Best Savours Poems
178 months, 129940 hours,
now only 10 minutes remain.
Sitting in cold eerie darkness,
he observes the rhythm of water drops,
slowly wipes away streams of sweat
with his withered trembling hands.
That aching fear, gnawing in his fevered brain,
spasms of fear demanding flight
yet none to be had,
his inner soul asking why he had lost his way
why had his sad life come to this?
What lay in the caverns of darkness ahead!
Wardens pace up and down like wolves,
stopping to stare with compassion less eyes - smirking.
Waiting for the clock to chimes 12 times,
and to shout, 'dead man walking.'
He sits savoring every last breath,
rapidly repenting for all his past mistakes,
deep inside he knows its too late for regrets.
All his apologies fall upon deaf ears.
Flashes past seen, his crimes, girls and drugs, what a blast!
Pretty girls, each taking a slice, of his hoarded treasures
and he indulging in theirs with total abandonment.
O' glorious were those dead and ancient days!
Then reality came back to bite and bite hard,
saying, " such foolishness was a dream and soon comes Death"!
Too hard to bear such truth, he rushes back into fleeting dreams.
Suddenly cold, very cold he feels the deafening bleakness!
Sees the finality in the concrete and iron bars holding him.
Cries silently, what he wouldn't give for another day,
another dawn out in sunshine and fresh air!
Then reality and Fate both spoke to him saying,
" Tho' you a doomed man, meet thy death as a brave one."
Each heart beat beats with each ticking second.
He clutches his worn bible, readying himself for what lies ahead,
anxiously contemplating if he is worthy of redemption.
Rocking back and forth, unable to control floods of tears,
his thoughts are disturbed with a truncheon rattling his cell's bars,
and the dreaded final summoning of his name.
Wolves smile with sly eyes, as the stench of death fills the air.
Fellow inmates turn their faces to the ground.
He savours every step, he knows they are his last.
God is no longer the master of his condemned fate.
He knows he can't erase the crimes of his past,
but takes solace, feeling his crimes were not premeditated,
but now he must face the hypocrisy of his own premature death.
Silent One collaboration with Robert Lindley
17 December 2017
Categories:
savours, death,
Form:
Free verse
Last time it rained was in April.
It did not rain that much,
but it was enough to dirty everywhere.
You see, it was a south easterly wind
and the clouds arrived laden with sand from the north African desert.
That was nearly five months ago, and the farmers are already up in arms,
bemoaning lack of water as they till the arid soil.
dust flies in the air
the sun blazes overhead
sweat drips profusely
Prayers have not gone unanswered!
Dark clouds creep from behind the hills
fast multiplying, ominously, obliterating the blue.
The calm hot air is ruffled by a timid breeze which soon turns
to gusty wind. A sudden horizontal flash followed by drawling thunder
precedes a few big drops of rain which testily hit the ground.
increase of tempo
deafening cymbals clash
erupting deluge
Water gathers then flows steadily down the streets;
thirsty fields drink greedily; trees bathe in delight, relishing
heaven’s kiss of life on their moribund leaves, roots breathing in relief.
Then, worn out, the wind slowly abates; so do the thunder and the rain.
The clouds shyly disperse, permitting an unobstructed view of the sky above.
Satiated, the sundrenched land savours the afterglow.
sensual appeal
petrichor emanation
veins pleasantly throb
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: Rain Rain Come My Way
Sponsor: binibining P.iNk
8th June 2016
Categories:
savours, rain,
Form:
Haibun
The day has been too long.
The promise of a scented dawn
Lost its fulfilment in the dazzling brilliance
Of a hot, bright sun
And the tingle of a moment’s rapture
Flowed rapidly into the throbbing pulse of insecurity.
Noon stretched nerves to a breaking point
And tension clung to the midday air
As clothes stuck damply to the sweating body.
Sunset brought relief, as a peaceful calm
Settled down with the night.
In the silence of my new-found freedom
I gaze upwards into infinity
And contemplate the knowledge
Fixed in the striking monochrome
Of Christ crucified against a paling moon
While in his dreams, man savours
The rotten splendour of success.
------------------------------------------------------------
Contest: Impress me (with a poem I haven't read yet)
Sponsored: Poet Destroyer A (2014)
Placed: 5th
Categories:
savours, freedom, success,
Form:
Free verse
perched on the branches
of a high verdant tree
an introvert savours silence ~
his inquisitive mind flies
on the wings of fantasy
----------------------------
A Brian Strand
PREMIERE Poetry Contest
Placed 3rd
Posted May 2022
Categories:
savours, social,
Form:
Tanka
178 months, 129940 hours,
now only 10 minutes remain.
Sitting in cold eerie darkness,
he observes the rhythm of water drops,
slowly wipes away streams of sweat
with his withered trembling hands.
That aching fear, gnawing in his fevered brain,
spasms of fear demanding flight
yet none to be had,
his inner soul asking why he had lost his way
why had his sad life come to this?
What lay in the caverns of darkness ahead!
Wardens pace up and down like wolves,
stopping to stare with compassion less eyes - smirking.
Waiting for the clock to chimes 12 times,
and to shout,
'dead man walking.'
He sits savouring every last breath,
rapidly repenting for all his past mistakes,
deep inside he knows its too late for regrets.
All his apologies fall upon deaf ears.
Flashes past seen, his crimes, girls and drugs, what a blast!
Pretty girls, each taking a slice, of his hoarded treasures
and he indulging in theirs with total abandonment.
O' glorious were those dead and ancient days!
Then reality came back to bite and bite hard,
saying, " such foolishness was a dream and soon comes Death"!
Too hard to bear such truth, he rushes back into fleeting dreams.
Suddenly cold, very cold he feels the deafening bleakness!
Sees the finality in the concrete and iron bars holding him.
Cries silently, what he wouldn't give for another day,
another dawn out in sunshine and fresh air!
Then reality and Fate both spoke to him saying;
" Tho' you a doomed man, meet thy death as a brave one."
Each heart beat beats with each ticking second.
He clutches his worn bible, readying himself for what lies ahead,
anxiously contemplating if he is worthy of redemption.
Rocking back and forth,
unable to control floods of tears,
his thoughts are disturbed with a truncheon rattling his cell's bars,
and the dreaded final summoning of his name.
Wolves smile with sly eyes,
as the stench of death fills the air.
Fellow inmates turn their faces to the ground.
He savours every step, he knows they are his last.
God is no longer the master of his condemned fate.
He knows he can't erase the crimes of his past,
but takes solace,
feeling his crimes were not premeditated,
but now he must face the hypocrisy
of his own premature death.
Categories:
savours, prison,
Form:
Narrative
I hail each bronze, red, and blue coloured dawn,
as pulsing heart mould torch flame of bliss,
to gaze across some awestruck mint sprig lawn,
that golden birthright never goes amiss
Eye beam urban verve one duly savours,
coruscating joie de vivre street life,
bursts of swift dash coffee’s hazel flavours,
cell-phone upbeat day ahead hubbub rife
Blue robin high pitch chirp from chimney top,
sets the tone for morning wonders brightly,
activate those spark prompt hunches nonstop,
schedules met in narrow windows tightly
In suburb or in city centre fair,
skies and pavements segue with deft flourish,
your dreamland ticket ace broad daylight flair,
groundbreaking spurt fantastic, let us nourish
Dynamic itch to stray amid blind alley,
lurk within some parboiled notion latent,
steel clad zone that mosaic sculpted tally,
animated focus me the claimant
Categories:
savours, birth, blessing, celebration, cheer
Form:
Quatrain
The world is an egg waiting to be broken
Nothing bad should worth of a humble tears
Not even the pangs of loneliness as icy ball
Nor the fangs of self-pity as winter bears-
The tyrant was ask when he will end his torture
He told us that it is when the snake stand tall.
A dialogue of the drum we heard faraway,
It sounded not in the season of our songs,
With our head sleeping at five and twenty
and killing without a sword in a chicken story.
In the month of the falling leaves, they promised,
The pillar is fallen and the stars sob thirstily
But we see not one of their promises fulfilled.
To a passing year, we cradle in a cradling hands,
A disappointing voices welcome us home.
Who knows the rhythm of the season of a
Traditional conversationalist in Nkporoland?
Whose throat is honey to the ear like politicians?
Who savours the aroma of flavour of words if not those whose tongue are coated with sugar?
The day has woken from the night of sleep
And we've not seen our entitlement of the land!
Some even wear courage like a shield to fight
But their hands broken at the beginning.
He who has not seen the sea roars in the dark,
Let him go to sleep without his eyes closed.
When we shall start singing of lost and faults
Nigeria shall be our chorus to render to the world.
We've seen pain! We've seen pain and pains
Know us by the name given to us by our mothers.
You singer of royal songs, forget not we're brothers!
We will not only give legs to our coiling words,
we will also give them power to kill and destroy,
You have ended up poking your crooked finger
Into the hive of our mouth and we shall forget
Our words in your ears to tell you that your
Father never know how to uproot yam till he died.
We shall soon cook for you the food you can't finish.
Remember, we once shared the meatless meal here,
We passed from palm to palm our ego and dreams,
Why treat us thou after you climb the chair?
The sun has disappeared behind the tree of another
Year, yet, we've not seen the dust of your shirt!
You singer of royal songs, forget not we are brothers!
Remember, we once shared the meatless meal here.
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016
Categories:
savours, abortion, africa, america,
Form:
Free verse
At the hour of one
The housework is done
It is time to leave the nest
A sand coloured skin
She wears to blend in
Lizzie Lizard soon is dressed
At the hour of two
When dinner is due
It is time to find a treat
Any fruits that fall
She savours them all
Lizzie Lizard likes to eat
At the hour of three
Beneath a tall tree
It is time - again is time
How high I can go!
She calls out below
Lizzie Lizard likes to climb
At the hour of four
Beside the seashore
It is time on gulls to spy
How lucky they are
She thinks from afar
Lizzie Lizard wants to fly
At the hour of five
( So fast to arrive! )
It is time to homeward walk
Going to her house
She meets Littlemouse
Lizzie Lizard stops to talk
At the hour of six
( The clock quickly ticks )
It is time for counting sheep
Without more to say
She goes on her way
Lizzie Lizard wants to sleep
Categories:
savours, animalstime, time,
Form:
Limerick
Be beyond blame
Niche naughty name
Free feisty flame
Speak sensuous spice
Nurture notes nice
Pay pretty price
Rest rustic rote
Notice new notes
Voice vibrant vote
Surprise streams space
Glimpse glowing grace
Touch tensile trace
Muse makes music
Toil treats tactic
Mind moves magic
Worth words wise will
Style savours still
Feel fancy fill
Ply playing pun
Free floating fun
Rich river runs
Private plot plays
Speak sanguine say
Word wholesome way
Bright blessings bloom
Gracious grip grooms
Better buzz booms
Live lovely laze
Don dreamy daze
Cheer clever craze
Ask apt achieve
Brave bold believe
Court clear conceive
Touch trendy takes
Maze minding makes
Such shifting stakes
Leon Enriquez
28 January 2015
Singapore
Categories:
savours, beauty,
Form:
Alliteration
Can I be any different from the dragon,
Can I be more precious that the dinosaur,
Some say it warms me,
Some say it flavours adorn me,
Some say it savours my body senses,
Hey! i smoke,am distinct,
At bay its death lurking about ye advicing you to be extinct,
A moving tombstone,
Please what are your chances of survival with a pack in your breast pocket,
A missile hooked between your lips,come on light it up come on,
Your lungs,
So long,
Your creator prolongs,
Heal thy soul stop smoking,
Smoke in any form kills.
Categories:
savours, death, education, health,
Form:
Ballad
Matthew penned the first gospel
from where we read of God’s son
from being a collector of taxes
this disciple to Jesus did run
The shortest gospel of them all
was written by the disciple Mark
who showed the way to God
was seeing the light from the dark
The good physician Dr Luke
did write the gospel story
about Jesus and His love
pointing the way to be holy
The one who Jesus loved
John, which was his name
who stood with Jesus mother
at the savours cross of shame
poetgord@2013
Categories:
savours, faith, god, religion, spiritual,
Form:
Rhyme
a windswept dreamscape
savours the sunset menu
mane atop a cliff
Categories:
savours, nature,
Form:
Haiku
The song of my love is heard
It travels over Seas and mountains
Bearing cadences that make the fishes dance
It frolics over hills and oceans
With rhythms that adorn the eyes of the sun
Sniffing the scented air that enflames the smouldering harmattan ash
Dancing with the guileless glee of a soul at ease
My love wakes
Glowing with the shimmers of sunrise
As it emerges with the pleasure of a shy bride
Rising in slow degrees from the east coast of India
Glimmering as the mirror of the stream flows with easy glide
Shining like the smiles of the unbridled sun as it beams with pride
Gliding with lazy grandeur like the procession of a Royal entourage
My love breathes
It inhales the sharp scent of burning wood
And savours the sweet smell of the lilacs that bloom
The breath of my love gives life to hyacinths
Shrunken and withered and makes them blossom anew
It is warm like the caress of wool on a night of chilly cuddle
It's journey down the spine generates shudders of flurry relish
My love sees
It stares with eyes that sparkle
Like the flash of lightening on a sultry night
Piercing the flesh as it comes in contact with the soul
The eyes of my love are sharp
Swifter than the swoop of an eagle on a chick guarded by the hen
It is strong like the hammer of Thor
And it makes mountains crash like an avalanche
It is hotter than the smite of the sun at its peak
And it melts the heart frozen like ice
My love grows
It feeds on smiles that clouds tears
Subsumed by the tapestry of the sun's golden gaze
It thrives on the rhapsody of gleesome hearts
Dancing as they laugh in unrestricted boisterousness
My love is a story
Told on nights of twilight beauty
As lasses blush before flames that smolder
And lads boast of valiant feats unachieved
It is that song sang as the arms of the wind spread over herbages
Clothing them with perfumes that issue from dancing hibiscuses
It is the hidden hymn of covenant
Sang beneath the lustrous peek of sleeping stars
When the transient sneer of the sun hide behind the moon's smile
Categories:
savours, africa, beautiful, devotion, feelings,
Form:
Blank verse
Daily Poetry #79, April 18, 2017
Word: Adolescence
If
I am
no longer
here, I want you
to smile for me.
Go and experience
life and everything else that
you could possibly imagine.
Drink merrily, love faithfully, and
most importantly, please live happily.
Take what I’ve taught you with a grain of salt,
Make a dish that savours your life.
With that murmur of time,
that first sound, that I still
remember, continue
walking through life.
Know that I’ll
be with
you.
Categories:
savours, age,
Form:
Free verse
Until the end of time,
I won't let you go from my heart.
Your heart shaLl be my home
Your people shall be my people and
You god shall be my god in earnest.
Where thou go, shall I go with you.
I shall clean the dust of your heart,
Prepare for the homecoming of the jews.
Until the end of time,
Where thou shall I die.
The wall clock of my heart
Shall abide by the count of your lips.
Where you are buried, shall I be bury.
Nothing mean any more than you, love.
The jumping of your spirit heart
Has made me the gentle man of the Romans.
Until the end of time,
My legs shall doubt no more of your steps.
You are the savours of the flavour of words,
You; whose throat is honey to the ear.
Here is the earful clamour of the towncrier
With the song of love in my throat
I will love you until the end of time.
Categories:
savours, art, beautiful,
Form:
Ballad