Best Reproduce Poems
To those who think that poetry must be
of lofty things, not sensuality
To those who write of stars and sun and moon
and who to romance will not ever swoon
To those who write of angst and misery
of all that has gone wrong in history
To those who think I write frivolity
and read not what I write: an oddity!
I write to you, and all my thought's I'll bare
and see if you can argue if you dare
If you’ve forgotten passion's blazing fire
Or how consumed your heart was with desire
If you’ve forgotten romance in the night
Or making love in early morning light
If you’re denied the thrill of ecstasy
And can’t bear witness to its urgency
If you have come of age when health concerns
are all of life that now your mind discerns
I tell you dear, the fault is yours not mine
Devoid of love life meets not plan divine
The gift of love is granted from on high
You can’t deny that even if you try
the pleasure’s woven in anatomy
He formed and blessed our sensuality
To reproduce was in his own design
But also to enjoy the act sublime
There is a little bud that’s meant to thrill
It’s only use is pleasure to fulfill
So tell me, what is life if not for this
To show commitment with the sweetest kiss
In right communion to be drenched in love
And in its throes to glide to heights above
My fellow poet, write of lofty things
And all the finer thoughts that wisdom brings
I pity you for love and passion’s reign
Has banished you from glory with disdain
All nature and all life with love is mixed
And so my mind with passion is transfixed
It’s love that makes this world go round and round
Without it, best be buried underground.
Eileen Manassian
If 2012 prophesies prove true
And Earth’s life cycles again renew
Mysteries of man will be more than a few
Challenges may await future life forms
With intellects far surpassing our norm
Created to live without doing harm
For if they decipher man’s history
What will they make of our great mystery
The one we refer to as bigotry
Black labs, gold retrievers live side by side
Wild stallions and mustangs on prairies ride
Both red ants and black, free to colonize
Man’s refusal to accept differences
To wiser beings may make no sense
What in man’s makeup can give it credence?
Earth’s subsequent creatures may reproduce
Not needing two sexes to call a truce
So mating rituals may be pursued
A single-sex species might not comprehend
Why women workers were paid less than men
And why “free speech” was not just a given
Questions would most certainly arise
How a believer in God denies
Rights to free worship without compromise
And how could so many wars be waged
Evoking God’s name in death-march crusades
With killing, torturing in every age
Indeed such mysteries in man’s history
Would leave a perplexing legacy
Sure to confound any new species
New cultures may thrive on diversity
Of religion and genealogy
And speak of our inferiority
Note: This is dedicated to Christopher Higgins whose poems about prejudice inspire readers
to do more than just think about one of the greatest ills in our society.
Full of marketable commodities like xebec.
Waves of pure affection are slashed mercilessly.
Feelings: a sea upon which to wander carefree.
Devil swears to be a dove to trick people cursorily.
The doll dances on a string of yellow-golden hair.
It dyes its lips crimson with the blood of its lost prey.
It attracts people with its flirtatious smile and low blare.
Because of her, falls even the most religious people.
The ashes of destroyed rags cover the black eyes.
A sparkling smile covers Beelzebub's smile.
Her mistress is responsible for her spiritual slave.
A dark soul lurked deep within his radiant skin style.
Silicon's enticingly boosted slopes were xyloid-brittle.
Sword-like claws dig into the soul in sensual delight.
Obsession can be generated by female objects.
She does terrible things to helpless people fight.
The floral fantasies all turn xerophilous and prickly.
Salacious downpours became unending floods of sobs.
A terrible memory of a lost love left him feeling empty.
The reverberation of her laughing still throbs.
Written: September 15, 2022
Tragi comedy Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick
Word bank:
*xebec-also spelled zebec, was a Mediterranean sailing ship that was used
mostly for trading.
*Beelzebub- Satan, the Devil.
*xyloid- resembling qualities of wood
*xerophilous- A xerophile is an extremophilic organism that can grow and
reproduce in conditions with low availability of water.
I wish you knew the depth of knowledge gained
How instrumental are your thoughts to me
Through teaching what I’ve learned, I have been trained
To revel in my self-efficacy
Attention and retention play a part
To reproduce the model, I am keen
And motivation soars above the chart
When victory is felt and also seen
To read of you in books and realize
Your thoughts have left a mark that will abide
Like you to deepen learning is the prize,
I’m longing for, and I won’t be denied
Vicariously, I live within the realm
Where knowledge is a living entity
A place where greats like you stand at the helm
where life-long learning’s our identity
I had to pen these words, to let you see
That I admire all the things you’ve done
Your brilliantly well-thought out theory
Is why a place in hall of fame you’ve won
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Wild horses, prairies, desert canyons,
Native Indians, brush landscapes
by 'Dean of Western Painters'
known as Olaf Wieghorst.
His contrast boldness,
softened with light
blended hues,
stirred my
heart.
Inspired to capture his moving art,
passion pushed to reproduce his
famed Navaho masterpiece;
every brushstroke chosen
to grasp his canyon,
mother and child
on stone bluff
framed by
rock.
I have been called a sex god
It has been said that
I radiate an aura of pure sexuality
I stopped telling my friends stories of my exploits years ago
Because they don't believe me
For instance
My last lover was a 54 year old paraplegic actress
I once gave a girl dozens of orgasms within a single minute
And can reproduce this feat at any time on any woman
Every inch of my body is fantastic
Like a machine fine-tuned for sexual pleasure
My sex drive is monstrous
Unending
Makes me crazy
I only stop to smoke cigarettes once every few hours
And I don't have a refractory period
All this is true
I'm probably a nymphomaniac
But it doesn't matter
Because I hate people
Because I hate dating
Because I have nothing to prove
Because the cosmos are indifferent
Because economizing sex disgusts me
I'm generally quiet
Try to keep a low profile
But inside
a Martian sex dragon
Breathing passion and lust
Inside
Roaring madly alone, tortured
Clawing at my skin
Chomping on my bones
Gnashing on my brain like a chew toy
I pretend not to care
I like to think it doesn't have an affect on me
But it is me
And I hate it
And I love it
Go ahead and tell them
Look them in their bright young eyes
Tell them they're going to hell
For love
If they want salvation
They must go against their god-given nature
They must repent and regret and repress
They must reproduce
Because love doesn't exist without it
God forgive them if they're sterile
God forgive the cervix cancer that takes her
God forgive the dead seed that he sows
Because their love will be forbidden
Like it is for all the dastardly barren homosexuals
What a joke
What a horrible joke
Oh yes
It's a choice
Love is a choice
We choose to be hated, we choose to be hurt
We choose to be thrown out on the street and kicked and shouted at and killed
Go ahead and tell them you won't hate us
But you'll look the other way when terrible things happen to us
You'll offer us salvation
If only we destroy ourselves
There just isn't enough febreeze
to rid the room of the haze
Of a dog fart, strong and silent
It kind of puts you in a daze
It kind of sneaks in, then it hits you
An olfactory h-bomb in your face
Meanwhile, he just lies there
He's wiped the room with **** mace
There is no middle ground here
They always smell like something died
Like he caught a squirrel in the garden
Now, it's rotting his insides
Dog farts, are a weapon
That our army has not used
In fact I told them in a letter
In their reply, they were amused
"We've tried to duplicate it"
"A killer weapon... stops the heart"
"But, our scientists just aren't able"
"To reproduce a strong dog fart"
"Thank you for your consideration"
"We'll let you know, if we succeed"
"We agree with your kind letter"
"dog farts escape and then they breed"
Sometimes when a dog farts
It makes a noise, he turns around
"my god, I smell incredible"
is the look comes from my hound
So, if you've never smelled a dog fart
And your dog just sneaks one out
Do yourself a favour
Do not feed him brussel sprouts.
Behold the lowly dandelion; a weed with just a fancy name.
She grows where opportunity allows but pest is her main claim to fame.
Strong and tenacious, she holds her own against those who wish her harm.
Growing wherever she can drop a root, a bright yellow flower to disarm.
Among the many blades of grass, she snuggles in your lawn.
If you resent her presence there, then grab the Weed Begone.
But when it's time to reproduce, she's soft and fluffy fairy down.
Sending her seeds into the world, they ride the wind along the ground.
A bee's first food in early spring, she holds a place in nature's heart.
Perhaps a wish is sent her way, as the child in us blows her apart.
So, don't underestimate this overabundant humble weed.
She has a niche in God's plan and her humble presence fills a need.
April 5, 2019
Gunshots be leavin 'em children alone
they gotta find a way all on they own
kids screamin out sets for hope
then run around with a crew slangin dope
can't forget that they saw they fathers go
witness to earth the bloodiest show
to young to truly understand
despite what ya heard God won't hold your hand
It seems to me that we've been forlorn
destined death after death to mourn
lookin at the future of us all
death to brothas come at a sudden call
little children begin to see the light
keep on killin knowin that it ain't right
but desperation sets in hopin for death
because it's to painful to take another breath
How many of my brotha's died last week
an an answer given not for the weak
life like this shoulda made us sick
creepin in streets tryin not to get licked
time again are numbers start to dwindle
hopein for knew life in this race to be kindled
but all we ever do is disappear
it's funny that are lives are consumed by fear
and are youngstas reproduce fast
more brothas get shot lives endin in head casts
why do we gotta die at such a rate
a brotha feel cold heat as if it's fate
and as my brothas always seem to die
my race got another reason to cry
little niggas is our only men
no more elders in my dearest black kin
Now we got kids runnin da street
that means, the judge and jury da heat
the boys in blue pilein up da dead
crackas in th oval office shakein da head
the ghettos so lost can we find a way
it seem's that the only hope we got is to pray
and children already learn how god do
give to those who take so we take with a 22
now we gotta cope, sippin' on brew
gettin faded thinkin bout the dirt we do
and that just make a brotha think
why we be born livin on da brink
seein bodies fallin fast in packs
cause it be like we forced to fire back
so thelast thing is to put bodies in bags
at da funeral drapin our brothas with rags
When coco de mer trees were found
Their nuts had most people enthralled
They all thought they looked erotic
So "Love Nuts" is what they were called
Still unknown how they reproduce
Explained in some of the wild tales
On stormy nights, the female trees
Are approached by uprooted males!
Viewing this mating process though
Would cause you to die or go blind
Seek not shelter under male trees
They might come at you from behind!
( after Sachida's after the war)
There will be war, in fact, there have always been wars,
and will continue.
Wars satisfy us.
Our nasty muscles move in festive workouts,
when there is war; in hearts, minds and on tongues.
We suffer from cerebral indigestion, when deprived of
wars.
The other day, the day after his son's birthday celebrations,
with exploding music and drunken noise, which lasted
till wee hours of the night, my neighbor, somehow,
managed to transfer his frustrations upon me by littering
my backyard lawn with empty beer cans; probably
thrown over the barbed wire fence, by reveling guests
of his punk-offspring.
My dog, Snow, barked at the strange garbage with unsual
agitation.
It sensed an arrogant invasion on its fond green grass.
I too was gravely provoked and felt the need to wage
a war.
Thus, I skipped breakfast and waited for his emergence,
pacing on my courtyard in furious strides while my eyes remained glued to his front door, all throughout that sunny winter morning.
What followed next, I choose not to reproduce.
It was a war, of words, we prefer not to engage in
front of the children.
Ants crossed borders, everyday, in their tiny lifetimes.
But wage no war with termites, earthworms and roots.
They simply tolerate each other's organic aspirations.
Why do we have this genetic longings of counting corpses,
fallen chariots and diffused bombs.
Even as the good books cry for love and peace, while their
revered middlemen conspire with rulers and falsify faiths,
we are eternally charged for wars, until
nothingness will prevail in memories of ruins and ashes,
where poetry will lament with silent screams.
Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water.
When they came down, Jill magically became a Jack.
Now they could not reproduce a great son nor a daughter!
6/15/2023
"Because you've deepened the conviction in my soul. I am woman.” Ray Burton
Restful repose.
Seemingly without clothes,
Yet adorned with a quilt.
Serene, no concerned guilt.
Appearing to slumber.
Six women in number,
Or is it just one
In stages til life’s done?
Woman, slyly awake and alert.
Wiles of a temptress she'll assert.
The delicate virgin surrounded by flowers.
Buds turn to blooms as do woman’s powers,
Becoming full and plentiful.
The Painting acts as a sentinel.
Through the ages, she loves and will reproduce,
By gentle round contours her body will induce.
Creating splendid sensuality,
She possesses untold morality.
Depicting an older woman back to the virgin so grounded.
Her gown in purple and blue the maiden is surrounded.
Fertile spirals depicted swirling in reverse,
Showing ever changing woman, in the universe.
Inside Out
The mighty mitochondria make ATP,
Without which there’d be no you or no me.
From glucose, bonds break and energy flows,
Through various molecules, energy goes.
From foods that you once eventually ate,
ADP gets another phosphate.
It can reproduce when only one,
(But all by itself, that can’t be much fun.)
The round DNA in them that is found,
Is the same as bacteria that today are around.
But it still retains its original way,
And replicates with its own DNA.
Ribosomes also, like bacteria’s of course.
Of their proteins, they are the source.
The ribosomes that it uses to make its protein,
Are just like bacteria’s, when close up are seen.
And these proteins, they are very old,
Like those of bacteria, so we are told.
Two membranes it has and the problems that posed,
Until the thought, it was once phagocytosed.
The bacterium was phagocytized, no lysosome engaged,
They started living together with no one enraged.
And because at the start, the lysosome did fail,
Now two membranes remain to suggest this tale.
And so it is true,
With chloroplasts too.
The same type of tale,
Just not being pale.
These are plain green,
And easily seen.
From sunlight and carbon they make a compound,
That their mitochondria can then break down.
For their mitochondria work just the same,
To make ATP, the name of the game.
Endosymbiosis is the name of the game,
Many people don’t get it and that’s a real shame.
It’s more than just two things living together,
It made them both quite different and better.
A few billion years past, both were living,
A cell and bacterium, each one giving.
What does it matter, why do we care?
Because with endosymbiosis, evolution does share.
The bacterium had talent in making ATP,
And became mitochondria in both you and me.