Best Vocally Poems
Tethers float & tickle like feathers
I'm aloft unaware of outside weathers
Evening enhanced by colloquial pleasures
Malleable & manipulated
Esoterica like yours specifically stipulated
"Tie me to your tongue" I sing
Oh I utter the strangest things!
Yet I must admit I'm fully focussed
Overjoyed at this conversational hocus pocus
Unusually laid back & vocally gushing
Rampant points of interest gain further pushing
Tantalise & give me traction
Obligated now to end-goal satisfaction
Nerve endings sever in hyperspace
"Great subject matter expert kept perfect pace!"
Unbiased reviews are fully flowing
Eloquence like yours has me all glowing
When words fail to express
or vocally tell you
how a person feels held
deeply inside the knotts
Those softly mesmerising eyes
dawning in the afterlife
sweetly startling your music
begins to play upon lips
Angel silently calling
enchanting whispers echo
as the heartbeats thump life
hypnotic breathless sighs
As a pulse races quicksand
under the surface unveils
you will find me holding
forever at night love
Daybreaks warmly comforting
my precious dream awakens
I melt into the clouds
were it smiles with a rays
Light transmitting signals burn
kissing the colours of sunrise
where my love for you ruby
can neither be measured or bought
To write the finest poem that your heart and mind permit
You must let go of yourself and earthly bonds, dream vocally
Speak aloud in your mind of feelings, both good and bad
Let the words overcome you, present themselves to you
Take them, rearrange them and stir in deep meaning
Thereby touching on the heart of something that matters so
In other words, to write that one, that special one, let yourself go
Put on a happy face
when I release taut fingers
from your pallid cheeks.
Promises and empty lies
are sported clichés
that spoil a silenced vocabulary.
A quieted understanding we've
vocally committed to;
barks a matted-jackal’s constitution -
perceiving morose consequences
of blind subservience.
Put on a happy face
and fetch me dinner.
Ever flickering nuances,
once ignited a Brigadooned morning sunrise -
where woolen-blackened comforters
backlit our sordid differences.
Now, our prom attire has been burned.
The carnations, the orchids - have perished.
The beguine hasn’t begun.
It has ended.
Finalized and fortunately forgotten.
A pale orchid-colored icepack,
for your left eye,
would match your handbag and shoes
quite nicely.
Put on a happy face
and lint-guard the
disheveled derelict.
Forever falling forward, we've suddenly landed.
No need for saline solution anymore;
I cry when I hap hazardously laugh.
A silenced vocabulary realized the words
tryst and trust was separated by one letter;
why or you…or me, for that matter
completes the unfinished symphony.
The disenchanted beguine
floats into a tear-filled
Cinderella dank nightfall –
as I stare into the cornea of a
brittled pink carnation.
My hand, like a fringed strop,
needs to remove the strains of
a “Mea-Culpa” leitmotif and flog
the iniquities of one’s self.
Put on a happy face, goddamnit
and tell me
why you’re gone!
Toasted marshmallows is a perfume
created for misguided Girls Scouts.
Fervent mongrels who refrain from selling
photo-pressed carnations and
poisonous orchids - dumbly courtsey
when idiotic
adolescent daydreams prevail upon
the blatantly obvious.
Thirteen stitches
and a numerous array
of callous welts
reprised our endless beguine.
Passion is said to perish in embers.
One last charcoal
for us
to eye and envy.
A burnt carnation.
A scarred, trembling orchid.
The smoldering remains we'll inhale -
when this lost and lonely
soldier removes the
smudged greasepaint from
his broken fingertips and eyelashes
to painfully and pitifully
put on a happy face
just for you.
~ Oh, maiden of light cracks the wispy air open ,
wandering around viscous spaces
like virgin shadow caressing the edge
of sleep… and the days stretch longer,
taller than guava trees dreamingly shedding
laces of northeast streams when
songbirds, orbits, and a pageant of flowers listen
to a single humming breeze… and when all else
is sprawled quiet, waterfalls marry her certain
lingering star straying on mouths of gentleness
past eons bound by nuptials in iridescent realms…
*O, ilaw, sa gabing malamig, wangis mo'y
bituin sa langit… O, tanglaw, sa gabing tahimik,
larawan mo, Neneng, nagbigay pasakit. Ay! *
Somehow ,curlicues drape a fragrant smoke
leaking out a folk sky; dancing in the mirror
of the mountain pool… a serenade weeps;
quivering, moaning along the inland pass that
someone said morning becomes electra,
that learning how to hear her blossom or
pearl stone unravels the very skin from
which it was born is allowing time to
shed her purity far beyond unknowing a
water’s need to keep still: the juice spills…
**Gising at magbangon sa pagkagupiling
sa pagkakatulog na lubhang mahimbing;
buksan ang bintana at ako'y dungawin,
nang mapagtanto mo ang tunay kong pagdaing. * *
Peeling new faces of time, shaping the width of
endless rhyme in sprays of endless mystery...
like so, a thousand times before and after,
twilight and daybreak entwine… oh,light elusive,
passing through calm eyes of young maiden’s season
is love’s way of coming back to itself. ~
--------
* O, light, in the cold night; you're like a star in the sky
O, light, in the quiet night, your picture, Neneng,
makes one ache…. Oh!
** Awake and arise from slumber,
from your sleep so deep.
Open your window and look out to me
So that you may understand my true lament.
~ this poem is inspired by a harana, a traditional Filipino serenade. The suitor
is accompanied by his friends who back him up both vocally.
At first, the woman's window is closed. The man calls out to her
and if she's interested, she'll open her window.
Singing harana originated during the Spanish
colonial period in the Philippines.~
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NYueJU0Ufws&feature=related
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For Debbie’s Bi-lingual Poetry by nette onclaud
I have developed a temporary dislike of the things that I’ve convinced myself have been keeping you away from me. Mere substitutes that admitted to the murder of your mind.
This phone, and this 11 o’clock moon have slayed my reason’s for not just blaming your wandering eye.
Most of these nights I’ve tried Ctrl.Alt.Del.(ing) any ridiculous thoughts, by selecting all of the frequently frustrating things that know just how to push my buttons. I don’t know why I’m speaking in computer terms, but lately I haven’t been able to function quite right unless I’m near one. It’s the only way to get near you.
Most of these nights, this phone has been the entire left side of my brain, but now my mattress has memorized the rhythm to a ringtone it should’ve never been introduced to, and now the stupid cushion keeps me awake until it has made sure that I’ve felt it vibrating up my spine. My intuitive, creative right brain seems to remember being together with it’s brother each and every time I remember laying together beside you.
I wait for a wanting of your wanting. Muscle memories of warm bodies wrapped up in positions that make your mind say ‘what the ****?’ I am missing you. The you who remembers that the other members of her body are always here to help; no need to amputate a listening ear, or an gouge out an attentive eye. I still see you.
Sometimes, I forget that the phone’s main function is to send a signal of information to someone you can’t see. Whether it be via text, twitter app or vocally, you want to reach someone you can’t see. I still see you.
Sometimes, I swear I can see each of the moon’s phases during the day; completely filled with life during the time when it’s nearly invisible. It’s sad though, because New Moon, you show yourself to everyone else except me on the nights I always expect to see your face. Is this a trick man? or have my eyes been gouged out already, and I simply missed the painful message via text, twitter app or vocally? But still, whether with two eyes, four eyes or no eyes, I still see you.
4/18/2018
Wide melancholic Owl Eyed glass goddess
Almost hypnotic, guilt trips semi-honest.
Her pain is contagious, vocally pulling heart strings
All guilty pleas are aimless, only her tragic tone sings.
Transparency: easily broken reflection of an identical image
-20 degrees: only the Sol Paisano warms her up in minutes.
Slow dancing with a demon, daddy of destruction
Mr. American Dream, ‘90s magazines family seduction.
Vermillion brick house built to hide the lies inside
Plants perennials in her perfect garden to keep the fantasy alive.
Distanced away from poster book suburbia’s neighbors…
They can’t hear the screams or cries.
The Family Man, dressed in clothes picked by his wife
A foreign beauty, Mrs. Owl Eyes.
The rings on their fingers: unsymbolic tattoos on skin
Prohibiting her to strip it off: a greater loyalty to Him.
Over 25 years without happiness, still celebrate April 28th
‘Xoxo, Love’ on a Hallmark card with roses for good faith.
She was at the hospital bed, by his side
While her cancer stricken mother slowly died.
Her fragile mamà weak from suffering the wrath of man
Raised to accept constant body slams and open hands, never took a stand.
Doña Guillermina, are you watching your nena from above? Following your quicksand path of life without love?
Do you yell down at her or attempt to send a sign
Just to realize, like you, she’s irreversibly blind?
Slowly she’ll join you because she’s running out of time…
If I was Leonard Nimoy I would rush about the place,
I would hold my long pointy fingers in front of me as I sprang from door to door,
My pointy boots deftly propelling me from shadow to shadow my pointy ears sleek in the dark,
I would wear an elf’s cloak like a slender bony wraith and be like Pan in the woods.
If I was Leonard Nimoy, ceaselessly running here and there,
I would fondle things, peruse things, and look under things and open cupboards,
A real nosey sneak, climbing through windows and going through draws,
I’d sniff other people’s belongings with my long sensitive nose,
trying on peoples clothes, reading their diaries, wearing their shoes.
If I was Leonard Nimoy I would be a real cheeky bastard,
Quickly rushing about, hands in front, cloak flapping behind,
Stooping like a thief in the dark, arranging dinner dates, making phone calls,
Then I would vocally abuse people and adroitly cut them down.
If I was Leonard Nimoy I would use my Vulcan logic to orally molest people,
I would line people up with my stone hard glare and coldly hurl verbal perversions at them
Willowy fingers, hunched shoulders, flat black hair, pointy ears, spikey shoes, cloak fluttering behind.
Expressionless, cool, thin and dexterous, I’d cause a right awkward mess behind the scenes.
ive been quiet to long i need to be vocal
need a magic telescope i can see hope thru
while i remain drug free and teetotal
a blade is sumthin i need to be close to
self harmin since bein a teenager
ill never let my dreams fade
people stare at my scarres like there lookin at there favourite screensaver
put my heart in every lyric on each page
i know its as bad as my moms drinkin and brothers drug taking
but when you go home you have a hug watin
i never expected no one to luv me
sumtimes i wish sumone would hug me
they say home is where the heart is
alone is where the dark is
if i had a better childhood would i be able to trust more openly
would i speak my mind without first puttin it in a book of poetry
would i push more hopfully
look for love more vocally
more ups and downs than a light switch
why should i be tight lipped
ive been searchin and not findin
workin and still climbin
i dont need an advocate
this is real talk call me the white fabolous
im cleanin out my closet
like my idol eminem
paintin a paicture u should screen it out and watch it
ill share my views before i give my pen 2 them
they will try and paint me as the bad guy
but aint seen the world thru my eyes
2 months after my dad died
my best friend commited suicide
6 months ago was the last time i self harmed
and it seems like a life time
instead of usin a blade i pick up a pen
and follow my dream of bein a rapper so i write rhymes
behind every dark cloud theres a silver linin
you have to have the will 2 find it
lifes short u need a passion or dream to fill the time in
2 get to the top it may take a while
be strong and dont let anyone break your smile
The woodland's sights and scents add a piquancy to the affair
By the moonlight's inky, starry gaze, so fleeting to retain
To dawn's fragile light shadows benignly filtering through
The damp, earthy undergrowth a mossy bed convenient
An ample, rough bark, redwood tree and gnarled, dry spreading roots.
A humble haven for primal, abandoned, wanton display
The foliage green canopy conceals a multitude of sins
Anton, my lover, you are the saviour of my heart and soul
Truly I love to breathe your masculine scent and hair
Struggling to restrain my appetites when you are nearby
Alone I desperately yearn for you, it's my private fear
But today I am ecstatic , for you have proposed to me
To imagine having you all to myself in body and soul.
Anton, I shall prove my love for you is of the constant kind
All those sacrifices we have made could surely only bind
Let the headiness I feel pirouette me into your arms
To feel your consuming ardency continue on and on
I love our bit of heaven we experience when alone
Continually let us revive that special passionate spark
Passions do fade allocated to dusty memory banks
But my love so rejuvenates me as we meet every day
My dear Anton I am afraid to live this life without you
I want you to reiterate that you feel the same for me
Totally enveloped in your entire world implicitly
Once an old fortune teller asked me to cross her hand with gold
As she had a precious gem of knowledge to impart to me
Her vivid, streaked, carmine red mouth grinned amiably
As she tightly held my hand and peered at my outstretched palm
Perusing it lengthily said advantages there would be
"Look into my eyes, oh yes I see a grand passion madam"
Seeing my doubtful gaze, she said "it is all here in your hand"
"You must tell me when shall it be" I vocally did demand
"Patience, soon, very soon, the man is quite a suitable match"
Excitedly I jumped for joy "in life you mean", I questioned
"No, never that, it shows an equally passionate pair".
When in April 2013
Her soul fled... ignited
Like a car engine...
Still, he steered hard on her timid face
Oh passion mixed with tension
Even at a Praying Ground?
On her, he kissed with words
Making her dance and say 'cheese'
Into her soul like showers of waters
Penetrating her resilient heart
With words, rhymes and signs
As such..she scattered her Brazilian hair
At every little chance,
she, of his name, chant
Even in the belly of struggle
she lept in bubbles with jumping smiles
Wow! the - vocally endowed!
Little wonder,that feeling of 'Somehow'
Caress the walls of her pointed nipples
As she murmurs ...With a loud silence.
Painstakingly combing a breath of fresh air
In and out of her very unique nostrils
Like a helpless lamb in the altar
..Curling the angered joy of distance.
Words, rhymes, massaging rhythms
To the veins in her flowing blood
Back, front, left and right
Signalling at her swelling "Kinni"
"I will never let you go..."
The song she sang with a resounding bang
Ko-La 'wole' come in to stay, stalk me today
Into the bottomless deep of my sweating "Kinni"
Cos from 'Maba, she, in irony surrender,'
Her head, her shoulders, her feelings, her soul
Like they've long belong
To Bankole Kolawole, her funky, naughty Lover.
(NB: Maba is a place along Lagos-Ibadan Expressway, Nigeria)
"Kinni" literally means "something".
Once again, the trees speak
in a soft and gentle whisper
while subtly dancing in the wind.
Then as witness to my indifference
it gusts a little louder, brushing branches
releasing leaves upon my head.
The cluster of the trunk reveals
black caped figures piercing through
screaming vocally to announce their presence;
A clutch of crows, large and boisterous
perch unsteady riders in the canopy
bobbing and cawing back and forth.
The trees remain immovable and regal
swaying gently waltzing in place
then brushing gently from south to north.
On the branches hangs the color of the season
giving way to changing hues of deep reds and purples
yellow oranges blowing freely floating on the downward fall.
To the ground comes hardness, empty non bearing gardens
as the naked barrenness begins to speak
a bleaker images soon to come to the silence of the trees.
January 22 Faith in God Bible Meditations Based on Exodus 13-15
Key Verse – Exodus 13:14 And it shall be when thy son asketh thee in time to come, saying, What is this? that thou shalt say unto him, By strength of hand the LORD brought us out from Egypt, from the house of bondage.
FAITH IN GOD WHO BRINGS US TO VICTORY
BY THE STRENGTH OF HIS HAND
God brings us to His will along His redemption
Victoriously saving us in faith by His compassion
Valuably caring for our souls against sin-oppression...
Very loving is He Whom we obey for our triumphant transformation.
God brings us to His will along His holiness
Victoriously upholding us in faith by His graciousness
Verbally guiding our steps through His Word’s steadfastness...
Very strong is He Who lifts us in our walk of righteousness.
God brings us to His will along His miracles indeed
Victoriously protecting us in faith from enemies’ greed
Vocally instructing our hearts to do well through preaching creed...
Very great is He Whom we praise as He meets our need.
God brings us to His will along His fulfillment
Victoriously pushing us in faith toward prosperous development
Visually showing to our focus His glory in our church involvement...
Very firm is He Who lets us abide in His plan with sincere commitment.
God brings us to His will along His power to advance His kingdom
Victoriously directing us in faith by His wisdom
Valiantly propelling our diligence against slothfulness and boredom...
Very merciful is He Who hinders us against worldly stardom.
God brings us to His will along His hand
Victoriously ushering us in faith to His promised land
Visibly manifesting to our experiences His presence so grand...
Very awesome is He Whom we adore through Scriptures’ demand.
God brings us to His will along His leadership
Victoriously helping us in faith for fruitful leadership
Vigilantly watching over our lives around His fellowship...
Very precious is He Whom we esteem in our service and worship.
January 22, 2025
Some like to say “give up the ghost”,
To mean forever abandoning your post.
The rowdy ones prefer to kick the bucket,
Though that would surely make a racket.
Many are said to bite the dust,
When they’re catching the skyward bus.
A gambler would likely cash in his chips,
Hope he’ll change his winnings into tips.
I knew someone who turned up his toes,
When on habaneros he overdosed.
The more vocally inclined tend to croak,
Then become quieter than a dead oak.
My granduncle may soon fall off his perch,
For both food and sex he has lost the urge.
We will soon shuffle off this mortal coil,
Pack it up and immigrate to the soil.
You’re scheduled to go the way of all flesh,
Whether your figure is average or a smash.
It’s no great tragedy to breathe one’s last,
If regrets are few and life’s been a blast.
When I’m ready to sail to heaven’s arch,
Raise a toast and wish me bon voyage!
Poem inspired by brother-in-law's sermon.
Romans 8:31 God's Everlasting Love What then shall we say to these things? If
God is for us, who
can be against us? NKJV
I love fans. I am one myself.
I love to watch them as they cheer.
I love to watch them in their gear.
Yes, I love fans!.
It doesn't matter what the sport,
the fans are all the same.
They enjoy the victories,
just as if they had won the game.
They get upset when the other team
defeats them and they lose.
They get irate when their team does poor.
And they vocally abuse!
They become very vocal
when their team does not perform
to the potential that they think
would keep them all from scorn.
Our Lord is our biggest fan. He is on our side.
He is the President of our Fan Club.
And He is very much ALIVE!
He is very much into our lives (game)
because He knows all things!
And how important for us to win
each and every time.
He is pulling for us like no one else.
He gets vocal when we don't
perform to our potential.
Mostly because we won't!
God points out our weaknesses
when we are struggling to win.
I am glad He is on my side.
and helps me to defend.
He is constantly working on my game.
And never, never tires.
He does not like me to get into a slump.
He keeps me in the fire.
And He whispers in my ear endearing,
My child I'm always on the sideline cheering.
Do you know that God is your biggest fan?
And that He is working diligently,
to make your life,
victorious in His plan.
He is always saying to you, "Come on, now, you can do it!!"
"Atta boy!!" win that game.
The greatest thought in all of life
is that God loves us and knows each name.
He loves you more than anyone else does,
so don't be discouraged my friend!
. For God's your fan and He knows
you are going to win.
Get alone with Him today
and let Him give you a "pep
rally."
Swing batter!