Lump metal fits the smithy's hand,
and held in heat a time it glows.
From plainest load to ornament,
upheld no more - the hammer blows!
Each strike,each threat to change it yields,
a different texture,structure,shape.
It bends and folds obedient-like,
from molten heap to perfect state.
And so transformed,it suffers much.
Its twisted form condemned in fire.
A scattering of embers new -
corrupted now to suit desire,
Eternally the anvil sings
with brandished iron upon a stone,
Its back thick-stained with pounded scrap,
the process done,the seed is sown!
They shoved Lady Justice to the ground.
He tried to help her up.
He warned them not to touch her.
And in his last breath,
he asked her if she was okay.
How should we remember Alex Jeffrey Pretti?
They said he brandished a gun,
but everyone could see it was a phone.
They said he was a violent terrorist.
officers attempted to disarm him.
Why won’t they release that video?
How should we remember Alex Jeffrey Pretti?
His extrajudicial execution?
The way they pinned him to the ground?
The way they pumped ten bullets
into his mortal form even after he lay lifeless?
How should we remember Alex Jeffrey Pretti?
An American intensive care nurse,
working for the Dept of Veterans Affairs,
living a life devoted to the care of others.
or a friendly neighbor always helping
those in need?
How should we remember him?
I will remember how he gave his life to help
Lady Justice to her feet.
Gone are sultry summer days
Youth and freedom brandished as calling cards
Now we cling to memories
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 3rd place 2025
It never was the Meissen that she threw
but dinner plates, of which we had so few
our dad would have a scar upon his head
and breakfast plate was just a slice of bread
The kitchen knife was brandished now and then
to emphasize who was the Mother Hen;
and we? We justly cowered in our beds;
threw our meagre covers ‘oer our heads.
She wore a mini skirt and beehive hair
when she was sure my father was not there
then took us visiting our “uncle Stan”
When asked, we had just visited our gran.
A Babycham and brandy was her thing
that was, without, or with, her wedding ring
and all the men in all the bars, they knew,
and told, they simply had to form a queue.
And yet, when knees were scraped and hugs required
it was from mother they were most desired
The distance that our father held from her
meant any love for him, was just a blur.
Skies sparkled with snow diamonds drifting through
the magic that surrounded the effervescent darkness.
The tulle breath of the forest spirited the moonglow
in a spritely capricious demeanor and addressed me as
… it spoke …
of the curious sounds seeping from the lavender mist.
Moon and stars joined to illustrate a tale of strength
behind the human laws of moral theory and bid me
… harken ...
for in their story was buried the essence
of the earthborn plight to live, to love, to hope,
and to ascend the sangria stones of immortality.
As the moon opened and began to spill,
… I listened …
offended by the grape and Tyrian wafts
of desire, hatred, indulgence, and greed.
My silvery tears rolled violet down my cheeks
illuminating the raisin-hued darkness.
Sadness washed over me with sparkly specks
of magenta moon dust manifesting through lacy clouds.
As dawn crept in, it brandished the cold, corrupted,
hateful thoughts and spread its orchid enchantment.
Beauteous shades of periwinkle enshrouded the sky
… and sang …
Luminous miscellaneous adorn my crown,
Frills and strawberries,
Thorny circlet dusted with a light layer of twinkle,
As my eyes hysteric with confusion
muse on this loss.
I gather the lumps of loaf
crossing the border of light
toddling and traversing through the hues
of bent butter beauties
drooping into the worn old stone
one foot forward of the other
two stayed peering past
my grandfather built all this.
silver lick of hair stuck to his brow
that little rhythm in his hands
trembling like the trickles of water
heaved, trodden, beat and brandished
by the river rover.
oxidized poles decorated with patched quilts and marked clothes
trodden through top soil
of the hearth of the earth
will i even sense this again?
this burrowing thing inside of me
borrowed from ages long past their prime
will i too become another fleck on the sun scorched sill ?
I venture out
For the first time in a while
And am met by a sight:
A Saturday Street Preacher,
His altar an upturned crate,
Voice amplified by a tinny megaphone.
He reads not from the Good Book,
But shames those who are not like him.
He calls their lifestyle sinful,
Their existence a contradiction.
His congregation is
The cacophony of furious, raised voices
Arguing against his every word.
Is it a perversion of faith
To force teachings onto the unwilling?
To twist the words
For your own bigoted narrative?
Saturday Street Preacher,
You are more akin to a pariah
Than the bargain-bin Messiah
You think you are.
You cannot hide your true feelings
In the pages of sacred scripture
And claim them to be gospel.
Saturday Street Preacher,
He dresses for his sermons in
Jeans and a t-shirt,
Bible brandished as a weapon
And that weakened upturned crate
Beneath his weary feet.
He performs his midday mass
To the masses who
Scream their retaliation in return.
His Sermon on the Mount
Is muffled shouting
In a busy city centre.
Marriage is a two-edged sword
One end brandished by your overlord
~ At the other, your oxen gored
(( “Most of the enemies you have now
are people you once helped in life.'' ))
Here we are!
The times are no longer the times ..
The places are no longer the places ..
And everything is not anymore the same ..
We offered them our trust;
They brandished their deception.
We helped them;
They let us down.
We built ships to them ..
In them they napped
And further sneered at ..
They burned them afterward.
And the promises;
The good promises,
That we kept nurturing ..
They caused to wither
And fade out ..
Here we are!
And now should be now ..
Not later or maybe or it depends ..
Time has now come to fix it up.
Chokri Omri
(Regueb, Sidi Bouzid, 2022)
AMIDST THE LAND
freedom is
brandished
a
given right
which fell into despair
& yet
responded
with answers
relished
bolstered
in a grand display
&
with flair & debate
& yet a great disdain
was to be
its aftermath
excelled in a show
so mangled in deceit
& yet
conducive
to the source
yielded
&begins to grow
patiently
awaiting
the bittersweet
paradigm
beneath a veil
which
every eye must see
in the sky
drifting
on the wind
to extol&
let begin
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
It is up to me to choose
Who I wish to be
It is up to me
To choose what I think
Is best for me
It is up to me
To choose whether
I prefer the fragrance of flowers
Or the tranquillity of calm lagoons
It is up to me
To be that which I fit in best!
It is up to me
To shut off the loud din
Of society's harsh glare upon me
As it saunters along to what is imposed upon it
While I can only care to dance upon the beats
Of my poetic whims!
It is up to me
To smile with my heart
At the poison that is hurled upon me
With the hope that it scorches me
To such an extent
That I come to a point where I fear it
And use it
To be that which I am not!
It is up to me
To stand up with my flag brandished high
Upon the mountains and the lowlands of
Our puzzling world
As
Everything about us all
Has not been given due explanations!
Yes,
It is up to me
To acknowledge of the rights
That pave themselves towards the glory
Of existing as I do
As if I don't
I would be a mere paper
Yearning for when a pen
Would write upon my lines
A poem of human emancipation!
4th December 2021
Do you care for me
I ask. As I shall do for
You?
Will you lead me by the
Heart? As for I shall
Never break the valve
Which has brandished the
Templar construment of living
Past the certain and polarising
The rising of God's Mom into
A statue of liberty and mutal
Understandings his father
Had given reason only to smile
Upon the risen, and grieve for
The laughter slurred skies
Spoke openingly about the
Beginning being that and the
End being this.
If it has become any concerns
Of yours to delve into the lapsed
Forms of times broken promisings
Then you would have come across
Patience which letters eighteenth
Centuries ago that what we have
Done together should never be
Despaired from the martyrs along
Masked conception of rivers
Twist and bends with the calling
Of what you have turned the other
Cheek looming over fervently.
12/5/20
Crafted
Then packaged
Implanted
Continually chanted
Across lands that are ravaged
Now it is acrid
Stuck together or disbanded
Across flat earth, or terrain that was slanted
Groomed and managed
Or unkempt and matted
A weakling or a savage
Very poor or living lavish
Was always welcomed, or got banished
Bore the mark, or was brandished
And branded
After being reprimanded
Stuck the landing or crash landed
Was a lone wolf, or a helping hand was handed
A chain reaction
The outcome counteracted
Nobody knew what to do, when it happened
Does no good being unchallenged
And always having an advantage
Across the planet
In life as far as I understand it
Don't panic, do your best to manage
After suffering damage
Get back up, and put on a bandage
Long wanders across hills
Expiring - Three of my steps were one of my Dad's
Halting will
Refuelling near
Banks brandished fennell freely had
Revered
Herb young
Stung by green glad
Tongue
Washed down with water swills
Sweaty bunch became invalid
Flung
29th July 2020
Minichu an Innocent Childhood Memory
Mohan Chutani
I AM®
I am
Arthur, Cupid and the edge of a bow
Soldier of 9 lives in this generation of hue
His armoury brandished by men
And sculpted by the One God,
Broken, battered and buried soul
In dismal and dark crypts of life
But leap out of the dungeon of obscurity
To set pace for a long but new voyage.
I am
A train in motion; watch me to catch a glimpse,
I am a word in flight
Write it down quickly for it last
I am a prophesy in season
To come to pass in due course
I am a bubble bustling in a glass
Can you feel the magic?
I am a man in race
You can catch the moment
But not the main man
Catch the benefits of my pain,
My gallantry lore and conferring boons,
My chariot comes but now
Right on the move to a spectacle
You feel the snap wind.
Catch what I leave behind -
My legacy, my story and triumph,
Hear the fading sound
Of the chariot of fire basking away in explosives.
On the move like my fathers before me
Taping from the drip of my crimson river,
Draw the benefit from my predestined existence.
I am
The man that is loosed
Not the man on the loose.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © 2016.
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