Long Bespoke Poems
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Whatever happened to the twelve o ‘clock rambler,
nocturnal venturesome brushstroke sort,
they paint sound and city pastel,
never at a loss for inspiration,
weather neither bar nor barrier,
in the face of whirlwind snowfall,
freezing ice, torrential downpour,
within themselves, he, she, they plod on,
hardship is adopted, never cast aside,
while others brazenly squirm,
wallow in uproarious denial,
wilt before the slightest storm,
taking flight in arid comfort zone,
shelter is their first convenient port,
not for stoic diarist this threadbare exit,
exodus of the half-hearted humbug,
but ironclad ilk stubbornly remain,
eyes and ears are substitute antennas,
alert does not begin an ample portrait,
of this wilful dwindling genus,
genus, genie, genius, glow worm ghost,
peaceful prowlers with pen on queue,
they capture worlds sidereal,
under velvet moon imagining bespoke,
crescendo of cathartic bonhomie,
icy night frost punctured by high drive fog horns,
deft nib from dark ink manteau nomad,
who engross themselves in light and shade reflection,
how magical their canny weave lexicon,
for us timid souls to relish evermore,
as we balk at the eerie life we revel in,
vicarious the kismet, excitement from afar,
drama under bridges, shadow figure chinwag,
river stream babble, blind alley gust,
eavesdrop on historic past teaser,
litter swept aural gossip whoosh,
eventide mournful dog bark heart tug,
darting elfin’s sly mind peep thereon,
yet the vagabond minstrel has to comb,
each backstreet, zebra crossing, sprawling suburb,
for inert sleepy after hour dozers,
who crave eye candy fodder as humdrum sidestep
The devil he has reached for me and tried to take my soul
He plied me with contentment yet his hearts as black as coal
Yes he tempted me with riches he bespoke an easy path
However I was wary for I sensed the spell he cast
He had taken some before me those who slipped into the breach
Those who gave into his prattle and lived within his reach
No doubt I could have joined him so weakly in the night
But I looked beyond his darkness and I saw a brightened light
The light it called me strongly still the devil fast his reach
He would not give up easily he clung on like a leech
Yet I knew within my heart that beyond that brightened light
Lay what life had meant for me a flame I must ignite
So I stood up to the devil and I spat him in the eye
The prince of darkness loses tis not with him I'll die
For somewhere in my lifetime an angel I'll beseech
To let me lie within her arms and slip the devil's reach
Iridescence
intermingle
explicate
wriggle
& inspire
placidity
immaculate
prearrange
dedicate
& appreciate
accolade
amplify
achieve
affection
&bravery
intrepid
explore
galvanize
promise
& specify
symbiosis
relationship
cooperation
stipulate
& venture
shrewd
resourcefulness
recommendation
unpredictable
& corroboration
Obdurate
resist
persuade
endure
&reincarnate
acquiesce
argue
comply
quiet
& blissful
tremendous
tempting
teamwork
tantalizing
&bespoke
conundrum
intricate
wrestle
to nurture
solemnity
Written: March 24, 2023
1st place contest winner
A Brian Strand Premiere No 1202 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
VAINGLORIOUS
arranged within
a sanctuary
sparkles
fragmentary
tactile
original
&bespoke
alongside a replica
of significance
perhaps
motifs
upend & reflect
the tensions
emblazoned
in swirling
decoration
interlacing
flowing
contemporary
imagery
evoking
a marble
commemoration
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
bizarre beauty
subtle&
slow
evoking
the visual
in intervals
of
silence
on the cusp
of melody
ambiance
bespoke&synchronised
musique
de furniture
gentle&repetitive
strange
sounds
exposed
in
a
toned
atmosphere
complementary
with
a sense
of calm
in the surreal
&absurd
effortlessly
unified
in a minimalist
tapestry
neutralized
melody
chaotically
created
pathos
laden
in a collage
of
eccentricity
Lovingly lauded.. they marauded.. rightly applauded
Saffa gaffers did thrill
Willow wielding wizards of Oz
Yielding…lampooned..marooned..jaffas
Festooned spill just like Seville .
Must remember..the ember burning
Yearning of Temba Bavuma
Kept his sense of humour
Despite being the victim of flimsy whimsy
Many a nasty rumour
I implore you to ignore the tumour
That is Michael Vaughan…dim..grim
Pompous pig or obnoxious prig
Having a dig..more clickbait hate p**n
Unsung and hamstrung..stoic heroic
Temba has brung salvation for a nation
With no Cronje bung..
The only stifling snub
Hell bent pundits in pulpits scream
Not just trifling .. no defending the Saffa culprits
Blunder of sending a sub par side
Alright trite s**e team down under..
Only one man stood sentry…Aidan Markram..often ignored..
Even deplored…a national pastime…his crime
Not being as sublime as in his teenage prime
But such touch..much gumption & grit
Did his bit…hit a century
Sod the rest…now a cricketing god
Against the odds.. has always saved
His Test best for the Aussie conquest..
No longer a sinner…the match winner..
Only one other Saffa..biff Smith’s
Scored more second innings tons..
They did vanquish their perpetual anguish
Their hullabaloo..voodoo..ending
The choke complex.. the hex hoodoo..
No longer Bill Murray day of the groundhog
Finally went the way of the underdog..
So Aidan and Temba we will always remember when
You gave South African Cricket their own
Homegrown ticket to the 25th of December..
Has been glummer.. Gory…still got the bummer
Of no tests in their upcoming home summer
But this a story of glory
Not being woke…not about race
The colour of his face
In history Temba Bavuma with such grace
The best ever test run chase at Lords
Nabbed his place…as the bespoke bloke & ace
Who broke the finals choke & grabbed the golden mace..
I made no deal
I offered no parity
For my son's recovery
To earn this disparity
Is it a sadistic choice
Some cosmic joke?
To give back to me one
And take away the other bespoke?
To heal the impossible
And afflict the mother?
To give both joy and despair
In the same week?
I am broken.
I'm broken, unfixéd.
So please, just stop.
Let me love and be loved.
And let me laugh my days
In the joy of their happiness.
So badly do I want to give up
To give in. To quit.
And you didn't make me that way
You made me to fight.
To love, even when--
No, especially when
It hurts.
Broken and weary
Lift me up
Don my rusted armor
Hand me a sharp stick
And show me my foe.
Unsolicited feedback
across rock of ages woke
beguiling ghostly busty spectre
courtesy Marie-Antoinette,
(i.e. bride of France's arty choke
King Louis XVI) bespoke
let him eat cake, and (sic)
send back the bloody bloke,
aye suddenly begot idea rye
Jack Corner of zee desk
didst impale and provoke
moderately painful injury
right side rib cage
analogous to intriguing
unfortunate circumstance
mysterious secret shrouded
as dagger and cloak
(think Alfred E. Neuman,
viz MAD Magazine), yes no joke
lovely bones of me body electric,
(particularly right side rib cage)
severely traumatized, nailed, injured...
crucified oft told umteen times,
yet omitting key mirrors and smoke,
significant Dorian Gray parallel,
when former antique,
viz secrétaire looking glass reflection,
spider hairline fractures radiated
resembled bay of pigs in a poke
ham handedly oinked,
quaked, shattered... broke
into bajillion pieces
deafening, exploding,
glowering thunder stroke
jagged shrapnel size shards
unleashed cosmic force
lacerated, gnashed, beribboned...
impeaching flesh with
one engulfed masterstroke,
no rhyme nor reason aiming to choke
off promising poet (ha) of corpse
resembling scrambled egg yolk
posthumous fame besmoke
salvaged mine besmirched reputation
courtesy humble cartoon character
bugs bunny and kinfolk spoke
daffy fully eulogizing humor did evoke.
Wedding gift to me from my grandpa,
was antique with an obvious flaw,
a three legged table made of oak,
made for him special and was bespoke.
It was designed to be by fireside,
was eight inches by eight inches wide,
just about two and a half feet high,
to keep him in winter warm and dry.
polished in dark varnish to high gloss,
etched in ivory he did emboss,
the names from our whole family tree…
somewhere on one of the legs was me.
Said to me as only grandpa’s do,
with tears on smiles, his face split in two,
leave you this to remember me by,
not let past love and memory die.
with pride we placed it by our fireside,
wife and I would spend time sat beside,
that three legged piece of grand old oak,
warmth of generations would evoke.
Written 31st October 2023
9 syllables each line
aabb rhyme
Edward Ibeh sponsored
This or that Vol 21 contest
Then ...
Where were you?
Don't you know how diligently I looked ...
How I begged for fate to pity me?
Every face, every curve, every eye glint and crimped grin
I sought for that spark ... that flicker
That attenuate shimmer to the eye that would pull me IN
Deep and close and warm
Every laugh or whisper that tickled my ear
I listened, rapt ... examined, intently
For the precise affect that bespoke a rarity, pure
For the musical tone that breathed to me a song of fire
That stoked my ambition with a hunger, hot
And a craving, cold ... and keen
How many, the gazes measured and met?
Countless, the unspoken prayers for the next lover
To hold that sublime, laughing magic
That unique knowledge of what was but silliness to others
Those tiny, secret, utterly romantic musings
That ever spun in my mind and passions
Those sexy things I wrote with my fingertips, (in cursive)
On every warm surface of moonlight-swathed skin
That swam the sheets with me at night
In vain pursuit of that most precious and elusive ...
Soul mate.
Where ... then?
Now ...
In a place where it can NEVER be
You stand before me
Perfectly imperfect ... in all the ways that define me
In every aspect that I can imagine
Or that I have ever dreamed and hoped
You. Are. The. One.
Yet you are the one thing that dashes all
That plunges my conceptions to the rocks
And turns true love to hopelessness
Oh, how I wish I'd known you
Then ... when I was young
For now you are the one thing I can not accept ...
The only thing that could now crush me
Another's.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "That Was Then This Is Now" Poetry Contest, Silent One, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Wish I Knew You When I Was Young" Poetry Contest, Julie Leigh Rodeheaver, Judge & Sponsor.