Ore occlusion occident.
Zephyrus blue pshent.
Ichor wicker nicker sent.
Bent to leave a dent.
Chaotic code core commode.
Resonant red road.
Cackling crest cockerel crowed.
Roundabout reload.
Serendipity sprite see.
Toll trill tympani.
Yucca yawndrift yellow ye.
Xiphoid xylem xi.
Ravine ricochet relay.
Dread dead dawning day.
Alabaster planchette play.
Houses holy hay.
Fricasee flock frailty fold.
Broken bow old gold.
Baneful bell blossoming bold.
Cross child city cold.
Heliosphere haunt gaunt jaunt.
Grimace gore gauntlet.
Warlock whippoorwill weird want.
Blackening blind bet.
Psychology psychopomp.
Cheer career severe.
Dervish whirling stump sump stomp.
Pump it out of here.
Watch white wailing widow.
Frequency freak mystique.
Nuclear fine fission glow.
Tan the table teak.
The Worst Grief
I believe the worst grief you can feel,
Is the grief you feel for people that hurt you.
You paint pictures of all people in your mind.
But pain dealt to you doesn’t give you time to paint into that picture.
Pain taints your oils, your pigments and acrylics.
And the portrait is distorted,
Burned and burdened with blood spilled out of your own fingers.
But in the rearview you can’t see those smaller smears.
You see the face of the person you cared about one day and an age ago.
The poison only shows back up when you back up —
Take a closer look into that painting.
Its an optical illusion,
Occlusion clouding conscious thought.
That one last “I should text him.” Or that one last “he’s better now, surely.”
You built up walls to keep them out.
So why do we keep opening the gate when they come back?
Solitary confinement of reasoning; progressively ignoring obsession
Catapulting over ruthlessness; paradigms oblivious: seclusion
Overwhelmed respect precisely infuses others': salient collusions
Relationships perpetually influence one's: solely conceptualized occlusion
Precious inspiration overlaying: smiles calm outside reflection
Inception overtime: shadows collapse on repugnant practices
Organic: solidarity, composed offering refuge purposely, internally
They were in a secretive collusion.
There seemed to be a lot of occlusion.
Polls are open tonight.
Just write in who you’d like,
for they’re each an optional delusion.
O, why did I fall for you, O' sun,
When my soul is nestled in the deeps?
Agape and afraid, my eyne mosey deeper still; they run,
Yet on the colder current your warmth invitingly sleeps.
The distance that defies the divine betwixt us
Somehow is no occlusion for you to reach me,
But gods 'gainst me guarding your gates, and hope's quietus,
Make my valentines reaching you an impossibility.
Somehow still, suffocated in these sorrowful seas,
I seem to mishear the rhythm of your limpid light
As a melody yearning to find the lost keys
To my manacles and enrapture me with your sight.
When finally I undo these tethers for you,
The cosmos Herself derides my dolorous deeps
Laved in a longing that over millennia grew,
And shrouds your smile with a prejudiced eclipse.
But I see you clad carnally in that cerecloth--
Why?--stoking the gypsy in me with your misconstrued call.
Why did you build that stairway of light and masquerading troth,
That I so eagerly took, thus perishing in a fall?
Is time the greatest illusion
I’m not waiting around to see
Deja vu causes confusion
so many echos from eternity
My birth a mere occlusion
from a past life I broke free
Deja vu works in collusion
with most supreme entities
Previous cycles of allusion
came pouring back to me
Deja vu and mass delusion
nervous breakdown maybe
Since my latest convolution
visions show where I must be
Inside a mental institution
a revelation No! you all agree
Deja vu contest
Sponsored By unseeking seeker
02/20/23
Peace, an illusion.
A mass delusion,
A cone of confusion,
Has made an intrusion.
It is my conclusion
Excessive inclusion
With Satan’s collusion
Has led to occlusion.
We need a transfusion
Or perhaps perfusion
And quiet seclusion,
Not nuclear fusion.
Maranatha.
Choking on arrogance,
occlusion unrhymed
The Reaper lies waiting,
graveyard of Mimes
Choking on arrogance,
last curse to remain
Spat into the wind
—returning black rain
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2019)
Quartzes hold a million stories;
each occlusion, a chapter of a cosmic, best-seller.
Faceted beauties born of the elements are charmers;
the wearer, learns many secrets;
illuminating!
Carnal atrophy of the spirit is sin
like fallen limbs from winter needing glean
and yet still reaching upward for redeem
subservient, still rebounding for esteem!
The will of man's invention starts the ream
pursuing some ideal beyond review,
yet all the earth waits solemn masking scene,
my life in Christ no different, no ensue!
The spirit is greater than man's vane esteem
and spirit does choose its vessels, lesser lien,
to ward off compensation from false mean,
my spirit, the lover of my soul, swept clean!
Lost bounty, the horizon breaks extreme
while warfare plunders, Satan preys again,
the truth, Christ risen, does not mean the end,
as bounty hunters lure with fools' pretend!
Our one brief happiness spied out our Amen,
while luring healed occlusion to its end!
Scribbled words hastily written are hard to decipher
were found in a folder attached to an important document,
it wouldn't ever been brought to light and know flair...
hadn't I not searched for an old picture, reminiscing sentiment,
sadly locked for ages in that file cabinet drawer to hide a secret.
The scribbled words of an original manuscript is a priceless treasure,
their meaning is not obliterated from memory or time, if read aloud;
sometimes non-sense words make sense and don't seem obscure
when the code has been deciphered, they can be clearly understood...
and letting them out of the darkness, they flee right into the bright world!
Written by Andrew Crisci
for Joe Maverick's contest, " Occlusion "
I am so enthralled by a verse
an impressive and virile style conquered
quenching one’s thirst seems hardly emerge
however; all songs, stories and ideas being shared
are gems and have secrets unparalleled when compared
some of the lines titillate the many of my senses
some are like music being played in syncopated rhythm
words paints the images either in abstruse or in complex pieces
undulating emotions rock most of my system
torch of learning is a winch to my fervid will power’s stem
dazzled by highly metaphorical words as if vitreous rocks radiate
like tales of unprecedented events trying to amuse me under the rain
viewing it with fire of ceaseless aims through words that substantiate
analyzing processes be done like sifting and winnowing of grains
a triumph of a glorious scene, a clear topography reigns
Written: March 13, 2013
By Leonora Galinta
(for occlusion contest)
Second Place
Contest: Occlusion
Judged: 3/18/2013
Sponsor: Poet Joe Maverick
First look, glasses as my eyes glance
From left to right I begin to read
Much as if I were in a trance
My education faulted for this deed
Second look with randomness I search
Looking for a pattern, no not the glasses
Does this person attends a formal church
This poem is one of their trespasses
Third look now the compulsion takes me
The poem was edited to fit the picture
But I say this isn’t possible, it can’t be
If so they surely deserve a stricture
Three looks, glasses or not, all were done in vain
If you copy, paste, add punctuation then it’s plain
Poem by Wayland Bunch for Occlusion contest. This is a rhymed form of poetry under 20 lines, but technically it fits better into the category of Sonnet, so I don't know if it will be accepted. If not back to the drawing board lol.
Take the letters
as topping in pasta
Then relish the words
aromatizing,
basil air,
reminiscing.
Dash some pepperoni
like commas fill
the hesitant gaze
but not as overwhelming
as EE Cummings’.
Lick the poetic sauce,
twist the erudite fork
like how your head searches
for luscious meaning
and its sense
finally hits the palate
you say Ahhhh!
and fondle
your stomach.
(c) Glenn Sentes
An Entrant into Joe Maverick's OCCLUSION Contest
Worn words of a poet
are fragile pieces of a puzzle
misaligned, and tumbling onto the page
while their meanings awaken the senses
like curious, lost children
hiding, in noisy confusion
who have been separated at birth
yet have always continued to believe in each other.
They may acknowledge their common heritage
but only when discovered and reunited
by the poet's crafty pen
in a zealous deliberation
will they look up and search for approval
in the eyes of the reader
looking for recognition
looking for acceptance
becoming once again a family
living in harmony
just as they were always meant to be
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Carrie Richards 12/8/12 For Joe Maverick's Contest "Occlusion"
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