Best Turmoiled Poems
She walks with dreams, deep passions woo,
Into euphoric ambience of a moonlit night
Carrying sweet secret, so intimate and true,
Sprouting in her womb blossoms of delight.
Though they are together, he feels all alone,
Trapped in turbulence of memories unkind,
Nothing she can say would emotions atone
Grief of matrimony he chose to leave behind.
Agitating unspoken, dissonant pulse of strife
His turmoiled heartbeats now brutally amplify
Frightened by weary past to embrace a new-life
When spiteful bonds of yore earnestly decry.
She tries, yet decides, now is not the time
Waiting till moon and stars are so inclined
To witness with Venus, dear-moment sublime
And unveil the script that destiny designed.
Clenched clandestine vibes utter a soft sigh
As happily her stomach churns butterflies;
And, until next-time, she bids him goodbye,
When they’ll guess the color of baby’s eyes.
Vulnerable she feels now, how will he react:
Will he welcome baby, yet harp in the past?
Will he face with courage or opt to retract?
Convulsed, she shudders~ will this love last?
May 5, 2023
Placed 1st: Pick-A-Title, Vol 36 – Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
The greatest holiday gift I ever received
Goes back so many, many years
Before my life became turmoiled
And before my tears for fears
I was a child like many out there
Torn, strewn and split of kin
Mother and father in differences
Confused at seven, wearing their same skin
For I was one of the lucky ones
To a Highland Estate I would go
It's on the west coast of Scotland
Where my holidays desired me so
Secretly I internally smiled
For a whisper of where I was heading
To live with a movie star hero
No longer my life was in dreading
We were picked up by a man so fine
His manners were an absolute joy
Regimental he was in his approach
To me, just a seven year old boy
We travelled through the village of Plockton
Crystal clear waters edged to it's shore
I knew from this very moment
Being here ebbed previous family sores
On entering his house I was in awe
Movie pictures came to my view
They were images of James Bond
At seven I was totally through
A voice called to me
Hey James! sit down and I'll tell you me
Still in circles in walking awe
This is what he told thee
My name is Patrick Dalzel Job
In the Second World War I served
But this recognition I bestow
Humbles me to it's deserve
This honour that's been given
Was blessed by a colleague in war
What desired Ian Fleming to be so striven
Possibly, what we were fighting for
We served on the same destroyer
Fighting to make the future free
His tribute, in his novels I became
James Bond, it's incredibly me
Not many seven year olds have stayed with James Bond.
This seven year old Scot's boy has, maybe I learnt?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patrick_Dalzel-Job
I’m not happy nor healthy in my mind right now
It’s clouded and bleak
Not knowing which direction
Not knowing what l seek
Can’t sleep , forever tired
No interest “to ever do”
No motivation nor energy
Turmoiled mind and soul ,feeling blue
The flame that burns within me
No longer burns bright
Desperately struggling
Just to stay alight
I cannot see that light at the end of the tunnel
Nor a lighthouse to guide my way
I just want to close my eyes right now
Until clarity, rationale and time rids my minds disarray
As corporate execs rub their hands together
In greedy glee on seats of plush leather
The man on the street smells the breath of the city
Whilst the man in the tower thinks himself quite witty
As the look down upon the masses below
Eking a living, walking hungry and slow
On the sidewalk that feels like the skin of the city
But as the markets fall and crash
The wealthy man becomes poor in a flash
And in anxiety and desperation
His turmoiled mind finds a last inspiration
To walk to the balcony with a sobbing cry
And to spread his wings with hope he can fly
And the city below opens its mouth
As the suddenly poor plummets down south
And the stench of the breath of the eternal city
Is the fetid decay of the man that was witty
Yet the steady masses still stumble along
To the beat of the street and the city’s live song
If there is a god and how is it possible, there is not,
then he would be right here
sitting next to me on this bench.
He would already know and see
the peace and tranquility
lying in the midst of the yard’s activity
as it is set aside from the world around.
These wooden fences
high and stiff
close in this safe escape
from the turmoiled anxiety beyond the gate.
He would rest momentarily
recalling to me the story of the first garden
with all its possibilities,
now lost.
The trees would bow in the wind
sweeping a grand display of thank yous
in gratitude to the wonders
of his magnificent design.
The waters would flow clear and untainted
singing praise to its Creator
who gave life to all around
the birds, the fish, creatures and humankind.
Then, when he was satisfied and refreshed
with the beauty, hope and love that thrives
He’d move on
to other tasks.
My soul is dark
Blackened by my misery-self pity
I feel depressed
What does that mean?
At 30 years of age, I have learnt so much
Yet,accomplished nothing
My life is stationery, maybe regressing
But no forward movement
Progress?
Achievement?
Goals?
Words I so carelessly abuse
But never apply
I, my own worst instrument of destruction
I am fearful of what I can become
Turmoiled by what I know but so often lack
I, so ambitious, contribute so little
To my life, my dreams, my existence
I, who give so much and expect even more
From those who give even less
I am surrounded by negative souls
Bodies that hold me back from reality
Boredom rules and empty promises govern
I am What? Who?
Where am I going?
What is my plan?
I am alone, so alone
Lost....
Again, I feel depressed.
The thunderous thunder
Came thundering in a turmoiled town
Timing my timeless time,
June, you played a fowl gain
You can’t spare us even for once
That we may eat the fruit of our labour
Who’s next?
That we may celebrate tears
…Festival of tears
Nay, leak our rotten fingers
After eating the Idenyi Ai-iko meat
Udaburu Ogo Ukpoji
Falling fellow lonely
Your face tattered, like a pampered baby
Swollen like a bread soaked in water
Infected with sickle cell
Your broods are no more
Behold the grave poking tongue at you
Your are now an lopped tree
Behind a shroud of secrecy
Don’t count us out
For we are all victims of the grave
‘Cos to our maker we shall go
To give the account of our talents
–Grave, my son
–Linen, my daughter
–Casket, my eternal cradle
I owe thee a poesy accolade
For devouring my lungs asunder
Now the gods are silent
And the night is close by
Who knows-
Who’s next?
Daylight breaks as the mind wakes upon first breath
and swallows the punctual death of yesterday spent.
Intent now lies in the present of foreseen fading time,
just a mime a moment forward of the words we utter,
of cluttering acts we will our bodies to wonder through,
blindly we pursue the pleasures of our probing intellect
and inject our pulsing veins with poison’s vigor.
Of past pains kept we gain nothing but a taunt trigger cocked,
shocked at our own suffering unlocking lived lies
we see through slits that were once open eyes of ripe
as if a clay pipe in the petrified hands of others to hold…
cautiously controlled…a mould that meets infraction.
I lay back… smoke the cigar of sensations,
deeply cracked I find the cures I’ve been craving…
a kind of meditation in my own revelations of real
as the mind’s wheel turns my burning brain against shame
I feel…
and the game of blame ingests the same that is me.
Silently we disagree with our own visions and voices
of choices chosen by the ideals of what we’ve been
as though we have gainly grown insane by future’s unknown
we exist as calculating clones drowning in droves,
flashing our fabricated fears in circumstances self born…
torn apart by past pains kept.
We are adept by the tools of fool’s lost flame
as we proclaim in promises that we love the truth,
in ruth reality we want to believe that which we love is true,
a brew of heart’s tricks often mastered by disillusion
a failed fusion of thought’s want and need…
and we bleed…
by past pains kept we are turmoiled in trouble’s clutch
like rotating winds of repetitive failures forlorn..
touch it…break it…
you will see…
it is nothing but self born.
I saw the puppy, when I awoke behind the dumpster,
Playing with a piece of trash, snorting and woofing at
The imaginary beast and I wondered what brings the
Little gift to me to enjoy in this world of the unenviable.
I studied him awhile and he studied me, each of us
Not moving yet but wanting too....two lonely scruffs
Wanting the companionship of trust and maybe love
In this loveless life of alleys and trash cans.
He let me move toward him ever ready to run
To nowhere.... I touched him gently and smiled at
The softness and smell of him and he licked my
Hands in return....we found each other and the day was right.
We were inseparable this little wingless angel of
The grey streets sharing our turmoiled lives and
Food for a time, with his little piece of rope around
His neck with a decorative red bandana.
Together we were the gypsies of the block of
Cement squares having conversations with words
And uplifted eyes perhaps sharing a tear or two when
The moment came....I live you because you love me.
Stringy little brother who had no name left one day
For no particular reason as we do in this underworld
Of spent offerings....I looked but could not find him.
Once Kore emptiness fills my heart.
Hushed to silence the city sleeps
The calming of hatred and angry eyes
In the plains of Heaven angels weep
For lives of untold lies
In which the city cries.
Tis the soul that warms the night
Where love does not despair
On wings of serenity held in flight
To the castle in the air
For enchanted evening prayer.
Blessed are they, the souls of Man
The eyes of steady dripping
A feast awaits in timely plan
With heart shaped glasses for sipping
Where loveliness is gripping.
The earth below in turmoiled smoke
A death of kingly sin
The broken table of Shumard Oak
His shattered setting of Chateaubriand Marchand De Vin
The war subsided within.
To Heaven rise the innocents
Where peace and love reside
With cries of song in laments
Those souls now cast aside
The rule of Jehovah applied.
BY: DARREN J McMURRAY
September 21, 2008
Oh! oarsman
Take me home
Yonder lies
My cuddled dreams
My sweatheart and everything
I have been away
Too long
Eons and scores sway
Too small to hum their song....
Cant bear the ripples
And the whirls ...
The known waters
Seem so strange now
Calmness above water
But turmoiled under
Just like
My yearning heart
Oh! oarsman
Row me faster to the weeping shore
I dont ever want to do this anymore
Oh! oarsman
Take me home..
Outside the city where the pomegranates grow,
Where that ocean that gently sweeps my brow,
Collides with the rurality of the cows giving milk,
In a fusion spring loaded with happiness and silk.
My true love comes to me,
My sweet blossom of agony,
Offering affection and love,
Rendering light from above.
Leaves that brush up against my dark complexion,
Swirl with buzz for life’s energising bright reflection,
So active in their encouragement to ponder anew,
On distances and hesitations that become only a few.
My true love comes to me,
My sweet blossom of agony,
Offering affection and love,
Rendering light from above.
Rows and rows suggest the answer to all frowns,
Is to inquire with nature and ecology’s ready gowns,
Wear them with pride because dignity will at last fall,
When reason and truth wade the dark, turmoiled hall.
My true love comes to me,
My sweet blossom of agony,
Offering affection and love,
Rendering light from above.
I sat at the exit of life,
My ears perceiving diverse trends.
Tis about the misfortune of the fortunate,
And the rebuke of the appraised:
Turmoiled state and heightened corruption;
Na Buhari.
Removal of subsidy sustaining scarcity;
Na Buhari.
Petroleum stretched her wing and soar to
145 naira;
Na Buhari.
Increase in price of goods;
Na Buhari.
Troop of sermonizers stealing away hearts;
Na Buhari.
A Boyfriend smashed the heart of his girl;
Na Buhari.
A mother kept seven meats in the pot but
finds just one:
Na Buhari.
Landlord increases the house rent:
Na Buhari.
Pastor lays curses on Members:
Na Buhari.
Caught in hunger's spell, a man willingly
visited death:
Na Buhari.
Different heads making noise in an hall;
Na Buhari
A man who woke up late for work;
Na Buhari.
A tailor who missed the proposed design;
Na Buhari.
Your Techno WX3 contract virus;
Na Buhari.
Even of what he knows nothing about;
Na Buhari.
Mr?
Ensure you do an affidavit.
Let them keep calling it,
You'll know that's not your name.
Oh Buhari.
18: 01: 20: 04: 55
“A meager life!”
the world hurls out.
Brooding rage stirs -
grave music in mind:
an orchestra of feelings,
unsatisfied turmoiled thoughts,
perceived by paining wounds -
heartbeat
with frightening velocity.
An enfant terrible -
Alone,
singing to himself
a parable:
paradoxal
to martyred music,
divining
death
while the blithe world laughs
with an uplifted voice.
A broken vessel
trapped in
shuddering darkness
and contrasting quietness
secret stirrings,
saturated senses -
quick ticks the clock…
A twilight lit room:
shining whiteness spreads,
as stars burn bright
and rain sluices down
over sun burnt grass
and folded flowers,
the silver moment
bleached with rain
dies in darkness,
while a woeful crimson
glissades across eyes
acknowledging sorrow:
maybe a disguise
for vengeance.
A voiceless void:
phantoms of thoughts
from which even
shadows flee.
A lovely child -
alone;
smothered,
by bloodshot clouds…
and nerve strained eyes...
I dreamt I saw you
And you talked to me
Even though I was hurt
And my eyes were full of tears in that dream
And I was leaving you because I was not ok
It felt like my turmoiled emotions were lightly caressed and embraced
Waking up I felt strangely satisfied
Something I haven't felt since I lost you
And that's just too many years ago
I knew we had a toxic association
But half of me can't figure out if you were toxic too
Even though I was broken in my little ways too
Making myself prey to those who were preditors
And I can't for the life of me figure out if you were just preying on me
If me and you meant nothing to you
When we meant the world to me
And maybe I know and I am a little too afraid to accept the truth
And maybe I am just totally incapable of accepting it
Because in this lifetime nobody does but you
And I can't be with anyone else
And that's a scary thought
And I want to break from this misery
Because nobody deserves to hurt me like that
And gets to live without losing me
Call me a coward
But even though the story of my life reads like a disjointed paragraph
I believe it was necessary to lose you