Under the tree where the bodies hang
swaying, dancing in the gelid breeze
neath their rotting toes, the children sang;
slow circling a boy; they taunt and tease.
"It's your father and your mother, too,"
they chant, as one, fiery eyes aglow,
"Who dance on the rope, and soon will you."
to the cadence of a cawing crow.
"We'll slice you up and cook us a stew."
the chant gets faster. Each takes a knife
"Then we'll boil your bones and make some glue."
thirteen stabs put an end to a life.
They braise the boy, then each they follow
from dark black cauldron upon a fire;
of steaming stew, they take a swallow;
each with each other, they now conspire.
"We sliced you up and cooked us a stew."
the singing slows as the children fill
"And no one cares because no one knew."
soon, sleep takes over the early thrill.
Wolf was waiting on the edge of dark
thirteen children who once danced and sang
become just a stain, a bloody mark;
under the tree where the bodies hang.
When new generations come
They bring changes fresh and new
Turning tables, setting straight
Many things that were askew
See their potency, their power
Watch how they uproot beliefs
They won’t stand for dogmatism
They will loath that what deceives
With the changing of the times
Be it years or ages too
Do not doubt new generations
They will do what they will do
Braise yourselves for what is coming
Whatever is fixed or deeply entrenched
Leave it to new generations
And for sure it will be wrenched.
Wendy Nipas
A heaven's guardian angel dose plays
The silk golden lyre's beauty and repose.
Thine wet tears flow to sounds of heavens ways.
It echoes pastorale music with praise;
Docile strings tenderly, caressed on rows.
A heaven's guardian angel dose plays.
Engaging and entertaining saint braise;
Chosen beacon over sunlit meadows.
Thine wet tears flow to sounds of heavens ways.
Speak of love, faith, hope inspiration blaze,
Of divine spirit's lead; its wise heart knows.
A heaven's guardian angel dose plays.
Bound to love beneath darken daunting rays
And withering beauteous fragrant rose.
Thine wet tears flow to sounds of heavens ways.
Wayward wisp sounds and lights through nights and days.
Dreams caught till dusk falls with dulcet repose.
A heaven's guardian angel dose plays.
Thine wet tears flow to sounds of heavens ways.
1/18/2020
Poetry Contest: Your Best 2019-2020 Villanelle
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
Allow me a bare canvas
And arm me with ample time
I’ll awake my dormant craftiness
Brush strokes in perfect lines
No longer, am I a novice
My world is rich in color
But I want more time to notice
From one mother to another
I long for a sturdy easel
One that smells of fresh pine
My fingers will braise and feel
I’ll be so proud to know it’s mine
Each drip along the way
Will be granted my attention
I’ll find the time, each day
To admire my new addition
I’ll learn to love the splatters
And the tiny hands behind them
Because, I see, that’s all that matters
They’ll be treasured in the end
You see, before, I wasn’t ready
I was average, at my best
But now my strokes are steady
And I see how I’ve been blessed
So grant me one more chapter
I have another round in me
It will be one, filled with laughter
Then my art will be complete
Anthem for a Veggie
Never gonna roast no chicken
Never gonna braise no steak
Never gonna grill no lamb chop
Eating meat, I’ll not partake.
Never gonna fry no sausage
Never gonna boil no ham
Never gonna barbecue burger
Feast only of the fields and Yam.
Won’t feast on Yuletide Turkey
Won’t feast on fatted goose
Won’t kill no moorland partridge
Saving pheasant from a noose
Won’t skillet no wild venison
Won’t stir fry country hare
Won’t eat any creature that lived
Because it’s wrong and so unfair
I need to see these places
To know that they exist
Breathe them in and taste
For my soul, to be kissed
Bare feet on foundation
The fairytales are built
Perceive the vibration
Clothed in the fine silk
Braise my fingers along
The majestic interiors
Describe them in song
Without this awkward barrier
Opening a book
May be all that you require
But I cannot only look
I need to feel the fire
I long to step inside
So, it becomes a part of me
To experience the ride
And believe, wholeheartedly
First and foremost on the agenda,
would be to locate an affordable,
casual and favorable eatery
tubby agreeable to our taste
indubitable choice without
(any formal dress code),
nor further haste.
Strait away to the great weigh
(or if vegetarian – whey)
station of delectable food
where the exquisite, expertise, and exotic
high steak king a claim on Michelin Guide,
Gayot Guide/Gault Millau, American
Automobile Association, Forbes
Travel Guide reputation good.
Testimony to legendary praise
explaining why patrons travel
for countless days
transforming him/her
into steady state,
where he/she shuffles along
in a dishabille quotidian famished daze
far and wide culinary craze
out of this world wide web, the wispy Lyft
wafts trace steamy filament up braise
our noses,
whereat heads nod affirmation i.e. ayes.
Even before making a glad entrance
(into Restaurant) complete
a host of fresh, enticing,
and delicious aromas serve as a treat.
Delicate, foreign, hefty indescribable
ole factory stimulants delight
infiltrating thru swinging kitchen doors
holding us smell bound,
though thin filaments invisibly light.
The Craft
One must die to be reborn
From witch's rite the soul is torn
Baptized in the flames of death
Then live again from magic breath
A witch's soul has seen beyond
And I have grasped that broken dawn
So I invoke this binding spell
Send my foes to burn in hell
Let their dance be one to see
With voices pure from agony
And let the world witness my wrath
Light their dreams with hell's hot bath
And show them sights that braise the soul
Let them know this witch's role
And warn the ones that come my way
To cross this witch, what price they pay
Dawn awakens, lets yawn red searing sigh,
summer steams sweltering sweating sunlight.
Street's hot bed of coals smolders in July,
temperatures torch with tropical smite.
Haze humid stir-frying Bronx crispy craze,
housing is tinder, youth straggle sapped streets.
Rainstorm naught, nothing to break basting braise,
community chafing white wicked heat.
Day, baked yellow clay, dust dry makes you swoon...
pool of cool baptizing childrens’ new truth;
Mercy! Water main break floods ‘fore high noon,
thirst quenched, street's fluid, flows fountain of youth!
Liquid color splashes in rainbow spray,
heads happily anointed with prism pour.
Black-white exist - gray day grit washed away,
hearts watercolored in need of restore.
Revelry riots in verdant voices,
sprightliness sings in city oasis!
Eyes excite, smiles shine, refresh rejoices,
joie de vivre, full of life faces!
People all ages on sidewalk's sideline,
wish to beat heat but sadly no swim clothes.
‘Boxing ring’ pool, he imagines round nine,
celebrant boy smiles, strikes Jack Dempsey pose!
Susan Ashley
August 25, 2017
La Paix et le Désert – Translation of Kevin Gilbert’s « Peace and the Desert » by T. Wignesan
Pendant que la braise du campement de feu scintille
J’entendis l’appel
du courlis annonçant la naissance
ou la mort de quelques uns
le vent du désert calmait durant la nuit
et dans une voix
tremblante poussa un soupire à l’entrée interdite des pas
quand on entend le battement des tambours lointain
le petit matin arrive en ne faisant pas trop de bruit
la nuit des premiers âges est en fuite
laissant l’impression frémissante des bruits
du carnage et la puissance des carnivores
immobile, malgré l’espoir d’un roitelet gazouillant
un lézarde qui survive bougeant sur un roché
un émeu, deux cherchant de l’eau dans une source d’eau
les aigles fixent leur regarde en toute intensité
heureux du fait de ce que la nuit pourrait les apporter
les tourbillons s’élèvent inaperçus en remuant
les arènes en convulsions
par les pas d’une danse macabre
s’abandonnant à l’ivresse des derviches
aiguilles qui piquent mes joues mon front
puis lance des cris de rage sur cette mer maintenant morte.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
What kind of light
is denser than air
Speak, if it be true
Must I wander on in blunder
Listening to the ramblings
of the depraved
Say Nay, if I dipose you.
It seems far from me
to show you where
the water lies
Definately not above your eyes.
You must braise your sight
to these poisoned visions
Level your ears to the
deception that rings
Strum the words then, if this is agreeable
Speak again, if this is truth
Speak once more
Sex before marriage is way more than just a sin.
It is a demon that young girls praise to calm their insecure rush.
It is lust that is destined to turn all goals into worthless dust.
He will tell you words that heals your bruised heart ,he will give you more than a blush and you will view him as more a crush. He will make you feel like love comes after sexual moments. You will no longer see yourself as a potential doctor but braise your hopes to become his future wife. He will change all your dreams and goals and believe me dear he will do it all for the sake of sex before marriage. Don't let your hormones repose your brain to think. Don't let him murder the brightness of your promising future. Don't let all the hard works, sweats and hustles that your parents invested on you to sink deep into a bottomless hole he dug with charms. Don't let his wink forbid you to think.
Sex before married is way more than just a sin. It is an act that will potentially make all your fresh goals to rot ,molt and green.
She kisses my shoulder
As my fingers braise her hair.
She smiles to my eyes
And my mind begins to yell…
Kiss her lips,
Hug her hips,
Become a light
That glows tonight.
Feel the bridge above
Leading to a place of love
That calls our names in this rain tonight.
As Ring of Fire departs day's fray
Daylight lingers in bridled rays
Eclipsed rays through filtered haze
Filter through cloud's liquid maze
A cloudy fondue with sparks doth blaze
Blazing chemicals tinged with fluorescent glaze
A tinge of yellow into glowing orange, deeper red doth
braise
Singeing the horizon with colorful light displays
Singed elements melt descending from vaunted dais
Leaving a melted merengue of tan welts and lactic grays
Gray columns swirl into tidal wave submerging all gilded
pathways
Silver waves fold into miry abyss leaving charcoal malaise
Stephen Parker
contest: Wreath on the Flavor of Dusk
Date of poem: August 9, 2012
Confusing discussions a time to kill going nowhere.
Lost its voice in a deep fog share shimmering dark of sadness.
Became a crew to howl beneath to seize your depressed share.
Relative to its reality way of fine tuning colors in multiple rays.
In respect to flying particles works being the part of other self.
Upon a judgment a cloud will not vanish in drops of rain seamless.
Challenge refined rules holding against opportunities
As being happy with own self.
Sanctuary thought our salvage aims multiple paths join with hazing braise.
Greet runs winding labyrinth disclosing own rules as one of our self.
Graciously admit your name in drawings in vote of a fine day excerpt.
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