Best Thematic Poems
A bridge from colloquial to courtly
fare
A span where idealism and fantasy
pair
A railway to the existential realm;
celestial lair
A conduit through which rational
discourse can flare
Deep medium to: forage, inculcate,
and inform
Broad brush to paint rare beauty;
sculpt surrealistic form
Incisive scalpel to surgically alter
the societal norm
Delicate utensil to educate on
civility and decorum
A literary organ; a prosaic construct
A mechanism our syntax to
deconstruct
An analytical tool; an observational
viaduct
Introspective milieu to reduct;
extrovertive sphere to reconstruct
A semantical edifice that aspiring
wit, lofty orations implore
An experimental structure
gramatical anomalies to explore
A thematic repository in which
concrete ideas, abstract notions to
pour
A vernacular cathedral butressed by
an idiomatic core
Love's Symphonic Passion
by Odin Roark
Shimmering whispers urge forth,
A beginning seeks release from darkness,
The voicing of struggle proclaims arrival,
Like miniature cymbals of resolute announcement,
The humble cries of emergence
Clash ever so quiet with air and space,
Once portending grace,
Now its melodic genesis.
The matrixes of parent/conductor
Anxiously hum nursery rhymes
Through white enameled side-rails,
Vertical portals to unfettered ears,
Absorbing even when sleeping,
Evolving passion's invitation.
The precious first movements
Grow from those one-finger dissonant phrases,
Sometimes pounded upon the black and white landscape
Where an merging piccolo's infant smile
Finds support by paternal contra bass and maternal cello echoes.
Remembrances of tinkling melodies
Soon enjoin its pure and simple
With conflicted movements of trial and error,
Evolving the inevitable adagio of growing up.
Hence forth
The scherzo's innocence of adolescence
Crescendos into threatening measures,
Where layered tones of choices
present challenge,
chaos,
counterpoint to independence,
or sympatric harmony.
The family of voicing
Develop love's thematic material,
Rhythms,
Keys,
And more complex harmonies,
Creating the free fantasia,
A coalescing of passion's varied workouts.
Its strings worn thin,
Arriving at life's largo movement of peace,
That place of reflective consonance,
The weight of its chambered containment
Rests forth its closing bars,
Housing now but the waning echo of a baby's chorus.
Its shimmering whispers
Float upon one last wave of the baton,
Stirring life's ethereal essence
Into heroic chorus
A higher bonding…
Awaits.
Exhaustive searching, certain words you seek,
Thematic flow in lyrical technique.
You thumb through volumes searching for a line
To kindle inspiration in your mind.
Convinced a stanza finished, then rethink,
As fragments fail to form a missing link.
An expectation stumbles to a stall ;
A pressing of your brain against a wall.
Then seamlessly the flashing of a line
So brilliant your emotions swiftly blind.
Too priceless to be captured, you forget.
The prose you cherish most knew this regret.
Gene Bourne
03-23-14
.
Embers
burn in silence
not to disturb
our softly spoken words
and to gift us little warmth
in love's nest
Once more
in your embrace
in front of fire
sole witness of our love
making the moment stand still
eternal
© kash poet
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Placement: 2nd ;(Nov.2012)
Contest:Views from a Vignette
Sponsor:Nette Onclaud
##vignette: a hexastich in 6 lines with 2-4-4-6-7-3 syllable count per line, unrhymed.. there are a few approaches of this genre, but let’s go for the short version… a vignette focuses on ONE mood, character, setting, or object to paint a picture of a moment in time in a SUBTLE MANNER… please use the visual below as your thematic concept…
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THE STATE OF OSTRACISM
Excommunicated by popular vote, I became isolated in a world chosen from birth.
Priests came to convert us, but we were practicing the Baptist faith.
Through mediums, they would include themselves.
They desire for power was great.
Ostracized, my mother stories told about not being liked by others.
We were atypical to her as mixed and mutated blood from the bands of a country formed by origin, immigration, and enslavement.
As time went on, my mother focus change to a more distinct way.
A way of life was seen that was the way of a nation conceived.
The new deal was for welfare states.
The entity that administer the benefits.
The races stated to be the demographics were Black, Brown, Mixed, and White trash that flattered the rich self-interest.
What blarneyed was a poverty index.
White trash became low income to middle class.
Socio-economics manifested.
A state of ostracism is thematic test.
Family not liked, I was given poetry.
My mother stated this to me.
She said snubbed those that are not right with your pen.
Next, embrace who is worthy with profound philosophy.
See and hear the cold-shouldered that wants you to be nobody.
Speak not but write prolifically.
Topically, I relate as writer and creator of the spoken word.
Via vision and a mission stated, I am an author of poetry.
To initiate hope, I speak about my belief in God.
I am the thoughts that possess and a method that uses the vocabulary.
The words are there to line the attack...
Yet, they are also there to move mountains.
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Written August 28, 2016!
coping just for a purpose
rusting revealing the truth
a new coat of paint never helps
however i become emotionally addicted
i remember when smiles on four walls was the art we chose
when the foundation of the paint weakened with time, so did the symbolism of our love
we became antiheroes in the form of thematic failure
we allowed that to be our smiling front and our welcoming back
we never asked forgiveness for we knew not the particular definition
we were liars without admittance to admitting
as a result, we aged at a more rapid pace
genetics defied us, but we too were defiant by unified choice
God has a way of structuring by way of emphatic emphasis
nevertheless we let the devil break through....therefore becoming unfortunate pockmarked examples
while figuratively hunting
and pecking around me noggin
force hum theme to write about
lo and behold, the solution
stared me right in front
of my little knob nub nose with gentle clout
cuz, as an avid bookworm, the dictionary,
I enjoy expending hours
to drink up etymological history
relating to the origin and
historical development of words
and their meanings.
with no shadow of a doubt
and most times, this animatronic,
the technique of making and operating
lifelike robots, typically for use
in film or other entertainment
dogmatic, enigmatic fugee dooby
brother beastie boy
(actually a mwm) dislikes to flout
his abilities, hobbies, interests,
as aches hike kant imagine being treated for gout
a disease in which defective metabolism
of uric acid causes arthritis, especially
in smaller bones of the feet, deposition
of chalkstones, and episodes of acute pain.
Boot lemme return full circle
to thematic core curriculum aye started to aim
and express gratitude
to the ghost of Noah Webster,
who gets credit yet also blame
if some snide haughty guttersnipe,
some slovenly individual feels snubbed,
and hence, living personage, said descendent(s)
of oblivion, whatever unknown
man or woman to living persons
stake a valid claim
that his/her many generations removed
heir (Harris), and or heiress ancestor (proven
with tangible researched reportage,
then cited with countless
prestigious explorers of English language),
that a daunting scrivener perhaps
even a courtesan or rich dame
rightfully ought to receive the fame,
thus such living relative might
upend the huck cult personality be game
to dare challenge secure historical niche
ambitiously held by Mark Roget (1779–1869),
British physician, natural theologian
and lexicographer. It was released
to the public on 29 April 1852.
The original edition had 15,000 words,
and each new matured edition
of the Thesaurus grew larger.
That tall professor
Taught us literary criticism,
Himself a competent critique;
Often quoted Shakespeare,
Iqbal, Mir and Rumi.
Looked really worried
For the unnoticed evils in society,
Wrinkled his nose,
Protruded his lips.
And I would recall with love
The Utopian society,
The two romantic-poet-friends talked of.
And once I showed him in his office
A short picnic-poem,
He said,
Ok! But improve your Thematic Concern.
And when I asked to please explain,
His unwashed, perhaps Peon
Interferingly said,
“It is easy! Bigger themes means
Subjects, a society’s benefited somehow!”
Has drawn all the bills
And left unknown, with a mere message
Through the coordinator,
“I have finished all their course of lectures.”
Ah! In twenty-minutes’ three lectures.
This poem is written in the form of a Sijo. A Sijo is traditionally composed in three lines of 14-16 syllables each, totaling between 44-46 syllables. In a Sijo, the poem is either thematic or narrative
Line 1 introduces a situation or problem
Line 2 provides a conclusion, which usually begins with a surprise
Line 3 resolves the problem or releases the tension by providing a memorable ending.
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This poem has a total of 45 syllables.
Line 1 consists of 14 syllables
Line 2 consists of 16 syllables
Line 3 consists of 15 syllables
**Obsession**
His smitten intuition, disturbed by every suspicion,
Like an addiction, fueled aggression, he craved her affection,
What started as just muffled cries, ended in a fatal night.
Written by
Rashana King
Adulterous besieging capstone damnation
exploitation foists groping, heaving
insidiously jerking
knowingly lunges
machinations notoriously nymphomaniacal
officiating penile quests
rapaciously, sadistically
tenaciously, unstoppably
vasocongested wickedness
Xerses yawped zeolously.
***************************
All throughout history of man/woman kind
ascendent civilizations extensively gouged,
impailed, kindled, murderous outrages
quashing sacred urges, women yearned.
***************************
Versatile thematic refrain punctuating nubiles
maximized looting, pillaging, raping
visited upon females via decimating fountainhead
guarding brestworks of vestal virgins,
innocent youths (little boys and girls).
***************************
Twenty first century *****Sapiens male population continue to applaud, covet, extol, gloat, invoke, kickstart, molest outrages, quest savagely thee unbridled wedded yoke appropriating coquettishly enshrined gals imposing killing mandates okaying queasy sordid ugly wretchedness yanking aborhent behavior denigrating, fulminating, harrassing, jawdropping lewdness, nabbing prized rearends, twerking, violently whiplashing, yelling zingers.
***************************
Now not a day elapses with instances women claim untoward advances, and/or forced coercion to satiate and temporarily slate the sexual thirst informing prononced picadilloes (philandering if married pompous head honcho demands appeasement of coitus, ********, indecent lowball outrageous ribald uncouth x-rated animalistic, carnal, feral, gonadal, immoral, kleptomaniacally misogynistic, narcissistic, opportunistic, pathetically reprehensible, torturously undervaluing, validating virility within Yankee Doodle, haply lambasting, proudly touting, vaunted wayfair zest.
***************************
The above meandering stream of consciousness attempted to amplify, a recent spate of accusations figuratively slapped against a male sex mongers, who specifically rule roost, and blithely, demandingly, forcefully, hideously, impishly, killingly, malignantly, opprobriously, powerfully, repeatedly, terminally, vindictively, wantonly, yearningly acrimoniously belittle, demean flagrantly, harshly insinuate keeping mindful, not publicize rabid tawdry unwanted villainous withering zeal!
The pursuit of justice was for her, just a child
To acknowledge her life taken by organized crime,
those who acted out the worst kind of evil
With cops in their pockets, they could do anything
Had a chief who protected everyone he chose to ...
a network with a cover up so very ugly and deep
Children grew up, threatened not to speak
Justice was for her
As the friend silenced,
finally stood up to them with the truth
Spoken with courage, facing backlash for years
They weren't going to let the truth come out;
not then, not now ... not ever in their minds
Her life became a web of their entangled lies,
there still was no stopping her as she ran
She learned how to move quickly to be safe,
life was always changing at a rapid pace
They vowed to find her anywhere she went,
just to keep their secrets hidden from all
Still she vowed to bring justice for her friend
Acknowledge an innocent life stolen by them,
yet so many still in power derailed what she did
Still she stands, still she speaks, never giving up
Her friend's life is not about the money and drugs,
and all the other criminal acts they smoothly do
It is about a child's innocent life: her soul, her smile
For these precious things and more,
her voice speaks from the grave ...
Justice was for her
A requiem is required
for innocent blood shed
Silence is not golden,
the truth never is beholden
to a lie
Yet, if justice is not her friend,
how will right prevail in the end?
If justice be not given to her friend,
what message then do the corruptors of truth send?
That lies of deceit win,
that criminal justice hangs a crooked grin?
No, her friend will continue to speak out ...
a sacred vow given shall not be turned about
So she press on, presses onward ---
unrelenting as down pouring, torrential rain
Exposing the matrix of corruption,
that will go to any length to cover up
the death of her dear friend
Willing to endure much tribulation
to seek justice
Risking her life, steadfast undeterred,
as long as justice remains deferred
And when recompense is given,
two voices will sing ... this justice was for her
This project was solely Heidi's idea and thematic creation. I was merely her poetic assistant.
Billowing taupe clouds, hunker down and hem in the Peninsula,
The morning rips open
A glimpse of sun shone; a lemon curd slivers between slits of of silver illumination
The first hint of light glances up frothing crests of salted foam,
Waves slap mineralized milky encrusted piers,
A place she never goes,
The boats, the ropes, salted misty chalky vapors
All a mockery of thematic proportions,
Unduly deliver a set, a scene,
In which a broken-hearted woman creaks about over well trodden planks
With a mystery in her eyes,
A coat two-sizes too big
And a hint of faded spicy cologne
Envelopes her unconscious, the odor she is unaware of
She perceives a mounted flaking, patinated iron harpoon mere décor
A prop on the set of this distant sea,
An artifact for ancient ways of hunting, the heart of the whale she knew was the size of twenty men.
Old men begin to mill about from the shore they amble toward the beauty and the death of the sea,
The lulling sea
A salve for old men, a balm to quell the roaring mind,
Clapboard sided sea worn boats rise and fall not of their own accord,
But as slaves to the the great sea, slaves to the sea
They carry metal traps, hemp ropes
And the unforgiving memories of the land,
“Landlubbers” she muses. A momentary countenance of mirth gleams in her eye.
Such a funny word. An erstwhile chuckle engages her lips as she knows now the seriousness of life, whereby in bygone times mother warned: “Love will make a mockery of us all”
The Gospels share a negative understory,
thematic across all four.
However diverse these four voices may be
in describing and delineating Messianic love,
and political-economic priorities for poor spirits,
all four are univocal with anecdotal warnings:
If you are on the supremely powerful hoarding side
referring to those less fortunate than your enlightened self
as mere cowards
and traitors
and sinners
being who they marginally are,
as they perhaps criminally are,
for acting out insanely,
as they compulsively,
but not long-term nurturingly, will,
then you are on a wrong side
of co-redemptive ecopolitical action;
the wrong side of the GoodNews Gospels.
Blaming the victims
of poverty and ecopolitical marginalization
of abuse and neglect,
of addiction and victimless criminalization,
is the Gospel-condemned hypocrisy
of desecrating Pharisees
and Sadducees,
Publicans
and other clericalist malignant Aristocrats,
Caesars breeding Mammon
rather than CoMessiahs breathing Manna.
If we create an old with new blend of Jesus
as Solomon,
a more positive Gospel message
invites discerning issues of freedoms and rights to say
and/or do and not do
by asking ourselves, and each other:
Will this democratize freedoms to love,
to participate
to cooperate
to look for WinWin resolutions?
And, will this build higher boundaries around monoculturing restrictions
toward further WinLose anger,
fear,
intolerance,
chronic hatreds,
while excusing hypocrisies
of supremacists calling themselves on the side of defusing love's barriers,
removed from cowards,
losers,
soft on healthy defense,
fostering long-term economic disaster areas,
deniers of LeftBrain healthy nondual co-realities,
detractors from patriarchal capital-obsessed evolutionary self-aggrandizing theories
as more culturally important
than Matriarchal-ReGenerative CoOperation Stories
about Messiahs
and wise guys, royal as humble-servant birth
of healthy,
courageously cooperative,
mutually trusting and vulnerable ecopolitics.
Always tried to do my best
still - not much earth blest
of five children one
alone makes me grand
Too foolish in the flower
God chaffs the plan in
love's forgotten-hour
light fails star-bud blooms-
A Promised Place
a table set
in brighter rooms
beyond regret
____________________________
Note:
(In mashing a "normal" poem through a Haiku sieve, I had no conception of "star buds". It happened when I jammed together the thematic elements, lines and rhymes. It was like a bar-fight with my sub-conscience and that's the bloody tooth it spat-out. - R.W)
THEME
(If you give me a head start, I bet I win.)
The marathon in life is life experiences, which states if I am given a head start,
I bet I win.
But nirvana does not exist in many communities.
Therefore, you may end up out on a limb trying to keep the focus to overcome
all festered constituents.
Events are episodic exposure to your mental fasciae.
Digest knowledge as wisdom.
If I am given a head start, I know I will win.
I was taught early in life that the key to success is sometimes based on whims.
Being topical and thematic are acumens.
Socio-political this pertains.
Socio-religious is the world one lives in.
If I am given a head start, I strive to ensure success.
Just in knowing that a choice has be given, thrive from the excitement of
becoming a great achiever.
A head start allows the formation of an inner core of body and soul, mind
and spirit.
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Penned on June 05, 2014!