Best Repository Poems
T
A
TAJ J TAJ
MAHAL MAHAL MAHAL
[W] MAUSOLEUM IN [U]
[O] A MARBLE SPLENDOUR [N]
[N] AN EPIC IN STONE,A MARVEL [E]
[D] FOR HIS BELOVED MUMTAZ MAHAL [S]
[E] T HIS FAVOURITE AND MOST CHERISHED T [C]
[R] A QUEEN, BUILT HE,THIS NOBLE MOGHUL A [O]
J EMPEROR , A MAGNIFICENT MEMORIAL J
[O] MAHAL IN HER FOND MEMORY AFTER SHE LEFT MAHAL [H]
[F] ******* HIM SUNK IN UTTER GRIEF,WHEN SHE ******* [E]
BREATHED HER LAST, GIVING BIRTH TO THEIR FOURTEENTH CHILD [R
[T] IMMENSE WAS HIS LOVE TO IMMORTALIZE, HIS VOW [I]
[H] BEREAVEMENT'S PAIN EXUDED AS LOVE IN STONES OF MONUMENT [T]
[E] IVORY WHITE MARBLES LAPUS LAZULI,TURQUIOSES [A]
PIETRA DURA, ARTISTIC ,BEAUTY PERSONIFIED SANS ANY WONDER [G]
[W] THIS TOKEN OF DEEP LOVE FOR DARLING WIFE [E]
[O] STANDS SYMBOL OF ETERNAL LOVE TODAY RIFE
[R] ADORABLE,MAJESTIC REPOSITORY SO ROMANTIC [S]
[L] THE KING AND QUEEN LEFT BEHIND LOVE LEGACY [I]
[D] HISTORY WILL HUM THIS LOVE STORY FOREVER [T]
[E]
ON MOONLIT NIGHTS ON BOSOM OF YAMUNA RIVER,FROM PLINTH TO DOME MARBLE SHINES LIKE SILVER. IN EVERLASTING SLUMBER LAY IN TOMB THE
QUEEN WITH HER KING BESIDE, THEIR STORY IN LOVER'S HEARTS RESIDE.
LONG LIVE ETERNAL LOVE OF KING SHAH JAHAN, LONG LIVE THE TAJ !!!!!!
28th December 2016
~ For Concrete Crush Contest~
Glossary:
Pietra Dura: Inlay technique of using cut and fitted, highly polished colored stones to create images.
Categories:
repository, appreciation, art, husband, love,
Form:
Concrete
A bridge from colloquial to courtly
fare
A span where idealism and fantasy
pair
A railway to the existential realm;
celestial lair
A conduit through which rational
discourse can flare
Deep medium to: forage, inculcate,
and inform
Broad brush to paint rare beauty;
sculpt surrealistic form
Incisive scalpel to surgically alter
the societal norm
Delicate utensil to educate on
civility and decorum
A literary organ; a prosaic construct
A mechanism our syntax to
deconstruct
An analytical tool; an observational
viaduct
Introspective milieu to reduct;
extrovertive sphere to reconstruct
A semantical edifice that aspiring
wit, lofty orations implore
An experimental structure
gramatical anomalies to explore
A thematic repository in which
concrete ideas, abstract notions to
pour
A vernacular cathedral butressed by
an idiomatic core
Categories:
repository, on writing and words
Form:
Rhyme
Women in my family
Of all, I owe most to my mom and my younger sister
Who have brazenly stolen a chunk of my heart!
Mom, you were always our pillar of support
And a vast repository of values and inspirational love
We have always seen you as a Powerhouse of strength
Kissing away our tears and infusing hope in us.
The intimacy I share with my younger sister
Surpasses all other ties and is too deep for words
Ever and anon, through smiles and giggles,
Through every twist and turn of life,
We were (are) together as a pair of twins,
Prodding each other to move ahead
This garland of words with much love
I hang on the portrait of my mom
______________________________
June. 23.2022
~Placed First~
Women in My Family Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Sotto Poet
Categories:
repository, appreciation, family, home, mom,
Form:
Free verse
A Palace of Aloneness.
This palace of aloneness is not my home.
It's bricks know only the time of run-off bygones.
Transition past it's thousand entrances
Impaired with creeping ivy
Into it's stately communion hall
For the dead and the living you'll end up.
Look out it's eyes towards blurred views
Draped in so longs never to be clearly revealed.
Gawk at it's floor to ceiling shelves infinitely crowded
With ô so decidedly swollen hearts
Captive inside tightly sealed jars.
To dust them is not my task.
Here, cabinets are filled with illogical medicines
For conditions without extensional cures.
A repository for good and bad intentions.
You'll know as soon as you feel it
That you are there.
I'll take no residence in this palace
On the dark side of it's interference.
Secure no long or short term stay in it.
This settlement has no neighbors
To cheerily comfort with a smile.
No happiness locker, no blowing kisses.
No escape if you accept lodging here.
Move on, let weighty doors close before you
That have no real escape.
About-face before it's dark shadow becomes you.
Recapture only evidence that matters.
There is no recouping backwards.
Offer up your redress to tomorrow today.
Flee past this palace of forlornness.
Avoid it's thorns upon your ankles.
Clutch your heart from head to toe.
Keep your future safe to ascent again.
Stay out and away look up to heavens above
Even now they are clouded with silver linings.
Categories:
repository, endurance, feelings, loneliness, longing,
Form:
Free verse
I, cold ... cold as stone ...
But is that not befitting such as I?
Once, merely common, hidden deep in the earth,
Still, my quality made itself known ... my porcelain perfection
Shone in the sun, and I was freed from Terra's grasp ...
Across a great sea I was rocked, carried in care
To finally, joyfully, go under The Master's hand.
I slowly, agonizingly, emerged from the cloud-white slab, pure ...
Brought forth into all glory and consummation!
Stone saw, chisel, rasp, cloth, and paper ... I stretched my limbs, reached my
Fingers and toes to the ether ... arched my back in a repose of death,
Laid upon an altar of mocked coral, draped only in my net -
The Pearl Diver's repository of all things glistening and wondrous!
Oh, what exquisite orbs, those that grace the net's seam!
White, pink, and black opaline gems - iridescent ocean treasures!
Miraculous drops of milky, nacreous moonlight, hidden in Neptune's gullet,
Awaiting their emancipation ... finally freed at the edge of the diver's blade!
But that, for me, is yet a dream ... I am but stone, after all ...
Be content, instead, to gaze upon my keen beauty,
I, the polished progeny of a sculptor's acumen,
I, the refined, glorious bloom of stone,
I, the ivory issue of marble elegance,
I, the bairn of a master ...
The Dead Pearl Diver.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the " ... And Now For Something Completely Different" Poetry Contest, John Lawless, Judge & Sponsor.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Brian's Choice Q, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
( This is about the sculpture "The Dead Pearl Diver" by Benjamin Paul Akers 1858, currently on display at The Portland Museum of Fine Art in Portland, ME ... this was a personal favorite of Nathaniel Hawthorne, and he wrote about it more than once. This is an incredible sculpture, especially in person )
Categories:
repository, analogy, art, metaphor, ocean,
Form:
Ekphrasis
Once I finish oiling rusty joints and dusting these old bones,
it's time set off on down the trail.
Where I'll head I haven't a clue;
by heaven perhaps to find you.
No, not some yellow brick road,
a highway for the broken and in-firmed.
Cracked and crumbled; musty and stale,
pathway to lost dreams express rail.
Cacophony slideshow playing in my mind,
as I slide into my seat to speed along.
A thousand what-if's circle to choose;
though now no regrets and nothing left to lose.
Finally my stop time to depart,
the repository of a million unseen dreams.
Doors drag open creaking as they go
gazing upon shelves stacked packed high and low.
Some like boxes shiny sparkling new,
others hanging darkly; skeletons waiting to pounce.
So many choices of where to start,
eternity to shuffle through the trappings of my hidden heart.
All the forks along my road,
ready to explore a life's worth of could have been's!
Oh the glee, to see my dreams and greatest glory,
sifting through my un-lived repository!
Categories:
repository, angel, desire, dream, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
Magic Box
Now opening forever
A box full of surprises
So,ladies and gentlemen presenting
A repository of amusement
A casket of kindness and excitement
A chest of serenity
Case of asthetic pleasure
A trunk of ray of hopes and thankfulness
Who deserves it is a simple question
A heart bankrupt in cruelty and greed
A mind lacking malice thoughts
A tongue without aggression
Two eyes free of fear,ears bare of gossips
Speech never loaded with allegations
Hands without languor,conscience of disgust
Each can demand them,who has
Heart of mercy,content mind
Tongue piled with true feelings of gratitude
Eyes loaded with praise,ears heaped with calmness
Speech filled with patience, creative two hands
Conscience clogged with affection
Everlasting magic box
27/09/2018
Categories:
repository, encouraging, inspirational,
Form:
Verse
Is there always one verse
you still have yet to write
And if not—what’s the point
of it all
Are you the repository of
all you have felt
Or the dealer and merchant
of lies
Are your thoughts tattooed onto
your immortal soul
With your feelings exposed
or held back
Are the words disconnected
from the ink in your veins
Do you live within
all that you’ve said
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2016)
Categories:
repository, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
In our world technological,
Here's how to talk to gadgets digital,
"Now listen up, keyboard and router,
Not to mention dysfunctional mouser....
Are you listening carefully to me?
(I am talking to them, but silently),
I do have replacements for each of thee,
I see a future ahead of you three,
Tossed into the gaping jaws of a bin,
off to the council tip, repository of sin,
Did you hear that? Listening in,
Stop trying to do my head in!"
Now they're behaving dutifully,
Technology responding beautifully,
"I'm warning each one of thee,
No more messing around with me!"
Yes, how to talk to technology!
(But make sure you do it silently!).
Categories:
repository, computer, fantasy, technology,
Form:
Free verse
The eraser belonged to me; it was saved by my mother and returned along with many other
childhood items when I became middle aged. I was curious as to why she would save a
stubby old eraser from the primary grades, so she reminded me of its’ one and only use. My
faded memory of that time suddenly became crystal clear, as my mother recounted for me a
watershed episode from my formative years.
I had, as they say these days “acted out in school once again,” this time by writing
unspeakable words in a textbook. Without any hesitation or forethought, I chose as my
repository the teachers’ edition of our English composition book. Quite frankly, at the time, I
thought they were literary gems worthy of publication. That’s why I knowingly inscribed them
there for all to see. Upon further review by more knowledgeable minds, it was determined
corrective guidance and a phone call home was in order.
I was to spend several hours after school that day sweating in contemplative silence as I
erased the teachers’ edition and many other similarly defaced books. It was during this time
of reflection that I ground that eraser down to the stub as it remains today. The last visible
vestiges of my bad expositions disappeared forever that hot afternoon, along with more than
half of the eraser.
Mother then reminded me of what she overheard the Superintendent tell me, as she sat
mortally ashamed and waiting for hours in the hallway outside that sweltering classroom. I
can still visualize her ample adult size, trying in vain to get comfortable, in a sticky one
armed desk made for a 5th grader.
“ John, I want you to try and remember this:
WHAT YOU SAY to others might last with them until THEY DIE.
But regretful WORDS YOU WRITE, the residue of which, will last long after YOU DIE.
So you keep what’s left of this eraser and I hope you never need to use it again.”
*For the "Rub it out" contest, i still have the eraser.
Categories:
repository, introspection, on writing and
Form:
Narrative
In the library - for contest
Books are the ever- burning lamps
Of knowledge and wisdom....
It 's a well-established truth and I
also nod in full agreement...
But let me say this, I am not a nerd
And I am not a book-worm....
Nor do I have a flair for reading much
and all my friends know this too well....
But in these few days what surprised
them was my frequent library visits
My tryst with our town library..
was on a rising note day- by -day
My friends got curious and dubious!
Free-times or weekends my schedule
had changed,
My footsteps take me to the library road ....
All roads for me led to library not Rome!
Friends were not on my agenda as before...
Intolerable, all in a group they did approach
Asked me the reason for my library craze...
I shrugged, I smiled,I winked,
I blushed but didn't disclose....
My visits to library stay continued...
One fine morning greatly dressed I,
left my home as my perfume lingered
My destination, I need not say now
I know you readers have guessed it right!
My steps moved in well-paced rhythm
Hilarious spirits , morning pleasant!
Sun smiled at me and flowers wished!
Into the library i did step in...
And as his glimpse my sight caught
I blushed, I waved, smile creeping in
Bright face, so elegant , so handsome
Waved back and sent me a flying kiss
A research scholar and my new love!
Day in and day out he enjoys with books...
"The origin of species" by Charles Darwin
Rene Descartes and his philosophy of,
Cogito ergo sum !
My experiments with truth by Mahatma Gandhi!
Hereditary principles by Gregor Mendel..
Sociological thoughts of Max Weber
These are a few that I recollect..
Oh my dear soup friends...now that you all know
Please maintain silence.... is the board I'll point at!
My other friends are still curious....
I leave it to them to find on their own!!
My love has filled in me a new passion
my reading habit is slowly improving!
I sat with him last week with Pygmalion
Classic of versatile George Bernard Shaw
How hours passed like minutes, I never know!
I Worship library now as a repository
of knowledge of varied genre!
In reading and applying what we read
lies our real wisdom!
for contest: In the library
sponsorer-Isaiah Zerbst
by: Anulaxmi Nayak
on:13th August 2015
Categories:
repository, art, beauty, blessing, books,
Form:
Free verse
When you were born
the Sun named you Wondra
and Luna fed you star fire from her naked night,
they knew you would dance with feet of love war
that your heart would become poetry, body an angel's repository
and that your soul would cry diamonds, a mind of misfit symphony,
As you've grown, so pretty and strong
like a song of valor from an incorruptible heartbeat
a new passion of virtue has glown from your triumphant love touch,
serpents have negotiated for your beauty only to be awed by your command
and the indigenous creatures of Earth have come to your maternal hand for guidance,
the crosses in your eyes have shown the brave sanctuary and the wicked outstretched humility -
J.A.B.
Categories:
repository, i love you,
Form:
Free verse
That treasury of memories most precious,
With these few words I seek to praise.
It is our school yearbooks of the past,
The repository of events from happier days.
I thank GOD for time to compose this tale
And for youth of spirit to view these scenes.
Cause this adventure began so long ago,
When we started the trek as kings and queens.
The voyage took me far beyond this shore,
Where clocks no longer tick and time marches not,
And the almond-eyed girl strums her instrument
Until sweet dreams overtake me asleep on my cot.
I follow her as my vision assumes a landscape,
Across green pastures and meandering streams.
‘Til a pyramid of bamboo comes into view,
A quite curious structure of bamboo beams.
There at the entrance I climb the marble steps,
And carry this precious book into the darkness.
Being guided by the inner aura of mystique,
I gave the volume rest in the drawer of a chest.
As I bowed to request GOD’s grace and blessing,
The fire in my soul yearned for a divine quencher.
The whole world seemed beautiful as I left,
Knowing that tomorrow starts a new adventure.
Categories:
repository, friendship, imagination, life, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
dreary eyed, musky languor- tassels tight
a loose walk paraded by looser convictions
an acquaintance of that sad, lowly height
that alluded odysseys and several hymns
open window, surely dries out the stink
encroached in the room shadows and fleas
the zeitgeist of this area; to even think
flowers and dewdrops burly trees; to seize
the thought, it lingers, but only so little
too soon, to even land a misty eyed dream.
Categories:
repository, absence, bereavement, feelings, grief,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
As children, we all dream,
tales of magic, of mystery,
and our own imagined destinies;
we dream of future prowess, of our own fantastic wyrds –
of our glorious, important place in the cosmos.
Whether those dreams are of firemen, police,
soldiers, artists, scientists,
writers, musicians, or something that isn't there,
like superheroes or the princes and princesses of old,
we all want to be something greater, even in youth.
I, too, dreamt these childhood dreams
of glory and legend, enchantment and song;
I too felt their pull,
heeded their call and let imagination sweep me away –
for a time.
Eventually we move on from the past,
accepting its existence, its wonder, sometimes its pain,
its place in who we have since become –
and so did I, from the fanciful paths of yesterday
to the more grounded ones of today and tomorrow.
Or so I thought.
For, of late, and a litte while before,
I have been tending a magic all my own;
not the magic I'd envisioned, the kind of fire and ice,
light and fury –
the kind of word and verse.
Now I voice my thoughts in phrase and letter,
birthing a new, separate being;
a being of explanation, of concepts and sensation,
with a life all its own, on the page and in my heart –
parts of me, grown in my mind and given form as poetry.
And now I've discovered, it's this kind of magic I prefer –
the dreams of the past truly can't compare
to the realities of today;
not when I can take the barest thought, slightest inspiration,
and change it into something so much more.
Not when I've become not only myself, but a vessel,
a repository for idyllic words to come coursing through –
for my muse inhabits my mind, beside me,
forever changing my outlook and my output;
yes, that's my kind of magic.
Categories:
repository, growing up, imagination, introspection,
Form:
Free verse