They are rufescent with fury.
Hissing stridently with horror,
They post words of wailing vigilance through
Parched gullets.
Glows run amok amid drunken spells of
Hysterical lustre
Fleeting shards of wobbling light
Pierce the earnestness of a grieving dawn,
Blinding the essence of insistent courage.
Early warm ruddy presence is
Dissolved by the warring flames of
Hostile tree-threads singed with hate from
Jungles that hoot, flee and crackle, fanning the
Embers of a fuming climate.
Diktats
never disclosed
stridently imposed.
Laundered veracity
fusillades of mendacity
in vibrant schools
where feelings carved fools.
Gorgeous, the morning had been,
Before the day became frantic;
Clouds amassed.
My eyes and ears witnessed.
Rains’ harbingers landed on my skin;
Drops of rains but not rain, I whispered to me.
Darker and darker, the clouds grew.
From time to time, roars I heard.
Faster and faster, the day ran;
And so were the dark skies.
Looming, the evening smelled.
All birds had lobbed into trees.
Like prophets, jeopardy they noticed.
Noisily dancing, the trees were;
Whistling stridently, the wind was.
And lightening impaled the murky clouds
Only me to see leaves and dust climbing high;
Winds to heave stronger and upper above,
The skies started bathing me.
Shelter nowhere to find anymore.
Late it was, the world started tumbling on me;
Hefty and late, it was for me to move.
Down I sat to reminisce the harbinger;
My face in my knees, I buried.
But alas, she had heavily parked on me!
Poem by Ndabuli Mugisho
Did God create the oceans dry
His forests without greenery
to declare?~ Obviously not!
As every overhead cloud bears
proud witness, and every raindrop
can claim a rightful lush share:
We are partners all, in nature;
each for Mother's Pleasure made...
each with a starring role – but only
her man, using one finger of a hand
can turn countless plush gardens
into blazes of Classic Hell. With
just one downward thrust, of
his fallen hand, trillions of atoms
will collide and devastatingly expel
death...a blinding flash of sin
First Adam began with spiritual
division, that modern Adam has
perpetuated by splitting atoms
into disintegrating parts~
soon to split
his entire world
into lifeless remains
while stridently blaming
some scapegoat she-devil
for our own destructive
hearts.
Seven secluded saints stood silently
Suggesting some simple solutions,
Six silly soldiers strutting stridently
Suggested super serious Seussian.
written January 20, 2022
Gut-wrenching tears flow in torrents,
swathe of spasmodic gulp and shiver,
I weep stridently when haunted,
by moonlight ghost resemblance,
to my dead cousin, fleeting angel,
halo an eerie nocturnal cloud rim,
shrouded in haze of mournful rupture,
our deepest wounds precede the grim,
acknowledgement of threadbare memory,
feeble consolation as we quietly sulk.
to dull persistent angst with fond ephemera,
evanescent meek recall from bygone echo,
funeral cortège hymn neath mortal passage,
solemn midnight clan’s shuffle lachrymose
You become still.
The pain freezes.
Your head, eyes and toes
play dead to calm the blood.
Only leafy branches
hum in your ears
as if they were soothing
those pulsing veins.
Choo, choo!
Locomotive echoes through the night
and resists to go any further.
The rails cry stridently,
as if they wanted to turn back.
My mind falls apart.
I lie cold stars upon my head,
let myself become still again.
Don't know for how long.
I give in.
Is there such a thing as ‘old’
Or is it merely ‘ageing’,
The trusty steed of time,
Neither willful nor disparaging.
Perhaps the clock does chime
More stridently in youth,
Our actions and our words
In search of our own truth.
As years pass ever faster
We tether more our deeds
To mundane pressing matters
Reality’s own needs.
Each day a new performance
In a circus full of acts,
With this demanding audience
No room to fail nor lapse.
Wiser by the season,
Less impetuous by far,
We may be somewhat altered
Yet follow that same star.
Our love has not diminished,
Our passions have not waned,
We feel and care as deeply
With actions more contained.
Judge not this book unwisely,
Despite its cover torn,
It’s content rich with meaning,
Its beating heart still warm.
Mells' Bells.
Not far from a little town in Somerset called Wells
there's a quiet little village, that's name is Mells
the wild garlic grows in abundance there, and stridently smells
But the peace is shattered each Sunday by bells
Mells' bells, Mells bells,
Oh God they're so loud,
Those great bells of Mells
That ring out so proud.
The noise is so loud the church uses shutters,
To suppress the great volume lest the vicar's heart flutters
And to stop a misery down Radstock who complains and mutters,
And to save those in Green lane, Devizes, as it upsets the "nutters".
Mells Bells, Mells bells,
Oh how they thunder,
Those great bells of Mells,
Rip eardrums asunder.
So beware all you travelers, down Somerset way,
Lest you venture near Radstock upon a Sunday,
Best take your earplugs to wear there they say,
'Cos the Mells bells are well hell, despite what you pray.
Mells Bells, Mells bells,
They'll make you deaf,
Those great bells of Mells
Rung by ringers so deft
(c) Ian Diddams 2018
sun, moon pause at fork
moon stridently stands his ground
black pall earth does spite
Oh the angels above,
We dance in their interlude.
We walk stridently with worried eyes.
We know the party is almost over.
Though the twist and turns of our body tell us
The night cries on and on.
SUDDENLY I HEARD SILENCE SHOUT
All of a sudden I turned around
And it was then I heard the sound
All of a sudden I looked about
And ‘twas then i heard emptiness shout
With a swollen voice it screamed “no more”
For it was at that moment fate closed its door
All our plans laid out with precision and prayer
While you accepted its words with your casual flair
I was made speechless by what had thusly been spoken
And all I could feel beating was a heart set asunder and broken
I sat on a couch wondering how life could be so caustically cruel
Alas for hours upon that couch wept a fool
A foolish man who bought into lies and deception
And amidst silence came sorrow sans exception
What wondered I could I possibly have done
As I felt like jumping out of my skin and taking to run
Suddenly I turned around to see what I didn’t want to see
And that was the ghost of you and only tears for me
The universe is witness to an atrocity with no where to hide
And it also knows how stridently I tried long before I cried
© 2011.….Phreepoetree ~free cee!~
To fight or flight, one must think.
For is it wise to speak truth to backs of the ignorant,
Or rather stand by as the racing river stridently does rampage?
Impossible it is, despite destruction of his crops, to cease the never-ending .
Lies force a watcher if exists maturity- a defiant childish fighter if blinded in emotion.
Truth, shall one fight never to stand for insolence of man,
Or do bells of justice remain silent as the unworthy parades forth?
This is the dilemma- the very crisis- which makes man stop and pace.
To flight. To back away, tail between the legs defeated when not,
Watching lines of liars’ disciples strutting in robes of cheap fabrics as an imposturous
elite.
The truth becomes buried in the mind of a fallen king.
I have named it.
The kittens name is....Crystal.
It is an apt name, seeing as
she felt compelled to break
my crystal goblet.
The very one I "drink" from
on the occasions when someone
tries to break in.
One must see to use manners
when one is in his own home.
Crystal has not one.
She has already used my coffin
as an outhouse.
We are working stridently on
that particular issue.
Last nights hunt was....well,
boring, to say the least. I was
distracted. My thoughts were of
home and what Crystal was doing now.
I need to take time.
Feel the flavor of the hunt.
Feel my preys fear.
Or it is like drinking Ale,
instead of a rare wine.
Both will get you there.
But, as I always say,
One must always choose style. It is
what separates us from...well,
uncouth mortals and such.
I am not a snob.
I may be pure evil, true.
But, I do have standards.
Few that they may be.
I believe I am fit now.
Tomorrows nights hunt will be
one of the most fun.
I am going to a party.
One I must crash, of course.
~Lord Kellington
Call me wind song
Hear my mantra chanting
Over the chimes
Ringing you to sleep
Softly covering you
In blanketing breeze
Carrying pollen dreams
Call me wind dancer
Across the water ways
Strumming forth choruses
Of melodic waves rolling
Endless and rhythmic
Splashes of sound silenced
Stridently inside leafy applause
Call me windstorm
Witness growing anger
Blowing heated gusts pound
Echoing hammer falls sparking
Arcs across the dark walls
Forming obsidian peaks
High into slipstreams
Call me wind song
Intoning tacit emotion warm
Pungent scents of spring rising
Heights above mountainous tone
Heard in billowing rapture
Smoothed and settling notes
Singing heavy in your ears…
Come dance with me.
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