Feast your eyes, ladies and gents,
on the spotlight, high up in the circus tent.
We cross our fingers, hoping, in our fright,
our hero stays on the tightrope tonight.
Wait, that man's sixty-six years old,
and he has nary a muscle to behold.
He doesn't not look so very brave
as he gives the crowd a sheepish wave.
His cholesterol is on a slippery slope -
too much butter, and he falls off the rope.
One more sweet? Oops, his sugar level!
Who offered it? It was the devil.
He's between a hard place and a rock.
Watch as he tries to put on his sock.
He's taking quite the frightening risk
of herniating another disc.
He climbs into his car with confusion.
All this traffic could lead to one more contusion.
The thought raises the pressure of his blood.
Oh my, will he fall down with a thud?
An impact of that intensity
would spell trouble with his bone density.
Each step he takes is filled with fear
as he clings to his health so dear.
Feast your eyes, ladies and gents,
on the spotlight, high up in the circus tent.
We cross our fingers, hoping, in our fright,
all of us on this tightrope tonight.
It’s an optical illusion
Has my brain had a contusion
I look on in rapt confusion
It’s a trick of the night
There’s a shadow in the doorway
Coming my way going your way
It’s as slippery as a moray
It’s a trick of the night
It’s shape is vague; it’s indistinct
I didn’t see from where it slinked
Would it vanish if I blinked
It’s a trick of the night
Dogs don’t pass, they turn and run
Like they’re seeking out the sun
Even rats avoid the fun
It’s a trick of the night
Dust and dirt rise in the street
At the tread of unseen feet
Something I care not to meet
It’s a trick of the night
There’s a creaking on my stairs
On my neck are prickling hairs
But she caught me unawares
It’s a trick of the night
There’s a beauty standing there
With a shimmer in her hair
Not a stitch of underwear
It’s a trick of the night
Manly acts I’ve quickly planned
But I do not understand
Is the dagger in her hand
Just a trick of the night
Before the day turned into night,
When things made sense amid the light,
When darkness was a shade of fright,
When I saw life in black and white...
Life in colour brings confusion.
Do I see truth or illusion?
Must transcend mental contusion-
Processing feels like intrusion.
The night compels one now to take
This challenge on for ones own sake.
Learn from success and each mistake.
Our life is of it what we make.
Colour's a facet of beauty
Brings depth to personality.
The melancholic pair of his deep brown eyes, depicts the contusion of his heart,
his stained skin and the deep furrows shows, how viciously he was torn apart. .
The bruise on his feet, the scratches on his palms,
the blood on his sleeves, and his nodding stance,
The moroseness in his stare, the abhorrence for the hues,
an arduous spin of emotions, he connects to few.
Bubble of illusion
Is confusion with a T
A troubling contusion
On a master memory
A faster elocution
Is a feature for a crowd
The most annoying creature
Has a gift for being loud.
Written and Submitted on May 18, 2022
The Bubble of Illusion poetry contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
I detest You
I love you
Your pick
Far-famed to all
Light-colored or dark
Affluent or impoverished
Young or aged
No one breaks free
You vicious but just
You don’t compromise
When it is time
You appear like the sun
You rob on daylight
You leave contusion, ageless bruises
You Rob in the dark
I speak to you cruel but fair
Why didn’t you give me a chance
A chance to say good bye
You so cruel but fair
I dislike you
I love you
Did you hold on tight
Wanting to be in the right
Or was it all just an illusion
Feted to a head contusion
But it keeps coming back to you
Thinking that it was all through
So in the end it’s a living thing
Bouncing in your head knowing nothing
So pent up finally by it all
Bring down the end curtain call
Shouting no more I’ve had it now
Just leave without taking a bow.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Fresh in mind
A lightening bolt in me
But safer, kinder
We slipped off conformity
In triggers of encrypted chemicals
No slap-on labels
No pull to sticky corrections
No show of egos unveiling
Our mismatched skills did not get in the way
We wooed like outfielders catching
Off balance when separated
Ignoring sweet word stumbles
Joyful together,
sharing each other's detours
Our shadows weaved to one another
leaning, like twin towers
till issues snapped at our heels
a re-evaluation
unfortunate contusion
apply another bandaid
de-stabilizing
pressure points
a catered
drift
to others.
Brazen memories -
for the love that precedes the end of love
still stirs.
Poem revised: September 15th. 2020
#YouAreNotNext
No.
That predator should've kept his eyes closed,
His hands to himself,
His temptations under control.
Often times we indulge in these predators behaviour.
Feminist Imani once said, "as short as this poem was, another woman just became a victim of rape" and I add on, as ongoing as this may be the hive is/are predators waiting to be unvailed.
Predators turn into vultures and then rapist.
I could go on and tell you how trifle it is to these people,
The innocence and beauty you possess even when you don't believe it,
The stride in your walk even when you don't have pride,
But I'm here to talk to my women.
It's not your fault, neither is it his but I'm not here to make excuses for him and justify his actions.
It's a contusion,
But every contusion heals.
You're a trove of more than what lies between your thighs . You're a trove of all that exists and is yet to happen.
Do not let a predator steal your shine for every Queen should stand their ground even when they are on the floor.
~Low-Key Poet??
-Sihle Simelane
Even as a master of illusion
I was left in a state of confusion
My heart suffers from a contusion
But I refuse to amuse collusion
So I hide away in seclusion
Hoping to bring conclusion
My heart is as large as a planet
But I'm not even sure I have the map
So I wander over it completely lost
Just trying to find fragments of my soul
They're like shards of sapphire
Sprinkled across empty fields
But I know when joy is near
Because these fragments shine bright
Like little beacons awoken
Showing me the path to happiness
Is never too far away
And suddenly I'm no longer alone
The only place I'm alone
Is in the confines of my own head
Every fragment bursts into a person
Friends, family, and others
They were always here all along
Holding the lost parts of my soul
Even as a master of illusion
I was left in a state of confusion
My heart suffered a major contusion
But I refused to amuse collusion
Hidden away in self-imposed seclusion
And now I finally have my conclusion
Some Itchy Skin It Had Been
We had heard that his confusion,
Was contributed to his delusion,
And itchy skin,
Again and again;
Could be contributed to contusion.
Jim Horn
This land is my land
Happy place in this book of sorrows
Where gargoyles gather
Yesterday, today and tomorrow
And never have to prepare faces
To meet the faces they meet
Mostly because as faces go, we have none
Ask Eliot, we have been called inebriate
Full of new wine, but there is more
I always say there is always more
The analysis is wrong of course
And only those in the know would know
Like I said, Lord, we are here
A gathering of voices, not disembodied
But disregarded, the sight of us vurulent
The sight of us appals a few. Turbulence
The needles in their misery meters
Rush to the easiest conclusions
Masses of contusion will cause confusion
Before they know me they judge me
And then they downplay their judgement
But why should I complain and sound plaintive
In the words of Lord Faarquar
It's rude enough being in the space we share
Tending Tapestry’s Tenter
Resilience reticent reverberations receding revelations roaming
Resolving residual revolutions resentment reset reposing rest
Puzzling perceptions poet’s perspective Peace
Agency anticipation an arrays’ arrangement alive assorted aims
Antipode’s adjoining assiduous adaptations anchoured attached
Wily words wildly withheld with watchman’s wake
Contingency contextual concussion colluding caressing carefully
Confused contusion collaborating consequential contra-points
Meaningless meaning meandering my murky mind
Hence hidden host hones hopeful honest harvest
08th June 2018
Connect the dots in your love cove
Delve into matters of the passion
They deserve to serve the apple of your eye and her problems solve
With neither intrusion nor contusion of the emotion
That runs deep and keep
Your mission intact and compact
Preventing either of you to weep
When in unison you act
To warm each other knowing fully well
You were meant for each other long before you set
Eyes on each other to spell
Love so rich it left you breathless in every quest
Your oneness enriches
As for each other you live
To grace switches
That to your love give
Meaning and purpose
In the morning, at noon and at night
When you both focus
On entwining, sacrificing and holding each other tight
To ensure love grows
No third parties intrude
Love chains of servitude throws
To entertain no matter that’s either rude or crude.
Mrs. A Writer sat at her word processor for four or five solid hours
After two o’clock her neck was a mess and her writing a state of confusion
Wide neck exercises and coffee didn’t help, so she took a nice hot shower
Her best friend Carol looked at it the next day and pronounced she had a contusion.
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