To be frank;
I don't need to play prank,
For your unspoken words,
To fly to my heart's nest like birds.
To be serious;
I don't have to be hilarious,
If truly true love don't run smooth,
A mould morales that soothe.
To be candid;
You won't want to be stranded,
Before you pray my caress,
That for free I coalesce.
To be real;
You barely should plea,
When attention digress off gaze,
Your eyes' roses drive me so craze.
To be best friend;
It doesn't have to depend,
On your girlhood status,
For virginity don't determines SHE callous.
To be successful;
He needs not woman so colorful,
Rather caught amidst feelings & readiness,
For forever in spite whatever for liveliness.
To be cultured;
There is no need to place morals acquired,
On the possible retriever of mistake,
That had born enough good by its ache.
To make mix-up stop;
There is need to stoop,
Not that low,
But let him know.
TO BEING IN LOVE’S LOVE
Being in love is an episodic emotion
Ballooned in exotic expectation
Tested by inflated orgasmic delirium
Often fizzing in diabolical diffusion:-
On the other hand,
Loving and being loved,
Is an eternal comic reality
That God spiritually bonds
To be eternal throughout life:-
How beautiful and exciting it is
To love spiritually, and eternally;
Being in the cosmic reality of
Blessed God sent true love
Ballooning beyond all
Limits and expectations:-
Being forever in love with you
Remains exciting and loving
And being loved by you is limitless,
And beyond all expectations: Praise God!
Each day I give Him thanks for the gift of you:-
jewel of Jesus
oh my God what on earth has become of you
the cross you bore and those days in the cave
torment and anguish all up in the clouds
diffusion dilution of promise and hope
you were to be the miraculous jewel in the crown
devoid of thorns that pierce our conscience
they tore the brilliance and cast it in alchemy
to thunderous applause of greed and contempt
gold myrrh and frankincense gone up in smoke
while divinity kinship humanity now burn in hell
warfare and anger instead of glorious peace
avarice material idols and rapacious destruction
hand me a loincloth point me back to the basics
guide me towards love kindness compassion
relieve me from fear and show me your beauty
you are way more than a historical artefact
I played on the phonograph, some serenade,
I was listening to it, while I layed.
The serenade with my feelings created a fusion,
Then I stepped into the world of my delusion.
She was holding my hand tightly,
This made me believe that this was a nuisance kind a illusion.
Then a hot fleeing piece fell on to the phonograph creating a diffusion;
Soon flames lept on me,
To save myself i took out a shove,
But no sooner covered with flames not of fire but of love.
The world where I do not exist
is only a heartbeat either way
A flicker of light
a trickle of tears
blue turns into (grey)
And it is grey
not black or white
A void without permission
or invite
Oblivious and comfortable
the great filter be
Forgettable too
in absence of memory
Yet into the grey I go
to a realm of nothingness
A world with no woe —
Infinite in empty ignorance
Energy becomes of me
an atom-less mass of entropy
Stretching, pulling
Rising, falling
upon waves of gravity
Outside of time
only spontaneity
in this world
where I strew
Malleable, gaseous, shapeless,
Infinitely complex,
intrinsically simple
Diffusion spirals inside infusion
across a pulsing eternity
For the greatest time
I never had
A netherworld
that does not know sad
This world where I do not exist
precedes and succeeds me
Come what will
Come what may
From where I come
I go back today
A spasm, a twist
a breath, a death
a cycle anew
No void to view
With nothing else to do
til the grey
burns back to blue
The troublesome throaty explosion
For which demanded is handkerchief
That helps to hinder hell’s diffusion
By the thoughtless simple man or chief…
The oft-followed by a dragged-out gob
The owner sends straight to nearby soil:
What had tried to chesty freedom rob
And a whole day for sufferer spoils…
A scurrying for antibiotics
Or soon, the chest shall be again heaved:
Haphazard gestures of semiotics,
The jerkily thrown off guard retrieved…
The attacked with, first, expectorant:
Syrupy stuff that keeps it at bay;
For cough’s accursed cause a search warrant,
In one’s airways delightful free way…
Cough’s innocent picture throat-clearing
Yet, muffle for a laughter rearing…
Capsule of disguised danger warning
For one you wish to see, next morning…
Be still,
my heart!
Endure
worry's
emotional
confusion.
Be still,
and know:
Divine
Mercy's
devotional
diffusion.
The Year: Long Squandered 1999;
Frank Flynn had found my sent parceled poems ‘fine’
“They can lend themselves... to live performance”
Wherefore I mount for each surveillance….
An Atypical BBC Staff:
His signed statement A frankness not by half;
Laminated have I his bold comment:
Above My First Degree ‘A Document.’
Saw Frank, too, in My Enclosed Verses
‘ Originality of Rhythm’
Then, whoever, their action rehearses
Hasn’t The Spurious got to fathom.
And Frank had marked their “freshness of vision”
I began to crave their prompt diffusion…
Owe I Frank self-rediscovery:
A focus sidelining livery;
Strong reasons to start idolizing self
And speedily start assembling A Shelf…
The Last I should crucify of The Crew;
If he were still alive The Safest Jew.’
Poetry is a mystic, sensuous mathematics of fire
smokestacks, waffles, pansies, people,
and purple sunsets.
Carl Sandburg
PURPLE PANSIES
A pensive-pansy bouquet,
vibrant diffusion of lot,
Borscht belt, Catskill-sunshine core,
platonic petals of thought.
Purple pansies are childhood,
of God’s wide-eyed creation,
innocence in royal cloak,
a roused imagination.
Deft purpleness recollects,
not grandma’s frilly feast days -
a sixty’s mod Easter dress,
painted nails of royal praise.
Fresh fairyland apogee
o’er green-sea, circular bowl.
Petal’s shades of light and dark -
a poet’s purple, vibrant soul.
6/1/2022
Purple Flowers Poetry Contest
used Rhymezone and HMS
It wasn't but a perfect illusion.
Though, if she is asked how it was to love;
She wouldn't mind to say it's diffusion.
She's fine, but never said it didn't shove.
That's why every lesson comes with a pain,
But she don't know if what she feels is right
Or wrong-- to love not only for the gain,
I love you should means I will love your plight.
And stand by you bold through the worst of times.
But when you focus on wanting s*x stir;
You make love born out sensational crimes,
You thrust me as I subsequently birr...
The aftermath is teasing to let stand,
Abortion; they say luck only withstand.
© 2020
® Olábòsóyè Wèmímó Oláolúwá
Oh, emeralds of days
Life is the stages on bedded roses
Loving you becoming lights side
Of my hills lovely shines
In ticks of love ,clock remains as our veil
Roses are blooming to be guest's gender
Once my mind wandering to daub you,
And compile crannies in your core
Bow and show it to my world
Please should I be your cinnamon?
O' dear cowslip of my scents
I hope to soothe you a day and two
For when fluids diffusion; in shadows we mingles and knocks many!
'Tis together we share pleasantries
Your love should never flee away from I:
And I vow'd to water your hays
Hurrah!I named you my "my lovely pigeon"
MIST AND MOON
The other night
She woke up with a start
As she felt something soft
Touch her sleeping heart.
The dark room was awash
In a milk-white diffusion.
She wasted no time---
The door opened and shut,
And her grey robe wrapped around
She gingerly stepped out
To stare at the sombre moon.
Her breathing brought a whiff
Of the grass in the fields nearby,
And the trees in the woods a little more distant...
It was the tangy smell of the wintry mist
Quietly descending, or was it rising from the soil?
Details of the land smudged,
The mist was painting a picture in sepia,
With the halo around the indulgent moon
Smiling a quiet, mystic smile!
The mist and the moon, and
An unseen owl's occasional melancholy hoot...
Enchantment held her in an enchanted thrall...
THE END
Sharmila Mitra
30 August 2021
Rights to the poem reserved
A second is defiant
a minute is aggressive towards my dreams
flourishes a formidable mental anarchy
I creep confidently by the tail of a second
To the dejection of sympathizers
The patience of my sympathizers tires me
Waiting for the minute of abortive strife
Anticipated steps abrogated
Triumphant move trails the second
When fear surrogates confidence
Hope carries away the receiving end
Pain being exacerbated by giving
To bond the two sides
For passionate diffusion
Carrying hope together
Sending waves beyond normal.
The prologue was so pulsating
With punitive ideas meant to probate
pummeling the frail wasn't prolific
the effort of maternal Ponto punch,
but made it abreast with the potent
pseudo abrogate of stitch made it puck
the accord was to prelude penal
disloyalty chastens from pudenda
we swore the cause by purity
now we stand exhibiting
enjoying our terrifying purl
Foray of explosive sunset —
natural fireworks on display.
A banquet of clouds, rolls in wet,
rolling up their sleeves in melee.
The confusion has its beauty —
thunderous blue, gray and white clash.
Diffusion smacks hued patootie.
Sea of the air throws quite a bash.
Brightly colored dresses behind
this curtain of discontentment.
A leprechaun’s gold, silver-lined —
cloaked rainbow’s tittle presentment.
Drink to me only with thine eyes*
the poet says, stirred as they wade.
The belle’s fluttering lashes sigh.
Are they orange or lemonade?
1/11/2021
Watered-Down Juice Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Used HMS, 8 syllable lines, 16 lines
*Ben Johnson’s Song: to Celia
See the crying of the poet,
I think he's angry at the mowatt.
He finds it hard to see the troll,
Overshadowed by the tiny sausage roll.
Who is that hating near the Trump?
I think she'd like to eat the diffusion pump.
She is but a yellow abbess,
Admired as she sits upon a labus.
Her cold car is just a snot,
It needs no gas, it runs on lot.
She's not alone she brings a Bible,
a pet snake, and lots of geibel.
The snake likes to chase a God,
Especially one that's in the assad.
The poet shudders at the painful catholic
He want to leave but she wants the non-catholic.
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