Best Speculates Poems
Her legacy, a carnage littered place.
A crassness hidden by a comely face.
How many roles she played to such acclaim
The naive lovers crushed with cool disdain.
Such cruelty, in order to succeed,
Disguised by gifted wit to mask her greed.
When front doors opened, back doors quietly closed,
A sense of flawless timing, one supposed.
When those betrayed per-chance began to meet,
Comparing scars and tales of her deceit,
She sensed a coming rage was bearing down
And disappeared to bless another town.
One speculates her looks began to fade;
An ending of the money-men parade.
The crushing weight of countless dues unpaid;
A pauper's grave, the toll of evil ways.
Gene Bourne.
06-14-13.
“In situations of captivity the perpetrator becomes the most powerful person in the life of the victim, and the psychology of the victim is shaped by the actions and beliefs of the perpetrator.”
? Judith Lewis Herman, Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence - From Domestic Abuse to Political Terror
Egotists are an enemy to an empathetic butterfly.
When your life functions like a cognitive chrysalis,
narcissistic spiders silently creep and crawl,
sucking at the sanity of your fractured cocoon,
wrapping their beastly venomous black legs,
around a trapped heart, weaving their conceited web.
This mutating sanctuary is a double edged sword.
Even when the door to your cage is open,
idle wings remain motionless - reluctant to fly.
When the pupal mind is frozen at a larval stage,
caught between the confusion of love and hate,
conscience speculates over being a victim or a villain.
Thoughts linger in constant conflict with subdued soul,
torturing the heart, so incarcerated wings remain stagnant.
Afraid of avian predators - too anxious to escape their tormentor,
you become a willing martyr, sympathising with the abuser.
The pain may be palpable, but their atrocities are forgiven,
so you remain stranded from their manipulative deceit.
Forming an emotional bond in a savage cycle.
Worry wonders and doubts
It speculates on the hopes and habits
It ponders all the thoughts and misgivings
It deliberates on the joy and kindness
It even questions the peace and serenity
Worry seeks a heart to attack
A calm to disturb with turbulence
A happiness to disappoint with sorrow
A light to snuff out with a dark thought
Worry drains souls of their pleasure
Pierces the dreams with murky shadows
Destroys the embrace of sweet grace
And sends discouragement into the spirit
Worry is a tool of the devil
Who came to seek whom he might destroy
With his lies and his doom and his despair
Worry is his device, his utensil
The instrument he uses to bring us down
So that we can’t find the faith to reach out
Toward the One who knows all about our worries
And brings us encouragement and reassurance
The inspiration and enthusiasm to refocus
On the promises He gives with His mercy and compassion
The love that arises out of the darkest moments
Love that assures us He will restore and rebuild
Despite whatever the worries might foresee
Worry is blind to the fact that
His love can diminish every doubt
Relieve every pain, erase every cloud
With the rising of His Son, His light
The One who will always work things out
Matthew 6:26 (KJV) Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?
searching for truth in distorted echoes ~
mind speculates whilst our heart simply knows
Lionise longing love,
Sprawling supercilious stuff,
Crystalline compatible craving,
Romantic rapturous revealing,
Inevitable intrepid iridescent,
Memorable mystic magnificent,
Vibrant vivacious vitiates,
Salubrious succour speculates !
Written on 5/7/14
Sponsor- Dr Ram Mehta
Contest- Alliteration
Deep in the forgotten ruins it lies,
An old rusty key,
Where does this key go?
Nobody Knows,
A wise man speculates,
The key belongs to a heart,
A heart as rusty as the key,
A heart untouched by love,
For a great long time,
Will we ever find,
The heart that matches the key?
While the agreeable bond we venture in,
teams with influential speculates',
its treasure is the sacred vow of worth
that yours is, and forever will be;
In accordance with this lively outcome
A generous and jovial ascertain hovers,
the electrifying paranormals you bring
lead splendid aphrodisiacs to my soul.
They benefit internally, pleading parts
that nether regions claim are lesser whole.
Uniting more than life itself can give,
The subtefuge, or lack of it prepares
A dream from stark dementias, only one,
That I ever need to care about has won.
How martyrdom initiates response,
freedom that surrounds existing vibes
our understanding feeds on nonchalance
providing us a love no-one describes.
It sequels in seclusions open stanza,
A free verse masquerade of plentitude
that love shall follow this extravaganza
making waves the motions now include.
How buoyancy defines the dance for us
with surface tension beautifying grace
movements which are spiritual are thus
complete as souls enamoured in embrace.
An ambition engaged in every root of our hearts,
Blue and brown irises' voyage soon departs . . .
Caressing each other's serene souls to slowly decompress;
Admiration speculates a versatile we never suppress,
Adoration mesmerizes the tranquility of the night,
Affection reflected infinitely like two mirrors nearby,
Attachment is as vital as respiring when whispering goodbye--
Calling out to you this lullaby . . .
Behind our closed eyelids entering the fifth-stage door,
A dream deep in our coexisting core.
It’s nice to have some holiday downtime and not be all go-go-go. I’ve even gotten in some Animal Crossing play. After 40 minutes of picking up weeds, Bianca, one of my villagers, told me she’d heard I was dead.
Later, we’re in Lisa’s living room taking turns playing songs from Spotify.
Lisa just played “Woo”, by Rihanna. When the song ends, fading out, Leeza deadpan said, “That song is pure evil.”
“You guys, I forgot to mention it but that is my energy song, it makes me feel so HOT.” Lisa adds with a chuckle.
“It has an evil vibe,” I admit. “An evil vibe,” Leeza confirms.
“Don’t be judging,” Lisa reminds us.
“Your next,” Lisa said, nodding to Leeza, “What’ve you got for us,” she speculates, “some mental health rock?”
Leeza’s had this girl-punk-rock group called “Vancougar” playing on a loop in her room. At first, I wasn’t enthusiastic but now I think they slay. Her mom’s even gotten on board, dancing “the twist” to “Philadelphia” when it rolls around. Leeza has great taste in music although she leans a bit EMO (emotionally hard core) for me. She makes me feel old by introducing us to all these new bands like “Youngest and only,” “Calling all Captains” and “Beatrice Dear.”
“I’ve got one song to play,” Leeza says, “Paparazzi, by Lady Gaga.”
“I’ve been listening to that song all WEEK!” I gasp, “I love that song, it may be her best - that’s so random,” I finish saying as the song starts.
As Paparazzi ends Lisa says, “That song has major Gwen Stefani vibes.”
“It DOES,” I agree, “It could be “Cool” or “Sweet Escape.”
“Yeah, for sure,” Leeza agreed, “shoutout to No Doubt.”
Leeza says, “I have a conversation topic: What’s something we all acknowledge is cheugy but we still do anyway?”
“Being blonde,” I say, which gets stitches of laughter because it’s true and Lisa and I are.
“That’s true, that’s fair,” redheaded Leeza laughs. “Anyone blonde is dead to me,” which gets her a pillow in the face.
“Ok, I’m going to come for a lot of people,” Lisa says, “but yogurt, yogurt is cheugy.”
Leeza gasps, “You think yogurt.. It’s not cheugy!” she practically yells, “It gives MOM.”
.
.
slang..
cheugy = something off-trend, or behind in an awkward way - millennial, but not fully vintage.
gives mom = a comfort activity
What about China?
When they compel you to stay home,
imposing cloaks on nature's beauty
as a fellow friend becomes a foe
and the media unhorsed propaganda
Can we all all ask
what about china?
When old Brit's prime minister
masked tyranny by orders
confining millions to solitude
for the fear of his fickle frame
susceptible to the Wuhan's scourge
can we all ask,
what about China?
When confused men make projections
to feed the greed of the tech giants
or to maintain the cult of the pharmacy
as the media control our lives
as we surrender our freedom to fear
can we all ask
what about China?
So fast was the manipulations
so wide did it spread
so gullible were we all without reasons
to ascent to the communist schemes
who will ask my questions?
Are they clear of the scourge, and we are not?
Can we all ask
what about China?
Communism mocks you all
Perestroika and glasnost seeks revenge
so while your media makes the rouse
as ignorant men speculates,
turning humans to masked animals
obfuscating nature's beauty
can we all ask,
what about China?
Steer here to peer at these compounded years
fierce uncried fears strangled my tears
So strong, so stoic, brave in my silence, too
no one to empower or donate my views to
Learned that I’m supposed, to trust no one, tell no one
better hold fast lest secrets will come undone
Electric our address, electric our bodies
lack of awareness, feel more like zombies
Dead to my joy, insecure with disease
fight, flight or freeze, trauma decrees
Just been discovered! Solution’s found!
I walk in it all around on the ground
Key’s found in this doomed body’s feelings
Hear this, she sends me her grandly warm greetings
Addiction hides, compulsion derides
accumulates massive quantity besides
of foul smelly goo that it slowly oozes
All this goo morphs, brims over, then it fuses
with lies that they told me and I told myself
It cools and it hardens to a huge gnarly shelf
of trauma’s junk rooted in every cell through
cram up my throat-dam until I go blue
How can I feel it; huge loada crap’s in the way
Love pulses through sorrow, betrayal, and plain ol’ dismay
Rather than think hard, analyze, theorize
feel it beat, healing seat, never terrorize
Mind speculates, worries, and ruminates
unending intrigue, more dead ends to designate
Breathe consciously to observe energy’s flow
gone the throat-dam, light’s clarity I now know
Never a victim, a master in training
heart chakra focal point mindfulness reigning
A strange, eerie, black feeling of despair,
I am lost, alone, no one seems to care
except the Moon who appears and prepares.
He throws me a long rope, yelling, "Catch hold!"
Noticing my doubt, "Have no fear!" he scolds -
"Believe!" I beam as unknown scheme unfolds.
Watching down below as upwards we soar,
I see Daddy and his friends - and Moon roars,
"Look, they're searching!." as my hope I restore.
Gently rocking mid air, the sky, my bed,
Moon covers me with clouds' blanket, my spread.
He lays me down on the path up ahead.
I awake as my head they elevate
"What's this long rope for?" one friend speculates.
Starting to tell them, yet I hesitate...
"I found it ... while playing down by the creek
and followed it up to where this hill peaks."
Begging, "Can I keep it?" my tale I tweak.
February 18, 2020
Edward Ibeh's contest: Pick a Title 14, Tristitch
In a literary context, the term felix culpa can describe how a series of unfortunate events will eventually lead to a happier outcome. fortunate fault.
Yet upon another reflexive routine dash
skipping to Waterloo, I got emboldened
with idea praising basic vital functions
aware requisite elimination of liquid
and/or solid waste any obstruction
disallowing body to expel toxins would
prove fatal, thus gratitude toward
regular unpicturized, unhindered, and
unaided intervening measures undertaken
to experience thee nonpareil pleasures
actuated without purgative, yet should
instance arise finding impossibility
to exercise sphincter muscle
(constipation worse fate than
perdition) alleviating solid state brick
like blockage spasm inducing agony
within me bum, yours truly racks impound
did severely inconvenienced physical
self accessing natural remedy to soften
stool temporarily incapacitating peaceful
ease zee ex-lax feeling accompanying
experience that approximates how pregnant
mother inundated with contractions ready to
give birth, whereat merciful joyous crying
emanates courtesy this humble human, no
matter he never tested his steely ironic
mettle say completing wilderness survival
course, but rarely speculates such grueling
boot camp self inflicted challenges
pale in comparison to loosing bowel
movement big enough to sink battleship, and
mighty exertion finally dumps payload,
the toilet bowl hastens meteorologists to
issue tsunami warnings insync with "Damn
the torpedo" this ole windbag blasted clear
across contiguous United States, where
whizzing, sounding, jet setting like
speeding bullet (self Mach re:) puzzled
onlookers mistake me for some foreign entity
lost in space analogous to detect a stylish alien
(pants bunched around ankles - most definitely
tell tale clue, asper rating him hip hopping
longfellow), yea undoubtedly a messenger
from outer limits of twilight zone sent to...
wait...his trumpeting tush gaseous, an utter
farts feigning "FAKE" comet tee.
Hang in the den
When lions roam in wait
To snatch your serenity from Eden
Where the Devil’s threat
Roams to pounce
On the dignity you espouse
In more bounce per ounce
To rouse and arouse
The Devil’s desire
Jealousy and envy
Fire, mire and ire
In a bevy of grit gravy and scurvy
Sent with venom
Into the home
You strive so hard to form, reform, inform and roam
Free of the comb
That your lair dishevels
Your gondola destabilizes
Your plan bedevils
Cauterizes and neutralizes
Effective, efficient efforts
To consolidate family
In ports and forts
When a hiatus homily
Predicts doom
Speculates gloom
In the living room, in the bed room
With no zoom
On the Way-maker’s plan
To breathe new life
To plan and scan
New initiatives to eradicate strife
From the midst
Where vision diminished
By a strange twist
Assumes family fission and friction fished
Without the Way-makers approval
No win, queen
As the Way-maker’s disapproval
Refuses to grant growth to a puny pin and sin tin.
What Is It, Part II
The mind, a cloud of neurons
Packed snug within the deep grooves of the skull
Tiny worlds reaching out to all their neighbors
Across great gulfs of the brain
Communicates ceaselessly via little bolts of lightning
Adding to a sum far exceeding the whole;
The miracle of consciousness reborn every millisecond
Within the storm.
It knows what it is,
Has named itself,
Taken note there are other like storms roaming about.
Has contacted them and joined with them
Building knowledge, history, civilizations
Searching for more, evermore like itself
To find meaning in the fearful Vastness
It knows it is suspended in.
All this it does
Managing its frail,complicated Self.
It knows the body it inhabits dies,
Beyond which, it knows not.
But it speculates.