I've always had a sense or feeling of being exiled, not only from the world throughout my life but even from my family members when I was a child. There was no sense of demonstrative love from anyone.
Not from my mother or brothers and sisters even. No one has ever been kind.
Then, if I write about love, as a poet, I handle an object that is in every way an alien phenomenon; that the proverbial heart and Christianity's "Garden Exile" are the inescapable "Darkness" within which I live but my unique perspective as a 'Neutral Analyst' is a blindness which allows me to see further.
That's a good thing.
From the very depths of my inner being I cherish Poetry Soup,
without the written verse I’d be impoverished as a person,
literary projects spur me on to otherworldy epic peaks,
an open channel with furtherance from lexicons endowed,
golden opportunity for human pathos rich and fair,
stomach-wrenching pain, joyous peals of laughter, mental stimulus,
visions I adhere to have a wider world impetus,
the comity of fellow authors and their honest feedback,
diplomatic goodwill hint at barren lapse within my canon,
and gracious honeyed Bon Mot of peer group kudos on occasions,
that angst-ridden moment before a contest sponsor judgement,
bold gasp of relief at higher placement than expected,
or just as likely glum expression at the baleful NA,
in support a staunch muse Jay A Pallen sheds her light,
loyal and demonstrative sister, whose sparkling eyes ooze warmth,
sagacious councillor supreme, bestowing love on this bard and their ardent stanza,
who brought to my attention bewitching vistas waiting to be captured,
influencer of my first ever piece “Downward Plod,”
where this writer’s magic life-enhancing odyssey began,
how I cherish every moment spent on Poetry Soup
a
perfected
art
in
tireless
prolific
petition
propitious
&
grandiose
ambition
sentiment
in
demonstrative
desire
amazement
articulated
aloud
vitality
vindicated
in
virtue
complete
&
distinct
You are a soligaster of the highest order, held in pristine favor by your court. A wordsmith after Satan’s own heart.
Champion of Doublespeak, a demonstrative firebrand with a MAGA-phone. An artful dodger, complete with chaotic DOGE.
Delusions more grandiose than Bonaparte, crowned King of Deception you be a celebrated charlatan who follies in the scam.
Hats off to the Misleader of the Free World, ‘Trumping’ reality in monolith farce filled fallacies, fabulously flaunting fake.
Protagonists of propaganda. Promoter of pandemonium. You thrive in ‘Mythomania’ unraveling truths with charismatic flare.
Purveyor of provocation.
Pestilence peddling Prince of Calamity. May you find solace amongst the shameless.
You are a soligaster of the highest order, held in pristine favor by your court. A wordsmith after Satan’s own heart.
Champion of Doublespeak, a demonstrative firebrand with a MAGA-phone. An artful dodger, complete with chaotic DOGE.
Delusions more grandiose than Bonaparte, crowned King of Deception you be a celebrated charlatan who follies in the scam.
Hats off to the Misleader of the Free World, ‘Trumping’ reality in monolith farce filled fallacies, fabulously flaunting fake.
Protagonists of propaganda. Promoter of pandemonium. You thrive in ‘Mythomania’ unraveling truths with charismatic flare.
Purveyor of provocation.
Pestilence peddling Prince of Calamity. May you find solace amongst the shameless.
Easy to entrance the sycophants watch their helpless dance their back and forth swaying and swooning, in cunnilingual somniloquence.
Droning and drooling with flattering and fawning, turgently swelling, spouting placating pleasantries, a mess of gushing adulation.
Self exultation, craving congratulation by consensus for another conventional sensation, clamouring for congratulation in lurid inflated infatuation.
Curtailing castigation, striving in strides as pedestrian asperation gives rise to typical inspiration, stillted it saunters soulessly, provoking predicable platitudes.
Dreary dedication denoting the humdrum and the ho-hum, tirelessly tiring, offering effortlessly banal bestowments bequeathing a tepid tranquillising testimonial.
Uniform, unchanged, unilateral applause, amplifying abysmal analogies, articulating dearth depictions of derivative denotations.
Cryptic quips collapse carelessly caused by cumbersome correlating contradictions, deviating detrimentally forth fatuous flutterings.
Stale sentiment, sterile superfluous suppositions, garishly guilded in grandure,
Repetitious rudimentary ruminations, repackaged and retold.
Sometimes love as it grows and as it ages,
finds itself in complacency.
The “I Love You’s” become habitual, delivered by rote
One side or another sometimes interprets
this less than demonstrative, expression of feeling
as something lost and not something gained.
I can’t make you feel
what you don’t want to feel
And I can’t make you
want to spend time with me
But I can make you a sandwich
so at least sit down and eat
No, I can’t make you love
all the things I love
I can’t make you want
all the things I want
But I can make the bed
so why not stay and rest
Though I no longer seem to make
you laugh as I once did
And I can’t make you love me
the way it seemed you used to
I can make your house a home
so why not
" Definitions:
Delineating Means: Depicting or describing.
Deify Means: Adoration or exaltation for a beloved." - Oxford Dictionary -
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Darling, desire dominates dearest dreams.
Daydreams discover deepest devotion.
Despite demonstrative dauntless dedication.
Decades didn’t dampen delicate delights.
Daylight dawned, dazzled by a daisy a day.
Doting directly drives desire to dance.
Determined to declare deify for my dearest.
Distinguished, debonair, dignified date.
Dress, diamond, Diocese, document, a destiny.
Delineating developing dependence divinely.
Deserving dedicated devotion darling.
Dissent divides, devotion defends, to dispel dire divisions.
demonstrative tree shows her feminine wiles
a prowess unseen and unfelt by other trees prances forth
wind and sea swirl around her, trying for attention
she bestows attention on all
From the very depths of my inner being I cherish poetry,
without the written verse I’d be impoverished as a person,
literary projects spur me on to otherworldy epic peaks,
an open channel with furtherance from lexicons endowed,
golden opportunity for human pathos rich and fair,
stomach-wrenching pain, joyous peals of laughter, mental stimulus,
visions I adhere to have a wider world impetus,
the comity of fellow authors and their honest feedback,
diplomatic goodwill hint at barren lapse within my canon,
and gracious honeyed Bon Mot of peer group kudos on occasions,
that angst-ridden moment before a contest sponsor judgement,
bold gasp of relief at higher placement than expected,
or just as likely glum expression at the baleful NA,
in support a staunch muse Jay A Pallen shed her light,
loyal and demonstrative sister, whose sparkling eyes ooze warmth,
sagacious councillor supreme, bestowing love on this bard and their ardent stanza,
who brought to my attention bewitching vistas waiting to be captured,
influencer of my first ever piece “Downward Plod,”
shortlisted for Creative Writing Ink poet challenge,
where this writer’s magic life-enhancing odyssey began
Productive, constructive, forever chasing down time?
Corruptive, destructive, forever wasting your time?
Seductive, demonstrative, forever crossing the line?
Apprehensive, collaborative, always walking behind?
Emotive, corrosive, always using someone else’s life?
Offensive, abusive, do you ever look yourself in the eyes?
Sometimes love's force makes us innovative,
When adoration longs to be demonstrative,
Through art, we express our affection,
Beyond mere words, a profound connection,
Love's mystique lures us into its hold,
Truth's arrow strikes, our hearts unfold,
But in this realm of emotions and desire,
Love can be rejected, extinguishing the fire,
As if humanity were a mere illusion,
Love's presence can face cold exclusion,
Yet, still, we brave love's treacherous terrain,
For the chance to embrace its joy and pain.
Ambrosia
Black tulip Shrek
Green envy demonstrative
Butter wouldn't melt whence churned
Into something other than itself
With chicken arms and pigeon chest
Which inside to hide
The ashes of a loved one
Departed
I love you to pieces, unconditionally, the mama says to Peter.
She says this in actions, not in words. In her family you did not say it ever.
Pete’s father is demonstrative – I love you flows out of his mouth generously.
He lavishes “love you” on loving neighbors, friends, a hitchhiker he has met once.
Do you have a minute? Pete asks him.
His father assures him he does, but then he must rush off.
A friend needs a lift to work. On his return he is summoned to the phone.
“I never get to talk to him,” Pete complains to his mother.
“He is a rescuer,” she assures Pete. “He is busy being himself. No worries.”
By the time his father decides to sit down to listen, Pete has left home.
His mother has gone to heaven, and there is no one left for Dad to help.
Who will he listen to now?
On the open verdure of mind
I’m harvesting you
I’m not on the ladder of stars
To quit the beat of the earthly heart
You in demonstrative shape
with a divine youth on the vineyard
there I
need red wine’s fountain
no need for the moony grains,
need the seraphic unaided room
no need for the music of dead’s reborn,
need a bed of a long-staying river
no need for sleepy and dreamy texture,
need longer togetherness
no need for the day and sunny trace
and I want- the ending life
May it not end forever
-24.11.2020 Chattogram
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Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.