In sun and in rain,
Toils of broken soles and blistered palms.
And the journey, tedious, ends in the dank
Leaves of a breathless forest; so rancid the undergrowth,
Hissing signals of danger in the darkest foliage of mankind.
I cringed alone.
So unkempt this unholy place, where the sun is
Mocked; so ungraceful, yet so glorious.
So cautious these woods, where the panthers,
At noon, watch with the keenest of eyes, silent.
Cadaverous each leaning wood, and misleading,
Every thorny path and track . . .
I have journeyed,
And so precious my journey that I seek life among
The living, and have thus toiled until I gathered and
Garnered the speckled pages of the apothecary’s creed.
Now the leaves in the cauldron boil, squeezed!
The content stored for squirting life into the living.
I scale the jagged crags on wings of whispered verse,
and strew my path with beauties freshly born.
Unhindered I invade the marble palaces,
armed with weapons forged within this mortal frame.
I draw the gleaming sword from its ancient sheath,
and pierce the tyrant’s heart with keenest blade;
I sever every cable of his fragile throne,
and watch his trembling empire fade to shade.
Like eagles I ascend on currents of pure thought,
where coruscating gleams of insight dance and play.
I drink the silent music of the waking world,
and roam through fierce, uncharted shades in search of hidden jewels.
Though pulses quicken with the chill of fear or doom,
I stand caparisoned in courage, undismayed.
I see vast legions trapped within their frantic race,
blind to the filth that stains their fleeting days.
Oh, that they might awaken while the ink still flows
how brief the hour, how vague these shadowed moments!
Yet poetry, in her quiet majesty,
captures but a chosen few, and lets the rest drift on.
"INDEED"
It is MAGIC indeed
When the dove disappears
The thin black cloth
Banished what was revealed.
It is SORCERY indeed
When you're caught by a spell
You believe every sound
Of the mage's bell.
It is UNFORTUNATE indeed
When you're bewitched by words
Blinded by tales
You treat stone as gold.
It is DANGEROUS indeed
When its veiled by tears
Your soul will be confined
In darkness for years.
It is FUNNY indeed
When you got fooled by a clown
He's cheering you up
While bringing you down
It's magic , sorcery,
Unfortunate, dangerous and funny.
For you have the keenest eyes
Yet you fail to see.
CROWN THE KING
Kendrick, king of kinetic kinesis,
Kaleidoscopic knowledge knits keenest.
Kindled by Compton's kinetic flame,
Keen verses vie for victory, acclaim.4
Knightly in kendo of kindred beats,
Keeps a killing calmness under knit sheets.
Kicks, knuckles, knockouts off his notes,
His knavish knacks, knight-errant floats.8
King of the craft, crowned in creative conquest,
Kendrick the keystone, like Kinta Kunte's quest.
The keeper of keys to kingdoms is K.Dot,
Kindhearted kinfolk, Kenny is kinetically hot.¹²
Kendrick's alter ego kits Kung-Fu Kenny,
Kdot's "6:16 in LA" & "Not Like Us" impressed many.
Kendrick's career-spanning series of the same name
Keeps Kung-Fu Kenny kitted-up in the rap game.¹6
Kaleidoscope king, keep kindling the art.
Crown King Kendrick, he who's carved apart.¹8
VICK MANUEL POETRY
{VMP}
FORM: Alliteration
Copyright ©?11th May, 2024.
I happened upon the tiniest snail today, it's spiral patterned shell caught my eye.
Not thought of fondly by many,
would turn your legs into jelly,
would make the keenest of plant lovers cry.
An interesting truth, they have many a tooth.
In fact 14,000 of these.
They chew through your berries and flourishing plants.
I'd Most definitely prefer to keep bees.
Now, some people would take a different approach and find them a delicacy.
A hint of garlic and slathering of butter.
Voila! Escargot for tea.
But that powerful snail and it's slimy trail has a weakness that we have been taught.
If you are squeamish,
this may turn you greenish.
All you need is a sprinkle of SALT
Taking on an odd challenge - committed
Ideal forms, fired in keenest kiln
Trespass pages torn out, inmate omitted
Anguish arms, firm steely shield
Tigers eye eclipse rolls out a rosy moon
Rising icy on closed encyclopaedia
Thick black book unlocks fabled fortune
Weighty trust instilled immediately
Figure of founding, supportive substance
Dad proud serves duty’s obligation
Blind mice sheltered held to his sentence
Prickly wife handed down probation
Gifted a ginger ring fingers, grand future
Lady Luck spun an oily halo roulette
Leather bound night bite slim smile Luna
New moon on red her high fate met
17th December
Sentence ended
Are we not our graves digging,
With the keenest interest in rigging,
The first to be buried our image;
“To Electoral Franchise: Savage?
Are we not behind greatly lagging,
When the Neutral Press we keep gagging,
The next to be silenced Plain Truth;
A despot imaged as today’s Ruth…
Often, the time to befriend hell’s thugs,
Remember they don’t need your hugs,
Lover of carpets you take to rugs;
Very few things could say ‘No’ to Drugs…
Election rigged is a virgin raped,
Never count it that you have escaped;
In the robes of Molester draped;
Don’t expect a future well-shaped.
Nobody can discover anything
that's hidden in the quite woods
of the striking wilderness:
if adventure and curiosity limit
our perception to fully discover it
with the keenest senses:
it can make us marvel at the loveliness.
of the butterflies or the swiftness of falcons,
and if we had wings, we could see everything,
but without insight or imagination: nothing amazes!
Admire the yellow dandelions that lovers blow
to make realistic wishes in that moment so mellow;
picks one, scatter its seeds and make more grow:
youngsters adore them, so does a House Sparrow!
Exploring the quite woods of the striking wilderness
opens up dusty, winding trails so often travelled alone;
do the indigo lilacs match the sapphire skies above?
Do the golden orioles match the amber sunflowers
that are bent on their tall stalks by the gales...
when sunset stuns all with its purple shades?
Follow these footsteps to cherry blossom hills,
and to steep mountains greener than wild grass;
it's an adventure away from the bustling cities
with rising skyscrapers and streets without trees!
A Dar-Dar delivered, a wonderful creature,
Arriving by yak after talks with a preacher.
Wrapped up in a blanket with little instruction,
Some suction required through keenest deduction.
A Dar-Dar’s a brilliantly small woodland sprite
Instilling both fear and great gasps of delight.
But before you know it, they’ve done fully grown,
Magically producing small sprites of their own.
These Dar-Dars are likely to range far and wide;
Reports say in Utah’s where one can be spied.
October is always a time to acquaint;
They’re oft drawn to ponies all covered in paint.
Wherever you find one, it’s always the best;
The dad of a Dar-Dar is a man truly blessed.
Be sure and notice her life sized pink metallic gorilla lamp.
I look at my friend. Are you serious?
She nods.
I could not have missed it, I almost tripped over it.
Your grandmother has eclectic taste I told her!
There were so many things to look at I was amazed.
Next I lost my footing on an oversized purple stuffed moose.
When I landed in her grandma’s lap, she laughed.
You have such a keen place! I told her.
“The pink gorilla has a crush on me,” she said.
She had tiny lavender curly hair and the bluest eyes.
I nodded, believing it.
Overnight shall sleep The Delayed Inspector
In a swarming-with-mosquitoes Sector:
The exact wish of his host and Rector
Wishing him the company of Malaria’s Vectors
And the keenest battles with Their Directors,
Since he mustn’t The School Inspector hector
But can’t him leave The Victor
Of a supervisory Role, Very Rude
And intent display of The Shrewd.
A Thirty-fiver impressing he could deprive
A Fifty-fiver of his sole drive,
Teacher watchers shocking as he strives
To mar that on which he thrives;
Wherefore it has to now be
And ever by payback be
A Purposely Torn Mosquito Net
That Malaria makes A sure bet
And Eyelids with begging tears wet.
The keenest Christian Sermon on Salt
To a Somalian Moslem in Renault
That can out-speed a stone from catapult
But now at a complete halt;
Not from any mechanical fault:
Perhaps, Moslems can from Salt
Messages sift about Man’s fault
And his waiting judgmental vault”
A still dragging Sermon on Symbolic Salt
And a Moslem stops sipping his cold Malt
Though in ‘Allah’ precisely dues exalt
And fellow Mohammedans watching the result!
Never join – Please! – in taking Russia
For the less alert nations in Asia
Or choosing her own furry coat
For disguisedly sneaking into her boat.
Some Ivanovitch will be coming for you,
First amusedly radioing his crew
About “The Freshest Stowaway
To make a Human Yesterday”.
Russia doesn’t fail to get him
Simply swayed by a whim
Lengthily teaching him ‘How to Borrow’
For a desired voyage, tomorrow …
Your keenest prayer: To not end up a meal
For the Hungriest Planted Shark:
What shall off your mother’s skin peel
And make your wife like a dog bark:
Russia’s last Nobel Peace Winner
Leave confused and thinner?
And her KGB,
A Scarier TB!
Bloom Road
Wherefore be this heavenly place?
Untouched by the metropolis'
inhumane demands?
Tis in your heart, dear friend, such
a place be.
Free of political buffoonery.
One must be a bold discoverer of
the heart.
For if not, Bloom Road is naught!
In the sweetest dwelling of your wishes,
Lies Bloom Road, and warm, delicious,
awaiting kisses.
Life is not an accident for those
with drreams.
It's an actuality that's both planned
and deftly carved and schemed.
Be off now, and the hunter be....
Bloom Road and thy keenest lover,
Are at the ready, just for thee.
August 17, 2020
Fittingly hallowed gods must intrinsic majesty hold.
Even before deities invoked weigh the caller's case,
The deity's potent title should alone spell the balm,
And tint with nourishing grace the supplicant's face.
Woe justly betides gods modelled by mortal skill,
Conjured to define the worshiper's creative spans.
True deity outdoes their adherent's most avid drill,
And defeats most faithful admirers' keenest scans.
If while engaged they varied ethereal trends display,
But when left alone they silent and unbothered stay;
You already got there a freaking raw deal indeed:
You're the mighty guy your own-made gods need!
The worshiped must by heart the worshiper know,
And both will ever commune as if by infallible law.
It’s the supreme being mightily seeking the follower,
Who grasps it well and submits to the bigger power.
It’s a fake god if it bends to suit whimsical desire,
Or at once plays into your infinite imaginative fire!
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