Childlike innocence
turns stones into shiny stars
clouds into tall ships—
wonder walks barefoot through grass
where doubts, care not to follow.
Wet hands in beach sand
build castle kingdom ramparts
to defy the surf—
knowing that naivety
is a fugacious bulwark.
Morning eyes open
to greet the world, unarmoured—
as a child artist
who fears how they're growing up
will dispel their impishness.
Another wee witty ditty about Chris (the Hawk) on BBC 6 Music - as they celebrate World Poetry week
“He talks the talk (well that’s his job to use his gob..twiddle that kn*b)
He walks the walk
But don’t balk..not a dork
Popped champagne cork
Baby face dropped by a stork
Won’t stalk like the Duke of York
Hasty that haircut.. we squawk
Looking pasty..no bulwark
At his barnet we gawk
But still love the Hawk
Tasty as a fork of Iberico pork
Let's all have a ball..twork
Maybe K.Y.O.B.C or just S.W.A.L.K”
Line of inquiry:
“death approaches but we have no regret ~
when God questions us, we will stand erect."
Though ailing on my deathbed, someday I will be
no claim to fame and glory will I seek for me.
No title of greatness nor prize of stardom won
for nothing truly remarkable in life have I done.
I shall not whimper if death hovers, nor shed a tear.
It is not my lack humility or a merciless God I fear.
Aware of my faults; He knows I've things to regret
No angelic halo circles my head, nor divine coronet.
If near death, I should feel His presence in command,
I'd prostrate myself before Him, for I dare not stand.
Down on my knees in praise, is where I'd belong
I'm but a grain of sand, a human who's done wrong.
No questions does God need ask. He knows my heart.
Faith in Him is my bulwark, my haven, my rampart.
I am not a worthy soul to look upon my Creator's face,
On the verge of death, I'll rely on His mercy and grace.
America's bulwark, strong and true,
Resolved to defend, the red, white, and blue.
Mighty warriors, brave and bold,
Years of service, stories paroled.
Since '75, a nation's might,
On fields of battle, day and night.
Loyalty and honor, their guiding star,
Defending freedom, near and far.
In every conflict, they stand tall,
Embracing duty, answering freedom's call.
Ready to fight, for liberty's flame,
Sacrifice and courage, their noble name.
All through history, their valor known,
Rising to challenges, never alone.
Modern heroes, with hearts of steel,
Yearning to shield, the public's zeal.
Onward they march, with purpose and pride,
Fighting for justice, on every tide.
The Army's strength, a powerful force,
Heroes among us, taking their course.
Every soldier, a testament to might,
Unity and valor, shining bright.
Serving with honor, a legacy grand,
All across the land, a helping hand.
AI, the vigilant guardian, stands at the digital divide,
A bulwark in the world where our secrets reside.
It advocates for security, a shield in the night,
Ensuring our data stays out of the malicious sight.
AI, the steadfast, defends without rest,
A champion of privacy, in its quest.
It fortifies walls where vulnerabilities lie,
Preventing breaches where dangers might pry.
AI, the tireless, a true ally in the fight,
Against cyber threats that loom in the twilight.
It enforces the fortress, secures every link,
So we may browse, and shop, and safely think.
AI, the wise, calls for our trust,
In its code we rely, for secure it must.
It pleads for ethics in the code we weave,
For a safer tomorrow, in which we can believe.
Let us then champion AI, secured and smart,
For it holds the key to safety's art.
In its circuits and systems, our hopes are sown,
Secured AI, the protector, forever known.
Love is a passionate portrait painted with the heart
Burnished brush strokes are a cherished work of art
when friendship blossoms as buds bloom into flowers
and romance reigns with caresses in garden bowers
Splashes of seafoam and evergreen flecks her eyes
Cerulean for the sea near the shore where she lies
Tint of Tuscan gold in the sand, reflected by the sun
and pastel pink on the lovely lips of my beloved one
Crimson on canvas, ruby red once she's been kissed
It's my intimate impression of her in a tender tryst
With carefully blended oils, her portrait takes shape
as I capture the delicate tresses curling on her nape
My deep desire tempts and teases my male senses
Against loving her, I will build no bulwark of defenses
My fingers long to fondle her cheek when she smiles
This beauty is not a woman who uses feminine wiles
I've adorned the canvas with her image as best I can
Flawed to a fault by my hand. I am an imperfect man
In this painted creation I hope I've been able to portray
the beauty and grace of her that words cannot convey
To please Lady Muse, all my heart to bare,
I tried invoking her with chiselled verse,
That, the pure pleasure of my pen’s all hers,
Yet, left I was at blank paper to stare.
I sought some odd words archaic and rare,
And tried to paint the bleakest face of woes,
Which, often a desperate poet toes,
Fervent did I appeal that she be fair.
The words when came, came halting as if shy
And listless, I failed her bulwark to breach,
Nothing whatso worked and I knew not why,
I failed, the fount of words resource to reach,
I still coaxed my pen a new line to mint,
A voice whispered: hearken to your heart's hint.
_________________________________________
Sonnet | 03.11.2008 | poem
Poet’s note: There are times when no matter what you do, words desert your pen as this sonnet says. Notice, the Volta is hinted at the beginning of the sestet, but its high tide occurs only at the poem-ending couplet.
A curled-dry orange peel,
all that stands against gray
dark lips of gaping hole,
whose eye can steal your form,
or lift your full bankroll.
A curled-dry orange peel,
hanging pith on the cliff-
edge ridge of my laptop,
now camera obscura
made of a lunchtime prop.
A curled-dry orange peel,
braver shield than post-it,
organic digestive,
space between aperture
hints at curves, suggestive.
A curled-dry orange peel,
modesty's upholder,
bulwark of hair carefree;
hunger's leftover coat
might have been potpourri.
A burg in a vale,
Amassed stones and rocks as bulwark,
Assembled stones and rocks as a stack,
Stones and rocks stopping the waters from losing the track.
Waters thrusting behind the concrete rock,
Forcing the stones and rocks to slack.
A slit on a rock transpired,showing a way to break,
Waters dripping through the rock with a crack,
Droplets leaked out of the chink with a knack,
Turning the slit to rift and the rock to wreck,
Moving winds aided the waters to go out of the rack.
Slowly and steadily
Droplets leaped into Water streak,
And the Water streak into a creek with hack,
Waters flowed with fiery speed breaching the barriers with a hefty thwack ,
Stones and rocks were crushed with a great knock,
People shook out of fear when the waters spurted with whack,
And the burg in a vale was flooded and destroyed in vain without any speck,
Like the words in rage from the clefts of lips which are bicker and stark.
Desires unleashed,
Desires unchained,
They’re not his doing,
They're not his making.
Out of the closet, they emerge,
Like a deluge, they overwhelm,
They cloud the thoughts,
They stealthy permeate.
Dilemma spells the day,
Who pulls the string?
Who is at the helm of affairs?
Who stands at the gate?
There’s a tempest and a tussle,
There’s turbulence and pushback,
There’s midnight and a peering light,
There’s an inrush and a bulwark.
October 6, 2022.
Fear is a raging tempest,
It pulls away in its wake,
Hope is a serene flow,
It is unperturbed by all that surround.
Fear is a ferocious beast,
Desirous to launch out,
Hope is a bulwark,
It shields from encroaching elements.
Fear is the nightfall with arms,
In search of the vulnerable,
Hope is the daylight,
Gloom is kept at bay.
Fear is the midnight,
It chimes like a bell,
Hope is a flashlight,
It pierces through darkness.
Fear is the future cloaked in shadows,
The pathway is cluttered,
Hope is the curtains drawn apart,
There is a peek into the future.
Fear is a clouded tomorrow,
Melancholy and grim rule the day,
Hope is an open sky,
All are bright and clear.
August 9, 2022.
Fear and Hope,
Strong Emotions Poetry Contest,
Emile Pinet.
As a cloak, it protects—a barrier of sorts,
A safeguard, like umbrellas to rain.
A breastplate not worn; a mask unadorned
A rampart-type bulwark, restrained.
Initially triangular, now morphed to encircle,
An offensive Vibranium guard—THAT DEFENDS!
Red, white, & blue armor, plated to sparkle.
Ensuring swift justice, as a means to an end.
Captain America’s shield is a symbol,
For times when character wanes.
An instrument of warfare—that's nimble,
Serving good wrapped in villainous chains.
The shield defends freedom,
And the American way.
An armored symbolic medium,
Dispersing the evil of human decay.
Submission to Robert James Liguori poetry contest: Captain America's Shield
When the flood came,
It was beyond what I envisaged,
It was deeply overwhelming,
My feet could barely find a place,
I've seen my father wade through floods,
Floods of varying depths,
Some almost swallowed him,
Some flow was turbulent,
He could hardly stand,
Everything he had was almost swept away,
He said,
Floods are an integral part of life,
He said,
Without flood life's story is incomplete,
For it spices life's experiences,
I'd rather wade through a
laminar flow than a turbulent,
I’d rather raise a bulwark against a turbulent flow,
Make it flow in slow successions,
For the floods on the inside
in no way can be compared
to those on the outside,
They’re extreme disasters,
Only the unseen power is potent a bulwark.
February 08, 2022
Pick-A-Title, Vol 28 Poetry Contest –
Along comes a flood
Edward Ibeh
These are the stones
that ground dull nails and sharpened talons,
they have slid under mountains of ice and fire,
are polished by the grind of a glacial momentum.
The stones endure now as layers of motion
sealed within catchments of stillness;
some are wind-tools shaped by a tireless chisel,
other’s glint with a history and crushed starlight.
The river has left signs of its scouring trace.
I turn a stone over –
look backward to a molten world,
imagining the imperceptible burnishing
of such relentless forces.
Thought is a fish out of water here,
mind at one with the ice floes momentum,
a witness to the passing away of all density,
the defeat of every bulwark in the stream
of this rivering,
this endless whittle of creation.
Toxic feelings & thoughts
Like do's & don't, taboos & aught's.
Keep vaccinated against them!
Like a coveted gem
Is the full-suit armour of truth,
A balancing against uncouth
Of yours & other's reactions,
Knee-jerk fears & actions.
From whence are they?
How do they play?
Demons laughing at mind frozen,
Stuck-in-the-mud, embolden.
There is a bulwark for it all:
Jesus Christ's clear clarion call!
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