Like the worst ice cream with a rotten waffle cone.
Ashes I bemoan.
Like a soggy magazine I used to read.
I tore it all up indeed.
In the epicenter of dreaded days.
I’m funneled through this haze.
That urn in the living room seems to squeak and squeal.
Yet never a ghostly reveal.
I wish he would come out of the treacherous ash.
So I can do something rash.
I could scatter the ashes anywhere I wished.
Surely he wouldn’t be missed.
But keeping him, trapped on the shelf.
Helps me reach a higher self.
So I can give him grief while he’s trapped in there.
Remembering he lived and died in despair.
He’s like keeping my least favorite ice cream in the freezer all the time.
Which is my only crime.
Can’t say that about my old man.
But at least I dumped his horrible van.
What life
without loved ones?
They bring warmth to our life.
Without them life is so barren
Hold them.
Father
Epicenter-
around whom we circle.
In his gravitational pull,
Safety.
Mother
Epitome-
of sweet love and concern.
angel, friend, guide and guardian
Heartbeat.
Siblings
beans of same pod
of same blood with same traits
co- partakers of joy and pain
Blessing
Buddies-
add spice to life
to whom we can confide
grim secrets that can't be divulged.
Support
(For all the girls in Gauteng)
The Rose of Rathanda
I am the ultimate ruby blush of Rathanda, so overwhelmingly fragrant the moon faints .
My petals, spun from stolen starlight, dictate the very tides of the Indian Ocean.
Kings forfeit crowns just for one blinding glimpse of my of my majestic, blushing, burning Rathanda beauty.
When I bloom, the world holds its breath, fearing the sheer, searing, staggering power.
I make the sun feel like a mere flickering candlelight in a dreary, dark, drafty hallway.
I am the eternal, ethereal, existential epicenter of all divine desire.
I am the Violet
I am a
Like the eye of a hurricane
the epicenter of the storm
Every day in some way
at risk for harm
A face like granite
commanding the planet
Squeezed into the middle
~ it’s hot on the griddle
caught in the same gale force winds
they eyed the storm drenched in tears
the epicenter had been an outpour
of sadness rejection and unresolved fear
to weather inevitable flood gates of change
torrential delusions of anger denial and fear
shadowed by a solar eclipse of two lost souls
faced the same need for healing and love
all self-appointed weather men and women
family and friends surrounded them in scepsis
warnings unwanted advice and discouragement
can you not see the hurricane brewing they said
do not get involved but save your own skins
but they walked quietly to the next beach
drew a line in the sand and entered the tides
propelled by the moon passion desire togetherness
circumstances seemed apocalyptic and hopeless
yet faith made them swim out into the ocean
not to silence the wicked prophets of doom but
to bathe in salt water cleansing the mis-adventurous past
despite all odds they floated happily on the surface
all they could see was adoration and the miracle of life
one with themselves and with each other in peace
Wanderlust has led me everywhere
along lucid wishes rustic landscape;
There is nothing that can really compare,
you don’t have to go far for an escape;
Adorned with a luscious cyan ocean
lies a city full of artistic dreams;
Holding those giving the Muse devotion,
it truly is as vibrant as it seems;
Skyscrapers with electric graffiti,
their designs seem to mimic the weather;
Shining light on this grandiose city
the eye of the storm it’s epicenter;
You smell salt water mixed with gasoline,
that vibe is so aggressively polite;
Walking that boardwalk hologram pristine,
stars decorate a sky filled with daylight;
Familiar yet you cannot place the scent;
With a long inhale you are transported
to a flush Mecca so teal decadent.
The shower is where we go to get dirty
A domain of filthy activity & debauchery
Together, we defile the sanctity of a shared space
An exercise for the well versed
Maneuvers that would make an acrobat blush
Water droplets mark the beginning of sensual hurricane
Swirled strokes to shake up the epicenter
Gripping the handles to hold onto dignity
Inhibitions tackled and thrown down the drain
Cleanliness, no longer lives between us
The shower, a whirlpool of emotions
My superpower.
It is like a desert.
The power uses all the water.
And doesn’t let anything grow.
So I’m like a villain in that way.
I am the epicenter.
And as my power spreads,
It creates a forcefield.
And inside is a void.
They run away from me.
And they don’t even understand why.
They don’t even understand that I am a void with powers and I’m like a psychopath.
I smile, but they still sense it.
From a distance, I smile.
An evil smile.
And that’s how I’m a secret villain.
A smile of vitamin D will bleed,
surrender now trade it for the night;
The warmth of the colors at twilight,
let your lecherous desires feed;
Moonlight will capture your soul
let go of decomposition for immortality;
Through a hunter’s eyes you will see
covered in stardust you become whole;
From the moment you receive the kiss
young fangs become your epicenter;
In the frenzy of your birth as a vampire
you won’t remember daylight’s bliss.
Tongues of flame have fallen on me.
Deep down in my heart I can feel it.
In the epicenter it's concentrated.
It's not the pentecost day but I can feel it.
From the day I met her, I have known no peace.
My legs are restless, always in want to go for her.
My fingers very itchy.
Always demanding for caress her fine textured body.
To prop her mane is my want.
Everytime, a message pops on the screen.
Superfluous thrill descends down my spine.
Whenever my ringtone takes the atmosphere.
My ears echos her melodious hymnic voice.
My nights have become long.
Mayhem all night long.
Awaiting the new day to be born.
I can't cool the fire in my heart.
My mind an archive of her pictures.
Prints if her going and retracting.
All segment of my brain.
Triggering the fire in my heart.
@Tha Formidable Cheru
#themonk.
i chase her home
she connects the dots
i taste all of her flavors
the feeling is a golden dime
her dome is the epitome of class and grace
i cannot believe that there is consideration in her heart for me
once upon a time i was not even a speck in her vision
now i dominate the epicenter of her spotlight
i hold her tight
she again figures me out
i satisfy all of her favors
the feeling is a platinum dollar made of diamonds
FIRE
HOOKs
BENDS
AND BREAKS CURLS LIKE A TALON.
FLAMES JUMP FROLICS
MINGLES WITH SMOKE AND SPARKS
DEEP INSIDE
AT THE CENTERS
HELL AT THE HEART.
FURY GLOWS RAGING RED ORANGE WHITE HOT.
WOOD TURNS TO ASH
IN THE INFERNOS BLAST.
THOUGHTS TURNS
SOOT SETTLES IN
AS TIME PASSES FACES CHANGE.
IN PALE ORANGE LIGHT
SHADOWS ARE CARVED DEEP.
FIRE FLICKS ITS FORKED TONGUE SHARP
CURVES N SNAPS, POPS!
BURNING OUT IMAGES THAT
THE MISTY MIND FASHIONED FROM HISTORY
A STORMY PAST.
EMBERS GLOWING
AT ONE'S SOUL EPICENTER.
CONSUMED BY A FURY THAT
GLEAMS RED
ORANGE
WHITE HOT.
At the epicenter of the Birth.
Reality changed in complex Design.
Time altered for Nations and Man...
The eminence of the Grand Unknown
Graced the Ancient face of a Fleeting Earth.
A thought of Creation...
A dream of an inquisitive inventor.
The Mystic Architect's Sun Rain's
Ethereal Power of modern presents.
At the center of Reality a Birth occurs!
At the start of Recorded time a Man
the word word made flesh Dies....
A creation of blood and bone...
A Soul; the Infinite born...
Nails in wood on a barren stone.
A skull lies from Adam's Reign
Spear pierces the rib...
Blood of righteous flows to suffer creations Pain.
To wash sinful apes of elegant
thoughts in Fountain's floods.
A wound carved by a hateful hand.
All the Grand Schemes come full cycle.
The enigma of master's passing thought.
The Riddle of the ages...
A dream of a sleeping entity.
At the epicenter of his Birth.
Time changed in a complex way.
Realities would never be the same.
A dream of an inventor
A thought of an infant mind of grand time.
The Power of the Tron
Said the Big Computer to the Human Computee:
“Without me, sir, you must concur,
Wherever would you be?
I tally all your numbers, and I even give advice,
Unlike you, I’m objective and predictably precise.
‘Way down my epicenter, I’ve a calculating brain
That can compile, compute, compound, expound, explore, explain.
Oh, don’t you wish you had my wits, if only an iota,
For I’ve more news than I can use -
I'm programmed to my quota.”
And on and on it carried on, continuing to scoff,
Until the Human Computee reached down and turned it OFF.
And now The Big Computer sits there idle all the day,
Without a boasting, bragging, calculating thing to say,
While on the chair, beside it there, the Human Factor lingers,
Computing trig and calculus by counting on its fingers,
And when its used its fingers up, it can simply transpose
And still deduce, deduct, add up, by counting on its toes!
Take heed, you Mighty IBMs, and other pedigrees,
Before you get too taken with your capabilities –
You may have stores of knowledge;
You may be an Alpha Tron,
But it’s the Human Digit
Ultimately
Turns
You
ON.
Synonymous
Synchronized opposites drag the lost poet to the epicenter of contradiction
Anonymous scribes share dissident virtual podiums and only appear to be
Antonymous
03rd April 2020
Let The Pens Flow Antonym Contest
Sponsor Jenish Somadas
Syllables checked howmanysyllables.com
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