Best Titular Poems
thoughts lick at my consciousness
distracting me from the warm embrace
of the colour pallet unfolding
I stare with myopic eyes at the kaleidoscope
endeavouring to discern the demarcation
of the edge of each shade
naming them as though they are listed on a colour chart
displayed at the local hardware store
but as soon as I have one splash of tint pinned down
it fades to be replaced by a more pleasing explosion of colour
a child’s toy impatiently twirled
a rainbow snipped into a multitude of shapes
in never to be repeated patterns
like an uxorious husband
it enfolds the evening sky in its loving embrace
its fleece soft fingers exploring
lulled into a unison of consent
with a barely perceptible rush of contentment
a slight sibilant sigh issues
memorialising daylight
clinging to the fringes of observation
the scene depicts its titular character
of moral decay
the riparian area jealously guards its supremacy
as hydrophilic plants are robbed of their splendour
in a final display of defiance
alluvial fans buffet against the offing
recombobulating
the natural order of Chaos:
The Great Deep of ancient mythology
"Siren Sings Poe Home"
Bells are ringing
Can you hear me singing?
Poe absent, finds his feet
6 feet under snow
Soul is free flying
with black feathery things
Sharp knives slicing the cold
Midnight wings
dancing the Passepied
with the tintinnabulation
of swinging titular poets
Murders of Crows
Christmas comes
Christmas goes
(LadyLabyrinth/2018)
Christmas, 2018.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CaGBQeJ6SgM
"Hear the sledges with the bells -
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WnEUC4eZjjA
admittely i am one treasonous cat
and people everywhere had better take note
i ain't no republican nor democrat
and i don't see any reason for phools to vote
listen up people,
politics are a plague perceived of by desperate men
folks who sold themselves out fora few sheckles or less
and i must confess Jefferson and Franklin, quite frankly, were all fu**ed up
they dictated this declaration that declared us free to pursue our independence
but in the parenthesis they lasciviously limited our liberties
then there are those conventions that follow conventions conceived of by phools
and i'd appreciate it if someone could explain their rules
because conventions are circuitous circuses minus three rings and decorum
a most useless and absurd forum
they do, however, contain clowns that pour out of tiny little cars
and reveal a sick society's scars
they are meetings for a faction of felonious freaks who foist phoolishness on phools in places like Philly that are simply silly
or elsewhere
as they run around willy nilly casting votes akin to a fishing rod aimed at a pitiful pond
well there ain't no flounder in Philly or anywhere else as far as i am concerned
whilst i have been more than twice burned
and methinks the the fishing really stinks
while their constituents constitute a confusing array of idiots who idealize con-artists
men and women who treat candidates like they are Hollywood stars
well if you ask me Jennifer Anniston would make a pretty good prez
says me
she's got the curves for congress, the sexiness for the senate
and tempting t*ts that would make her perfect for a titular head of state
now, have i stated my case to your satisfaction?
so you can stand in line to vote for one of these assh*les
alas as for me i'd rather vote for Jennifer or someone of her kind
i'm sick of your Clintons, Bushes and Bobby Doles
and take this for the Gospel as preached by the undersigned
(c) 2012....PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
Heading to a cauldron in the dry sea of sands
Far afield the Sahara shores devoid of life
With an array of dexterous army riding further North
Our horses neighs as honed swords beholds Amir al-Mu'mini's hands
Death on battlefield is an honourary worth
Even the treasures of war fuels this sweet strife
To bring back silvers, gold, and pleasuring flesh
As a "Missing-Captured" for my already bloated chambers
And the crown will yield more cowries if Allah blesses
The throne, to rax few shells to the proselytes or sheik in the madrasas
Who barely tattles my fate but extols me greatly
The fogged dust on our tarsals censored vision in the brown mist
And the day mocked our sights
Yet we fought with fallen numbers till the sun left the east
To the west with blunt swords clanging defeat
While the crescent moon and rayed star decked the night
Our feral horses snorted as the numbers of our enemies diminishes
From thousands to hundreds and then tens till they are no more
Then rode us to the oasis under the night's eyes
The wind sang victorious song for us while we quench our thirst
Even when water taste like sand as we drink there was plenty to pour
In our jars for the next few day's ablution
~
Our flintlock muskets hug straight at our back
As we rode our horses with our prisoners of war
Tied with our turbans to a caravan camel
Along with ostriches, ivories, kolanuts and salts
To a waiting parade while my horsemen brandished their swords
It excited the maidens who peeped under a parasol
Their breast dangles like ripe mangos in a tree.
My father rode to me with his horsemen chanting the greatness of God
He was Clad in an ostrich's feather in his turban
He embraced me and the trumpet went amok with melodious sounds
These I've always desired - a titular prince
Worthy of all admiration in the whole of the five emirates
The moistened meadow of my heart
dries desolate like a desert.
The climbing cloud of parched passion
doesn’t come low with the mystique shadow,
makes my overcast mind morose.
My halcyon horizon waits
for the southern wind to blow,
brings from the fervent sparkling sky
your sequined charisma below
to swathe my shades of blues.
In the surge of sequestered sandstorm
my derelict desire drifts away
from the anchorless dunes of the desert.
If you turn into an emerald tree
in the far away fawn forest,
the baroque boughs would reach out
to the seraphic sky of desire.
For a while in their soothing shade
I would like to repose,
hear the song the leaves sing
with the dainty drops of dancing rain.
In titular template of loneliness,
the spaced-out ethereal melody,
the dreamy transient tranquility
of the beginning gets energized
in the million steps I walk for you,
setting free the agonized heart
that quivers the wilderness willows.
The configuration of the unyielding essence
repudiates the catharsis reprisal.
I find a place at the edge of your taciturn time,
and sense the sound of silence.
As all the dreams blaze in an inferno,
I breathe the smoke of the ashen memory,
silently float in the nothingness sky.
In the space between the slices of my heart,
where the frail feelings get frozen,
the design of desolation is intertwined
with the splinters of shapeless icons of desire.
They fly away in the trajectory of silent longing.
Fumigate the neglected rooms of Caleb,
Backing this up with prayers at Mount Horeb
And tomorrow, another ever wavy web
From an irksome zeal that wouldn’t ebb!
Guess: from the Eight – Legged Catcher of Insect
Which dares to its lodge near and inspect.
The Arachnid with a True Architect’s mind
Never by civil engineers judged behind;
Often swiftly replacing their cherished structures
Immodestly pulled down by no-nonsense cleaner:
A painless recreation of the thread-like mixtures,
At long last emerging their destroyer’s winner.
The spider’s masterful labyrinth – a dazzle
The all-time brain-teasing cobweb and puzzle
Its rating on scale, second to The Ant
When it gets busy, still would not pant…
But watch it: A Harbinger of Vexations Nightmare
For the weary one now running the sleeps-race
A sound slumber by ninety percent rare,
If the spider should decide to face a glazed face:
Satan’s snake I saw lose its life to Tarantula
The kingly Spider with a hairiness that is titular.
The cup-bearer of whodunit The titular bat jump scare Lurching into sight at the last moment This tall man opening the door, Beware A part that takes a whole, Who dares Do you really know, what Is under Alfred’s coat Maybe the smell of a musty grave, you can trust Like an Emerald for Gramps, a witch’s tomorrow unquote The will looms and doom creeps as they are all a bust Could it have been the reigning Renfield lost in the eye, Of an old dark house, where shadows smile like the cat, That ate the canary and the breathless knife thrusted blind Your last words jeepers creepers mingled with blood splat
DEMOCRAPS AND REPUBLICANTS
Admittedly I am one creatively crazy cat
And people everywhere better take note
I ain’t no Republican nor am I a democrat
And I don’t see any reason for me to vote
Listen people, politics are a plague perceived of by desperate men
Folks who sold themselves out for a few sheckles or less
And I must confess Jefferson and Franklin, quite frankly, were all f*cked up
They dictated this declaration that declares us free to pursue our independence
But in the parenthesis they lasciviously limit our liberties
Then there are those conventions that follow conventions conceived of by fools
And I’d appreciate it if someone could explain their rules
Because conventions are circuitous circuses minus three rings and decorum
They do, however, contain clowns that pour out of tiny little cars
And reveal the scars of a sick society
They are forums for a faction of felonious freaks who foist foolishness on those fools in places like Philly
As they run around willy nilly casting votes like a fishing rod aimed at a pitiful pond
Well there ain’t no flounder in Philly or elsewhere as far as I am concerned
While I have been more than twice burned
And methinks that the fishing really stinks
While their constituents constitute a confusing array of idiots who idealize con-artists
Men and women who treat candidates like Hollywood stars
Well if you ask me, Jennifer Anniston would make a pretty good prez
Says me
She’s got the curves for congress, the sexiness for the senate
And tempting t*ts that would make her perfect for a titular head of state
Now, have I stated my case to your satisfaction?
So you can stand in line to vote for one of these ass h*les
As for me I’d rather vote for Jennifer or someone of her kind
I’m sick of your Clintons, Kerrys and Bobby Doles
And take it for the Gospel as preached by the undersigned
© 2012….copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
This teetotaler turns to tea
torquing temptation
towards tippling
thankfully, though
that tremendous tugging
teasing tendency thirst trumped,
thru teaching this totally tubular
toothless titular Texan thuggish tyrant
(titled Tsar Terry Troutman)
transcendental theology
tenets taught transferring
torpedoing, taming threatening
titanic tsunami tempest
tastefully tickling temperance
testing trying taut tenacity
together teaming (troika)
triumvirate torchbearers
transsexual therapist
(Tony the tiger)
tough trailblazer theoretician
toady treacly Tory
(Tommy Two Tone),
thence thirdly Theodore
"Tornado" Tornetta)
themselves trained to tamp
twerking tremens triggers,
their tripartite treatment told
tattooing thorny transforming
took this then truant teenage turtle
through time traveling
to those truant tumultuous tragic,
toxic, tipsy twitchy, touchy, tetchy
typhoon terrible two times two
times two times two tantrum
throwing, thieving, threatening
taxing textured teen tinder times -
tossing, tilting, taking tankful tolled
throaty, thoroughly,
thickly telltale temblor
toured terrible tournament
testing taupe tumbling termagant (Thaddeus)
tangling (Tangoing) tiny Timothy,
the treacherous tarantula
tying tussling travail – tata!
Irreplaceable!
This world that I know of, is, - 'the family's' living room,
visitors, weaving fabrics of many designs in this loom!
Generations searched, yet - still unaware 'where from'!
But, established a relationship and a working decorum!
Every equation made in, been reproduced or morphed,
every working dimension thence, replaced or swapped!
All of it is just titular, that has to move-on and change,
from moment to moment in time, but, that ain't strange!
Environment rolls-on, all over playing perfunctory a role,
inducing circumstances, staving us - off from our goal!
Mind incessantly vying, measure-up for one's relevance,
forming opinions, judgements, ever claiming prominence!
Change is constant, in all animate and inanimate forms,
transforming all and sundry, the most basic of all norms!
Nothing and no one can ever be exempted from this code,
delve deep-in to realise - its a commonly travelled road!
Seers looked around for and searched, in ways accessible,
looking for something or that someone, ever, 'irreplaceable'!
Gleaned, it is not about the world that's 'visible and invisible'!
but, the noumenal presence to look for, almost untraceable!
Raise questions obversely beyond, about time and space,
transcending our temporal, the mind and intellect's chase!
Thinking, not on 'the thought' or about 'the physical thinker',
transfix thyself on 'urge', the one that prompts 'the thinker'!
Going past layers after layers with a single minded focus,
you will stumble upon 'I' - 'the Self' amidst all as one locus!
In a trance, enthralled in an all encompassing bliss 'n' joy,
discover 'That' - 'the Irreplaceable', an epicentre of all ploy!
The titular template of loneliness,
the spaced out unbeating ethereal melody,
the dreamy quiet beginning energized
in the million steps you walk,
setting free the agonized heart
that quivers like the wilderness willow.
The outline of the unyielding essence
repudiates the catharsis reprisal,
you find a place at the edge of time,
and sense the sound of silence.
All the dreams blaze in an inferno,
you breathe the ashes of smoky memory,
whisper hollow words to the amorphous air,
for you’ve nothing more to say,
and silently float in the empty sky.
The space between the slices of soul,
where the frail feelings get frozen,
the lattice of desolation is configured
by the splinters of shapeless images of desire,
as they fly away in a silent way.
Australian Rockers
Sydney boys
Man could they Rock
In Whole Lotta Rosie's Eyes
But one member
Was the glint in her eye
The singer, Bon Scott
Rock n Roll ride
Their rhythm of love
Was the best he said
This titular woman
Rocked in bed
Her curved frame
Drove him to sing
42" - 39" - 56"
To commemorate their fling
She weighed in at nineteen stone
Bon the king, was her throne
The joy she brought, to the Australian Scot
Led him to write the lyrics sex taught
Let there be Rock
Where the track is from
Is AC/DC's anthem
Guitar so strong
What ever happened to this Rosie girl
Music history in the Rocker world
No longer we have Bon from Kirriemuir
I missed the chance, when they toured
But this awesome band
Nearly all Scottish born
True Rockers in any form
And about this track
For this poem i write
Rosie and Bon
Good night
" written for Michele Nold-Godleske contest Music to your Pen "
and i thank you for the opportunity, Ty AC/DC
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/music.php
Don Ask Me 'Bout Exacerbation Of Trumpeted "FAKE" News
The prez best get sent packing
to Lake woebegone
forced to coexist amidst University
of Pennsylvania Dutch
men in breaches
(May Apple lie)
swampy netherlands awash
with bipedal hominid
sucker pun ching leaches
where within every
whirled wide webbed
nook and cranny
Nietzscheism reaches,
and survival of fittest
iz basic credo,
and dogmatic ethos,
analogous to an apprentice teaches
a most frightful distortion of facts,
and make up mistruths
indiscriminately bandied about
said alarmist blatant LIES
blithely stated with dangerous clout
appearing oblivious and totally
clueless without a doubt
punctuating with doubt Thomas
pettifogging questionable details
FALSE exclamations
generating fear with mindless
ignorance exaggerating protocols
as he doth emphatically flout
begetting, engendering,
and inflicting emotional gout
nothing accomplished by
hash tagging him a "LOUT"
and more opprobrious affect
would ensue anew
undeservedly praising him,
whose animus toward
Democrats would brew
but no matter what (tick)
tack toe taken,
he got nary a clue
about vital issues,
which lack of insight
even Scoobie Doo
would agree, heck the Americans
may as well install an emu
with more positive
forthcoming results,
cuz dis dope head like hellacious,
ludicrous, pernicious evils
in Pandora's box flew
his every actions
destroying essential glue
that sets this country apart
approximating Democracy, where hue
mans comprise melting pot,
whether Eskimos in their
(fast melting) igloo
gentile, heathen, or Jew
experience limitless
pasta billet teas
applying their new
dill (aptitude) reaching
titular status of parvenu
especially trumping proper, "P's"
and most every "Q."
You, Anne Sexton-
Why are you here? Don't you know
that my passion's run dry?
I take in your craft
like another addiction;
I give you- poetess- a run
through my veins. Yet it's
all too often my image I see,
my thoughts by your hand, heart
nailed to your words.
Why, Anne Sexton-
on page 153- are you
wearing my mother's image and name?
You're astonishingly,
achingly all too familiar;
the titular mother's got nothing on you.
And when I'm undone
in my mind's dusty corner,
Is that you- Anne Sexton-
teetering posthumously on my windowsill?
Fealty's door was satin stained
Durable wood pulped from reliable strain
With blithe trim and decadent frills overlain
Lofty mantle Love's precedence to ordain
Interior with taut, strong fibers ingrain
Golden chain to seal our matrimonial domain
O'er time, your jaundiced mind did abstain
The frilly vows from the lacquered surface drain
The bonding fibers your incontinence could not restrain
Crown molding shrouding romance cankered with disdain
Titular mantle with self-serving goals rent in twain
In unrepentant rage, severed Oath's melding chain