Books are Messiahs, they save
If with undaunted purpose, they enslave
To such extent that you wonder
If you were truly the man that do plunder
Whatever you read and seek
Let it groups an effective clique
Listen to your inner voice so prolific
To standing upright with the magic
To the peace of desire,
Sometimes you give in to acquire.
It is easy when interesting themes lure
As new spring of discovery inure
To get out the best anew
Look inwardly beyond the writer's view
Not right versus left
(but)
right versus wrong
The truth standing firm
(both)
unlabeled and strong
Preying among us
(the evil)
inure
Till verity triumphs
(with)
— Forces Majeures
(The New Room: September, 2025)
Written: January 21, 2024
____________________________________
Its lack of meaning is puzzling
The smile on my face
The pure one is evanescent
I ditched you in afar space
Nobody cares of my anguish
Or even witness my tears
They presume I'm laughing
Yet I regret not having you here
Nobody grasps how inure it is
They believe me to be fearless
I'm told it won't harm me
Yet, I suppose this is witless.
Vivid feelings for you turn idle
They believe I was set free
Still, it's as if chains bind me
I am tangled in the mystery
Nobody feels I need you badly
They expect I can handle it alone
But they don't grasp I'm bawling
In a state of utter lassitude
Today, I lost something dear
I lost something unreal
The core of my soul has left lately
My loss has devastated me
My beliefs have vanished
Once I felt adducible, I lost
I lost my core convictions
In sadness, I cry—why me?
"Beauty surrounds us, but usually we need to be walking in a garden to know it." Quote By Rumi
___________________________________________
Several tears, one after the other.
A sob wave pulls me forward in a gossamer haze.
unable to breathe—shivering with inure fear.
Why do feelings spiral out of grasp and ravel?
or worry keeps raging through my mind?
consider a world devoid of vestigial musings.
Complete silence; I am gasping for air.
wheezing, heart pounding, lungs screaming.
for breath, I cling desperately to the blankets.
My most arcane emotions flow unnoticed.
No lyrical ariose tunes to soothe my spirit.
in the lack of an auric metaphor
How would my day be lacking canorous poetry?
Clangor skin was covered in spiked tears.
Fingers rub my chimera, and eyes ensue.
Without poetry to calm, my anguish will burst
Without the cooling verses, I was crestfallen
Without a voice to express, how would I wish?
If artists believe that clay may depict furtive views,
Poets prefer paper and ink to immortalize their muse.
I went to get a bit more done;
Did not intend to stay,
But once begun, turned to such fun,
I could not tear away.
Though some might fret at lots of sweat,
I find that I’m inure,
And though it flows whene’r I row,
I’m drawn to its allure.
When ev’ry inch is nearly drenched,
And there’s not far to go,
I’ll trade doubloons for macaroons
And bask in their sweet glow.
Can any fonder love myself endure
Than self-regard bestowed upon a name,
Or for the cause of unrelenting fame
Become a thing unpleasant to inure
Myself, I think it wise, I must demure,
And savor all the taste of dignity
If takes the pleasure from my liberty,
Then I shall suffer long to be obscure.
I struggle for the loss of all that’s me,
When ego flees in search of undue pride
And leaves an aching heart bereft with tears
While my emotions, hopes and dreams, do flee
Perhaps what’s left behind inside of me
Are nothing more than strains of devilish fears.
written December 7, 2021
spirit adventurous
beauty in a conventional world
The jailer dangle the key of isolation
as her maverick desires
is tagged essentric.
bared, stripped off curiosity
she is a phantom
caught in scarlet embrace
a heart once clear as crystal
dims in the dawn of prejudice.
spineless soul
delicate innocence inure by cruelity
divergent, seeking to belong
lost in the maze of vitriol.
decorated by scars
of piercing harsh words
blooming a handicap mind
locked up, surrendering
that she's not good enough
retreating into submission's shell.
#etumudoscribbles
Phoenix
Resigned to know I feel my heart
a beating drum to reach a stage
toward getting older where I feel
the aches and pain, that sometimes rage
With other aliments to inure
and aid from someone to adjure
improve myself where I assuage
measure my mind just as a guage
And as a Phoenix, I evolve
adopt its motif to resolve
in thought and purpose, I renew
my waning years, I bid adieu
A Contest on Aging Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
June 3, 2019
Looking for my hope
Looking for my hope
Things I’ve done and how I failed
Still I have to cope
And halt a time to moan and wail
Struggling hard to make myself known
Continue till my dreams have grown
As roses that the seeds have sown
Looking toward my scope
Allow myself a future glance
Looking toward my scope
The time to have a second chance
inure myself to all the fears
To rid myself of all those tears
Recapture all the waning years
Looking for my hope
Looking for my hope
The warmth of light embracing me
A sign of better things to be
Musical Inspiration Poetry contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
May 23, 2019
Sung to the tune of
Holding back the years by Simply Red
Amidst the mist, perchance!
The besieged me, accentuates..
gamboling at that ephemeral glance,
The demure Soul for a moment, eluates.
Defying every dulcet wrath,
with my erstwhile prudent..
eking out, what I ever hath,
ineffable! yet a halcyoninan incipient.
I ride astride now, towards then..
from what is lurking afore,
groping the gossamer, to a glen,
where emollience rise only to inure..
The tides of the streams of Warri
Have been here with me
Since my wee school days in that town.
The brownish waters I guzzled
While swimming the streams in Uvwie.
The brackish waters I swallowed
While swimming the McIver
And Udu Rivers in those days.
Have remained within through the years;
Pulling me toward those waters
Just the way the moon does the oceans.
To witness the simple complexity
Of the coming and going of the tides;
Spawned by the romance of Moon and Earth.
Oh in those days!
How they come and go; the tides.
And alas, the fate
Of the countless micro organisms
And their habitation in those tributaries;
The changes they encounter day by day.
The tides bring in so much hope
And take back so much hope.
Now I like a grown organism.
In this country that has become a stream.
The governments like the tides,
Come in and go out with so much.
And we the people have become
Microorganisms that must inure
The useless residues of
Their coming and going.
O! My love, come lie on my lap;
And tell your besot stories…
Q! Frozen breeze, come tickle us;
And lilt your mellifluent songs.
We are roses in Venus’s garden;
And our souls are honeyed pollens.
We would seize every moments;
And really see it…live it and inure it.
Dear! Death may swipe our bodies;
But snarl betwixt souls are perennial.
Remember and lilt the song again;
Love is perennial but life is ephemeral.
© Ben Burton 7-23-2015
What worth poetic words
Of grandeur so sublime
Inimitable verse
True scholars recognize
What worth poetic words
So roundly demonized
Which flagellate teen nerves
Inure unmolded minds
What worth poetic words
If less than five percent
Have read and said, not heard
The meaning or intent
What worth poetic words
If told in simple rhyme
Elitists grow perturbed
But, OH, the rank and file
Make simple poets smile
The seasons inure us to loss
whether a vote of confidence
or no confidence
we are neither more nor less
in our hearts and souls. We are still
whole, history
forgets our story
but immortalizes us, nothing is annulled.
Today's board vote affects my livelihood
how and what I hunt and gather,
money, but not whether
I live or die. That's God's and luck's neighborhood.
I like capitalizing God
although I don't believe and can't imagine
an intelligence managing or wanting to manage
this interface of rock and flesh, fire and sod.
The Knowledge
tells us how to rebuild after an apocalypse,
not let the circle lapse,
outlast the holocaust. I have no vantage
from ridges I ascend
Cercocarpus, turbinella, dry and hot
places worry, planning, thought
stop. May they inure me to my end.
27 February 2010
His body alike a limp vegetable
Unable to speak and can’t even crawl
His age maybe 3 or 4, I’m not sure
His worst condition they tried to inure
A single room upstairs facing huge trees
Wind swayed the leaves as circadian circuitry
A half vertical block fixed at the doorstep
Unthinkable to pass through by a limp’s creep
One morning, the limp boy is left all alone
At a higher level with bounded zones
To leap on door block and stairs steps wide gap
A little chance to move through is a hap
Maybe a godsend or a grotesque sprite
A paramour of the innocent feeble child
Who wants to show the other world expanse
Or invite him to their kingdom to prance
My heedless passing by to their place
Forbade the unknown and left him at the foot of the staircase
I run toward him, lying on the floor, and seemed all right
I looked around but no one else at the sight
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