Best Scions Poems
Open Letter to Thomas Jefferson
You sir, destination unknown, I dare
To address. A son of worthy causes
For land vast in majesty and vast as
Vast can be in matters of liberty;
With ideals so prim and suffused with
Philosophical forethought derived from
Your bumper harvest of keen knowledge from
Poetry to paleontology;
You the offspring of music and science,
Master of the whims of public forum,
Framer of destiny of the nation,
Bearer of the conscience of masses and
Winning hurdler of political kinks.
Now, the moldering public discourse is
Unbearable. One can no more cover
One’s nose. Nowhere is a silent shelter
From megaphone of ubiquitous din.
Where is a refuge? Simply, know not I.
I beseech you, sir, for learned counsel.
As thundering wildebeest migration
Clouds the slopes of national horizon:
Tulip of your acclaimed Law of Nature
Lies in the path of a roaring rampage.
I beg to ask, why uncanny tactile
Projections of your mind failed to measure
And forecast proneness to such afflictions.
Sir, you did not proscribe such maladies,
Or provide cautionary bells, at least.
Where have all the magistrates gone, I ask?
As I flip pages of your Summary View:
Prefaced by a motto of Cicero:
“It is the indispensable duty
Of supreme magistrate to consider
Himself as acting for community,
And obliged to support its dignity,
And assign to the people, with justice,
Their various rights, as he would remain
Faithful to the great trust reposed on him.”
Your pristine flora of the applied skills
In statesmanship and proper decorum
Is being supplanted by scurrilous
Scions of egocentric rhetoric.
Pails of justice are perceived as empty
By the parched sectors of land of plenty–
Await quenching rain of tenderness, but
Clouds of compassion remain unseeded.
Please forgive the outburst of my verses.
To rein my pen is to muzzle my soul.
III
But, of course, I had no dizzying towers
To burn...only bridges; and they were torched
Years ago in the urgency of my direst hours;
Along with so many mighty battlements sacked,
Countless golden fields scorched...
Afterall -- it was the age of Bronze!
I should have well known that in the flight
Of birds, in each cold dawns pale grey light,
I would eventually come to see the unalterable
Fates of Wilusha's last Imperial Scions:-
Tottering precariously - on the brink -
A world in crisis! Then the elopement...
Did you not once stop to carefully think
It through? Giddied no doubt by bestowment
Of that accursed title; just as if it were the
Same giddying rush
You have experienced from the heady
Potency of a full bodied, Oaked Chardonnay.
The coy performance at being required to strip --
An inner excitement at your self's shamed
Nakedness! The obvious insincerity on display
When receiving an invite to dine at the gaudy
Little bistro; your hot skin noticeably flushed
With the delirium of wine; frequently
Pressed to partake of yet another glass;
There was, he casually said, much to be
Desired in a pleasurable rape. Her audible gasp...
As if, from that roadside window, she was
Suddenly staring out over the idyllic plains
Of mythical Arcadia;
His eloquent assurances artfully calculated
To lend themselves to a distressful behaviour.
Choked by the incense of poetic justice,
I volunteered to be slain for the betterment of humanity.
The paintings of my ink on white sheet were witnesses,
When in Abuja, I drew my poetic daggers,
Against a twin bomb blast that left separated Limbs of men bleed with acrimony.
Eyes wept with sympathy crawling down their cheeks
While our crown boast of a thousand solutions with no one in sight.
Poetic justice shall reign in Nigeria, I prayed
I handshake my communication god when it rang
And cling firmly my peripatetic poetic spirit,
To Didier's motherland, under the cloud of French stimulated Ivory,
I saw a goat-bearded-god mimic the suit of the stars and stripes.
And commands pagan's adoration of the sun upon his throne.
When scions of termites spit at the sight of our dead flesh.
I wept when hunger-lashed beggars’ union
Cling on my feet for one CFA franc.
Poetic justice shall reign in Ivory Coast, I prayed
Under strong loyalty to tyrannical whipping with merciless rod.
I saw my brothers drip blood from the scars of yesterday.
Should religious fundamentalists be blamed?
When a star, firmly crucified on a sickle moon,
Grind the 'holy cross' people of the south.
While the big brother stood akimbo and watch vultures poke our intestines.
The referendum at hand smells secession success on my screen.
I pray for poetic justice in Sudan, Africa and the whole world.
Petty puny men able to overwhelm
the world, but you cannot fly. Oh you try,
and you inhance your body with a realm
of steel, but you cannot fly. You will sigh
with pleasure as you body surf a wave.
Think of that in the sky, from thermal
to thermal, following the lines god gave
the magnet earth, turning as one with all
your flock and dancing in the air, reasons
only a stoned surfer could comprehend.
Our race was once earthbound in all seasons
like you, but determined to understand
the world. Our ascent to the sky took eons.
Your vision, the present, not your scions.
Slumber beseeched this sight which closed
In warmth of silence to brush repose....
Silkened choirs of soft voices heard
Scions whispers gracing ivories notes ~
As carriages gliding atop sweet serenities
Keys as visions amid these their dreams
In violet hues composed upon the candescent walls
Awakening vistas once held dormant inside
Portraitures, panoramic blinds....
Reciprocating their eye shadow etchings these, cosmetic designs
Until, slumber beseeched this sight which closed
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In warmth of silence, to brush repose ~
DIAMOND DUST DEVIL
1169 Dominion...
A dark world lives beyond Orion.
This world is within an alien moon.
On its stable ground, stands a murder of mentality and childhood.
As babies are born, the mammoth scions brain from the dead.
The child life has been prepared.
The countryside is where he reclines.
He sits in his study analyzing his crimes.
He states to himself, deep in thought, “I am creating a world of great power.
My ancestors did not do this way. They only developed a twisted mentality.
Today, I cultivate identities.”
He is a tall and handsome man.
He is well spoken.
As a barrister, he is at the top of his game.
He walks with the same
who do not know they are creations of his sentiment.
His name is Emartra Van Doyle.
He is the “descendant of Dubhghall.”
Anglicization of the Irish
His disambiguation was superlative.
He is the origin of the Vikings.
His days in the world are yet to end.
There has been much darkness to manifest from him.
His balls were costume dramatic.
He lived in phantasm.
Hiberno-Normans balled with him.
The dark and epicaricacy history of Ireland is where Emartra Van Doyle thrives.
Well written via the imagination and deep in the mind, is a sphere of influence,
which cultivates perilous times.
A reverie aspirated.
Cross my heart and hope to die, if I am telling a lie.
S[k]at!
______________________________________________|
Sponsor: SKAT A
Contest Name: Diamond Dust Devil
Villanelle : When countries slaughter maim who brands that homicide
When countries slaughter maim who brands that homicide
Proclaim citizens who kill under the patrie’s pennant heros
Permissible by far all things done to boost national pride
Killing for your god even to ward off a remark thought snide
Fellow believers’ll enshrine your name in martyrs pantheons
When countries slaughter maim who brands that homicide
Leaders lie cheat slander even – forbid – commit fratricide
Citizens shrug shoulders and pass it all off as political woes
Permissible by far all things done to boost national pride
Sick secret service scions see to it their victims all slide
Down the slippery slope of unaccountable anonymous blows
When countries slaughter maim who brands that homicide
And yet leaders and preachers claim peace for all with pride
Their individual charters and scriptures back sinister goals
Permissible by far all things done to boost national pride
Why then history relegates the greatest actions taken at tide
To memory’s junk pile where fester countries and their heros
When countries slaughter maim who brands that homicide
Permissible by far all things done to boost national pride
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Simon started playing wheelchair basketball,
Aged twelve at a school community project,
And under coach Ian Laker accepted the call,
To play with London Titans so as to connect.
In 2008 he debuted at the Beijing Paralympics,
He and the GBR squad won the bronze medal,
And in 2009 they won with World Cup phonetics,
5th in the 2010 World Cup Championship pedal.
In 2013 at the Frankfurt European Champs,
Simon and his GBR team struck the top gold,
And then in 2015 at more European Champs,
Simon & co won yet another sparkling gold.
In Rio de Janeiro at the Paralympic Games,
The GBR basketball squad collected bronze,
A triumph for such an elite contest, no games,
Where the best is given by first class scions.
Scions of light shall come,
from darkest of humanities soul,
warriors of the blodline true,
ancient calling older than coal,
liberty in defending earth's kingdom,,
Working against the progressive machines,
this pre-new world order,
revolutionaries of a new time,
against manchurian canidates in number,
liberty soldiers behind the scenes,,
They come from unlikely places,
even behind enemy democratic strongholds,
the objective thinkers from behind,
even within tight inner folds,
the opperatives without a trace,,
They are lights shinning within,
throughout hunanities space and time,
earth-mother's secrets of free will,
pure souls of universal paradigm,
scion rangers of liberty devine,,
These born scions of earth-mother,
are hearts unlike any other,
with pure sight of liberty,
leading humanity to futher discover,
freedom that can last forever!?,,,
Known they are as the Lisbon Lions
But of the West of Scotland were they scions.
Etched in history is their name
Because of that 1967 game.
Immortality upon them is endowed
As they made their fans so proud.
But as the years do move on
So are we left with fewer sons.
One such by the name of McBride
Recently passed to the other side.
A centreforward of great repute
He could score with head or either foot.
Such a joy was he to watch
It made you so proud to be Scotch.
Yet all his roots dated back to Eire
Than which land none is fairer.
As a boy he grew up in Govan
Where the once proud Rangers' writ did run
However,because of their sectarian divide
He could not be signed by his local side.
He plied his trade skilfully and well
As every team he played for can proudly tell
He showed goalscoring was his great art
And his teamwork played a major part
When he finally joined them in the East End
He was destined to become a true legend
His goals set him in a world apart
And he played for Celtic with all his heart.
Although he played not in the European final
His contribution till Christmas that season was vital
With goals galore and impressive teamwork
He was a model player who would never shirk.
And so the crowning glory of his team
Without his contribution would not have been
As a man who never lost the common touch
He remains in our memories loved so much.
I live in a world where there is no flow and ebb
where flies are snared in the spiders web
Where anger is the clothing that spirits wear
hand me down garments soiled with fear
Where eyes fail from weeping incapable of emotions
and the heart bears the tsunami the bodies waves like the ocean's
In the winepress of the psyche I trample the virgin daughter of bliss
and beyond the landscape of sin and firmament of folly lies the serpents hiss
I live in a world where wisdom and knowledge collide similar to protons
Where innocence is slaughtered like Salem's pillars and scions
As the lion makes a kill its the jackel that profits
but before the jackel appears its the hyena that mocks it
And as the prey that is stalked is slain without pity
The herds of people represent stock roaming the cities
Women eat their offspring and they dont even know it
While the scheme of men cast shadows over truth not to show it
In my world my eyes flow unceasingly without mercy without ease
as vengeance owns depth, so deep it stalks the forrest beyond trees
In my world the mind constantly mocks the heart
While guilt is the warden whom imprisons the soul in the dark
Like the rain that suffocates the land with a constant pour
My inner child cries louder than thunder or a lion with a constant roar
In my world an infants tongue adheres to roof of its mouth
and food is as scarce to child as insects are to a grouse
Nurtured in purple but racked with hunger
It is better to die by the sword then to live with famine in numbers
Joy has dispersed from our hearts and dancing has moved to mourn
as brightness has merged with the dark the fabric of happiness is torn
Pressing my peripatetic poetic spirit
I roamed the abode of technology
Where I spilled my poetic condolences, with company of tears,
To my friends in Japan
Whose brothers are forcefully accommodated,
In the large bellies of callous Tsunami and dreaded earthquakes.
How many oceans of sorry shall consume
The traumatic castle of agony erected in their souls?
Hugging my peripatetic poetic spirit,
I roamed the dried sands of Libya,
Where men are roasted by rage of military missiles
For demanding the dethrone of a pitiless demi-god
How many more heads shall be sacrificed for the crown of justice?
Handshaking my peripatetic poetic thoughts
I roamed through the petroleum abode of Middle East
I found Iraq ravaging by ecclesiastic of death
Where men are proud to die for a cause yet unknown
Poised by teaching of abstract fable theories,
They volunteer to be burnt with innocent multitude.
When will scions vampires taste the last drop of blood in Iraq?
Only the ONE behind the cloud knows!
For the contest:I roam
~La Gala Grandeur~
Revived from mine mortality,I adopt my rebirth
Through neonate eyes,the world now glows ethereal
As my resplendence arouses,death is relinquished dormant
Though newly formed,I step unteeteringly unafraid
Motlique auras,encompass my fellow scions
The firmament above,an wombous spectrum pletharic
Engrossed of adolescence,I become exhilarantly aware
My lineant precursors,swarm samely for my embracing
Free from fragility,I am no longer appraisal's prey
No less nor more than another,we abide incorruptable
Orchestras of saints and psalmists,exact an spectacled sonata
Devout and divinely,we dance dutifully for mercy's grace
This revel illimitable,is always available
Admittance thou art assured,whether or not of invitation
With none boundary of era,we know ye will attend
It is but a matter my friend,of just when...
...is then
~Azaza~ June 19th,2010
A hint of blush
‘pon the tips
Of leaves still lush
As lover’s lips
A breeze that sighs
As if t’was tired
Of mid-Summer highs
In doldrums mired
A crisped dry smell
Perfumes the air
Clings tight as well
To clothes and hair
A dusk that darkles
With unseemly haste
Midst Fireflies sparkle
Midst daylight chased
A trace of wood smoke
Scents the breeze
And woolen cloaks
Appear ‘pon knobby knees
Ol’ Apple trees…
Scarlet blushed in fruit
Seem piously to proffer pleas
For their scions to take root
Degree by degree…
Doth the Earth slowly tilt
Unperceived by you and me
But blossoms notice…begin to wilt
A change incremental
So slow as to be imperceptible
So cosmically elemental
So basically inevitable
A Summer that begins to show…
Its age in ways
With longer nights
And shortened days
Prepares perhaps
To soon take leave
It’s time’s elapsed
No time to grieve
Fall awaits it’s turn to shine
Upon Mother Nature’s stage
Summer sips water melon wine
And savors scent of sage
11 stanzas
171 words
Arise O sons of the Shining stars!
Arise and speed like your fish-like cars.
Tan your sorrows and pains with ease
And sway in delight like your Sakura trees.
Arise O sons of the shining stars!
Thorns' scratches on elephant are but minor scars
Send your technology-eyed-gods to work
Let them unfold their talents to move the technological clock
Arise O land of the shining stars!
You are the prime existence of worthy technology dreamers
Your scions stun the world with series of technological perfections
Toyota, Yamaha and Honda are just lovely kids in actions
Arise O land of the shining stars!
Tourists' eyes lost in gourmand stares
Of your ancient beauties lurked in Matsushuma bay
Where blue water, craggy rocks and twisted Pine trees drip ancient wisdom to people of today
For Debbie Guzzi's contest:"Tribute to Japan"