No matter the subject or topic
tho' it may burn will I ever learn
would it hurt if my lips were to close
as whatever I submit suggest propose
she will be myopic
nay-say gainsay contradict oppose
may as well hold my breath
as every word I utter
receives the kiss of death
and melts in my mouth like butter
should I assert it's what she does it's her wont
'No I don't,' is her depiction
in contentious rebuttal
thereby confirming my conviction
and morning noon and night
she'd like to be I'll also mention
tho' none too subtle
the epicentre of my attention
is it a female thing or only her compulsion
for at the end of the day
it's not the last word she wants
it's the final say
I HAVE A DREAM™
In Martin Luther King Jr.'s binding words of oath,
Saving souls solely sold out for fair esteem,
Without gainsay, granulating the greatest quote,
Comes these four words "I Have A Dream."4
The marvellous melody of Martin's message,
Mingle minds - with magnanimous meanings,
And just like an age-long and archaic adage,
Mustered majestic march, melding morals.8
Memoirs of Martin's muse mimicked mystery
And his mighty moment moved mountains,
Miraculously merges and made history.
So, in our racial disunity, a united unity reigns.¹²
In the future's fair and fearless frame,
Black boys, white boys, hand in hand.
In unity, under sky's serene same,
Dreams dance daringly to destiny's demand.¹6
Girls of gold and girls of grace,
Gleaming, glowing, & growing together,
Heartbeats harmonize, honour embrace,
Hope's horizon, boundless, forever.²°
No colour confines, no creed can chain,
Tomorrow's truth, in love, we attain.
“I have a dream that one day, little black boys & girls
Will be holding hands with little white boys & girls.”²4
VICK MANUEL POETRY {VMP}
FORM: Alliteration
Copyright ©? January 2024.
We are winded and on the ropes. Backwater banjo boys
strum against us. Clouds feed upon a shoaling light.
A bad day for going out or staying in.
A time to be sleepless. We must live timidly,
or push deeper into a glaring daylight
toward the drugged dreams of the wide-eyed,
go shopping in the poorer parts of town
seek thrifty ways to survive among the striving,
give all our prayers to the birds; then eat them.
Some say they have heard the sky flap away
but many stuff fingers in their ringing ears
and gainsay both the seen and unseen.
There is no sanctuary in night's lean pantry,
the ransacked are laid bare.
Many pick the pockets of the anxious
rattle catch-penny cans on shoe-strings.
Misgivings trespass, tumble ever inward until
reason becomes the reason to flee.
Paltry inklings gnaw at ever longer nights,
and we wonder what ‘tipping point’ tipped
what lid flipped; what line was crossed
as an ever louder twanging strums on?
I have marked my place,
I stand now in the
bulging vein of the moment.
No more hunting for meaning
or for anti-meaning,
all socks are white or not.
I am here.
a one-sized loosely fitted mind,
a tick and cross
on an illogical checklist,
acres stacked upon acres
of fifth dimensional
doubt, faith, and gnosis,
a bottomless barrel of chewed-over laughter.
I am all things and nothing,
happy to be
whatever you see
and I will not
gainsay your worst opinions,
but embrace every layer of the onion
even though you cannot perceive
the chameleon gifts
of my all too human superpowers,
or my agreeable acceptance
of your legendary life.
I am rooted in truth
and conspiratorial speculation
finding no fault in either
but still a knowing of what I am,
could have been or was.
I am raised up in my lowliness and glory
no longer there or anywhere
simply this kit and caboodle, this enchilada.
deeply sorry to be so unrepentant
and mostly happy to be sorry,
not a worry
or any flurry of guilt.
Expunged and indelibly revealed
as this ingenuity of self,
here now and gone
all along.
I'd heard one day 'about the light'
UK independant paper circulating
By day and night
I'm going to get me; a copy to see
How well it reads.. Is its editor free?
To discuss and discourse?
Now that should par for the course.'
Yet the path has been beaten
By those hell bent on disreason
Moguls of mayhem,
Till some; people are too numb;
To gainsay their dark hum-dum
Maybe I'll read of freedom and living?
Where the hokey cokey; comes easy?
Easier than sunbeams, on rooftops
When you're all fatigued with sad headlines
Turn a page, I'm willing for revelation
To hold the balance of true reason; in nations.'
The lights are blaring
The team is playing hard
The stadium rumbles the ground
With movement
...and cheer
Down in the street
The earth moves
With the shattering of windows
And loud cries
...and fear
The crafts are displayed
The tents hold beautiful treasure
Parades tell of wondrous joy
Feelings tingle the tinsel
...and peer
......back
..................and forth
..................................here is too near
The season is here
It is upon is...this very moment
Gifts are being bought
People still planning
...void
The illusion dissipates
At the feet of TRUTH
Idolatry at the heart
We bartered our youth
Children don't need lies
Adults needed entertainment
Gainsay palatable
For the familiar feeling
....cheer
Sweet taste
Bitter digestion
Idol work
Spider infestation
....bluh!
Hope shews forth LOVE
Nothing else will do
Cheer dredged in sickly fear
Equals Holiday stew
Written by Trudy Schrader on 12/15/2021
"Fly me high through the starry skies
Maybe to an astral plane
Cross the highways of fantasy
Help me to forget today's pain"- A stanza from Gary Wright's "Dream Weaver"
In dreams that drift as surely as the sand
along the banks of oceans in my mind,
he wanders in, and with his skillful hand,
adds shape and hue to scenes yet undefined.
I never know what feelings he’ll invoke,
what things I’ll touch or taste or hear or see.
He makes – with every interlacing stroke
of brilliant yarns – enthralling imagery!
He weaves me in with people or alone -
in states of bliss. . . at times in peril’s way!
Another twist . . . I wear a face unknown
or soar! The unexplained I can’t gainsay.
Awake, I little know of fancy’s flight,
for Weaver thrives in shadows of the night.
For Brian Strand's 'ALL YOURS (May 16)' Poetry Contest
May 2, 2021
For Line Gauthier's What's In A Title In 14-20 Lines Poetry Contest
The Secret of Emotional Mist
Evincing nothing, she remained mute
To nuanced intimations of intimacy.
There was nothing left to conclude but that
The greatest prison is boredom,
The greatest torture --- betrayal.
Thus we parted in the concrete now
Leaving behind that nebulous separation
We had shared almost as if a secret,
Venturing towards precious.
Just as an ill-fashioned keystone
can splinter upon contact if
timing is precise...
Why is it that Time seems to know just
When to strike?
Always.
Leads me to believe
That if Time is not anthropomorphic
it is nonetheless prescient
No. That can't be right...
Time predates and outlives all
(has already outlived us all).
Romantics claim other yet I
Dare gainsay them each and every
Spirit can be broken
like glass
Love become mere bagatelle,
Children, still tuned to magic,
laugh at us as we follow our own
Shades to the underworld of
Wonderment and wonder
How did I ever believe
The intangible was not frangible?
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : Part XXXIII
IF you pull a long non-plussed face
Astrophysicists declare Science no Absolute Truths underlay
Big-Crunch might on Big-Bang back bounce about face
Who'll say All-This's but mere hearsay
If you pull a long heretical face
Opt for accidentally ordered Life as did Hawking portray
Almighty be a Barrau's " tout comme " Lord of Multiverse
Who'll say All-This's but mere hearsay
If you pull a long Question-Marked face
Two brothers in '43 jumped into the Future to aver
Great Lakes all make for one big sea surface
Who'll say All-This's but mere hearsay
If you pull a long besotted face
Long walls of Black Holes tugging pulling us in disarray
Andromeda throttle surge through our Milky Way interlace
Who'll say All-This's but mere hearsay
So if you must pull a long-lost inane face
Light-propelled ET-ships visit us NASA-men say
If you can the future tell e'en of one of the human race
Then nothing anyone can ever do the FUTURE gainsay
© T. Wignesan - Paris, February 14, 2019
I see nothing that's made by man's hand.
My eyes make out this deep waterland.
We race sea path this day's way as planned.
Sails full, breeze strong.
Sheets need go far to reach beach and sand.
Sky's clear, way's long.
Wheel feels steady, ship stays straight on course.
We sail nine knots before Auster's force.
No life plays the swells these days for us.
Mates work, they toil.
They keep clipper trim gainsay words coarse.
Know ye, most roil.
Hey Ho, climb the ratlines, hold your jaws.
Stave thee thy bilge or you'll feel cat's claws.
We make Canton without little pause.
Fly jibs, we lug.
Be we slow now, the sea isn't cause.
Blow wind, sails hug.
To the Throne of Happiness
I bow down to your Court
Your Grace
Surely you do not bear false witness to my accounts
My Lord
Ever have I induced to stay in your good graces
For I sweareth my utmost obedience to your whims
Your Majesty
Never shall I gainsay
Your Highness
And shall labor tirelessly
In defense of your Kingdom
~The Unexpected Gift~
There is no wrapping to tear away
No expectations of a gift
No birthday or anniversary today
Nothing expected to give a lift
No favours given and none asked
No unpleasant or overly tiring task
Nothing promised no debt to pay
There seems to be nothing to gainsay
No wrapping paper could bring such delight
Of a gift unexpected such as last night
To find someone has gifted to me
A membership for all to see
What a surprise - nay shock say I
When on PD’s blog my name I did spy
Something about me makes her speak she does say
Lifts my heart and spirits today
So thank you Pd for your unexpected gift
You obviously seem to get my drift
A membership from you to me
The only thing I can say is a big THANK YOU PD
© 20/06/2012 ~GG~
Love, calumniousness and my calmness.
Caste, colour and religion, castrating me pish.
Pitiable placability, pendiculation and scurrllity,
A scullion leads ashtray, arrogant, juggling kiss.
In funds gainsay gad about, execute fustigation,
Fulsome excelration and Ju Ju, jest misconceived stress.
A gawk but gallant frizzled fuddle and frolic,
Exert pickings pick some picaroon phrenetic bliss.
A cry diverted diversion, a dither distrusted hope,
A burning light touched a grand heart becomes bless.
Wounded barbarian none gainsay is brave,
Enemies harrying him to his grave,
Trench filled with valiant comrades, struck
And split by the axes, or arrows that stuck.
Orgies have slated and wasted his brain:
Wenches and wine left a mid-morning pain
Dulling his eyes as he slashes and swings,
While straight for his body a javelin zings.
Slowly his sword-arm is losing its strength;
Whistling arrows are leaping the length
Spanning the distance from bow-string to chest,
Encircling his breast like a feather-barbed vest.
Sagging to sand in a pool of rich red,
Shutting his eyes, he imagines instead
Maidens besprawled on a silken divan…
Valhalla entices the soul of this man…