Best Transpiring Poems
Each one a universe unmapped
beneath a frail façade of skin,
a globe, where the value hides,
not on the surface, but within.
Sometimes glimpses are discerned
on the face or in the eyes,
glimmers of what is transpiring
beneath the thin disguise:
a marvel of complexity,
surprise and mystery,
a mapping of the future,
an encyclopedic history,
lands to explore and conquer,
genetic fortunes to unwind,
a human vista unique and rare
by God's own hand designed.
To traverse emotion's vast terrain
great is the heart's capacity,
but handle with care the souls you meet;
each has its own fragility.
Copyright, December 9, 2017
Faye Lanham Gibson
From buckwheat bloom to goldcup flower,
From my sill of shade, to your wealthy dower,
The junctures, the times, we came upon together.
Now these goldcups, finally had color.
Transpiring your truths, I tally a noble four,
And they, are like roses in the moor.
For you, there'll be no more crying.
For you, I can go on, thriving.
Your pansies in the yard, choired to sing,
And clover clads, don't serve the deceased.
But shuns us away, from the vile who surmised,
And tying our knot with the glories of morning.
The flag of my disposition, compels to insist.
And my body's static, begging to persist.
'Till you took the first step, willing to assist.
Over day, overmorrow,
Wherever you may go, I would eagerly follow.
Since you made me one, when I was an aeolist.
If the Almighty may endorse, I certainly would,
I'd hold your hand, reminiscing what zinnias could,
I'd squire you round the gay meads, laden with gold,
As we turn to eye the darkness we left behind.
Pondering, juxtaposed in our lore,
On the patches of green, where we once tread before.
I love all the roads we will walk together.
I love all the sceneries we will witness together.
All the questions we will shyly ask each other,
And all the answers to them in every moment.
So I pray, that He won't take you from me
'till death clads us together,
Forever, in our Eden.
Transpiring for tranquility,
For that loving long embrace…
Once again, I look away from my existence
And meet your precious gaze
Of whom do we owe our lives, our hearts, our time?
To the one who has died, or the one that dies yet still, for you..?
I ignore the moments of pleasure so trivial in blinded eyes,
To focus my awareness of your bleeding cadence
I see the fury of jealousy riding on the outlines of your jaw
The tension in your frown, the pain in your still, genuine smile
Your face becomes soft in my presence, though from a distance,
You are terminally coarse
You are breaking, awakening by the frenzy of my love,
Crying so darkly for my mind to comprehend your doomed destiny
And in spurts of silver moments,
I do see you,
In all pools of blood and tears,
Mixing with all of the familiar hesitancies and fears
I am fighting now, to push away the useless light of the ignorant multitude
Parting from their detached arrays, into your sweet supple gaze
Where freely the tears fall upon my breast,
Tortuous, the pulse begs merciless against my chest
Your pupils enlarge, rivaling the world in my stare
Perspiring peace glistening in our blend
We realize in this union we owe each other nothing
For we have died together, loved freely, and lived
To suffer again no more
-For Justin Bordner's "The Crosses In Your Eyes" Contest-
One hand
One hand can lift the spirits of another
Held together when spirits are low
One hand does not need to speak
For it has the power to communicate silently.
The comfort of the transpiring care is extended
Fulfilling ones needs to regain feeling of wellness
Reaching out to the other hand becomes a gift
Such a gift cannot be held, only felt.
Even the dead reject this blasted earth.
The ground, such as it is,
Is freshly Antidiluvean,
The corpses swim within its tumbled, heaving masses
Blood and mud the mortar
Holding the chaos together.
The sun is weak,
Ashamed to break the haze
To bring to light the obscenities transpiring here.
The whistles blow
The troglodytes emerge
From their respective holes,
Staggering towards one another
Through watery craters
Over the mincemeat of comrades
To add themselves to the swimming sacrifice
Constantly on offer
To the insatiable, sole diety of this place,
The Mud-God, Futility.
They are men no more,
Those who struggle 'neath
The leaden skies
The wan sun
Of the sodden moonscape
That is Passchendale.
They are only raging beasts
Trading pain for pain,
All trace of cause or reason
Lost in the maelstrom of their collective misery -
The only escape
Is to slay and to be slain;
To join the bitter shades
Ascending with the fog and smoke
Through the wall of cloud above,
To vanish into the icy deeps
Among the far, impassive stars.
It is from my thoughts you have come
It is from within sensation that you have become
Yet…It is I who feels brought, it is I who is befalling,
Transpiring into what is beyond sentiment
Grasped in your presence, that in form is
A cloverleaf, an intersection of all
Realities and chimeras
Yet…In feeling, it is the winter, summer, autumn
And spring that season my years
Imane… afar the distances I yearn to reach, upon
The horizons of your outlying skies…
Shall we meet one day?
Or is it only the tip of my pen that foresees?
I shall only linger…upon these many pages
-Imane: An Arabic female given name which means Faith; Pronounced (E.man).
-Imane is the main character of a novel I happen to be writing. I have never been in such
marvelous experience before :)
Just the sight of you,
Out of the corner of my eye,
Makes my mouth unbelievably watery.
The way you look back at me,
as a gaze at you,
gives me unbelievable chills.
Chills that provide my imagination with all types of thrills.
Thrills Just awaiting me, awaiting the passionate love we share
With just that simple kiss, touch, and a smile
that once one takes that transpiring bite.
Under the dim light, I can see the faint outline of every curve,
That sweetly outlines your shape that continually keep my eyes in awe so that
I can’t draw my eyes from your Light brown complexion.
Then slowly you persuade me to help you,
Help you take off your sheer layering slowly and carefully.
As I assist in the games that, this beauty has possessed me to play,
I begin to become consumed with the most pleasant and mind easing scent,
The scent of sweet glaze and butter and light cinnamon that drives me wild,
However I regain control and realize the work at hand,
Finally once I have you naked and revealed to my eyes,
I begin to take you into my mouth and take in that wonderful,
Mind blowing sweetness that takes me under every single time
I get the opportunity to place you in my mouth.
And I will wait till next time, until I see you out the corner of my eye,
And invite me to come take all of you into my sense to enjoy that sweetness,
That you always have to offer me and that only you can provide
That I always desire to have.
Oh how I love my honey bun.
You complain of losing guys
To the transpiring battle of a pervert
When it seems you lost something besides your dignity
And they're dangling out of your shirt
Sorry to be so blunt
But I'm sick of this game
Cursing guys for wandering eyes
When they're not always to blame
Now I know they're still some
Where being a pervert is all he'll know
But atleast we could separate the good and bad
When you decide to put on some clothes
And its not just perversity
That gives guys a bad rap
But dealing with their everyday struggles
While putting up with all our drama and crap
How about when guys think about being the best
He is considered a pig and sexist
But if girls think of superiority
She's defined stronger than royalty
So nag as much as you want
Cause you're right, chivalry is dead
We murdered it!
The lamps malignant overhead transpire
steel to stars, and I
floating over silver highway, am
transpiring dreams
to cars, expectations
passing fast into the horizon.
Tell me, do these dreams die?
Does that which seems so living,
fold over settling
into smoke,
or become a supernova,
a host
of a new neuroses-
the black mouth of poems.
Voluptuous with thick thighs, plump or plus size.
Thicker than a snicker, yes she’s the bigger picture.
There’s no way to describe with unaccepting eyes,
A body made perfectly ample to handle.
She’s unapologetic and makes no disguise to hide,
Her rubbing thighs walking with head held high.
So who reflects on her stomach being a tad bit overly comprehensive?
She’s not a Q-tip or a toothpick, but rather an hourglass containing more sand.
Physically she’s what society has deemed obese, fat, a blemish to beauty from
a televised social point of view.
Though you will never see her grace the cover of Vogue, or Cosmopolitan,
She’s the modern day Osun.
No longer will I allow her to be ashamed of self, but rather I’ll encourage her,
Wealth of self-worth.
A pretty face is only the beginning, sweetheart love the handles you wear, for your
image was derived from the mind of the creator of humanity.
Whether the expression used is plus size or curvy, love the skin you’re in, be yourself
don’t let the world dictate your shape.
Because you’re the goddess in someone’s dream, transpiring reality.
Curvy Ideal!
Do you know what you’re inspiring?
Awakening a dormant soul,
to witness this is so exhilarating;
Epidemic of peace transpiring
built stronger by a single goal;
Do you know what you’re inspiring?
A new world just starts opening
with the collapse of a stone wall;
To witness this is so exhilarating;
Just a nudge and it starts growing
a contagion out of control;
Do you know what you’re inspiring?
That it was quiet? So appalling;
Transformation’s worth the gamble;
To witness this is so exhilarating;
A star’s birth so captivating,
this broken smile has become whole;
Do you know what you’re inspiring?
To witness this is so exhilarating.
I see an angry country that is ready to explode,
And if things don’t change it will happen and not much further down the road.
I see a country that is not willing to give up its values and dreams,
A country so tired of lies and politicians and their low handed schemes.
I see a country that has had life good much too long,
I see a country that is angry and that is ready to right so many wrongs.
When I talk to a neighbor or I talk to a friend,
The conversation always comes up about the way things are going and how they have got to end.
There are many who think they are trying to lead us like sheep,
They don’t want us to think or to make so much as a peep.
We’ve had our T.E.A. parties and we’ve marched in the streets,
But it hasn’t effected those in Washington they march to a different beat.
I think it’s time they get, what the rest of us get,
And no more special privileges will we permit.
If they don’t do the job they were sent there to do,
Then hand them a pink slip, if they don’t want to be a voice for me and for you.
And one term limits ought to be enough time to get their ideas across,
Any more time than that, they might start growing moss.
And what about honesty and integrity does it have different values for them than it has
for you and me .
I don’t think Washington, Jefferson, or even Lincoln would approve if they were alive to see.
The things that are transpiring in this country, the Land of Sweet Liberty, the Home of
the Free.
Are ways to manipulate good people like you and me.
This country has had a rash of set backs as of late,
And if we don’t start paying better attention and voicing our concerns, then we are
liable to wind up with nothing to put on our plate.
I firmly believe that we as a nation stand up and glorify Gods name above all else
forever more,
So that His almighty grace will spread across our land from shore to shore.
God has not turned His back on us, we were the ones that walked away,
And I pray to the almighty God that He forgives us this very day.
I wish for an end to come
A welcome I spoke; untrue now
The progress of time, showing me pain
Saved me than, to severe me again
An arid mind, pleading for lines to flow.
Upon entrance, my improbable dream tempted reality
My artistry had granted me a title, of weight
Dragging me down, before a rise begun
A love that fluctuated, had become so dear
Belonging had I found, as a poet in the world.
Almost quit had I, before my words were fully fledged
At the mention of poetry, I had deigned to deny the ink
A fear of being deemed feminine, had taunted my being
My stanzas had become a guilty pleasure, I could not resist
Years transpiring, before guilt became pride.
My heart had been afforded a source of release
I had been gifted a talent, to be honed
Appreciation was not a given, but had grown
A time of need, was announced with hope
Depression I could not part with, but a reprieve I had found.
Weeks into the year, and my footing I had lost
The joyous monotony of writing had found absence
My life had worn to a thread - a noose was seen an escape
Will myself I could not, without another try
A last attempt, reviving an unconscious passion.
In our Hearts Burn…A Love of God and Country which, through it all, has not diminished! We Press on, Amen!
There comes a time when…we…
must pause to diligently survey
our history...
When, at a place of reflection…we…
walk back through…fields…of what
used to be.
This must be done to comprehend fully
what is transpiring within
our nation now...
As we witness...poisons...of the past
come...trickling down those festered…
sickened boughs!
Exposed, are those hidden hearts…filled
with the...blind stench and rancor
of yesterday
The evidence is so clear that we...still
make our journey amidst racism’s
biting sway!
However, we cannot be discouraged, whereby
our country’s watching enemies…enter in…
seeking to gain control …
No! we’re mandated to put our Trust in God
through whom our ultimate victory
will, surely, unfold.
Thus, when our weary souls and minds
are sorely tested with our faith hunted…
to be…sifted
We must rely on Our Creator's Guidance
ignoring…the gnawing call for vengeance…
with prayers and songs of hope…ever lifted!
Indeed, by strength from above...
perseverance is undoubtedly ours...
regardless all the injustices and, yes…the pain!
For remember, this be...Our Beloved Homeland...
saturated with our...Revered Predecessor's Mortal Heritage
thus, as we Raise Our Banner High, Our Love…Remains!
Psalm 27