Best Rigours Poems
I hold it up again today; the world,
Pregnant with magical dimples
Of a child's reckless abandon,
And look at the face,
Then I look at the deep cut
And the pain it inflicted
I look back at the unpaid ransom,
The whips, hands chained to the back
Faces buried deep into the cold wall,
The so-called wall of the world, soaked
By the tears of our raped eyes.
I have seen the world through and through;
The sweet bitterness of living and dying,
The joyful agony of getting and losing;
The memories come clear like crystal
And the weak world whirls by unconsciously
Taking us down its untrodden alluvial depths
And scattering silence nearby and abroad:
Those are the world's worth!
Who amongst us does not have a story?
The world is killing us, thinking, perhaps
That there is sudden rebirth in each death
But those we lost are gone forever
And we bite our lips and rub our eyes,
Alas! Another phenomenon has been lost.
Like a cherished effigy
I hold it up again, the wild world
The nuance feeling surges like thousand waves
And I listen as different sharp sounds
Of cries, nay, moans pierce my ears,
The tears fall in torrents like a waterfall.
The earth, our unconcerned world is killing us,
Like little ants...it kills us with sledgehammer,
Hypothetical villain lurking by street corners
Waiting and waiting, almost impatiently.
But we love the world, and so much so
We cling to life, despite the odds
We want to live, love and be loved,
We want to experience and explore the depths.
We have been heart broken again and again,
And each time we heal
We lick our wounds and clean our tears
Trying to protect our battered ego.
We hold it up again and again
Like a cherished effigy, smiling
Notwithstanding our heaps of unfulfilled dreams,
Our not-to-clear future, our unheard cry-cracked voices,
Despite the rigours of the trite rituals
Of our religions, our creeds, our norms;
Despite the guns, the bombs, the blades
That cut us clean and shatter our unborn hopes,
We still cuddle our earth like a cherished effigy
Dressed to pattern by virgin children
While it takes us down one after another
Jubilantly like a well trained military marksman.
Alas! Another phenomenon has been gone.
Categories:
rigours, bereavement, death, heartbroken, memorial,
Form:
Epitaph
An alien abducted me
In his turbo space machine
He has promised he will set me free
If I help him find a queen .
Well I believe in true romance
I listen as he reels off his queens necessities
As he spoke I kept thinking '' No chance ''
and uttering the phrase ''oh Jeez ''
He says his queen just has to be
As gentle as a lamb
Never argue or disagree
and be eager to please her man .
She must not moan if he's watching telly
Or if he's drinking beer in a bar
and after midnight when his legs turn to jelly
She must pick him up in the car .
She must be immaculate and sexy
She must smell just like a rose
Never get a little tetchy
When she see's him pick his nose
She's got to feed the dog , Mind the kids
Keep the house sparkling clean
Listen to what his work mates did
In the turbo space machine .
See there is beer in the fridge
For when his mates come round
Make them all a sandwich
See the kids don't make a sound .
Though she may be worn out
By the rigours of the day
She must be ready to put out
and let him have his way .
Well the alien who abducted me
Sure wants his money's worth
but he won't get any help from me
So I am eternally orbiting the Earth.
Categories:
rigours, space,
Form:
Narrative
The nation is very rich indeed
But,
Wounded out of loss direction;
Wounded out of lack of ambition,
Weeping out of lack of impulse;
Wounded out of lack of imagination,
Ingeniously exhumed out of the citadel of corruption;
While the funereal ultimately boils down to collateral.
In the funky train,
All the hoo-ha-noisy end in fisticuff;
And the crumpled greenback hand-out cough,
The law has nothing to handcuff,
Kindred turned puppets loss of self-worth in defacto state
of war,
Faced with hemorrhaging despondency;
And splitting migraine disillusionment,
Miseenscene always greeted with fire and blood,
With fight and struggle half dead;
To trip in goats, straw and timber carrier,
Inevitable suicide spoof of teeming commuters,
And a caterwauling exodus end in thousands of legs under
the sea,
Carnival of Sharks tongue-smacked and praise-devour the
abundant feast;
While the aura of authority has little or nothing fish,
Often, sudden delight death cry of assailed victims,
Owa! Owa! Owa! {Alight}
A cry for shanty shambles bus stop,
As if deaf, the tyrant conductor
Lashes out in blinding curse and abuse;
Pressing and shoving for umpteenth fares,
Owa! Owa! Owa!
A plead for just a measure of tonic air,
Hard kerchief to wipe off addicted
Face of invincible gossamer,
Diabolical gene galloping in strides;
As compassion flees from rigours of heart of stone,
If swearing non-syllabic stunned altercating joust;
Could result in re-ordering of the lost world,
Plotless plastic lives of mean children of absentee Mamas
and Papas,
Would gauche braggadocio even king to brutal submission;
O! wretched loud louts touts,
Very loud louts touts foaming with tactless forming;
A riposte, may your road be rough,
A stamp on every man destiny.
Categories:
rigours, urbanloss, cry, loss,
Form:
Free verse
The Frog, Translation of Etiemble’s quintet: La grenouille by T. Wignesan
(This quintet rhymed: ababc might in its propos -
perhaps in its imagery and allusion - be based on some family history involving the tragedy
over a son and the subsequent adoption of a daughter. If I’m wrong I offer my profoundest
apologies in advance.)
Lime-stuck last night by the frozen water of the pond,
frog boxed in glass window fending off thickening waters,
it’s our naked daughter, heart of cold gold, shivering
recumbent statue hardened: withstanding the rigours of
our wars:
stuck the other night by the cold of its/her times.
This’s our hardened son who plays the frog and to
himself lies,
caresses sharks, courts a female cosair
puts trust in spurious air which entices and captures,
flimsy trapped game strangling us by the collar,
frogs petrified by the fright of our times.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
rigours, sorrow,
Form:
Quintilla
All are prisoners locked in the prism of timespace
A few sail through cushioned from the rigours of hate
Yet none may opt out never losing the favours of grace
Would that it were nobler to suffer confined in space
Than be thought brave to overcome the fear of fate
All are prisoners locked in the prism of timespace
Fear of the Unknown plunges us all in utter disgrace
Though desperados fail not to open the ultimate gate
Yet none may opt out never losing the favours of grace
Most sport excuses to want to stay in this only place
Family mate duty cause unfinished work started late
All are prisoners locked in the prism of timespace
Yet others pray for the day of deliverance to save face
Wait in patience for the scythe to sweep clean the slate
Yet none may opt out never losing the favours of grace
Don’t we look around and wonder at this endless place
We call a living-space hoping for more on our plate
All are prisoners locked in the prism of timespace
Yet none may opt out never losing the favours of grace
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
rigours, allegory,
Form:
Villanelle
You're an individual.
You're unique.
And it's important that you
create the space to
express your uniqueness,
and become the fully expressed,
fully unleashed,
fully unlimited vibrancy that you are.
There's a stage in a mans life
when he will keep
every other thing aside
and stand alone without fear
to confront whatever obstacle
that stand in his way,
even intimidation from
the most powerful
or care that beset him
and infest his life,
his inadequacies he will confront
and challenge them with boldness.
Even when the
demons of hell be invoked
and conjured up to come forth
and do their very worse,
he knows they shall not pass
and neither shall they prevail,
because he has been through a lot,
he doesn't really cared
anymore what happens to him,
he has come a long way
and he's here now,
that is all that matters.
He speaks the truth
that only him can speak,
so profound and will so piercingly hurts
the ears of the guilty ones.
he will boldly stand on the edge
of the mountain top
and let the wind of life pass forcefully
through and over him.
he becomes a determined soul
who confronts the odds in his life,
with the help of the almighty,
he attains the consciousness of the cosmic,
his spirit is now so awakened,
he becomes one with universe,
so enlightened,
he is now an adept to
help in the down world,
carrier of the divine light,
protector of the weak,
full of vigor,
always ready,
a doer of the impossible,
he now becomes
the keeper of the flame,
his back bent from the rigours
of suffering and pain,
showing the marks of
the whiplash he received,
his brows so wrinkled with
inner wisdom that comes out of the
time spent in long hours
of fasting and meditations,
calm with the inner beauty of the spirit,
not intimidating or forceful,
he commands authority,
exacts influence and check anything
that's not edifying from
influencing his environment
and atmosphere he created for himself
and then allow others into his world
to experience the realm
of power bestowed on him,
he is indeed now,
a peculiar fellow,
a workman that needs not be afraid,
one set apart for good works,
for he has chosen the path of his destiny.
Yes,there is such a man amongst us.
© 2018, Emeka Mokeme.All rights reserved.
Categories:
rigours, appreciation, blessing, courage, leadership,
Form:
ABC
Select the right alternative
Despite rigours of states of nature
Electing to sweep aside your initiative
In the midst of shocks and blocks that determine to fracture
Well meant decisions to break free of the past
Draped in darkness, wrapped in coats and votes of despair
Freaking out at your attempts to cast
Doubt, to diminish and finish strangleholds of disrepair
Twitted, broadcast with fanfare and pomp
To proclaim your downfall
In a marsh, in a swamp
Where foes in their frigates call
To compromise your desire
Accentuated detours and contours
That set your life and aspiration on fire
To blight and slight your duty tours
Despite God proclaiming victory
On your behalf as he hands over the staff
That strengthens your shaking hands in the territory
Where God decrees enough is enough
No more tears should you pour
At home, at work, at church
Where detractors shout and pout galore
Vowing to leave you in the lurch
Weeping, creeping, reeling in tears
Disbelieving the grace God grants on the mission
He assigns without fanfare signs to wipe away fears
That clutch and snatch the ferment of the permission
God has poured into the new adventure
He blesses in your earthen vessel
Stressing access and success, guaranteeing certainty to the venture
Designed from above as faith and strength pervade and invade your every cell.
Categories:
rigours, poems,
Form:
Free verse
Our mother-land
gave birth to our mothers
That gave us mother-care
I say Thank you,
Despite the rigours of mother-hood
You still showed ur motherly-love
Such is evidence of a mothers love
I say Thank you,
Even to our sisters,aunties &
grannies
That loved us like their own
An example of mother figures
I say Thank you,
Even to my mother
The mother to all & the mother
amongst mothers
An epitome of all that motherly-love
carries
I say THANK YOU!!
Categories:
rigours, women,
Form:
Free verse
Dawn - dawned...!
Sky without oil colours and canvas,
paints a miracle - only one of its class!
Never the same, a moment to next,
may be, it wants us to read the text.
Many a cloud, chart course, pass-by,
tiny event, a visibly illusionary sly!
Impressionable, in every possible way,
holds all attention to itself - as it lay.
Keeps us pinned to clouds and colours,
takes us away from reality rigours.
Cosmogonic wonder if one discerns,
sees through - discriminates and learns.
Probe for the cause instead of effects,
ignore laurels and perceived defects.
Dirty ploy, keeps us tied to the mundane,
mind's attempt to keep the man - insane!
Beyond these is 'the incomprehensible',
only One, that is truly 'the imperishable',
Make a turn - complete round about one,
to understand that one - 'the One within one'!
A glimpse into which, that experience tell,
eases out and releases us off all the spell.
Like the 'Enlightened' one's thoughts dwell,
comparing, "a Chick breaking out of its shell"!
Categories:
rigours, allusion, inspirational, mystery, philosophy,
Form:
Quatrain
Memory in hand and pen agape
The allusions flow freely
I’d start in abit.
The rigours of stages in life
Is a farce I am yet to comprehend
I’d write
A time saddled with burden of innocence
So lavished.
The peer’s shadows looms over
Lost in the crowd of our thoughts
Envy is measured.
In maturity confusion is eminent
At a point nothing is pleasing
Efforts become so vague, we end partying in graves
At peace with everything but ourselves.
In strangers strides, memory at hand fades.
Categories:
rigours, abuse, allusion, august, conflict,
Form:
Personification
On a windy rain-swept day
When a murder of crows I see,
Their ruffled feathers ragged
Sorrowful as they can be.
Huddled they perch on roof-tops
Gazing mournfully at the sky,
No ray of hope the day gives
Neither crumbs of morsels dry.
They remind me of poets
Singed by the rigours of their fate,
Peddling hopes for the living
Their lives a pitiful wait.
That heavens would pour mercy
On their weary crucified souls,
That fate pen a reversal
Of their oft mistaken roles.
Decried as stray vagabonds
Beseeching alms at corners dark,
They are monarchs in disguise
Beggared mortals fail to mark.
***********
Categories:
rigours, poets,
Form:
Verse
Cheapskate perfume soils sweat-strapped ambience,
Crippled, choked extractor fan despair,
Palms dripping moisture cling to greased pale hips,
Swaying on the shag-pile threading bare.
Urgent urge to strip her body down, take her there,
Mercy straining leash-growling agony;
The desecrate of love, sweet picture perfect face,
Rigours of ******, ransack and obscenity.
Frenzied trespass of liquid rosebud lips,
Seed shot trails upon her florid loveliness,
Eyes blind with seminal cataracts,
Rampage of a penile-bred excess.
Sick and stupid, strangled cupid,
Neck wrung until the lifeblood cools,
Discard of carcase and damn the morrow's judgement,
A king of fools whom Caligula rules.
Categories:
rigours, allegory, visionary,
Form:
Verse
I hold it up again today; the world,
Pregnant with magical dimples
Of a child's reckless abandon,
And look at the face,
Then I look at the deep cut
And the pain it inflicted
I look back at the unpaid ransom,
The whips, hands chained to the back
Faces buried deep into the cold wall,
The so-called wall of the world, soaked
By the tears of our raped eyes.
I have seen the world through and through;
The sweet bitterness of living and dying,
The joyful agony of getting and losing;
The memories come clear like crystal
And the weak world whirls by unconsciously
Taking us down its untrodden alluvial depths
And scattering silence nearby and abroad:
Those are the world's worth!
Who amongst us does not have a story?
The world is killing us, thinking, perhaps
That there is sudden rebirth in each death
But those we lost are gone forever
And we bite our lips and rub our eyes,
Alas! Another phenomenon has been lost.
Like a cherished effigy
I hold it up again, the wild world
The nuance feeling surges like thousand waves
And I listen as different sharp sounds
Of cries, nay, moans pierce my ears,
The tears fall in torrents like a waterfall.
The earth, our unconcerned world is killing us,
Like little ants...it kills us with sledgehammer,
Hypothetical villain lurking by street corners
Waiting and waiting, almost impatiently.
But we love the world, and so much so
We cling to life, despite the odds
We want to live, love and be loved,
We want to experience and explore the depths.
We have been heart broken again and again,
And each time we heal,
We lick our wounds and clean our tears
Trying to protect our battered ego.
We hold it up again and again
Like a cherished effigy, smiling
Notwithstanding our heaps of unfulfilled dreams,
Our not-to-clear future, our unheard cry-cracked voices,
Despite the rigours of the trite rituals
Of our religions, our creeds, our norms;
Despite the guns, the bombs, the blades
That cut us clean and shatter our unborn hopes,
We still cuddle our earth like a cherished effigy
Dressed to pattern by virgin children
While it takes us down one after another
Jubilantly like a well trained military marksman.
Alas! Another phenomenon has been gone.
Categories:
rigours, anger, black african american,
Form:
Epitaph
I have found love!
A love I only can feel,
Love borne out of me and
only for me.
My love is ever so near,
She shines ever so dear.
everywhere she sits
showering her tiny bits.
Her goodness is felt
as every chaos is met
long time rigours she melts
and earth she gently pets.
In beauty my love is radiant,
in giving she is without equal,
distinct are her colours and
just are her ways.
Never wavering in faithfulness
when called she does approach
to cast off the wayning sword
of her lover's foe...
My defender,my provider and my life,
for your course I have lived
and for your course I shall give
you are me and I you!
I love you,I have loved you,and forever will
Nature is all that i am,all i will be,
Nature's love is me!
Categories:
rigours, love, nature, love, me,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
JOY --- great gift springing from the heart of God
has made my babyhood bubble with mirth
to ripple along sweet glee’s purity
so cherished by family as treasure…
…Such exuberance thrives midst love’s nurture
enriching childhood albeit growing pains
advancing toward adolescent years
zest reigning over great challenges’ angst…
…As maturity paves way to progress
blest happiness wrought by Christ grips my soul
since His eternal life’s grant secures me
assuring freedom peace by pardon’s seal…
…With that offered vibrant relationship
my reached-out heart yields to divine changes
though struggling against carnality bouts
striving to please the Lord Who brings triumph bliss…
…Propped through the Saviour’s strengthening gladness
my faith constantly seeks for His favour
while surmounting rigours, causing distress
in prayer-communion’s sublime delights…
…When conquered by human nature’s attacks
my grieving spirit finds rest in the Lord
ready to lift me up with revival cheers
rejuvenating me from drained ardour…
…Ascending upward zealous service
I press on with fresh vigour’s fervency
fortified by the Holy Ghost’s power
grateful to “Rejoice in the Lord always*.”
*Philippians 4:4 Rejoice in the Lord alway: and again I say, Rejoice.
February 15, 2021
3rd place, "Joy continuum" Poetry Writing Premier Contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker; judged on 2/26/2021.
Categories:
rigours, blessing, christian, faith, god,
Form:
Blank verse