Say it once, say it twice
mad folk yell, it’s not nice.
When the brain, fires in haste
lest a thought falls to waste
tie sour tongues; iron deep frowns
rough hewn gifts don't cast clowns.
Widen your spheres; hone words truly
Great minds bounce; no acts unruly.
- The Villanelle Of The Look MINDSET MISCONCEPTIONS-
Misconceptions babbling unspoken about the look
Deeply was just so broken and outgoing
Forces could never forget the outcome book
Stories miss read, Mindset was shocked by the rook
He found himself feeling rather flowing
Mindset couldn't stop thinking about the look
Misconceptions was spooked by a notebook
He thought the situation had become rather seagoing
But Mindset could never forget the outlook
tried to distract misconception with a hook
Hook-Line and sinker like a fish time to start thinking a boing
Bells ringing couldn't stop ding-donging about the look
Misconception took action like a snook
The look was becoming too easygoing
Mindset could never forget the outlook
Misconception nosedived like a dreamy overlook
His mindset became dangerously glowing
Misconception couldn't stop thinking about the look
But he could never forget the outcome shook
2/15/23
Written words© by James Edward Lee Sr.2023©
A Villanelle poem type
LIFE'S TWISTED MISCONCEPTIONS
Everyone in church ain't good,
Everyone in jail ain't a criminal,
Everyone close to you ain't your friend,
Everyone with long beards ain't suicide bomber,
Every smiling face ain't got good intentions,
Every handshake ain't an agreement,
Every kiss ain't a show of love,
Every angelic face ain't good heart,
Every open doors ain't opportunities,
Everyone born poor ain't gonna die a pauper,
Every rumour ain't always true,
Every problem shared ain't always problem solved.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright©? 12th February, 2023.
under the light of moon
things not as they appear
and people more complex
AP: 3rd place 2021
In my preteens,
I was nervy to go in the dark.
The folklore tales imprinted
that evil spirits would roam at nights.
when I heard the wonted gruff noises like
chirping of crickets,
rustling of leaves,
flapping of wings,
and whimper of dogs,
I was terror stricken.
They made me believe the acts of diabolic.
But now, when I remember my childhood fears,
I feel shy for my silly and nonsensical thoughts
because those are the lovely imagery of my poems.
STRAND COMPLETELY NEW (18)
any form, any theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
You are so beautiful like Helen of Troy
So brainy, special, and unique
Nobody can compete you
Her smiling reflection answered from the mirror
She was lost in her own eyes
Bang!! From no where a stone strike the mirror
Shattering it into many pieces
She cried___ who is there?
Looked around, saw nobody
Sitting on the ground to have one closer look at the mirror again
She saw distorted, ugly images of her self
Turning her face away, she got up
To find out who shattered her world
From behind a huge rock
She heard some voices
Barefooted, she moved forward,
And heard the exact words
which the mirror had told her
Now it was telling them to a young boy
How brave, intelligent, & smart you are
Like Odin of an old folk tale
She knew the mirror was lying
It lied to her and now to him
She picked a stone and hit the mirror
Bang!! And then there was nothing
Except ugliness, weakness, imperfections
Just Like the real world
She moved forward leaving marks of blood footprints
And shattered mirror behind
Alone, she sat quite still,
her gaze full fixed ahead.
Enrapt by visions fed,
scarce breathing e’er she will
disturb perceptions’ fill; quiescent as tho’ dead.
Into the room he crept,
his probing arm around
her body, no more bound,
so quickly was she swept.
As fingers so adept, respiring without sound.
Too soon was reached his goal;
TV remote control.
Misconceptions so often prevail,
They rob us of honest detail,
They clutter the mind,
With notions that bind,
Of the cleverest female or male.
We really should root them all out,
Removing the reason to doubt,
That the tales we are told
By the young and the old
Are really worth bandying about.
To tell you the truth I despair
At the apple that fell through the air,
And struck Isaac’s head
Releasing the thread
Of the theory of gravity there.
When Washington’s dentures you view
It’s simply not right to construe
That they’re made out of wood
For wood is no good
That popular myth is not true.
Michelangelo, its widely known,
Lay on his back ’neath the dome
Of the Sistine to paint,
Well that’s something that ain’t,
So the next time you hear it please moan!
She states she’s the heat
Fabricating
Her own temperature
Elevating the passion of my heart
Eternally
But eternity lacks the empathy of L.O.V.E
In all its entirety, for we are not lovers
But strangers on opposite streets
You the heat a temperature of passion and lies,
And I the cold sharp in the search of my first love a degree
As you peer at self reflection
Be mindful of misconception
Consider others’ perception
To guide in the right direction
Are you as you appear
This requires much introspection
To see your portrait clear
*Entry for Dr. Ram’s Rime Couée challenge
July 3, 2011
Ok don’t laugh I’m serious about this
They say Ignorance is a double dose of bliss
I’m a novice at writing poetry and you can tell
I can only rhime and don’t care how a spell (Rhyme :-)
Anyway don’t laugh I say this again
Don’t laugh I tell you as I try to explain
Couplet- I thought this was six year olds that were married
Haiku - Those thing-a-ma-jigs a native American woman uses for the baby she carried
A Blank Verse - Well you guessed it, writer’s block
Eleggy - An elegant tall woman of upper class stock ( sorry Elegy)
Ghazal - Yes the antelope that roam the African plain
Epithalamium- something you need an operation for because it causes you pain
Carpe Diem – Must be the name of a Greek god
Canzone – An Egyptian three eyed, six legged dog
Well I could go on and on
I got it off my chest and admit I was wrong
The rest are explicit and sexual and need permission
I’m glad for poetry soups 51 types of poetry and their definition
Don’t laugh
I linger beyond
the rigid dormitories
where wise, winter diplomats
speculate over my weaknesses
and vernal rites
(as if I have no rights).
Still I can hear the arguments
staged as soliloquies
by ancient wooden tongues
and even though I bow,
a humble green sprig,
a burden on their branch,
I cannot translate the chatter
of knotted knuckles
and settling sap.
I know their eyes eavesdrop
upon my Sinai
and bear witness to my streams
of misunderstood whispers
as if they might interpret my lexis
of suspired scrolls;
those vanishing ellipses
that curl from lips and condense
into youth's defiant veil
that can’t be rent by reasoning
I’ve never experienced.
If I close my eyes will I find meaning
in this cusp of Spring,
in their incessant dialogue
of dried arms signing
strange arborous proverbs?
I thought I'd loved before,
I didn't know you were the only one.
I didn't know the meaning of adore,
Or know you're the equivalent of the sun.
Where did I get this misconception of what love truly is?
How was I to know it couldn't originate from a wish?
And what is it about these blasted thoughts that never cease,
That always bring that excited tingly feeling back to me?
I thought I could control my mind,
No words would come unbidden.
But every moment, thoughts of you come undesigned,
And I cannot keep these emotions hidden.
Until now, being wrong never felt so grand.
I talk about you so much, my friends don't understand.
Just what is it about you that always takes my breath away?
Yeah, I really kinda really really want you to stay!
I have so much more to tell.
I could fill pages and pages with it.
But talking to you is just so freaking swell,
That I only want to concentrate on you, for a bit.
You view me through
spectacles colored by
your awareness,
of your own existence.
Your eyes white clouded
cotton misconception
by cataracts of past
reference encounters.
You try to perceive and
challenge my reality.
by your eyes remembrance
default attributes you
assign to me.
You have vague blindness
and form me into molds
built within your mind.
Shifting my character
changing my aura.
In all this misconception
it is not the me you
try to revive for the
shade of hair color is
different.
Facial features are mine.
I'm the default memory created
with your mind.
But you know you see me,
but it is not me
the one whom you search.
You are blind and see not
for the me you assume
to try to resurrect is not the
I am.
words of woes warring on the platter of mire
painted on my colour by mouth that burns with unjust fire
injustice, neocolonialism and inequality soaked in lies
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