Best Sourly Poems
Death – Remember me Tomorrow
Votre amour est tout ce que j'implore
Angels took us from France's shores
To the promised land of lady liberty
Hollywood glitter enticing us lovers with mystery
Living the past in a cinematic telling
Ironic that love was sourly spurned
By Bogart’s charming quilted misgivings
Madeline, later would sadly sing
La Marseillaise, while lovers embrace
Paris after dark, they disappear with no trace
Trains to death and boats to freedom
As Casablanca tells of romantic tales
Je suis vieux, est je suis seul
The beautiful one misses the past and you
All the ships have sailed and gone
It’s the cemetery now where I rest under lawn
the cultivators
taught how to walk and talk
they approached as a group
each with a bowl of bread
given unto them by a lord
trying to speak and be strong
i said, "time moves along,
it, can't stand here all day
in contest.....i say...you say"
then they all talked at once
in different directions
throwing corrections
at everything i'd pronounce
my resources mustered
as their actions grew flustered
as my patience waned
at their reactions
their creations grew louder,
i said, "just cut the chowder,
leave now please, and don't come back"
the storm eased and mine was the final thunder clap
long since when
i've not seen them again
i can tell you they are much less
than sourly missed
in fact they've dropped off
their radar somewhere else,
excepting, of course
for their last recourse
(every once in a while)
a pamphlet at the door
JUXTAPOSED AWARENESS
On and within the fullness
of this beautiful sunshine day,
I peacefully sit here pondering
the present chaos of the world.
How awe confusing…it all is–
outside, flowers are blooming,
birds and butterflies are soaring,
and the quiet wind peacefully blows.
.
But within the physical and spiritual me,
there seems to be a battle for power control
over which system is the most in control when
it comes to sustaining me physically and spiritually.
Indeed–within–the heart seems to challenge
the brain, while expansion and restraint tease
the soul and spirit with respect to focus and divine
wisdom and guidance in oneness of mission purpose.
Here at home and around the rest of the world, atrocities
continue within its circumference: supporting inequality,
denying climatic change, ignoring human disasters,
and pimping war; all deemed…apt power aides.
Indeed, as I sit here looking out into the Godly beauty
of nature’s canvassing in the springtime, all is painfully
sighted and sourly tasted by the awareness of the chilling
wind of change murderous war is bleeding onto peaceful life.
Once more and again–we hued–wherever we may be
in our sojourn, are caused to detour round-about-focus of
empathy to drop off aspiration, inspirations, hope, faith, and
collective actions, to physically and spiritually aid victims of war-
mongering power-viral infected oppressors we all battle in common.
As I sit here gazing out/into this beautiful canvassing of nature,
hell flaming fires are wreaking devilish havoc not too far away and
at the same time, bombs shred life and spread their collateral pains;
all leaving peace to be realized in the spirituality of the actions of love.
As the “round-about of nature leads us back to the sojourn pathway
our ancestors left and foot-printed for us, let’s move on past syndrome
roadblocks and continue to cover miles of awareness–honking honks–echoing
to all the world that “...our equanimity too, is essential to world harmony.”
Do not forget to brush your teeth
For a rotten future you will meet
I forgot myself
And sourly dealt
With a pain so indiscreet
The waiting clap handed smashy,
sits in a dime's oval,
swallows sourly-
yet diversify's the mind,
overly enveloped miniatures-
coasting to the camels,
choreographed lightly yet so marches the mass.
REMEMBER MY VICTORY.
On this tattered mat I yarn,
Bitten up my rusty thumb,
Reviewing all have lost to dust.
This sophisticated explosion about
To be awoken.
Wonder breed ready to conceive
Possibilities links,
Growth relatedly started as my
Time piece,
Unlucky attitude, I never checked
How I trim my weeds.
Speed stole all I lead,
With a windy shower in my dreams,
I never knew the dead sea will
Not sink a pin neither those she
Breed fish.
Neglecting worship for my gods
Became a choice,
Am presently stock in this complicated
Hall,
My sun begins to summersault.
I started to trek without trace,
The road was totally empty and
Strange to my face,
I sense my sandals would soon
Quench for teast.
Many thoughts, I have spat on,
My tongue rolls out of control.
This hole filled with hungry
Toads is all I own.
Have lost function with the
Doctrine hope,
My hair transcribe into my
Daily bread,
All my teeth completely disappears.
No more, I can’t spread what hasn’t
Been said.
Above the clouds is sourly for the
Dead, like me
Must sink in this earth.
No unnecessary tears for help, to
Wash my head.
I write in deep darkness, am sure
You can tell, just three letters
Are left for my end.
I await the call of any friend.
Air circulate without legs,
She never sleeps nor cheat all men,
It frustrate the witches and entertain
The birds in their nest,
Interestingly she keeps record of
Heir under her care.
You could wish to rub her dress,
Never disturb chickens in there
Fun fare.
AKEWUSOLA HABIB.
I woke to you exploring my coastline
finger tracing every hidden, jutted stone
weathered wood
and whipping titanium grass
Your muffled voice in the dark
filling up the creaking tide pools
in india ink
careless and velvet
I find I can only proceed
when it is accidentally breathed in
By muttering into your mouth
words that feel full like marbles, such as:
'I don’t want to say I love you any more'
And so, You flitted in the dark, like a feathery moth
For one singular moment
until I was fairly sure that you were dead
You once told me that you used to fear
I would explode like a firecracker in your hand
Leave you stranded
in gas station bathrooms with leaky mirrors.
Forget to pack your lunch before bed
Slip you words into your pocket
That linger sourly all the day
I'll even forget to write the Christmas cards on time
Faithfully, I remind you
of the fast filling swimming lessons in turquoise green
The abrasive pad of your finger sending me drifting-
though I am tethered hundreds of thousand years beneath
You wake me instead from starry night dreams
the sound of coffee pots brewing
pushing open the airways in my lungs, taking hold
to root themselves in clay instead of dream.
what on earth do you do
with leftover gooseberry stew
do you bake it in a pie
with meringue sky high
or make a tart not so sweet
yet tasty enough to eat
how about that sweet jelly
got that recipe from aunt nelly
make a cobbler is planned
or don't forget gooseberry jam
if you ever get them ripe
those are my favorite type
you can eat them just as they are
fresh gooseberries are the star
but since most are picked green
without sugar they are sourly obscene
stew them good with cinnamon
add sugar and dig in
now for those boysenberries
how about a glass of wine or sherry
Once I had the opportunity
For hard-earned, sweet success
But I yawned instead and spurned my chance
To labour and progress
And so my potential festered
Scorned sourly in defeat
Now I am left with vinegar
In place of honey sweet.
As the flames a blazed and the torches illuminated the crying shouts of the night
Like steeples of lonely souls on shattered islands yearning for lifeboats
Like reddish cherry drowned in a sea of blood entwining sweetness with sourly fluid
Like a naked smile in a funeral of the dead hiding sadness behind a lying face searching for strength
New bonds created amidst of war like glistening stars in the dying space.
12/3/2012
If I could write a ballad no one else but you would hear it.
If I were god I would tap into your special frequency so that other prying ears
would not be able to judge.
If only you could understand my lyrics if only could catch the rhythm,
I have long grown tired of trying to make you understand, of trying to make
you hear my melody.
If I could sing loud enough to make you understand, I would stand on the
highest peak of the world and shout to you my truth.
My truth that I could never hate you, but you couldn't see that. You once
told me that you were god and I believed you.
But you lied because if you were god you would know
that at one point you scared me.
If you were god than you'd know that it hurt when you forgot me,
you would have used your divine intelligence to speak to my heart
when you couldn't see me.
If you were god you would have sent me a burning bush a long time ago when I needed
you. But now I see the truth finally at the brink of adulthood, fathers can't be god.
fathers can be loved, hated and sourly missed all at once.
Now I see that the one I coveted for so long as divine, is a mere flawed human being.
If I could write a song for your ears alone it would speak the truth without judgment or
blame.
The beer gardens of hatred
are in full bloom
Fermented flowers
of genetic flaw fanaticism
is tavern fomenting
Foaming anger is being violently spread
on the winds of agitation
Upside down cloud nines are bar code vex tripling,
as the weak-willed urge to vomit resist
are whether vain wilting
Autumn spring retrograde progress
has mid-summer arrived
with wintry ease
Sweet wine lying words of fermented pollen
are sourly spreading
Milk poppy discourse is being frost frothily heard —
There’s pandemic fear in the air,
traveling rabidly on the mockingbird wings of despair
The pandemonium lips in the beer gardens
are bar stool pigeon flapping
Sable syntax stamens love the pagan pistil sound
of the sin text send stammering
Wavy flagellate foams of intoxicating hate
invectively spew the inebriated seeds
Suggestive bound violent strings
move the petal puppets on a pollen blown breeze
Oh such a stinging, jingoism buzz ...
making nettle hearts grow nightshade numb,
darkly drunk with power
Paralyzing the budding morals within
the partakers thereof
Plastic bottle souls, empty of empathy,
litter the fallow ground of those fermented gardens
Lemming plants so bloodthirsty
for the brimstone reign
carrying cursed firewater pollen
Plaster the walls with mud.
Shake the heavens of the blood.
Bitter tasting and sourly sweet.
Were the feelings that sat at my feet.
Black curtains of faces so torn.
Worrying seems so forlorn.
Tear the tears and tear the tears.
For this is no life to live in fear.
Fear the fairs and fair as to the fears.
Knock down the wall of misery,
And build a bridge to destiny.
Fickle fate brought a tickle too late.
Draw a line to the other side.
Wait for the shadows and soon they will hide.
Pick up the pieces of hints that will be given.
Guiding the wind from sin and all will be forgiven.
Reluctant of hearts too giving.
Seeing the messages of happiness to take.
Pleasers beware and takers dont dare.
Hands and mouths always be there.
Yes to all the answers and no to all the chancers.
Take this sign from fate so true.
Run like the wind and take what was given to you.
By Cami Hostetler
My bro I am joining you thought your tense and glummer
To cross the seas and into to the blue
Into the unknown you go
What a brave and strong soul you are to me
A tear drops so sourly down my harden face
Its dry to these feeling
Across many of mountains that I have crossed
And sooo passed
To sing your song to the cap
Just like I did mine to the green cap
This is one mad song
A secret is no loner one
As its always passed
To at least one
And then another one
Running yes
Hanging out yes
You have full filled me to be just like you
One hard soul
You nutter
Bounjouir
Time will tell as I follow your pain though the mud and guts
Cos that boat is waiting 4 me to cross the path
The very one you took to for see your past
I will be there not as a royal marine
But a French foreign legion
Daddy never told me I was pretty
Instead he told me to be smart and study.
Read a lot, be well-behaved and witty.
That would bring you far. Now I am muddy
And stained with hearty failures, ugly scars.
Bitterly sour, dense, oily and sourly sweet
Are the thoughts I am eating. And stars?
I just think of them no more. How will I meet?
Ever meet somebody who would top you?
Because I do remember the way you were.
Oh God, show me a sign, give me a clue.
Your traits, your bristle and that vest that you wore.
It's still clearly vivid in memory.
Dear Lord, please help me forget! Oh please, please, please!
Will this image be in my treasury?
Please stop mocking me, enough! Please, do not tease!
It's damn easy to win a heart of mine.
Tell me I'm beautiful, I look great, adore.
Pay me a compliment and we can dine.
I'll softly smile probably thinking "Amor"...
Daddy calls me. How I am doing?
Now that I write these long silly rhymes of mine.
Ok. I'm skilled at heartbreak. Well-being
Doesn't depend on what the others say. Dime,
Nickle, or a quarter they will give me.
I really don't care, it's something I like.
I write poems at night, I drink mint tea,
I go to karaoke, I'm not afraid of mike.
I know you're proud of me. That's what matters.
It's just that I have to start working again.
Occasionally praise me. It flatters!
To me it is worth more than a million yen.