Long Uttering Poems
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The Sacred Meow Society
On next night of demise of my spouse
a mild knock at entrance
alarmed me to open the door.
Unfamiliar cat with feline look lifted a paw.
Uttering ' meow' sat cool.
I welcomed him showing hand
but he lay down closing eyes.
Next morn, I saw no trace.
On next night as I was prepared to retire in bed
mild knock alerted me.
Same cat lifted a paw , sat and lay down quiet calm.
Next morning I could not find him.
But this schedule has been set regular till date.
I grant and honour this feline compassion
to guard a lone lady at gate.
Holy cat must be sent from
The Sacred Meow Society
to act as my sentinel.
03/05/23
Written: September 06, 2023
I dream poetry Sponsored by: Ink Empress
______________________________________________________________
I wander in the night of ebony embrace,
Lost in dreams, heaven, or nightmare chase
Searching in vain for a misty glimmer of hue,
A muted color, yearning to trace through.
My fingers nibble to nudge your comely face.
To glimpse a xerox of your soul in this barren space.
But phantasms and dreams are drowned in tears.
Dreariness and skepticism drench my fears.
Wishes, once vibrant—now unbearably barren,
Each flinch of solace mauls annihilated and torn.
The moon, with a crimson glaze, casts its light.
Uttering the details of this celestial night.
I'm glad I sensed this infamous hue loop.
Yet these are crumbs of an urge to stoop.
They scolded me sternly from the start.
A sane conviction into my flaunting heart.
I swallowed a smidgeon of your spirit.
Silken strings of split that we skillet
Mirthless melodies form a philharmonic of pain.
Sisyphean scarcity smolders at me again.
I waltz to the woeful waiata of weary dance.
Oddments of our devotion, a haunting stance
Alone, I bemoan in the manor of the moon.
Will the sun ever hover over my sorrow soon?
Could the growl as it rains blur a rainbow?
While we witness it from the apathetic row.
Or am I being scolded and rebuked for being alive?
Will the spasm that lends life veer and strive?
In the abyss of darkness, there is light.
A beacon of optimism that shines so bright.
And even if I wander, adrift and alone,
Iffy down, surely my soul will cinch home.
I'll retain probing solace in memories past.
They are the fragments that will ever last.
Yet throes may abide, and anguish may resist.
I'll cling to my optimism that love will persist.
Love is an odyssey full of swings and turns.
But, at last, it is an affection that returns.
So I'll betroth myself to the dreams of the past.
They sang to me over the glorious time I cast.
I said to the class,
"Now the first thing we're going to do, is feed this poem."
& I asked my friends, "Do you want to help me write an Arthurian epic?"
They replied, "Do we?!"
My son is writing a story, with a character called Professor Question-Mark
My daughter believes we're taking a plane somewhere every night
I picked up my children on the last day of their summer camp,
With my son running out the automatic doors uttering, "Let's get out of here."
Hundreds of pounds down the drain
Mad cheddar
Mad stacks of cabbage and
Post traumatic Christmas disorder
In the King's chamber at Windsor Castle
The audioguide informs tourists of its decorative history
Before announcing the bed in question in front of us is not the actual bed
A man groans and walks off
My mum asks me to go check on my dad in the public bathroom
I knock on the cubicle and say, "Dad, are you in there?"
He replies, "Yeah."
We find him at Victoria Square and I realise it wasn't him
There is mad screaming from another carriage on the train
I know we are near our station
Withered meadows of yesteryears ache, recalling memories forlorn,
As discords of then mourn, assailing vibes of now, emotions torn;
Yet I believe, love would have still vouched~ together we belong,
If only you knew, how to strum, sensuous rhythms of our love-song.
Gracing my embrace, lovingly you caress, my jilted sleepless night,
And on every dawning horizon, you still are, the halo of my delight;
As I believe, episode of love, would always write a lovesome theme,
If only you knew, you have long been, epitome of my romantic dream.
You bedazzle my memory, beaming grin of an enamored glance,
Being my Cinderella, avowing to rekindle fairy-tale of romance;
As I believe, you would still be the music, pulses-cadent impart,
If only you knew, you are the seductress, plucking strings of my heart.
In realms of desires, chasing bliss of your love, my passions call-out,
When you are in amorous cuddle, hypnotized by grip of fervent clout;
As earnestly I believe, you would love me still, even from miles afar,
If only you knew, you have been my aura, my fulgent northern-star.
Birds that always sung for you, serenade you, lauding your name,
Spurred by fond recollections, applauding memoirs of love’s acclaim;
And I believe, words unsaid would not be uttering, a sigh of regret,
If only you knew, love we shared, pledges eternal shall never forget.
“as we passed her she did wilt
which caused in us sense of guilt
since our stance perhaps did cause
to put her heart’s joy on pause
though we’re gentle, not hostile
we diminished her soul’s smile
since our aura as she viewed
scent of love did not exude” —Unseeking Seeker
the passersby wailed in laughter
with a blink of an eye she sought the here after
prompting hatred she'd rid and had been
gone the sun's soul beaming within
left are the pieces contusion once dealt
exemplification deep purple, blue/black welt
anticipating that it is all in the imagination
innuendo scorns, undertones as intimidation
the nuances of facial expression and body language
an undercurrent hides beneath an open bridge
the windy storm blows farther its opaque steam
whilst whispering mantras gently stream
uttering phonemes begin and she softly chants
deep breaths balm lofty thoughts further enhance
‘I choose and listen how my inner voice druthers,
and not the random opinions of others’
forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds—perfume
on the heel that has crushed it, where sweet aromas loom
I stand trembling,
Writhing in apprehension
When I hear you sigh through your teeth
As you rush past me
Bubbling now,
My stomach swirls
My spine warms me with shivers
And my heart wants desperately to lift
The further you go,
The more every part of me sinks
I nibble my lip to fight the tears
To wrestle the heat in my cheeks
To resist releasing the boiling bile inside
Then, you return
From the corner of my eye, you draw near
I waver whether to wait or go
Then, you happen
You are there, and absolutely nothing
Makes sense
The sun is raging
The room is blurry
You stand there, shockingly clear
Uttering quick your nervous words
Eons pass in a second
And I am still standing there, ancient as dust
Feebly, frantically, I reply, but you…
You have already disappeared…
The bold doors closing,
No uncertainty in their arctic shut
The release thereafter is beyond
Torturous
I feel no relief
Only despairing resolve
Was it his head tilt that stumped me—
Was it his keen variations of hilarity,
Was it his words—wild, strange, free,
Like a bird straight out of captivity?
He had a frisky, playful tongue
That sounded like a friend
With no limitations save the time span
Of sixty seconds—
There—none wasted—
No—a wit sharp and full enough
Uttering colloquial meanings I could only dream
To attain through a matter
Of a downloaded app
And yet—he needed only sixty seconds
—on the spit and spot—
To relay inch by inch
A soul so beautiful and rich,
Creative and lovely,
With flawless bite and light
Smart phone readied,
His big toe hit the record button
As he played his tunes,
As he always had
And always will.
He called it the Toe Jam Jamboree,
And I applauded ever so inwardly
With a smile of awed sincerity
Sixty seconds and it ends,
Cut off too soon—
The limitations of fellow man
And fellow receiver
Playfully cruel
Ever playing through
Maybe the thick sail of tunes reached my ears
Beyond the time of the app’s snipping jeers
I told him—ever so inwardly,
His Toe Jam Jamboree was symphony—
Onward with sovereigns in silver harmonies
Reaching a peasant’s light and a warrior’s fight
Straight to a lone cock with feathers too bright
Beak strong-held high, and sharp
Ready to peck his way out of the coldest of hearts
And into ripples of rhythmic paradise
Where there breathes
The guy who attracted me,
With his tilted head,
His words of glee,
Flipping off every useless ad
And sifting words and airs like mad
Toe Jam Jamboree, he called it
And I call it symphony
With a steadied foot
And a readied middle finger
It’s his difference that will always
Linger
The monotony and solitude of a quiet life stimulates the creative mind. Albert Einstein
When whisperers are seen and colors are heard
The lullaby is green, and my nose is full of earwax
During quiet times, we look inside sans uttering a word
Dare to be quiet in the midst of the cacophony of backs
Rain or serenity cannot quell the throbbing soul
No attempt was made to clog the abyss with a rule
I've heard lulls and views, and tone is an ageless goal
In my mind, your idioms and visuals are chilly dews
As I rubbed my heart over yours, I felt pain in my views
Compassion was strong, whereas anger ruined hues
Striving to shine in solar flares, a suffering of a nerd
No words remain; odd jives sway if we talk cracks
Quiet screams while fear looms down the flagpole
Silence never stops shouting, delighting the muse
Written: March 31, 2023
1st place contest winner
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Theme: Quiet
Form: Fragmented rhyme
Writing Challenge - 'Q' Words - Poetry Contest
I opened my heart
Where lies my brook?
Where are thou my Raven?
Our land is in FAMINE
Almost like that of the Israelites
I cried with millions
Wept for an ailing nation
Tubers of yam makes us yawn
Tomatoes puts us all in comatose
Bag of rice in crises
Garri soaking becomes a trend
I longed
I craved
For my Raven's miracle
I opened my heart again
Where lies my brook?
Where are thou my Raven
Raven miracle I seek
Elijah was treated to a royalty by Raven
Fetching him balance diet daily even in famine
He then drinks in a special brooks
Why not me God!!! I want my Raven miracle
Raven!!! Elijah's Raven
Raven !!! My own Raven
The creature with a shiny black feathers
Weird, mythical ...scary yet emit miracle
Smart, evil in disguise ... smells dark omen
Yet fetched Elijah three square meal
Largest in the crow family of birds
I opened again but not my heart
This time it is my mouth of hunger
Where lies my brook?
Where are thou my Raven?
Raven miracle I seek
My voice became stronger for Him to hear
He is my shepherd I shall not want
Even as young lions lack
And suffers hunger in anger
I shouted" I shall not want"
I receive by faith the word
And I started chewing
Pretending to be an Elijah
Behold, food was on my table
I found myself devouring chicken in full
On a table full of varieties of food to maw
But no one else was eating
They all looked hungry and fagged out
I got a disdainful eyeing...
I heard them hissing profusely
Yes, it was like that table prepared before David
The same table God prepared before his enemy
I got their message
They weren't my friends
But there was more to go round
Why become selfish ...greedy
I beckoned to them without uttering a word
They swamped on me ... on the food
Then, someone tapped me on a long chair
Those bed-bug infested chairs ...
" Brother Stephen... why are you snoring?
We are through with the service
Remember that fasting continues tomorrow
And bring along your Prophet offerings
The Lord be with you"
The white-bearded man bid me bye
My mouth was still ajar
Finding expression for my thought
Alayande Stephen T.
21st, August, 2016
A Story from the Sunday Service
The winner of the women’s match,*
An absolute surprise,
Delighted all the fans who know
How hard she always tries.
In forty-nine attempts, she never
Had a Grand Slam win
And posing with her trophy,
She could not contain her grin.
The runner-up, whom everyone,
(Which did include herself)
Expected to go home and add
That trophy to her shelf,
Displayed, for all to see,
A rather nasty fit of pique.
She smashed her racket on the ground
While uttering a shriek.
She said she had to let off steam
And thus was cut some slack,
But as a pro, she should have known
To hold that anger back.
We’re only human, that is true,
Though athletes who compete
Should, in public, hold their heads high
With a win or in defeat.
*Australian Open