Best Puissant Poems
The mighty dragons which came
roaring on that fateful night
took great pride in disintegrating
everything in their sight
Nothing was left that was not
scorched by their flame
although to the fire-breathing
dragons it was all but a game
No trees were left standing
and nay grasses retained green
it took three and a half years
for the streets to scrub clean
There was no building that
wasn't burnt to an absolute crisp
The laughing dragons noted down
another wondrous trip
All the churches did indeed receive
three hundred and thirty-three degrees
The poor clergymen were seen praying
whilst fallen down upon their knees
As the puissant dragons kept up their
ferocious attack, some pastors were heard
screaming for the good lord to come back
When the libraries burned down
it was such a terrible loss for the town
as the most intelligent of the peoples
were nowhere to be found
Then all the pubs and neon clubs were ravaged and wrecked
The fire-breathing dragons just said, "We don't give a feck."
"The Fresh Blooding of a Sexton Grin"
Guns ...
are for p*ssies
you know, short for
pussilanimous plural
Words …
are sharper
more cutting
more lethal
clean
concise
quill slicing the lucid flow
you can taste the blood
as you turn them
twist them further in
with valour
war cry bitten
you drive them deeper in
you unsheathe love
as a hard win,
victorious, won
ink blooms
potent power from
your stellar wounds
darkened roads
shining home
lux vitae dei vox
Home ...
morning star
quod scripsi scripsi
turns the light on
to birth puissant
in the majestic
seat of third eye
commanding
the truest titulus
initials glowing
arriving on cloudy tomes
perilously igniting
new fiery caims
swallowing
ouroboros tales
hear the battle cry
you were built
to withstand the fall
to more mighty again rise
the gauntlet
now well
and truly thrown
something
more darkly formidable
than shady insult sown
sink your new teeth in
fresh biting warrior
I christen you Boadicea
blood cup possessed
razor mind in you conjuring
the tongues of hearts to speak
there is no escape
for in you, I am and
I will always live
crucifying
all the wasting yesterdays
with fresh blooded promissory notes
staking claims of assurance
in the terror firmer
here to stay
sharpening
words taken
from a stone
n'ere a flowery
verbose drip
wasted
salting
the new cuts
to feel something vital
smiling within
fresh blooding
the Sexton grin
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Come as You Are”/Nirvana
https://youtu.be/W2QeQ9ZufAk
“The Black Art”/Anne Sexton
https://allpoetry.com/The-Black-Art
“Her Kind”/Anne Sexton
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42560/her-kind
Sexton. noun
titulus. noun
Caim. noun
Sanctuary; An invisible circle of protection drawn around the body with the hand, to remind one of being safe and loved even in the darkest times.
"STRONG"
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/strong_1192970
LYRICS/"Come as You Are", Nirvana
https://genius.com/Nirvana-come-as-you-are-lyrics
A cartridge filled with a horde of shackled emotions, am I,
Trifle feelings loiter within me, until she elicits them out,
Wizened by time, she knows that otherwise I might turn mordacious...
God guides my pen and has assigned her my way,
~ She is the vociferous voice of my heart ~
She knows my malleable moods and masterfully makes magic
By weaving whispers into wistful words,
~ She is the byzantine boon of my being ~
With cogent candor she cajoles me to compose poesy,
She and I share a companionable camaraderie...
In the mystical moondust of Maker's majestic mercy,
I acquiesce to her ingenious genius,
~ She is an efficacious eclectic enigma ~
For sometimes, she plays truant tricks,
Her surreptitious evanescence is a conspicuous conspiracy,
Abandoned, I have to await her august appearance...
The soft stardust of her sartorial splendor,
Renders me a mere puppet of her puissant prowess,
~ She is a phenomenal Phoenix ~
For she encourages me to endeavor towards excellence,
Her alacrity aggrandizes my acumen,
Having faith in her fortuitous favour, I flourish...
~ She is my God-given "gift of grace" ~
Her multifarious munificence is a monumental mystery,
She has transformed me from a fruitless flibbertigibbet
To a fulfilled female fount with her unfailing finesse...
~ She is my mysterious, magnanimous Muse ~
Feeling forever grateful to God for her grandiloquence.
5th January 2023
She’s born to nurture, love and understand,
Her puissant presence sways from gay to grand.
She needn’t scream and shout her point of view,
With calm and class She carries herself through.
Multiple roles She’s destined to achieve -
Be it career, home, a child to conceive.
Her trademark touch - tranquility and taste -
Are ample antidotes to a man’s haste.
Love, laced with patience, luminates her face,
Petals of a flower - wisdom and grace.
She may seem soft, her stem is supple yet strong,
Respect She does demand, don’t do her wrong.
Intuition is her set convention,
Beyond other gender’s comprehension.
Whether unjust or unfair She stands by,
Her Forgiveness - your prize to glorify.
Above all, She’s the matrix of desire,
The primal sense that sets the world on fire.
Subtle aroma nature couldn’t invent -
Seductive, suave and sweet - a Woman’s scent.
April 10, 2022
The lightning strikes and all is dark,
the Lock Ness Monster is about to embark
on a journey along the ocean’s shore,
more diligent and courageous than before.
She is strength and beauty combined,
a delicate creature, so hard to find.
Her head crept above the water quiet yet stark.
She strolled through the mounts with might,
ready for the battle of any nightly fight.
No one could mess with the immense Lock Ness,
and I admire her colossal power nonetheless.
She’s redeemable, stupendous and severely tough,
wearing leather skin so resilient and rough.
She’s my favorite mythical creature, I must confess.
Brawn and firm with a head that slithers,
her veins always hydrated, they never wither.
Fading under the moonlight she slides under water,
sleek and stealth like her mother taught her.
Never stops swimming, she’s aquatic that way,
only pries at night, never during the day.
Never once has a great white shark fought her.
Long necked with stamina and vitality,
with an original and intense personality.
Muscular and sturdy with gazing eyes,
a tawdry creature with a slippery disguise.
Potent by nature with energy and force,
always swimming on the righteous course.
She’s got a puissant form, intelligent and wise.
The lightning strikes and all is dark,
her head crept above the water...
quiet yet stark.
Loch Ness Poetry Contest
January 4th, 2017
Each limb plays to the dynamics of motion
in static vibration the virgin flower
awaits cravings within the tattoo touches
and surrenders to her animal instincts.
Wild fingers douse her with raptures of pain
tricking off curves with aspiring lines
provoking flood gates to drip with quivers
as the lycan-beast over power's her whim.
Together they are flamed with insane desire
bursting, buckling with energy and passion
toasted with love enjoys her total submission
reaching out for the skies in her moans and cries.
Within the split second her potentials change
for she bursts to burn to the fluid kinetics:
Two pair of Eyes, assigned as leads,
by the puissant heart! As per the role had needs.
The play comprised a script of emotion,
and the pair showed utmost devotion.
Though rebellion ushered, but still they quelled,
Unaware of what the fable's future held.
One's defeat was written in the gamble with fate,
and at stake was the other's faith! As bait.
But the pairs were so much versatile,
that they could maintain many expressive profiles.
Legend has it! That once they shared a Paean,
synonym for an unctuous elegy about to wizen.
It's said that!
What they would see was whimsical, minus any frown,
even those sparkling above would come dancing down.
One was surreal and they named it 'Dew' !
but it was a tear drop out of those few.
It all happened ! because........
Once Destiny invited Heart to suggest,
that it had found an end to their existing quest.
It had found the suitable characters,
Who they thought will make their tale to be remembered Ever after.......
Confidence fades away
Clothes to the wind
My cracking glass, the nightscape
Contorted into vixen reds and apparition dark
Seventeen
Kitsch eyes, as kitsch as a child
Crying in a kitchen scene over spilt milk
Shrinking under giant flaming wings of a morbid sun god
A flower in the rocks craving eleemosynary of sunlit droplets
Dew sticking heavy, a glue to papier-mâché the fine parasol
Poverty of any subtle scintella, a florid propinquity or velleity
Slinking into the puissant moon dust but with all the style
Of a dead inurement Sickert slick
My sui generis malapropisms
Cruel bowdlerization of a grouping wall and night
The hard outer shell of flesh
The ladybug, the thumb
The ladybird and stupid shibboleth.
_
Daffy, I said I'd write something called Bugsy :D
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ *-* ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ *-* ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Cyan orb gyrates
Lord's wondrous puissant hands sculpt -
" BALL OF LIFE AND DEATH "
==================================
*-* " PLAY BALL " contest entry
(o.o) (o.o)
You've reached the pinnacle of fame
where double-speak's the daily game,
so many words, so little meaning,
popinjay, so skilled at preening.
Posing for a photo-op,
your perfect hair a puissant crop,
your perfect smile a sickly stare
which fools the foolish everywhere.
Demagoguery designed
to derogate the keener mind,
a smile will hide what lurks behind
the gross deceptions of your kind.
The maiden's nipples
swollen, her bosom
flush with excitement,
hailing her goddess as
she slighted very
eloquently, puissant.
The goodness they
shared was of sinful
reproach, a somber
obedience of lovers'
admiration.
The dusk laden sky
flickered with prose,
the sorrows of
Belial's romance of lost
mysteries and his
vengeant domineer,
his bravado, his
masculinity, cascading
like spirals of chaos
and the chimes of
instilled darkness
climaxing to the
sojourn of forbidden
pleasures.
Gently now,
Belial eased this
fair lady to her lover's
demand, her patience
swelling between her
thighs, burning. . .
eternally.
- - - -
I.
Awoken from a dream,
a fair common was she,
her beauty unsurpassed
only by her soulful
demeanor and natural
prelude. Her femininity
and subtle prowess
always the victor,
her passion a hearkening
rose upon a lonely
desolate scorn. Her
feelings a bit feverish,
there now, nothingness
and the harlots of
misery and the massacre
of saintliness. The venom
there pulsing now,
was evermore raspy,
and only to the
delight of our royal
antiquities, vespers
of envy, of anger's delight,
of beckoning glee, a
madman's exuberation to
the deafening hysterias
of mischief's vertigo.
A marriage. . .
arranged, a stiffening
King to his Prince's
triumph over darkness.
Yes, this common peasant
and her divine bounty
was as a peril of Eve
searching for her lost
Eden.
There being no more
reprise, bitter, for her
burden, she was to share.
Somber eyes and
a broom for everyone
to take hold. Yes, the
beauty of a fair maiden
this, so vast and of
such masterful drab,
splendor to all of
the shared treasures
in spirits.
Rage!
A taunting basilisk,
enslaying our vat of
christendom and devotion.
To this day, of prayerful
morn, maiden Geinere,
awoke, scarlet fever.
You've reached the pinnacle of fame
where double-speak's a daily game,
so many words, so little meaning,
popinjay, so skilled at preening.
Posing for a photo-op
your perfect hair a puissant crop,
your perfect smile, a frozen glare
which fools the foolish everywhere.
Demagoguery's designed
to derogate the keener mind,
a smile will hide what lies behind
to mark the downfall of your kind.
...inspired by 'To The President-Elect' by Joseph Brodsky
You've reached the pinnacle of fame
where double-speak's a daily game,
so many words, so little meaning,
popinjay, so skilled at preening.
Posing for a photo-op
your perfect hair a puissant crop,
your perfect smile, a frozen glare
which fools the foolish everywhere.
Demagoguery designed
to derogate the keener mind,
a smile may hide what lies behind
and mark the downfall of your kind.
THE BRIDIE PRICE OF AN UNFORTUNATE LADY
Quietly her love fathomed
The glittering incisor,
A puissant one unravished,
An aesthete affirmed.
Wide in comb of friend
A pilot stood aghast
In rapt marvel of a portrait.
With no joy of dislike he lust:
“I cheer a bride that loves my name;
Such that beckons cheerio in flight,
Behold her chuckling cheek
That calls a carcass alive.
Sir, mind me her love
And I shall yield gold for your care
This portrait moved me
I ogle her a wife”
In shambled voice of remorse
Thundered the hoary pa:
“This trophy of demise,
Here I pore over a piece of virtue and mourn.”
An artless astronaut sigh!
“I cherish her to the core!
And pay for such comeliness
And bids no wife alive.
An artist shall depict a jewel
And hang on my neck
In spirited honour and mourn;
I have her a myth than alive.”
She blooms along the old stone wall,
the puissant scented Bourbon Rose,
intoxicating one and all.
Tenacious strength, green vines grown tall,
tender pink and thorns juxtapose,
she blooms, along the old stone wall.
Bountiful blush, sweet siren call
when soft summer breeze fragrant blows,
intoxicating one and all.
Upon the street pink petals fall
the path to paradise disclose,
she blooms along the old stone wall.
Delicate beauty fates enthrall,
to each a peaceful place transpose
intoxicating one and all.
Each blossom yearns, so sweet and small
where love’s magical beauty glows,
she blooms along the old stone wall
intoxicating one and all.