Best Succinctly Poems
Traditional Format
Compassion’s finger strums another note,
he listens as the angels start to sing,
recalling lines from what apostles wrote,
indwells the spirit held by Heaven’s king.
Succinctly spoken leaving soul in tune,
the gifts we need are never under trees,
mosaic mustard seeds lit by the moon,
aspires our gaze and prayers on bending knees.
Submits himself to love and sounds of grace,
mistrust no longer drowns and mutes his heart,
united song with Christ, him to erase
so many sins in mercy to impart.
In essence, life and hope beyond today.
Contrasts the world, as it dissolves away.
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Acrostic Format
Compassion’s finger strums another note,
He listens as the angels start to sing,
Recalling lines from what apostles wrote,
Indwells the spirit held by Heaven’s king.
Succinctly spoken leaving soul in tune,
The gifts we need are never under trees,
Mosaic mustard seeds lit by the moon,
Aspires our gaze and prayers on bending knees.
Submits himself to love and sounds of grace,
Mistrust no longer drowns and mutes his heart,
United song with Christ, him to erase
So many sins in mercy to impart.
In essence, life and hope beyond today.
Contrasts the world, as it dissolves away.
As words escaped constricted passage
of time from eons of layered myths,
legends of demi-gods thus linked,
in glowing rendition, with whisk on hand
the Orator with staff, sang the Eel to slumber.
As words from parched lips of orchids, flowed
dispersing sweet juices germinating dense spheres
of time in which history was packed in roots,
armed with psalms in measured cadences,
the Orator soothed kings and chiefs.
As words of our ancestors oiled and pampered
by prophesies of aging oracles, songs of lovers
and monotonous chants of old men...slithered
into hiding while physical wars waged, succinctly
the Orator proclaimed the heroic pursuits of warriors.
As words, precision in recitation of kinship ties
craftily sewn by political machinations of unions
vital for survival of race waltzing in purity of blue
when blood flowed thru veins of aging rocks as
the Orator cemented pacts chanting tribal honorifics.
As words, imageries of sky bursting, moon phasing sunsets pertaining to legends of my village heroes,
sweet nectars that put rhythm in his art of tongues
inspired by fruits from my garden, mine own words
the Orator in action, was he infringing my copyright?
As words, our heritage orally passed down in poetry,
set imageries prohibiting meddling with sources,
set quotations where time absolved breaches of patent,
plagiarism, for traditions dictated that the word be
secured in a cocoon of oratory ferried down the ages
by the dynamics of cultural rites and rituals.
the Orator, blessed not only as the spiritual Vessel
...but now deemed as the Spoken Word incarnate.
This aspect is succinctly told by, W.Somerset Maugham from an Arab tale:
The speaker is Death:
There was a merchant in Baghdad who sent his servant to market to buy provisions and in a little while the servant came back, white and trembling, and said, "Master, just now when I was in the market-place I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw Death had jostled me. She looked at me and made a threatening gesture; now, lend me your horse, and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate. I will go to Samarra and there Death will not find me". The merchant lent him his horse, and the servant mounted it, and he dug his spurs in its flanks and as fast as the horse could gallop he went. Then the merchant went down to the market-place and he saw me standing in the crowd and he came to me and said, "Why did you make a threatening gesture to my servant when you saw him this morning?" "That was not a threatening gesture," I said, "It was only a state of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Baghdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra".
(A far older version forms part of the Babylonian Talmud)
Where are the universal themes,
the parables, the parallels that might
be drawn from humdrum, quotidian
happenstance? We languish in these ruts
we live in and bear our days with resignation
(some with equanimity) -- justifying
our inaction, our failures to break free,
with feeble lame excuses -- never a real cause:
which is, succinctly, our timorous laziness.
A broadening of perspective, a striving toward the epic,
the grandiose -- with, perhaps, the universality of
civilized urbanity, or of rural natural simplicity or even
stark objectivity -- may these be what we need?
Here's the stale conclusion: be daring,
brave enough to become accustomed
to a singular (perhaps lone) existence.
When you must, be fair and listen but,
when you should, be insistently unbending
to the pressures and opinions of your peers.
And use your mind, your unique voice, and
proclaim incessantly your messages,
even to those who turn to you
their stubbornly deaf ears.
Flying oh so high above the silhouetted trees
in stark of night salvation comes and floats me on the breeze.
I've sipped the sweet nectar of grace and laid forth all my dreams.
I'll likely fall but I won't fail,I'm nourished by moonbeams.
The light begins to filter through as dawn now beckons in.
The weary stars fade fast away and let the sun begin.
So goes the dance of sheltered wishes,destiny unspoken.
A painted sky will heal my soul and fix whatever's broken.
Tenderly I hold these dreams and see them to fruition.
Above the clouds are where they live awaiting love's nutrition.
Now every breath I draw will be succinctly mine to keep.
Eyes that see such dreams of beauty surely cannot weep.
written June 17th,2013
for contest "Above The Clouds"
Fingers linger
Thoughts flying everywhere and
Stumble
Crumble
What was I thinking, where does this
word come from
How is it written
How come that in my head thousands of lines tumble
And not a word leaves my fingers
My thoughts fumble
What was I thinking, I cannot do this
They said I could never do this
Gather my thoughts sufficiently
Succinctly
Talk without stutter or tics
Don't they know my thoughts are racing
RAGING
Myriads images are playing
Hide and seek:
Come catch us!
Incapacitation feeds determination
Nothing will ever be easy anymore
Better be prepared boy and write your poems
Ride your wheels
Stop speaking with your mouth
To begin with you were too loud
Anyway!
Let your hands talk for you
Even if it takes your brain a while
To make your fingers type that smile
It isn't courage that you lack,
So work, and don't look back!
We had a garden gnome named Griselda
the bane of our small bungalow
she was nasty and mean, at times quite obscene
the worst that you ever could know!
Her garden mate, Gregor, had feared her
but one day he mustered the nerve
with all of our backing, to send the girl packing
with cleverness, cunning and verve.
But she was vindictive by nature
and wouldn't let 'bygones' be gone
if it took all her years, she would stir up our fears
her plans were all plotted and drawn.
She waited 'til we'd quite forgotten
her villainous, vile, evil reign
then with fierce aggression, she took bold possession
of our lovely, dear, docile domain.
She poisoned the pansies and lilies
and shredded the sweet climbing vines
she disturbed my repose, when she broke the windows
with a shriek that sent chills up my spine.
She tore down my front porch swing
shattering the flowerpots and planters
mad wreckage in her wake, as she sought all to break
taking off to the back at a canter.
I squared off to defend my back garden
grabbed whatever I thought I might wield
at first, on my guard, as I entered the yard
I found she was hardly concealed...
And 'though she seemed alone in the garden
I soon found that I was mistaken
for, succinctly put- I was bound head to foot
and carried off, unhurt but shaken.
Griselda had built quite an army
it seems, in her time far away
for gremlins and trolls, from the caves to the knolls
were under her terrible sway.
They answered her orders directly
and smugly, she smiled and she smirked
a gleam in her eyes as she planned my demise
as her minions continued to work...
Heaving in stones from the quarry
they were piling them higher and higher
and my strength gave away as to my dismay
I saw they were building a pyre!
But Gregor'd escaped all their notice
as he'd hid 'neath the back garden shed
and despite his wee size, he would prove her demise
at his bellow, her company fled.
He used a cheap trick, an enchantment
that he bought from an old witch named Rue
and it seemed there were thousands (as far as the eye scanned)
of Gregors that came into view!
Her face was distorted with terror
and she promised that she'd stay away
and off like a blip- she jumped on a ship
and sailed to somewhere near Bombay.
What gobsmacks, bamboozles and confuses me
My answer to that question is no great mystery
It’s men’s complete lack of understanding of women
So let me explain it quite succinctly to them
Guys you should be kind your good lady
Treat her like an adult, and not a darn baby
Women’s minds can be read just like a good book
and if you don’t listen to her, just avoid her left hook!
But PLEASE beware if her monthlies are due,
she may rant and rave and say she hates you.
And if she needs chocolate, she really NEEDS it, okay -
Get to the candy store without a moments delay!
Many issues of women you’ll discover men are the cause
There’s MENtal and MENace and the darn MENopause
What Gobsmacks, Bamboozles and Confuses me contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
10/28/18
He is so angry; school is the least of his worries.
Sad are his days; he is nine.
Grandma wants to kick them out; step grandpa hates them
aunt hates them
everyone hates them
they have lived in and out of shelters.
been kicked out - he and his three year old sister
along with their mother who hates a lot of people.
he is on his mother's side.
he gets angry if things are pointed out too succinctly.
I believe my mother, he says when asked if he heard grandma
say she is kicking them out.
defensive, angry, a concrete wall,
built to keep him safe,
to keep his sadness inside
the floodgates are not about to open.
he makes sure of that.
never let them see your tears, his mother says.
I may have to live under bridges.
but you cannot come.
you will have to live with your dad.
you will be homeless, and he will not want you,
but it would not be fair to take you with me.
i will be so homeless.
hopeless, homeless, rejected, dejected,
his anger comes out at school, classmates loathe him.
not realizing what he has to do to cover up his sadness.
Bill prodded his sebaceous cyst
‘Twas massive the size of his fist
It spurted green pus
His wife made a fuss
“Get treatment NOW, I must insist”
Blue lighted to the A & E
Huge spurting cyst medics could see
Bill’s livid butt boil
Made doctor’s recoil
Needs lancing now, they all agree
They bundle Bill onto a table
“Don’t sedate him” said his wife Mable
I will succinctly put
He’s a pain in the butt
I’m leaving him when I am able
The medics gave Bill’s boil a prick
Green gunky pus splurts, it’s so thick
Poor Mable was heaving
She said, “Bill I’m leaving
Because you’re an ignorant dick”
“You wouldn’t seek treatment for years
Your constant moans left me in tears
I’ll file for divorce
I’m leaving of course
I’m going to live in Algiers”!
Bills visage turned ever so pale
His final breath he did exhale
The cad passed away
There’s no more to say
I’ve finished the end of this tale!
It’s hard to write succinctly.
It’s murder to condense;
So lengthy poems quite often seem
To be the consequence.
It really takes a special skill
To trim or cut in half
The thoughts you must compose
With just the wheat but not the chaff.
Consolidation is the key
But when I’m taking stock,
I’m well aware that discard key
Will not fit in my lock!
Forlorn as a withering rose,
The years in every wrinkle etched.
A crippling frame, head to toes,
Ramshackle porch to match.
An old man, rocks back and forth,
Staring steadfastly into the eve,
His ailing years of little worth,
The sublime sunset a mere reprieve.
Contemplating a life well worn,
Exuberant youth a distant past.
His aches forged through duties sworn,
A life succinctly fading fast.
Resigned, fulfilled with aching heart,
A partner lost this past ten year.
Far too many years apart,
Engrained in each and every tear.
The sun cascades on wind torn porch
A silence echoing the fact,
That embers of his dying torch
Will fulfil a reuniting pact.
Where could you be tonight, Sinatra?
Love and Marriage
Love and Marriage
A chant I heard reverberate
As far away as the length of the waves
I rode indisposed
When I was bound
To a remote island
Named Buyukada
The permanent content of what you mean
Transcends me the moment I kiss your lips
And I know that meaning is produced
Only in an unexpectedly rambunctious union
Succinctly, I dissect everything
Looking for generic terms I left
Back somewhere in Kadikoy
At nine o’clock sharp near the theater
Where I heard a beautiful young voice
Lamenting Istanbul in operatic tempos
Barbarossa Hayreddin Pasha
Fatih Sultan Mehmet
Jalal al-Din Rumi
All proceeded towards Istanbul again
Alas! Nothing remains the same
Everything is only revisited once again
Even the empty sunflower fields of Kutahya
Detach yourself, postmodern Kerouac,
From the vicissitudes of a stuporous life
Isolate yourself from mundane places
Where nothing transcends the ephemeral
I know that I will meet a deadline
Just because life manifests itself
Unintentionally in those experiences I weave
I thought my days could end
On a ship to Prince’s Island bound
Alas, a Russian girl took me aside
To recount her Icelandic memories
To a dismembered Moorish heart
Thieving Without Conscience
There are thieves, and there are thieves without conscience. ..
Woe to the average Malaysia, of the latter are our elected politicians....
As the US treasury did put it so succinctly that there can be no doubts...
Malaysia as a sovereign nation has been robbed in broad daylight......
By our exalted policians entrusted to uphold our country's economy and its ideals..
By blatantly treating 1MDB as a vessel for securing immense sovereign funds...
And chanelling those funds into privately owned bank accounts...
Colluding with third parties that involved of all things, a so called Arabian prince...
Makes you puke just to think how our corrupted political bigwigs hasten to band together..
Just so that they can cling on to office and indulge in more misuse of power and plunder....
A political purist extols, Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. ..
That sums up nicely the gang of thieves who somehow determines how Malaysia is doing...
Malaysia has the dubious record of being the biggest kleptocracy case in American history...
The sheer magnitud of which involves billions and billions in US currency....
Those who have been following news about the 1MDB imbroglio since a couple of years ago..
Will recall the many evasive statements and misleading answers from 1MDB the vessel...
Through which billions of funds were raised only to be mysteriously siphoned off...
Involving convulated financial transactions that moved chunks of money across nations..
Poor Malaysians, we are still saddled with corrupted politicians and their cronies...
Hoping fervently that the big brother in the US Department of Justice will invoke some miracle...
T
28 Cracks In The Ceiling
I take my red-inked dagger in hand
And succinctly spew its secrets for all to see.
28 cracks in the ceiling, and I lost count.
There’s a storm moving out of the west.
I can smell the thunder and
The titillating turbulence of tintinnabulation.
An old lady sits cross-legged and knitting,
Waiting for the sweating sun to sink.
“I was just a girl in 1925… and now…”
The endless strained faces out there
Tell stories of death, disease and depravity.
They know the eternal worm is the other one
In this passion triangle.
28 cracks in the ceiling, and I lost count.
Snakes frothing in suburbia.
The megabytes of Zanzibar jettison out naked bone chips.
Later months and trivial dimes.
Smokestack realizations in a tent.
Church buttresses holding up my whining soul.
Green Edsels down in San Pedro.
Michelobs and round sassy broads fingering erect nipples.
With a Susie in each arm
He lights a cigarette in honor of grand appeasement.
Sensuous sinews entwine effervescently.
More loose chicks in short skirts,
Pouting and scamming.
Times are hot in the old town tonight.
Music and misery, wine and wickedness.
Stubborn clocks disarm with water-resistant influx.
I was a princox in petticoats.
We met at a Tastee Freez at twilight.
28 cracks in the ceiling, and I lost count.