Best Reinforce Poems
I have never seen a flower blush when I took it's hue
and held it there a prisoner captive to my view.
I have always heard the song that's in the autumn breeze
playing taps in harmony with the forest leaves.
I love the smell of rain that brings the springtime into bud
and swells my love of nature into a teeming flood.
I celebrate the cycle of the daytime into night
and find an equal blessing in the shadow and the light.
I've always felt affinity for all created things
and surrender to the pleasure that their beauty brings.
And though I could spent a lifetime sailing drops of dew
I've never seen a universe as beautiful as you.
I've often sat myself by gentle mountain streams
and overflowed the dams that were holding back my dreams.
I've breathed the scented forest on the mountainside
and washed away my sorrows in an evening ocean tide.
I've laid down in a meadow and debated with the moon
and spent some quiet moments on the surface of Neptune.
I got married to a zodiac with one of Saturn's rings
then spied a super nova and went on a cosmic fling.
I've run away to nebulae in galaxy brochures
and bathed in scenes of wonders on distant planet shores.
Every cosmos in creation could parade before my view
but I've never seen a universe as beautiful as you.
I've never seen a tree once withdraw it's shade
and deny a creature the comfort of its aid.
I've never seen any anger in the sun at noon
when it burns relentlessly on the desert dune.
At sunrise I take an oath to live with all my might
and reinforce my gratitude each and every night.
I could spend some hours riding on a crystal flake
drifting wildly in a gale mindless of my fate.
Many times I've been through trials of wind and rain and snow
then sentenced to the splendors that the seasons show.
And though I've searched throughout creation, I must say this is true
I've never seen a universe as beautiful as you.
That other world
is out there, beyond the quiet
I keep bubbled around me,
the noise growing louder along
the flag strewn streets,
banging drums marshaling
the inflamed minds of the masses.
Something has gone wrong.
I no longer feel I belong.
I keep my door closed
and curtains drawn to shut out
the anger from a passing mob,
reinforce the boundaries of my home
with walls of books. They have
marched through and littered
all the lovely places
where I once walked, covered
beauty with garish signs.
Something has gone wrong.
I no longer feel I belong.
Out there, all seems to be
of no worth unless shackled
to a cause. Tribal camps yell
obscenities across the lines
of division and commandeer
their gods to mouth
a sanctioned hate.
Something has gone wrong.
I no longer feel I belong.
And what can I do
but play with a frail voice
and think of what could be
and on dark days,
take hope and defiance
in the gentle arms
of Emily Dickinson's poetry.
On my way to church
the spirit of Christmas I met the other night.
All excited it was as the day of Jesus's birth
was coming.
In awe, I approached it and hesitantly
I asked:
" Could you, sacred spirit, tell me what the real
meaning of Christmas is? "
The spirit looked at me, at first, rather surprised for
I appeared as a man of faith
yet
didn't seem to know what was I celebrating,
however,
with a compassionate smile and a very
calm voice willingly replied:
" The real meaning of Christmas
is the rebirth of love in people's hearts.
A rebirth that aims to reestablish
the relationship among the people themselves first and then
reinforce their connection with the divine, as the Lord
meant it to be pure and holy!
In that way
the love and peace of the heavens
would be enshrined in the heart of every man and
make people love one another, the fact that would lead
love to reign upon the earth and bring peace
to humanity.
Only then the birth of Jesus would make sense
and take its real meaning
causing the angels with joy sing -peace on earth and
Alleluia! "
© Demetrios Trifiatis
19 December 2019
The devil went down to Washington to see what he would see
Ah yes he said everything looks real good to me
Everything is sliding down as I have planned it
That phrase “under God”: they have all but banned it.
This is sweeter than in the days of Adam and Eve,
Appeal to their almighty pride and they’ll believe,
any old thing I wish them to perceive,
or ridiculous philosophy I may conceive.
“I” the great perpendicular pronoun,
they all love that delightful sound!
By using their pride I can steer them.
forcing the meek to fear them.
Those prime time commercials were my special inspiration,
The ones that reinforce their economic and ego inflation,
with the phrase “I buy this product because, “I’m Worth it!”
Or my favorite humility killer, “because I Deserve it!”
It’s so funny! They all think they do!
They stick to their mirrors like glue
While sliding in their own poo!
My what a little vanity can do!
Makes me feel like singing!
As my dark angels are winging
“Glory, glory well for me-ee
Glory, glory hell to thee-ee
Glory, glory hell to we-ee
I’ll have more compan-eeeeee!
Sire she's been sighted
two miles south of Sinai,
our sentinels say she has brought a river,
her baggage train stretches into the ancient sands,
the envoys of her retinue spoke of marvelous gifts,
beasts and creatures of the Orient
gems that glitter like the eyes of children
summer baskets of gold bullion
and satchels of spice from Siam,
our men said they could smell the barrels of balsam Sire...
To travel with such unmistakable wealth
the Queen must have brought a war machine along,
have desert brigands been spotted near the route...
No my King, no raider encampments have been observed,
just the regular rabble and agape villagers,
it's been confirmed that her associates
are passing to the people pouches of cinnamon...
I don't trust the Egyptians,
they may try to incite the Bedouins to foolhardy thievery,
our Nation's honor demands
that not even the dust of the devil's danger
deign to dry upon the clothes of her most distant servants,
if the House of Zion can secure a partnership
with the trading powerhouse of Sheba
our supremacy over the Babylonians will be indomitable...
I pledge my life, and that of my family's
to her caravan's safety Sire...
So mote it be General,
your loyalty is my blessing,
may it be as strong as the staff of Moses,
dispatch 333 of the Lion's Legion
to reinforce the Queen's guard
and send a circuit of 15 water wagons...
What does a Queen dream of
in the calm desert nights...
I dream of roses melting
into snake bitten hearts,
I've dreamt of citadels broken
by the grips of greed,
I've seen a child walking out of a tomb,
what does a King dream of
in the shadow of paradise...
I dream of thorned stars,
the division of labor and wages,
of priests and Judges
whom wish to rule quietly without blame...
Do you know what thrilled me the most
about the Court reception...
Tell me, my cinnamon Queen...
The seduction of your Servants' silence
as I entered your meticulous throne room...
I understood their awe,
you moved so gracefully,
your body like an ancient lust
your face a flame of royalty...
I think I fell in love with your eyes,
there is something rough about you Solomon,
but your eyes and lips
relay a sweet mercy to me...
Mercy is never free Veronica...
I will pay the price...
We will pay the love cost together...
J.A.B.
On this last railroad journey, all’s ablaze
new stars pulse over veins of feathered trees,
and melt in their faint blinks of night's decrees
they flicker through me white solace and haze.
Quite often, I have scanned the moonlight’s trail
as winds can pierce into my heart and know
my need for strength will always thrive, and row
until end’s trip, when grinds of wheel travail.
Much like this ride, I'll walk the endless course
as seen among wayfarers’ eyes dark gold
where swallows reel above to reinforce
the edge of night, far fair, I do behold.
For hope is always wishful, always strong
and, only then shall my dreams rush, headlong.
Soap Opera Titles Contest: Janis Thompson
10/25/2018
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Spenserian Sonnet ~ 'abab bcbc cdcd ee.'
Neon billboards scream a symphony of
images
in attempts to sell
happiness
by bleeding dissatisfaction into her mind.
Glossy, crisp pages remind her that she isn't
good enough
to be accepted by a
society
that values celebrity over individuality.
Reflections in the mirror only
reinforce
her perceived
inadequacies
as mascara stains her fair cheeks.
The gears of discontentment crush
us all
and in our attempts to
rebuild ourselves
we realize just how broken we are.
But there exists a deeper truth:
Within our eternal
soul
is a beauty that no amount of make up can hide.
8.30.18
She was Rachel, beautiful as her name and in all ways.
In innocence, caught up in “grown up, worldly things
Folks who knew her laughed it off took is as if a joke
At a loss to grasp the deeper meaning behind it all
Her parents were alarmed and sought to reinforce their rules
But it seemed it was too late to remedy this state
It’s so hard to understand how this change came about
One moment she was their baby, the next, a stranger in their midst
This tragedy could not have been any part of God’s plan
Lost, running away, leaving behind comfort and warmth
She, instead would hitch-hike her way to live as a stray
Rachel and her friends never envisioned the many dangers
For lack of better judgment, with her life she would pay
He seemed like an average “Joe”, wearing a jacket of softest leather
She thought, ‘He’s hot and dressed fine; no way could he be whack’
Inexperience and temperament silently urged her on
Repressed anger held fast as she played a game of dice
She’d been waiting at the gas station just off Route Seventy Seven
Many hours past, as she mulled over random thoughts
Cold, tired and hungry, it was getting late as panic took a seat
Contn'd Pg. 2
A poet’s deliberation; to place the words between the lines
Something sacrilegious; in their attempt to blow our minds
Playing games with metaphors to test the educated rhyme
Then left accessible to others over the great length of time
Parable’s placed upon us with their morals to quell our sin
Picked upon and plundered; to the hidden message within
The litigation of alliteration; with each start letter the same
When repeated over and over in the end drives you insane
Anaphora’s are repeated; as to reinforce its message home
Anaphora’s are repeated because I suffer repeat syndrome
A poet’s deliberation; to place the words between the lines
Something sacrilegious; in their attempt to blow our minds
Warn path through time
Covered with nettles and thyme
Sprinkled with relics sublime
Sated with memories from my prime
Bridges crossed, harbored mined
Valleys forged, mountains climbed
Rivers forded, hollows divined
Peaceful pastures forever pined
Showered blessings o'er charted course
Thunderous trials skirted with every resource
Shining beacons along the road did hope reinforce
Clouded dreams abandoned with some remorse
Now channeling through life's narrowing pass
Peering longingly back at the quilted morass
My unquenchable thirst for returning to my homeland
Reuniting with the sacrosanct sole soul of my source
The thought of the joy of being with the angelic band
Sooth each nerve of my feet and reinforce their cautious course.
My wars, from the time of my entry into this landscape
Have not been for mere laurels, though glory and wisdom won.
Nor from virtuous thoughts, words, and deeds, I tried to escape.
Courage and commitment, in me, like blood and veins are spun.
Gods Zeus, Hermes; goddesses Athena and Calypso
Angels and powers of the galaxies and constellations
All kinetic synergies of the universe, now know
This sage-like postulant's optimism-filled palpitations
Adventurously high is each step of my odyssey.
The Odysseus in me moves me meticulously.
Anthony Bianco / Tie Dye in July
~~~
Find fairies in January
learn fae contrary ~
Sword perry in February
effective thrusts vary ~
Fertilize yards in March
battle patches sparse ~
Plant maples in April
tree growth enable ~
Inhale nature in May
gorgeous green display ~
Write tunes in June
serenade listening moon ~
Tie dye in July
before fireworks fly ~
Keep promises in August
reinforce your honest ~
Pile leaves in September
jumpers seek center ~
Groom Rover in October
unbearable canine odor ~
Prepare turkey in November
calendar scheduled attender ~
Feel elfish all December
Santa’s toy assembler ~
~~~
When a man loves a woman..
He listens to how she’s feeling more than what she’s saying,
He will put her needs and desires before his own,
He will let her into his heart, and work to get into hers,
He will reinforce her as a woman, build her up, and encourage her to take risks,
She will know he always has her best interests in mind,
She will be confident in her endeavors knowing she’s supported and loved,
Her beauty and desire will never be a question, in her own mind,
Because her beauty and desire will always be mentioned and nurtured,
She will know the relationship is worth more that the conflict,
She will know she’s cherished, because she feels cherished in the comfort of his arms,
He will make her a priority in life,
He will be inclusive and inviting
She will be able to trust him with her most intimate thoughts,
And know it will never be used against her,
She will feel free to express herself and be vulnerable with him
He will kiss her with all the passion of the first time,
He will do all this and more,
Even when the color has faded from their very first photograph,
He will do this and more because he loves his woman.
An Elderly.
Introduction tells you,
Who shall you believe?
Listen sometimes to your senses
your sadness or your joy.
If you are downhearted you cannot
perceive any happiness or joy you will
feel stepped on.
Temptation tells you,
Who shall you believe? Even if you open
up a pathway, can you reinforce your legs
to take a stride without your cane?
Can you become independent mount
Up the stairs?
Can you open your Door pay homage
to your unfurnished Home? unable
to set up due to your age?
Or will you act as in a theater playing
the characterization of a tough actor
capable of running after its shadow?
Happiness shares,
Who shall you believe?
Your happiness tells you rotect your image
as if its still young.
Fly with your spirit like a butterfly,
venture through the clear skies.
Intercept your freedom
as long as its lasts.
Rejuvenate your thoughts to reserve
a seat in your positive will power
where you are your own master.
Weaknesses orders,
Who shall you believe?
when you slept young and woke up old.
Why tolerate that body transformation,
why presume you are still young when
definitely you are old.
Strength begs me,
Who shall you believe?
Why are you shivering before waking up?
Because you woke up old, you know it means
You are a looser.
Gather your strength to face your reality,
deny wanting the impossible to happen?
Seek, look, understand, seek, look, feel the truth,
if not, your fate today will wither.
Sorrowful prays,
Who shall you believe?
Your sadness orders you
Remain downhearted as you cannot perceive
Happiness.
Your friendly thoughts indicates you to look far
And open the entrance, where the philosophers
Meeting is taking place, enter and impose
your knowledge, dictate your long lived
teaching, allow yourself listen to the echo
Clapping at the end of your speech.
Courage is the truth,this is who you
should believe the you of the now.
This is accepting all of the above,
when I will come out from that
Door proud of my cane.
Nothing is impossible when I remain
hungry to want to live.
No matter how old or young, I am.
Therese Bacha
17 November 2013
by Michaelw1two
Poetic writes speak volumes too,
this profound nature of humanity;
expression’s glyph or determination’s rift,
each soothing rhyme or base profanity;
provoke of consciousness that drift,
so casually or with rude insanity;
furiously incite or simultaneously delight,
set straight a thought or induce banality;
unconscious rubric struggles forth,
within the cleave of line, phrase and meter;
guides a casual readership towards,
all present trends hidden in a bard’s demeanor;
exposing just who seems ubiquitous, who is ingenuous,
or just simply stubbornly ridiculous;
one’s sensuality splayed, our generosity bade,
your critical natures shown meticulous;
senses not semantics, rule of roles revised,
lines of life’s romantic, cleverly devised;
discovering our thoughts on everything,
exposing our minds to Id and ideals contrived;
methods breached lift conclusion’s reach,
an ill-advised tome reaps the thought’s divine;
nurtured reasoning replaced by jest,
releases the distain hidden within a mind’s set plein;
within this relief be it muse or beast,
rests an orators mirth, or an epic myth’s imply;
poetic license freed, such a thing indeed,
that “cat’s meow” bests a graven image’s belie;
metaphors and idioms when used correct,
add intrigue and delight to a word works vamp;
bathos taps one’s inner laugh, hyperboles,
release a poem’s waft, jape and poet’s stamp;
pleonasms reinforce, oxymora juxtapose,
litotes understate, analogies delineate… cognition;
and irony, an express of verbal, dramatic,
cosmic or Socratic, lead to a write’s ideal fruition;
understanding each of these parts implores,
partnership between, these particles and that of yours;
expressing the limits of personal tastes and so much more,
you, your dreams, schemes, hates, fears, tears and rapport;
binding together all of US, and create the bonds that thus sustain,
poetry to living life, to easing strife, within the poet’s world domain.
Michael WalkerJohn