Revoke Poems

The Morning's Picturesque Beauty

I'm waking up and rubbing two blinded eyes,
The crispness of the sweet-scented air in whimpering July
Rapidly spreads by a benevolent wind that pleases,
It allows me to discover by intent a sublime reality,  
Which is the morning's picturesque beauty:
Does strong belief interfere with a sense of great friability?

Nature can be brutal or pleasant, and yet it can fascinate
Us, when it suddenly embraces each sense to compensate
For the discontent left by a dreamless and unrestful night;
What we hear amid those eerie shadows is the cry of a cricket!  

I distinctly revoke such repulsing and unenthralling nights
As I wash their macabre images off with cold, running water;
Is a better day coming, prompting actions that don't falter? 
Harm is done when pain is accepted and tomorrow frightens.  

In this morning's picturesque beauty, I could lose myself
And wish that dreaming vainly detaches me from grief,
not seeing any delusional mirage on the journey to happiness;
I've expelled the vile demons that made me spew lies!

The Last Appeal

two years ago, on Christmas eve,
i made an appeal and stood in your court
i asked you to revoke my status-
from a stranger to a lover, or friends who love each other
but you declared me guilty
and sent your troops, with cannons aimed at my gate
if you had asked me, "will you survive?"
my answer would've been a big no
but here i am writing this one final ode
because i finally survived in that war

Fulcrum of a Rose

Fulcrum of a Rose

A lambent sight, my morning star, 
        sweet essence on my tongue.
A mem'ry stirred—those bygone days, 
	a secret love so young.

That lambent sight, my nostrils seared,
	trust wrought of hope and fear.
She loves me so, she loves me not—
	I beg I pray, my dear.

I wonder whence this essence comes—
	I close my eyes, breathe deep.
From time and space. A higher realm.
	A tunnel one-way steep.  


One velvet scale, droplets of dawn
	falls—spirit rent in two,
Another pluck, my fingers twitch—
	mere instants born anew.


I fear to count how many drop—
	worse, how many remain.
That smell so sweet, now on the floor,
	unraveled till insane.
	
Red petals, damn filthy petals!

Your right to choose, I do revoke!
	I swear it on her name.

It's in his kiss

Trump threw fake air kisses
To his very bored looking Mrs.
Funny, how her wide brimmed hat
Deterred them from the love rat.

So many of the laws he broke
He will soon begin to revoke.
What a shame he’s the POTUS
A STORMY four years for Flotus

After I'm Buried In A Common Grave

After I'm buried in a common grave,
simply marked by a grey headstone made
of granite, no human voice will rave;
isolated as in life: I won't condemn fate! 

Death is the end of everything held
precious, esteemed, loved or left unsaid;
it's a withered tree without any spring,
who can enjoy life without singing? 

Many emperors struggled for power,
one conquered all, but died young;
who's after glory and great valor:
to get praises or revoke wrong?  

After I'm buried in a common grave
without enormous riches to be claimed:
was my humbleness worthless to declare,
if nobody listened and came to my aid?

Unheard Maigc 9

Swallow each and every word,
take them in and don’t choke;
Smell the cinnamon on my sword 
stronger the deeper it plunges;
Flashing lights on a billboard 
‘Eat all of my magick.’
I like to play when I’m a bit bored;
Energy I can bestow or revoke;
Shhh,can you feel what is unheard?

Storms arising

Pitter patter, patter pitter,
sings the rain upon the roof.
In attic room I hear its call,
I hear its dreary water fall.

Rumble grumble, grumble rumble,
crackles, crumbles, in my eardrums.
Fee-fie-fos revoke my sleep,
and ravage what thy labor reaped.

Sizzle sazzle, sazzle sizzle,
bolts light up the deadbeat sky.
Grey clouds linger, solemn, aching -
crying rivers, peace forsaking.

Then still the air, the air so still,
blue skies replace the dark-grey hue.
And bright the day, all worries ceasing,
gone the storm, dark retreating.

And now I know what I should do,
If e'er I'm lost in life's dark hour.
'For through the storm I must abide,
to reach the joy on the other side.'

01.02.2024
Happy New Year!

Forgetting Who

The things we enjoy make us smile
The person you once was now forgetting who
All that we was that we die in vain
The things we where back in days tale
We walked in unit to humanity growth
Liked each other, their ways of origin
Interest in culture we adapt bonding souls
Forgetting Who, we've lost sight of vision

Holding grudge against another skin
We hate even that to which one stands
Even that we love we revoke in anger
All because we walk with people protest destroy
World change, AI futures dream come true
That of better world but yet deny ourselves
A soul darkened in the mist of life's living
Forgetting who brought us this far
Destroying history for the forsaken sake

Where is it that we change destination's walk 
But in ourselves that we change our own existence
Not by man's skin their doings are 
A weakened heart trampled beneath the feet's 
Corruption of mankind our feelings fall knee 
Forgetting Who, all we was raised up to be
To love another when a cheek is slap 
To judge not, one apple spoils the batch 
Being true to yourself, forgetting who you are not

Celebrate Me

Give me flowers while you still can,
In this fleeting world, a brief lifespan.
Don't wait till I am under the sand,
To say I was the man that always took a stand.
Let blossoms of love unfold,
In the tapestry of moments, stories untold.

I have cretinous heights to get to,
Yet I live my life impromptu.
Like petals whispering tales of grace,
Embraced by time, a fleeting embrace.
Letting fragrant verses of beauty unfurl,
In the garden of life, a precious swirl.

For time is a painter, a swift brushstroke,
Cherish the blooms before they revoke.
In the melody of now, a sweet refrain,
Everything earned, nothing given.

Give me flowers while you still can, 
let their essence remain, it's a brief lifespan.
Celebrate me.

Upon the Heath

After the greedily laden cirrus' lighten their loads,
a dog day returns to our suburban sanctuary.
As the mercury ascends like a climber captured in a glass tube,
the heath's heady aromas revoke our remorse.
Tangled brier and spiky scrub emit their balm:
a conspicuously redolent cocktail of coconut and cabbage.
Backlit baubles of liquid sunshine dazzle the view,
while defying gravity on their barbed roosts.
Suspended above the sodden, verdant heath, like an ethereal spirit,
another cloud hangs low, as if a subterranean lava lake -
once dormant - has been aroused from its viscous langour.
The transient torrent which incited the tribes to take refuge -
now passed - invites its flock to flood back onto the pasture.

Survival In the Forest

Living a quite life is better than the bustling city life,
there's no rush to catch a coffee, a cab, a bus, or train;
all noises fade out: patches of blue show a flapping Kite...
that crosses the atmosphere without fog and boring rain!  

Take long strolls, discover many wonders that unfold mysteries
as the eyes behold the beauty and revoke the drifting images
of people exploring the wilderness and being spellbound by it;
I follow the same path: spotting the Wood Trush building a nest!

Every tree has living life in it: a Veery resting on a long branch,
the Crow looking for a prey, the Quail laying eggs in her nest;
oh, the Cerulean Warbler with blue head and pretty wings attract:
he waits when all blooms, staring at brilliant skies in early March!

Birds of the forest have the longest life where smog doesn't exist
and their survival on rain, seeds, nuts and insects...even sunlight;
and without any of these there wouldn't be any sound after sunset;
look at these fowls of the wilderness and learn survival in the forest!

Same Lame

Since you were fixed under the knife 
your perfect face renewed your life. 
But darling, mine remains the same -
your attitude is pretty lame. 
I’d pay a fortune to revoke 
your face… except I’m badly broke. 

February 1, 2023

Sponsor: Line Gauthier 
Contest: Bite Size

Revoke Her Passport

There's a passport I would like to revoke
from one person who thinks it's a joke
to repeatedly make fun of fellow writers.
Like a pugilist, she calls us 'prizefighters.'

What harm if we enjoy entering contests?
That doesn't prove whose poetry is best
because one person's opinion has weight
and another says it's open for debate.

If she's trying to deflate anyone's intellect,
she won't do it with a weapon of disrespect.
I applaud people who bravely try a new form
They're not afraid to write out of the norm.

She stabs with a pen, trying to draw blood
while sitting on her toosh like a couch spud.
We don't write to be popular. She's wrong,
but lord, she keeps howling the same ol song.

She claims we want attention and a high profile,
but her posts draw attention in words that defile.
I've never understood why her eyes get glazed
over contest entrants who should be praised.

She dares write of grace and having humility
but complains vehemently, and with hostility.
Her PS passport should be revoked & shredded
as punishment for being rude and hardheaded.

While I Whisper

With tendencies towards modes abhorrent, I operate
    Hone deterrence to deserved carnal pleasure consolidate
    Intentional extension of potential paths provoke
    Libidinous grasping of bliss platter's swift revoke
    Elysium eviction accepts anguish for apple crisp taste
    

    Impaired paradise jags a vagabond, journey's ardour 
    Want stimulates striving, stiff splinter of suffered strappado
    Harvest achieved after toil has farmer famished
    Indebted unto a sliding spiral, subsided vanquish
    Sacrilege accounts for devious mortals' imminent waste
    

    Pain prescribed for impiety wraps breath in challenge
    Embarrassed to decay, by greedy big ego enchanted 
    Rid of Eden's pardon, shield of shame, always disgraced
    


          
               22nd October
               Transgressions 
             Obstruct Heaven

Okie Doke

Burning embers,
    From fire to smoke.
Flames give to ash,
    Leftovers now broke.

Sweetness to saline,
    Inhaling to choke.
As chaos laughs loudly,
    A solitary joke.

When all is taken, from
    A once mighty oak.
Can residue deliver,
    Any strength to yoke.

Though nature seems tested,
    As if we provoke.
While tragedy remains,
    Among wealth and poor folk.

The cycle continues,
    As many have spoke.
With no worry ahead,
    And nothing to revoke.

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