Best Prologue Poems
The west winds of springtime
Brought forth April showers
That rained on the pavements
Of Southwick for hours.
It was standing room only
And full to the brim
As people sought shelter
At the old Tabard Inn.
A man with a top hat
Sat staring in space.
There was illness and sadness
Etched deep in his face.
A man with a fob watch
Was seen swapping gold
For a bottle of whisky
Before facing the cold.
A woman sighed deeply
Then laughed with a guest
While sipping tap water
And winning at chess.
There was no chef so no food
Since that dark violent day
When the innkeeper watched him
Being stretchered away.
So the sailor (being followed)
Missed having his tea,
And drank five pints of real ale
Before leaving for sea.
prologue's entry
it’s as ancient as
the salt missing
in the dead sea
it doesn’t hold
that essence
in its tears
it looks over
its dominion
the souls
kissing its feet
entry point
found in the cracks of
over zealous blowing
their self-righteousness
stood on
soap boxes
they know better
let them speak
watch them
war with each other
it swallows opines
it feeds
prologue’s entry
it never leaves
it watches
the eyes of others
windows open
virtuous with bravado
pushed to believe
only when they are on their knees
when the truth monster
struts in
shutters close
not so brave
to defend, to endure
what they speak
it thinks
it waits
Prologue's entry?
it never left,
it never sleeps
Prologue's entry
Entry's prologue
as above,
so below
it watches them
in mirrors
invisible,
yet seen
soon
to be believed
it reads them,
like the other
it knows
them all
soon
to be believed
"what's inside them?
is it made of strength?
unbreakable?"
like a Vampire
it will impress promises
seduce them with
safety in its arms
it felicitates its
kind of freedom
"what's inside them?
is it made of strength?
unbreakable?"
stood on their
soap boxes, towers
the same as rosaries
soon
to be believed
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Entry” / Lisa Gerrard
https://youtu.be/6n_oDTpIc6k
Dearest Vicar –
As a poet’s lines:
It is divinity proper!
Onions figure
In our everlasting divinings:
Her white ashes
Of our burn-fire
And the dew of dawn’s tears
Still coax the rainbow
To no avail
Her white ashes
Splashing wet-dusts of dark days:
Cocks crow in vain?
Written: April 22, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Whimsical whispers of spring wallow,
Awakening from nature's languid tingle.
You were maundering to strike back,
A euphonic kaleidoscope garden bloom.
Switching back won't suffice this time,
Changing seasons can't be tucked away.
In the depths of the spring warmth,
Embedded in the depths of your being.
Whispered by Equinox, an alias I once knew,
We are in a nexus by a motley thread.
In a world so bright, all else fades away,
I'll remain adorned in pristine periwinkle.
A frozen winter’s chill hangs in the air
Icy landscape under a cold clear blue sky
Frosty branches point skyward accusingly.
The cold brittle air catches in the throat
As if it is about to break in two as
Winter casts its frigid cape all around.
The golden leaves of autumn are now brown,
Crumpled underfoot, or turn to wet mush
Beneath the bare trees standing like sentinels.
What can break the spell of winters grasp?
What magic can turn the season around?
Or is it better now to hibernate?
As frosty air rises over the lakes,
February is such a cruel sad month,
The heart of winter, yet a prologue to Spring.
In memory of Sylvia Plath 1932 – 11 Feb 1963
O love! Tell them, the good men,
In your own old melodious tone:
Let’s again—Return to Nature.
Whatever little or large is left,
Let’s re-adorn her.
And if they won’t!
Let’s—You and I.
Hand-in-hand walk away of the city:
Biharis stay by the smelling slums;
Laid-off-addicts stand in long queues; or the clerics kiss the petty politicians on brows.
Where monsters: War-weopens, Jingoism, Globalization, Modernity, and Machines,
Have spread havoc!
And find our abode, there,
Near the breezy woods, in the calm country;
Where well! I can meditate,
And you’ll have all that childish fun…
Running after the flies, or fighting with the bucks,
Dancing in sultry summer’s bursting rain,
Or mimicking a singing bird.
(the poems is the introductory poem of my poetry collection "TELL THE OLD LADY WAIT AND OTHER POEMS")
The prologue.
Husband and wife, rooted in love,
Their peace envy of all,
Man a lion, woman a dove;
One in the hall,one outside the wall.
Decades they both swim in praise,
Till this day none can ever think,
When dove weeps and calls lion craze;
Right or wrong, none can find the link.
Then comes the crown of the town,
Who pets the two with balmy words:
Return to love and bring devil down,
Queens in rooms scold their royal Lords.
The path of love though sweet can also be cold,
Lend us your ears and enjoy the oxymoron of love;
This is the delicious dish we are about to serve:
Husbands are in heaven whose wives never scold .
User’s name : Kayod5.
Contest : Husbands are in heaven whose wives scold not.
Sponsor : Dr. Ram.
Dead Man’s Prologue
Apologies I can’t be with you all,
I was un-expectantly called away.
Without prior notice or warning,
Urgent meeting with overnight stay.
Thank you for a marvelous turn out,
Deeply honoured, feeling so proud.
Enjoy my life in raucous celebration,
Remembrance of joy, happy crowd.
Surprisingly I made it to Heaven,
To be honest, It’s not bad up here.
We have Wi-Fi and all mod cons,
Even a fridge stocked with cold beer.
Time now to end this broadcast,
Losing connection dear family & friends.
So grateful for the times we shared,
Goodbye now as my mortal life ends.
Allow me to share with you a different view of the world,
A view which was new to me only a year ago,
I was given the sight by an old school friend,
A man I hadn’t seen since we were both boys.
He appeared to be at least ten years my senior,
Despite the fact we were in the same class,
His clothes were crumpled and loose,
And his sunglasses did not leave his face.
We briefly met one wild autumn evening,
He never shook my hand,
But gave an exhausted smile,
And joined me for a drink.
He seemed to speak for endless hours,
Tales about his recent past,
Tales unbelievable,
About the things he’d come to see.
And then he simply walked out the door,
Barely an hour had passed,
But somewhere in that meeting,
He passed his skill to me.
A man I knew once,
A man I knew as friend.
Within his indenture he turned on us,
Fed up, we no longer could contend.
A man who asked so much from us,
Our support, so little we lend.
We weren’t there when he called on us,
We weren’t there to help him mend.
Left with guilt as vile as puss,
For we were negligent and dilatory in his sickened end.
04/20/13
Once upon an age of science,
People had illness in their mind.
They act everything bad of kind,
And got broken whole reliance.
Full of doubt and anger and sorrow,
Lots of people lost their peace.
Age seemed retaining without cease,
And most people felt hopeless in tomorrow.
When darkness increased in human mind,
A specialist-team appeared in confusion,
Who called themselves 'the Mindtravellers'.
They fixed damages by traveling in mind,
But people never knew how they did solution,
One thing was clear, they were Mindtravellers.
Prologue
Preliminary jazzy melodies bestow the ambiance,
Rustic, sophisticated, out to impress.
Eyes investigate thoroughly with probing curiosity,
The newly found treasure is now being appraised.
Every remark scrutinized for first impression,
Nervousness generates levels of intimidation.
The air encompasses overstated dialogue,
Intensions to impress with prosperity.
Overstated boastful conversations ,
Upsurge of uncertainty conceals itself.
Signs of contempt saturate the Bistro.
The tap in my mind incessantly drips
Some fresh words which spill on to the paper.
From my quiet repose, an idea slips
And, taking shape, it begins to taper
Into lines of verse, a comforting sound
Suffusing the mind. It hurries along
With rhythm and rhyme, within and around
The place in daily life where thoughts belong.
They nestle warmly in comfort and peace,
Ideas growing into varied verse
Whose words will bring a poetic release;
Then in a breath, they begin to disperse.
I cherish the gift so clearly defined,
Expressing in words the thoughts of the mind.
I met a bum named William. I sit with him today. We're on the corner of Quincy and a street called McKay. He'd been there for some years now and no that's not OK. He wears a tear stained shirt and on some trash he lays. His pants are dirty and faded, and his socks ripped yesterday. His teeth are awfully brown and they're starting to decay. His hair used to be bronze now it's slowly turning grey.
Suddenly I heard him say, hopefully I will make it to see another day. I felt so sorry for him so I asked him if I may, take him to get some dinner and he said that would be OK. We went to Mammas diner and he looked down at his plate. Folded his dirty wrinkled hands and then began to pray. After grace he looked at me and said his thanks. As he started eating he began to explain his whole life story and what got him here today.
Stillness
sheathed my need,
a gentle sheen
glistened your chest,
and my hands
yearned to reach
sliding my fingers
over your length.
But you beat me
with strokes on
the embonpoint,
tracing my navel
with the tips,
brushing my thighs
with your lips.
A rise of emotion
embodied my fervor
and flowed to surge,
as my mouth dried
limbs began to shake
this was the beginning
of a body quake
An arrow of want
pierced my inner core
I bowed in union,
riding its shaft
I slid into euphoria
with a gentle lift
And all this
was a preamble
the body of its story
has yet to come.