Best Transgress Poems
Flowers of the Curious Mind
Sent were flowers of the curious mind
following echoes of Cantu's muse
No curses , words grossly unkind
insults hidden deeply in clever ruse
Dare not stab sweet music of mortal man
with deeds sordidly played tho' sweet
Transgress not Nature's surviving plan
with arrogant contempt born of defeat
Embrace life's melody as a lost friend
dancing within it's tune so fine
Live, live gloriously until life's end
drink, drink richly of it's finest wine!
05-24-2014
Inertia makes a monster of my
Self
I'm insatiable for making a
Progress.
Move, don't just tell yourself
You will.
Set the rules, then transgress.
The rebel inside of you deserves
Respect.
You're what you eat, don't
Lick
Your wounds, turn up the heat
By a caress. Love the self-contained
Monster you possess.
Let it off its leash and you'll feel
How it surges in your breast.
It's no place for old men
There is no case without offence
Commitment without intense
Embrace
Is a senile pretence.
To feign
Amusement shows lack of respect
For your own self.
Be a rebel, even an iron fist in a velvet
Glove is more wanted
Than just a silly old brat.
Awareness of the
Inertia makes a monster of my Self
If it didn't I would be suffocating
In a senile caress of my soul's
Protest.
Life transmutes the mind into
A monster who fights against mind's
Recess.
Their days are very much the same
Like soldiers marching to the drum
The cadence of the ticking clock
Marking time as each day passes
They wrap themselves in memories
Replayed like notes of a well known song
Steps slowed by the weight of years
Their candles growing short
We look at them but do not see
We listen without hearing
They are but shadows in our minds
Close but yet so distant
But if we were to look inside
We would find ourselves
Sharing needs that transgress age
And values that are timeless
They are the you of days gone by
Their life then still in bloom
The taste and thrill of love and life
Now just footprints on their hearts
And as their many seasons grow
And their autumn becomes winter
Who will mourn and say goodbye
When their soul meets its tomorrow
Inspired by volunteering at a nursing home and watching the deterioration of body and mind.
If I have to poetry see and define
My words would shrink and stop to ink
My thoughts would be unable to align
And in confusion I would rather sink..
Visions in words would learn how to speak
Words marvellously moulded by a wordsmith
Far reaching charm a poet would constantly seek
Unique gems adeptly crafted by a goldsmith..
It’s the power to paint and portray
Compose a tune.. an ambient so rare
An art gallery, a rich tapestry to display
Masters of words of sublime flair..
Much more.. the magic of poetry
The soul of verse can one acquire?
Abc’s and rules.. suffice to pen poesy!
Who grants the gift of Muse and the grace to inspire?
On the mystery of poetry I still ponder
Poets and their feeding Muse hearts impress
Their path of no sand or end would wander
What is predictable willing to transgress..
Fill your glossaries beyond lands and seas
Empty the wealth of your mine into sieves
Precious pearls of rare beauty you receive
Stir souls while telling stories before you leave..
The heart is a language
of feelings, the mind a
language of wordy debate
let my heart transgress
always lead my poetic fate --
let the spaces between
suggest so little as mere that,
this, and such
but never clearly
too much –
through the
blessed fog of creation I will
bravely be led, the language
of poetry, a wild predator, always
in pursuit, dangerously un-fed
let my erratic emotion
cause composition commotion,
let me fearlessly scribe works
both soothing and those irritating
needing lotion
let poetry be my prayer as well
my devotion...so God please
delay my heaven-bound hearse
till I have penned, to take with me,
a sh't-load of pungent verse!
A touch of grace upon the face of the earth is what she is, this
Bacchus of sweet ecstasy that resides within us strong and true
Cheek of the Gods, amulet of power she pulses through us with
Dulcet lights ingratiating the mind and heart like a warrior of old
Echoes of past lives transgress silently as the pure essence of her
Flashes before our eyes, suggesting that we strive to live a stoic life
Garlands of gold precious as honey, ribbon through like the sun
Heartbeats pulse with motion and it feels like a thousand butterflies
Immaterial part of our living experience she is often mistreated
Jam packed with survival moments rough as diamonds un-tumbled
Karmic turns of the sacred wheel she turns us around each time
Love and love alone exists here, a litigating lioness, she owns a
Mothering instinct and a fathers protective incline, because
No other part of our bodies can do what she does, she brings
Oneness to that inner world, she thrives on meditative states
Pleasing the senses more thoroughly than any earthly pleasure can
Queen of the night, she contains more light within than a Sirius star
Review her as you would review the latest good film you saw,
Soulistic Beauty Of The Soul, ...that is what I'm talking about
Trust in the nature of all things that are good, no never quit for
Universal truths she will bring to you, if you search and find
Veer towards her light and bathe in her perfume dear one
Whilst God and the Angels rule the heavens, she rules you
Xebec sails flapping in the wind, remember to glide don't run
You only get once chance to get it right my friend, so live life
Zealously, in the face of adversity, ... use your soul power.
African-American and abusive, my late step-dad
was a reverse racist:
an army sergeant; a Vietnam vet; and, a backhand,
face-hitting sadist.
I once bemoaned that I was a white child
(as if it were my fault!?)
and that he was black and resentful of me.
So, once in reckless revolt
against his ongoing abuse,
I rebelled under my breath
and uttered the "n" word at him
(so he beat me nearly to death).
Bruised, I never uttered that word again;
then mom and he divorced
as I grew older (which freed us at last!):
now unrivaled (with no remorse),
I suddenly was the man of the house; and life
for us seemed less stormy.
For the first time in years we lived without abuse;
and, at last, we were a family.
Then I got religion and met God;
and gave myself to Christ.
It was the best thing I ever did!
Born again, I thus was sufficed.
So the scars of my step-dad's abuse which
for years I had repressed
began to heal and disappear; and so I became
less and less oppressed.
Now old, my erstwhile step-dad developed
advanced swelling of the lung;
I had not forgiven him yet (back when
I was still angry and young).
Not yet able to forgive him for the abuse that
made our lives so unbearably grim,
I nevertheless still realized that the weight
of still having hatred for him
was far worse than my pain. I recognized
that in life we all transgress
and come short of God's glory: so, moved by
His grace and forgiveness,
I made the right choice to forgive him;
for me a daily, ongoing process,
I at last began to let go of the anger
and truly begin to move past the mess
that was my step-dad's legacy to me. Also, I
began to forgive God;
for He was not to blame for him (whose own
father, too, did not spare the rod).
Still, tho' I had chosen to forgive (him) and let go,
he was unmoved and unchanged as ever:
but I, however, realized that what truly mattered
was that forgiveness set me free forever!
When at last he died, I had already completely
let go (so that he was forgiven).
Now I can only ask of God whether my step-dad
was changed from his glimpse of heaven?
PLIGHTS FOUGHT TOMORROW KNOWN
WRITTEN FOR DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR. HOLIDAY 2016 (Versified!)
As days transpires, better we focus.
As life transgress, better our voice.
A walk, a talk, a political aspect of religion and righteousness.
Via the Founding Fathers we separated church and state.
Socio-political and socio-religious are the floodgates.
As we remember, tears may drop,
Is it the strength we possess that ruminates us?
We overcame our struggles and we are abreast to our accomplishments.
We are the United States of North America.3
Analysis of our external environment let us know
that we are a strong workforce.
That we are no more separated by the color of our skin.
That our unity is our identity of different nations of human beings.
That our mien is our self-image of economy –
the” big picture” of demeanor.
When we falter, we recoup.
We do not assume we will fall from what others do.
We are the people of our regions that are vast and wide.
We are negotiators of our lives.2
As we celebrate today in our mind-sets,
we know what may overwhelm us.
This could be how far we have come.
Or, it could be how far we will continue to go -
to climb the mountains that we must peak -
to deplete human suffering from the illness we perceive.
That is what is known and all the possibilities.
We have witnessed many tragedies from the
time of formation to present day.
But oh, we can find glory just as well in our beliefs,
creeds, and unity.1
Envois is this discourse.
Pro-activism edifice verbalized.
But to no idiom this loll.
We are all part of the same universe.
Each has his or her role to play.
All are formidable when the goal is stated.
May one be easier than the other?
May we strive to be a part of the same country?
Where we are awe-inspiring but together.
That is on the same page.
Where our lives are the similarity, and the same is our home front.
This is right outside our front door.4
The plight is fought and tomorrow is known!5
_____________________________________________________________|
Written January 16, 2016!
W as it just yesterday when
I found a vestibule
R ight next to my goals
E lse something is wrong, which brings
D elineation of a moral code!
I would set the world afire with political desire to achieve and to aspire.
I am going to be a political activist on women rights.
I have step-to-the-cause to claim ownership of my rights.
I am a political powerhouse not to deny.
I have Thunderclap and no response transgress.
Now the world I am within is in a doctrinal arrest.
Transmutation has taken place to transpire social injustice.
Transformation becomes work ethics.
The solidification of a soul is a sensation inner cored
Underlying posture of strength positioned to win.
Bearing the cargoes of a ship those encumbrances of conspiracy,
Insofar, I am the scent of my soul.
Therefore, I am a cannon passing through time not afraid to live for what is right.
____________________________________|
Penned on October 12, 2014 @ 12:11 AM EST!
When Jesus walked to Calvary,
He fell many times along the way,
His heavy load caused Him to stumble,
Are we too proud to be so humble?
Our life is our walk to Calvary,
We also will fall along the way,
Our load is worry, fear and hate,
Do we deserve to reach the Golden Gate?
All His life Jesus did nought but good,
We would do the same if only we could,
If only we could embrace His way,
Our faith would grow stronger each passing day.
For forty days in the wilderness,
Satan watched to see Him transgress,
He never did, to His Father he was true,
Oh; this could happen to me and to you.
God loves us so much, that He gave up His son,
Who died for us in a terrible way,
Our sins, on His back, he bore that day,
God couldn't watch, He turned away.
Jesus died and was laid in a tomb of stone,
For three days, but not alone,did He lay
Angels watched o'er Him day and night
On the third day the stone was rolled away.
Jesus was risen on that Easter morn'
His grave clothes were left for all to see,
Death was defeated and Satan cried,
I have been beaten, my prize denied.
What Jesus did all those centuries past,
Was to set us free from his clutches at last.
Now we can live our lives the Jesus way,
The Cross stands forever, pointing the way.
Now, Satan can test us, try all he might,
But Jesus protects us, both day and night,
Satan will always be there on our shoulder,
But Jesus' love just makes us bolder.
I don't know about you, but as for me,
I'll take my walk to Calvary,
I'll bear the scars of Satan's attack,
But I'll be ready when Jesus comes back.
© Dave Timperley 2012
Come, come and find me in my solitude
You shall see the hidden facet of this girl so prude
You shall see the real me
The wild side which I keep repressed for the sake of societal civility
Pray, the real me is sensual
Yes, the real me relishes the physical, the carnal
The real me thrives there where there is feminine freedom
Freedom, exquisite and intense without ever fearing of being fallen!
The real me is broken
Yes, the real me is lost in a mirage
A mirage which would never be put into usage
A mirage which caused my heart to be sunken
The real me, then, is empty
Devoid of emotions for the lot of humanity
Even if I do keep writing of philanthropic poetry
Why, the real me is void, too busy swirling in emotional misery
The real me is a half human girl with magical powers
The real me can fly, can turn into mythical creatures
The real me can even bid life to go as she does will
The real me is good in mystery and skilled as well!
The real me is so orthodox,
To the extent of celebrating purity
To the extent of denigrating the loss of morality
The real me hates that which causes one to be sinful!
The real me relishes the mystery of life
The real me thirsts for death
For the real me is bent on faith
Faith which promises of other realms, of that God, bold and handsome!
The real me yearns for more of mystical love
Yes, for love which can transgress Earth and the celestials
The real me is and shall remain a mystery for humankind
For eons and eons to come!
The real me, then, is a solo Queen
Soft, sensitive, gentle and at times, so mean
The real me can hurt and kill for that which I believe in
The real me, though, abides by Truth!
Why, the real me is who I am in my solitude
The real me is deep and wild, so different from the side so prude
That I do show to the world
Yes, the real me is always in ecstasy with my own being!
The real me is complex and complicated
The real me is two faced, two sided
The real me is hard to be demystified
The real me, though, is, for the sake of being!
Pandora, Oh Pandora, you're to blame
Man's avarice has doomed us, one and all
So blatantly we covet without shame
And turn our heads away, when beggars call.
In fact, it is a shared character flaw
For who among us here, desires less?
Do you feel like your portion is too small?
It's when we're wanting more, when we transgress.
Yet sharing the world's wealth would be a mess
For who decides, too much or not enough
and who decides a fast and fair process?
Those questions there alone, are more than tough
Who would not put their finger on the scale
While heads were turned 'cause someone hollereed, SALE.
by Daniel Turner
Spenserian sonnet
ABAB BCBC CDCD EE
The Mother Earth
The fountain of your profound love
Gushing out with presents and gifts
Showering bounties, its treasure trove
To all mankind your love drifts.
Your rivers and seas, forests and fields
Are full of provisions to banish hunger
You do not relent to meet our needs
You distinguish not between rich and poor
Your hidden treasures are not clueless for us
Your gold, silver, sapphires, diamonds
And precious pearls invite us to transgress
You serve us fruits, resins, cashews and almonds.
We owe our strength and courage to you.
Our bright eyes, our beauty and robust health
Are all your gifts to be honest and true
Your contribution is no less in amassing of wealth.
Your dazzling days and darkness of nights
Are skillfully designed for working and rest
Your changing seasons innovation invites
When dead our body enters your chest
But thankless we are, we deface you with tar
We cut your trees and raise jungles of concrete
Our wastes poison your rivers, seas and air
And thus havocs like tsunamis greet.
You meet all my wishes and desires
I want much more, I can’t shed temptations
My closets filled with diamonds and sapphires
And garments of every description and narrations
You gave me dazzling youth and power
To ease my travel there is petrol, coal and gas
For my fields and gardens you gave shower
Colorful flowers, bees, butterflies like dancing lass
You gave me power, strength and courage
To face tyrannies of anguish you made me bold and tough
To confront life you gave me every advantage
My body strong like hawk and heart filled with love
I am lying on your grass spread like a rug
My mother come, give me a hug
Sintra, Portugal 6-12-2012
This index finger of mine loves discothèques,
Amber sunsets, pretty faces from heaven, wanderlust hybrids & violets,
Those are just few of my fantasies surrounding me,
Now let’s share some of my secret language, the B-a Story!
That will entail no point of return,
Let the Herculean games begin,
My heart will wade with only dominics’ who are wired for this evening spree, Tetsuo”
That’s why I’m always losing my old brooms that make several detours & pit-stops,
So who am I?
I’m Bryan, the Bye! Bye! Butterfly with good enough wings,
Who is espoused to his career and talent for now!
But today is another day away from that,
Now let’s go spinning with what placates me on this amazing day,
Music alone placates me, because it wades me down to the river bank,
Regardless of any genre!
I listen to Rock music, Cause’ it’s the music for the Darby kids like my Sis #Liz!
I heed to Trance, Cause’ it uplifts my animal ecstasy,
Trance music alone makes me to transgress my 99 problems one less #DjProvocation!
Hip Hop is for us the wordsmith & my brother #Pak Seeker,
We Hip Hop fanatics, we are the G.O.A.T, 2Pac Lives.
Soul music melts my soul and spurs along my entire love to rest besides my violet,
So #Seal, shall you croon again that “Kiss from the rose”
For the love of my gad dam birthday!
R&B is my affectionate music genre for my precious Venus!
Dancehall & House music cloaks my club house with #Joan,
Dj Guetta & Dj Novelli can you please stamp my house party,
So that the electrons can mingle with atoms!
Tell the storm that this is my B-a Story.
T.m.TS ©BryanDePoet
Talents offspring, not ingress
nor decimate of soul's transgress
the effigy of heart's duress
is "silence" ~ without word's address!
So spreading, lose my worth's suggest?
Err not, the motive is repress,
my ear not beckoning regress
but waiting, listening, no recess!
The matters implementing stress
must not be heard, but felt, impress
if not the message, why am blest
to so maneuver crowd's ingest!
Disciples speaking, not conquest
the role of prophets so confess
that thought and feeling, give my best
the saving, instigate ~ no less~
So listening, with the heart's express
fields action, stemming from . . . . the test!