Best Subordinate Poems
Take from me that which you will
Those things that I possess
Strip from me the trinkets
That speak of my success
Look at me with jaundiced eye
With disdain on your face
Treat me as subordinate
Keep me in my place
Speak to me with vitriol
Mock my point of view
Contradict my every word
Their meaning misconstrue
I can overlook these things
As you strive to denigrate
Because the measure of a man
Is forgiving those who hate
Oh moon, so full, so dearly
bright, You are the light
of lovers; misty glow of night,
Dimmer than sun, his subordinate
reflection, yet remains he jealous
despite; for even death, cannot silence
love’s forever brilliance, vows
trans-versing ages--the grave a
mere cycling phase…each new face
a hopeful countenance—and all
passing through such shadows
are coated, in-spite of the daze,
with a gleaming, rapturous
glaze….
Oh Moon, your insight, unlike
all others—though depressed
in curfews of darkness--appealing
dread silence I call through the
thickness, while treading deep
echoes of night—where does a
heart sail when one beat cruelly
sunk--leaving the other, fond memory,
but little choice than to float
their dreams one alone...?
Till the fog once again lifted, and
awakened by her lips, love’s promise;
is not life so preciously gifted, to
we unworthy yet treasured by God?
Only you, Moon, see clearly our
heartaches; and the matchless pain
when summarily parted--our seasons
so like your own, cold and warmth,
dim halos and beaming glows--as
onto occasions light simmers...to again
lustrously grow. For humans--our
hearts free symphonies a-flutter—soul’s
mortal vehicle the spirit only intimately
knows; let no sadness sow doubt to
drown us, affirming for love
that love eternally flows….
Time
Nothingness in it belies
A continuum, uncanny
In all lives it defines
Love, hate, rage and litany
A motion on its own
Sweeping, inescapable
A yardstick mankind bemoans
Perpetual journey, irreversible
It’s life’s anathema
Yet it counts life
It’s a thing of enigma
That heaven had contrived
To it the mind ascribes
Its values and permanence
From these, it proscribes
Denying life’s resistance
Our minds’ affixed
To it we subordinate
Subservience afflicts
Our minds it subrogates
It obfuscates reality
Yet mortal minds believe
Its power and ability
We could not, but receive
In truth, it exists
Only in our minds
Its dwelling crevice
From where it unwinds
In consciousness, it’s framed
Weaved to life, togetherness
For all excuses, it’s claimed
Indistinguishable, oneness
But for consciousness
It would not exist
Nothingness, meaningless
Like a vanquished beast
What is this thing of enigma?
Given life by consciousness
Unfathomable, life’s anathema
Yet, treated with utmost seriousness
What is this thing of enigma?
Ephemeral, elusive
Ethereal like an Avatar
Too convoluted to perceive
It’s life’s inexplicable debt
But to consciousness it owes
Payable only by death
Yet its interest never grows
You and I we share this thing
Only in consciousness it’s sublime
But in death there would be nothing
Of this enigmatic thing called “Time”
Jit H. Lim
12 March 2012
12:36am
Singapore
muted
subordinate
sardonic,rambling
recollections
envelop the ill-informed-
mislead,
with selected
distortions
of the truth...
voicing opinions
as fact
How many times have I been,
or perceived to have been,
the victim of cruelty or injustice,
which I tolerated,
as I felt it was necessary to survive
or, if not to survive,
to maintain a minimum standard of living -
as a child,
as a sick person,
as a subordinate in a corporation?
How did it make me feel?
Angry.
How did it work out when I expressed my anger?
Poorly.
Hence, much of my life was lived
through a clenched jaw.
Which doesn't seem pleasant.
Is there another way?
Philosophy?
Religion?
Forgiveness?
Acceptance?
Reassessing when I must compromise?
Learning a new way to communicate -
civil, yet uncompromising?
I wonder.
Main Clause Santa Claus
His mates- Subordinate Clause
His North Polish Nationality- Noun Clause
Interested in empty stocking-Adjective Clause
+++
December 11, 2014
Form: Clerihew
Tenth Place Win
Contest by Andrea
let today be the present tense.
yesterday be the past tense.
tomorrow be the future tense.
let we be the parts of speech.
you are the noun there,
i am your verb,
you can make the pronoun to talk about the noun,
adverb can't stand without verb,
let adjective be verb which qualifies the noun,
noun you can have the company of preposition,
conjunction shouldn't come between us,
by seeing you i became interjection.
let your surroundings be the sentence.
you be the subject.
make your life verb.
make use of object,
you and you only be the complement.
don't adjust and go and become adjunct.
don't listen the idioms of some idiots.
we don't want to be homophones.
you are the main clause.
i'm your subordinate clause.
without main subordinate cant.,
this is life. enjoy it in grammar's way.....
“S”
by Lanier Thomas
So,
Seeing
Successful
Salubrious
Senators sitting
Supposedly serving
Silently subordinate
Society, so sickening
Stomachs, several sundry sullen
Students spurned supporting such senators.
Once, when no star shined
on slick, black, asphalt roads,
the murky wetness of November's
watered nights a freedom-feeling
and strangeness-sense inspired.
The moisture lubricated
sluggish mental cogs that
all the dirty, dry, autumnal
season rusted tight and atrophied.
Wildness no man can tell I knew then.
All November's labored length
my nightly notions filled:
my bacchic spirit soared, and flew,
traveled far, saw much in waking dream,
along a single street, wet and splotched
with light from cars which coughed their fumes
and passed my momentary immortality.
And now...time has come when
I no longer feel delight to revel
in the wildness that I knew:
senses, now subordinate to sense,
defuse the spell and November nights
are merely murky.
You are the extrovert
And I, the introvert
So, what can I do
In order to win you
Should I subordinate
Or should I dominate
I really don't know for sure
But I do know my love is pure
So it should do no harm
To use all of my charm
To lure you
I adore you
He never treated her as a subordinate eve
She was only privileged to get pleasure
And never got the pain of childbirth from him
It was he who ate the forbidden fruit of Eden
Shamelessly committed adultery in old age.
But now that she has left him for a reason
He’s a man of passed-out desires and dreams
Looking at beautiful women do infatuate him
*PEA - “the molecule of Love” floods his brain
Wine, liquor, movies are in the top priorities,
Mind filled with lot of aphrodisiacs, vitamin,
Viagra, zinc, carrots, oysters, garlic and onion.
Exploding coffee machines makes him mad
Gets annoyed when neighbor’s dog barks
Thumping sound of making love irritates him.
At this hour many things provoke his desire
Though blessed with desire, no performance.
+++++++
November 15, 2010
Form: Free Verse
Hon. Mention
+++++++
This is fictional write.
*PEA or phenethylamine is an alkaloid and a mono amine
**Molecule of Love
Compound Found in Chocolate, Phenylethylamine Demonstrates
Positive Effects on Mood, Depression, ADHD, Runners’ High,
and Love & Monogamy
An Excuse Never Walks Alone
An excuse never walks alone,
Always’ followed by a reason.
An attempt to defend or justify,
Matters not, the time or season!
An excuse never walks alone,
A pregnant pause dwells near.
A quick release of energy,
Fear ringing still in the ears!
An excuse never walks alone,
Aided by a subordinate clause!
After brief thought we realize,
The excuse was a lost cause!
Written By: Sarita A. Milliner © 11/17/15
FEAR NOT THE CLAUSE
There is no cause to fear the clause
It has no teeth, has no sharp claws
Though analysis may give you pause
Dissect it, then you’ll be the one to dictate
It has a subject, and predicate
But a usual function subordinate
It does neither state nor interrogate
It's a delegate with aid to dispense
It may have a pronoun and a verb with tense
And might be inclined to make a pretence
But while it may have a where or when sense
It’s not a true sentence; although a key stone
Lest it's the MAIN clause self determined, alone
A patrician of syntax up high on a throne
As a sentence support like a vertebra bone
Put in its right place could give words a revivali
So direct the clause, noun, adverb, adjectival
Do not be concerned, it won’t risk your survival
And make it act as your aide, genitival
There is no cause to fear the clause
I am scrolling down hill,
folding the pills,
elongating the tree's
and simplifying the breeze,
I am a song to be played-
earlier than you might say
in the day,
when hearing is a complaint
and danger is delayed,
but you are a spade,
to be wondered and craved,
you are your own way,
with the sing of the slave-
underground-
above the haze,
glazed with the betrayed,
honed in on like waves,
so stubborn your gay-
holding on to the page!
Don't you walk that way!
Troubled little weaver-
always weavin' in and out of the days,
with your face,
and two others that may show you the way.
So...Whenever there is game,
whenever you are just being insane,
two others can ring your ping-
scratch at your lawn,
ease your bickering fawn,
who is ages old-
cranky and yet cold,
shines like the rivers of silver soles,
wasted and bold.
...Blanketing and broad like the system of the slots,
put in a coin so you can jog-
with your eye's,
and with your pogs,
fall to the floor,
while dude ranchers await cry's out the doors,
become single and slower,
dangerous like snow blowers,
manned by cats
with fake joints hangin' in their lips crowin,'
as they are growin,' croppin,'
and sowing,
the stage is set to start goin,'
but you stay all knowin'-
with the people out there- asses a blowin'!
Like the sound of the tick was that on it-
like the leaper out of time was so subordinate,
you know you could have grabbed mine,
you know about other ways to shine,
but still you sit and grind-
sleep and unwind,
base your catches on other famous people's finds...
I don't confide,
I really don't try,
I just hear god and ask about the water in the sky,
why doesn't it come down on African pride?
When they need it most?
When we know 911 proved evil the most...
But sit here and boast
and you'll hear gods jokes-
he's got what a man needs,
he's got you underneath a sheet,
so don't breathe!
Just start running,
got the mustard?
Pray for a plead,
because random people leave
while friends try and greet,
an acre of land with animals and plants couldn't please,
even if they spoke the language, and cured the disease,
sorry if I sound meek-
but pride comes when I'm done writing these...
No Sweat Revisions (Booze Helps)
Poet speaks:
“To write a poem you can easily revise
it’s best to use free verse,
for it requires so little thinking and
besides with thought could come content
revisions just might lose.
Why take any chances?”
Reader speaks:
"Whatever does he mean?
My God this guy is deep!
Most modern stuff is so opaque,
but here the words are clear. Though
purpose perhaps is over my head,
I feel like I’m really hearing it!”
Poet speaks:
"Why write at all," I hear you say,
"If folks can't understand? Well,
because it makes revision work
a snap for any poetry class
where content can be subordinate
to breaking writer’s block.
Why sweat the big stuff?
Free verse must be free!”
The Muse breaks in:
"Why you could spend your life on one poem
and ignore your experience completely,
just writing stuff in stanza form,
an indent here, enjambment there,
here an indent, there enjambment,
everywhere a piggy, piggy, piggy piggy!
Old MacDonald wrote a poem
E-I-E-I-O”
Poet Speaks:
“I’m confused! Without content
what makes the poem mine?
Is my writing it enough?
Though I’ll confess that scanning
published literature seems unlikely
to reveal any plagiarism.
Can writing without content
ever be copyrighted I wonder?”
The Muse muses, ponders philosophical possibilities:
“Well if you have revised the poem
and the new version is clearly no worse
than the original, who cares
if it is no better?
You really tried after all.
You followed instructions.
What’s in a grade?
And no new title needed.”
Brian Johnston
May 26, 2015