Best Quill Pen Poems
My own piece of heaven, a quiet little nook,
With only the finest parchment in a leather book,
A feather quill pen and an ocean of ink,
My thoughts would never stop to think,
Every single line I write would rhyme,
My poetry would be beautiful and sublime,
I'd be entertained daily, by Dr. Seuss,
And, put to sleep nightly, by Mother Goose,
Lessons from Byron, Shelley, Coleridge and Poe,
Teaching me every single thing that they know.
My own piece of heaven, will have to wait,
Until one day, when I must meet my fate,
So, for now I will have to be content,
With my own words that may be heaven sent,
Inspiration from my idols is all I need,
Writing poetry in a notebook from Mead,
With this cheap, plastic Bic pen,
And a dream to be, just like them.
Dancing with delusions, sparks of hellfire
Course through my lugubrious quill pen.
Distorted words igniting fear,
Anxiety fills crevices,
Encircling, silencing,
Asphyxiating.
Walls closing in,
Compressing.
Hope fades,
Doom.
Dread
Runs cold.
Veins poisoned,
Sanity slips
Unmercifully.
The angels are mimicked.
Light dimming, darkness descends
As demons mingle with the dead.
Apocalyptic skies crack open
To wash away all that you held sacred.
Yesterday, I took out my new quill pen and
a bottle of ink.
I sat down at an antique table,
lit a half-burned candle and dipped my quill;
I wrote on a yellowed pad of calligraphic parchment.
Swiftly jettisoned into the past as,
the room began to change;
the table appearing to be brand new,
sported different legs.
The candle sat burning in a silver holder
instead of a cheap aluminum one.
This had happened before;
this visit to the past and
I had found an ancestor there.
This time, I found myself;
a writer in a past life;
penning olde English…
imagine that!
The crimson sun still up
as she woefully walks
in an abandoned rustic railways;
Her feet ~ as heavy as the stale steel rails
almost buried in forgotten soil;
Her hands as cold as tombstone plate
whilst holding a gun on her left hand~
She grips a quill pen
to write the obscure death
of the man in blue suit~
and the deaths of twelve passengers
still unsolved...
She was here some decades ago~
aboard in an old steam train
The memory of that macabre ride
haunted her for thousand days and nights.
She writes in scarlet ink
on a bloodstained scroll
that says like this:
" To all the victims who died here,
I lay my hands before this forgotten railway
and the weeping willows as my witness;
I never thought too much love would kill.
I killed my beloved man in blue suit,
the driver of that tortuous train journey...
Yes I killed him to save the three million people
dwelling on the final station;
Using the twelve infected people,
He was sent to spread that virus
that he thought would change the world.
I didn't understand till now~
Yes, I killed him with a silencer
and unlocked that explosive weapon
before it reached its final destination.
But I was spared~
not the twelve people;
Now, with this gun I’ll give justice
to all people who died here
by killing the undersigned murderer.
Till death,
Anonymous ”.
The gun silently flicks
pointing her head~
Darks clouds hide the day
as her blood flows
on the thirsty ground.
1 May 2021
Modified for “ Guns Poetry Contest”
Sponsored by Anthony Biaanco
11th place
All alone
By the side of the
Creek
Dreaming and
Even
Feeling the
Gusts of wind
Have
Interfered with my
Joyful repose
Keeping
Little
Musings
Notes to myself
On a
Parchment, inked by my
Quill pen
Resting
Smiling as Sundown
Takes light from the sky
Until darkness blankets the creek
Very slowly a storm approaches
Waiting until St. Francis
Xavier sends a
Young owl to guide me home where
ZZZs of sleep fill the night
Must you go now
And cross the bridge
When the river is flooded
With your own tears?
Must you leave now
And walk away
Shamefully with tears
Rolling down your face?
Must you think now
Of walking away
When handkerchief I hold
To wipe your tears?
Must I go now
And say I pleaded and cajoled
But you would not listen
To my humble plea?
Must you go now
And shut close the door
When with new quill pen I write
Poem for you to read?
You may go
If you decide to
But must it just be now
Before you read my letter?
Will you still go
Darling will you
Now that you know
I only need your love?
Sweet Home
From the tense of turbulence you profer comfort,
from the tests of time you offer abode,
Will all the fortresses of home refer incline?
Will all the fortitudes of hope adversity sublime?
The ocean of pleasure thou are; forever will I clamour instill,
The mission of leisure sweet amass; forever will I welcome still.
Dotting the lines of succour through the poets' quill-pen,
Blotting the limbs of honour through the Equerrian quince.
The enclave of birth and nurture to the dwell enclose,
The conclave of might and culture to the bells entwine.
Entrenched in shelter from rain and sun concomitant undo,
Embellished in sceptres from ornaments to unravel the feud's undue.
As the elements of Architecture are singing beautitudes,
The velvets of bevels are clinking tambourines.
As the culverts of artefacts are mincing soirees,
The valance of bevies are ringing solarium.
In May you lay in mash of holy velds,
And in June will Juno return amidst.
Oh God of mercy grant us the grace of lair,
When the solace of sauna breeds comfort of sweet home.
Adeola Yusuf Amuni
P.S. the trick KEY to reading my style poetry is
normal voice / Mild Voice \ LOUD VOICE
a tap'in Clap'in SNAP"IN neat Beat my Treat
Hip Hop pop'in off VOODOO Poetry the other White MEET
As we travel the Ancient Sands oF Time to Land oF King Cyrus
the Nile River of Life & Ships oF the Desert with Land Pirates
thee Ocean oF Emotion gave to the Victor Chiba a Love Virus
He gave it to wife Essama Chiba 2 Lover Lovingly Loved Paris
walking a Dreamer Dreaming Dream Life comes to LIFE in ( i ) Iris
as 2/C SWEETEST Lovely Valley oF Purple Passion Flower Irises
in the compassion fragrant that Surprise-us
( I ) sat down under the Lone Cypress
me & Essama Chiba she my sister from Ancient Heart of a Lioness
Queen of the Jungle we reminiscing on past Life is priceless
( I ) opened my flat black back pack pulled out 3 purple papyrus
( i ) pulled out my Quill Pen ( i ) had Rhyme wanting to Write-this
But they've overcome their Shyness
Essama Chiba with her husband Slyness ,.,> UNSUPPORTED CODE ;;J
a Flower oF Wisdom
Bee Humming Wisdom
when given the chance to Breath air we need Wisdom
Life comes to LIFE in are Heart & Soul we store Wisdom
Got paper.,.Got Quill Pen,., Got time for Journalism
a poet Soul the Spark oF LIFE.,.But LOVE into the System
Author Notes
I talk to my sister from Ancient Times
she lives in Cairo Egypt one night we talked about her Husband Mr. Chiba R.I.P. then Life comes to LIFE
( I ),. had a DREAM ( i ) got to meet him
for my sweet sister from Ancient Times
Master Poet Essama Chiba we walked a
Dreamers Dreaming Dreams Guided by Mr.Chiba
25 Lines 233 words about LOVE that Last
Beyond the GRAVE into the SPIRIT WORLD
( i ).,.use ( I ).,. as the Magic oF the 3RD.(EYE)
A sacred heart of timber;
With embers in ashes set apart;
So consumed in words torn apart
And burning into red embers.
Though big boys shed no tears
So in mine own eyes look never,
With words of fervor I'll never tire.
My wooden heart consumed over
So give me quill pen to draw pictures
Of this passionate desire that
Sets ablaze the oak of my heart.
Wooden ashtray holds a glimmer
Leaving my heart on fire.
Turned into so hot red embers
Is a sacred marple heart ablaze
Hot cruise under waters so vast.
Oak burning hot in the inward
Where fire cracks in silent whispers
Turning hardwood into charcoal so black
That will ever and over start a new fire.
So doused is the heart of timber
In petrol and set on fire!!!
All alone
By the side of the
Creek
Dreaming and
Even
Feeling the
Gusts of wind
Have
Interfered with my
Joyful repose
Keeping
Little
Music
Notes to myself
On a
Parchment, inked by my
Quill pen
Resting
Smiling as sundown
Takes light from the sky
Until darkness blankets the creek
Very slowly the storm approaches
Waiting until St. Francis
Xavier sends a
Young owl to guide me home where,
Zzz's keep sleep to fill the night.
Time moves along with change of scenes,
Strange is not strong yet alters din.
Space cannot wait with empty air,
Change breaks the gate with gushing flair.
Move with the times or change will rip,
No broken chimes can forge new grip.
Count your blessings with heart and mind,
Love prompts living with what you find.
Live bold and brave with ample nerves,
Thus you now save yourself with verve.
That old quill pen can write with ink,
You know you can style a new link.
Tell your own tale with mystic grooves,
Dare sparkle sale as gut funds moves.
Too soon the end comes quick and brisk,
Around the bend the end of risk.
Be that sure soul who wonders best,
Attend pure whole in your life quest.
Leon Enriquez
13 March 2016
Singapore
Warmth of your splendor touched me today
something in my mind said ‘Feel My Way’
My heart smiled - together we are now one
He said, ‘Eternal Life Promise from the Son’
My voice spoke to an expressive quill pen
reminds one of my coming know not when
Until that moment, follow holy laws
to keep your soul pure leave whatever was
What I promise will fill your heartfelt needs
this is what the bible to me forever reads
You were considered prolific with poetic verse.
The subjects you covered were quite diverse.
Who else would write about prostitutes and nudity?
With your quill pen over the years, you kept yourself busy.
A favorite son you became in Camden, New Jersey.
If I continued to write the way you did, what would happen to me?
Perhaps in the future, they will name a bridge after me!
It can soothe or it can kill because nothing is as powerful as the quill.
Graceful elegance
fashion - to aircraft design
Colorful plumage
Author's hyphen with quill pen -
the wind is beneath her wings