Best Remaking Poems
Sullen would be onset of grey, indivisible-dawning;
Soon, lifting mist dissipating beneath the brae.
Comes then a gentle heat arising with the morning...
Thus the remaking of another new, glorious day.
Sun-kissed slopes now aglow with purple blaze,
Vast moorlands slowly stirring from quiet slumber;
Clamorous whaups, hanging above the veiling haze,
Burbling down to disappear into the tangled tundra.
Together, paired oystercatchers pipe in rapid flight;
Skipping wheatears explore dry-stone walls.
There, old Barjarg, aglow in Junes vibrant light,
And I awakening to the hidden otters whistling calls.
Oh! to stroll once more upon the Cree's hallowed banks
Inside the sanctuary of her jealously guarded hills.
When tramping through the myriad of dew-drenched ranks
That had across the sheep-strewn meadow spilled.
If I but could joyfully follow the meandering course,
Again, of those rocky, gurgling, opaque, amber waters.
Thoughts, such as these, that surrender to a remorse...
Nought but wistful memories that provoke to taunt us.
I who have dwelt long
On the keeping of a vow,
That which is folded into
Steel --
And hammered and drawn --
The making and remaking --
Melded and beaten into one,
Sat now pondering
Upon all thus whence forged
At the battles heightened
Pitch...
For where else do men
Discover a truer kinship
Than when engaged in fierce
War?
Immersed in deep thought --
Mesmerised by glint and glare;
Drawn into the fractured glass
As a distracted man,
Ensconced at the bright
Hearths side,
Stares vacantly into flames.
Images, memories;
A mind, pliable as water,
Crowded with dead, long ago
Faces
Of those comrades slain...
For no promise ever made
Was truly made unless kept.
My little craft stirs
As rousing from idle dreams;
Shrill birdsong from woodland
Fringe,
Glib mallards laughing;
Incessant lap, lap, lapping,
Mist dissipates at lakes edge;
Prow swings slow about
As if turned by unseen hands.
And out across the vastness,
This wide emptiness,
Faraway voices calling...
Then gone like evening breeze.
It's been a lifetime since I heard your voice
Most times I can't recall
Your Laughter and whispers became foreign to me
Behind my memories walls
Too numerous nights when your face haunts my sleep
That I struggle to hold to the last
Fighting to save what my minds eye has seen
A myriad of years in the past
Was it so long ago that you passed from our lives?
Laid down for your final sleep
It feels so close although far from my grasp
You have been the one treasure I keep
I've searched out your life and the people you've touched
The legacy you built over time
Trying to resurrect you in some practical ways
Weaving their memories with mine
For twenty five years I've stared at your picture
Recounting each day remaking each choice
If I search deep enough in those eyes long extinguished
It nearly whispers a trace of your voice
What a ***** to find time to creep into another woman's bed
or maybe a rat to scurry under my feet for cheese and bread
askin for two shots ina each her toe, knee, chest, and head
Mi na ramp wit dem tings deh fi nobody but my own
My mother told me dat every man will chase fa gold
He'll climb til his youngest grandchild is grey and old
So why be one rat when you can be a Queen
mek him reach fa yu instead of looking cabinets between
Queen had to brush my teeth and wash my face
I had to fluff my pillows and pray for the day
Reminiscing on the bull**** that i just had to lay
Another day on this mutha****in paper chase
As horny as i thought i was i felt my walls pulsing
when i read " till her pussy dry and swollen"
But as i read on... i realized someone was cloning
Remaking the same NIGGA over and again
The life of a rap star. Does that mean you pimp
Does that mean I can ask you questions just like that hoodrat *****
You say you like what you see but you willing to fight yourself
One taste of this Queen melt yo Pimp Heavyweight belt
I told you your style was dope that i hadn't seen one in a while
a while meaning a year, said behind the same sly smile
Maybe that's the b.f you speak of that i'm creeping you with
the one that you reminded me of... with all these hot lyrics
I stay searching for real niggas because they seek me out too
They want a reminder we still exist even across a border or two
my single ass skipped the class on Game but made it to period two
the class on Guns, Poetry, Money, & Family.There were only me and you.
I thought.... Well damn, Any other real niggas but just a few?
Am i the only female left? Does no one have a clue?
That sex is all good from jump and beyond but money got me boo
Even if you aint got the green, ****, help me get on too
or point me in the direction of who to talk to
I'm getting a little Too fresh, it seems, for you
let me switch up my sexxxy back since I only gave you verse two
Sorrow weeps, small happiness creeps
Remorse afloat, in my silk coat
Emptiness appears, silence leers
Fading shadow, far below
Begging forgiveness, lots of emptiness............
Cemented dreams, gone to extremes
Song of despair, not knowing I care
Tears grabbing, hands jabbing
Wisps of cries, light up the sky..............
Eyes pleading, heart bleeding
Passion is no more, try to ignore
Breath held, try to expel
Life is gone, not so brawn............
Holding lifeless, so breathless
Sobs of redemption, seize upon preemption
Full fledged devastation, marks no exemption
Temptress aching, no remaking.......
The Disillusion Oh Me....
Brooke Dylan 2014
Taught Iago to trance,
the pungent smell made me balance the stance,
raided the 'pulse' and sought no other deviant,
I was looted in the same way I soared above all the monumentleness,
and got into it ahead.
They told us that we 'like' the hold on the today's whole whole because of the ways that the daze distracts in haze, on lightness and bled out fazed rocketry-
totality toward tanking is the remaking so I can start happily planking the tanned plinked' out shaking,
and be my own staking-
he'd let me know in an outside laking that the entanglements are not withstood otherwise so in our own eye's we tie and tie, and say goodbye doll, die die!
Your own forgiveness is in a way it's own stay yet the hearing does not go over that one flip and dive to dig like it's all sits in...
Your keep and your bold are not getting as old as the try in our sky and demand of the night to spy...
I'd take anyone on in a jimmin' janky dotton berry heelie feelie wheelie straight down the center of common carry.
Mad moments mesh mind mystery;
Yesterdays yield yonder yeses;
Sight sensuous stash sync sensibly;
Thrust tensile thrill to touch tresses;
Empty emote ends each earthing;
Ready ripe rock rustling rich roast;
Yesterdays yoke yield young yawning.
Mind mulling mock moves motive most;
Aplomb appease asking appliqué;
Seize subtle space singing sweetly;
Troubles trace tease trembling technique;
Endow encase embalm empty;
Rich rides revoke reel remaking;
Yesterdays yoke yonder yielding.
Leon Enriquez
14 June 2014
Singapore
(Note: This poem is a Sonnet with Alliteration.)
I stand where the sunset hugely spills
Out upon subdued but still hotly
Glowering plains...
Now, perhaps, I should wistfully
Recall my own homelands; her
Diminished and flattened hills,
Stretched and sleeping, far from yonder
Adjacent wolfen domains.
Vast plains, which, although of
Unmatched grandeur, neither embolden
To embrace upon mine passions...
Or impart the reinforcement of
Heartening succour...which the comfort
Of those broken hills so pleasingly fulfils!
For such is the pressing need to once
More imbibe the contriteness that is
The poor substance of this natives air;
Whilst, under cacophonous arrangement
Of timeless and haranguing bars,
Casting off all gaudy encumberment -
Thee imposition of these finely stitched
Robes,
To wander through uninhibited
Fields: rudely revealed whence left
Fallow and bare!
And, humbling myself, but ne'er as
Bold as Endymion, before vigilant
Selene's disdainful glare,
I would'st endeavour, rightly or not to
Thusly suppose,
To re-invent a lofty purpose beneath
The hurtling rails of screaming stars;
Here, in happy destitution, to wrap
Abouts in tattered remnants of
Ragged moonlight...thrown aside
When callously abandoned there.
Inspired by the "Pure" genius that was William Butler Yeats!
Mr. Carrot, the talking morning alarm clock making waking up fun.
His loud chimes would shake the ground and woods and wake up the church nuns.
A small pleasure starting with sun-shine and under the ground holding none,
forgetting it's at the farm thinking it's one sweet potato that won.
Black eyed peas eyed Mr. Wigley, curious and asked, "Who you looking at?"
Cedar waxwing with its chest puffed out in heaps, sweet musical and fat
sings a tale of a cat who wiggled its tail;his heart swelled rat a tat tat
on swooning blueberries and cherries under glimmering awning.
Mr. Wigley leans on the sexy pears, tips his hat at sounds playing.
Asparagus, spinach, broccoli, red, green and yellow peppers yell,
"Buy me please!" as he went by. Tomatoes, green beans, and has beens also fell
in line, with the beets, cabbage beat to join in; we'll bring a southern belle
to her knees in a carousel taste delight in a potluck meal spell.
An ultimate decision was made. Mr. Wigley mused deep and hard,
listening to all their prepared flavored tales in the summer farm yard
in hope of just reward, savors an inspirational luscious art.
I will definitely be remaking this again for my sweetheart.
12/16/2017
In my lowest point,
Nothing seemed to make sense;
Searched for what to hold on to and for
Pointless I used to feel.
In my lowest point, I found you and
Remaking of my broken self commenced;
And light was born within-
Tearing the darkness from me
In my lowest point, you told me I could trust You-
On Your shoulders I’d never be disappointed;
Nothing impossible with You-
And tears of amazement they’d be all I’ll have to shed
Reminiscing in your ever pouring grace
On my own, I never made it; but
Under your wings, I’m a victor over pessimism.
Never reasoned why I never sunk below my lowest point, but now it
Dawns on me like morning;
My inspiration you’ve always been and-
Evermore…
The city I left behind,
With all its empty goals,
Rushed and loud,
Noise and crowds,
The destroyer of my soul.
I seek the silence of the woodland,
New river paths to stroll,
The stillness of a valley,
And the remaking of my soul?
The sounds of the waters,
The freshness of the morn,
The whispering of the morning breeze,
My hope for life reborn.
Having lived the city life,
So deceitful to who I am,
No more will I allow myself,
To live among damned.
I walked away without regrets,
With canvas and my brush,
No longer will my weary mind,
Accept the circadian rush.
EASTER SUNDAY
Spring goddess Eostre--Astarte--Ishtar
Hares, rabbits--Middle Eastern pagan Spring
Festivals
Eggs--Traditional Fetisvals--decorated eggs bring
happiness, prosperity, etc.
Older tradition in liturgical calendar
Pentecost, fifty-days after Easter
Seventh Sunday after Easter Sunday
We get to fifty by including Easter
Good Friday—Day of His death—First day
Holy Saturday—Second day
Easter Sunday—Jesus had risen—Third day
The Roman and church in the West,
celebrated Easter on the first Sunday
Jesus' death and Resurrection,
Fourteenth day of Nisan was after the paschal full moon
At the Council of Nicaea in three hundred twenty-five,
the Church adopted this formula
and why Easter always falls on a Sunday,
and why the date changes every year.
Easter is always celebrated on a Sunday
because Jesus rose from the dead on a Sunday
Sunday was the first day of Creation
and Christ's Resurrection was the beginning
of the new Creation—the remaking of the world
that had been damaged by
the original sin of Adam and Eve
which is why Easter always falls on a Sunday,
and why the date changes every year.
The Bible Daily & JW.org
Happy Easter!
4/17/22
on the waning edge of day
sunset rolls white clouds to pink and amber strands
sifting back and forth like a quilt's overlay of color
a sprawling vista
unstoppable
the quiet glide between hope and trepidation
bended sky to quell settling light
in gold, pink clouds
quill thin, like tangled trails of choice
these warm stretches of glow
drifting
into scattershot lives
sunset whittled back
as night cuts the canvas
remaking itself
ethereal
into the the soft weave of another darkness
strapped to another day
Poem composed April 1st/2023
Thunder and lightning proclaimed his birth,
On a stormy day in Louisville Kentucky.
His young life spent in cloudy weather of Louisville,
Training at a farm near Reading, Pennsylvania,
He was fighting, not result, that mattered.
Character was all that counted,
Early adulthood was explored with intensity and purpose,
He impressed others along his path,
He fights and he writes,
Success and renown soon followed,
The King of ``The Rumble in the Jungle``
The Louisville, KY, reported: there’s a hero in the making.
Without looking down and no looking back,
He fight left & right beating champions and conquering belts,
The prettiest thing that ever lived,
Becoming a world heavyweight champion,
Those that would follow could easily see,
The way he had become,
A hero, there for their remaking.
Observing his progress, his championship walk,
He is a smiling pugilist,
He floats like a butterfly,
Sting like a bee" –,
a citizen of the world.
I ALMOST –IT’S JUST ALMOST
Obsession with obscurity objects-obtruding my offering
Friends and families framed in my fairytales-hiding my fears
Scared to show the true colors-waiting to be validated and valued by vanity
Lost love, rooted in rooms with no windows-lack of wisdom cost me to loss all
Wives whispering wishes, wishing wrong words where never sown in sight
Now covered in fame and fancy fantasies, facts are now factions to my sight
I almost lost my life if it was not for you; I almost lost faith if it was not for your faith
I know you love me, please take me back, I almost lost your footsteps of life and love
I have become prodigal with your presence-my desires deceived me
I have become my cravings, lost the course of life-purpose of living
I live in shadows of life covered in pleasure, luxury, and leisure-void soul
Truth is now trauma to my spirit because I now live a lie as truth, absent from truth
Religious with rituals without relationship or righteousness to relate to: please help
Born from fallen generation, searching in dark places, sightless from light-blindness
I almost lost my life if it was not for you; I almost lost faith if it was not for your faith
I know you love me, please take me back, I almost lost your footsteps of life and love
You are the place I call home, you are the joy and peace I hunger for
I am now shrinking because I have lost your presence-relocate me back to you
Perception perfumed by ignorance, producing pitfalls with self-justifiable-painful
Please return me to the well of the creator, drinking fresh waters – refreshing
Review my identity, pass the past, projecting present into future-vision restored
Broken pieces, broken pot, broken heart, broken life into the potters hands, remaking
I almost lost my life if it was not for you; I almost lost faith if it was not for your faith
I know you love me, please take me back, I almost lost your footsteps of life and love