Best Pule Poems
Occasionally we should expose the wackier lobe of the brain
in order to better appreciate the more sensible side of the mind.
~THIS is one of those times...
I capriole between my arabesques
fugaciously spasmodic in fluxes and leaps
indifferent to their misanthropic mocking
and cheeky syncopated schisms
BUT LET THEM SCOFF!
I derogate their arrogance
in silent smirking repudiation
for they know not of the decoctions
spating rapidly through my veins,
nor of the massive assemblage
of my miscelany grey and white matter.
The mordant humor of this absurdity
is that I am irrationally rational...
psychotically speaking;
I am dripping with percipience
sagaciously intelligent beyond the measure
of those cretins who kvetch, pule, and postulate
that I am strabismic and nonsensical as a loon.
After reading this write of gelastic absurdity,
it's become mereticiously opaque to me
that my discourse is oxymoronic, OR
I am a dimwitted addlepate.
There is more than one kind of crazy!
*********************
A translated version of the above nonsense,
so now Jan doesn't think she's hopelessly lost.
I dance as if I were a ballerina,
a total klutz, but I don't care
if they laugh at me.
LET THEM MAKE FUN!
I don't care if they smirk at me because
they don't know what I feel or think.
The funny part of my silliness is that
I'm really rational, pretending not to be.
I'm really smarter than I look or act
so let those idiots say that I'm
as crazy as a loon.
Now that I've read these words,
it's clear to me that nothing I've
written is clear. Soooo....
I'm either clever at writing an oxymoron
OR I'm crazy.
CRY OF THE UNBORN
Before I was formed in
my mother’s womb
He held my hand and
called my name
And now I am to return
to him as innocent
Without sin I go to my
heavenly father
Before I saw the light in
the world
Before taking my first
breath, nor having my
first tooth
I was extinguished
Batted and murdered
I was sentenced to death
Like a soldier sent to war
My mission was cut short
For my talents and skills
can never be of any use
What will I report to ma
creator
For my cry shall pierce the
heavens
And my tears shall fill the
earth
My sorrow shall solidify
their hearts
And my voice will never
be heard among the living
By: B. N. Pule
Goring down, shredding tears, I pule to,
give my prayer, to all family's and
friends, missing or gone, across this
blanket world, as her gusty winds flare,
and ragging rapids spill, these islands in
darkness, I will not lye here,
silenced, for she was,
"PLANNED" drapping curtains,
where our moon mysteriously a
lined itself, mutationally, reins, and
deploys,explosions of fear, I say,
don't give in, break her free, don't
be, A coward less coward, to their deceit,
and lies, these politicians, we call
democrats n' republicans, don't
really,give A RATS ASS, as long
as,they get voted, I ask stand for
what's right to your heart, therefore
she can not win this glory, and ask
your government why???? Priceless
lives pay, in A test on the country
so that they may have control....
That's the question.... But I will not
bow, I give my hand to the
innocence, of THE PEOPLE.......
To shelter them with love and blessings, that I
Rein.....For I shall ride A pon my black knight.....
As We defeat it, like a skyscraper...
Carma
10-30-12
POETRY IS OUR NAUTURE N'
STRIDE,(LIFE..) TO LET GO!!
EACH PEN STROKES A UNIQUE
*POWER* VIBRANTLY BLASTED
COULOR: EN~SYNCED WORDS,
JUST DIFFRENTLY EX*
PRESSED..(IMAGINABLE!!)
WE STAND ON FIRMED LAND;
FULL OF LOVE N' NOT HATE;
WE PULE N' LAUGH, BEING
SERIOUS OR JOKE AROUND:
WE'RE EQUALLY ABANDONED,
BUT AGAIN PICKED~UP BY A LOVING
HANDED STRANGER IN
STRENGTH.... AGAINST INK
SPILLED... WHERE WE ARE TRUSTED
IN LOYALTY AND GATHERED
THOUGHTS TO EXPLORE THIS
WORLD WE ONCE DESPIZED; A
MAXIMUM EXPLOSSION OF JOY
N' CHEER, ALL SEEMS SO
CLEAR ON LOVE OF THE SOUP
(*FAM..*) ATMOSPHERE*
UNITED*TING!!! INKS PENNED;
AS ONE...COME JOIN US...
THIS IS A TRIBUTE TO ALL
SOUP (*FAM..*)
WRITEN BY: SWEETHEART
CARMA 06-19-12
INSPIRED BY:
BRITTANY MaD InK CalDwELl;
PACE, G "INK-U-SCRIPT" AND;
MARLON (THE SCRIBE)...
THANK YOU DEAR POETS!!!!
W A R
Before I was a foetus
The world was at war
Our forefathers forced to fight
For it was all irresistible
Now I have grown
And I’m dragged to a fight I did not ignite
A war which I do not know if it will end
In the front line we fear for our lives
Gone through hills and mountains
The soles in our boots ran out
Food and water were all we needed
A journey we never prepared for
The smell of gun powder fills the air
Empty gun shells carpet the ground
War vehicles smoking and left to rot
The battle have seized
Waking to the sound of gun shots we tremble in fear
Day and night we do not know the difference
For the enemy does not rest
But my enemy is a man like me
How many deaths must we suffer?
How many forests must we bring down?
How many generations must pay for our forefather’s faults?
How long can our race really endure this suffering?
By: Bokamoso N. Pule
Murmur no things
or strings of sounds...
Could not care less
more-ish whispers
were Wicked
Whips of Words-
Weighted.
Tongue- lashing sharp
fork- tine Torture.
Cat-0-nine-one-one-tales...
Thirty-nine...
Forty-less-one
thrashing...
thrashing...
Thrashing...!
P
l
u
m
b
l
i
Cut, then
Spliced
r
a
m
aught - 0 - matic -ally
u
t
t
e
s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d and s-t-r-u-n-g out
taut ~O~ill~O~gee~call
sayings S-P-L-A-Y-E-D out.
Taught NO one
any thing
new
Knew hear-say-
Say! Did you hear THAT???
(Did YOU know...?)
? :-0 ? :-o ? :-0 ?
Oh Oh...
Tongues plaited and tied
Gutless intentions
Implied
Allied...
Bound between mongers
pitted
unpitying
Pitbulls against distraught,
double-bind on-slaughter
pale-faced pugilism
mimics
Mummery and mimed thoughts
~acted~out~
played O-U-T
OUCH!
Bought into
Hearts wrung out
bloodless
Bloody hands wringing
in Delight-
Delighted!
de-lighted...
Delight-Full?
Murmur nothing
need less>>>>>>
Need less to say
" it" @ All.
Hot of the press,
hot air blows
seeds of doubts
s-OW-n n-OW!
Profuse Grrrrr- OW-th
Hot-head heed-less
not Grrrrr- OW-n up.
Groans are unmouthed
sounds
sown shut :-
No more hurt
Feelings
Hidden
Humiliation's humus
Not humorous.
Hideous "justice"
bids
Blurts be bought
at a price-
Caught out
Pulled-up-Pule
short-circuits
short-changed
~my~O~my
~chained~
~thrashing~it~out.
thrashed...thrashed....Thrashed!
within an inch
~~ ~~~'~ ~~~~...
nihil -is-tic
parsitic
Tick-Tacky-Town
Game of noughts.
Game of cross thoughts..x-O
Game's off-
Colour two- tone
Voice
Not "giving lip"-
Zipped~~~
:-O gains nil
By Mouth.
:- naught -:
nada
null
X
void
O
14-07-2017~Aqua Marine.
Image of Black Sand & Sand provided by Pixabay.
The Hawaiianism of Ho'oponopono
A word, astir, in undulating waves surges and awash a clear open black shoreline of Hawaii nei, as it recedes in cycles dashing back to an instant, springing forth that word grasped first in mumblings made by a question from what comes later.
Hawaiiana has amongst the narrowed rudiments containing 12 alphabets; 7 consonants; H - K - L - M - N - P - W, plus 5 vowels; A - E - I - O - U. In its wake, Hawaiians have improvised their grammar by accommodating words to include more than one meaning, it is known as, "equivocal". A different way of supplementing their shortfall via letterings is by repeating words, whereto, two aspects emerge, firstly and the most prevalent variant of Hawaiiana repeats is, word pluralization, simply by adding the 's' at the end, sort of speak. Then secondly is word emphasization, or best to be known as, word empowerment.
"Ho'o" is an energetic prefix, in and of itself though insignificant in the Hawaiiana context as a stand-alone word, implying "to make or making". In this example, the base word, "pono", is an equivocal word. In no respective order, first; moral qualities, uprightness, and decency. Second; a clear understanding, completeness, and being thorough. Third; correctly fulfilled, proper procedures, and accuracy. Fourth; prosperity, welfare, benefit, and equity. There remain several meanings that essentially are extensions of the foregoing.
Nevertheless, when the base word is repeated, then "Ho'oponopono" basically means to, "make right a wrong". The Hebrews call it "Kaphar".
Back to mumbling and anticipation as a kid faced up to grownup legs. A worn grimace is yon about pause steadily. Quizzative looks around the room and tempts a peek past the formidable figure that blocks nearly the whole of him. The aged utter clarity, "E pule ho'oponopono kakou", (Let us pray for correcting our wrongdoing), afterward, an amended kid embraces the closing answer, "Ae, ho'omaika'i ia oe", (Yes, victory is yours). On the whims of a pendulum, Ho'oponopono wanes as a learnt man winds a clock up to speed.
2021 May 28
Where does the heart travel when it has no home?
Who does it beat for when the pule is not so strong?
What does it cry out for?
Is she returning the same pulse I'm giving off...
The heart beat of another is what I want to feel
I want to know who she is
To understand that...
I can only compensate once she have placed her heart in my palms
These hands of mines that want to captivate her forever and ever
Where does the pulse goes when I'm laying in bed at night
Still...
No movements but heavy breathing
Is it trying to reach her?
Can it reach her?
The heart is a funny thing
It wants what it wants
and I want her
No words need to be spoken
But our body language can converse
No sexual intermission
But the signature of two hands intertwining
Tel me...
Where does the heart goes once the house is open?
MidNight comes faded beneath my feet,
All is gone above loyalty, love n'
Trust.
What have I done?? Can I regain
The love once lost baby please
Don't go.
Here you leave me in darkness,
Take my hand and lead me back
To the burning fire.
Among you're eye's that once
Sparked our love so bright, towards
The sun these Tears I Pule
shamelessly.
Tell me I haven't lost you...
I couldn't bare it! Tell me
You haven't given up??
Please don't leave, my love is:
Still true and pure since the day
We first met.
You mean so much to me, I swear
My love is on A thin line with;
You..I need to know that your
Love still survives,Through me.
Tell me our love is not LoSt among
The midnight sky.. I honestly love
You!!! Truly no LIES... Baby!! All is
Lost with~out you.
I objestigate between arabesques and sleep,
fugaciously spasmodic in fluxes and leaps.
I'm indifferent to the misanthropic mocking,
that welltering inflection that I call plockingism.
It's their cheeky syncopated schisms that I rebut,
and yet they slantathunt for the right to boff.
Well, blanderluse I refuse, so let them scoff!
I derogate their impultritude and arrogance.
Drapple their smirking repudiation of my dance
for they know nothing of the dark decoctions
spating rapidly through my vendacious veins,
nor of the mastacular alter assemblage
of the miscelany grey and white matter in my brain.
The mordant humor of this absurdity
is that I am irrationally rational...
psychotically speaking, perhaps,
I am dripping with percipience
sagaciously intelligent beyond the measure
of those cretins who kvetch, pule, and postulate
their hate. I am strabismic and nonsensical as a loon.
Mayhap writing in this style is as tedious a method
of torture as it would be to dispropart a heart!
After reading this ranting of gelastic absurdity,
it's become mereticiously opaque to me
that my discourse is oxymoronic, OR
I present my ischemic side as a dimwitted addlepate.
I'm a conflagration of animation or maybe I'm just lazy.
I'm not of the artificial intelligence variety,
but there's more than just one kind of crazy.
Vogonese is a language that few will applaud.
I see it as a form of whimsical words, without a reward.
If this is the third worst type of poetry in the world...
keep the first two ridiculous rooskits in sails unfurled!
Insanity is bred in flompous fields of clantigendice clover.
Moreover, before I drop my plasmergent pen on the floor
I find myself crossing the threshold of depravities' door.
*Don't ask for an interpretation. I have no clue.
In days of yore a lady's heart was won
Through chivalry and deeds of derring-do.
If swain proved false, she'd bid the knave be gone,
Adjust her cap and look for someone new.
By age fifteen a maid was in her prime,
Her window for a spouse a narrow slit.
She could not pule and pine for love sublime,
And oft as not would take what she could get.
When knight set out to win his lady fair,
Through joust or other mortal combat act,
He knew that love for him she would forswear
Lest he prevailed with manly parts intact.
Today true love is not so much a chore,
And less dramatic than in days of yore.
Sphanus Marcus Book 1
Canto 5
Verses 6 and 7
Duke Saint Charles knew King Richard’s mind was closed
and nothing he could say would change resolve.
To cold foul weather they would be exposed;
must he have life around the king revolve?
This heinous decision now might dissolve
joint resolution gaining James the throne.
As aide to Sire, indeed it might involve
the decisions of others made to loan
their weight allying needs to covert scheme well sown.
" This be unmitigated horror, Sire,
to sail the Middle Sea this time at Yule.
Contentious gales from northern heights do mire
good enterprises; be not, Sire, a mule!
Do I not suffer 'Mal de Mer' and pule?
Such sail gives me bad stomach ache and puke.
You know that I can't take much ridicule.
Should I at sea endure our Sire's rebuke?
Duke Morley's knight for thee or take Lord Marmaduke."
Why worry about what the future brings?
Tomorrow's just another day, they say,
No need to pout, and pule, and pine away.
Instead, I'll relish this day's offerings,
Anticipate tomorrow's profferings,
And strive to keep all gloomy thoughts at bay,
And let the future bring me come what may.
With fortitude I'll weather fortune's stings.
I may not always know the world's largesse,
But sure's the sun keeps rising and setting,
And sure's the world continues its spinning,
Worry is no way out of hopelessness.
A chance to renew, the past forgetting,
Each day's reward is a new beginning.
Author's note: I'm not by nature a worrier, but I do try to build on the past and plan for the future.
Valor, thy call is a countryman's claim.
Nowhere but not quite alone in the game.
Thunderbolt, twilight is perfect for you!
Hope will accrue before we all turn blue...
Singular, smiling. Sink fast in the sea?
Maybe not, young fellow. Then we'd be free?
Not on your life nor the edge of a knife!
Fain would the demon-sultan blow the fife...
Trickling through ivy among the old graves?
Sunlight, will I see what everyone saves?
Value. What has it? Humanity, when?
Cogs in machines, golem. Hell and Heaven.
Knight errant, instruction. Where does it lead?
O for young lovers lost deep in their greed!
Wicker man, nicker mare, ichor box, well...
Coven, thy witches are casting fell spell!
Deepest chasm, down the crystal blue pit?
Judges, acquit what the chef may just spit!
Dark backward, through abysm we all creep!
Pule and the pile adds ye, atop the heap...?
Yes, and if care is took, look good in book!
Chimney-sweep, barrel, thy tar and thy nook!
Cold are the coals that glow after a fire?
Remote-controlled are these new guns for hire...
Dinosaur, energy. Where came and why?
Needle, a camel wants in through your eye!
Flowing like lava down hillock and vale.
Slave, bill of sale means dread end to our tale...
Torment, thy world. How the discus has hurled!
Pirate flag unfurled, spread over and pearled!
One last caress before goodbyes are said?
Hold on to the hat on the top of thy head...
Its drawing a trolling? A play by J K is sure unfolding.'
As she puts out to grass, the stubboness of all asses.!
In a lesson to all nations, she's standing at her station.'
Even though (i'm not a fan) I can see she's sure of reality
As a woman 'with sand' thats what i see.' She has marked
Out, her t e r f.' May each roll of the surf. Break open the Hard shores as its all; there to live for!! Be a straight out
Master, not a squeaking; and real pule-ing disaster.'