?"
Rhyme,alliteration,clerihew,footle&hiku*(both in the singular especially)
tanka& American cinquain-will always ring my bell.
& of course
poetry in the OPEN VERSE style
which is what Brian?
**OPEN VERSE uses spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols relies upon 'the one breath limitation' this intuitive cadence pemits the 'reader' (reciter) to respond in an interpretative - interplay unique to the ' happening
When It Rains It Pours
Idiomatic sayings are such a delightful way of expressions,
The truth in them may sometimes stretch our imagination..
When it rains, it pours is one such expressive gem of wisdom..
When troubles in numbers mirror realism in a weather phenomenon..
Here in Bolehland widely hailed as a Land of Endless Possibilities...
Ernest concerted efforts are put in place to deny negative publicity...
Like minded politicians are staying resolute behind a highly ranked civil servant..
Whose exalted position demands he be above controversies as a public servant...
Electorates on the ground are increasingly befuddled and anguished each day..
As snippets of less than positive news and episodes are revealed each day...
It is widely accepted that the door of opportunity closes while another opens..
Likewise all tall tales of lies and deceit, numerous are the twists and turns...
Here in Bolehland, there is outright shock and disgust at the latest turn of events..
After months of in-depth investigative reports, no one could comprehend...
When the highest legal prosecution office in Bolehland triumphantly blared...
Despite the voluminous reports and papers, there was no crime to declare ....
The presumably guilty topmost civil servant was declared squeaky clean...
To top it all, he was so honorable as to have had returned millions unseen...
The gossip mill is rampant and unflattering over this latest seal of innocence..
More so when there are incoming news of global inquiry and investigations...
The court of public opinion is out there in the streets of Bolehland...
To the man in the street, he is seeing multiple acts of Houdini first hand...
But as the proverbial wisdom has so aptly been used when troubles abound...
When it rains, it pours, especially for someone in high office in Bolehland.....
To all interested, seat back and watch the melodrama as it unfolds by each day...
When it rains, it pours should hopefully reveal the elusive truth one fine day...
http://malaysiansmustknowthetruth.blogspot.com/2016/01/a-world-of-scandal-descends-on.html?ref=source
https://sg.news.yahoo.com/twists-turns-najib-rm2-6-230008097.html?nhp=1
GANGSTER’S MOLL
The gangster’s moll now exists
Beyond the proffered film season
Impeaching authorised fiction
With cries, and real tears. For
She and the boss presumably didn’t care
To penetrate the mysterious body
Of God in the Universe, preferring
Hot shots, to the ultimate betrayal.
Of people they grew up with, she doesn’t tease
The short-circuit of big questions, just shrugs
And accepts his disappearance, like cash
Running in and out of a wallet.
Doesn’t take it to heart or too hard,
But she’s praying to get the kids’ hands off the gun.
(c) Rosemarie Rowley
From IN MEMORY OF HER
The diversity of beliefs have collectively demoralized
the sanctity of attaining wisdom and respectfully sharing
the exchange of knowledgeability by compartmentalizing creativity.
This makes us..............................
willingly grasp onto the idea of fighting and murdering to
expressively uphold what is fundamentally a moralizing of humanity.
Instead of communicating uncertainty to keep things simply
as beautiful as they were to start with.
When you do your own research and hold no preference,
think freely and critically, that's enough for the world.
The ones who want to work hard, provide, and allow others
to decide how to live their lives. The ones that do not judge and
are only inspired by the weaving of individuality that creates this
painting of adversity within a natural environment will succeed.
We are smart enough to know that these men in ties telling lies
making us believe the TV has the answers or you need to earn
and spend monies that are impractically fabricated and blind us
from working like slaves for their manipulated, corrupt economy
that concedes in an illusory connectedness called consumerism.
Or, social issues that brainwash you into thinking that their fear
mongering gives you a sense of identity. Without identifying
their symbols of devilry they saturate in every necessity they
presumably provide for you that came free from the earth.
If everyone would live like they knew they were going to die,
the one and only certainty in life, then the intangibles in life become
clear, it's sitting right upon your nose, the rose colored lens' are
cleansed and the colors, the beauty, the smells, the smiles,
the kindness and caring, the recognition of a resolution to suffering,
and our purpose to help ourselves is through helping others,
THAT is enough to make a change.
If anyone is impatient, by chance or choice,
Or too impatient to read my poems,
S/he must read this poem—at any rate!
Hopkins once heckled God:
“Why do sinners’ ways prosper?”
And did not stay for an answer!
The answer is:
Sinners, whether saboteurs, burglars, assassins,
Or any other characters of their ilk,
Seem to exercise far greater patience
Than virtuous humans!
Murderers are an exception,
Notorious for their impatience—
By courtesy of Daniel Goleman!
What is patience?
A deceptively simple question.
The dictionary equates it with waiting,
Putting up with annoyance,
And also associates it with work.
Its opposite is impatience,
Whose synonym is haste;
And its symptom restlessness.
Patience may be regarded as a frame of mind
(Based of course on some personal philosophy)
In which to wait and or work:
The spider is exemplary in both these senses.
Instances of waiting are aplenty:
Waiting for solution, resolution, results, etc.
But what do we do in the meantime?
Only patience and positiveness can tell us.
For Michelangelo, as for Newton,
Patience meant work,
Working presumably against odds
And towards perfection,
Which, in Gandhi’s idiom, is karma.
Work, then, becomes pleasure.
But waiting endlessly, eternally
(For whatever it may be)
Is something inconceivable, at any rate,
In God’s scheme of things.
Surely, there is some mistake—
Maybe in perception,
Or interpretation or computation.
God may be subtle, as admitted by Einstein,
But could never be wicked—as Satan was!
Now a word from the Author.
I hope all the readers are familiar
with, Homer's "lliad and the Odyssey"
From which this was inspired.
In addition to what you may remember
of Greek mythology, I would like to add
That the Greek God Aries, presumably
never took sides in war, he was content
to let men fight it out themselves, but
this time, was different, and here is his song....
ARES’S SONG
I was quite content
Never giving my consent
In any godly matter that occurred
Now some don’t think that’s right
Leaving humans left to fight
But to me, all this bickering absurd
I really hate to choose
Who should win and who should lose
But there’s one town that I thoroughly enjoy
I love Troy
I love Troy
I love every Mother’s son
And soldier boy
What a town, just look around
In a minute you’ll be dancing upside down
So much to eat, Oh what a treat
This city is on fire, feel its heat
If you’re going to live it boy
There’s no city like my Troy
I love Troy
I love Troy
I love Troy
Sure, I’m the God of War
But, I never felt this way before
So here, I’ll say it one more time
Though the Gods may stand divided
In my Heart I have decided
There’s no reason, that I should be playing coy
I love Troy!
Yang: What is the difference between a theist and an atheist?
Yin: A bicamerally balancing ego/eco-teleologist.
Yang: Well, so what's that; a teleologist?
Yin: You, if you believe the Earth is your co-gravitational
(0)-double-binding mind-spirit/body-nature center
epi-center
of wealthy egonomic
and healthy ecopolitical values,
each with equi-valent
ego/ecological
transgenerational health-care
deep wealth meaning merit.
Yang: So, who wouldn't believe that?
Yin: Probably no one.
Yang: So, why, exactly, is this an issue I need to look at right now?
Yin: Because, if you are an ecological panentheist,
then you are also a (0)-interest
co-invested bodhisattva peace warrior
poli-economist,
presumably.
Yang: Wow, I really did not see that climax coming at all!
Yintegrity: Yes, well, I get that all mind/body bipartisan time.
YangBright: Hmmm.... I can see purpose Now i
n sort of a 4D WinWin Cooperative Here
Ego/EcoOccupyers
Rejoining RNA Tribal Purpose
unfolding dialectical
exponential
deep fractal meaning
kinda' organic sacred WuWays.
YinPower: Don't rush, reframe our collateral flow issues,
in alpha(0)mega double-binding poli-economic
nondual crown/rooted
mind-dawn/body-dark
respirating EarthNature's
dipolar teleological appositions.
YangLight: You flow on too darkly rooted much
for optimally repurposed fire-power.
YinPower: Invest less in competing economic partial-trusts
and politically disharmonic insufficiency
of loving sacred beauty.
Instead,
invest in repurposing
every co-engaging
meaning-full
experiential expedition
only where your economic health flows out
our cooperative climatic inflow
of politically multicultural wealth.
YangMind: Ah, yes,
I see
our MidWay Zen
mutual reflection again,
where my Tao wealth
caressingly embraces your cooperative health
of coarising egomind/ecobody-engagement
Right purposeful proportion,
eco-dominant meaningful balance,
light's radiant fractal frequencies
of regenerative logos-dawn/mythos-dusk
Yang/yin
pregnant/absent
positive/double-binding negative,
appositional boundaries of co-balancing light
and prime co-relational powers.
YinPower: And you think I flow out too much feeling!
The raw innocence of a first job interview
I'm sitting at a McDonald's
writing a poem. I save it.
My interest is piqued,
at a young lad interviewing
for his first job, presumably.
At first I see him dressed in shorts,
plain white t-shirt, and
slippers, and I then think of his
mistaken attire. He kept twitching his
nervous knees as the manager
looked over his application.
The raw innocence. There's
an exchange of dialogue. But then
I could see that the interview
turned into an orientation,
even laughter at times. So I
knew the young lad had his
foot in the door. Great. During
this time a smiling women catches
my eye. She's probably thinking
why I'm watching so intently at the
interview. She keeps looking
over at the interview, too.
I didn't put two and two together
until later. The raw innocence
of a mother looking on as her
cub leaves the lair.
connie pachecho
1/26/17
Presumably with the aid of God's glory
She interwove several others' stories
And painted him something he was not
A monster she should give second thought
And yet, she remained obsessed with her quarry
She told his work that he was a liar
And concluded it successfully drew their ire
She said prophecy told her he'd lost his job
And called his friends defending him a mob
The situation became quite dire
She said that he divorced his wife
And upon notification, she'd threatened to take her own life
But he remained happily married
As Dawn was hunched and harried
Consumed with the rewrite
She said he was unfaithful
That his children were quite ungrateful
That he had converted to her faith
And lied about it to save face
And other things vile and hateful
She decided (through prophecy, of course!)
That the poems she read online had him as the source
He was professing his love for her and his faith
Disguised as a woman quite far away
Being kept from talking to her by force
After all, it couldn't possibly be the case
That he found her hideous in mind and face
That he was appreciated for what he was
Had children and a wife that he loved
And never once considered her faith
And so Dawn spent her days
A degenerate in malaise
But her lies were not to be daunted
And they had her, rather haunted
Even more obsessed with his ways
A rocking horse is a child's toy, usually shaped like a horse and mounted on rockers similar to a rocking chair. Predecessors of the rocking horse may be seen in the rocking cradle, the tilting seats used during the Middle Ages for jousting practice as well as the wheeled hobby horse. The toy in its current form did not appear before the 17th century, though some conflicting sources note medieval manuscripts including references to carved rocking horses, presumably of the toy kind.
Country Road
Rolled carpets of lawn lie, on a shaven bed
A bed that only a month ago, looked barren and dead
While in another paddock, one of pure contentment
Sit dozens of wooly ewes all with their minds bent
On dreaming of fulfillment; or suckling fluffy lambs
Or perhaps having a frolic, with their favorite rams
And now there spreads a blanket, as far as I can see
Composed of a zillion tiny flowers - weeds, presumably
A mixture of purple and pink, and rich chartreuse
As a ray of sunlight highlights delicate hues
Successions of rays follow now, flooding the whole plain
With new energy and color, before the next bout of rain
Car-sized boulders of granite, surround me now
Like mysterious permanent entities, and I wonder how
They came to be here, in a paddock of their own
Except for the fat merinos, always on the roam
Maybe the boulders rolled here; down from the mountain top
But they're firmly planted now, like surrounding crops
These boulders large and small, had no supervision
Unlike Stonehenge, with its sense of precision
Imagine what they've seen since the ice slowly melted
While weathering nature's blows, as they remain unsheltered
From the wrath of nature, from above and below
And how pretty they'd look, lightly covered in snow
As I quietly move along now; not driving fast
Three majestic eagles rise, from tall ochre grass
Their wing spans are enormous; their beaks bent and mean
These un-caged eagles are the first I've ever seen
They were only fifteen feet away, but then flew up to a tree
Where their gray and fawn feathers, blended in perfectly
Fields of vibrant colors, now, catch my eye
While I'm delighted to see, more rainclouds in the sky
And the wildflowers of delicate and cool-colored hues
Like cobalt, lavender and various other blues
Along with rust-colored grass bordered with lime-green
Turn this country road into, the prettiest road I've seen.
oOo
END
Bought at an antiques store for a song:
unframed print #225 of 750, signed by the artist
Number III of the family name, all painters,
(presumably) Those forbears hard to discard--
"Stay Awhile" its title, hospitably captioned by
a country boy, like my father, perhaps-- posing
beside his favorite horse on the back roads
of Race Pond, Georgia, his playground by
birthright, the Okefenokee Swamp.
Staying awhile, I place myself in the painting,
its cool morning mist in the hills beyond.
The white clapboard house, red-roofed, six
front windows, one dormer peeking out
from the eaves; four steps up to the porch
from the under-the-house black earth the house
was built on; its checkered slats at the base
prohibiting the crawl space where the doodlebugs
hide. Kitchen matches to be left untouched,
heeding the grownups chide. Only to the bugs
is it dire: "Doodlebug,doodlebug, hurry
on home--your house is on fire.
Two Christmassy trees hug at opposite ends
of the house, awaiting December decoration.
A grassy knoll rolls down to masses
of white and yellow sunflowers in a frenzied
welcome. Past the grayed barn where
tools are kept and the horses are tethered,
I place myself in the painting, flying Superman style,
spread eagle, arms out, facing downward
past clapboard house, barn. Then, into the hills
with their pale promise of perennial dawn where
there is no sorrow, no pain, no heavy heart
unshared, no loss we cannot bear.
Presumably possibly permitting pairs of problems pertinently pertaining to
paraphrasing pitifully passes out postulates.
Good heavens. Did I actually write that and is it really an alliteration?
I need a contradiction category contrary to popular belief.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
My Lydia, my Lydia,
You undoubtedly have contracted chlamydia.
During one of your sex-capades,
In a beloved city, somewhere in Syria, or India,
Or presumably from the talented guy,
You willingly met at the cafeteria in Nigeria.
maybe it was the Presbyterian at the meridian?
Oh My Lydia, my Lydia, you say its just trivia
Remember Olivia from Bolivia contracted diphtheria.
She customarily wore a bougainvillea in her hair.
After every consensual affair, with eccentric millionaires
I saw her today she looked worn and in despair,
Even though mature life was unfair, she still had a little flair.
and wore a fragrant flower in her flowing hair.
My Lydia, my Lydia what's that, you say, you don’t care.