Best Solicit Poems
In the office, he smiles so charmingly.
Saying and doing all the right things,
he puts all his female patients completely at ease.
Even the women hard to please return to him,
for he is famous for his bedside manner.
He surrounds himself with a staff of beautiful nurses
who rush eagerly to his aid when he needs them.
Each of them, whether single or not,
imagines herself with him and how it would be
to be alone with him, aboard his fancy yacht
submerged in the mesmerizing gaze
of his warm hazel eyes.
In the evening he goes home to his wife,
a lovely though docile woman, fragile like a flower.
Immediately on seeing her, he starts in
with his usual barrage of complaints,
belittling her and poking fun at her homemaking skills,
the dinners she has waiting for him, her style of dress,
and every minor physical flaw she might possess.
She accepts it all with her pretty blonde head bowed
like that of a wilted lily,
for she knows that to oppose him
will only result in a more tangible type of abuse,
and he is always careful when he hurts her.
Doctor that he is, he knows well to leave no marks.
She retires quietly to bed,
worried little about any sexual advances toward her.
Although she longs for the touch of a man,
she is grateful to be left alone by her spouse.
Meanwhile, with liquor in hand,
he’s gone into the den, shutting the door behind himself.
Logged on as Mr. Hyde at his favorite website,
he peruses the myriads of Adonises available,
peering salaciously at each nude explicit photo
with wide hungry hazel eyes taking in every little detail
as he plans his next big adventure out of town
and fantasizes trysts on his fancy private yacht
with the sexiest of the men that he can solicit.
posted 2/21/12
Submitted 9/23/22 For One From The Dark Side Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Lawless
Amadioha the great god of Thunder and Justice
We have gathered at the shrine of Alusi’gwe
To pour libations to you
Even as I do my folk song
Bring me the ogene, to awaken the spirit of my
Forbearers to witness the doomsday they foretold
Give me the udu, to sound out a warning to the futureman
Give me the oja, the special voice of oganigwe the dreaded masquerade
Give the shekere, so that the women of owu can shake their enchanted waist
In love and tranquillity we lived with our neighbours, doing our folk song
Buddha called out to Lord Brahman
Set aside a room for me in the inner chamber
Decorated with beautiful ornaments, to depict love and care
Flanked with candles and incense burner and the beautiful statue of the wise man
To help me escape from the corruption of this world
As I attempt to wake from hatred of neighbours
Focusing on love and purity of heart
Allow me do my folk song living in tranquillity with nature and neighbours
Christed you said you are, servant of the son of God sent from above
Your brother claimed that you are a messenger from Allah
What is this confusion I see, contradicting even your folk song
You came with a sweet tongue of love, yet all I see is terrorism and
A holy war fought by crusaders crushing the bones of the unbelievers
Those who worship idols yet lived a life akin to nature – a life of love
You have created a polarised world of Christed men with less shame for evil
Of religious women without morals
Of Ulamas who feed on the sweat of Almagiris
Oh Christ! is this the gospel you preached on the street of Nazareth?
O! Mohamed is this the Rasuul you preached in Mecca
O! God what we do in your Name, we should be afraid of doing even in the dark
Allow me to return home
To my folk song
In African theism, to the shrines of Alusi’gwe,
To do my folk song with Oganigwe the beautiful masquerade
To solicit corn and groundnuts from old women with sagging breasts
Chasing the kids with a whip in my hand as I wear the mask of the spirit
A spirit of sportsmanship, of equity and love, of fair play and brotherhood.
Allow me do my folk song
Teal blue skies dappled with white polka dots
with hints of a sanguine sun shining through.
And calm waters mirror the polka dots
that vanish as time erases a few.
Dusk impatiently awaits in the wings
listening to competing crickets chirp.
And as darkness descends a warbler sings
while frogs solicit mates with a burp.
Shifting shadows and silhouettes converge
as liquid ebony pools drip by drip.
And Twilight and dusk entangle and merge
as the last traces of day start to slip.
Nature's crescendo, polka dots and all
saying so long summer; and hello fall.
(Sonnet)
Jan. 21, 2019
Polka Dots Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Say something;
your silence scars my skin,
shatters my soul,
strains my skull,
stretches out my suffering and
snowballs my syndrome.
Out loud;
your opinion is not obvious,
openness not optional,
obligation not obsolete,
only your opposition to the occasion is
orchestrating this onslaught.
Speak;
I scream and shout,
shriek and screech,
sob and solicit,
still, you stay shut-off and silent and
strike me speechless, too.
Death must be old fashioned way up in the future. Nobody's gonna die. Tell me when. Should I solicit from the reaper? Must I decide with my keeper? Must I still try to be alive? QUIET now must I pretend? Quit now, must I defend?
And be rewarded for my rage time and time again.
Revision of decisions long past due. Collector's come a calling, where
I choose.
I refuse to be used as a doorstop refugee ANGRILY laughing as I bandage my open wounds. Tough crowd. No self pity ALLOWED. I'm not delusional. If only please.
I'm nocturnal operating without options, ease
NEVER leave a man behind ENEMY lines. All who volunteer to follow fall behind,
And on my lead. All things HOT HAVE HAPPENED with my breed.
I'm a SOLDIER BLACK STALLION, BRED TO SUCCEED.
I know one day i'll be going HOME with my brain HOT WIRED and my broad buff
Bionic body, introducing my new self to my adoring affectionate family.
But for now the fight is on the might IS STRONG. We APPROACHED the enemy
Camp on clever phantom Fox FEET. Thinking. Waiting.
These DEATH BOUND SOULS are all alone with me and my army. All who volunteer to follow fall in line. .....Waiting, ready we pounce 25 down no PRISONERS, no COMPROMISE.
NOW hear this, can't promise you BLUE INDIGO ROSE GARDENS AND SUNSHINE in paradise.
JUST know one thing: Stay the COURSE. We will win. We've never Lost.
I'm a SOLDIER BLACK STALLION BRED TO SUCCEED.
I solicit, can I be
your man, man of
dreams,
She smiled and
responds with
nihilism,
I startle with
embarrassment,
Nevertheless, she
kept on spiting with
criticism,
I lost and tears
bulged out from the
eyes,
Expel not this time
with pessimism,
In wonder and in
dilemma of bewilder
ness,
Fell down from edge
of optimism,
And truly I can only
yearn and pine,
Can’t I fetch her
with the power of
magnetism,
Here the word and
world lives, the
status,
Before which I can’t
stand with equalism,
Alas here a man live
with the loss of
hope,
Saying this love is,
“the theory of
illusionism,
And to beginning
alarmed of your
ways,
Not more than
pretension and
fusionism,
Quit this all plays
and leave a solace,
Can’t I bear your
yoke of fascism,
Of thy oppression
and cruelty,
So Shahid, be in the
shadow of
bachelorism.
Shahid Hussain
Chouhdry
An instrument of beauty,
poetry is art at its best
with its verses of passion
penned with love
in assorted and variegated
metrical composition
with sublime and
aesthetically satisfying flow.
It is a creative exposition
that unfolds and enlightens
with enchanting constructs
the demonstrative and
effusive characterization
of language by utilizing,
promoting and bestowing
the nature and power of words.
Proclaiming ideas and ideals
of principled excellence
with creations anew
and history of old,
poetry exhibits an appetite
for knowledge and wisdom
and a profound propensity
for purposeful revelation
with an insatiable desire
for intimation and meaning
displayed with heartfelt emotion.
With its aspiration to show case
in magnificent scribal splendor,
poetry entices and compels
the artist and consumer
to explore and transcend
imagination and intrigue,
and solicit introspection
with unfathomable penetrating thought
that is calmed by grace and elegance.
Philosophical and spiritual,
entertaining and healing,
poetry commands laughter and tears
or sorrow and joy,
Its clamorous and powerful
phonologically expressive morphemes
can awaken and stir passion and romance
or summon logic and reason.
Poetry,
resplendent in wisdom,
captures love,
inspires hope,
provoke curiosity,
resonates drama,
evokes mystery,
uplifts spirits
and expresses grief.
So magnificent,
so powerful,
so wondrous
is the nature and
the majesty of poetry.
I miss my dad
At the days like these,
When nights and mornings are worse,
I real miss my dad!
He taught me to love,
Care and listen to others,
He gave me courage, of schooling, singing and drawing.
When nights and mornings are worse
I still miss my dad!
If only I could backhander God,
For whatever he could in debt me,
I would solicit him to leave my dad,
That I could have his insight now,
But he won him,
For he loved him more!
When I last nursed him,
He had a promising health,
Of seeing his smile tomorrow,
To the amazing veracity,
It was only four hours later,
When I received the call of his left,
When the nights and days are gone!
I still miss my dad!
Today I see him on my narcolepsy,
When I get quick to REM,
I also see him to night,
When I come to serious dream,
But, these add me pains,
For I miss him more when awake!
When the nights and days are gone!
I still miss my dad!
It was Feb, 17,
The year twenty 06,
Noted time 11.AM,
When he breathed last,
After three days wounds,
From a car crash on 14th Feb.
"the day called Valentine!"
A car registered 304 AAF,
Crushed him badly,
At Magomeni traffic lights,
On his way church with Mama!
RIP our dad,
The 10 you left behind,
Became 11 after a week,
A boy born on 23rd Feb,
Reminds us about you,
Gideon the great! We also named him Alex,
On honor of your gone!
© Lucas Mkude 10/02/2013
From,
A true story of my father's daeth on Feb. 17.2006.
I feel the sweat of a race not run
and hold the clench of a stomach churned,
as I crumble and fall, using artifice to
fool this world of my consummate ease
This daily pulse has blood flow restricted,
like the sparrow evading the falcons dance.
And I, in the third person try so hard
to solicit speech from this frozen mouth
My time has come to stand upon this stage
and fill the pledge to tickets bought.
And to earn my daily crust, whilst hoping
the ink of fear does not write upon my face
And by the end of day to feel
like an egg dashed against a wall,
breaking into a thousand ruined nerves,
killing all the life within this rain - soaked
hesitant voice
To begin this all again tomorrow.
This troubled journey of wornboards
and featureless landscapes trapped by
a scream hidden in fog
OUR HOME
A DREAM COME TRUE
It took 25 years,but our dream
has finally become a reality by God's grace
We have built a small home
But it's our delightful palace
To celebrate this great event
We cordially invite you along
with your Family, We solicit
your presence and blessings
Please join us for our house-warming party on Dec 5 2016
This home is my dad's gift to my mom for their 25th wedding anniversary...I invite you all on behalf of my parents...We need your blessings and wishes...
Wood chew believe aye took stock...?
Upon a whim, an endeavor
arose to communicate
cumulative key whatchamacallit,
yea...nuggets o' wisdom, asper
about yours truly no reason, nor
rhyme unwinding, tooling sputtering
most vexing mystery more
baffling than any whodunnit,
asper in this ole rattle trap to whit,
which drab filler hoop fully doth newt
induce thee to vomit
while this true bore doer sits here twit
tilling thumbs, one doubting Thomas
addresses, (albeit favoring abridged titbit
alphabetized list), I attempt (collusion
gluten, GMO free), aye solicit
motley fool, not to accrue superprofit
unbiased worded atypical, bohemian
rhapsodizing non mercurial portrait
most challenged since umpteenth orbit
whiling away this last May 2019 Tuesday
around nearest star circle game
impossible mission exit
or at least until after exhausting
without courting death
senescence to delimit.
ME? ANTI THE FOLLOWING::>
aggression, alcohol, apartheid, authoritarianism,
billboard, bureaucratic, censorship, church,
cigarette, anticlericalism, anticolonialism,
commercialism, communism, conglomerate,
conventional, corporate, corruption,
counterfeiting, crime, cruelty, cult, defamation,
diarrheal, dogmatic, dumping, elitism,
establishmentarianism, fascism,
fashion, formalist, fraud, fur, guerilla, gun,
hierarchical, hijack, hunter, king, illiterate,
litter, lynching, macho, materialism, militarism,
miscegenation, monarchical, monopolist,
mosquito, nationalist, nepotism, noise, nuclear,
obesity, pesticide, plague, pollution, poverty,
racist, racketeering, rape, religion, revolutionary,
riot, royalist, sexist, shoplifting, slavery, smog,
smoker, smuggling, snob, subversive, tax,
terrorist, theft, tobacco, totalitarian, violence,
vivisectionist, welfare.
What About You?
The forest is my last retreat.
There breezes sing a quiet song.
As flowers scented air stays sweet,
My heart with music sings-along.
There, nature has a love affair.
Squirrels’ treetop tricks solicit smiles.
The beastly beings living there,
Array the day with fun lifestyles --
Protected by the land itself,
All creatures seek and find refuge.
I love to walk there by myself.
In quiet peace where hearts grow huge.
So, sheltered by the hand of God,
Until I die, I shall be awed.
2/15/2017
Written for Poetry Form H contest
The lights of the city reflecting from the aqueous pitch, pavements in a kaleidoscope of colours create a melancholy ambience for the few who venture within. The city is transformed as the animated bustle of people, seemingly with purpose, abandon the streets to their suburban abodes, leaving a nugatory melting pot of the "Ill at ease" to pursue or solicit rudimentary shelter to respite their weary frames.
The man is homeless.......
To the city streets he is confined, incarcerated by their invisible partition that circumscribe his ability to breach the tenticaled alleys and lanes. For buzzing in his mind, "I'm not aloud" echoes through his sub conscience cerebrations. Involuntarily his legs move his ageless body, one foot in front of the other in timeless motion like a driverless carriage aimlessly meandering through the city thoroughfares.
He sits to repose on a lichen encrusted slab that has entreated a myriad of his ilk for generations past and assuredly for many more to traverse. For the briefest moment the fog that clouds his mind is pushed aside by a gentle puff of memory as he is transported to a place where children's laughter fills the room and a woman sitting at a dining table, her auburn hair comfortably resting on her slender shoulders as she gazes admiringly at... Then thunderclouds rush over him like a tidal wave to the sound of, "Move you filthy wino", he scurries off as the fog settles back into its occupation.
Lost within the multitude of human quiddity, like the leaves of a plane tree aquiescing to the winds dominating gusts. He is swept along the tide of life, existing but never living, obedient to every buckle and wrench, never adapting to the changing seasons, accepting feeling of cold and heat with equal passiveness. The drum of life ever beating, yet his march is incessantly out of step.
When your deeds are high why worry; keep your heads high
Many may ditch you; few may follow you; if not walk alone
Do not go by what others do; Appreciate not for seeking theirs
Respect is what you earn, futile to solicit it from others
Need not follow the disappearing trends, recommend the best
Be the judge for you, respond to criticism; do not hate others
Ignore those who hate you, forget those who own up their mistakes
Guidance is how you seek, who is the wise man? – find them in others
The path you walk will be charted by you; expect not from others
When your deeds are high why not keep your heads high
Many may ditch you; few may follow you; if not walk alone
There are many like you, keep walking; the world is bound to follow you.
So much to solicit, but with substance excluded,
she mimics intimacy, but leaves one secluded.
Flatteries slip off her tongue like honey's sultry sweetness.
"Come to this incensed bed for pleasure's soft caress."
Like a crafty serpent's spiel, her lips slither stellar speech.
Secure your spirit, flesh, and soul; she'll sample some of each.
With silken negligees, she'll sustain a slave's stronghold,
stealing one's strength like the lust for shiny gold.
One's best possession is sequestered, that of self, a sword within,
squandered to a showy stranger, a satanic mannequin.
Leaving spouse and offspring grieving, an egregious price to pay,
some have spurned their own cisterns to search for soggy clay.
Listen closely, my son, with stern discretion be wise.
For she will lead you in similitude as Eden's sad demise.
12-8-2020
References: Proverbs 5 & Proverbs 7
"Flee sexual immorality. Every sin that a man does is outside the body, but he who commits sexual immorality sins against his own body." 1 Corinthians 6:18