Best Versing Poems
Oh moon, so full, so dearly
bright, You are the light
of lovers; misty glow of night,
Dimmer than sun, his subordinate
reflection, yet remains he jealous
despite; for even death, cannot silence
love’s forever brilliance, vows
trans-versing ages--the grave a
mere cycling phase…each new face
a hopeful countenance—and all
passing through such shadows
are coated, in-spite of the daze,
with a gleaming, rapturous
glaze….
Oh Moon, your insight, unlike
all others—though depressed
in curfews of darkness--appealing
dread silence I call through the
thickness, while treading deep
echoes of night—where does a
heart sail when one beat cruelly
sunk--leaving the other, fond memory,
but little choice than to float
their dreams one alone...?
Till the fog once again lifted, and
awakened by her lips, love’s promise;
is not life so preciously gifted, to
we unworthy yet treasured by God?
Only you, Moon, see clearly our
heartaches; and the matchless pain
when summarily parted--our seasons
so like your own, cold and warmth,
dim halos and beaming glows--as
onto occasions light simmers...to again
lustrously grow. For humans--our
hearts free symphonies a-flutter—soul’s
mortal vehicle the spirit only intimately
knows; let no sadness sow doubt to
drown us, affirming for love
that love eternally flows….
let me be a wanderlust vixen in the vortex ~
a voltage liquified to the upbeat vibrato,
versing vehemently in venom-glazed grief,
and rehearsing your criminalism
like a serial liar ~
because I am too voiceless
to command the Monarch of mercury
to vindict the sojourners
that lure me to their blind holes,
and vandalise the chromatic criticisms
that clench me in their cyanide claws,
through the cracks
branching in the demonised billboard …
Oh scorching serpent,
slithering with velvet-tongued torment,
never leave me tethered
between the lips of loneliness ~
like a leaflet tucked on
the seaglass screen,
screaming for those stygian seashells
to lock my secrets behind
the bars of misplaced passwords,
because, this pulse of paranoia
is too pure to palpitate
in the pixels of poisoned prayers ~
and there is no anecdote
that annihilates the anxious
acronyms of abandonment,
streaming through the realms
of disposed dimensions.
There are no strings attached
that hum in hexed hoaxes
through the violin vendetta
strumming an acapella ~
through the lusty noise
of monsters longing for
the loss of my sacred insanity …
perhaps, the voice in my head
is an ode to the orchestrating shadows,
too mindless to manipulate ~
scripted in secluse
replaying the ruins,
paused in the prison
a sketch of sleep in splitting senses …
as bipolar ballads
tame their schizophrenic strokes ~
when the Maestro of moon
mediates a megalomaniac
sonnet of venting slaves,
in the muted matriarchy of mantras
that keep repenting rage,
in the impulsive incandescence
of my icy azure ink ~
refusing the warmth
of vulnerable sagas
that ache to heal me
and release the
insomniac coldness ~
blanketed with the sparks
of murky mermaid stars …
I own this label ~
the name of a lunar lunatic,
and this is a war,
between the sphinx of sabotage
and the never-ending nocturns ,
as, I remain weapon-less
like a cardinal iris,
rewriting the rules
of unshakable madness
in your maniac meanderings,
ineffable ~ invisible ~ incurable
an impostrous
i n v a d e r …
We are never Woke!
Cool, catchy, hip
neat sounding expression
but deceptively misleading!
Best we can do is rest,
shelter at a pillar of Awakening….
-----------------------------------
We choose our possessions --
Choose what possesses us --
The Devil, with his lures
of power and gem-my babbles --
Christ His promise of Soul
Liberation: ever higher expansion,
Awaking consciousness into spheres
of unimaginable cosmic spiritual
wealth – Christ, my heart lightener;
guide through shrouded corridors,
enraptured, trans-versing mystic chambers,
those sky-high mansions for initiate
flight. I become the Light-bearer! No captives in
Christ, only partners, who serve the Father,
totally dedicated to His Children's uplifting.
There are no dogmatic prisoners in
Christ. I follow Christ, who follows
God, joyful in a journey of unfolding
omnipotence. What Father wants
less for His Children than he has
For Himself? The Almighty, ever
present, ever loving, beneficent Great I Am!
And he said unto them, If ye had not plowed with my heifer, ye had not found out my riddle.Judges 14:18b
They plowed with the heifer,
A stranger of a day,
assigned from the pit,
to bring a Samson down.
She feigned false affiance,
with a mission so deliberate,
trans-versing vast territories,
to cage a man by Lust.
the disguise of a demon,
derailed a man on mission,
suspending the vision.
The bargain was too costly,
her comrade the philistines,
pretentious while purloining,
hides in ambuscades,
dictating schemes to kill.
The captives now entrapped,
They kept their walled territories,
inflamed the loose Cyprian,
for fleshy lust and greed.
Are you the man on a mission?
Oh! be not complacent.
The flappers surrounds you still.
Keep this emblem on your chest,
Delilah is not a friend.
Section 2.
This is where you saddle up, and battle back
I'm sick of kids babbling and baffling
About stuff that'll never happen
Maybe I should be reverberating and throwing verbal attacks
Rehearsing and planning my verbally tactics
I'll be versing and throwing down my verses
And certainly cursing with my first words
I'll disperse and hurt and burn this world
I'll slaughter the gods, and it'd need some audible gauze
Even the titans would be frightened, and they'd outta applause
And stand for my cause, For R.A, And Vinnie Paz
For hip-hop to stay alive, Cause "Legends never die"
All we do is just "Carry on traditions"
Just new people, with new ambitions giving new definitions
With new visions that we will never be missing
We'll be hitting and spitting and carrying this out with our existence
But the distances between this twisted system
Is just us forever living, Gifted kids on there cosmic ****
Comically causing and costing our own cosmic consciousness
For calling and catering our cautiousness, and stomping over whacks emcees confidence
Preparing to constantly conquer all the continents
But not ready for compliments, cause I don't even have an audience
But with this dominance I should be destroying the awesome-est
I'm so monstrous when I write up on these documents
I'm probably properly populating my honestness
And it's quite obvious I'm calling it, quite the dominant opposite of your own conscious gift
Honestly my hypothesis is if I had everyone behind me at metropolis, I'd remain anonymous.
Poetry
Some intense words
Our thoughts sure do make.
The real life tales
There is nothing fake.
Some strokes of a pen
Make musical words
Like a small talking squirrel
Or a beautiful bird.
Feelings pour out
When penning a verse
Some super happy
And others silent curse.
The need these words have
For someone to read,
Like yearning for water
A grow hungry seed.
The things that we feel
Find ways to come out,
And writing the words
Are so strong with no doubt.
Others see words
You wrote out that day,
Thinking how much alike
There life goes this way.
It’s like they new
Right from the start
Telling their story
Every word every part.
When writing all feeling
And every day stuff,
Little hope of discovery
On versing is tough.
can 10,000 poets, stand on the head of a pin
reading rune, reciting rhyme, a deafening din
orating from books, digital tablets and papers
nursing versing, some adroit linguistic capers
did God really, when he pulled out Adam's rib
contemplate the ramifications of what he did?
giving to man and woman the gift of gab
to pass earthly days on this planetary lab
all languages come, and like Latin might go
to ancient history rites forgotten, although
oratory of any form is central to what is human
grunts and poetic punts, give hints of what can
be gleaned of humans desires and meanings
jawing on in between, interactions intervening
language is a way the seventh sense can reach far
to futures, across millioned miles, to another's heart
to see it, hear it beat, touch its pumping flesh
to feel life's joy, as well, as its bloody distress
can 10,000 poets dance on the head of a pin?
if they say what they mean, gracefully, they can
© Goode Guy 2011-11-29
Sharing with my public, sommit like a pub trick. Wonder how its done! knowing that my grubs sick. Meaning my food for thought is nourishment for the mind. Sounds rude ovcourse but no punishment of mine. Truth can hurt and be hard to find. Once you've found it be sure not to leave it behind.
I got so much stuff to say right now but i'ma hold it back. Something like a play fight between friends, no punches. Just a tap. I shant be the one to introduce the topic. Decided a while ago, to be the one to drop it. If the question does get raised, ya know that I have got it. The answer that is, I've been praised before for knowin what the plot is. Know what the abrasions for, its how i've come to got this.
Be a shame to waste this opportunity to genralise what's soon to be common knowledge as soon as we get it together. Its looming see no one is imune to me. I'll infect all acclumatively, its no desease. Unity please! Spread to all communities.
If ya met me in person, no nicer a version. I know ya get me! no coercion, I'm the only person I am hurting. Its why I continue with my versing. To better understand whats perverting behind the curtian that no-body talks about. I'll keep reverting to the truth and bring it with clout.
The life I'm living is really tragic,
I'm just glad I didn't get hit by static.
As these words pass through my mind,
to these funny verses is what you'll find.
Days past, and i still feel like this,
and what you see, is what this is.
As your words seem to attack,
I know now what matters most is how i act.
See how you push us farther apart,
now I'm cursed with this versing art.
It's like you don't trust me anymore,
I did most things right, but what for?
I know you'll never believe me,
you just need to look deep inside and see.
So why am I writing this down today?
Maybe I want to take this pain away.
I know your going to read this,
you might yell, and ask what this is.
But I can't keep it in,
It's better than us screamin'.
I just wanted to let you know,
that I want to leave, and you should let me go.
As I sit in class today,
questioning myself, is there another way.
There's so many things going through my head,
I just want to erase it all, and go to bed.
Soon I'll make my life great,
make all the mistakes straight.
I always ask myself, how?
Looking back and thinking wow!
You always glare at me,
trying to see what I'll be.
All I ever wanted to be was you,
but all you ever gave me were open wounds.
I want to know so tell me,
what you always wanted me to be.
'Cause you think you know it all,
but if I take your advice, just don't let me fall.
As this cursed poem goes on,
I wonder what went wrong.
This time I'll make you see,
what I want you to let me be.
As time passes by,
I still wonder why?
I just wanted to let you know,
before I let all of this go.
That you are not my life
We peep through grated beams in the dark confines,
Kept in chains by the tyranny of audacious jailers,
unending cynosure of profligates and imposters:
ruining the destinies of million wearied sufferers.
criminals fit for the gallows,
morons from the days of the colony.
dictators in military attires.
and simpletons kept in power for temporary ease.
our heirloom forced from us by old monsters.
cabals of criminals, greedy goons, men untutored in reputation.
Felons and rapscallion from the military barracks,
too old for modern ideas.
we are burdened along by colonial tyranny,
in a country where destinies are suspended in the gale,
and youths are forced into their own crimes of stealing.
we could not speak our sentiment freely.
we are fettered and riveted by their guns.
The sword above us, tyranny of archaic mind.
dreamy theorist acting as lords over multitudes of docile lots.
men made to cringe and fawn bowing and stooping to the
threatening of their guns.
They armed assassins and sufferers alike,
paid a trifling sum from the proceeds of corruption,
to keep the masses away from them as old baron loot the treasury,
this open prison of fancied freedom,
where marauders employed by the states with a gun to kill,
trans versing the south with AK47/.
terrorist renamed bandits by religious sympathizers.
from the porous borders of North,
comradely of Fanatics and bigots of the sword sect.
Clandestinely overrunning the land.
Freedom is a crime to fools.
those who dares becomes enemy of states.
assaulted by “operation python” dance.
or raided by Lawless DSS.
This is but a Jihad disguised as government.
The road is a trap of death,
we sleep as watchers waiting for the sword.
we starve amidst multitudinous resources,
they Lend to keep us in Bondage.
The crude in the south.
and all the resources are carted away to the North
to pay terrorist.
A state crimes condoned.
we groan,
we dare not speak as their armed assassin are
ready to silence the Voice of Truth.
one more Truth for the Jailer from the North.
*** In Simple Lines Poeetry Comes ***
(“You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life…” Walt Whit an, “Leaves of Grass”)
My lines —
My life…
Riding moments,
Raising poetry
Like Beauty feels
Glorious
As Mother Nature is — when her winter here ends —
Brought on to her time of re-birth —
Sprouting life on toward the sun
From and within layers of earth
As Springtime’s newest whimsies grow
Dew-tipped on all and dawn vibrant ‘tho ephemeral…
Words of import
In simple combinations
Phrased memories come
To waves of fields of grass —
With their repeated reciting
Of Poetry’s honored lines’ past
And then, in sequenced words,
Time has amassed
The little aspects of me —
Presented and quite apt for pennings of similes,
Or for drawing on some imagery —
In my heart —
My simple lines were found
Stemming from radiant peace
Or ardent hours,
With persistence versing inspirations
Into my simple lines.
With all attention closely given
To reverberating echoes of a quintessential metaphor
From melodies ‘oft playing unnoticed in the air
Always
Some distance from just so close
By the fields of Spring’s fresh grasses —
Lyric-tipped all
Invite…Await
Wandering poets with thirsty pens.
E——————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 1/21/2023
Thanks be to God…
Twisted and Expelled
_____________________________
As Edgar spoke of Never More,
and the bird perched apon his door
I sat is aweing, hoping, praying
for a sign it was conveying.
Was, it a tortured soul
brought up from the world below
a shadow,in bird form stancing
to do its bidding, of nightly dancing.
And was the tapping , creatures peering
waiting on a soon death nearing
Was Lenore death herself
beauty placed on memories shelf.
Was his minds eye, future telling
or his twisted soul, demons expelling
Within ones corruption, there exploding
a twisted ending, there unloading.
Whatever fare he might be feeding
serves us readers, there for eating
gobbling verses, as if addiction
starving , needing...our nutrition.
5/22/14- Jessica Thompson (With some versing from
"The Raven" by: Edgar A. Poe.. ( Beloved Poet)
A godless mass afraid of Death,
though unfettered by rebellion against God.
Uneasy calm imposed by modern gadgets,
global alarm from nations once revered,
A surge of pestilence from the east
trans-versing the cope of earth,
undefined yet named,
A demon unleashed beyond proud science,
The Vain research for a cure,
speculations of empty brained Politicians
and the unending hyperbole of the media
increased trepidation for the unseen,
helpless physicians like simpleton
consenting to the foolery of Politician
defining cures by a mask,
promising relief by sanitizers,
Stay home, isolate and increase your depression by loneliness,
Freedom now mockery, liberty a lie.
compelled by their reset to change the order for another.
Billionaire proposing vaccines,
untasted by the speculators.
Yet the surge unrelenting they say',
is their imposed masks not cure?
Is the sanitizer not a relief?
the pestilence is resistant to their vaccines,
another mutation in Boris Britain they say,
A mockery of their solution,
the speculation a mere phantom.
Ignorant men as viceroy for the unseen realm,
global manipulation of a cult,
A stage for the Antichrist.
I was five when papa expired
Mother lost her prestige and pride
Our home melted away horribly
When the ugly cold night came,
we shivered and could not sleep.
My head was full of dreams
There was no fault in my stars
My sky was full of humble stars
But i saw only from the seaside
What tomorrow holds for me.
I have watched the day woken from
Its night of sleep and nightmares
I have read the tales drawn on my palms
pushed the blames to the silent water
for no good spices in the land of my noble birth.
Wait, look and see
another yell of pains from my lips
I was sold into slavery at six
receiving destituted battering and
abuses under the baking cruel sun.
I lost my childhood at seven
raped and shattered like a dream
Trudging the hollowed empty street
My skeleton mocked my flesh that
has dashed his hopes away.
I sang in the hungry market
Versing my story to all to hear
There was no target of a proverb
Flogging mere chide of cowardice in
my hands like a slab of flabby flesh.
My yesterday spoke of worrisome
as it went like boys and girls in a
new pair of shoes for christmas
Out of the world of freedom into
abyss of empathy of lost of self.
Wait, look and see
I am now wild like a lion
When I raise my voice again
freedom shall be my chorus to render
for I hate peace which is an illusion.
A childhood taken in joy
another pain birth in tears
I will not put legs to this words
I would have told you about my swallowed
Testicles but that would be for tommorrw at dawn.
©John Chizoba Vincent
From_A_Pen_Refusing_Frustration
Raised on promises ? Trip the wire where nothing remains...
An east coast orphanage and red coats, fighting for her republic
Dolls in rags their quivering lips these salty tears Eurydice a crazy life
Insidious circles Paul Revere stigmata's, the British are coming offertory's
Communion Alfalfa versing Buckwheat a Shakespearian send'off Monroe's doctrine
Alibaba's all saints day Bluebeard's manifest, destiny Mahican squaws as trails their tears
Longfellow reciting Darla's dreams; love's turn'coat screams pledged of dire shots, ringing out.