War is a waste of precious young blood
War is a waste of fresh natural resources
War is as bad as a raging and vile flood
War is evil if you understand the sources
The reasoning behind such unnecessary
Aggression and the violence and the vanity
Which are cowardly robbing and destroying
Mankind. War is bad. War is a very bad thing
War is evil and criminal
War is mortal and abnormal.
War is a waste for the perpetrators and the victims
War is a waste for all. But peace comes like dreams
Distant dreams. Peace is more precious than money
Diamond, gold, silver and all other precious metals
Said a very eloquent brother who deserves all medals
Ever invented by famous and powerful institutions
Give us peace, not evil wars dear highly divine Almighty
Help men learn from past errors and nugatory aggressions
War is unnatural and abysmal
War is lethal and inimical.
Copyright © February 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
"Nugatory" my teacher did decry,
As she threw my story up in the sky.
"Why must you write and hand in futile tripe?"
The comment itself, an offal snipe swipe.
At the break, I rushed to the library
To find the word in the dictionary.
There it was found between 'Nugget' and 'Nudge'
Perhaps it was gold dug up, or some fudge?
Then again perhaps it's some kind of soup!
Muggatory with tripe added in scoop!
But the truth was truly most alarming.
All my hopes of praise and good disarming.
For nugatory means futile, stripped bare
Of all adornment, flavor, scent and flare.
Worthless and having no value at all.
Sadly that's what teacher said to appall.
For nugatory robs the moon from night.
Dulls the colors of the sky in daylight.
It scoffs at dreams, dims creativity.
What's left bereft of spontaneity.
So what my teacher wants is same old tripe.
Dished up in plain old nugatory type.
Devoid of colors, bangles and dangles.
The old, old story locked up in mangles.
All I do is be set in some form of pandemonium.
I'm sick of the same ripe, dull daily mind-numbing
How will I be urged if I lose my equilibrium?
Is life's symbiosis likely to be tedious scaling?
Everything appears to me to be rendered nugatory.
Similar to a grave where a covered body is decaying.
With a driven heart, I have for you high expectancy.
Since I induced the fantasies around your trembling.
What's extra, I hear you moaning in the wings, enunciation,
"I'm a long way from your stream; continue to scratch."
My heart is for the domain of passion, its constitution.
For what reason did you peruse it with a skewed outmarch.
Eros won't permit his sprouts to be stifled cautiously.
I opine he'll be revolted by your outrageous peculiarity.
Written: September 3rd 2021
SHE IS THE DEAD FLOWER
Flush off my call tariffs,
Meticulously analyse both halves,
technically halt all the texts
and see who calls first.
It's not a game of checks,
don't be oblivious of your integrity,
her attitude is your definition of pretty.
Stop watering for awhile,
If she refuses to ask you why
then you've just discovered
how much spiked & disflowered
your own flower is becoming;
A dead flower you've been watering,
Inefficacious & nugatory catering.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Sonnet/Rhymes
Copyright© March 23rd, 2021.
FRAGILITY OF DREAMS
Once life started with prolonged daydreams of endless possibilities.
Carefree childhood ran on sweet dream dancing on dazzling morn.
Budding youth bearing so many dormant dreams
took proud arrogant steps to sizzling noon of aspiring dream
to glow in glamorous gorgeous gleam.
Life merged in fizzling eve of continuous struggle as lone fighter.
Dusty dusk blending in solitary nugatory night of senile decay.
Yet not in despondence but in fragility of dreams.
05/19/20
'In The Fragility of Dreams' Contest by Silent One
First Place
'All Yours (Feb 10) Contest by Brian Strand
A pretty face with a dark soul
Your pretty, your cool,
your like a false true with your soul.
You might fake your nature all day long ,
But their's a hole in your soul from years along.
You might pretend your happy,
but the emptiness inside you ,will eat you up and make you nugatory.
Showing and acting your fake goodness
will make you tired ,
Because from inside your body is gloomy wired.
That profess smile will not last long,
you urself will be worn out
seeing the beautiful souls around.
You cannot wear a pretty face with your dark soul,
because at last you will unilluminate the powers of pure souls.
You are just like poison in a beautiful bottle,
that if, your near ones will drink it they all will shatter.
So stop being darkness in someone's light ,
otherwise you'll suffer when that horrifying day will arrive .
That day your pretty face will fall
and everyone will come to know it all .
Don't falsify that youre pure,
if you are not
then try to be the radiant light for all.
Written by - Sanaya Nayak
I DREAM
Soft dawn runs on dazzling morn to sizzling noon,
then to fizzling eve but not to mourn.
Dusty dusk merging at solitary nugatory night.
Yet not in despondence.
12/18/19
Original Poem 'Day Dreams' posted on 11/17/19
'Arbitrium Divisa 5' Contest by Gregory Barden
nugatory coin tossed,
up in the air —
perpetrator hoping for
purgatory.
hell lands on his head.
Kim Rodrigues (c) 12/4/2019
nugatory - having no value
In this unknown world of knowledge hilly,
You came as a Mozart in disguise dolly
To teach all teachers how to teach fully;
Benefitted though sad – not meeting daily.
Daily meeting not possible, gave a pulley
Of google drive and we see, hear our folly.
Giving a chocolate, taking note of us, O Alley.
A corollary we get makes us gorgeous frilly
No obfuscatory with him: sometimes chilly,
Times cold, but a hunky-dory, a true deli.
An accurate hortatory for English holy,
Teaching precise pronunciation alley
To improve us from state utter nugatory.
Encouraging, gave chances to all my folly;
Novel, pioneering, predicatory. Never did dally.
Blessed to have such a trainer as lovely lily
Had been an orator, excellent energetic filly.
Marwadi University is blessed with hilly –
The persons so high, so intelligent, O Molly!
Wish to have such a guide in my life daily
So that saccharin be added to life’s chili
And lethargy, fatigue, lassitude goes dully.
Let it be Surat or Morbi or Rajkot or Delhi
Dhanajay, Viral and Brij sir be with me fully.
Once a man who had no belief
Love was nugatory, too obsolete
No worries, no design.
But his heart did rine
When saw those blissful eyes
How could it be ?
The beauty that lies
He had fallen for her eyes
Roughed up his mind, recasted his soul
Beauty that was untold
The mist of the clouds
The glitter of the sun rays
What she possessed was exceedingly to be praised
He was bewildered
His heart racing loud
Mystic was the place where his demiurge rise
He had fallen for her eyes
He intended to say what he felt
To shatter those clutches that withheld
Amidst in the crowd, went towards her
Heart pumping loud, rid of all fear
How could you possess me with your eyes
Inexplainble serenity in them lies
I had undermined the competence of love
Speaking it out loud ....
There is a bond that ties
I have fallen for your eyes .
It is strange at times
When it's your future that haunts,
Like unhealed wounds
that unleash thoughts
Every drop of my past,
is etched in my mind.
It's not the forgotten, that plagues me the most,
it's my bleak future and the price it would cost.
There were certain things, that I did not do.
Crying over my past that I can never renew
It's nugatory to evaluate how much was spent,
but it's a genuine gaze through a bridge called the "present"
A distant land that I once left cold,
to an unknown land in search of gold.
I'm not sure about the journey ahead
I walk with hope on a flimsy thread
If I could ever go back and make some changes,
I guess I'd do that and hence you may not read this.
Shouldering the future, this lone traveler walks,
Even though sightless with stars in his eyes
Reminiscing over what lies ahead,
The once vibrant land, where memories bled.
Your death pushed me into this nugatory black hole.
Stinging sorrow whirling long, sadly out of control.
You fought one courageous battle, in deep pain.
Brave in your sickness, you never complained.
Memories of you, humorous, loving and uniquely smart.
This cold sadness slithers foul inside my frail heart.
I grapple with this dark rotten turmoil.
The flickering dread slows then eerily uncoils.
The third of five wonderful brothers.
Your death dims my soul, I will recover.
My spirit tired and oddly worrisome.
I will remember your special hue of awesome.
IRRESPONSIBLE ENEMY
When our tears drop
and stench fire around
us,
And fire's enemy
becomes otiose and
nugatory,
Then shall tears
backfire fire's enemy
And after a very scorch
sunshine
Telling ur the end of
those former days.
Then shall our eyelids
close in sorrow
But tears have wiped
away our sorrows
And our lions roaring in
joy
Marking the start of
new days
And the end to the
palsy-walsy.
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