Best Pretexts Poems
My eyes were sorely struck when once they perceived
verity in your insightful words. Oh, how they grieved
when you chose to kneel low enough to kiss the ring
of a cunning being, whose unmerited praises you sing
My ignorance would have been a cliched state of bliss
if I'd not stumbled into great depth of a poetic abyss
'Twas with bitter regret that I unveiled your charade
No longer do I doubt the crux of a contrived crusade
With prudence and humble nature, you oft' disclosed
but a false facade was revealed and hubris exposed
As a poet you declared compassion and a meek heart
but sold your feeble soul for the nod of a counterpart
Poet, I hungrily supped at the banquet of your lines
but a person's integrity is one that genuinely defines
human value. From reading you, I refrain and eschew
Aware of your pretexts, I know what motivates you
*You may think I only post something on PS when I have a gripe, and I have when I've felt it was warranted. It's your right to believe what you will. My recent posts prove otherwise, but after very recently reading something that touched my heart in a sadly profound way, I chose to write about it instead of trying to forget that I saw the words. Writing has always been a means of comfort, solace and closure. This write serves as a dissolution for me.
In the eye of the hurricane, Translation of Carlos Bousono’s poem : En el ojo del hurracan
(Ninth in the collection : Metafora del Desafuero, published – according to the editor, Alejandro
Duque Amusco – not in 1988, but in 1989, was awarded the « Premio Nacional de Poésia »
for 1989, on May 28, 1990. Bousono, as in these later free verse compositions, shows how
well he manages the long-breathed line, a clear contrast to the compact and elliptical earlier
verse, say, of the collection : Subida al amor. T. Wignesan)
The creatures of plenitude situated themselves holding their silence, the thrones of
inexplicability, exactly, therefore, in the very centre of the eye of the hurricane :
that doors be blown asunder, that windows be blown away,
that agonizing bodies in makeshift beds be smothered into oblivion,
half-dead widows, postmen who half-way in the act of delivering
the love letter which would definitely render us joyful,
the seat where the poor old grandmother was in the act of sitting
while sewing
the newly-born baby’s pony-tailed bonnet which turned around half-
way in the gusts,
the hurricane which uplifted love and all that was left of love :
letters, papers, leaves
of music,
lovers in coitus at the orgiastic acmé and the light,
when it began to dawn,
when the saxophone cleared its throat and commenced the beat of the
dance,
when everything on the stage in its place awaited the raising of the
curtain,
when the wedding was at the point of being consecrated, and the
priest was ready to offer his benediction : « el ite misa est »,
when within the following few moments the inexorable
ceremonial of the written formalities was about to be concluded
then, as I said,
and only then,
the hurricane unleashed its violence with rage, the incomprehensible
hurricane, and there stood still only the immoveable lucid eye,
separate, eminent, complete in its entire being, that by force of its
profundity had ascended to the exact point where it could
redeem its guilt,
the eye of reconciliation,
the eye of wisdom and suave serenity,
where the intact and silenced world sang
adorable and yet so beautiful without us,
necessary pretexts, notwithstanding, of its musical nature.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
O we are all very well informed
how horrible might been our reality
in the time of transition
from one evil regime to other.
When one day all monsters and predators
from the park of totalitarian communistic Jurassic
suddenly exploded out for absolute freedom
according with Darwinian law of surviving,
when cruelty and greediness
suppressed long time
by cruel regime and power
started make big business and police
and comrades from monopolistic party -
the sable tooth tigers, tycoon and oligarchs -
inspired again as hundred years ago
with primarily criminal and degenerating instincts, pretexts and postulates
under the Marxist’s coverage and context,
launched now the new but the same adventure
leading to great social tragedy inevitable,
where government playing chief role of Ti Rex
instead keeping the harmony and sustainable existence
protecting cheeps, rabbits, turtles and others multiple small creatures
from total extinction,
learn them for art of surviving and flourishing
through social interaction and protection
what would left again as unreachable aim and utopia
for our long suffered nation.
(TO THE VICTIMS OF WAR IN MY NATIVE
CAMEROON AND IN NORTHERN NIGERIA)
Giants
Have filled
The FAR North
Sweeping
Bloodbathing
With sophisticated
Heavy weapons
Connected on a
Barren land
Communicating
As from satellites,
Techniques and
Outfits of
The expedition
They got THERE
Thundering,
Murdering,
Raping, and
Reaping
The scarce
Bank notes kept aside
To launch our economy
here.
The giants are
Putting up stubborn
Resistance ready
To dismantle,
Horrify, and
Offer pretexts
For erecting another
Benghazi or Mali,
Somalia or
The Sudans:
Growing poverty
Exile
On the desert
Migrations
Corruption
Legislations
Segregations
Falling soldiers
Suspecting the
Innocents
Blackmailing
The weak.
Where are our
White hope of
The Opposition
And all the experts
On geopolitics?
Tell us whose war
Is it?
I once wrote a POTW, getting to know you, was the theme
Simple little rhyme, about soupers commonalities it seems
Now I’m discovering disparity, divisions, different schisms
Joining the dots together, one picture emerges, extremism
A few (leading lights), have gathered sheep into their pens
Who in turn follow them blindly, to anywhere and back again
None of my business you say, and I would be first to agree
But our paths must cross sometimes, as now you can see
Such is lies, such is truth, it’s all immaterial within a poem
A story is a story, our imagination counts, on bringing home
I manipulate words, trying to imbue you within stark verse
Encouraging open-mindedness, never planning to coerce
Others have hidden agendas, encoding influences of ambition
Deluded in their own self importance, to maintain recognition
Suppressing freethinkers, using propaganda, covert pretexts
Don’t like the tone of your language, get shunned by request
Teach us a lesson, an opinionated authority, waves a big stick
Seen this crap before in institutions, got caned as a small kid
Gaslighting, solipsistic, narcissistic, torchbearers of nothing
Pushing your own egos, not poets work, shameless plugging
Some fellow poets do fall foul, getting led up the garden path
Instead of expressing independence, write to appease wrath
So this message is from a nobody, and I’m calling you to task
Why! because I have a pair of balls, not satan behind a mask.
This is no exposé, majority of soupers, see through your cover
Easy now, I won’t mention any names, best ignore this nutter
I proffer diversity and conversation, no nihilistic atheist stray
Unlike his predecessors, won’t get disheartened or walk away
Look at history what happened, when pandering to dictators
Carrying swastikas in suicidal obedience, to Hitler their savior.
I’m not trying to tempt your faith,
write about god write about man,
But when man believes he’s god,
Yeah! we’ve already lost the plan
And for that habitual poltergeist
that keeps messing up comments
Are you trying to tell me something
or just afraid of the open contents
By
David Kavanagh
A lapse of judgment, a tempest of rage;
A crazy obsession, to not be assuaged.
Aggression triggered by an avoidance of life;
Anger transmitted by internal strife.
A malignant cancer, that blankets the soul;
Aimless, directionless, irrational goals.
Misunderstandings, needs to be addressed,
Lives of conflict and bitter unrest.
Insecure souls in need of self-worth;
Struggling for survival, suffering our mirth.
Their life they try, to make better than ours;
Condemning and scorning - pretexts they avow.
Humility and shame, like the Princess Diane;
Never dominant, ne'er taking a stand.
Outwardly pure and spotlessly chaste;
Conceptual notions, theirs to erase.
Cruelty encapsulated, in the essence of trust;
Life without meaning, turns quickly to dust.
Seemingly gloating, over others' tribulations and fears,
Hearing only, what they want to hear.
Mounting insecurity, bespeaks a much graver flaw;
Poor ravaged souls, inwardly cowering in awe.
Seeking weaker, less emboldened spirits,
Targeting these with caustic, scathing, hurtful bullets.
Never fulfilling that, which is expected of them,
Intimacy cradled, like a sought-after gem.
Critical of yours, mine and theirs;
Withholding their praise and masking their cares.
Failure to do, anything you may ask;
Regularly taking, others to task.
Their possessions coveted, and always the best,
A play on the absurd, which we must never contest.
Fantasy mansions, constructed of sand,
Ill-fated platitudes, left on the lands.
Sins of conceit, and vain-obsessed pride,
Condemnation and censure, a lonely, forlorn, pitiful ride.
A curse worse, then even death itself,
Alone in a world, like a puppet on a shelf.
The incongruity sparkles, dirty diamonds in a drain,
With hackles rising, lips drawn back, in lemon peeling pain;
A psychodrama stage of sleight springboards the stupid head,
“I know,” she thinks, “I’m always right, I know that’s what he said.”
The egotism sponges as a leech ingesting blood,
The eyes are wide, the **** erect, the loins in moistened flood;
A stimulating shafting sort of sycophantic surge.
“His words are all about me now, he can’t control the urge.”
The craziness develops like a Polaroid of junk,
A dustbin lid, a bag of nails, a blue remembered funk;
A schizophrenic symptom in a druggy wrecked-up mind,
Ideas of reference screech, protesting honour is maligned.
The fantasy grows darker like a stain that slowly spreads
Upon the crotch she fumbles with, her fingers cold as lead;
In face of letting loose of grip please don’t forget to smile,
It’s only pretexts in the mind that bothered for a while.
I couldn't avert my gaze off the sublime sunset,
I was utterly dazzled by the magnanimous deed,
I could follow the artist's pastel-colored hands bet,
And mother's deep love, after she has relaid seed.
I was utterly dazzled by the magnanimous deed,
I dimly bar my eyes as I could feel tears stacking,
And mother's deep love, after she has relaid seed,
What has led people to be so prone to cracking?
I dimly bar my eyes as I could feel tears stacking,
We need to quit providing pretexts and chafe outside,
What has led people to be so prone to cracking?
Why don't we just cusp the call so no again sighed?
We need to quit providing pretexts and chafe outside,
Why are we so concerned around being alone?
Why don't we just cusp the call so no again sighed?
As we have forgotten our mother's beating tone.
Why are we so concerned around being alone?
She drew the sky each night as cogitation of you,
As we have forgotten our mother's beating tone,
May we always cherish Mother Nature's hues?
She drew the sky each night as cogitation of you,
I could follow the artist's pastel-colored hands bet,
May we always cherish Mother Nature's hues?
I Couldn't avert my gaze off the sublime sunset.
Written: July 08, 2022
So to say
To do more for the retain land, aliens can do everything
Dear, come let us weave a rope of Great Wall again
That would be able, to tie strong, enough, if you unite
Let it not be broke by aliens, showing ill will of colonizing us
How they come and simplified themselves
Arranging so, so pretexts, sea, land, forest claimed later, deceived
Now, dear, do much for better education for that you have much enough
Don't beguiled again, as our forefathers lost, believing enemies' play
Never believe, they blow their trumpets for their hay
Yesterday represented well in this matter being traitors
Trade was only excuse to seize the territory of plains of us
Guys, leave them, treat only well, let them come, and go for smooth sake
Matter of quarrel mixes with air as if children play day to day
Aliens seek, weakness to hit, beaware not to be fatigued again
Keep strong love and adoration between neighbor and race to race
Alert your friendship with other countries, they want to be head again.
4/28/2016
Deepak Chalise.
a multitude of pretexts
the foretaste
of argument:
premise explored
ignorance isolated
then
exchanged
for
understanding
Once a poet is done psychically with his or her craft
With the vernacular of his or her masterpieces
It’s the role of the readers to add mentally missing pieces
Parts, ideas, images, a few words and a sophisticated shaft
To mechanize, modernize or upgrade the messages
A poem is, of course, a piece of writing in process
It’s a bubbling melting pot, where many things are amiss
For many logical or purposeful reasons and for excuses
Which are existentially beyond the scope of countless texts
Poets are generally perplexed and write under pretenses or pretexts.
Copyright © March 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
You go down in the dry pool
foraging for the political errors,
irisprints, a certain desire of revolt,
any skeleton to identify the victim.
An awful claim, the accuser was becoming accused.
For namesake somebody was dying
unceremoniously for holding tuberculosis.
Dots did not help. Washed and dried curses
went into the background. There was a cease-fire
for sometime but the guns will start blazing
any day on fake pretexts.
The ending of pain or pain of ending begins.
The past was chasing, future uncertain, present
is ugly. Peahen likes the tail not the crown.
Peacock is on tree and on fire. Deflection
of sun marks the beginning of eclipse.
A word falls from a crossword puzzle, makes
a history. Death was in crucible, dualism
will survive. The long beard of a terrorist
becomes brown with age. The train is screeching
to halt. There was a landslide.
SATISH VERMA
As of the virgin voter robbed off her conscience
Freedoms of expression turned into a massacre...
Protestant chap spoke of the deed, how lame are
We the stereotypical "us", to turn protest a violent
Turmoil only inflicted and turns a tragedy for my
Daughter had been shot, Was it the prospectives
As buoyed by the hopes of a new era? Only now
Acknowledging vehement fingers pointing to all.
Clarity is of mine dilemma, the know how of her
Demise never cleared and held on the pretexts...
Prejudices ever spelt and the truths on accounts
Of vices that virtues of "Democracy" never crafted
Now just dancing in the dust, and that gardening
Spade got blunt with the digging... Assertions too
Claimed in streets as of five more dropped, sadly
We mourn and no recognition brought forth from...
Love in its majesty and spendour
Visits hearts kind and unkind
Waxing her odour and ardour
To help the love-lost to find
Little spaces, loving faces
Enamoured enough
To rise from surfaces
Where disappointment tough and rough
Lampoons discomfiture
Inflicted in the name
Of a culture whose stricture
Makes the lost lame
With heartbreaks
Torrents of tears
Ruing mistakes
Made as fears
Sprang on the lost the illusion
Baked in their soft centre
In reaction to the disaffection and delusion
That feelings may never enter
Into contests
Where the ruthless inflict maximum pain
Under pretexts
A go at love in the main
Signifies a journey on the back of futility
Backed up by contrary advice
Veering towards the volatility
Love tags along in every slice
Love snaps on suitors
Mad
Enough to pose as imitators
Of sad
Hearts that cried
Once smitten
To the core when they tried
To tame love forgotten
Into the dustbin of history
Replete with burnt fingers
Whose mixed blessing story
Singe many Cupid singers.
emphasized
distinguished
& scattered
spread out
pretexts
for
reflection
of
nowaday
notions
influenced
&
flavoured
with
humour
prompted
by
contemporary
critiques