Best Trumpeted Poems
I saw a death shadow in the eyes of my infancy
a soft mercy with calm blue fancy,
in childhood, when free will asserted it's wild supremacy
we sang of star charriots and laughter loyal to hyperactivity,
I see a death shadow in the prime of my ascendancy
outlining my temple of truth, whistling thy words of wizardry,
I hear It like the madness of morning's ending,
I taste It as if from the burning breast milk of a Dragoness,
I see It in the bleeding smile of my heart's kindness,
I speak to It when love's luster unlocks the lunacy of loneliness,
I feel the humble shade of It's jade justice in a world hot and hustling,
My death shadow has a surface sweet with patient purpose,
It is not rough with forboding frost that frights the fight of flesh,
rattling the scythe of doom and cackling for cataleptic crisis it does not,
It is not a grim God or a greedy Goddess, no taxing terror trumpeted,
It has never been an angel of escape or a demon of dour delirium,
when suffering becomes a seduction of brute beauty I share in it's wise joy,
my death shadow follows the desperate yet disciplined form of my body battle
through life's plethora of coy poisons and possessive passions,
marching along side me with martial grace, sculpting my face with lion spirit -
J.A.B.
I played the flute for a rampaging elephant.
She hesitated, then flashed a forlorn tusk
and rambled on...
She trampled a greed-pocked society.
Gored its steel hook-wielding keeper.
and his forty-year reign of chained isolation.
Men with rifles arrived, experts at finalizing freedom.
It took 200 bullets, give or take, to bend her ancient knee.
She trumpeted to her kin, long ago marked for death...
Profits cut away from their gray mountain heads.
I played an Ivory flute for an angel elephant.
As she slid into the mist of a waterfall ascension.
It happened back in time, quite a long way,
Back in the day, as they today like to say:
An era when most donations to yeshivas** **Rabbinical academies, often
Didn't require much of a man's pay-- with a preparatory high school
$18, $36, $54 at the most--
If you gave $100, you could really boast...
Annual banquets were different, however,
Promotions for them being quite clever,
Promising 'Full-Page Ads,' 'Silver-Page' and even 'Gold,"
All for a relative pittance, truth be told:
For a $180, $250 or $360 fee
Your good name would be trumpeted constantly,
With great pomp, dignity and high pedigree.
As 'a mere teacher in a yeshiva,' my own ads
Were quite modest: $50 for a quarter-page,
To pen something brief, but sage
About the yeshiva I toiled for out of love, not a wage.
So one year, quite way back in the day,
Imagine my surprise, my happiness, my elation,
Then my CONCERN and my SHOCK!...
...When browsing the banquet adbook journal ad hoc,
Just to see if anyone had penned a kind word about me,
I came upon THREE ADS, "Thanking Mr. Wolf," all paid for in Gold,
For over a thousand dollars! they had been ANONYMOUSLY sold.
The blood drained from my face; I felt faint and quite dizzy.
The room swam in circles, my nerves on edge, in a tizzy.
I looked around in amazement; who might have done it?
I spotted the adbook's creater, the man who had run it.
"Far be it from me to reveal the secret," he intoned.
'I don't deserve such a great honor,' I felt in my bones.
In the days to come, I asked everyone in town,
Yet no one would admit that he had plunked down
$1,080 to sing my praises to the world of the yeshiva,
To pay tribute to me like some big star or great diva.
So I had to give up my crusade as 'Super-Sleuth,'
Had to graciously acknowledge what seemed to be the truth,
That the anonymous parents of one of my students
Had been sincerely thankful that I was teaching their youth.
Her birth was never trumpeted,
Nor caught any media headlines.
Born to Joachim in very ordinary settings,
Virgin Mary, the simplest of the simple,
Was specially chosen to perform a task divine.
As she grew up, she pledged to keep her body and soul,
Free of all blemish and stains of fleshly desires.
But in her teens, she was betrothed to Joseph,
Perhaps, part of a divine plan.
Did dreams come to nab her sleep, no one knows!
She found joy in prayer and absolute surrender to God.
Once when in silent communion with God,
Hearing the flap of wings overhead, she looked up.
Seeing the flash of blinding light in her dim lit room
She stood in dazzled astonishment,
Not knowing what was about to happen.
Before her, appeared a winged seraph.
A radiant silhouette with such gentleness n’ grace
Its hands raised in benediction,
Saluted Mary and said,
“Blessed art thou amongst women…
……………………………………
The rest she heard in a trance.
Unable to digest what was said,
The girl looked up nonplussed.
Again, it said, “The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee,
And a son shall be born of thee,
Whom you shall call Jesus.”
“How can this be”,
The question lingered but didn’t ask.
In that nanosecond of a new revelation
Did Mary’s world shatter like glassware?
Or did her virgin womb thrill with new life?
Did she swim in the waters of joyful tidings?
Or gyrate in the sweeping swirl of tidal waves?
For a girl already espoused to a man
In whose dreams his comely form had begun
Flitting in and out,
Was it a moment of silent ravishment?
Or of stupefied bewilderment
Did a dagger cut through her heart?
Or did her soul take wing in flight???
Without questioning,
She surrendered to the will of God,
Thereafter, never wavered nor bemused,
But readied herself for the great task.
Forever she remains a symbol of mercy and love.
Her immaculate grace is reflected on her radiant face.
Her lovely visage having greater beauty than any flower,
Emits sweet fragrance that perfumes our souls.
Remaining ever so pure with no trace of sin,
She is acclaimed by Christians all over the world,
As a symbol of unassailable purity and godly grace!
The Curach (currach) is a traditional Irish boat made from animal skins / hides (now canvass). The hides vibrate when a whale sings.
Whale Song
How gentle the waves lapped the boat almost bobbing me to sleep,
My liquid turquoise mattress with its secrets buried cold and deep.
A curious dolphin glided past, its snout smiled in its personal joke,
As it observed my ungainly presence, (this awkward land folk).
My man made curach of pitch, wood and canvass stretched taut.
As she masters the sea with courage to return the fish she caught.
Now as I lolled towards twilight a strange sensation vibrated the boat,
It hummed an angels tune that rippled the canvass, with a glorious note.
And there in the distance, a great humpback whale trumpeted the clear air
As I sat in heaven blessed company with nature, in the middle of nowhere.
The whale approached my flimsy craft with a natural grace that was serene
One of the most beautiful creatures that shares this wonderful marine.
And so the whale passed by with the gentlest disruption of space,
And I think it was amused when he saw the look on my face.
I sat there drained yet elated at this wonder I had shared
No camera or witness to observe the scene or to have cared
But I was there and my soul was touched like a child once again
To witness such beauty often befouled by the actions of men.
Now as I lolled towards twilight a strange sensation vibrated the boat,
It hummed an angels tune that rippled the canvass, with a glorious note.
As a nation, Malaysia is but a mere 28 million strong..
Diverse as she is, we as citizens sing together her national song...
Entitled Negara Ku or My Country, we all arise to pay homage as we sing...
With nationalism in our hearts, many a stellar citizen stands proudly...
Every time the song is trumpeted in any prize giving ceremony...
We are but a small country yet we all have big dreams...
How else can you explain our presence in the world stage ...
In Datuk Lee Chong Wei, the badminton world sees a supremo...
His skills and flair for his chosen game is second to no other..
His counterpart, Datuk Nicol Ann David, is just as stellar....
9 years of world status as number one in Woman Squash...
Her achievements eclipsed all other woman players in squash..
But what is this, what disaster brings upon us this latest atrocity...
Our democratically elected Prime Minister from the Razak family...
The venerated Najib Razak Prime Minister Elect and Finance Minister...
Voted and fingered in the whole of Asia as the worst finance minister ...
Decades of painstakingly brand building of the nation of Malaysia...
Many have witnessed how Malaysia emerged stronger in turbulent Asia..
After the ravages of the severe economic crisis back in the nineties ...
The colossal quagmire of an entity called 1MDB, touted as a sovereign fund...
On the back of government guarantees, it secured billions and billions in funds..
After many a mysterious and incomprehensible dealings and wheelings...
1MDB is now a hot potato under suspicion as a conduit for money laundering..
Worse still it is widely perceived to swindle a nation of her citizen's money...
And horrors, the financial minister may have ill gotten gains in his accounts...
With a 50billion deficit and counting , 1MDB is set to be a colossal disaster....
Who is that Finance Minister? He has to be the worst in the whole of Asia!!!
http://malaysiansmustknowthetruth.blogspot.my/2016/05/malaysias-prime-minister-najib-razak.html
An Opinion
Does "old age" have its own rewards?
I have reached a point in my life when
I am inclined to say: yes. Yes.
Often, old age is accompanied
by aches, in body and in mind.
Our youthful vigor is long gone.
We miss those no longer with us.
Age does not magically bestow
mythical "wisdom" as is trumpeted.
I am not very much wiser at 81
than I was at scarcely fourteen.
Somewhat slower on the uptake, I'm
no hungry sponge absorbing input
without loss of clarity or of comprehension.
Aged, I have hearing deficits, "mental fogging",
and don't control strange stray thoughts.
Even my delusions aren't as vivid.
This is due to hormonal changes as I age.
I'm greatly bothered by absence
of family, treasured friends...and lovers.
I mean all those I myself have loved,
platonically or otherwise. I do not tout
a rapid end to life. Despite discomfits,
it's much better to be alive --- save
for agonizing pain -- than to be
unrevivably dead. Living in others'
memories is poetic but isn't an
incentive for terminal departure.
I've listed my unpoetic opinion.
I encourage all: live life. Have no thought
or wish to speed its end. Nonexistence
is permanent, ever looming -- unavoidable.
Live and derive pleasure and some worth
from our unique (but very common) human
process of growth and aging. At all its stages
life's much more than paltry preparations for
an ending. We are lucky to be old, human, organically
still viable. Live with the intent to thrive!
A broken reed
Bleeding through the love pipes of social apartheid,
Got fixed after waging twenty seven logs of wood in
the iron woods of bars on him
Through his mouth,
The dumb trumpeted
And echoed, beating gongs
into the forested minds of men
in the distant woods
His retina sighted the blind
from obscurity of racisms
For a bullseye of the Morrow's pregnancies
So men sang a chorus
...Hail hail free Mandela
His skin wore shackles
His mind bore freedom
His speech spoke out chains
Unweaving the threads of apartheid
So men sang a chorus
...Hail hail free Mandela
Ode to Nelson Madiba Mandela's voice
of freedom
I love you better
than Cookies and Cream,
my lifelong favorite
more than seas playing footsies
with shore clams
in cuddly tropical sands
The warmth of enticing Caribbean
soothing waters
(billowy-sails...fields of overhead
stars...night's complicit fireflies
helping chart to a romantic cove
a beat-up heart seeking a paradise-like
new-start)
(a desire for tasteful, novel, cheerful effervescent
brew, a need to leave on the old dock past that settled for
impure bitters)
( navigate clear of thought defacing
apps like Facebook's and Twitter's
that falsely entice, tempt
a free-thinking, sacred spirit, to
express living solely on a mindless
uncaring device – not a true life, just a
wax slice
not abiding complete, but in fact,
manipulated into electronic defeat....)
Petals need firm attachment if to be
enticing blushing roses~ blooms for crinkly smiles,
puckering lips and playful toes-es –
Valentines of
perfumed hearts made of hand-laid,
lacy type paper, crafted by flirty eyes
in agreement with pheromone receptive
noses
A softly played harp...a bower of flowers...
Back lathering showers shared – which
requires a minimum of two daring
hearts...wantonly, lovingly paired –
Love is always trumpeted, openly, fondly, vociferously
musically declared....
Personal poignant passages pure
Odes, oddities, and opinions to opine
Essence of everyday evolution evokes
Truth and tales trumpeted to transcend
Repetition, rhyme; recollections revealed
Yammering and yearning till yarns are yielded
We Create…
Oh...and hello
to you, some hours past, I
returned from counseling,
(hence this boy yent -
albeit beastie boy
figuratively basking
in fading afterglow)
great kickstarter session,
countless moments ago,
sans treatment plan,
she facilitated emotional airflow
i.e. Stephanie Dodds,
(sat straight as an arrow)
whereat this client purged, avow
hid lee, his psycho
logical reflux backflow
(Matthew Scott Harris) did crow
as said professionally trained
medicine woman actively listened,
(no doubt other male patients
similar to yours truly entertained
(alignment with see
thing hormonal concurrence,
where ego super vies iz
Id dee hot - hook line, and sinker
attributed to Sigmund Freud,
who sired, midwifed, and fathered
psychoanalytic theories)
sexual kindled fantasies,
viz being bedfellow
this soul, hood doth not bellow,
but keeps mum
(during my allotted time),
yet willingly shares
with utter strangers
intimate gal olive
hunt ting fantasy,
that doth beshadow
obviously no intent to breach
such prurient thoughts, bestow
foolscap upon mine noggin,
and most definitely blow
future appointments
with aesthetically pleasing
(tomb maa cryptic) bowwow
wing hot diggity
dog inner primate, perhaps,
and not surprisingly get brow
beaten, where dire
erect tor of facility
wilt hell me
"go take a hike to
penile solitary bungalow,"
where all manner of
libidinous desires wanna burrow
(where warren peace
can thrive hare and now),
on par with rabbit - burr reader,
which confinement would
not principally peter out
till dawning transgression vetted,
and avered final cockrow
trumpeted, norte - til last cornrow
reaped, hence unable
to thwart counterblow
permanently, doth nada
different she hate
lustful zeal from eye
dims sum – genital fateful dayglow,
thence high lee
grant ting deathblow
to testosterone laden satiety,
randy proclivity, and
concupiscent adoration from
combine nation of #endow
ments to ghost of - Grant
yule leases eyebrow
raising candy cane upon fallow
da weeder foreshadow
wing sowing field of poetically
wet dreams plying fecund,
feminine, and fertile ground
godaddy on his gangplow.
Man Walks In Darkness
Sad excuse, not a plus
just ask Simon Cowell
Freedom found on a bus,
words of Colin Powell
Darkness and deceit, joined happily racing hand in hand
Death, destruction and misery follows war's pounding paths
Such cold-bloodied black that it tarnishes even the land
Encouraging follies from man's feeble, indignant wrath
Lies accepted as art
where educations lays
Those blinded do their part
in clouding sunny days.
World brings its hate and pains
hunger aches, no relief
Wicked births aching stains
living with no belief
Fear ye not, saving light sails forth when sincere pleas abound
destroying vast raging seas of poison and rancid brine
Even without heaven's sweetest angelic trumpeted sound
recoveries and miracles bring blessings very fine
Man will find lit paths true
shielded from temptations
His word reigns over you
Love's greatest sensations.
Robert J. Lindley, 5-19-2016
Syllables Per Line: 6 6 6 6 14 14 14 14 6 6 6 6
6 6 6 6 14 14 14 14 6 6 6 6
Total # Syllables: 208
Total # Lines: 25 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically: N/A
Total # Words: 136
Written in Peter Duggan's new form with slight deviance
made by author..
I hope that I may have done it some justice my friend.
Deep in the feathered woods, my ancestors wait
Ghostly haunting quite solace
Lighted forest of there paths connect
Soft light enters to sooth there souls
Celeste beings shelter there comings
My heart feels the sadness, they left behind
Each eagles wing dance the heart canto Hondo beat
Vesper be the broken promises long ago
Glazed palettes are beyond ones conscious
Effulgence shall be the forgiven of all angels
Each lost trumpeted blare with flames
The highest amber flute dances in the dawn
Her silence is over come with joy, wolfs soul
As the one who is chosen rises from depths of darkness
To reveal the ancestor rose
Emerald sea,Thru shared dreams time begins the lighted vessel journey
A man walked into a bar one night,
he was with a bear and an elephant
and they looked like they were spoiling for a fight
'Anyone got a problem with us?'
The man asked,
knowing, of course
no one in their right mind would dare raise a fuss
I mean, man, a bear's pretty scary,
but an elephant and a bear,
well, that's just huge, mean and hairy
They ordered three beers
and some peanuts and honey,
then began to loudly ask the other patrons
for large sums of money
The bartender got nervous and started to worry;
so he comped them their order, in quite a big hurry
They sat in a corner,
enjoying nervous glances from the crowd,
drinking and eating and laughing real loud
They told off-colour jokes about
girls, bees and mice
some jokes were so funny, they told the same one twice
The elephant was drinking his beer from a bucket,
when the bear tipped over the table and shouted
'Aw man, **** it'
'C'mon let's kick us some ass,
Elmer, cause you know that's what we came for!'
So they got up from their seats
and waddled over to the dancefloor
The bear took the lead, as he'd had several fewer
and, besides, the elephant looked like he'd just fell in the sewer
He wobbled a bit, but steadied himself with his trunk,
y'know, even an elephant needs assistance,
sometimes when he gets really drunk
The bear stood on his hind legs and raised himself to full height,
then he made like a boxer and asked 'Okay, who wants to fight?'
The people had panicked when they heard the bear swear,
now they jumped from their tables and ran for the door, on a tear
The bar quickly emptied as the people ran out
and the bear began to laugh,
shooting a shower of beer straight from his snout
The elephant trumpeted, he stomped and he shook,
he said to the bear, 'what a bunch of cowards.... was that all that it took?'
Soon, the bar was quite empty
except for the three,
going round to each table
and drinking what was left there, for free
So next time you're in a bar,
unless you're a bee, or maybe a mouse,
if you see a guy with a bear and an elephant,
you can bet they'll be having a round on the house
such heretics pitched headlong
into fiendish frothing furnace
forcing obeisance toward primitive popular
identified, honored, glorified father figure
expressing devotion re:
decking the halls of the mountain king,
whence boughs of Juniper sprigs contriving wreaths
sanctifying twisted brambles via springling angel dust
(actually cremated remains of malefactors
stripped of habiliments) during bleak winter
unwittingly interweaving nascent (futuristic)
formally codified bona fied religions
unknowingly, tacitly, silently rendering
quintessential premises obliging
layperson to foreswear locally rooted secular treatises
trounced, trumpeted unction voided
wishy washy antithetical blind faith coalescing edicts
over course of time became established
Greco-Roman imposed group think
disallowing cynics,
diametrically emerging fanatics, skeptics
who (if he/she did not recant
recalcitrant reccommended recourse
faced torture amidst throng of madding crowd
as entertainment and forewarning gall
asper those who held steadfast dissimilar views
taught since birth, when citizenry reared
as just a little drummer boy/ girl pipsqueak
taught to stay the course (sans straight and true)
bound without freedom to express contrary aspects
of ways and whyfores, which controlled each green day
and silent night, wherefore unimaginable ogres
lined straying hip cats
eventually ensnared within warpath,
whence law of the land lend scimitar to smite
any mortal man, woman or child with flaming torches
licking the heretical body electric,
while defiant individuals
left to burn into decimated
charcoal blackened, ashen corpse.