Their names have become
hollowed out husks
blown about the graveyards
of history. Emperors who once
claimed divine favour
and the imprimatur of the gods
now seem profane, despotic
caricatures of their age.
Loud cheers have ossified
to a silence or a curse lodged
in the throat of the citizenry.
Power still seeps its poisons
into the body politic,
even now into Prime Ministers,
Premiers and Presidents
of so called united states.
I look for a place to find
a little peace from the crowd
and the howls of an angry world.
Where once churches held
a sacred quiet, they too
have become loud stadiums
for opposing forces,
doctrinal battlegrounds
between the lost and the saved.
I retreat to that private space
where like souls meet, a room
somewhere, a forest or a beach,
or a corner of one's own garden
and there teach myself to listen.
I hear what has always been there,
transcending the reign
of emperors, wealth, privilege
and the power of the State.
And so it is, I hold to my chest
a well worn book of poems
by that saint, Emily Dickinson,
and here - renew my faith
and find a little rest.
Beyond the skyline, I watch an expanse
outside this earthly realm…
torches of balls glitter in seamless motion,
orange streaks rolling in random numbers,
circling ' round their territory
like crystal fibrils wheeling, darting,
perhaps prancing…
Yet in relays, heavenly bodies afar
do not collide with one another
each of them holding an alchemy where
millions are unnamed, undefined, unattained.
Pray tell, of what purpose do they rule
through a mystery, perceived by
human theories, not by an imprimatur
of a Source's universal law?
Prophets say it will take light years
to touch their faces and claim
residence within this galactic space
... but for now, mark it
as a restricted passageway.
The imprimatur of society has left us
~ gasping thin air
Queue, in my nation, is a customary circumstance,
Women, each day, stand in queues for municipal water;
Young and old, before government ration stores, stand in trance,
Youths, with diplomas, stand in queues for the imprimatur...!
Banks have long queues and the A.T.M counters have no less,
One could find, in front of Public Washrooms, the longest queues;
Sure, one could read on the faces of those in queues, big stress,
Yet, in a system where there is no system, can one choose...?
As queue has become part of our life we seldom anguish,
We have accepted and resigned to this fate, merrily;
We make friends with the one near us and, hence, never languish,
We take, hence, our physical and psychic aches airily...!
Though an imminent evil, queue teaches me endurance,
This, in turn, molds me and brings to life a vast difference...!!!
2022 was the year the flights disappeared
Cancellations mounting as Xmas neared
Hope gave way to despair
For denizens of the air
The year's imprimatur ~ a cross to bear
A world community like no other, this troupe
Of writers and lovers of insightful poetry
Gathered under the imprimatur of Poetry Soup --
Delightful, inspirational, sometimes contrary
With verses ranging from wildflowers to poop.
Something for everyone in these lofty environs
Even historical forays and pedantic endeavor
From sonnets to limericks, epigram, and puns,
Versifiers here are creative and extremely clever
Someone might even write something that stuns.
Here we meet trolls, gremlins, and a gleeful fairy
Playful nursery rhymes and some serious thought
An occasional juicy bit like a fresh ripe strawberry,
An incredible story with a convoluted poetic plot
Poetry Soup can make a most stressful day merry.
So, join us here and find pleasure in our pieces
Take up your pen and write for us a few keen lines
Find a place where your pent-up anger releases,
And all the best muse in you matures and refines
Expression is welcome where wonder never ceases.
Written April 21, 2022
The imprimatur
Immortal blessings die now
Agony in faith
THEIR GREATER SIN
They call one who speaks for Liberty a Fascist
They claim man made end of world as a proven tenet
And to them ‘free’ means imprimatur to ravish
Expressed with many a ‘You know’ ‘It’s like’ and ‘Ennit!’
They proclaim themselves as ‘liberal’ though they favour
The hard politics of socialism central
With a strong taste of Marx in its flavour
That just gives me an affliction in the ventral
Of dark villainy I now seek to accuse
And reserve a special torment to confer
Not for all the sins above from which I bruise
Nor self righteousness they constantly aver
It is the painful wounds for which there is no bandage
Their cruel destructive treatment of the English Language
Descent
The engram in our genes
has found
the opposing thumb and descent from trees
empirically sound,
but being pragmatic denies Kultur
an Imprimatur.
NOTHING SUBTLE WORKS
is Nature's theme,
though guile improve Aesop's fox
and men are warned by dream,
that still saves the paradox--
Success and failure are narrow views
rigorously pursued.
Many in the limelight aim
Despite diverse back rounds they came
Whether a regular Joe Schmoe
or a ma dames
For stratospheric fame
Sought after imprimatur
like some competitive games
Possibly an ordinary Jonny comb lately
or the common Jimmy James schmuck oh
Maybe known by some handi
capping them as lame
Transcending unsightly infliction
unwilling to let being maim
(This from drafted
scarred acquiring above name)
Yet overcoming any stigma or shame
Proving that prejudice
against bloody carnage
can replaced with pride
against cooling jets fiery angry flame
With self-acceptance
sans love of self would tame.
Sonnet: SONG OF A PROTESTOR
How sweet to have a conscience that is clear
Can laud myself for righteousness conspicuous
Support all worthy politics, no fear
That I’d be charged as fascist, avaricious
Equality and fairness are my watchwords
You’ve more than me? I’ll be like Robin of Locksley
I’ll take from you, imprimatur conferred
With government empowered as my proxy
If it’s green and peaceful then it must be noble
Never mind that it removes your free volition
We know what’s best for all, and with power global
We’ll have no strife, just placid full submission
Disagree with me? I won’t ask you on what basis
For I know the reason is: you’re a bigoted racist
...Have occasioned
I think to have been decor-
rating The Tree, it's
piney quills & tines
dressing in glassy festoons
weightless baubles of
tins-led Christmas-candy
colors, like porcelain
fragile-fine, hooked canes
& dangled barber-pole-paean
peppermint-stick Memories
of savored hangon
trinkets & heirlooms
looming like a twinkling
tapestry 'round
wreaths of snowy popped-corn
dangling - "No, darlings, that's not
for eating..." Yes, I
have occasioned the
rows of bubbling light-tubes
like glowing chains of
warm caterpillars
inching-on toward the Manger's
Star of a chrysalis
Christmas Joy to Light-
Up the World! Oh Yes, I have
occasioned The Tree
Breathing in Ecstasy...
And the Wonder, of this from
a Guy whose Imprimatur
might have been
"Tannenbaum!"
H.e.m.
12.8.MMvi.
Noel.
"And so, as Tiny Tim observed, G-D bless Us, Every One!"
(" A Christmas Carol"). And...
A "...Merry Christmas to All, and to All a Good Night!"
(Clement Clarke Moore, "Twas The Night Before Christmas").
Amen.
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.