Long Cohere Poems
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Hey there, I am known as fear
I'm pleased to see ya here
I'ma bout to switch the gear
It's game on mode from now, I fear
There's no escape,so stay near
get used to smell of fear all year
No need to hide in there my dear
Don't crawl under your bed in fear
bear with me while I get the air
in here clear
In this sphere drear and cheer
tend to enjoy the stage they share
Here, come in and lend me your ear,
if it bodes well with you we'll cohere
bend a knee and lean in, I'll steer
I hear, your lover ditched you for a beer
with a peer who admired his spear, then threw your way a drunken leer
oh my what a farce, heard you even shed a tear
When panic reared its ugly head with a sneer
Got you sizzling, hot enough to sear
Your poise chose to hide away at the rear
Face it, for now you're stuck with me fear
In an unlikely pairing we both failed to avoid
an airing of our fears will most likely follow to fill the void
We're both dread this feat we have to attempt
tempting as it may be to be devoid of all joy
I feel your heart we'll somehow fill with fearsome fun
Plenty awesome stuff we'll do together as one
But first of all entice your fears to fess up
Allow them space to evolve and rise up
Don't feed into the need to allow your fear to fester
With a firm stance assert your place at the helm
As one who thrives on challenge, you'll rule your realm unfazed
A bold creator and master of your own fate, you'll raise the sceptre
Then I, fear your faithful ally will step up
to set up a tasteful plate, pleasing to the palate
It will be ours to enjoy and share
Hearts full of cheer
At last, free from fear
Form:
Mystic 2025
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire.
The day before on the night..
We packed for Mystic July 2025
We told each another on the phone..
Of what we going to do.
We going to brouhaha and hoopla hoo-hah
The trip to camp Mystic we had in awe
Come we go.
We going to quarrel and inspire
And we will reasure..
Our excited smiley faces rapture..
For the freedom We to explore.
We would congregate most near the river main
Those mystic sounds and groaning creeps would excite our heart's
And we would not fear.
We going to chuckle there and be jolly free.
We will sing and make melody's
At the miss of moments on our parents dear.
The show will go on Girls.
We are in the prime of our teen lives.
We have group control, combed and brushed each other's hair.
We learn how to dance new at Mystic.
We would be silly mischievous on Mystic's low ebb.
We are so near..
Neat, packed and paired in the circle of life.
We are so brave..
We will galvanize like comrades dear.
New bosom buddies for life we make.
We danced and chuckled in sport
In the prime of our lives.
What would Mystic behold ?
What comes to be
Tragedy..
We became earth's newest angels.
And Texas tears began to flow..
O Father Dear .. O Mother Dear
We want you to know..
We were so brave in cohere..
We never let go
We held, hugged and clinged sincere.
The blossom is a fussin'
About the shining sun -
Colour and oxygen -
The bud bringeth the petal,
Where there is no cussin'.
The pride of nature's platter,
The joy of the buzzing bee,
The thing by which we all fathom,
Just exactly what it is that we can be.
The scent of the perfume,
In the gels of the body shop,
The standard for their products,
At which we've all had a pop.
The claim of the respiratory doctor,
For breathing and atmosphere,
Is that air comes from plants,
And that plants with us do cohere.
But we need to be remember,
Before we become egotistical,
That plants evolved before humans,
That we come last, not hierarchical.
There is no above or below,
The message of the flower,
The communication so opine,
That expression of power.
Fate Of Mankind...
(this prognosticator ordains,
which if came to pass no brains)
necessary to impress any
goo goo dolls, nor swains!)
Cited in crosshairs of thermonuclear warfare
quite an about face from bursts of creativity,
yet omnipresent palpable threat everywhere
unlike sangfroid hermitage within Abbey air
habitués hosting religious peacemongers care
ring about spiritual well being, nsync by prayer
regular quotidian discipline dissociating scare
re: global apocalyptic genocidal holocaust sear
ring significant sinister malevolent electioneer
macabre mushroom clouds vitiating atmosphere
burnt offerings charred flora and fauna cohere
glommed together undifferentiated pulverized
conglomeration bespeaks devastated biosphere
survivors (if any) few and far between gallows
humor, sans mockery former Amazon billionaire
irrelevant wealth superfluous banked nightmare
*****sapiens like mummified zombies blinded by
light, eclipsed contaminated heavily sheltering sky
succor solemn deliverance bombed appallingly revere
inescapable damn earth bottled genii raiment austere
foretold prophecy regarding Doomsday clock spare
ring extra crispy char broiled ribs aplenty profiteer
awaiting her/him able to make a killing apprenticed
savvy entrepreneur opportunity, though no cashier
to pay, hence former Trumpeting strictly volunteer
job with bone fried benefits superior than Medicare
accompanied by death as fine companion buddy sincere
need not be grave concern, so minus annihilation and air
choking stench, viz total extinction moonscape sphere
flora obliterated only scorched landmarks thoroughfare,
humongous bajillion shades of gray cremated vaporware
vague hint former edifice Taj Mahal wanting consigliere
so opportunities galore to look as smoking hot fleshpot
overactive imagination helpful to conjure all in the
family Maude Lynn good times MASHup of yesteryear!
Memories wound like shards of shrapnel
exploding through the restless night
bursting into jagged slivers like broken glass,
leaving a heart wretched and contrite.
Ears strained to hear voices crying
from somewhere within the dark beyond,
the place lying between emptiness and sighing
but not one echoing refrain responds
Not a single word from the void spoken
Silence takes a ransom toll on emotions
There's not a whispered breath, no scant token
that offers hope in any measure of devotion
Shattered is the heart that has been forgot
In the midst of grief, a voice it does not hear.
It's time to move on for the echo returns not.
and in its absence, a heart must prove austere.
Purge all the sorrow and wash away its stain.
No longer whisper and do not strive to hear
nonexistent echoes that resound in refrain,
those ricocheting words that never did cohere.
Delusion and Reference
(Paranoia)
Once there was only one, not fun,
So then this became two, did moo,
But my mum thought there were two,
There was her, and then guess who,
God said this, that, she said, like glue,
So her and Him had chats with another one,
This to me made still two in the room,
But the room had three to happy her,
And to the other one with her, further,
They deludedly found her valid and clever,
So they never hissed at her nor did mur,
Such that to them in the room done,
There were also three in the room there hun,
Not to be bred, so him and her and Yun,
Simmered my symptoms which decayed,
My youth and I was subjugated dismayed,
Such that I am now discharged recently,
Not newly promoted without ropes concisely,
Didn't want to placate the man walking behind,
Erroneous paranoia is best left to fester inside,
And so I don't know why health professionals sit,
Without asserting this mistake of faith which does slit,
Numbers - if functionally for other people and the kids,
There’s three, and her factor always liaisons her upper lids,
Then there are three real people in the room, lipids,
To them, at medical appointments, healthcare visits,
Meetings, excuse the syllogising of a sought parallax hits:
So the real converser, the professional, they must cohere,
That mum’s views may be quietly rejected unsaid,
Subtly accepted but then bypassed in favour of the kid,
Who needs to be pulled up from the pit of loneliness, bid,
By the health professional who must relinquish resolutely -
Through paperwork just to file away the sinner here absolutely,
Because ABC to me means that there's two in the room,
When there’s only two in the room, tested, there's two chemically, boom,
Since hormones cannot combine with a metaphysical being to boon,
He will loon when dislocated occupations and displacement loom -
A mathematician is not an essayist and neither a fit bit a goon;
And therefore, please remember that you become what you've done,
Not what you've sung and altered, so when healthcare workers are spun,
You get paranoia, not mum by ego, if they don't bravely come into the sun.
Milton’s Paradise Lost is a book I sometimes dip into. For modern
readers it does not lend itself to a quick browse. It’s pretty clear from the
start who dunnit.
My version in paperback contains insightful explanatory notes.
Apparently “Science” in the Tempter’s words“ O Sacred,
Wise and Wisdom giving Plant, Mother of Science”,* being derived from the Latin verb “scire”, really means what we now understand as “knowledge”.
This note seems to be for the benefit of such innocents who are
unaware of the process of diachronic semantic change, and who
may also entertain misgivings about nuclear power plants.
Newton’s apple might jolt us into considering matters of considerable
gravity.
Today we are concerned more about fallout than with the Fall, more
with the atom than with Adam.
Science is not primarily concerned with moral questions, yet
we have all benefited from science. That science has also
furnished Man with the means of self-extermination and involves environmental pollution on a global scale we must accept as collateral damage, call it what you will.
Science is not primarily concerned with moral questions.
Even though scientific knowledge is based on the axiom that our sensory perceptions, the experiments, observations and theories of science cohere,
being phenomena in one and the same time-space continuum, a scientist
should not be diverted from his or her quest by troublesome thoughts about extraneous factors, be they social, political or moral in nature, that impinge on the awareness of one indivisible reality.
In Milton’s day “science” simply meant “knowledge”.
Milton was concerned with the problem of good and evil, the relationship of God and Man, the conflict between Truth and Mammon, not with the complex realities of our modern industrial high-tech world.
Perhaps cogito ergo sum, that premise of the modern scientific method, also has a moral dimension.
Milton’s Paradise Lost is a book I occasionally dip into.
O’ fluid friend,—
—O’ liquid lover, please
embrace me, soothe my sootheless, stranded soul—,
—caress my restless thoughts, and set them still.—
O’ sap of spirit,—
—sweet sip of ambrose!
O’ potent potion,—
—O’ magic mixture, daze
me, dazzle me, nuzzle me, numb my frill
fringes |— —| Droll Dame, find me a drooling fool.—
O’ nectar of the night,—
—dose me for a doze…
Keep me cohere,nt and comp,osed—‘sxcu,se me—
I’m stumblin’ on your slippy words,(I meant
mine,—ours?)and now you sweep me to the flo,or.
…
O’ fluke of fortune!, wicked whiskey’s woe!,
why wrong you me thus?, morn’s scalding sun askant
breaks blaring through my window,— head — aches — …sore.
Two minutes left, then midnight's here.
You know my dad has made it clear,
tho we're engaged, for sure, my dear,
to curfew rules, we must adhere.
Just hold me tight, and do not fear-
your time to leave is almost near.
Don't let two minutes interfere
with our sweet kisses, so sincere.
Love words I whisper in your ear;
you kiss my lips- my souvenir.
One minute left, let's persevere
before we part- you disappear.
Kiss me again- let's get in gear,
fill up this minute in our sphere
of lasting love that soon will steer
us to that day- our new frontier.
Soon, we'll be wed with joy and cheer;
now, our time's up, without a tear,
must say goodnight, but still cohere
in thoughts, until you reappear.
Two minutes gone, midnight's austere;
those curfew rules stab like a spear.
When we are wed, with joy next year,
midnights till dawns- we'll pioneer.
February 5, 2018
~1st Place~
Contest: ''K'' Contest, New Or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Judged: 09/14/2021
Theme Chosen: Kiss
----------------------------------------------------------
Note:
The old days of the mid to late 1950s were very different.
I was engaged at 18, and my parents still insisted that I
was home by midnight!
Mutant metronome’s
stygian riddle
inscrutable fixation
spuming
clustered clairvoyance
honing snoopy
quest querulous
quicquidlibet
tamper connived
sinewy stratagem
plimsoll plot
“sneaker” of
wily webfooted
nefarious nudge
at
tenebrific toll
maple smoke
screen screed
clandestine
cobwebs cohere
mohair marinated
muddle
subdued thespian
herringbone hoodwink
skewed camouflage
perused pearl
inveigling
skulduggery rife
underscored cadence
persuasive
percussive rattle
ubiquitous underbelly
prop to
dodgy dialogue
muted ritardando
silhouette streak
dangling magnet
mired in
gauche guesswork
subterfuge sciophobia
inkpot
amorphous machination
fiction wizards
emblazon
indices incipient
embryo empiricism
mouldering
cabinet coterie
spookish svengali
minatorial
repercussions
incurvate
sniffer dog
detective
poirrot’s prognosis
clouseau contingency
that
rivetting mystery