Written: August 16, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Charles Messina
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Pale gale prevails and trails its glowing flame,
Veil inhales and pales, then orates my name.
Moon's smooth refrain imbues the blushing field,
Boon, swoon, the maxims that the stars revealed.
Night's unveiled beliefs inflate and bound streams,
Bright wisps glow on the line of peaceful dreams.
Reels crush shelter, calming signals align,
Wheels flail to foresee the wondrous design.
Imam Ali(?)–The Knowledge Gate
Mercy and kindness,You hath
Angelic, assertive and you teaches faith
Modesty and morals you always orates
Altruists and bravery you instructs your mates
Laudability and liberality you donates
Imam Ali(?)in us, Allah's love you creates.
A life of martyrs you like
.For right path, you always play with pikes
Sacrifice and tolerance,you always like.
Today is the day of your birth
Happiness and joy is on the earth.
Everywhere, everyone is in this preparation
Left to right,all are in their celebrations.
In joy of your arrival on the night of this land
Oh,Lion of Allah!Where you stand?
No one of us want this to know.
Oh,Lion of Allah!No one of us is in the martyer's row
For wealth and health, we are on coves.
Allah, bless us with the last one
Light us with the knowledge-sun.
Life like Rasull-allah(?)we want
Allah-Our creator we want
Hazrat Ali(?)-Our leader we want
dulcet …
the night …
holds far too few hours
to attend you, pure … proper
in twilight reverence
your body’s song is my scripture
the braille my fingers ache to read -
sexy verse moonlight recites
and orates to my blood
longing’s lullaby
spoken glyph-by-glyph
and plopped like sugar on my tongue
where it attends …
yours …
speak to me with
your coy and curvy whispers
such fair flesh tells an epic tale, erotic
few know the language
but I am fluent
I will listen with an anxious ear
and reply in cursive on your dermal page
my game?
to raise those tiny little bumps -
catkin skin that jumps to
the touch, as my adept answers wind
their warm way south
to the source …
come, let time stand still
night is too fleeting
and a delicious pas de deux awaits -
a torrid tale of pillows and percale and
moonbeamed madness …
where minds and moans and motions are
met in one rapturous breath …
of breathlessness
ghostwriter … and manuscript
this tome is ours -
you and I … lost
to ourselves …
to each other …
to the world of whys and whatevers
and to everything …
but us.
Farmer Fred the raconteur
I’ve often said is full of manure
When spinning yarns of yesteryear
His tales grow taller beer by beer
He orates on about three little pigs
Elucidating eloquently on their building of digs
In Fred’s varied version there is not a wolf
The malefactor being a malcontented oaf
Treasures Midden
David J Walker
It is in the midden
The story hidden
In the heap
The truth entwined
With dung and grime
To keep
As secrets from the
Eyes less bold
Where orates swear
To the foulest air from
Truth in scripted told
The dung heap
Is where the
Cleric keeps
His gold
An orange and tan
orangutan
with origins
that span
to Pakistan
orates flimflam
o'er an ornate
garbage can
ordained an oracle
by an ordered clan
to plant a plan
for their ordure
that ornaments
said garbage can
the ornery orangutan orotundly
upon does scan
Strutting with swagger while singing along.
I am the epitome of arrogance a hundred percent strong.
Trying my dynasty to destine the cause,
I formed a voice of expression.
Walking in mediums to speak to the crowd,
My poetic mien capitalized.
I am a Diva now.
This demeanor was everlasting as I learnt the score.
I epitomized to be discovered.
I published my poetry in a philosophical style,
A rhetorical performer renowned writes about religion, politics, and life.
Quixotic philosopher orates to down-to-earth people today.
Fulfilling a void that may have manifested via slavery.
Palpable to mind, body, and soul as the words she speaks inner cores.
A Poetry Diva and a voice -
A political powerhouse has been a canon among us.
Her swan song is in perpetuity.
A s
S tandards suggest
W e must live life to its fullest
A s
N oetic beings
S o we can form vision to explore
O f life and of recourse.
N oesis possess.
G odspeed we are within.
______________________________________________________|
Scribe August 26, 2015!
Recourse
The old man bends his
knees-
to the graveyard of
speech.
His barren stretched arms
raise up.
Orates the last
of his unpronounced
plea,
for a piece of sky,
for a grip of dust.
Unresolved.
Like that of a master
and his beast
unwilling
to pull the bondage
of labour and grin.
The latter's breath
of unspelled words
reveals a stealth
of cracked soil,
a labyrinth of deep
and shallow wounds-
of the earth. Touch-
me-not grows
and blooms and suckles
from these breasts of hardened
inaudible numbness.
The quiet morning dew,
splinters over the barrow
a thousand bits, a handful of stain.
Gone is the deafening
first flight
of light, salvages, salvages-
a gentle sigh, the slightest
of touch,
from an old and cunning
man, to the silhoutte of
scorched earth; an impasse
between the obvious
and the pale.
With so many wonderful words out there
of remarkable rhyming quality,
like harbinger, extraordinare’,
recompense, and soliloquy,
I find it hard to make a choice
betwixt effervescent and supine.
As to which of these appease me most
when I prepare to pen a rhyme.
Suddenly I’ll hear the call,
“Why must you have to choose,
one single word from among them all,
With so many great words to use?”
Divine bovine! What a fantastic idea!
an awesomely somniferous notion!
Somewhere out there could there really be a
Way to use all and not stir a commotion?
The tempter entices “go on grab a few
From this syllabically succulent fare
Blend them together like a pot of word stew
Just make sure they are each one quite rare.”
Consequently orates my old nemesis,
this word addicts worst foe to the pen.
Oh dear, what the heck! With an addiction like this,
I can’t wait to start over again!
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