Best Subservience Poems
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
Put on a happy face
when I release taut fingers
from your pallid cheeks.
Promises and empty lies
are sported clichés
that spoil a silenced vocabulary.
A quieted understanding we've
vocally committed to;
barks a matted-jackal’s constitution -
perceiving morose consequences
of blind subservience.
Put on a happy face
and fetch me dinner.
Ever flickering nuances,
once ignited a Brigadooned morning sunrise -
where woolen-blackened comforters
backlit our sordid differences.
Now, our prom attire has been burned.
The carnations, the orchids - have perished.
The beguine hasn’t begun.
It has ended.
Finalized and fortunately forgotten.
A pale orchid-colored icepack,
for your left eye,
would match your handbag and shoes
quite nicely.
Put on a happy face
and lint-guard the
disheveled derelict.
Forever falling forward, we've suddenly landed.
No need for saline solution anymore;
I cry when I hap hazardously laugh.
A silenced vocabulary realized the words
tryst and trust was separated by one letter;
why or you…or me, for that matter
completes the unfinished symphony.
The disenchanted beguine
floats into a tear-filled
Cinderella dank nightfall –
as I stare into the cornea of a
brittled pink carnation.
My hand, like a fringed strop,
needs to remove the strains of
a “Mea-Culpa” leitmotif and flog
the iniquities of one’s self.
Put on a happy face, goddamnit
and tell me
why you’re gone!
Toasted marshmallows is a perfume
created for misguided Girls Scouts.
Fervent mongrels who refrain from selling
photo-pressed carnations and
poisonous orchids - dumbly courtsey
when idiotic
adolescent daydreams prevail upon
the blatantly obvious.
Thirteen stitches
and a numerous array
of callous welts
reprised our endless beguine.
Passion is said to perish in embers.
One last charcoal
for us
to eye and envy.
A burnt carnation.
A scarred, trembling orchid.
The smoldering remains we'll inhale -
when this lost and lonely
soldier removes the
smudged greasepaint from
his broken fingertips and eyelashes
to painfully and pitifully
put on a happy face
just for you.
Rain rushed in like a concert audience.
There’s nothing calm about Spring’s arrival.
The specter gusts regrets and survival,
Strip limbs for whips — a sore obedience.
A path cut through, a cold subservience.
The robin’s heavy breast with cheep revival.*
A rose depressed in past Spring’s archival.
Absence of warmth, enrages audience.
A sip of dandelion wine — desire
spurs wholesome cheat, complete with snowy seeds.
Remembrance of unwrinkled hands - youth’s lore,
A marshmallow on spit, and rosy fire.
Enhance the peace and love of daisy beads.
Unwind the twister’s coil, unleash Spring’s core.
3/21/2018
Greg Cornish’s Petrarchan Sonnet contest
cheep - to utter faint shrill sounds : peep, to utter a single word or sound
(from Merriam Webster dictionary) Also mimics the word “cheap”
Seeing sculpture compared to painting
Contrasted imagery alluding to victory
With victor being both man and animal
Subservience dominates both images
Bare head and feet noticeable to viewer
A horse head raised; the other lowered
Who are these men and beasts?
Smug facial expression common to both
Though can a horse hold airs superior
To rider upon his back, dominated?
Both larger than life, one four legged
One dressed aristocratically, they stand
Victorious in unknown battle, while other
Remains forever weary, worn, and tired
We shall never know their stories
Their images captured for posterity
Eternally the dominant and dominated
Two men and two horses compared
Two lives and circumstances contrasted
Beasts and their mounts and masters
Of human flesh; of horse flesh together
Beautiful this artwork upon mine soul.
© 2014 CM Davidson
[On the comparison of Donatello’s Equestrian Monument of Erasmo Da Narni (1443-1453) and Anthony van Dyck’s Charles I at the Hunt (1635)]
A time of strong demands from noble Kings
Chosen; mentor “The One” altering things
Stood by his side wholly subservience
In day’s dusk end and bend to his defence
That I mere prophet son of an angel
To honor these guardianship faithful
Shrouding magical powers to behold
Among the young, I never to grow old
Beyond the chambers heap Kilgharrah sleeps
in a cave deep within the tower’s keep
A lone; Survivor of a thousand years
And a thousand more populace will fear
Deceived, imprisoned his bellow thunders
No one could free the world’s greatest wonder
To purge magic from the realm that admires
To sever burn in the heavenly fires
Whispers his name as he slumbers, “Emrys”
Warlock charmed by dragon’s lore and riddles
A wise, trusted counselor and brother
Destined to mentor and guard King Arthur
2/24/2017
Poetry Contest: Form I - Contest(with a theme)
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
On the banks of river folks gathered solemnly
Where in repose lay the body of his father;
Dry dead-wood was stacked in layers they built,
Fire was crackling, burning, heads were bowing,
Memorializing deeds in voices of the elders--
That is how cremation was done in his village.
He recalls now how they walked river’s edge
Where wildflowers bloomed, animals grazed
As farmers tilled rice fields in dawn’s silence,
Much as his father did until he died that day.
Frozen he stood there, thousand burns unseen,
Inflamed in veins as he looked to his mother
Gasping for words choking youthful innocence
As tearfully they hugged fearful of the burden
Bewildering his mother into stilled unknown.
Look at him, for a glimpse of child-subjugated
Who parted in hopes of altering course of fate,
Grateful to those who made room for his stay,
In a city where wealth was sign of intelligence,
Poverty denigrated~ tantamount to ignorance,
And class defined by the ancestry of bigoted;
There he found shelter, offered only as a loan,
Love not included in covenant of sustenance,
And mighty price required to learn existence:
Humiliated endurance, humbled-subservience…
That even in freedom-won, never sets one free,
Suffocating still in those embers carbon-fumed,
Life robbed of childhood throttling pitied tears,
Adulthood festering wounds of acrid memories
Spurned by summers and dejected by autumns,
Parching his life’s springs, stunting his seasons,
Caging his heart where his father’s ashes burn.
March 14, 2022
Placed 1st: A Brian Strand 1096
Placed 1st: Pick-A-Title, Vol 29 – Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Festering Wound
In Youth-less Age
Though gentle, hopeful drifts we brood,
but age our wont be kind enough,
in threescores is when life imbued,
will partial be the earthly stuff;
but you'll still be my fancy then,
when Suns shall be the Shallowest,
and dry as those days --my fingers, pen!
Diluting the persistent best;
then shall I my own mind bereave,
when servile times would near a close,
but will your eyes, mine still deceive,
that greater truth than life propose.
The understanding of our earth,
up till we stay, --the way shall give,
entwine when with a lovers mirth,
we not our age but more shall live;
there I shall be a part of you,
though life may still not worthy be,
but time the hearts as one does sew
and breeds the soul's eternity.
Soon ladies fine with auburn head,
in youth's subservience shall grow,
with shadows white and lips blood red,
to whom the haste --the world will owe;
but, by the words that reason frowns,
and those that cost if cared for less;
within the gardens, across all towns,
just you my dame this heart possess,
as your my gardens cherished fruit,
could time nor age do you wrong,
your grace can shift a hand from mute,
such do my rhymes to you belong,
and the words, claims that come to me,
be their center, and my days renew,
until the time this soul is free,
and life us quells, an end pursue;
the end of the sojourn we made,
shall love then still be intense more,
when breaths and sight move to a fade,
like youth, your age --I shall adore.
R.N.Khan, © 2012
THE REVOLUTION WILL BE TELEVISED
All the news you can use is no longer completely controlled
by CNN, ABC, CBS OR NBC,
The new GATEKEEPERS because of our cell phone, web cams
and these new toys have become you and I.
Cops killing Black Folks, put on social media and the news
spread all over for the world to see
That the land of milk and honey does not follow its own
laws, and that Black folks continue to die
So the rich and famous will live off the sweat of our brow.
I am tired of being a third class citizen in a land my people
helped to build, design and form,
Tired of walking on eggshells, being leery of people that my
taxes pay to protect and serve.
Slavery still exists, subservience in the mind of our people
is reaching the level of a class five storm
And we want deserve and demand our “HUMAN RIGHTS”
and we also want to preserve
The dignity that comes with being born in THE GOOD OLE
US OF A.
Reid J Lewis 11/30/2014
Red power mode
White digital
Blue logo
My, oh my ...
sweet apple pie!
Patriotic American cheese is turning sour Kraut commie
Democracy is Wisconsin curdling ... penicillin shot
needed between the ailing ballot box,
sho’ ain’t Louisiana Purchase forthcoming
Lady Liberty is bowing face down, Kansas Toto-style,
to Kremlin oligarchy ...
didn’t take much to bend with Washington wavy subservience
It’s an Idaho russet Ruskie crying shame
Couch the Benedict-ion omelette breaking news:
Missy Freedom done Alaska huskie hussy sold herself
to be a Soviet satellite skirt muzzled tramp mule
Red power mode
has taken cyber control of all voter confidence
White digital bar-code
activate the Manchurian self-destruct sequence
Blue logo brand ruble sold,
keeps the general populace straddling the fence
As they reality TV see their loose Lady Liberty
make a Texas loan star barracuda bow face
Proud North Dakota woman bending her knee,
acknowledging her Bolshevik bastard place
It’s a Kentucky bourbon crying shame
Democracy kissing the Politburo Czar ring
Bluegrass filly ruling class
selling the masses out for the Balaam green
Capitol Hill Star Spangled silent gag,
money mutes on a Pavel dog Con-stitutional prostitute
Wavy anthem cloth used as a snot rag,
Molotov noses following the Red Pied Pier booger flute
My, oh my ...
Marx Twain subversive tweet sweet apple pie!
Collaborator citizens being called patriotic comrades
Eating the Stalinist straw buries,
spit sprinkled with
Chernobyl pyramid scheme
propaganda whipped cream
Traitor taste the Taps Blue Fibbing beer,
free-market funeral dirge price gouge overflowing,
in the white Lenin toe-tag black body bag aisle
While the Ukraine lobbyist piggies
are covetously Crimea coffer crying
Oh, Nevada bordello bosom alligator weep ...
let the Alabama tick tears leech flow
down those Florida lemon-squeezed cheeks
It’s a New Mexico caliente green chile crying shame —
Them neo-Anazazi, gun-clicking squatters
getting a Wounded Knee ice gulag reservation claim
Lady Liberty doing an Independence bow face,
it’s a thirteen stripe, Siberian mongrel disgrace
Gods and Devils
And on the saddest day,
“Men” created “Gods”
bestowing upon them
the power to terrorize “men”,
reduce them to subservience, servitude.
“Men” worshipped these “Gods”,
begged them for fulfillment, forgiveness,
petitioned them for mercy.
Blamed the “Gods” for all things
good and bad, holy or evil,
for all that happens is
“the will of the “Gods”.”
“Men” fear their own “Gods”.
Cower silently, heads bowed, as those
who “represent the Gods” pass -
Grovel before the power of an
unseen “God” – before a “Man”.
The “Gods” created “Devils”
as a defense against the “Men”
who created the “Gods”. Declared
that all who questioned the
validity of the “Gods”, and their
powers, were - “Devils” -
therefore a manifestation of “Evil”.
Thus, the “Gods” and “Devils”
created by “Man” have conspired
to hold “Man” hostage, to punish
“Man” for having the audacity
to create such “Gods” and allowing
these “Gods” to create such “Devils”.
1/7/2015
Submitted to – Gods and Devils – Poetry contest
Hay now, now sing this corrosion
Of winter wastes and Red stars white nights
And waring tribes a bully on the block
To kick you when your down
The ones meek and mild
But can stand tall n defend their ground.
So hay now, now, sing to me a man of fragility
Of many means and wants all and nothing more
But to have dominion over the land, you wanted a war
now you can't win, you have not a war but a massacre
A genocide, you are your only suicide
If you want a war WE can bring you your war a jihad
If the cultural empire strikes
You will know war, but why fight return
To your frozen land of winter waste before its to, to late
Leave this sovereign nation
Let your people rise up
Throw off the yoke of opposition
Put down your guns
and turn and run no one will get hurt
So sing, now, hay now, now to me of this dominion
Sing of a white house in a red square of mother Russia, your dispair
Of white wastes, throw down your oppressor
As we bring the Rain to wash away his stain
You are better than one
A little pale pathetic man
A man-made of a killer in a high place
OH! Mother Russia!
Sing down, down, down this oblivion...
You have nothing to lose
We said it once will say it before
Cast down the crown of a ruined nation
Time to cast off the chains of subservience
Rise up and be free
END THIS WAR!
Before it's too, too late...
for the Ukraine
Xmas tide,
a time for familial gatherings,
The golden chain of friendship
…and companions
Sweet on each other,
parading arm in arm
Together to share a feast and gift giving
...Nativity scenes, red, gold, green
bells ringing
Garlands, wreaths, and holly
Holiday romance rekindles and
swindles kisses under a mistletoe
Lovers making love!
…A lonely time for others
She arrives solo, one link’s absence sears
her heart yet another year
Smiles seem forced they’ll think
…Cry out the hosts,
Drink up, plenty of champaign !
Chums come and go quickly
Good to flatter one in a funk or ho-hum
The dinner is served, everyone rejoices
Mingles and reacquaint
Toasts and jingles can’t take her gaze away
True feelings are hidden
Like a disconsolate widow,
mournfully she yearns for him
Not a soul to tell, nor a cherished confidant
to share a secret or a private matter
Of the sensuality of karma sutra wooing her gently
Mesmerizing thoughts of a distant lover
have taken her far from the celebration
…His sultry eyes, savory lips
Sleekly sinewed neck, and bulging biceps
Quite an exquisite exhibition
Into his warm embrace and into subservience
Draped in satin, his fingertips tracing her curves
duplicating guitar intonation on his
gears, depressing down fretted notes
Making sultry harmonic tunes
Counting down at the twelfth fretboard
Lusty lullabies erogenous, with more alibies,
Keeps silent not to arouse suspicions of
an affair's existence that shouldn’t be
She counts down the twelve days of Xmas tide
her yearning entails
love is starved at Xmas tide~
he plays keep away
Subservience, domination,
a foot on the throat,
religion taught them that, did it?
oppression, decapitation,
suffering, death through starvation,
divine ordinance they have, do they?
symbols of their belief on their faces,
books from heaven they read,
fountain of their education, is it?
prescriptive attire, deny women education,
breed through them future,
yet slave them in God’s name, will they?
every man is born of a woman,
nourished in her womb,
yet he deems himself superior, does he?
time for civilisation to reject these notions,
bury untruth, burn beliefs of such bigots,
let life flow as nature chose, shall we?
I reject religious symbols that chain me,
reject all lies sold as words of God!
I am a free person today! Are you?
written 29/10/2022
free verse
Mystic Rose sponsored
Tell it as it is contest
in support of the many who are not as lucky as some of us!!
What makes me so different from you
In your eyes, the abode of your heart
Where is my place, that nook you have carved out
The trail in the sands of our time
Leading me along the path you have destined for me
Creating, shaping and sculpting my essence
Is it those jewels which define your core existence
For if it is then we are at par you see
I store mine in the innermost centre of my being
That same depth from whence you emerged
Screaming and gasping for the life source
Only i could have provided with such love and awe
Who gives you the authority to call yourself
My master, my sole provider, my superior
Must be the ancient words scribbled on parchment
You took to be the sceptre and crown of your kingdom
Or perhaps laws laid down by those who come before you
Condemning me to a life of permanent subservience
Enough! WE say. No screaming, no weeping
WE are the pillars on which you built this castle
Hear my voice and walk a journey in my shoes
We are not so different you and i
I was made from you. you are borne of me
Make me your Queen as you have been my King.
away with capitalistic free market enterprise
where the concomitant features of greed, power and wealth
fuse to form a pact of unrestrained mass-consumerism
while simultaneously obliterating any shred of a humanistic ethic.
the hollow emptiness of a hedonistic philosophy
representative of the western civilization
rings with the sound of falseness
from the belfry of commodification.
debunk the myth of the supremacy of man
where the less sophisticated species
remain in a role of subservience
while religion upholds this point of view.
the travesty of contemporary existence
epitomized by the crass characteristics
endemic in the advertisements
prior to the advent of a holiday or sale.
opinions about significant political issues
and the general emotions toward the processes of life
trivialized into a farcical sport
by the producers of commercial goods.
renounce the superficiality of the make-believe world
and also the stamp of mass production
that transforms a creative human being into an obsolete soul!