Naked witchlings rooted in my head
While the sun was sleeping under my bed
Counting their fingers, scribbling spells
Burning candles, ringing bells
Killing cats and gutting rats
Reading runes and epithets
Did I say they were naked
There is that....
they've been a thousand lifetimes getting here
I'll give them a thousand more
To get out of my hair
D.C. Jordan
The Poets are our quintessential rebellious, rebels
The Maroons, the Braves, and the Daredevils
There is a ton of biases even in simple poetry
The Poets are known to be born freedom fighters
The unafraidheroes of hell, the sweet bees
Which can sing and sting, and deliver honey
Even in Poetry, we encounter weird free-loaders
Sick unabashed orators and pusillanimous braggers.
The Poets are born to be different, legally liberal
Awkwardly conservative, strong ass-kickers
Blunt truth seekers, and not obedient ass-kissers
Call the generals, the Police, and bring the arsenal
Of bloated words, and epithets; dumb or foolish attributes
Write verses and elegiac poems to pay countless tributes
To the sorry plagiarists, and to the ill-polished writers
Nobody cares anymore about the well-versed truth tellers.
Copyright © November 2017, Hebert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Adjectival expansion:
describing the resident
of the Executive Mansion:
I give you, the President …
mean, obscene,
rotten, misbegotten,
rough-hewn, jejune,
numb, dumb,
rude, lewd,
sadistic, hubristic,
orange-dyed, red-tied,
frightful, spiteful,
greedy, weedy,
grim, dim,
crabby, flabby,
freely-swearing, diaper-wearing,
furious, incurious,
sallow, shallow,
benighted, indicted,
painted, tainted,
addicted, convicted.
Said Fred, the resentful Doorman,
(overworked and underpaid)
to Ed, the surly Foreman,
(overrated yet undismayed)
'I'll call you a cab, if you beckon,
you'll want a quick getaway, I reckon,'
and snidely sniggered,
under his breath, 'You're a hack!'
surprising the top nob on the job,
as, Fred had the knack
of insulting, without denigrating,
and yet, debating
whether to hold a grudge,
Ed decided, 'Yes,' but not a big one,
which he couldn't carry, as it wouldn't budge.
And altho', toe to toe,
the two did not see eye to eye,
so, trading barbed epithets
and loud expletives on the fly,
they let go at one another,
I don't know, so don't ask me why.
The names for Thor and Epithets most odd;
Birth Thor Odinson also known as Þórr;
The original name for the god, of Thunor of the thunder god,
Donar, a name for Thor, Thunar, Asa-Thor;
Æsir-Thor his position within Æsir, one of the two major groups of Norse gods;
Hlórriði and or Hlóriði "the loud rider" connection to thunder sounds loud;
Sounds of a chariot ride in heavens rumbles;
Þun(a)raz, meaning "thunder", with his association with thunder;
Pórr, Thunor, Donar, and Thunar,
all stemming from the Þun(a)raz, meaning "Thunder",
Hhich mean "Æsir-Thor" and "the loud rider";
Odin, who be Thor Father;
Thor most powerful, revered god;
In Norse mythology, His name evokes rains,
fearsome storms, the flash of lightningThorcalled,
a fearless protector of gods and men;
Thor was also a dedicated protector of humanity,
fighting enemies who threatened the order of the worlds;
Notable human aliases Donald Blake, Jake Olson
Alas He is aGod of Thunder
though yet presently he’s mere mortal Thor just-
…a man with a hammer Sigurd Jarlson
8/30/2025
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©
Two hearts glare at each other
Clutching their stone tablets
Written by the finger of their rightness,
Guarding the secret handshake
In single sighted delinquent tantrums
Refusing to share the offertory
Of a loving cup -
Consumed by daggers of thoughtless words
Carved deeply in a scarred heart.
Floral offerings wilt
Upon stone manifestos
Where ashes of incense lay impotent
To clear the air
And wipe clean the embedded words.
Passion falls in pixels of distortion
Blurring valleys where sacred poles burn –
Lie in dust written in the past –
Paralyzed
Unable to rise from handwritten crypts
Placed in captive marble altars,
Epithets like an epitaph for love.
Immoveable stone resists the transcendent
Until forgiveness’ chisel
Re-writes the script of etched words
Crumbling in swaddled tears of humility
That know their need for grace
Consummated in love’s perfect signature.
When his stiff larynx shifts,
a caviling bone that darts for cover
as if caught in its bell tower
with a high-powered rifle.
I see his desperate need to talk.
"Those dumb forks,
ingrates, free-loaders, punks."
Salty epithets
march up and down his throat,
as if menacing the very fabric
of his Adam's apple.
Behind his eyes
the damned are piling up.
We are out here alone,
just him and me, and this anger
strangling his windpipe.
He once carried a buddy
out of a kill zone,
but not a lot of himself,
just this bitter slanguage.
I want to grab hold of him,
hug him,
let him talk it out,
allow his wounded words,
to spill out of their foxholes,
then share a dirty joke or two.
From Kisii's loamy terrain, I ascend,
Maroo's clasp, my rooted blend.
A Christian's essence, bathed in God's grace,
Sinner's visage, yearning His face.
They perceive a flawless meld,
Upon God's throne, destiny unveiled.
For poetry's allure, ardor resides,
Singing resonates from within, abides.
Daily toils, domestic strife,
Castoff epithets from bygone life.
They lacked discernment, their judgments piled,
In their assessments, I stood beguiled.
Now mature, I stand resolute and tall,
Prepared for life's summons, answering the call.
In pursuit of a partner, grace I beseech,
Understanding's warm clutch, within reach.
Kneeling humbly, I petition and implore,
Guide my path, dear Lord, forevermore.
For a domicile and sage to guide,
In steadfast patience, I'll abide.
Oh, Almighty, in this relentless quest,
Grant me the boon that suits me best.
A peerless maiden, I fervently pray,
To be my rib, come what may.
©Otieno Elvis Gikoi
?ArtFromHeart??
TRANSFORMATIONS
perceived
daydreams
a flas
of
the conscious
conceived
a sudden
salience
sufaces
causuality
creates
i. a
state
of emergence
a poesis
realised
in a
vision
of the
infinite
dissolving
dissipating
diffusing
a flurry
of simple
speech
a frothy
excitement
of concrete
things
epithets
decorative
thrills
so
bright
yet
flash
senility
Gardens of Regrets
David J Walker
Here is how we thrive on grief
Grown in gardens of regrets
just beyond a pale belief
Preserving how one forgets
Rehearsing erstwhile
tactile threats
Here is how we thrive on life
And laugh at epithets in rune
And dance a thunderstorms delight
A summers night enbibed in June
Perceiving fractal
Cursive cume
WAY OF LIFE
engraved portraits
fundamental elements
of
elegance
& noblesse
an evident emphasis
shadowed &hidden
in
formal
tradition
an established
supply categoric
in strict
criteria
contact
thorough replicas
formed &contemporary
though
vague
bequeathed
with extraordinary quality
alluding epithets
of such illustrated
treasures
denied
in supplementary
composition
extended &originating
with
visual expression
both systematic
& somewhat
incomprehensible
this appropriate patronage
stimulated &recognised
then decisively
discerned
&
augmented
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
"Lost in poetry oblivion"*
Surrounded by words and images
Mind is as dark as obsidian
Abounding with musing-filled pages
Thoughts flow freely when one is asleep
Vanishing in the fog of daylight
You’ve got to rack your mind and dig deep
If you want something worthy to write
Penning poetry is a tough grind
Requires time and ideas unique
Novel descriptive ways, one must find
To touch other poets in the clique
Yet, they are addictive soul-outlets
Where sometimes, poems take their own shape
Writing themselves with hued epithets
Surely, a heady means of escape.
01.10.2022
* the first line was mentioned by Paulette Calasibetta in her comment to one of Victor Buhagiar's poems, "Bedtime" and I was inspired by it:)
Thank you, dear Paulette for the inspiration:)
briefly uttered
epithets
in chalked
pictures
a
quest
for forms
to gladden & enchant
a delicate
response
to entrance
to save
a dream
a stimulating
force
with beauty's
imprint
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
If I spit at you
Wouldn't you smile at me
If I swung a bat at you
Wouldn't you give me a big hug
If I trashed your store
Wouldn't you want to hire me
If I hurled epithets at you
Wouldn't you vote for me
If my folks and I'd been doing this for 65 years
Wouldn't you want to live next door to me
Huh? You say you wouldn't?
WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU, MAN?
Under a star-studded, ebony sky,
quietude summons silence to the Night.
Scintillating shooting stars fall and die;
their epithets inked in a blaze of light.
And as dusk drains the color from twilight,
Luna gilds the clouds with golden moonlight.
Night's shifting shadows sully silhouettes,
as darkness drifts, like a curtain of smoke.
And fireflies, flicker like lit cigarettes,
burning through Night's impenetrable cloak.
And gobsmacked by the feelings stars evoke,
you bathe in their light, letting your soul soak.
In silence, pierced by the hoot of an owl,
clouds of bats flap webbed wings in the night air.
And nocturnal creatures begin to prowl
as glowing yellow eyes return your stare.
And when the cosmos comes into full view,
you understand, creation includes you.
And you somehow feel a part of it all:
surfing space on a cerulean ball.
Sub Categories
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