Best Scabbards Poems
With sanctions imposed frequently between
Countries around the world,
With Trump and Little Rocket man, still rattling
Scabbards, ridiculous, absurd,
With Hong Kong’s unhappy population,
Protesting against Chinese rule and occupation,
With Brexit which has now become a rather
Embarrassing, messy affair,
With Europe quite prepared to give them a
Divorce, without a care,
And The Irish and the Scots not agreeing
With Brexit, in fact a sore point,
Planet Earth's plea for peace has become
Unanimously joint!
Let them dance
Men clad in robes of shame
Let them wiggle and mingle
Twist, turn and tingle-
Till they burn in their joyous flame.
We will watch silently
As their perspirations wear them out.
Silently we will watch,
Obey, and light our torch
To see who amongst them survives the bout.
Men intoxicated by the love of power,
Men subdued by vaccine of greed
Waving scabbards of hatred in the air
Feeding the nation with crumbs of fear
Dance; today the drum calls you to your deed.
Let the beat continue its satirical melody.
We can hear the rhythm-
Flowing through the reverie of felony
"Dance, you who stole the key of harmony,
Today's promises tomorrow you will redeem."
Find a gong and a stick
And call the towncrier to duty.
Tell the world about this dance of shame
In a land where treacherous leaders have soiled her name-
And defiled her beauty.
By: Sashi Prabhu (zeauoxian), Written on 18th November 2012.
Loud dins of nihility whirls and twirls around,
Reverberating sharply in my churning mind,
Humming lowly & resonating strange they sound,
Filling my spaces with patterns and frequencies of all kind.
Vacuously locked into blunt spaces my eyes,
Are spiked with ***** scabbards of blankness…
Glimmering tear drops hold tenderness that never dries,
keep fondly trickling out from my eyes with quaintness.
My ear drums swell from within to capture,
Dull shrills of echoes from within me,
“Nothingness” they trap on the verge of their rupture,
Sounds from around me ascend to a higher degree.
My heart beats itself sore,
As “nothingness” it just can’t anymore bear,
Only love and peace can usher in some more,
Feelings of tranquility and life full of softness and care.
me and myself now for sure know,
That “nothingness” can fathoms away keep,
So reflection & solitude, will in my mind sow,
And “nothingness” within me will forever put to sleep.
Now
“Nothingness” have kept at bay,
now within have positivity filled in me,
do not care what they to me will say,
And live my life “nothingness” free.
Hearts Of Rusted Iron And Cold Steel
Riding along paths of illusions, glory bound-
Men with steel and fever in hard beating hearts,
Minds driven by deep desires and aching pains
Emotions deeper than anger's greatest depths-
Souls with sharpened sabers in their polished scabbards
Careful in their pride, they nourished goulish intensities
Upon spirited horses, they gallop into hell's darkest dins
With courage of demons loosed by the devil's own hands-
In the force of ages, iron blood rising to claim
At the price of death and hot savage burnings
Rare treasures men seek but can never find.
Should life rest within their grasping claws
They that know only darkness and evil desires
Greedy that nothing slips through their paws!
What of the poor and weak, hiding in modern caves
And the innocent that cry for sweet relief
And homes, peaceful in their decaying cities
And children, eager to live life and learn
And Nature's unending course filled with wonder
And the world's promises of forever tomorrows
Shall fate stand aside to bend to that dark will
Shall wicked deeds serve these gods of lust.
When time and its destruction allow such victories
Hope comes as an illusion of death's rewards
Can mankind, find another path for survival
Or will dark tragedy and loss of all prevail?
Robert J. Lindley, 11-27-2015
Poetry form- Free Verse
Note- Muse this morn informed me that she wanted a change, so get up and write anything but a sonnet....
I sat down and in an angry mood and this flowed out...
I rest now in peace
Placed thy swords in their scabbards
White flag flies up high
Photographs, fragile as Dead Sea scrolls,
hold two of you, dead before my birth,
stiff in sienna spring, serious as scabbards
on south Missouri farm.
Rosie: wind-hard in rock-scrubbed black dress,
stooped with thirteen children, steel-haloed glasses
glinting plum sun, aureole sun-gravured face,
dried apple forehead skewered with string.
Abraham: family myth namesake squinting beyond
musk ox moustache, blanched brow, measuring
Etruscan manhood, those pale stone radish seeds
sown years ago, the calloused hard-silk lover's hands
swinging slowly at your sides, butchered hogs
sashaying trees.
A daunting press of gifted dreams
The boyish boasts and sculpted schemes
Brother, fore, and brother, aft
Stead to ply their father's craft
Each consecrated to the rest
A journey spun at hap's behest
Sad the sojourn, seasons spent
Demeanor, too, in slow descent
A tattered sheet aside the mast
The binding brag that held them fast
A parried genius pawned for pay
Extorted art, la grande touche'
Spoon-fed faith to temper sins
God's impressions, yangs and yins
A sextant set to split the tacks
Fair, the wind upon their backs
Betting talent - an epoch's wage
Trust to rust, on scribbled page
Pride integral, misplaced in time
A poor man's Eden - a canted rhyme
So ford the moat, up castle's wall
One faded echo, Caedmon's call
Expired breath, a sparrow's verse
To strain the wings of kingly curse
Scabbards crossed and gauntlet down
Such gallant lads to charge the crown
The hallowed chapter of gloried tome
A heart-child lost, now hailing home
Thus ripe with moments to impart
This rarest seed with callow heart
A pauper's rhyme thru' all the years
The sweetest music to my ears ...
A music poured ... to douse the tears.
Written and submitted on February 16, 2019
For the "Music To My Ears" Poetry Contest
Silent One, Judge & Sponsor.
Your lips start to move
and I hear the sound of your worries,
numbered like the children of Abraham,
boundless, like the sands in Egypt,
all of them, calling audibly.
the wrinkles beneath your eyes wrinkle me,
unwelcomed lines tracing the paths to a grave,
alas, I might not be able to return everything you gave.
these things; your voice, your eyes,
remind and hasten me,
yet I feel like I’m running on a mill.
terribly wounded by frenemies,
but only angry at the air,
the trees, the freer animals that I can’t be,
and at the luck that thus plagues me,
haunting, taunting, like a lion does a deer.
clutched and leeched to joyful memories,
the flashes of the folding of your skin,
and the growing tiredness in your steps.
Mother,
these years have betrayed me,
the knives in their hands,
have the wounds on my back as their scabbards,
they’d just pulled and plugged,
they took your youth and gave me fear,
and now threaten with the hardness of the earth,
so every time I hear your voice coarse with worries
and see your wrinkling face with nothing in my hand,
my heart shatters.