Best Rigour Poems
All you do
All you say
All you write
In the jasmine garden
Is a frenzied drum
Bludgeoning me to dumb
Intensely numb
I feel
As I reel
Yes
As you come
Rising on tides
Passion overflowing
Deluge in the veins
In a hurricane
You dominate
You violate
You annihilate
My stability
My balance
My tranquility
My nonchalance
You seek to
Sweep me off my feet
I resist
To be devastatingly kissed
Who does want
A plundered restaurant
I hold breath
But you hit underneath
With your tremendous vigour
A wild rigour
Breaking all norm
Of rhythm and form
You become
The fierce Atlantic storm
From head to toe
Fast or slow
Everything you claim
You monster hurricane
In a primitive joy
You destroy
Spears and arrows you employ
Pull down and enjoy
In a poor coordination
I reach my limitation
And surrender
Before your violence
And horror
Frantically you tear
All the roses there
The tendrils of hair
The hymns of prayer
Whether in Florida
Or in Miami
Riding on reckless liberty
Everywhere the same misery
Either Katrina or Irene
Harvey or Irma
The same surging ocean
The same commotion
You flood me with
I groan beneath
I have to writhe
And wriggle as fiercely you breathe
Well now as you are quieted
Having deconstructed
All my emotions
Are now back to the ocean
Give me your resilience
The ocean’s brilliance
Let me reconstruct and create
My new cup and chocolate
My balance
In the new circumstance
In future if you need to come
Come with tribal drum
Played by striking with sticks
In the nerves crimson kicks
Come in drizzling ice and gentle rains
Not in tornadoes and hurricanes
Please …
Flower power
“If you’re going to
San Francisco be sure to
wear a flower
in your hair”
long and shaggy
shagged longing wild
And to Berlin or
Paris for that
matter to dream to
meet a girl and more
under the fountain
The “Fountainhead”
on your mind
“Atlas shrugging”
all the weight of
established rigour
tremors oscillations
generational discord
transmitted juxtaposed
agonising opposition
Budding opening
freedom harmony
erect and upright
subconscious conscience
That girl with
curvy bottom and more
outer beauty inner fire
no curve balls
simply passion
adventure living
loving one in all
Embraces soaking
wet the moment
living on for now
for past and memories
intertwining venture
What is
what is coming
what was to come
appeared enlightened
what did not happen
withers lingers
explodes from
Venus-mangoed delta
reappears in wetlands
of pruned and rooting
ecstasy high rising climax
It matters not
if cobbled streets
descended from Montmartre
or mountains climbed
in open spaces putting
petting lips and heartbeats
openings and new
beginnings novel closure
It matters little great
deaths not so petite
at times of passion
'enlived' 'enstoried'
restoried recomposed
narrated and retold
episodic dedication
Floral bouquets
wild herbs and spices
arrangements
derangements
cinnamon bark on
your underbellies senses
Gathered over time
reflections longing
hope pragmatic
bold appeasement
ceasefires dynamic
bonfires bonne fires
static momentary
life and for the
living levitating
lovers
You are not going
to Paris all that
often any longer
but the scent free
spirit erotic flowers
frisson crescendo
warm hearted climax
exhaustion images
Is there in you hair
still shaggy longing
seduction floating
coming together
Is there in
your path’s ways
Is there in
your dreams
There's a tiny monster gliding in the air
Whoever you are, it shows no spare
Swiftly quaffing the earth's unstained blood,
it resolved to bury a raft of bodies under the pleading mud.
Missiles are aimed at an eclipsed enemy
Trying to discover home in this endless journey
Warriors are rifled with
rigour
Not caring for a cut or a blister.
School drums went dumb
Town fairs said no welcome
Smiles and lives are masked
Tears and fears are hiked.
A son was buried while his mother quarantined
A husband died miles away leaving his wife estranged
The empty stadiums engulfed the players' sky-high spirits
Innocent lives are turning to dust every few minutes.
It's transient my child! It's all transient.
Short-lived are these strong winds
Ephemeral are these hot waves
Cry not in the dark night
Smiles re-bloom upon winning this fight.
Every bud blooms after the rain as a norm
It's time to be an eagle and rise above the storm
Tough and hardy, this bushy shrub;
Roadside decor in blazing sun,
Flowers pretty enough no doubt
In sure rigour bear heatwave run.
Blazing colours in crystal tints:
Orange and red, purple and pink;
Range of flavours, violet-white hints;
Touch unafraid such tensile links.
Flowery bursts in hot weather,
Sparkle and shine, blooming clusters;
Tough with dry thirst in warm splendour,
Outlook feels fine in sheer wonder.
Hot evergreen with thorny hedge,
Sparkling colours that look so good;
Nature now seen on dusty edge,
Arid odours as harsh drought broods.
Unnoticed show that bears hot heat,
Blooming in hues that gathers lots;
Bear fast or slow as time retreats,
Flowers that cue in sun drenched plots.
Bourgainvillea vines in the sun
Tell a story of survival;
See joy appear in sparkling run,
Flowers breezy in recital.
Leon Enriquez
14 Apr 2014
Singapore
TRIBUTES
overt
the
implication
& correlate
with
the
traditional
receptive
to
a
witnessed
desire
themes
at least
in part
a reaction
to be
explored
the intent
has
an intrigue premise
persuasively
constructed
&
organised
yet hazy
concept
of inspiration
sans rigour
questioning
or doubt
created
through
a complex
& informed
relationship
of
obedience
in
manifested
attitudes
a refusal
to adhere
to
unfashionable
& ascribed
anathema
topically
perceived
more
receptive
to
witnessed
desire
themes
at least
in part
a reaction
to be
explored
the intent
has
an intrigue premise
persuasively
constructed
&
organised
yet hazy
concept
of inspiration
sans rigour
questioning
or doubt
created
through
a complex
& informed
relationship
of
obedience
in
manifested
attitudes
a refusal
to adhere
to
unfashionable
& ascribed
anathema
topically
perceived
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
GTF
Wizened skin like burnished leather
Thin, grey and long, disheveled hair
Clear, sharp blue eyes that seem to stare
Through sun scorched face, alert, aware
A ‘lived-In’ face that’s so expressive
Tales he tells read like a missive
His arms and hands he flails about
To all he jests, he seems to shout
Belying age with youthful vigour
He starts his day with seeming rigour
But, easy going, he always jokes
With folk at whom, light fun, he pokes
He’s up each morning before the dawn
Striding, planning, never forlorn
Before sunrise you’ll hear with luck
His famous catch-phrase, “Get Tae F***!”
He’s worked on rigs for oh, so long
With everyone he gets along
On the “fine old lady” Stena Clyde
No deference – ALL he does deride
From owner, manager and high paid “suits”
To lowly boys who clean the boots
The tone the same, The grin, the look,
The cheeky laugh, the “Get Tae F***!”
Sub zero frost or tropical heat
His ardour you will find hard to beat
Old habits die hard they say
Not his – he does them anyway!
Does a place exist he’s never been?
That has a port that’s never seen
This tall slim figure filled with pluck
Or heard his raucous, “Get Tae F***!”
They say he’s always been a sailor
From Antarctic wastes upon an ancient whaler
15 years old in the South Atlantic
A hardy life, forget romantic!
Steam driven ships before motor’s advent
He sailed near and far. Came and went.
A story true with each port of call
His audience he holds in thrall
But all through this, both feet aground
Though invitations still abound
To high profile golf tournaments
The best hospitality at these events
He mixes with the best of them
The rich and famous golfing men
Yet on the course when he mis-hits his ball
Not “fore” but G.T.F. to all
And so it seems his time has come
To rest upon his laurels some
He’ll sure be missed – God Speed, Good Luck
It’s been a pleasure Jimmy, “Get Tae F***!”
No dismissive snort from any here
From us, a greeting, a hearty cheer
Received with grace, a smile - a look.
You grin then tell us, “Get Tae F***!”
“Penned”
what happens
when it comes to this
another woman
takes your child
as her own
and red becomes
the bloody murder
penned in a pig stye,
left field left
the apple of her eye
green,
as iceberg
lettuce lies laced
salad days waisted
shredded through windows,
cold
thunderstorms
in the heart betrayed
rigour resigns against pain
the revenant
never left
resonance resides
on repeat morse
tear-streaked
reigning
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“I Hold You” / Clann
https://youtu.be/uNGmyQ8UbZ8
CLANN — KIN FABLES [Full Album]
https://youtu.be/q2r9smjuA2Q
CLANN — Seelie [Full Album]
https://youtu.be/jn6UB-jLblM
LYRICS/ "I Hold You", Clann
https://genius.com/Clann-i-hold-you-lyrics
"The Handmaid's Tale", Margaret Atwood (EBOOK)
(PDF download, link)
https://onuploads.com/yd52bar3w8cl/The-Handmaid%E2%80%99s-Tale.pdf.html
"The Handmaid's Tale", Margaret Atwood (Seasons 1-5)
https://movies2watch.is/watch-tv/watch-the-handmaids-tale-hd-39270.4912660
1. maternal alienation
2. surrogacy
3. Penned
https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/penned
wasted.
waisted.
https://digital.library.adelaide.edu.au/dspace/bitstream/2440/110550/2/02whole.pdf
https://cwasu.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/Working-with-Maternal-Alienation.Practitioner_Resource2.pdf
From the sharp corners of the towering residence,
In perfect linear angles, the shadows slice the concrete path.
The blue party lights add ghostly vigour.
Brown hands toil, browned by rigour.
They dance around in rhythmic pandemonium
Through the murky cavities of the macabre residence.
Yet perfect silence prevails resolutely,
Stabbing vacuous corpses ruthlessly.
Through morning light they lie in deep slumber,
Fantasizing of animated times, now just tormenting rhymes.
And in the night, the foul feast begins again,
This is the festival of lights my dear men!
Grand Ma
Depending on a day’s mood-
Grand Ma my mind recalls;
Saint or Devil in the wood
For fast writ on the walls!!!
Ah! Lovely Devil was she
She’d catch you up the tree
Or acted a wise witty witch
Fishing you out of the ditch!
“This hand your mum it trained
“Would I then be restrained
“Or to failure my head nod
“In decadence while you plod!?”
***
All the relentless rigour
Adult me I recall with vigour
It was meant with love
Not game of the grisly grove!
Palms rough and cracked
Castor oil she gently smacked
Sores on my supple back
To sooth clean and black!
Brewer unpaid and at home
Just for the lust of bonhomie
(How I burned my thirsty lips
With harsh stolen brew sips!)
Traditional dance drummer
Hands hard as the hammer
Tanning the dry cow leather
Throughout the night weather!
Indeed, they fell in a trance
Those in a frenzied prance
Then, for home I’d escape
In the pitch black landscape!
Grand Ma had ragged raiment
Yet healed every bad ailment
Was I to revile her mood,
Study of Science in the wood?
Surprise of it all was her age
When she took the passage....
With her teeth sound intact
And Memory quite compact!
***
My Dad would obsequies
While Mum paid courtesies
To the bygone lady of yore
Who knew no gospel before.
Send-off without drums
No shakes of drunken bums
No brew, no castor oil
No coffin, body; wrapped coil!
“Let her possessed spirit rest
“Don’t let Demons manifest
“Should for her you mourn
“Her spirit will not sojourn!”
Ah! I ate, slept beside granny
Never felt a feeling funny.
Was I with demons in contact
Yet, am still sound and intact?
Whether demons or seraph
This is to her a cenotaph:
You had a scant body hood
Yet, rich in gen of the wood.
My very life’s heartbeat
Resonates with that drum beat,
As I recall the sprite massage
And pray to pass at your age!
JM
05th December 2013
Villanelle: Should not Masters be They who cut through lands
Should not Masters be They who cut through lands
Who for pittance sake serve up cheap labour
Which Master cleans not house with migrant hands
Who must be seen giving with open hands
Let them oust enemies without bother
Should not Masters be They who cut through lands
Did not caravans snake through Wild West lands
Nor mountain lions snarl at brave Quaker
Which Master cleans not house with migrant hands
Who seeks to cow the Tyrant with commands
While stoking ego with canon fodder
Should not Masters be They who cut through lands
Then sack put to wrack big beauteous lands
Make no amends tear down stars stripes’ grandeur
Which Master cleans not house with migrant hands
Would that migrants learn not to bite soft hands
That feed them at their door barbed by rigour
Should not Masters be They who cut through lands
Which Master cleans not house with migrant hands
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
when it's the hour of sleep...
and you can't resist to leap..
unto the darkness strewn path..
heart pounds to tear it apart...
with a might driven gait...
and a faith driven fate...
I'm into the shades of dark..
let not the fear mark..
through the lightest shade...
I passed ,am hardly afraid..
screamed unto darkest of the ways..
give me the darkest of your shades..
as I walked this infinity road..
greatly grew its insanity bode...
sky shook the ground with thunder..
winds shook my will to wander...
it rained with all its prowess..
like a war were its showers..
the road like the battle field...
am the only one left to yield...
the patter of drops like gun shots...
runs by the road like blood flows...
arc of thunder like streak of missile...
is the secret, a cause very sterile..?
pieces so dark to figure..
secrets so inert to rigour...
a ray showed, inspite of threat..
darkness itself was the secret...!!
Black, Shiny Shoes.
The EU dictatorship has crushed Hellas Germany and the banks won-
The French to their helped the Greeks writing a new tax system and
for once the tycoons have to pay tax as well and for the Hellenic
people they need not buy new shoes every fortnight, let the cobblers
mend your shoes. I remember a time when buying shoes was a major
investment, they were always black and bought on credit book.
You may call it thrift I will call it poverty when you are poor everything
cost more as the Greeks soon will soon notice. And in case you wonder
the money the loans go straight to the lenders banks and one wonder
who many times they have to pay for the airport in Athens a German
steel company built? The Greeks are hard working people, with bad elite,
the next one to will be Portugal, Italy too are feeling the clammy hand of
capitalism and then it will be France`s turn to taste rigour.
What about EU then?
What is it with some men?
Is this what those nuptials meant?
You are turned into his mother figure,
A holy cow, meals, housework, rigour,
Maybe there's no luck in love,
So much for wedding doves....
"I am not your mother!"
I wished I'd yelled an another,
Maybe I don't know how to train a man,
Maybe a manual should come in a can,
Then you could have twins in tins,
Fully formed, no nappy pins,
Maybe it is the male gender,
They really want nannies for their benders,
Is this what those nuptials meant?
What is with some men?
When facts loosen tight grip, truth its bond,
A peanut when struts like an almond,
Rigour loses its rage,
Precision its sharp edge,
Coal then clamours to be a diamond.
So, lose none your courage,
Persist, if on a ledge,
Precious stone comes one in a thousand.
_____________________________________________________
Scams, scandals, cons and corruption while flow unending like perennial river, investigations when go on pretending to profess legal and judicial processes, truth gets lost in thousands of sheets of affidavits, witness statements, evidences, and erudite long-winding judgments, truth never sees the light of the day. What is wrong is clear like daylight, but who wants action? Activities are what we are fond of. ____________________________________________________
Happenings | 05.03.15 |
Small minds people’s frailties deride
Drawing comfort and report
Although average minds decide
Events to discuss in their effort
To imitate great minds
Who ideas and ideals discuss
Upfront and behind blinds
Where they fuss
On humankind greatness
Buried into ideas
Whose robustness
Fears
Nothing as they step forward
Swimming against the tide
Where a mediocrity coward
Draws succor and pride
Arguing it ain’t worth
His trouble to explore the rigour
Gems of superior ideas bring forth
In the vigour
Great minds inject into prospects
Humankind ought to explore
In mediocrity suspects
Whose forte lies in the arcane methods folklore
Promotes
In the business as usual attitude
Which demotes
The forward thinking latitude which gratitude
Bestows on the progress path
Littered with trials
Feminist Sylvia Plath
In her deluge dials
Dreamt of in her poems
Where she explored ins and outs
Lying inside and outside totems
From which greatness sprouts
Undaunted by criticism
Rebuke
Sarcasm and cynicism
Which lie in the puke nuke
Super Powers in their ubris
Flaunt
Between the Euphrates and Tigris
To taunt
Prospects of humankind survival
As a fallacy
Whose conjectured arrival
Throws spanners in the Super Power delicacy bereft of mercy.