Best Respective Poems
you want to know a secret
when I write a poem and it's perfect
i dont share it
i bury it
deep inside of me
where no one else can see
i mean its perfect
not like this shift
it's elegant, poignant,
simplistic, bueatful
trucking perfect
its not erotic
but i read it
mentally masterbate to it
a euphoric chorus
straight form thesaurus
its just that great
im not being egotistical
if read, it would become universal
a meter tethered in clasical measure
a rythmic flow
with many metaphoric undertows
an iconic harmonic tonic
to make you feel like an embryonic hedonic youth
im not being napoleonic
its an actual truth
factually accurate
high in heaven
it produced a tear in the eye of god
who proclaimed
not a single flaw
not a single flaw
and he only saw what i wrote
well, because hes god
me being me i like to tease
allow me to be inclined to share a few lines
blow your mind
redefine your collective defective perspective
realign your ineffective respective connective tisue
"all my cows milk is homogenized
all my crows are well organized
all my sheep like to stare and creep
like to stare and creep"
but you'll never see
the rest of my secret poetry
that only exsist inside of me
cows will always moo
crows will always ka kah
sheep will always go baah baah baah
and the perfect elagance
of my literary inteligence
will die with me
never being seen
qouted, memorised or plagerized
as i will say with my last gasp
the next line being twice my last
all you super-duper-soupers can kiss my ***
ok all you super-duper-soupers have been slammed. if you want to slam me back just a few things. make it funny. make it a little nonsensical and definitly make it over the top
and if you do slam me back send me a soup mail or leave a comment so i can go read your slam.
High above the quiet, darkened streets of January, the night wind begins to whisper secrets through my apartment window casements. Far below me lie four cafes, all in sync as they awaken from daytime hibernation to begin an evening ritual of turning on lights, welcoming thirsty patrons, discouraging lost polar bears, trying to survive.
Light bulbs hang in lazy swags, dripping evenly from the edge of each identical awning. Predictably, their glow travels as fast as the light itself creating a sudden and uninvited interruption of the Arctic desert landscape.
Sitting apart on their respective corners below, the cafes squeeze into a single pane near the bottom of my window. Leaning closer, I blow a hot and intoxicated breath onto the glass in defiance or retaliation, an attempt at immolation perhaps. Instead, my unused air lies wasted across the cafes on the other side of the window, in an irregular oval of futility.
I use a balled-up fist to wipe away the misty scene before it has a chance to evaporate and leave me alone, a desperate and inevitable disappearing act in the face of my curated isolation.
In grandeur, a leaf of grass is no less high
Than all the glittering stars in the sky
There is beauty alike in weed and reed
When each fulfills Nature’s need
The low and the high thus in equal glory stay
When their respective roles they fairly play
When perception turns to levels transcendental
Everything will appear exponentially beautiful!
Poetry Marathon Mile.3.Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Mark Tony
(Placed First in
A Strand(1048) Poetry Contest)
She was like Bordeaux,
a tall drink of spirit
He was more a hopped
pale lager like Pilsner,
both gorgeous and
super gingered flavors,
although clashing mid
respective savored aplomb,
one so refined the other
rowdy after hours,
yet they complimented
each other in the way
they blended their
drunken demeanors,
intoxicated by mere
existence of nature's
essential complexities
among you and I and among us all
remains a feeling of shallow intoxication
that seems to play on and on and on in our respective heads
as everyone important to us has gone on to some beautiful destiny
I sit here amongst the caucasion sleeves of paper on the floor of my chamber
the numbness of the so called "art" on the radio
mommy, I have done it
as the winter approaches, we batten down ourselves for the impending darkness
snow ensconces the dull tundra of all the acres
understandably blundered by the wings of burden and shame
I toil with the literature of my past and the science of my future
I thought I found you at least a dozen times, but you weren't you
daddy, throw another log on the fire
is there mercy in this chaos and this uncertainty?
will I ever retain escape velocity and leave this earth?
I must leave this place and find sanctity elsewhere
no doctor revive me, no professional conversationalists, please.
mommy, daddy, take me home.
the shoreline thunders, with the red clay -- imitating dover
I stare down at the mercurial wash of the crushing tides
special sequins rain down into the fundy sea below
I shall wake the wight inside of me
and destroy the pain inside of thee.
mommy, daddy -- rape the teeth from within my head
to paint a better picture of the son you thought you knew
brother, I miss you and your insolent charm.
but little monster, I think I will stay for you.
It's funny when you just feel like you in this world alone -
Know one understand's you , not even the one's who consider themselves
to be grown -
Black women a relationship is not about you , one woman -
It's about that woman including that man , united together we stand -
Every arguement is not just the fault of him -
Consider what you did before the arguement and remember 1 of you
equals 2 for them -
Know man should put his hand's on a woman as well as know woman
should put her hand's on a man -
But , in a relationship we should both keep it respective because the outside
line will never understand -
Something that is workable to both of us is over exaggerated by them -
Even though we where both in the fault the outside line only blame's him -
I think that deep down inside every man has some good -
Im in a seat now where the one's you say , are no good once stood -
I was more than good i was great -
Now, Im trying to keep from tearing down someone else's wall with all
this hate -
Im a dog because i don't want to throw my heart in -
Rewind my life and sweet heart come again -
Who came up with this rule that he alway's has to lay down the red carpet
for you -
Back in the day's we women where strong and everything that was old to
us was brand new -
Black women why does jealousy has to be part of your plan in order to get
some attention -
When you get some you don't want it ; sorry to you lady player's that one i had
to mention -
Black women if you feel like you deserve to be treated good than raise your
hand -
Now put your hand's down and look around because that's what it feel's
like inside of every good man -
Black men stand up and tell your woman i deserve to be treated good -
Black men tell your woman i love you but , let's make sure that what i said , is
understood -
Some of us black women need to recognize that in a relationship it's 50% for
you and 50% for me -
If you don't have no 50% than don't expect no red carpet because everything
that you thought was about you include's me -
Form:
It is the evening I have waited for,
stiletto heels three inches high adorned my feet,
real nylons hung from garters beneath a
skin tight, leather skirt of maraschino cherry-red.
A blouse of white silk, with a cascade of ruffles,
played peek-a-boo with my décolletage.
Outdoors, the rain pounded the asphalt
making the reality of his arrival even more bizarre.
A Harley barrels into the driveway.
Apparently, he thinks
he is Marlon Brando
and I am Stella?
I stand on the porch, a black umbrella
covering my new do, and watch as he
saunters through the puddles on the concrete walk.
The color of the umbrella my only
non-incongruent element in the frame, the scene made.
His smile was like a box of Chiclet's
on his clean shaven face.
He kisses me.
I lick the raindrop
from the tip of his Roman nose
and take hold of his Russian fingers.
He tosses my umbrella on the porch,
throws his black leather jacket over my shoulders,
lifts me off my feet, and carries me to the bike.
The sun breaks through the clouds and the rain stops,
just in time for the neighbors to glare at the sight of my legs
reflecting on the bikes chrome work.
Shake their respective heads
and donate a few wolf whistles.
Lunar
Anisha Dutta
Full Moon closest to Fall is termed ‘Harvest Moon’
That’s the seasonal time to harvest
Next Full Moon the ‘Hunter’s Moon’ comes very soon
To go for hunting is the best.
In respective orbital path
On certain Full Moon night
Sun-Moon in-between Earth
Come in a line, just right.
Sun-Moon-Earth paired together
When come in perfect alignment
Lunar Eclipse will occur
Technical term ‘SYZGY’ has been set.
Under thinner-most shadow of Earth if Moon slips
Eclipse is known to be Pen-Umbral
If partially shadowed, it’s Partial Eclipse
Fully shadowed Eclipse is called Total.
Total Lunar Eclipse, now being called ‘Blood Moon’
As the eclipsed moon is not dull or dark losing glamor
But exhibits rusty red-hue glow looking boon
Sun-spectrum through atmosphere display reddish color
If the Harvest Moon shows Blood Moon at perigee
The closest position of Moon to Earth
One tenth larger and thirty percent brighter to see
Spectacular ‘Super Moon’ most worth.
If consecutive four ‘Blood Moon’ appeared
Rare occasions of lunar performance
The event is known as ‘Lunar Tetrad’
In between eclipse to come has no chance.
Watching ‘Super Moon’ I felt lucky
Then, have I gone lunatic?
Enjoying marvelous cosmos beauty?
No, I am just romantic.
Themes # 5 Poems on Moon Contest Honorable mention
Sponsor SKAT A
Dismal tale of men and women in the dirty rail compartment
No conception of the charm being knitted by the movement
Of the necklace of gentle light in the pants shirts and blouses
All is too occupied in their struggle to notice the kind crescent
As they are returning home from their respective workplaces
Piteous story of apathy and woe all of them are absorbed in
An old lady chewing parched rice taking it from a rusted tin
In a dark corner is seated a youth with shirt all bloodstained
Suffering from tuberculosis and looking very fragile and thin
A worthless life of empty existence still wretchedly retained
Though no threshold he will come across leading him to a
Plate of rice and curry as at least one square meal a day
A hawker of playthings approaches them in a smiling face
A second vendor selling some human figures made of clay
A gloomy motion picture of life running in an unfair race
10/07/2017
Rhyme Time with 5 Poetry Contest sponsored by Laura Loo
Using the five words viz Piteous Bloodstained Threshold
Conception and Dismal
When winter months become morose
And everything around is blue and froze
Gets disheartening even for the eskimos
Their morale starts to dwindle and decompose
They tread most lightly on cautious tippytoes
For fear their neighbors will become bellicose
They bite their tongue rather than use such prose
As ‘up your nose, my friend, with a rubber hose’
It is uplifting to dream of colorful scenarios
Any warm place where the blazing sun glows
Where the desert air gently blows
While ocean waves roll in sultry rows
All agree a trip down south would be most grandiose
Trading bikinis for their parka and heavy winter clothes
By pools they’d feign being divinely comatose
Drink in hand adopting the hot vacation pose
Stretched out on their hammocks eating pistachios
Laying back being busy counting colored rainbows
Hey CabanaBoy we’d truly really hate to impose
But would you please massage us from our head to our toes
Before their fair skin burns and redness undergoes
They all head back to their respective bungalows
Wondering should they dress go catch one of the shows
Or rest in bed before calling on one of the local rodeos
While visiting the souvenir shop one decides to propose
To send home a postcard showing tropical buzzards and flamingos
With a heartfelt message that needs not be verbose
For sure they’ll be the envy of both our friends and foes
AP: 1st place 2021
Submitted on January 9, 2019 for contest BUZZARDS AND FLAMINGOS sponsored by ANTHONY SLAUSIN
Over the city
the sun begins its
trip
Dawn's answer is
that
life must begin anew
The pale shadows
which come with
nightfall
Signal the end
of daytime frolics
We live by the
silent music of the
sun
One thousand and
one tales
will be told
in
the
future
but for now
we must play a waiting game
experience
sun and moon
and feel their respective power
as we float on
the ship of life
As we are all part of the same verse,
languages to belong by diverse.
When the pen is mightier then the sword,
rhymed words are the crown of all commerce.
Legislation and constitutions in applicable intellect,
loving words by peacemakers detect.
Therapeutic words are the guru’s mother tongue,
liberating the spirits to where they belong.
Admired by masters of philosophy in dept,
liberating the cosmic mental effect.
Love letters become the innocent testament,
marriage contract sealing the happy ever after trend.
Societies in refined approach spoke in rhyme,
mental attitude with a thought through to define.
Mechanic quick thinking is the wheel in wheel respective,
giving no room for pliable introspective.
Selected words of grace as guided meditation,
open the vaults of poor collected separation.
Books of poesy towards the child’s education,
replaced by syllabus sheets towards nullification.
The human mind without words has no image,
the system in disguise establishing the damage.
While rhymes in poetic sense by the day,
keeps all confusion at bay.
A few big Baracudas one day
had assaulted some fish “schools” at play.
Many fish bravely fought.
The most famous did not.
Charlie Tuna sped quickly away.
Charlie Tuna had been cowardly,
so the other fish asked him why he
swam away from the brawl.
“Don’t you know – after all -
I’m the chicken,” said he, “of the sea!”
July 31, 2019
For Tania Kitchin's Two Sea Themed Limericks Poetry Contest
(Same number of syllables in respective lines of both poems: 9/9/6/6/9)
A little voice inside keeps saying, “write something different”
Different to what may I ask?
I have surely written about every subject there is to write about
No no! I can't write about THAT!
I'd get censored and my lifetime membership would be revoked
Anyway, writing that stuff is only to get attention
It's called “sensationalism”
The world press is particularly guilty of it
I understand they're in the business to sell papers
And add mucho dollars to their respective bank accounts
BUT a little discretion at times would certainly be in order
I'm not referring to any one particular article or story
Just expressing my thinking
Perhaps if events weren't sensationalized as much
The lunatic fringe would be more concerned with other things
Such as what they have to be thankful for
Instead of complaining about what others have and they don't
Am I dreaming???
Even the dead reject this blasted earth.
The ground, such as it is,
Is freshly Antidiluvean,
The corpses swim within its tumbled, heaving masses
Blood and mud the mortar
Holding the chaos together.
The sun is weak,
Ashamed to break the haze
To bring to light the obscenities transpiring here.
The whistles blow
The troglodytes emerge
From their respective holes,
Staggering towards one another
Through watery craters
Over the mincemeat of comrades
To add themselves to the swimming sacrifice
Constantly on offer
To the insatiable, sole diety of this place,
The Mud-God, Futility.
They are men no more,
Those who struggle 'neath
The leaden skies
The wan sun
Of the sodden moonscape
That is Passchendale.
They are only raging beasts
Trading pain for pain,
All trace of cause or reason
Lost in the maelstrom of their collective misery -
The only escape
Is to slay and to be slain;
To join the bitter shades
Ascending with the fog and smoke
Through the wall of cloud above,
To vanish into the icy deeps
Among the far, impassive stars.