Best Threshed Poems
I’m too tired to tell another story
About the pangs of reality
of my barricading delusions
and my spontaneous God given days
A long wait ;A fat fate
A nine day wonder that forever lay in yonder.
I’m bled out of verve ;high on adrenalin
I hated narcissism ,ignored individualism.
Am losing my creed hard as it seems,
No need for innuendos and cover ups
No gimmickry no false flags
I believe in theocracy,oneness of the most high.
I have been punched and bruised
Dead beaten and Ill stricken.
I've been a witness to sordid days
Happy years and bonfire nights
I once asked Santa for maiden
He told me " dude lets be serious"
I won't even bother Cupid
That naked winged baby wielding weapons
who even crowned him an angel ?
I've breached the rules
Threshed on everything with a head full of pain
Tried singing when broken
Only to realise my voice is even worse than my problems
In my fantasies I probed for honesty ,
Paraded with veracity.
But bliss is not a thing life guarantees
And I know this is how life in its entirety goes.
My imaginings are wilder,
Might soon catch a banshee
My nostalgias are inconsistent ,
And My health is really getting better
Will someday soon sky dive in Ghana
Or yet still rally on the Savannah
I sought levity in the midst of debacles
Only to find fury in endless spirals.
I stumbled on a prose
Lo! let me sip on its sweetened repose.
In my hands a pen a paper
so I can write away my woes.
recite it like a rhapsody or sing it like a hymn
As a form of consolation,An escape from reality.
This transmission is always meshed
Rotating gears of helical threshed
A dog clutch and synchronic ring
Engaging gears this fork in swing
Fourth, Third, second and first
Gears are changed at a burst
Just remember the letter H
When you move that stick
These gears don't grate
Shafts keep turning counter and main
Both can incorporate gears to twain
Idle and helical turning together
Select reverse, it’s truly clever
First, second, third and fourth
The dog clutch slides back and forth
Just select the one you need
Synchronized to match that gear's speed
So don’t forget this grand design
These gearboxes' built with smooth in mind
The next time you hear that crunchy sound
Just bear in mind your synch’s been ground
It’s only you not de-pressing that clutch
Firmly down, not double dee Dutch
So make this process smooth as can be
Then your transition will be sweet harmony
© Copyright K.C.Leake
17th October 2014
All Rights Reserved
I am a gleaming aubergine
in an oval dish
My purple skin is polished
Like BBC English.
I await my fate for I am ripe
My seeds fulfil my wish
Soon,soon the knife will cut me up
As corn in fields is threshed.
I’d rather lie in Egypt’s soil
By birds and insects bit
But here I am in England
Where irony is wit.
After cutting comes the salt
As in a bowl I sit
For I am moist like lady’s parts
As poets have much writ.
Moussaka is my destiny
And as you bite and chew
I shall be what Jesus was
And give my grace to you
I am fried in olive oil
To give me flavour ripe.
Dried in cloth and placed in pot
Atop the meat I ride.
My colour brings all eyes to me
As I lie in a heap.
Some like carrot heads so bright
Royal purple is my state.
So better than a lamb I am
For a sacrifice.
I am proud and gleam like gold
As Caesar-like I’m knifed.
My seeds through sewers deep shall pass
And somewhere come to grief.
I shall grow again and be
Portrayed by a leaf.
Perusing the tomes of esoterica,
One truth I've learnt indeed,
Not one book contains it all.
There's always more to read.
Axiom mixed with allegory,
Abstract salt and misty sulphur.
Is this that famous alchemy?
I'll find the quintessence myself.
I wonder will my pupils burn,
Ere I see the salamander?
Peradventure I'll go blind,
Gazing at the flame.
Kundalini's far too painful,
No snakes I'll squeeze from there!
Keep the stick; I disdain your wand,
And those dowdy robes of rite.
You banish nought excepting creed,
So your mind can play in circles.
Dr Dee, did you notice,
Darkness in reflection?
Enoch's sigils say no more,
Arcane shapes that never shine.
Antiquated and obscure,
The like of which I can't define.
No Angels tap upon my pane,
I think they've lost their wings?
Or John and Eddy were insane,
Who can read their mirror?
I covet a theophany,
To behold an avatar.
But none have manifested yet,
Perhaps they are asleep?
I heard the Masons in cabal,
'Find the tent within thyself.'
Alas their holy pillars crumble,
When their master's meet.
Will I become the charioteer?
And overcome my obstacles.
Maybe the Tower's drawn for me,
'I'll see you at the bottom.'
To then be threshed by death himself,
Though his charger l won't fear.
Nor that upon his hasty heels,
For death is only transition.
A torchless Hermit I'll remain,
Engaged in futile rumination.
The change I will, will not occur,
Therefore the Fool forever I'll be.
Pierre's Fart Café
Inspired By Mystic Rose
Please visit her page
For more inspiration !
We serve our Fartpays
As we do everyday
When we do, we say "Bon Appétit"
Each day they're made fresh
Strained through a mesh
Then threshed, and readied to eat
I like mine, with spice
And bake beans fried twice
Jalapeños, sure would be sweet
So, visit today,
Chez Pierre's Fart Café
A place where there's always a seat
A wild pagan, the wind, a spectral masseuse,
Blunt cudgel and claw dipped in liquid frost,
To corrupt and ravage the pit head columns,
As black trees threshed and leaves were tossed;
Slapped against satanic steel mill backdrops,
Thrust over crusty cracked fissures of rock,
The rattling rain gunned down the mountains,
Scattered the sallow, forsaken flock.
In the forks and tines of lightning stabbing
To bomb the moon and shivering stars,
Ivories tickled by ozone and aftershock
Shrilled in a sky of splitting white scars;
The harpsichord played on a stormy night,
A melody wracked and cracked with disease,
Jagged enough to split open the heart,
For nothing and no one were sat at the keys…
†††††††††THE UNFORGIVABLE VOYAGE††††††††
Tears trickled through my face
As our vessel threshed the deep.
Seagulls flapped their wings on
The beach as I watched them
Disappear before my sight.
I wished to belong to their
Colony if that meant staying back.
The shores of a place once to me
Known as home was about in a
Day to be forever foreign.
I followed the winds and stole
Stares of the sunset skies.
Salt water was unforgiving
As I retched in retribution.
Surrounded by aqua, the smell
Of sea never went down with me.
The sea spread out before me and
Seemed unending in its vastness.
We could have been on the sea
Forever as darkness prevailed,
Thickening the clouds above.
I looked up to find the stars and
Moonlight missing, as thunderclaps
And lightning bolts streaked across
The nautical skies.
The twin waves weaved its way,
Riding our vessel up and down.
The boatswain seemed bewildered,
Backing orders at the crew who
Scurried about with buckets to
Scoop water which had seeped
Its way inside.
All a little me could imagine was
Poseidon holding on to his trident
And commanding the forces of the
Sea to rock our ship to a frenzy.
The turbulence was brutal and
Unforgiving, anger in the form of water
Slapped hard on our faces, almost
Leaving us blind.
Salt water ragged my breathing
And when all else seemed to have
Failed, the storm slept still, leaving
Us with mixed feeling of joy and
Trepidation of drowning.
To save us from this newest menace,
My fragile hands found a bucket just
About my size as I joined to scoop
Out water. Suddenly, the sails stopped
Sailing the winds as our ship was dead
In Water. The rudder stopped almost
Immediately, skyrocketing our fears.
While we waited to regain the winds,
I dealt with my fears by filling my head
With the thought of grandma back home;
Her loving arms and my warm bed.
My heart ached all the more.
I just want this voyage to come to
And end. Let this all be a dream, I said
Silently whilst staring at reality.
©Whyte Queen
IG: @poetic_poesy
PARENTAL ILLS
Fresh fallacy fall flat
Betwixt blenched beaux
Oldies goldies, modern crime
Lacerated denims, newish culture
Conventional crews, forgotten taws
Dearie draws near, dressed chamber
Old tent, increasing wails
Baggy laps, incessant sounds
Daunted, flabbergasted grips
Pleasurable, gratifying tips
Floppy fathers left in tears
Flooey spinsters drown in cheers
Riotous gays, the curse of the pap
Garbled kins seek for help
The volcanic melt
Of the ancestor’s heart
The rhythmic palpitations
Of the reticent gents
Shrank shanks, belittled tragedies
Neglected nuggets, seed for malevolence
The ancient error of complacency
The ignorant digression of antiquity
The polluted cultivation of time past
Now drives our life apart
Children left in decadence
Immature breeds ignored for self-indulgence
Now we howl like a famished wolf
Who will hear and not mock our woof?
The corrupt past camaraderie
Of our medieval papas
Made our lassies today eerie
And our blessed lads treacherous
Our face now soaked up in sullenness
Grumpiness hungrily eat us up
Our heart fiercely harbored in turbulence
The sweet wine of malevolence fill our cup
Thirsty, we refused our threshed vine
Who will drink if not us? Who will?
We’re left drained with clumsy spine
Passive courage, dilacerated will
We prayed but who cares?
We supplicated but who cares?
One night... I had a dream... what I see
Trees on... each side of me
Through the path...was Lit all the way
Miraculous Light.... in the distance
Through-out Time..... Existence
Forever Shines..... Who's Divine
Knowing Only One.... Who's True
Who's Everlasting Life
Our Savior... Our King... Jesus Christ
Along the way... behind each Tree
Disciples came out... appeared to me
Greeting me.... with a Kiss... on each Cheek
Each one... had something to say
Thou they....didn't speak a word
But I knew....some how I heard
Each one.... told me their names
So Peaceful... With Love and Grace
As I went... along in hope... to soon see
My Lord's.... Face
Then with a Sudden.... was a Push
I was....threshed
Right-out of.... my dream
Finding my one Child... on one side
While another.....jumping off and on
Waking me....
Then came a Voice.... with-in
I Love You!!!
Your Time is Not.... yet to be
I knew then... what's... to be done
Tell Everyone... about Our Father's Son
Jesus Christ.... The Giver.... of Life
People be Saved.... become Born-again
Redeemed from all sins
Let all others know... across the Land
Final hour....soon to be
Repent! Time is Now.. at Hand!
For You and Me...
For All.. Be ready for when Jesus Calls..
Comes to take us home..
Form:
Hay is threshed by the rotor blades,
Hay along with the arms,
Legs, and heads of the milking maids,
Down on the carrion farms.
Farmer Misogynist reaps his yield—
Satan nurtured the crop—
Psychopathology wet the field—
Whing! Now the rotor blade lops!
Somewhere between Easter Island and
Santiago skims an ocean skiff loaded with
slumped islanders bound within the teetering
cargo hold. In the distance can be seen the
eyes of seven monolithic faces defending
islanders from the fury of volcanoes.
One boy sits in line with the rest of the
villagers, sobbing for the loss of his home,
his mother and his freedom. Another ship bobs
into his field of vision on occasion, and he
can’t help but pray his father still survives
somewhere inside that mottled vessel.
Agony punctuates every moment of
peril and punishment at his captor’s hand;
in fact, the dogs laugh and taunt with impunity
the new animals they’ve captured and chained
for profit like so many husks of wheat: the
fruit of the stalk gets threshed without
mercy until each soul becomes a tiny
kernel of energy waiting to be pounded into
powder for consumption. The boy avoids their
glance as he centers his rage into a knot of power
ready to pounce with vengeance, fists balled
beneath his chest, channeling their arrogance,
their cruelty, their ignorance. Before
docking, the boy helps hurl the corpses
into the mirrored rage of the sea, narrowing
his eyes but not daring to reveal defiance to his
captors. Linked together in struggle, they
are tossed into cages to be auctioned off.
We have come to the
" feast"
At jungle, to dance
to tunes
Of music of our
time, and now,
Leaving the arena
for others,
Returning with
cheering heart.
Gladdened by our
worth
Our shoulder laid
with arrogant pride
As it was at the
beginning,
We stomped
tirelessly, bathed
with
Salt water and with
the eyes of flame
Grope for dream.
" Determination"
stands the
watch-word
To some, it
shattered away
As the hour danced
past
When at the time of
deep distress
Along the hobbling
wattle forest
And of trial, were
threshed
And shoved into
obscurity.
But we pegged away
into
The realm walls of
faith
Where we spurned the
nights
Of fear that stalk
the day
In a combative
poise.
We are coming
To fertile our land
With the frothy
glory
Trapped in our
hands.
Hearts leap of joy
As we slung our bags
over
Our back, touching
each other,
Gaze timidly at
faces with surge
Of excitement.
Hear the drum beat
of glee.
Indeed!
We have arrived at
the niche of time
Bringing castles of
hope,
Telling sad-sweet
tales
Of our voyage.
Form:
Arising early everyday
I seek* God's face in prayer's ray.
With Christ's grace, I'm indeed refreshed
Abiding in sacrifice-altar, blissful; faith-threshed.
Bound triumphantly to fulfill His will
Upon the throne of the Prince of peace, I keep still.
Delighting to be illumined by my Saviour's light
I'm upheld steadfastly by His righteousness' might.
Indeed, I cherish sweet divine meetings with my blessed Lord
...Such are great communions around spiritual ecstatic cord.
*Psalm 63:1 O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee...
March 29, 2019
How would
shuffling beggars
dethrone a King
o'erthrow a tyrant
stand unarmed
before an army
unite with weary peasants
to pass a nod, a look
mouth the words
unspoken
yet whistled
in the wind-threshed wheat
by time's troubadours
singing for the pittance of the poor
raising the angst of anger
in empty bellies
sharing words
that fill
a soul with hope
a heart with rage
a mind with wonder
armed with but a song
a tune to hum
an idea to fondle
a voice to find
a spark
to ignite
the downfall
of a King
7/7/2020
Warrior Poet Poetry Contest
The field of forgiveness lies ripe and golden,
But my sickle has been broken
By the durity of time
And its unrelenting chime
Marking each kilometer
Until, at last, golden harvest is threshed by the Reaper.