The cursing blank
pages held
traces of
knavish hooded
knights riding
forward for the
sake of
scum un-
godly kings.
A nobler theme needs more sublime art
In order to its honorable nuances impart;
And thus may famous muses of niftier writ
More tastefully craft this little lyrical script.
And if generous gods of superior rhyme there be,
Who with pure ease mellifluous tunes compose,
Then may such these tottering lines indite with me
And delve deep where rarest musical gems repose.
Where do love’s purest pearls lie
Beneath this bland ancient sky;
Where hug and kiss their warmest
Elusive touch pulsate at its best?
Truth is maimed and denied its form
And falsehood has become the norm;
Who knows any place she still thrives
Wholly unsevered by knavish knives?
And hope no longer blossoms
As it did in sweeter days of yore,
Now she’s worn out to the bottoms
And angst and doubt rule to the core.
And peace completely extinct is:
Chaos and strife now carry the day
And gallivant about in their hubris,
As mourning sufferers tearfully pray.
I have a confession to make. I’m a trust fund baby
and a member of the educated Elite.
In my defense, I'm a newcomer in both categories.
I got my trust fund at 18 and graduated Yale University this year.
I was a double major, at university, in biochemistry and celibacy,
until as a sophomore, I met this tall, handsome, awkward, disheveled, physicist in a coffee shop and knavishly schemed my way into his life.
(He insists that he knavishly schemed his way into my life.)
Let’s get poetic-ish..
I said,
“Let’s start a flirtationship
abstract, immaterial and fun.
We have a little chemistry - an interesting.. tension.
Could we just have an involvement and not read into it?
Something friction free, hands free, germ free, and guilt free?
Let's get a pizza, don't worry, I'm paying.”
Of course, that was a lie.
I had designs, I wanted him in the utmost
and honestly, when do I not get what I want?
"I was by far the knavishist." I admitted.
"Then you don't know knavishEST.," he responded, shaking his head 'no'.
.
.
songs for this:
Honeypie by JAWNY
Really Saying Something by Bananarama & Fun Boy Three
I know that we're all tired of hearing
And sharing bad or knavish news about everywhere
About countless elections that were just and fair
We're absolutely sick and tired about sharing
Too many sad news about crime, corruption
Negative events, racism and discrimination
This is the end of the year. We want all crises
To be over, done. We want the pandemic to end
We're tired and frustrated about the messes
We want to have a better world. Now, we want to send
Solely good news to the world. We want to inspire
We want to see friendlier smiles, more gorgeous flowers
At home, not at funeral. We want to hear about lovers
Not about haters, criminals and liars who conspire
Incessantly. We abhor bad news, fake news, and dirty lies
We want the nonsense to cease and to see more genuine smiles
A new year, a new beginning, a novel dawn is quickly approaching
Hence, let's start fresh and acclimate our lives to the new spring.
Copyright © December 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
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.
A dispenser of dishonest vice, a peddler of blatant lies,
In his unscrupulous realms, nobility of truth sadly dies,
Where righteous vibes of morality and decency agonize;
Where benevolence cries, pensive in verity’s demise.
Masked in aura of dubious eyes, spurious is his smile,
Hiding deceptions of his charismatic, charlatan style;
Counterfeit is the profile sporting thrill of knavish devise,
Proffering affectionate gile, spinning webs of disguise.
Empowering hypnotism of an alluring, charming face,
Weaving traps of fanciful tales his adventures chase,
Mesmerizing them; seeking the disheartened as prey,
Bestowing faux lexicons of praise, that brazenly betray.
Broken pledges and vows, now bawl from his burial site,
Deep within remorseful soul, churning anguished fright,
Awakening graveyard of victims in nightmarish night,
Burning effigies of dreams destroyed, feelings contrite.
Be on guard for imposters vying lure of sensual glance,
Beware of tenders, beckoning love, enticing romance,
Beware of mountebank, a swindler~ thievery is his art;
Dedicated lifelong, to mission of stealing innocent heart.
In the vortex of a maelstrom, I was rudely thrown
drowning in turbulent waters for an error I bemoan,
a blunder of loving someone who chose to whittle
away at my heart until it became fragile and brittle
Bereft beyond the point of caring if I lived or died
My eyes were scarlet, burning from tears I'd cried
But they became transfixed, immutable on a fire stoked
for my normally tenuous demeanor had been provoked
I was a genteel lady, who demurely acquiesced to love
but it was time for me to throw down the gauntlet glove
I was chaffed by what had been just an interlude for him,
an escapade, a mere dalliance, a rascally romantic whim
I drew a rough sketch; in likeness of my vagabond swain
an abstract portrait, in Picasso's style, the face of my bane
Black eyes were hollow, blind orbs that would never see
that his trifling peccadillo tryst was a brutal betrayal to me
The painting was delivered as twelve bells pealed midnight
I watched as he unwrapped it, but carefully kept out of sight
A formidable opponent I had become to his knavish ways
In the moonlight his face turned pale; his eyes were glazed
I am the ghastly red face consigned upon a black canvas. The capacity of my hands become quite knavish tricks with minacious intent. I am the ineluctable doom the will run down your way like trailing clouds of lightning. I drink your blood and I feast on your skin.
I love as I was and then
My love, tended by your praise and slur
The blessing of spring, knavish sun
I love as I was and then
I don't bow and shiver by wind, and arraign
My scorched arms are insolent to spring and pour
I love as I was and then
My love, tended by your praise and slur
Losses not consolidated leave contributor raw
Arrears rip pages of rational compassionate law
Turblent thoughts toss turn to channel retaliation
Embittered brain rubs static into smooth radio station
Nocturnal curtain eternal drawn over forgiving stance
Tortured cortex tar drips coal smudge repugnance
Behind lids of eyes fingertips pressing upon
Lacking exposure conjures warped projection
Attonement can't be granted during darkness
Confessions sparkle once in white starkness
Killing accountability in murky private mind
Proliferating hatred sees old harm magnified
Asperity of sins committed stew in torpid trench
Years of historic plot twist regale harsh revenge
Bulged breeding dim ideas seethe evil scheme
Attack mapped by movie shock putrid scenes
Creeping balaclava covered crow bar at chest
Knavish initiation repaid with blood reaps debt
24th August 2021
Written for Contest : The Colour Black
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke
Saw I the zephyr move of my generation being destroyed,
How I mourned the balmy breeze.
Brisk, balmy fiery breeze.
Does the balmy breeze make you shiver?
Does it?
End of times, someone just drop the last nuke bomb
How happy are airspace, jumbo jets!
Do jumbo jets make you shiver?
Do they?
Smoke and fiery streams in the skies light
Light up the blueness through and around clouds
cunning zephyr sings like the southern coast
this isn’t no joke
Now knavish is just the thing,
Bombs landing bombarded exploding
to get me wondering if zephyr are yet adroit.
End of times, someone just drop the last nuke bomb
7/26/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
Mightier than fibs and sharp swords,
Manacled truth will with time prevail
Against high peak and gigantic vale,
And glossed lips' deodorized words.
Sharper than lucre's nectared studs
Stabs tested truth's right-driven nail;
Till all wrong-worn tongues wax frail,
And fain betray old veneered guards.
Unfettered truth predates olden floods.
Earlier than Noah's Ark and hasty hail
Unbowed stood her long-tenured trail,
Defanging vibes of fact-twisting nerds.
Unbent still won truth's candid cards,
Outlasting every knavish fibbing tale;
And justice bespectacled favored jail,
Where oft cool heels of reptiled duds.
Why not tell it to blank wingless birds:
If stoutest truth's tempest-tossed sail
Long neutered was by wealthier gale,
Over gold's Monsoon-storming girds?
~~~Magna est veritas et praevalebit~~~.
I know all outward beauties like purest roses wear,
And summer's brief warmth like eddy breath fleets;
Shiniest pearls do with piling age outlive their time,
And give way to sad eternity’s far gleaming sweets.
Tales of more glittering gems felled by time's scythe
Can’t and won’t amend my love-warped mind's twist,
That lauds you immune to swift clocks’ antics blithe,
Mightier than meddling night’s beauty-dimming gist.
Lover’s diction’s fantasy strings its eternizing tropes
That dub your eyes undying stars in a deathless sky;
Your coy smiles birth phoenix sparks that hardly die,
Indelible signal that real Love begets ageless hopes.
Infinite desire’s intense tics render your span longer
Than sudden death's shortened gloom and stronger;
Outwitting unfeeling graves’ opportunistic mischiefs,
Outfoxing timid decays and their love-thieving griefs.
Let's love as shiny suns soar higher over fogging clouds,
While knavish darkness dreams on in its veiling shrouds.
What care I for love! Its adulation that drowns out all other enterprise of the heart like a siren. Its promise of treasure that lures man to concession of loves knavish aptitude. We overtly advertise our heart’s mannequin guards to forge the illusion of strength, yet wittingly concede love and the pursuit of, to direct our actions, choose our robes, set our goals, assign our speech. We grant it, like a spy, to ensconce in our aspirations, to squander our time and memory, to seek out names, to remember faces and places. To afford its attempts, avidity and appetite to influence even the most infinitesimal of decisions. To say this street or that street. This café or that café. And as a sportsman’s caddy, we follow. Is love so rich and potent that a mere drop hath the ability to dilute one hundred barrels of its ill side effects? Or is this mere legend? For its legend is all I have ever tasted. Why then do I proclaim a dish’s superiority if I have never tasted it! Why do I dedicate my life, to a king I have never seen?
Years ago God the Creator in facebook
Outright blocked knavish Satan the Crook.
When unblocked, anew he
A request sent in glee,
That God accepted by fluke !
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