so there we go, trying to twist our thoughts for the comfort of others.
we tell lies and continue to unite, as we call ourselves a circle of brothers.
we need to sugarcoat the truth while still not biting our tongue.
but your mouth feels shut closed, trapped and swollen almost as if it was stung.
"will we forever be young?"
well you can always be the youthful soul you strive to be, age is just a number.
"i don't feel safe, am i going to be okay?"
as long as you trust yourself and keep hope alive, nothing can bother.
i can tell you the truth but sound chokes back into my throat, the truth hurts to swallow.
but the truth only drags silently, yet deafeningly loud and temporarily brings sorrow.
so the remedy for all of this is the art of being dishonest.
as we revert and go back on our words and our main promise.
so there you are, twisting your truth for the comfort of others.
instead of saying it how it is, like you were taught by your mother.
dishonest people are much more cunning than other people.
and honestly, lies hurt less in the moment, and are perfect for keeping it peaceful.
Written: December 28, 2023
______________________________________
flounder in fictional field
—squeals and squeaks
Whimpers and growls
Sylphic swaying,
of flames spewing,
inwardly throbbing
of my nostril
lobotomized cosmic orbs.
scent of cinnamon
and coral on a rosary
interlaced of aurulent rimes.
Shrouded your burgundy &
coniferous ravines
loop of vitality
& unbearable redemption
in spanning eons,
ineffable wonder cradled
by melodic hums and buzzes
of lazy heat
and whistles of pitches
of endless hymns
echoes of choral chants
sung by soloists.
black ravens croaking,
like peals of doom
dewy allelomorphs
with waft-aloft wings
angels of ethereal whisper
of thunder,
that rang deafeningly
through the crevices,
of anodal motion
scurrilous loci
modeled as diploid.
Flourish,
Flourishing as the sun shining you daily
Rejoicing as abundant rain watering your fields
and creating some dams
for farming fish and feeding your animals.
You are burgeoning in the eyes
of some lazy folks
who have big mouths
to talk senseless speeches in the streets
and forgetting their arable lands
which are fitting for industrial agriculture.
Flourish,
Oh! Laughing deafeningly sometimes
when I focus on some tête -à-tête debates
Which concern poverty in rich continent like Africa.
Some folks suffering because of some circumstances
and others dependence due to sluggishness.
Flourish,
DRCongo has more billionaire businessmen
and some politicians
who keep their money in their mansions
and banks
in Europe, Asia America and other African countries...
Other rich people hide their money under the grounds
than investing in industrial fishing and agriculture
and infrastructures to uplift
the economy of the Country.
June 23/2023
Written for poetry contest sponsored by
Constance la France
....F WORD CHALLENGE....
In darkness deep, where shadows creep,
I find myself, lost and weak.
No air to breathe, no light to see,
A suffocating world surrounding me.
In barren lands, where hope has died,
Hopeless tears within me reside.
No air to breathe, no solace near,
Just whispers of sorrow so deafeningly clear.
Silent screams echo in the night,
Lost in a void, devoid of sight.
No air to breathe, no escape found,
A drowning soul forever bound.
Abyssal depths consume my soul,
Seeping sadness taking its toll.
No air to breathe, no respite in sight,
A soul struggling, losing the fight.
But through the chaos, a flicker ignites,
A glimpse of hope amidst the darkest of nights.
A ray of light, piercing the despair,
A promise of restoration, my soul to repair.
No longer suffocating, a gasp I take,
Revitalized, my spirit shall awake.
With every breath, life's sweetness I receive,
No air to breathe, but now, I truly believe.
For in the depths, where shadows lie,
There exists a strength that cannot die.
No air to breathe, yet I shall go on,
Embracing the darkness, until the light is dawned.
The hallowed evening is deafeningly here
Goblins and witches' loud shrieks are near,
Shelled corn raining down our outer wall
Our whimpering dog is cringing in the hall,
Some snotty-nosed kid bangs on the door
A plastic pumpkin for candy wants even more,
The tiny young princess calls out trick or treat
A four-year-old drummer boy never misses a beat,
That big-footed clown lives up our lane
The kid with the rattle is driving me insane,
An older woman whom I cannot figure out
Is collecting for UNICEF, somehow, I doubt,
One more creature from the black lagoon
Or a big, black hairy animal like a baboon,
I will take in my candy and drop out of sight
Turn off the porch lamp and call it a night.
FIRST PLACE GOLD MEDAL WINNER
"Brevity - Halloween" Poetry Contest
All Poetry - October 9, 2021
FEATURED POETRY SOUP POEM
June 20, 2021
FRONT PAGE PICK
All Poetry
October 5, 2022
October 7, 2022
Submitted to: "2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 16" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
Exclusively dead,
Inclusively acculturated.
Expanded populations,
Deafeningly silent
in
alcoholic hazes
and destructive rages.
Democracy Is Troublesome
Hark! Their noise is deafeningly loud, and if everyone claps,
upon these fools the building will collapse!
Date: 13th October 2021
YOUR BEST RHYMING COUPLET #3 Poetry Contest
Sponsor - L MILTON HANKINS
Hallowed evening is deafeningly here
Goblins and witches loud shrieks are near
Shelled corn raining down our outer wall
Our whimpering dog is cringing in the hall
Some snotty-nosed kid bangs on the door
A plastic pumpkin for candy wants even more
The tiny young princess calls out trick or treat
A four-year-old drummer boy never misses a beat
That big-footed clown lives up our lane
The kid with the rattle is driving me insane
An older woman whom I cannot figure out
Is collecting for UNICEF, somehow, I doubt
One more creature from the black lagoon
Or a big, black hairy animal like a baboon
I will take in my candy and drop out of sight
Turn off the porch lamp and call it a night
FIRST PLACE GOLD MEDAL WINNER
"Brevity - Halloween" Poetry Contest
All Poetry - October 9, 2021
FEATURED POETRY SOUP POEM
June 20, 2021
FRONT PAGE PICK
All Poetry
October 5, 2022
Everyone is fast asleep; the house is still...
The clock ticks relentlessly, deafeningly loud
The dishwasher gurgles, gurgles, and gurgles and
There's the buzz of a fluorescent light, of a thousand bees
The heat goes on; it scratches its ways through the vents
A radio's on somewhere, the news forever stuck in spin cycle
OMG! WHAT was THAT? Oh, it was only the phone rang...
It frightened me so.
Savvy scientists scoff at the soul:
Can't poke it, prod it, pinch it, probe it
~ and clearly can't claim to contemplate...
an empirical, egg-headed, experimental
all-enveloping ecstasy of erudite exactitude
elegantly and eloquently embossed, embedded
~ in its entropy of effervescing exegesis.
Whereas
I know of no one -- nowhere -- nasty or normal
knock-kneed, neck-naped, nose-gnarled
neuron-nitpicked or nucleic-acid-nested
Who
denies indubitably or dubiously, definitely
or deafeningly--deranged, demented,
debauched or denatured -- the sacred
sanctuary unsullied, where sits, serene and
silent, the small, still sound of said soul
swilling, swelling, seeking, sailing, soaring---
sensitively, sensorily, yea sentimentally---
til he sees, then sighs, then seizes
so surreptitiously the serum of sentience
Within!
Entry in "An Inner Knowing, an Absolute Feeling, My Mystical Soul
Self Poetry Contest," sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
I am light dawned on an eternity,
Promising tomorrows, giving today
A traversable feeling growling into conviction—
I am the fuel for the flame,
A rock for the lame
Where do I find home in which to land?
Do I seek refuge, or do I seek danger?
Am I vulnerable in my strengths?
Am I solicitous in my aims?
Do I laugh?
Do I cry?
I am in the air you inhale, frequently skimming your ground,
Sometimes I move deafeningly—
And at times I float without a sound
I have seen the change in your eyes,
The moment you grew into a man
The moment you sobbed away sin
And exposed the evil hand
I am light dawned on an eternity,
Promising tomorrows, giving today
But who am I?
Why do you hear me, when others vow I am myth?
Why do you listen, when the thunders threaten to deafen you?
Why do you doubt, when you have seen my wonders eye to eye?
When you have felt my hand on your lips,
Quieting your writhing, screaming soul?
Who am I?
I am the revealer,
In hope I am your chief
The spark in the dark that galvanizes you
The smoke in the air that sooths you
Forever and always,
I am the best of your heart,
And I am free with fires impermeable!
I feel the need to say a real loud poem,
A poem full of WAILS!! HOWLS!! and YELPS!!
It doesn’t need to be about anything at all,
But if it is then I guess that that helps.
AAAARR!! Now that feels better,
BOOM!! THRASH!! BAP!! WHAM!! and BAM!!!
Just like in the comics of old there’s a VRAP!! SMACK!! ZAP!!
Then a CRUNCH!! and a BIFF!! and a SLAM!!
Actually, in the comics of old, it was profoundly loud,
With all the yelling and fighting.
Those words were in yellow, in bright red shiny stars.
It was all so thrillingly exciting.
With a KABOOM!! and a THUD!! the hero saved the damsel.
Then a POP!! and a sudden KABANG!!
The hero was muscle bound, long hair and strong jaw.
Always one man against a whole gang.
Imagine writing poems where words can be invented,
Just block letters with two exclamations.
BONK!! or WHACK!! followed by WHUMF!! or PHOOMPH!!
Even your words are your own creations.
Written 19th march 2016 but never for any contest..... Till now :)
Listen to the gossip of the rain,
dancing on my windows and jumping on the pavement,
thrumming and battering on the roofs,
plays a little sleep-song on my roof at night,
when it hits the ground, becomes a rivulet.
Listen to the rain falling from the sky,
tracks blending into the fresh sky-fallen trickles,
crackle dry verandah like an old walkie-talkie coming to life,
beat the panes like timorous wings,
and quench our endless thirst.
Listen to the pouring rain,
pouring from dark skies,
crashed deafeningly on the corrugated metal roof,
fell down constantly like an endless bucket of water being
poured down from the heaven,
sounds like the heavens are knocking on my door,
droplets thrashed at the ground, with ferocity matchless,
beat upon my heads with silver liquid drops.
Neon beams of spectrum light inscribed upon the cloud
As artists pastel palette paints and graciously endows
God’s colour chart in majesty on heavens canvas scrolls
In misty watered pastel hues the Promise arc unrolls
Across the hills and valleys the thunder trumpet sounds
from the charcoal hills of slate it deafeningly resounds
There Zeus’s lance divides the air with concentrated might
A visual embodiment, in unharnessed blinding light
The swirling mist of waterfalls clings close to craggy wall
And offers canvas to the paint sprayed through natures hall
The myriad tints and subtle shades, in Technicolor shows
A master class of artistry displayed in each rainbow.
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