Best Presume To Poems
Voices and screams wailing from the face of the world,
There is nothing but the days of Sodom and Gomorah
Soils of syria turns to ashes
The world is now a melting pot,
Jets and planes rocketing the face of the sky Visions from Sango are no more
Oh shame !
where the word love have gone
That world of tranquility and harmony without destructions,
Without tankers and hummers from united states trolling the lands of Sudan for peace in wars they start
In Ethopia my sisters are dying Alshabaab ravage the land ,dry bones are living in subjugation
In the name of power and sovereignity M23 turn to bullies
Everyday is a blood bath, (le) fleuve congo flow with hatred
Skies have gone grey with the mist from barrels
Mother is crying in Afighanstan for her baby son his life expectance reduces to 24 hours and living life is now by grace not by choice
Even the air we breath some one wants to take control and gain popularity out of it
I see power hungry turns our brothers into good guys with bad hearts
Yesterday it was father now its my own brother
Why is it that power turns to corrupt absolutely
Boko Haram is seeking all virgins of the land
And to my aquintances may be its only i left to fill this hole of earth and
I guess to vultures gone are the days of hunger
But why is it that we presume to be free but everywhere in chains
We work for them and they eat for us
They sing for us and we dance according to their tune
We each define ourselves
by choice of words we speak,
the things we do, or seek,
within our minds they delve.
We cannot say some elves
have tricked our minds when weak.
We can’t presume to know
so practice some restraint,
or make faux pas then faint.
To you my friends, I show
I care but don’t kowtow,
please know I’m not a saint.
Diverse, we still expect
some semblance of respect.
22 August 2015
The HexSonnetta Contest
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Eternal bloom
I presume to assume,
of Christ’s kingship and bloom,
by faith I fly away soon,
soaring pass the moon,
beyond this world of gloom.
Hidden within Precambrian rock
Lies "a tiny mystery"
A veiled secret in the dark
A puzzling piece of history
A radioactive photograph
A polonium halo possibly
Buried in a cryptic curtain
Its secret may elude us
But what's certain
Should we presume to solve this riddle
We'll be hurled back in the middle
Of more dilemmas or enigmas endlessly
Published in the 2012 International Who's Who in Poetry
As "A Tiny Mystery"
Behold The Lamb of God
Come and see the humble stable in Bethlehem
where the Lamb of God was just born,
Shepherds were feeding their flocks and keeping watch over their sheep
else by wolves and other ravenous animals they might be torn.
And during this one particular night, this Lamb of God
made a quiet yet grand entrance,
in the most meager of setting known to man
it had been a God breathed interference.
Yet, I heard a preacher say,
“where else would a lamb presume to be born?”
surely not in a hospital filled with an educated staff
but where the shepherds would dare to find Him and to adore.
Then it wasn’t so unusual as I used to think
the King of Kings as a baby laying in a stable,
yet King is only one of this awesome God’s names
as in the Lamb of God being His label.
Yes, I am so glad this Lamb chose me to
and to shed His blood for my sins,
for what had I done to deserve such a thing
as salvation bought by the blood of the King of Kings.
And, now, Behold the Lamb of God
who is still seated upon His throne,
and who is soon to come to earth again
and take His blood bought children back to His home.
Written by: Marilyn Jennings
An opening sarcophagus in a pharoah's tomb,
Started emanating light into the room,
The mummy screamed, "I'll put a curse on you,
All your progeny I will pursue,
One should never presume to exhume."
Why do we presume to be so great
When we hasten so to tempt our fate
Are our souls so in need of danger
Starting thus while in the manger
Bullet proof and over ten feet tall
Flying way before we can crawl
Drawn always to a brilliant light
Oblivious to our perilous plight
We run and rage on every page
Never heeding the advice of sage
Charging headlong into the wind
Pausing briefly only to append
If this thing I could understand
Maybe my life I could amend
This longing for freedom perchance
Could this cause such a dance
Maybe we can truly be this great
If we can only redirect out fate.
The syllabus was likely to arouse
vain sentiments of a nobility
he never felt before.
Eight o'clock on Monday morning,
books and pencils not yet burdensome,
and down the hall, the classroom
where he hoped to be inspired,
would seize his body and his mind
and shake them, make them scorn
the adolescent scampering
and he still not aware.
How dare the prof presume to teach him
how to take his notes...
how to detect his nakedness
So much for sociology--
so much he did not see!
And that is what it was to be,
the years to dawn aware
of cavities, not knowledge,
wisdom just to contemplate in awe,
nor in presumption dress...
yet late that night
six tender new-born men
will sit together in a tiny room
and speak of Rabelais and Eckhart,
unconcerned about a rest,
surrendered to the looming day.
~
Dotard Trumpery used to disgust the "ery" excrescence ending his surname,
for apocope he approached Megan Trump and poached her maiden name,
to which Joshua Trump, her son naming after her, dare no longer lay claim,
because from then on he was reduced to campus bullies' fair game.
Pretending to be placatory, Dotard Trumpery had to invite
Joshua Trump to the Slayer-Of-The-Union site.
Trumpery, standing on his rock-and-roll rostrum, spieled song and dance,
Trump, seated off his opposite nostrum, cast ahead no glance;
Trumpery, haranguing high, may presume to be contagious,
Trump, lolling low, just continued to be contumacious;
Trumpery, in skittish stance, legs to prance,
Trump, in stolid trance, his head askance;
Trumpery, right hot, opened his mouth to smear shutters with sputter soars,
Trump, left cold, shut his eyes lest they be crisscrossed by sordid sores.
Impersonating Trump, Trumpery violated Trump's right of name;
Impugned due to Trumpery,Trumpp suffered long dark campus time.
trumpery blatherskite.
If I could only steal a moment
One precious beat of your Heart
Would I be able to show you
Where would I start
How can I presume to explain Love
There are no words you have not heard
Perhaps then a Kiss, but then again
Isn't that a bit absurd
Where else would I Kiss you Dear
There's not an inch of you not smothered
And I've written the ink out of pens
I fear I've left not a word left uncovered
How then do I tell you
Or is there no way to show
Maybe all I have to do is nothing
Because you already seem to know
Love cannot be explained in a single moment
Nor the beat of anyone's Heart
So I'll go on Loving you every single day
Until death do us part
© 2011 Kevin Stock
The presentation, that sets course,
wisely across the sky,open those,
eyes, choose to make,
a difference, for it might save a life,
for the better, never judge,
rumor has it that god has a purpose,
in all the colors of a rainbow,I presume to be gifted,
Open your heart, to me, and ill show, the path,
to unlock, it's beauty, that passes through,
the golden gates of heaven, come To me,
I won't steer you wrongfully, This I promise,
from a heart that's bigger than, the world itself, I am yours...
Who Are You?
Who are you, and whom do you presume to be?
Do you see the law court as hesitant to convict?
Will it take you as a minority, given sympathy?
To be considered for bending the tough verdict?
Only sixty percent believe in god, are Christian,
After all, that’s a small amount indeed, sure!
It’s as if church and state remain one curtain,
Together, not a secular politics that can assure.
Do you think your deeds will never be found?
Never be reckoned with so justice can be done?
Are you sure it doesn’t matter, you’re sound,
When your section will become suppression?
Abuse is not temporary, it lasts for all time,
In the mind, in the physical, and the social,
And if you demand silence anymore, just die,
Accept the criticism that’s ardent and vocal.
DEVOTION POEM 39th ANNIVERSARY
On this stilled night,
Dare I presume?
After a listening to the way
Einstein came to realize his
Relativity realities,
Dare I presume to sit once overagain in memory
In a student center’s crowded circumstances…?
To choose you, to offer a share of my
Sandwich, snapping a mental photo of your hands,
Which in our years I will come to love, able
To imagine their frequent, gentle touch over
My skin, just as your eyes always do, as still, after
All these years as if asking permission for its sought sight of me.
Do we presume in our dancing angles so relative
To our decades of delighted diagonals resting our heads
On each other’s chests, feeling the warmth, the slow
Up and down as breaths go on? Hold then, once again
My heart in your hands, as we incline back or lean forward
In time, in this astounding utterance of long years — 39 —
That I dare not utter without some marveling tears;
For my long ago hopes of this togetherness,
I once but presumed to bear, a simple maid
With hopes of loving thee, with a love that can bring you
Some joy in its life and length of passion.
A dream, a hope, a vow become reality.
The deepest love can presume its memories to seem as
If they occurred only yesterday, held in the heart
Once over, living again.
——————————- ————————————————. ————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 8/17/22
Anniversary 8/17/83
With regards to t.s. Elliot
I write of art that stupefies,
I, who would immortalize new fire, new reflection...
one that weaves a thread of elegance,
who does not make of smoldering solitude
a shill for anyone who passes by.
Dare I presume to extirpate the dross
that my own vision fines?
Yet while with every pungent spadeful, I would violate the earth
and lay it quivering upon its virgin breast?
Show me that tentative, exploring light
that your own grace imparts,
that gift you have of offering faint pictures
of the gods you see...
of leaving finger trails upon my body,
indelible, effable.
With your spirit, write the words
upon a spirit slate that time will not corrupt,
for with you who are my mirrored flesh and breath
united, I may now descry,
my mother, daughter, illuminator
of Almighty God.
~
Today I thought of thought itself,
of all its joys and failings
to be sure, but mostly of the
wonder that they take me to,
the countless things that open
to my sight in ways that I had
never seen before.
I need not die before I see them
thunder in before me, even though
I know that death itself will not
presume to shut them down. That is
the glory of it; everyone may share.
Saints and kings will prosper
and will fall. Perhaps. But I
am just a dilettante. My putterings
are little miracles and always there
to take me through.
Oh yes, there is one caveat
and that is consciousness
but that too is a miracle
and floats upon us as a lagniappe,
totally gratuitous...hmmm
just like all the rest.
~