Congealed Poems | Examples

Silent Scream

Contest : Oxymoron
Sponsored by : Nette Onclaud
Date : September 3, 2025


Your congealed charm sprays spring colors, 
folded buds of my heart unfurl.
You drift far transfixed in my sky
that falls floating with my life’s shards, 
pain rhythm sutures broken heart whole.
I hear silent scream of flower
cry for old sunrise in new dawn,
see you turn dew pearls on petals.

Collops of Fat

Collops of fat line the tables of the few,
while the many stretch hands toward empty plates.
Skyscrapers rise in the capital,
yet in the villages, children bend under jerrycans,
walking miles for a sip of muddy water.

The economy grows, they say—
percentages polished and paraded—
but the growth is stored in vaults,
not in classrooms with broken desks,
not in hospitals without medicine,
not in the pockets of the farmer who tills red soil for nothing.

Every election season,
collops of fat are dangled like bait—
T-shirts, soap, envelopes,
promises swollen with grease,
but never nourishment for tomorrow.

The youth, restless, crowd into boda stages,
degrees folded in pockets,
dreams reduced to dust by unemployment.
Markets overflow with speeches,
but not with buyers.
Streets fill with posters,
but not with jobs.

Uganda’s wealth pools in corners,
thick, congealed, unreachable.
The nation limps,
while a few grow heavier, rounder,
their laughter echoing across gated compounds.

Collops of fat—
the evidence of excess,
the proof of imbalance,
the weight carried not by those who eat,
but by those who starve.

Echoes that entices, suffices

In the quagmire ooze of daily trudge,
where the mire of monotony
clings cold, congealed in sorrow,
it takes only a spark of inspiration,
to transform an ordinary morsel
into a shimmering taste of sheer joy.
Echoes that entices, suffices.

I carry my sample bag handy,
stocked with my pet peeves in reverse.
Tiny things that you take time
to notice, and create space for, 
that bring gemstones of joy shining:
The smell of rain, with storm's first drops.
The wispy waft of coffee, freshly brewed.
A rare bird sighted or heard, out of season.
A few chords of a beloved song.
Warm socks from the dryer.
A wink, glace, a tiny half-backed smile.
First touch of warm hands.
Fresh bread from the oven.
Noticing my things I placed in extraordinary ways.
A doodle scribbled on my notepad 
Inspiring word or phrases recorded.
Doing things at half-speed, to spool like honey.
In all these little ways on long days 
these echoes entice, suffice.

Hide of Tyke in Hold

Heartthrob in damsel drag
Belief of human bile
Completely instilling cascading dregs of mechanical flesh, bones and spit
64th avenue 
And coiling deft doom
Winged balls of bulging blood and speckled steel
Merry wails and flutters of moths unsealed 
Fitted upon falling kneel
And reckoned release of rotten roadkill-
Rats and babes and brats
Congealed candy and sickeningly sweet brandy
And hailed light of epiphany to choke, swallow and spit
And strangle without a hand nor handle but grit
Of groil and crevices of menaces heralding honed notes
And a lone liver in fathered infirmary 
Black backed in breachers 
Potted a bulge to indulge the fickle maggots of dissociation 
Emulsification and hearty sniff of 
Whitened slice and slithers of snow
Dregs to drag and hone and throw
Up upon bedded saline laden road
Of rows and rows and pounds 
That drag rotten flesh afresh from the hound
Sutured from spine to fluttered wing
The hide
Plucked apart from rat to brat
And collared collier stepped afresh with new hide and throw 
And stubborn stubbled child with a new mind in tow

5//5//2025

Delivered Through Heaven's Gate

Quote: “Lenses grant vision, perspectives determine what we see.”  Poet


As faith confirmers, glorious, color-chorused rainbows caress.
Brilliant beauty as fresh delivered through Heaven’s gate,
brightens human hopes, uplifting faith to further radiate.
Sensations sparkling gloriously bright as any God made jewel
grant elation promises that soothe any doubts man may mutter.
For many, rainbows are a visual grabber, seeing faith further congealed.
Those lacking even faith’s shadow, view rain as the subject matter.

The Lost Memory

Your face in the twilight wind 	
flashed with the dissolved rainbow hues,  
radiating the spectrum of your love, 
I saw painted on your florid face of splendor, 
the petals unfurled on the contours of your smile.
Lest it withered away in the cauldron of oblivion
I kept it framed within the foliage of memory.

In the cradle of the reclined verdant bough,
opulent with the fine filigree of emerald exuberance,
a delicate design I made with love-laced twigs 
for the nest of my adoring desire, 
I weaved with the finesse of fervor.

On the wings of discontent winter, 
wafting in the polar wind of despair
the wilted leaves of my longing 
blew away rustling to the hazy realm of nowhere.
Dismal in my frosted nest on the skeletal tree,
I counted in my faint heartbeat 
the footsteps of the desolate dusk.

My yearning turned into a glacial embrace,
you escaped from the congealed fold of icy love, 
flew away far to the sun-soaked sky. 
Forsaken in freezing darkness of the arctic nest, 
I live with the petrified feather you left
in the memory lost within a frozen mist.

Skating Upon Saturn's Rings

In
cosmic
wilderness
icy rings swirl
with frozen rock dust
in thin ribbons on flight
in solar system unique,
around the sleeping Saturn far,
as it’s leftover wandering waste,
making the breathtaking celestial rinks
where I as cosmonaut shall one day glide,
skate upon the congealed space tracks vast
in freedom of weightless milieu,
whirl charmed in galactic glow.
As the stardust swathes me
I’ll take spiral turns,
primal silence
will flood me
in false
dream.

Lost in Fantasy

dreams
conjures
fantasy ~ 
A gilded cage
or Icarus' wings?
the amethyst sky sings
serenading us, who sleeps
ephemeral though we may be
through this effervescent escapade
we who dream drifts along eternity

Eternity abides in those who dream
unwinding hopes too often congealed 
painting the night with faith yet found
who can see illusions speak?
This unfeeling façade
beguiling the eyes
wipes our essence
redressing
them with
haze

- Let The Game Live -

   Child mind with red apple cheeks,
   and brilliant eyes.
   Do you wish to taste my mud cake?
   Unclean hands,
   picking the first dandelion of spring.
   Found a stone that flashes silver -
   a valuable treasure

   Studying an anthill,
   a large dome-shaped pile of pine needles.
   Look, an earthworm, it's a friend.
   Scrapes and bruises on the knees doesn't matter,
   the blood has congealed hours ago.

   Climbing up a huge tree,
   can almost touch the moon.
   A child isn’t afraid to explore.
   Ouch, a splinter in the finger.
   Mom will fix it when I come home.
   Life doesn’t have to be complicated.

   Many times it is not the wound itself
   that needs the most care and attention.

Xylem Ablaze

He climbed atop
an oak on fire
Its sap transformed  
by flames concealed  

Each branch he passed
a year he traded
For what’s unseen
— by heat congealed

(Dreamsleep: October, 2024)

Beach a Boneyard

As I gaze upon the splendor of the beach:
yellow, soft and resplendent and compliant.
I realize that it is a debris field of bones.
Of shattered shells devoid of sound-of-sea-echoes.
Of bit of crabs, seaweeds and bones of fishes ground to dust,
all gathered into an amorphous tell-tale pile. 
It's congealed when wet, soft and flowing when dry.
This boneyard of bone, shell grit and bony bits,
is caressed by the wind, currents and waves into dunes, banks, bars and drifts
that are constantly played and reworked.
It is this boneyard beach which provides the perfect
barrier and margin along the shore absorbing 
the thrust of storms, winds and waves
protecting it from erosion.
Like the bones in a cemetery, or a calavera
the debris field on a beach
protects and sustains the living form 
with the heritage remains of the past,
remembered and put to good use.

Frozen Emotive Clock

time stops to slip in ebony night,
emotive clock freezes
eternal pathos in congealed instants, 
silhouetted in the shadow of past, 
smears the strata of darkness,
designed to disguise perception lattice

The Nightmare

The atramentous night was without light.
Terror pursued the frightened running man.
And got closer the harder that he ran.
He screamed his fear into the Stygian night.

The dark was broken by something blacker.
At first indistinct but was growing near.
The man was running in obvious fear.
He fled as from an unseen attacker. 

In panic he turned to impose a ban.
The shapeless pursuer stopped and congealed.
As it did its frightful face was revealed.
He found that it was from himself he ran.

Simple Style Statement

Time strokes the wrinkled canvas,
the ancient spider in twilight hour 
weaves the senility web, 
the empty eyes wander in the wasteland. 
The hedonist psyche refuses 
to gauge the grief of loss. 
The face morphs into metaphor 
for the past panorama dislodged,
captured in the snapshot 
of the narcissist impulse congealed
in the portrait I make of me.

It’s made of latent lattice of delicate design,
lines on lines contour my body.
The vibrant epitome of expression align
with the pattern of unique look personified.
An insular captive of my mental making, 
I’m an inimitable loner within me,
defined by the entrenched essence singular,
scared to face the crowded world.

I get driven by the self-obsessed urge
to uplift my sagging morale,
clothe the portrait with an apposite attire. 
I open the sparse closet to select a T-shirt
with the walking punchline  
“Be Brave, Be You” inscribed bold.
It makes a simple style statement
for me coming out of the lonesome shell.

Darkness

In the ebony night time stops to flow,
the still hands of the impetus clock freeze
the timeless infinite pathos in congealed instants 
for listless life wandering on the shadows of past,
stares through the layered strata of darkness,
designed to mask the acuity lattice. 

Clumped silver cloud gleams with astral halo,
moon dust drapes the mind with mesmeric glow,
as ordained stars sprout hope remotely 
in the dark night of the inner cosmos.

Indomitable faith fertilizes the fallow mind, 
void perception in miasma fill elixir of exuberance ,
waits for the new sunrise to see
the creepy cloud in the obsidian sky melts, 
resurgent rain suffuses the  silhouetted senses,
for in the stalled time on agonized psychic canvas  
there is a darkness framed.

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