Best Pronouncement Poems
About That Certain Thing Called Nonsense
Nonsense is that certain symbolic communication form
that oft pervades our human space with its absurdity!
All of us from time-to-time have had to deal with some
people who revel and rave in it to provoke a response.
Making sense and communicating in an intelligent fashion,
reflects a spirit of human decency that’s so needed at times.
“Nonsense!” used as an exclamatory pronouncement inheres
a necessary tone of disagreement to stop boorish behavior.
“Nonsense” in a whimsical use can tickle one’s funny bone,
whilst creating, at times, a much-needed spirit of amusement!
And so, “Nonsense” as part of our grand human condition,
may not be all bad, except when some choose to be naughty!
Nonsense is an important part of life because it brings us to
a certain view, which should be of no surprise: C’est la vie!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
December 9, 2018 (Couplet)
You think that security belongs to you
Because you have done all you need to do
You think that wisdom belongs to a few
Because the rest of us are fools
You think that the solution to your problem
Lies in a bomb or bullet
But can the stomach act alone without the directions of the gullet?
You think that I am your enemy
Because I criticise you
But it is not about you
It is the things that you do
One day the shepherd will not tend to his sheep
Because he will be fast asleep
One day the soldier will not know how to fight
Because he underestimated his enemies' might
One day your bombs will fail to explode
Even though you try to reload
And my words today may sound like a mad man ranting
But tomorrow you will be the one running and panting
Lord High Executioner who determine the fate of men
With the pronouncement that he makes with the stroke of his pen
But has no power over his own fate
For you have sowed venom in the hearts of men
And pretend that you did not orchestrate
Their end
Alone in the night gazing at the beauty
of a celestial masterpiece yet untouched by the cover of cloud,
an unrelenting silence is interrupted by the insistent ticking
of an old grandfather clock in the parlor.
A candle with a dual wick,
rests upon a table made of knotty pine
roughly chiseled to add a rustic touch;
providing my only light,
intensifies a floor of polished oak.
I sit watching shadows flicker across plaster walls;
mimic eerie phantoms slithering throughout the room
refusing to take recognizable shape, cause unwanted distraction.
The work before me suffers, in stark contrast,
pitifully begs text be laid to cover the nudity of the page before me.
The accomplishments of my life pale in contrast what keeps me awake this night;
the plight of a nation will rest on the passion of my words,
my friends and patriots rely on a text
that will take them from anarchy, to democracy.
Shadows appearing to take shape play tricks upon my vision,
reveal a sight resembling a picture of a united
uniformly defined crowd, cheering and waving as one voice,
one sound.
Suddenly, it becomes clear, the page before me fills with pronouncement,
my chest swells with pride, what is written this night becomes page after page,
until finally,
to carry a nation desiring riddance,
a Declaration Of Independence.
The original draft of the Declaration was written by Thomas Jefferson from 11 June 1776 to
28 June 1776. It was finalized and approved by the Congress and printed on the evening of
July 4th.
The original document was signed by only John Hancock as President of the Congress and
Charles Thompson, as the Secretary of the Congress. Other signatories were added
beginning in August and weren't completed for several months.
My heart sings on this lazy summer night at the amazing beauty of the
moonlight illuminating the Chesapeake Bay,
making a solemn pronouncement of it to be magical and mystical.
From the comfort of my screened porch, I am at ease in my padded chase
watching this magnificent adoration between the moon and
the Chesapeake Bay.
But I am not alone in my empirical study of the admiration between
the moon and the bay.
For the beauty of the two fathers moods.
The fireflies move swiftly through the night winking their approval.
So encourage by the magic, a Loon calls out to his mate to come sit
beside him to share in this spellbinding view.
The frogs croak out a sonata to help define the moment.
Happy for the moonlight the populace of fishes nibbles at the bugs
that surf the surface.
The age old owl sits on a limb to mesmerize to realize that he missed
the meal of a small country mouse who scurried by.
My skin is a glittering onyx under the moonglow, and my hair, thick as
the Congo jungle is dampened by the misty and salty breeze that is sent
my way from the bay.
There is nothing so exquisite and provocative as the moonlight and the Chesapeake Bay.
In the envelopment of sweet tranquility, I fell into a daydream.
copyright 2017 Looking At The Light From The Bottom Of The Lake
.
The shake of her digits
as the she
with palm up high
gazed at I
knowing all the while
mine reflection
was wild
The pane betwixt us
thick as ice
as the he
over her shoulder
intently with nervous
did construed why
His beam from
beginning to end
did declare pronouncement
not with lips
yet with eyes
good-bye :}
You indicated I don’t listen.
I respectfully disagree.
I hear you.
I just don’t like what you have to say.
Pretending to ignore you takes tremendous effort.
Quick to dismiss
that which emanates from a source
other than your own lips –
and it’s not like you’re the only one who likes to hear himself talk.
Trying to sleep
never should be undertaken.
That’s why we fall asleep.
There’s no effort.
Fall’s inevitable.
There’s a season for everything.
But this one’s
short lived
and seemingly doesn’t come as often as it used to
before global warming and other major concerns
evidently.
… thinking about our earlier discussion
makes me wish I lacked lips
and that the cliché about going in
one ear and out the other was more
literal than figurative.
I figure eventually this noise will
QUIET DOWN!
so that trying morphs
to falling
and dreamless sleep supplants
the constant drone of something
terribly wrong.
Panic attacks that
neverend
or seemingly seem so
prior to this pillow talk –
a case for a better
container:
containment is key.
It turns out
that my point of entry
always my biggest nightmare.
Big is such a small word.
I wish it was more attentive
of its status as an anomaly –
just a monosyllabic
monstrosity of awfulness.
B-I-G
A word so tiny
even toddlers
master its annunciation.
BIG!
From that which is so small.
If I said I forgave you
it would be nothing but a lie
but you would not apologize
anyway.
So all this talk is trash.
Be the big one.
Say you’re sorry.
Just refuse for another
Pronouncement
of lackluster
underachievement.
My comfort zone.
I’m sorry.
Yet again.
Please stand by for this important announcement
Of news you’ll most assuredly not want to miss
A newsworthy, earth-shaking pronouncement
More startling than your first unexpected kiss.
Your favorite television program is interrupted
Just when you’re about to watch Final Jeopardy,
You’d think the U.S. government was bankrupted
By the sound of the announcer’s anxious perfidy.
Instead, there’s a tennis player who’s deported
From Australia, his name you never heard before
Seems his lack of a vaccine he too openly sported
Forever, hereafter, he’ll never again be obscure.
All you wanted to know was who won Jeopardy
You had waited all day long for today’s show,
For you faithfully watch your program daily
To see the champion trivia winner’s earnings grow.
written January 18, 2022
Tryouts starring musical prodigies
and/or an attendant conductor
attempt to approach ambient chorus
divinely exhibited from Gaia's handiwork
heavenly invoking kapellmeister's magnificent nonchalant outlook
piquantly, quintessentially, repertoire sensately striking
unmatched vast wisdom yielding, zephyr air albeit creativity
engineered from groundswell harmony
juxtaposed, kindled, linkedin,
manifesting noteworthy opulent philharmonic recording
transcribing universal veritable webbed wide world.
Wunderkinds yield Ziggurat acme approximated asymptote
bequeathing celestial Doppelganger Earthly emulations
formulating fractal glinting highlighting
ineffable joie de vivre jostling, keen kindling,
la la land legerdemain lifting logic
lording Ludwig (Josef Johann) Wittgenstein.
?
Yelping zoological apostle Al affidavit Gore handily
heaping hubristically invocation jolting kickstart measures
nipping nixed noblesse oblige opera
quickening quotidian rapid ruination sans supreme
teetering upended venerated wise with acumen
arithmetical Benoit Mandelbrot
chasing far-fetched ideas
lightyears menacing nihilism purging ogres opportunistically
resplendently ripping revered tankard tipping unstoppably
vanquishing varietal whipsawing wonderful wrapt yawning youngsters
warfare written wrought yanking zestfully crushing environmental family
granting Herculean instant karma
malevolent, opprobrious pronouncement
quiet riot silencing severely tragic ubiquitous vicious wreckage
yikyaks apemen cleft Earth.
*************************************************
Future foragers denounce capitalistic bamboozlers aggression
zealots wrought trashing quintessential naked kingdoms issue
flotsam coagulates zonal wastelands torquing quality NON
killing habitats Earth bleached yellowed voodoo ruins.
Form:
My Hero my Pride
Love is natural just like hatred, Heart of compassion not in every one. The sense of thinking right not just a gift, but a deliberate act of over looking weaknesses of others. Accepting others to be part of us, an act done by many. Treating them like our very own, an act done by few. My Hero my pride.
Emotions! Most time misleading. Giving them up for a better focus though painful, a sure way forward. Success not for everyone even thus desired by all; Sacrifice given in exchange. Facing reality against odds and even, the heart of a hero. Clothed by fantasies in desires met by pronouncement; A Reason for better aspiration than the source. Success guaranteed the reason for our gathering! My mentor! My heart desire! My strength! My hero! My pride.
A sudden stop, the engines shut
As folks glance up from reading.
Some shrug, some cluck and others (me!)
Have faces pinched and pleading.
A minute passes, maybe two,
But then there’s an announcement:
“A passenger is sick, so we
Are stuck,” is the pronouncement.
I take a breath and try my best
To read my magazine
And block the fact I’m in a tunnel,
Trapped and in-between.
Beside me is a six year old,
His first time on a train,
With unrelenting questions
Which could drive a soul insane.
His presence is a godsend, though,
A wonderful distraction,
Allowing me to settle down
And fake a calm reaction.
At last, the motor rumbles on
And life is back on track,
Preventing what I dreaded –
An anxiety attack.
I wonder, though, about the rider
Whom they said was sick;
My heart’s still drumming
But that guy’s recovery was quick!
Anyways, this fella an’ me, we were on a rhyme-spree.
“Bob, ” I asked, “to what now do you aspire?”
To which he replied, in a drawl slow as a wet week,
”A spire? A place no man can dwell”.
This was going to be a long ride, I could tell.
“No, Bob,” said I, wanting to make myself quite clear,
“what I mean to say is: where do you go from here? And
Not just in the geographical sense,
Though in that I have an interest as well.”
To which he replied most cryptically
“Interest compounds! Fate confounds!”
- a pronouncement with which I could not argue.
Not understanding its import in the least,
I just nodded as if to concur with this profundity
and once again ventured to elicit
an intelligible response to my enquiry, to wit:
what it was indeed that drove him onwards.
“What I mean to ask, Bob,
What it is I am seeking
Is simply to know where it is
You’re intending to go from here?”
To which he replied quite stridently
“I ain’t goin’ anywheres that I know of,
But you are surely welcome to string along.”
At this point I could not but help from thinking
That he was thinking this was a song.
“That I would very much like to do, Bob,
“And try to be good company.”
Straightaway I regretted my presumption
That I could be a welcomed
traveling companion of his.
“There’s no good company anymore,” he opined,
Pressing hard down on the throttle,
“we passed the last one way back a-piece –
Now kindly do pass me that bottle.”
Because freedom of choice has emancipated our civil liberties
Love of life has been silenced
Because freedom of choice has emancipated our fist of selfishness
Love of self has been mindless.
From the shores of the Atlantic
To the shores of the Pacific
Rain dampened sand is imprinted
Flesh torn phlebotomy flows ashore
Staining our consciousness...deviating our vision.
Perforated firmament leaks cloudless affection
Our very pores reap the seeping of star cries
Altering our perception
Accusing our sight
And creation continues.
Pride swells the size of light
Law becomes impious
Freedom lauds subjection
As society unveils a bandaged wound prematurely.
The reoccurring frenzy of deranged personal attachment
The cause of our detachment...
That night I had slept peacefully,
no repeating of the nightmare of a few nights before.
In my dream I had heard a voice.
The voice was loud and clear.
“Clifford Olson is dead.”
There was no repetition, no explanation,
only my son’s name and the stark pronouncement.
I fought out of the terror, to wakefulness.
The realization that I had been dreaming
slowed my racing heart but
did not dim the horror.
Throughout that day and a few days to follow,
the voice followed, repeating the phrase,
over and over.
I had spoken to my son.
He was fine.
The voice still rang in my ears.
That night I had slept peacefully.
Then a voice again.
This time it was soft, sweet and sorrowful,
my daughter’s voice.
“Mama, Mama wake up.”
By: Joyce Johnson Won first place
For Constance~ A Rambling Poet contest, "Create Your Own Form, Maybe?
sigh.
what can I say I haven't said before?
what ingenious pronouncement of metaphor?
the sighs of my life
keep knocking at the door
I want to be drunk with poems
that commit suicide,
honour the
person I used to be
sighing
with the apple's first bite,
blushing red
ripely picked off the summer tree
when the heron waded,
quietly stalking his anticipation
and the egret flew
white-feathered with snow,
the carp bobbing for insects
when the world was still green
with Eve
but it is morning
and the morning arrives with tears
you leave
and your touch escapes these memories traced
like signs on my back,
and all I have are these hands busy
with something to do,
and all I hold is this wanting you.
Form:
The earth speaks of your discerning and stern glory:
Speaking the language human couldn't comprehend:
The wind telling the leafs to go on pilgrimage,
The leafs in turn taking picnic on the tried earth.
The waves flee at the pronouncement of your great name:
even that name that breaks through every generations.
Like the calf does everest flee at your presence,
Afraid of the entourages preceeding you.
The wind howl at your order speaking through his nose.
All nature tells the beauty of your holiness.
Fishes,trees,ridges,reefs,sheol and the pompous sea.
All adhere to the laws of your soveriegnty.
Say along with me,all breath,my Yahweh's praises.
18:01:02:14:22