Long Fertilized Poems
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The truth was concealed with many branches. Countless
are the days I happily lingered in the comfort of your shade
before passionate winds revealed each of your limbs as too
weak to support natural, core growth. Your delusive roots
cannot grab substantial hold in earth while fertilized by
pretense’s charade. Only hollow echoes resound within your
skin of splintered bark and your shadows of nothingness grow
ever longer.
Under a warming sun, I joyously gave my heart in open palm
to you. At the time, I ignorantly embraced your breadth and
sum, for your apparent beauty preceded your tells of long
developed and craftily hidden inner rot, sure to disease all love
given in deep, steady, heartbreaking spurts. I can no longer
tarry beneath your deceptive branches and chose to depart with
no thought of ever returning, but I leave behind my tender pity to
witness your inevitable withering.
I wonder why we, of all people I have known,
fly and breathe and beat so far apart.
We who have shared as one strong heart
drawn to therapeutic spells and smells
of hearts and flowers,
and old gay tales,
wherever these death-defying deviant truths might lead
Prepared to follow this good faith,
not once doubting what was best for other's feelings
and warmest thoughts of trust
was best for both in longer runs of curious faith
in someone made for you
as you are made with me
Or are you too much made by me
with over-fertilized integrity
still wondering why we,
of all,
fly our ways as part of two
and many million more who dream as one
cherished belonging memory.
Without belonging
I would have never known
this not belonging feels too much apart.
When angels battle the Lord of the Flies,
apologists war with devils of doubt
(the skeptic, the cynic, and worldly-wise);
the unknowns shrink the hearts of the devout:
fear, disease, pain, war, death, all the horror
of Eve's sin for heeding that serpent's lies,
whilst doubting the Truth in whose hand mirror
we creatures viewed ourselves immortal, wise
like gods. But doubt, like hope, refreshes faith;
and faith, belief, when fertilized, knows grace:
then revelation (with love, mercy, and ruth,
from Him that made the earth and us, a race
of humans both male and female). Whether
we choose, live, die: all rising together!
I.
One cloudless day, without spring shower
or monsoon, angels made their stand;
and conjured otherworldly power,
one cloudless day, without spring shower.
But God pruned me like a flower,
when I clutched lightning in my hand,
that cloudless day without spring shower:
I then was chosen that same hour.
II.
Though crucified, reviled by hate,
I dwelt in my ivory tower;
inspired by love, as I create,
though crucified, reviled by hate.
My sweet songs showed how God was great;
fertilized by life's manure, my flower
bled, crucified, reviled by hate,
by evil men, the world, and fate.
One slow motion jagged tear
found me after you left me here.
Its wetness sits still upon my face
as I stare at absolutely no place.
What I do live and what I dream
and all sundries fitting in between,
now struggle in a frenzied dance
passing thru, in and out, this circumstance.
My brain is mush circling a clueless groove.
Surely, I need an enlightened next move.
Calm failed to enter when you shut the door,
and life as I knew it quit being anymore.
I simply cannot find my identity.
Maybe it left with you and my clarity.
I seek to ease a primal urge to shout
at frenzied thoughts dashing about.
Perhaps I knew years had grown weeds
while I prayed for fertilized love seeds.
Perhaps I knew time long held this bleed
while I prayed true love would succeed.
Perhaps my heart just died in your stampede.
Barren land of illiteracy ,
Soil never having been loosened,
Not fertilized by education !
Prejudice from heart difficult to eradicate,
Aspirations vacilitate, soon disheartened,
Barren land of illiteracy !
Comforts and bad money marionette ,
End of the day, lie disillusioned,
Not fertilised by education !
Howsoever doodads may shipshape,
Barefaced soul eventually feels threatened,
Barren land of illiteracy !
Eyes riveted at the door go grave,
Impecunious mason carving in house darkened,
Not fertilised by education !
Succor will soon arrive I hypothecate,
A town feared seized will stand fortified,
Barren land of illiteracy,
Not fertilised by education !!
Sponsor- Juli Michelle
Contest- rhyme battle- round 4
A villanelle ,
19/3/2014
Now entered for contest "Only villanelle and terzanelle"
By Shadow Hamilton
Forests of Green Coniferous Trees
Forests of evergreen conifers
(Fir, spruce, cedar, pine, and hemlock trees)
Keep their colour throughout the seasons
And don’t shed foliage in autumn.
Rooted in soil and basking in sunlight,
They grow on hillsides and in valleys,
Encircling rock outcrops, swamps, and leas,
And near rivers and lakes, and on islands.
These hearty trees endure nature’s throes
Of cold, harsh, winters to warm spring thaws,
Thriving in summer and fall to help provide
A habitat for the forest dwellers.
Conifer pollen and seed cones pollinate,
And fertilized seeds disperse on windy days
—Or get stashed away by squirrels and birds—
And grow into stately coniferous trees.
From cold, distant hearts frigid
air doth circulate
Downy blanket no longer the
surface can insulate
Icy stares a corrosive wind
doth instigate
A sheltering family no longer
the gale can mitigate
Frostbitten minds numbed to
their pending fate
Emotive cisterns once gushing
with joy now frozen, stagnate
Frosty touches cause tender
limbs to degenerate
Thick, dreary clouds hover;
fleeting hopes oscillate
A rolling fog descends;
foundational dreams obfuscate
Fallowed ground fertilized by
acrimonious debate,
Allowing only seeds of malice
to germinate
Lacking a steady compass the
barren expanse to navigate,
Two, intemperate souls from
winter's chill hibernate
A stale frond whose limp veins
are now desiccate
6 years ago, I wrote limericks about 5 PS poets. Today, I've posted
about another 5 and will continue to add more... before 6 years.
I tickled funny bones of five Souper men
So, I gave thought to trying it once again
In the order they replied
My sarcasm was applied
As I gently heckled them with ink and pen
First, Tom Cunningham, who "liked my collection"
To femme limericks he had no objection
But now it's his turn
Tom, forgive the burn
I heard you're headed for a house of correction
Jerry T Curtis said to "keep them coming"
But I think that lately he's been slumming
He's all aflutter
And starts to stutter
When his lady friend starts his heart strumming
Then there is the poet of romance, Tim Smith
His sweet words of seduction are not a myth
I know it to be truth
Don't ask me. It's uncouth
I don't kiss and tell so I'm pleading the fifth
John Gondolf said my limericks made him "chuckle"
His comments are always filled with honeysuckle
But if he wants a date
I'll have to castigate
I have a black belt in the use of my knuckles
"I needed smiles and giggles," said Greg Barden
His poems are flowers blooming in a garden
But some words are couture
Fertilized with manure
Now I guess I'll have to beg for Greg's pardon
The new additions...
Like a brother he comes to my defense
This man wears no guise and has no pretense
Mark Koplin, misunderstood
A modern-day Robin Hood
To me he shines with rays of effulgence
There's a man who took me under his wing
Says what he thinks. Doesn't hold back a thing
Danny Turner, my friend
A helping hand he'll lend
For offering kind words, he's a wellspring
David Kavanagh, true friend from the start
Encouraging advice, he does impart
Throws Monoku lines like spears
I raise a glass to him ~ cheers!
Loyal, his word. A man with a good heart
Canadian, Vaso, we don't see oft
Art doesn't come across as being soft
But has a tender heart
For countries torn apart
His poetic words should never be scoffed
His funny thoughts overflow in a Flood
Terry writes humor that's never a dud
Risque, and sometimes not
His stories have a plot
Rumor has it that he's known as 'The Stud'
Gentlemen, I ask forgiveness for this spoof
My humorous parodies should be the proof
That I like all of you
And don't mind if ya do
Get even in your own limericks of reproof
Springs heat - not but a dying ember
Shades of green fill the air. and all around.
In bright blue skies, seen, shadows crawl the ground.
Spring fever no longer seems to melt
away winters chill- all that is felt.
Buds do open and they do flower.
Aged, never seems to find the hour.
Seasons have passed us by.
Little is left, but for us to try.
Wipe the moisture from our eye.
No longer sit back and cry
Ah !, if only the goddess Aphrodite,
could spread her mystic reality ?
If only she’d sprinkle her sensual, passionate powers
upon the souls of us Ancient One’s, remaining hours.
Upon occasion, arise, know no finality
as life, upon us showers inevitability.
Love, passion aplenty, by the ton.
To know – once again – all that fun.
All that passion, that youthful beauty.
Oh, to know - in depth – a little cutety.
Oh, to know once again that our seeds
– buried deep – could germinate, fill needs.
Crawl out of the ground, reach out, touch,
permeate those heavenly bodies, feel so much.
About what fertilized our flowering
as we stood tall, towering
over life that made us a whole lot richer then,
during those blossoming years - younger men.
No longer, yet, no more empty then before
even as time begins to close the door.
So my Beauties, thank you all, for the all
you gave to make this garden grow – before the fall -,
before experience, life, fate, age made the call
that brings life to that last walk down the hall.
That hall of mirrors reflecting life – glorious –
in its all as we look into it – wondrous.
B. J. “A” 2
May 15th 2004