Long Immortalised Poems
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To your right, at the end of Kings Heath, sits our supermarket,
Sainsbury's first dream of trading beyond London’s swinging 60’s,
Realised and immortalised
As value to shout about - making life taste better.
As I approach the automated swing gates,
I imagine them as saloon doors to the wild zest,
Making my way to the citrus aisle:
Mandarins and clementines, nectarines - tangtastic!
I see the invigorating yellow of the sociable lemon,
Jolly and sociable companion to lime -
Tropically, they sit well together.
They distance themselves
From the murderous and mysterious blood orange,
Squatting close to his Cantonese cousin the golden orange kumquat,
Tart, sharp and crisp.
And then there's the grapefruit. A brute of a fruit,
Resolute, and I find stand-off-ish.
Sat on the shelf looking pleased with itself,
Seemingly in angry pleasure,
Knowing and boastful in having had a fling
With sweet tangerine.
She now finds him obscene, sour and mean.
Says he was clearly confused
When he called their child, ‘ugli’.
The ugli fruit - oddly shaped and blemished
But perfect in her imperfections
She's an unexpected surprise.
Aromatic - bursting with vitamin C
And sooooo juicy.
To the other fruits, it's an open secret,
That though she's pretty ugly,
She is awfully good.
And as I get to the checkout,
I wonder if it is this, that has made grapefruit so bitter
Dear you,
the markings on my pink wall spelt us
with a pierced heart in between;
11:30pm, a black ink painted
across the letters a stroke
at a time, until they turned into a smudge
of hatred; regret; and lost love.
The pierced heart remained,
but the arrow was never that of
cupid, I realised it was
a poisoned arrow all along,
green venom dripped, jealousy, hatred
for a her I believed existed in your dreams
while you laid beside me
with your arms around my waist,
and eyes shut, you thought
of her till she became
flesh and blood, the one
who you named yours.
12am, I began to ponder
what if she never did exist,
and she never took your midnight hours
and your last name?,
streets in your head I never did cross
cos you never had my hand in yours.
It's a new day, but my thoughts are stale
'cos here I am asking if you still wanted
the heart to stay on the wall on display,
hidden behind my green curtains,
Only to be seen when I needed something
to cry about, and When the breeze blew in
swinging the curtains
to dry the tear drops falling.
I’ll ask again, do you want the heart to stay?
the heart no longer beats, but silly me, it never did,
although there was once I felt it did,
the night I pressed my trumpet ears
beneath your left breast,
it was magical, the thumps called my name,
an electric wave of an EKG bouncing till it fell flat
the moment you cut our lines, and I couldn't reach you.
Dead!, it was,
dead from the very start,
a mere marking never meant much
to you, because you weren't there when I made us
into the markings, Immortalised on my pink wall,
and now you ain't here still, when it's all gone.
part of me knew you were a fantasy
in stormy clouds, but I still dreamed,
and when that rain fell
veiling the sun that we had,
I knew it was time to let go
and free fall back to sleep
where the night mares were less,
and my bed was cold
with just my heat.
It's time to go,
it's time to let the smudge dry
with my tears of you this hour.
9am, I walk down the street
and say how do you do?
as though I never thought of you,
as though I was complete.
mene tekel peres - calligraphic prescience.
global village voice - a dialect of babel
the poetry slam - pen viva voce
inherent bloodline - curdle into nepotism
Atlanta's Oliver Hardy
so pretentious and somewhat lardy,
had a sidekick,bungling,but thin
both silently,still bring a grin
The talented Christina Rossetti
wrote carols and much poetry.
Married love elluded her,I'm afraid,
the poor lass dying as a spinster maid
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
a Victorian pre - raphelite ,you see,
with his true love,buried his poetry
but later ....could not let them be.
Playwright Wiliam Shakespeare
held rhyme & cadence ,so dear.
Plays in verse were his thing
making our English lingo sing.
There once was a composer named Cage
whose compositions caused 'listener' rage.
His music,was too radically new,
it gave the orchestra so little to do
Edmund Clerihew Bentley
wrote poetry everso gently.
His greatest claim to fame
immortalised his mother's maiden name
For the lovely Adelaide Crapsey
a long life was not to be.
In syllable,two,four,six &eight
she created the cinquain anew!
Scottish poet Wiliam Soutar
is now well known wide and far,
for a his diary of a dying man-
Do read his whigmaleeries, if you can
Whose voice calls in my dream?
Can it be or is it for Him?
Whose hands reveal the unimaginable*
How evident enough will its effect be possible*
In this RACE, let no patience dribbles me away
An irresistible act of catching away due to divine force
Spurs me to wantng eternal desires
Sooner, all events of the age of grace would end
Other eschatological events will b given regard
Divinely, it's of PRIVILEGE & never a right
All saints would be carried away with Him
Both dead & living will be transformed
Immortalised - whole in spirit, soul & body
Escaping the course of tribulations to come
When ANTI-CHRIST will surface earth to fulfill prophecies
Outside are dogs & sorcerers
Never had they decline His existence
But want immorality - sexually shutup around & love the practice of lie
Forever certain and fire, the will continuously cry
As living being - you get grace for DOOR remains open
Abandoning it is scary to consequence
What may bring shame & prejudice
Fear nothng and this world of vanity
Lose all & have eternity
Thats God's PLAN for man
A second ago.
Yes just a second,
she was beautiful
beyond comparison.
Not a wrinkle or a frown line.
Succulent lips,
glowing skin.
Gorgeous hair
cascading down her back.
Even her hands were elegant.
Men and women alike
looked upon her with admiration
If truth be told, with envy as well.
Her’s seemed a charmed life
there in a city by the sea.
Status, a beautiful home.
She moved through space
like a butterfly,
flitting about without a care.
Perhaps she was oblivious
to the darkness permeating her city.
There were things
done in the shadows.
Evil had also made the city its home.
Her Lot in life protected her and her daughters.
Genesis 19:17
And as they brought them out one said, “Escape for your life. Do not look back or stop anywhere in the valley. Escape to the hills, lest you be swept away.”
Her heart ached
for what she was leaving behind.
The grandeur, her status, possessions and servants.
Sulphur and fire
rained down from the heavens!
The great Sodom and Gomorrah both being consumed.
She stopped to looked back.
Not just a glance,
she gazed with great sadness.
Her anguish immortalised.
In an instant she was turned to salt.
One second.
Yes, in one second.
Wrinkles formed around her eyes.
Her mouth turned downward
in a frown.
Her skin no longer glowed.
With grotesque hands
she held her face.
Her once gorgeous hair
in stone like clumps.
Nothing is left
of her once great beauty.
Nothing is left
of those cities by the sea.
She instead,
like them,
remains a cautionary tale.
Now immortalized
in pages of scripture.
Her, just a pillar of salt
looking towards
Sodom and Gomorrah,
cities that are no more.
Carl Butler’s picture prompt.
It was a ladder called Death
I found myself at its foot, a bit foggy in the mind,
Hurt in the heart and worn out with everything else
Next to it, was a signboard on which was written
"Climb with a smile or with tears, it matters not,
Whichever, you will have to climb!"
Looking back at my life, I saw only pain, suffering,
Struggles, hurt and regrets!
And now, having come to its final stage,
What was I supposed to do?
Smile or cry as I would climb the ladder?
Pray, I have smiled while I lived, I have smiled
At those moments during which I was immortalised
At those moments when everyone would tell me
You should smile more!
Yet, I was the only one aware of how empty my smile was
How empty indeed, even if it lifted others off their feet!
I looked up the ladder and saw not their end,
Since I have trained myself to smile with emptiness all this time
May I do so this time too, while climbing this last ladder known as Death!
For Contest: The Smile at the Foot of a Ladder
Written on 28th April 2019
a thousand tragedies paned
onto the community headlines
slashes the idle spirits
the wound enrages them to
seek out sadistic glee for the sake
to title themselves as 'woken.'
pitchforks and torches raised
looking for the guilty farmer
with swift words and stories
all the crops seared in the name
of the mindless chase for "justice."
“no god or jury; only us”
the next day arrives new tragedies,
sprouts new farmers to fight,
old pitchforks and torches to light
burning all but ideas
immortalised by martyrs made
from setting the flames
not one man asks for
the purpose of the hunt or be
branded as “the problem”
they walk the same burned soil
refusing to admit that they are
only casting flames on scarecrows
to the new age cult
criticism is blasphemy
indifference is hatred
If I had to choose three people who have influenced my life
Through time and space,
I think their diverse backgrounds would be the big surprise.
Yet they all were able to keep their humanity,
Their sense of humor,
And their powder dry,
To make it through the pain barrier,
Despite what was thrown at them from their friends,
As well as their enemies,
And ultimately to be remembered with Love and respect by most.
The first a woman who most had written off as being incapable,
Of anything more complicated than breathing in and out by all but a few.
A woman who fought to be heard and seen as a person in her own rite.
A woman who had to cope with those close to her deciding,
How much she needed to be protected from those people who might hurt her.
Yet we can google amazing quotes from her and her struggle has been immortalised.
For those who haven't guessed her name was Helen Keller.
The second a man who was considered past his use by date,
And an impediment to the advancement of peace,
Yet in retrospect is considered the saviour of the modern democracies,
With many films and books still coming out on his life and times.
Churchill was his name.
The third a man who had to overcome racism and brutality,
To unite a Nation.
A man who is now written into history,
As an example to those who seek to override the influence of hate
And prejudice in society.
If I mention Nelson, his surname should be obvious to all.
The thing that separates these three from the rest for me
Is that they all had or developed a sense of purpose,
That helped focus their energies in the most positive way,
To keep them in the game,
When others were falling by the wayside.
Doth if not thrill thee, Poet,
Dead and dust though thy art,
To feel how I press thy singing
Close to my heart?
By Richard Le Gallienne
(The Passionate Reader To His Poet)
A teenaged husband and father of three,
born at Stratford upon Avon.
He left home for London
and found fame and fortune
as an actor, playwright, and poet;
became a favourite of royalty.
He retired and returned home
to the second largest house in town.
Died of a mystery disease;
was buried inside the church.
Plays posthumously published:
iconic figure immortalised.
Though some say Shakespeare didn't write Shakespeare...
Jack Horne for Constance's Passionate Reader contest
The falling man, one photograph captured in time
An unforgettable image, imprinted on this mind
He represents us all, weather we like it or not
His faith did not kill him, destiny was his lot
Spiralling out of control, once the planes hit
Acting purely on instinct, not champing the bit
Fire and terror stoked decisions, until overcome
Incinerating heat compels him, never did he jump
This was no leap of faith, Infinitely more than that
A transcendence into agony, he’s looks down at
I try to pen his plight, impossible as it seems
Of a world going mad, upon our Tv screens
I wish it was over quick, that fall to his death
Alas he suffered slowly, until the very last breath
I’m been brutally honest, won’t gloss over the facts
For we owe it to him, it’s with innate honesty, he acts
A picture’s worth one thousand words, some disagree
Falling man, gives nothing away, we can clearly see
My heart’s telling this story, his fall sets the stage
An immortalised snapshot of life, will never fade
For all other innocents, murdered that fateful day
If there’s a silver lining, it’s with confidence I’ll say
Your loved ones cradled you, as the towers fell down
Far across many nations, pain is felt inside every town
Sun and moon appeared together, purposely that morn
Heavenly bodies, bore witness to a new world reborn
And this occurrence, should give a tiny ray of hope
Not used as a tool of glee by Helios misanthropes
Below is a comments box will the Helios misanthrope set foot in it
not a cowardly chance
By
David Kavanagh