Best Spate Poems
Tale Of Righteous And Just Demise Of Old Jack
Old Jack had shot many before, once just for the sheer hell of it
Never squeamish about the gore or splattered about fleshy bits
Once making it an all night spree, drinking whiskey after each shot
Only once did he do it for free, knowing generosity fills no empty pot.
One hot June night, he did away with tough cat called dangerous Dan
Such a bloody sight, no easy task but put sweet coin in his empty pan
Next day trip at the lake, he sniper shot famous knife fighter Jake
A cool twenty grand take, such sweet fun nobody could ever fake.
Old Jack, wicked as all hell, sure such Fate he would never meet
Called his shots "ringing the bell", having never faced a defeat
Once for big money, shot three men in a shady lakefront bar
Later for loss of his "honey", ran over ex-wife's lover with his car.
One cool Spring day, stranger came sworn to make old Jack pay
Dressed in a beggerdly way, as a weakened and feeble old stray
With hidden might and its all, Fate had finally sent its dark call
While Jack was having a ball, swift bullet made its bloody landfall.
Young John proud as all hell, had so gaily rang Jack's old bell
Had his story to soon tell, how he spate on dying Jack as he fell
One shot between those beady eyes, hundred bucks the prize
Nobody there shed a tear, for now there was young John to fear.
8-29-2018
Rhyme
The phantoms of Glen Affric call
from deep within the histosol,
where time and matter’s slow decay
of misty glen and ancient fray,
conceal Mackenzie ghosts in wait
with weapons drawn to greet their fate
of claymore blade; of Celtic cross,
to shed the blood of William Ross,
and stain the sphagnum bryophyte,
his soul to cut and extradite.
Amidst the whipping hilltop squall
is heard their eerie battle call,
where shadow soldiers groan and splay
upon the hazy, darkened brae.
As well, the loose of blood and spate,
to curse the earth and consecrate,
the peat to quench; the land emboss,
forever running red the moss.
Marooned on the island of loneliness
Shadows of delusion confront me
In a stormy sea, I got shipwrecked
And the sea has robbed everything from me
What unanticipated change comes over
When people let you down
What a shocking realization it is
To know that there is nobody around to care.
On coming face to face, will anyone acknowledge me
Or will a happy smile light upon any face?
I am now a drying brook
That once has been a river in spate
A deflated balloon unable to soar high
A blind bird that cannot see a dawn
Nor sing a song to wake the sleeping world
My scars are like deep cuts
On an ill-maintained tarmac road
I sleep in endless weariness,
And grope among dark spaces
I vacantly look into the far horizon
When the broken shards of moonlight
Paint pictures of dark demons around me
Like a bird that with nightfall
Returns to a tree to call out its solitude to the stars
I sit here alone,
Alone, alone,
Not knowing to whom I shall call out!
Will the stars keep me company?
Tomorrow, should I go into exile or wake up
With the hope that my pain will go into remission
And my soul’s cry will be heard by some attentive ears!
Or will my frozen inside thaw by itself in time?
A bee came buzzing too soon, too soon
The season is not yet in its June
The sap must rise to the breast of the moon
And roots must lust for the earth in ruin
I am planting in September rain
When the ice winds come shall this remain
Shall sow my love to earth in vain
Shall the winter's cross bring me pain
The bee does not hesitate, in faith
It buzzes to find the flower, and wait
Enshrine in dazzling dance, in spate
With the autumn's fruitful date
O but the barren glade is bare, is bare
Except for concrete everywhere
Shall bowers green brim again here
And the bee brims with honey from my darling dear?
OF MOTION and STILLNESS
The meer now seen in frantic action spate
The feathered life all bustling with a will
Intent on search for food or for a mate
Active throughout, no place for body still
The constant motions all across the lake
Speak clearly of a powerful intent
Survival that each specie seeks to make
By feed and breed and family extent
But down the river all is calm and cool
Through boughs sun dapples stream with gold motif
The pebbled bed now gleams with nature’s jewels
While on the bank - a motionless relief
In essence still and splendid stands the tree
Sublime and simple purpose thus: To Be
6 August 2020
Dark clouds loomed over the horizon
They broke loose in unprecedented force
Nature’s wrath, sudden violence acquired
It rained down as if unleashing all her fury
It was a downpour without one equal
The heavens let down dark misery for days on end,
Water bodies swelled and hollows filled,
Land mass slipped and trees fell,
The tame rivers looked fierce in spate.
Waves surfed and waters roared,
Like mountains they rose over the land,
Men in throngs were evicted from their homes,
Hundreds died and livestock perished
Such violence, never ever imagined
Helter-skelter, people fled for life.
Lands inundated and folks were marooned,
Homes were washed away with all belongings
Power failed and life had come to a halt
Rescue operations went on in full swing
But the deluge chanted the dirge of dying souls
Men sought shelter in relief camps
Epidemics broke loose and many died
Hospitals were flooded with ailing souls
Crops perished and misery prevailed
Havoc wreaked and penury struck
As Nature thus played her perfidious tricks,
Men stayed united and pooled all their might,
To regain for their land what had been lost
In a matter of months life was back to normal
It was a time that displayed man’s great resilience.
Written: February 15, 2024
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I ultimately rule over these stunning valleys,
Elm trees with mossy brows line the alleys.
Where distant peaks arise, calm and azure,
Akin to the strong tripods used for rapture.
Who can't view river stones as viable paths?
A scad of scramblers on spurs stoning laths.
To slay fair faces, who bartered leaden blasts,
And weapons because of their leopard casts.
Who inflicted lasting wounds upon the land,
Those who pursued the avian crowns stand.
Fetched to flatten fascinating flesh but failed,
Who still flies above "fallen Tomahawk," veiled?
From my awakened gaze, I view a world,
Across eyes that bear a black shade furled.
A confined space, restricted and stretched out,
Then I cast a velvety gaze over a dumb doubt.
In a shadowed visage, this is how I mumble,
These walls, built by oppression, must crumble.
I must quit as I gaze upon my unique form,
Through opened eyes, no longer blind corm.
And behold, my unique hands create,
The space exists within my mind spate.
Nonviolent activists avoid causing friction,
Path for discovery, not building any tension.
Yield your tension a flight and let it depart,
God will never strain you over skills to impart.
Stress is only a reaction, probe not to worry,
Oddness from bodies and beliefs is blurry.
Not all stress stems from having a lot to do,
It originates from a lack of follow-through.
The potential increases with increasing strain,
Growth comes with a sense of life's innate pain.
I'm feeling hollow, not due to any sorrow,
Yet, in a sense of relief, each knot fades hollow.
The most crucial factor in ensuring lifespan,
Is staying clear of tension, worry, and strain.
Life is not a rising conflict or a stressful scene,
Life ought not to be painful; it may be serene.
It's habits that induce tension and relaxation,
Cutting rituals and building useful tension.
The aria of the sunburst slivers of the sky,
entwined with the cadence of your ivory feet,
winding on the pearl-rolled silver sea shore,
carves the rhythm of your footprint sculpture,
only for a beguiling while,
until scraped by the surge of time tide in spate,
stowed in the depth of the stratified memory,
they are all fossilized since.
I’ll make a sapphire sea of desire in my heart,
its golden beach, a shimmering crystalline face
will radiate the dissolved patina of yearning.
From the mystique mist of azure
the rise of an angel I’ll see astounded,
walking drenched in the crimson aura,
the twilight sky drizzling.
I’ll congeal my racing surf of heart beats,
the aching waves will return unbroken,
your footprints will remain engraved unwashed
on the silent sands of the stalled time,
until I reach you, enthralled,
following the mirage of the tantalizing trail,
the lure of your attraction.
Written : January 19, 2020
Contest : Favourite Poem From January 2020
Sponsor : Julia ward
Written: September 12, 2023
Ocean Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Ink Empress
“The sea is an underwater museum still awaiting its visitors.” – Phillip Diole
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In the endless expanse of the ocean's domain.
Calm, circumfluous crystal collides coiling terrain.
A bed of iridescence behests the view.
Turquoise riddles, azure feral, and true
Humpback whales waltz on the horizon stage.
Their majestic demeanor, the ocean's sage
Waves akin to a shroud, coral reefs below.
In a cerulean ebony, enigma utopia to know
Tidal waves waltz ripples in a twirling thunder.
Foams that fizz and fatuous horses canter under
An aphrodisiac shore, paradisal and grand.
Where quicksilver spume kisses saffron sands.
Barefoot on the shore, spate, and pelagic breeze
The brine in the breeze, a savor of the seas
Seaside pearls and garrulous nautical dreams
A seamount allure, where kelpies do gleam.
Waves wreck as cymbals, water splashes spray.
Unplumbed bedrocks where sunfish play.
Blase naiads and abysmal gaunt cries
In the abyss, the embrace of diastrophism rises.
Swell of the abyss, corrugated, and red.
Balboa sails in pits due to intricate coastal spread.
Nebulous littoral shores, worldly and true
In Japan splurge, a seabed quells the view.
With a caper and a queen, the gulf turns alive.
Natal seaboard, where nexus coldness does thrive.
Beyond the gloom, where ocean waves are silver,
Moonlight pulsates, spritzes, and yelps as a river.
Whipping and splashing, an aqua symphony
The ocean's orchestra in idyllic harmony
From abyss to surface, the music does swell.
A symphony of water, where stories do tell.
In the moonlit dusk, waves waltz and sway.
Their silvery, pellucid shimmer steers the way.
With every pulsating and splashing sound.
Ocean's placate melodies and quiddity abound.
Abyssal symphony is a seraphic sight.
Where nature's cynosure beauty bears flight.
Waves, akin to dancers, gracefully behoove.
In a rhythmic squirm, their sapidity grooves.
Susurrus slipshod secrets of the steep
Splashes of euphoria, sojourn, and sweep
A symphony of splendor, a chorus of grace
The ocean's melody is in every embrace.
2nd place contest winner
Tableau Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Joseph May
Written: August 15, 2023
Picture number: 3
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Moon shines—white jade plate.
Swish as broad sky mime.
Two palm tree twigs spate.
Toads and moon rays chime.
Where flickers share gate
Poised shore smells sublime.
I love the sound of your voice
My heart sings when you speak
Turns into symphonies and orchestras
Of sweet melodious bliss
That when my ear tastes
My inner joy swells and abounds
Like a river in spate
Unfettered, deep, and resounding
Fresh as the medleys of life
That feed from infinite vastness
I love the sound of your voice
It is soft as doves, captivating and beautiful
Granted to hear now and ever after
Through morning, noon and night
Summer, winter and spring
Then I would gather each sentiment
Like lilies and toss
Each scent that is hope and peace
Upon the bed of my soul
Where the voice that I love to hear
Would come to me with angel kisses
And be my lullaby.
Should I disregard
what other people think or,
balanced on the brink, maintain
a thin-veneered façade?
Where shall I store,
how shall I keep,
the poetry I must write
but cannot show--
that which smolders deep
and threatens to erupt?
Must I lock it all
securely in a box,
store it high upon a shelf
where none are wont to go?
Would it be likely to corrupt
the innocently unaware?
Should I, at least,
pretend to care?
Might not I plunge into the mob,
joining others of this ilk...
should it be my job
to preach, now the day
has finally been reached --
to walk alone in open air,
free from fear of full disclosure?
Would my revelations stir
those who taunt, who hate?
Might not their spate of hurtful words,
and worse, prompt my avoidance of
the fate they threaten,
encourage my reluctance to unmask?
And may I be moved, instead,
in surly tones, to ask
who made them my judge and jury?
Cool withdrawal from love
Do not think that I love you less
Than when at your mercy I lay
But to forestall the sad distress
Of forlorn love, I keep away.
Pipe dreaming for everything
Which I have known to be your traits
Your image to my fancy bring
And makes my age-old wounds to spate
But I do swear, and never must,
Your self-dispelled man, trouble you
In case I break, you may distrust
The oath I took to love you, too.
I have withdrawn myself from love
To make both of us safe, my dove.
+++
September 25, 2014
Form: Sonnet (tetrameter)
Dr.Ram Mehta
Eighth Place Win
Contest: Structured Verse by Giorgio V.
So what's your status,
Nimbostratus?
Are you here to stay, like old Aunt Gladys?
- To rain and rain until we're glad it's
Not for you to own the day,
But eventually must fade away
Before the steady strugglings of the sun
Which must break through once they've begun
To tear apart your greyish gloom
And give the sunlight proper room
To push along those friendly, fluffy clouds
Through blue skies where you're not allowed.
So go thy way, ignoble cloud!
Carry off that misty shroud
Below which you have so confined us,
And let us put thy wet behind us
And revel in the newborn sun,
It's warmth welcome to everyone.
You overstay your station here
Far beyond what would appear
A decent spate of soft rainfall;
Your prescence doth begin to pall
When you hover close from day to day.
All caught beneath wish you away,
And confer on you non-gratis status,
O aggravating nimbostratus!
Thou bequeathed of love and spate
Worthy of thy faith, all love on crate