Best Proliferating Poems
Questions are proliferating,
people search for answers
in old pants pockets
in long discarded purses.
The scampering feet of baby philosophers
can be heard from the moon.
The media is stymied, they are manipulating,
confiscating and hiding behind the backs
of massively overgrown ballers,
willy-nilly they scribble an alternative reality
upon indoor swimming pools.
The manic mayhem of our daily grind
is wearing our hair thin,
Somebody should take control of the truth,
but it keeps dodging questions
and slamming doors behind it.
Mark my words with invisible ink,
scratch a cat behind its ears,
somersault all you like
but we are all getting overrun
by imperfect pontifications
by the indecent Doctors of spin.
and all this endless self-questioning
keeps replying over and over again
but only in unbreakable code.
Written July 05, 2025
*************
I am anchored when I am a garnet,
The mineral topaz when I shine.
A midnight fantasy of moonstone,
This precious gem's spirit is mine.
Emerald ideas are proliferating,
Within the gardens of my brain.
As opalescent moods still fluctuate,
With indeterminate strain.
I illuminate, akin to a glass prism,
When elation continues to rise.
A Sapphire flame symbolizes justice,
Increasingly irritates my eyes.
When shadows start to thicken,
I don the obsidian stones' grace.
And allow the illumination of jasper,
Restore equilibrium in my living space.
Each diamond carries a whisper,
A truth that I have been able to flow—
This even caused fractures in the facets.
Still catching the dawn glow.
I evolved from stardust,
With spiral galaxies to approve.
Should you perceive that sparkle—
You are stardust, companion, and groove.
Corals
erubescent, effervescent
proliferating, enticing, embellishing
Acropora, Montipora, Isanthus, Actinia
tickling, electrifying, jolting
grotesque, virulent
Anemones
19 August 2022
Dazzling Dizzy Diamante Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
1st place
Prevarication permits pretend perception, presenting
piquantly piqued, pimply pimping playboy, plucky
pulchritudinous previously pusillanimous, prevalently
puckish, psychic packman, pokemon playing proletarian
puppeteer pygmy, peevishly punky, plummy, plumy,
pompously pushy, pampered, prefabricated pinchbeck,
pokily plying plowshear, plodding peregrination, pied
piper pitifully peppy pornographic potato pealing,
parsimonious paradoxical protagonist, proposing
preposterous panicky pacification plots, prioritization
pertinent penultimate peroration, perhaps perceiving
perjuring, perplexing, perverting puzzling pronouncements
projecting pulsating pixelated pulpy pinball pinging
packets prompting pacific, poetic, phlegmatic purplish
psoriasis plagued, plumbum pallor pallid, Paleolithic
protuberance pronounced, psychosomatic prohibitionist,
polarizing perfunctory peculiarly progressive, patriotic
postmodern pathologically proud paternal panache,
peripatetic panaceas portraying prescient perfidious
puerile president, predominantly proposing parochial
principles, plenty public parking, purposefully
promoting pharisee phalanxes, pilates practicing
paragons, perennially peaceably proficient protesters,
profitable polygamy, pugnacious pitbull powerball
players, pandering polyandry, propagating professional
palindrome pensive peeping people, peddling,
proselytizing predicating prostitution, proliferating
phenomenally, populist persona promulgated peyote
phased physicians pioneering prescription promoting
paradisiacal pricey photographic pictures, placating
phrenetic physical perturbation partaking place
purchased (paid paltry pennies) por palatial piazza.
Persuasion's possessive verses
'midst absolute poetic madness
surrendered in rhapsodic poesy,
poets are a tidy sum of quirky &
care zilch of external perceptions,
content to breathe 'round seduction
and unicorns' phantasmagoria
insomuch nonsense amid candor,
directionless winds 'neath allegory
'pon posies and dragon's intimation
twisting mundane to vibrant intrigue,
translations representing prism's
kaleidoscopic colorful impressions
and themes of whimsies' schematics,
transparency & transcendence yielded
'neath abstraction's elaborations,
refining & expounding unspoken lyrical
compositions of a fancied expose
commencing communed communication,
redundancies' excesses never take recess
panoramic hues of conceptualizations' foibles
reverberating gusto of paradoxical aberrations,
chromatic visuals swaying eye's sensory perspective
distorting brain synapses proliferating alterations,
dancing 'tween fiery moonbows & dandelion whims
'pon emotions flabbergasted mid-starry night folly,
prancing within rain's whetted infidelity of sunrises
hanging amongst cosmoses' effulgent constellations,
feet never planted firmly in earthy burnt umber
viewing worldly horizons differently upside zest's zing
of inky relished sublimation and shifting symmetry - -
and we make naught apologies for imperfect paragons
World Assimilators
More and more to our suburban sprawl
Proliferating roads with rush hour crawl.
Crush of humanity completely unfurled
Replacing an irretrievable natural world
Along with farm lands never more tilled
Buried by progress that’s never fulfilled.
Identical houses lined up in many plots
On biologically sterilized landscape lots.
Residers never happy with their things,
Joneses always having the latest bling.
We look in wrong quarters for invaders
Thinking foreign, possibly alien raiders,
Imaging assimilation coming from afar,
Blind to how much like the Borg we are.
A TAXPAYER SPEAKS
Years ago when filing tax forms reared its proliferating death’s head
I cursed, perspired, and thought about moving to a foreign homestead
As a low-income taxpayer I felt too unimportant to hire an accountant
So I filed and filed for years, at all times a very incompetent combatant
Penalties-plus-interest plagued me and I could not raise a skilled defense
Prolonged tax failures destroyed my sense of self-confidence
It was past time to explore options to end to all this tax nonsense
Waking to a new day I jumped out of bed at the crack of dawn
And scoured the yellow pages for a tax advocate to call upon
After detailing my sad tax history they agreed to take my case head-on
My tax life was now covered by tax experts with knowledge and brawn
My “Tax-Saviors” wasted no time plunging into battle early-on
Past tax filings were messy, chaotic, confusing and jumbled
Yet they contended, defended, persevered and never crumbled.
I have learned that tax advocate giants who defend vulnerable taxpayers
Give Tax Dictators headaches for they are tougher and tenacious tax players .
A tribute is due these Tax Defenders who aid us so nobly
And recalling the moving inscription on our Statue of Liberty
(An Emma Lazarus 1883 poem composed in New York City)
My tribute follows and is submitted very humbly
(please forgive the “re-phrasing” substituted for clarity):
Give us your tired, your poor, your tax-ignorant masses,
Yearning to breathe free who have no one to file their taxes
Oh, send these huddled and tortured masses,
(Who feel so inept and like derisory asses)
To Tax Saviors who lay waste to all kinds of tax matters
Rescuing taxpayers dwelling in indecision and tax-law tatters
These Tax-Saviors welcome all with an open-door policy
And any taxpayer who makes the journey
Will at last enjoy fear-free tax filing yearly.”
(However, new tax laws are being drafted by devious Tax Dictators
Who derive joy from harassing captive taxpaying participators!)
She stands on top of the defeated bridge
watching glittering faces speeding down the broken line
Fast moving traffic competing in dangerous races
staring vaguely at the damaged sky.
Sublime faces that once stood the test of time
watch the shady moments ushered by and an audacious chapter
slowly creeps in disrupting the city and everything within.
Reality is finally sinking in, once amused but now confused
the anxious hour has just began proliferating entangled hope
And passion wets the appetite of an uneasy sight.
They are scrambling around for answers but there are no answers
I listened to them singing songs,something terrible must have gone wrong
So they walked by without making a heartfelt cry
Faces that don't know where they belong washed upon the shores
Faces as young as three days old looking at the forgotten sky
and seeking a way to get by.
Faces warped up in silence staring from a distant
manipulating its own laughter
Historical faces dries up with tears
reminiscing and telling tales of age old legend
Empty street
Empty land
Empty house
Empty man.
Slender saplings sprout from sub-soil abode slowly
Tremble gently in the wake of the embracing breeze
Proliferating branches flutter like verdant wings wily
The forest flaunts the treasure of the towering trees.
Nascent leaves look up with promise to the rising sun
Draping them with patina of new exuberance rising high
For the lofty trees the sprawling luxuriant life has begun
As the lively forest raises the copious canopy to the sky.
Submerged in the turbulent sea of the maddening crowd
I perceive an emerald island emerge within lonesome me
Displacing the sound stratum of confused cacophony loud
Unattached from the anchored mind I make myself free.
In the precinct of pristine forest’s expanse I then wander
As the ascending sun bursts with colors on calm canopy
The golden beams brush the leaves with spectral splendor
In the tranquil depth of silence I’m suffused with serenity.
In the whispering wind the beguiled boughs gently quiver
Make the mystique motif with lattice of light and shade
To me the essence of ecstasy the foliage offers forever
Telling me to hold on to it until the twilight gleam fades.
An upright tree of life growing up high I aspire to be
Trying to catch the floating dreams in the drifting cloud
I hear the trees tell me make strong roots to stand firmly
Or else in strife of surging storm uprooted I’ll fall bowed.
From the cool cradle of copse I’ve a long way to carry me
With the forlorn life across the amber landscape fallow
The trees tell me to create the benign shade of empathy
In the thicket of my heart resplendent with divine halo.
___________________
May 17, 2022
Contest : Wisdom From Trees
Sponsored by : Anoucheka Gangabissoon
You was lying on the ground.
I stepped on you without thinking…
Didn’t see you but I felt the swelling beneath my feet.
You had no value nor importance I thought.
You blocked the way, my mind accentuated.
Few steps forward then I thought of you again.
Unintentionally my hands stretched out for you.
It was so dark my near sight blurred.
With an unexplainable number of heavy breaths.
I grabbed hold of you with my sweaty palms.
Without knowing what you are…
Satisfaction was quenched.
For I felt a need for something inside my hands.
Tossed you in and out, up and down.
Moving with a proliferating velocity…
I tripped, I fell…
While you was floating free in the air.
I dropped you, it was mistake.
Didn’t know if you was here or there.
To find you, I had to do whatever it takes.
Few minutes placed sentimental value on you.
I wasn’t going to dust myself and leave you there.
Frustrations ran circles through my mind…
They got the better of me within seconds.
I searched for you for some time…
In darkness, it was a losing battle.
Defeat thoughts ran through my whole body.
I became lonely within that moment.
I had lost my newly found enjoyment.
It became clear,
I had to accept defeat.
A journey without you, I had to travel.
For you had returned to your shady gravel.
My eyes slowly became teary.
Surely I was becoming weary.
Disappointed I wasn’t going to hold you again.
I felt sorry for myself.
I looked down the dark lonely road ahead.
With imagination figures looking in from a distance.
It felt like I was losing my balance.
Wave of sudden reality hit me…
I was like you, I felt like you.
I could pick another, but it wasn’t going to be you.
I greatly pined for you.
Darkness brightened, I became empty inside.
I was a cast out stone all alone aside.
During election and after, buzzwords loud and clear, brags loud and clear,
the motherer lumps all milestone feats into his merits sphere,
as if to the national pantheon he had already drawn near.
Still one declarable thing we never hear: his tax sheets of every past year, the wrappings of all his enormities that would cost U.S. dear.
Financial duty in arrear, functional duty in arrear, still flourishing his racketeering career.
Necropolis for nation's needs, necropolis for ecumenic creeds,
what holds true of the campaign he leads? Cradle for criminal lawyers of top seeds.
Professional golf-putter grabber by day, senior girl's pussy grabber by night,also, from time to time he has fake news to fight.
State affairs? Simply slither along the way he haphazardly flies a kite.
Major resources his family hold, quite some key positions his myrmidons hold,
checks and balances dim, nepotism and cronyism bold.
Never mind materials about his turpitude in foreign agencies' hold,
'cause all these just left many in a position cold.
America's values and virtues, to him, nothing but a strumpet,
he sets out to strip it and dump it----neither like it nor lump it----
while bombastically blowing his blatant "MAGA" trumpet.
Life commodities dwindle sheer, feelings of safety disappear,
proliferating are gun gears and campus fear.
Horrible? No! No control measures take effect under his deaf ear.
With obscurantism in compliance, with demagogism in compliance. To literature and science ? His defiance.
With racism in compliance, with sexism in compliance. To irenics and euthenics? His defiance.
REWORKED 27 OCT 2017
I'm sorry I'm reposting this, I had to rework it for better meaning continuity and flow of speech.
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Time pulls life by its hand
and she's gliding along,
to see, to sense to enjoy,
proliferates with pride,
but..... it's waning too,
breadth after breadth spent.
Doesn't know, time doesn't tell her
it's being ebb away,
cheats on young life's careless richness,
don't t feel time an enemy.
Young minds don't know what's
thirty, forty,fifty years,
they go along, they have plenty to spend.
As life is waning, lessens, feels lighter,
and counts her breadths fewer.
Humbled then, pulls her hand,
but the grasp is tight, it's late.
Time, is dragging her now,
time and life are one, it's nature's destiny.
The mountains and the seas,
the sun and the stars sent time away,
life didn't learn it, nor curing wane.
Nature faulted on life,
created her bittersweet.
Thieves, time and demising death,
you're stealing our things,
our inner worlds,
switching existence to nothing.
We are life, only life,
that's all we're, life, nothing else.
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PREVIOUS VERSION
Time pulls life by its hand and she's gliding along,
to see, to sense to enjoy,
doesn't tell her, her being ebb away, breadth after breadth.
Young life has time to spend, young mind don't know
what's twenty, thirty, fifty years, doesn't feel time an enemy.
It's proliferating, while it's waning, breadth after breadth spent,
lessens, feels lighter, and counts her breadths fewer.
Humbled then, pulls her hand, but the grasp is tight, too late.
Time, is dragging her now, time and life are one,
it's nature's destiny.
We are life, only life, that's all we're, life,
nothing else.
The mountains and the seas, the sun and the stars sent time away,
but life didn't learn how,
or how to cure waning.
Nature faulted on life, created her bittersweet.
Thieves time and demise,
you're stealing our things, our inner worlds,
switching existence to nothing.
A wife in each tent
My hearth a tenement
Fecund grove lofty sentiment
Cultivating each manicured accoutrement
Family tree planted in oasis of wine
Fertile sprouts a fruitful sign
Pristine shoots pure genetic thread to enshrine
Concubines to further seed family line
Pods proliferating in an ocean of brine
Hybrid progeny status will assign
Grafted branches of patriarchal vine
Strong arm, domesticated wings to align
Sinewy twine to encumber free-flowing bine
Poetry,
An amusing grace that better
the spirit of the poet.
Poetry,
Like boundless world,
Amazes hearts and spirits.
No course have ever been so faithful
than the course of being a poet.
Tiring winds to catch
And soil to merge
Has always
Risen my wit for pen.
My mother earth
And her environs
Are proliferating notes
I behold.
Persistence urge
To have a say
Is one instinct
To my ventilated breath.
The feelings
To remain immortal
And have impact
is another laudable loam.
Sincerely speaking,
poetry
has been my chime.
It stays by me
in the rain and in an odd dying state.
Poetry has won me many glory
It is still winning me some more.
Countless exalted barter
and consistent standing ovation.
What's more to say of poetry
Little will one wonder.
Well, it has become
My gem,
My sword,
My song
and my soul.
WordScape Triptych #1
Coming from the Underworld as a ghost, just sauntering out of the depths like you did;
With all the rest of us just watching and wondering what you were going to say;
Tell us young Beatrice what shavings you encountered in your intrepid sojourns;
Regale us with splendid tales, and grand dishes with squid meat and fried barnacles;
Intrigue us with your newly-learned dances taught by dead men beneath the grasses.
Manipulate us with your pouting grimaces when sad phrases turn inward the head screws;
Sweet Beatrice, there is no relief or recourse from these exacting heart exercises;
These time-stopping surrenders to the moist touches of absolute skin arousals.
Please lovely Dulcinea, guide us to the far-away stones piled atop the ancient green expanses;
Where screaming armies once pondered mortality amidst the spreading proliferating weeds;
Soothe us with your tender eye gazes which shoot through the airy spaces with calm affinities;
Made immaculate with silent prayers and lifted legs around the shoulders of the nobilities.
Create us for your strange mansions and your strange universes made of chalk, and fingering fears;
These soothing squanderings of doubting time, and the strange splashings of forgetful mercies,
Made manifest with the urgings of the stones, and the apex gods with the sharp plastic crowns;
Please Dulcinea, sing to us with your tenor gyrations made of pickled stardust and squid meat.
And proffer for us, sweet sweet Laura, your lilting songs celebrating the recurring exhalations;
From the lips of bearded nomads coming like leopards across the squared-faced, death vistas;
Expose to us your battle-scarred appendages where bleeding arrows found the stringed lattices;
Reveal to us your arched spinal bridges which flatten and turn with the seeking wind shears;
Gather us, lovely Laura, to your immense home hidden in the spiral ferns for tea and secret games;
Teach us how to be present and aware of the artifices, as rendered woodenly by the blind gropers;
Yes, sweet sweet Laura, we are at your service, but finally, kill us, destroy and annihilate us,
With your slithering clandestine movements behind dripping tombstones in the snoring graveyards.