Uninitiated Poems

killing it

There’s a lot of heat when all eight
of us suitemates are together.
I might have mentioned it somewhere.
We’re like surround sound,
or eight car alarms going off together,
it’s jabberwocky by an established team.

It can get frantic and frightening
for the uninitiated or inhibited.
Some of us are pretty boy-crazy
and there’s a mix-in of twinkling girl-crazy too.
We’re basey, bugzee, spaceheads and freaks,
yeah, we're the whole emotional spice rack.

“She’s a good person to kill time with,”
is pretty high praise around here
because we have so little free time.
But these are good people to kill time with.

And they’re portable, we travel, we invade,
we’re crazy young women who’ve got it made.
So if you’re coming at us, trying to enter our enclave,
you better be brave or a situational upgrade.
.
.
Songs for this:
No New Friends (feat. Sia, Diplo & Labrinth) by LSD
Lysergic Bliss by of Montreal
Freedom Is Free by Chicano Batman
.
.
slang…
basey = a cool loser, nice but a bit odd, a weirdo with style
bugzee = slightly crazy
spaceheads = people who talk about weird things
.
.
Webster: Jabberwocky = meaningless speech or communication.

You whispered to me

You whispered to me: "From where does this strange melancholy arise
That ascends like a mountain on a silent, empty plain?"
When the soul has finished its harvest, we feel
Life is a wound. This secret we all know.
It's a pure suffering, not at all enigmatic
And clear, like you when you smile and brighten the world
Don't search in vain, my beautiful curious one
And now, although your voice is so melodic, be silent!
Be silent, uninitiated one! Soul that knows no darkness!
Innocent mouth! Even more than Life
Death has often caught us in its subtle traps
Better to intoxicate myself with an illusion and peacefully
Sink into your clear eyes as in a dream
And gently fall asleep in the shadow that slips from your eyelids!

Beachcomber Aroma

We live by the sea, just we two, you and me
It offers us all that we need
From our heads to our toes, you make all of our clothes
From sea grass and sometimes sea weed

If our ocean provides it, you will utilise it
I so like the way that you think
Our clothes made from stuff that you found on the beach
But your feet, well they surely do stink

Those earrings you made from a couple of cockles
That pendant you made from a shell
Your bikini top is a strap and two scallops
But your feet, they surely do smell

I keep us well fed from the sea and sea bed
While you keep us suited and booted
You’re my Wonder Woman it has to be said
But your feet, well they really are putrid

We sit on the shore and we like nothing more
Than watching the waders and dippers
But we can’t stay long, there’s a God-awful pong
For your slippers are made out of kippers

[For the uninitiated, kippers are butterflied, smoked herring.]

What Fascinates Me

How cool to sway naïves unaware,
Cooler still, a man of ken fair,
Even a wall were I persist,  
Not one— a half-wit puffed with air!

How pundits are plagued with spite’s tide,
Powerful with over-spilling pride,
Green horns nigh uninitiated,
Vexed, my verses had once decried. 

One may from a croc’s jaws get free, 
May sail across a maddened sea,
Wrap a cobra around his neck,
How hard to please one, fool that be!

Not so hard to get oil from sand,
Quench thirst off mirage in parched land,
Even to fetch a rabbit’s horn,
How hard to bring round a ham hand.

What fascinates: world’s attitude,
In other’s ill luck feeling good—
Schadenfreude and a Freudian glee,
How world’s today stuck with the crude! 
___________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek |06.05.2022|

Fascination and Awe Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Jeff Kyser

2 Sides Same Coin 1 Head 1 Tail

Ahhhh a fine choice indeed

I see Sir is blessed 

With exemplary exquisite taste

Given the many choices at your
disposal on the menu

May I presume to make a suggestion
of a side dish that will accompany
your main 

Perhaps some soap to wash the bitter 
taste out of your mouth after with

Because otherwise how will anyone
be able to tell to the difference

Between that which comes out of
your backside or your mouth

Because they to the untrained
uninitiated appear the same no
different at all

Two sides of the same coins 1 head
1 tail

A Shout Into The Void

A shout into the void, like a whispered wish,
amplifies the loneliness that dwells within.
And like the feigned beauty of a lionfish:
lust can lure the uninitiated in.

Like an emotional roller coaster ride,
love can be scary; count the tears you've cried.
And in those moments, you fight the urge to scream
when life feels more like a nightmare than a dream.

A Tomb Without Walls

You begin your journey lonely beyond imagination - an emotional place I can barely begin to describe to the uninitiated.

Your body, primed by puberty, has these new, natural abilities - you develop these secret ambitions for yourself that push you hard.

You search for that someone. To use the technical term - you, “kiss a few frogs” - to fine tune the impossibly fragile internal instruments that detect the elusive, magical “it.”

You pretend you’ve simply struck up friendships, the girl and the boy. It can’t last, this state of congenial denial - there are too many unspoken pressures - the suspense weighs on you both.

.
.
.
ps, I write short stories too

Thickly Impend

Adventure begins at Eventfull_Tide.
A place that destiny becomes, 
  excited in power that chooses to reside 
      electric-marrowed,- bare in the bones.
            The hourglass stops,- measuring
the interim annexations.
Prime is back again.
            Where the waves of the substantial 
           seduce over the cosmic sands.
Open to possibility all frequency bands.
Become:
           Nerve endings, lick-coated swollen
Oathed.
     Given the sustenance that drips
                    down, polished, adorned.
          Totem-Statute -borne-_-born-
                                    The source is all and all.
     Liquid is the quiet in freefall.
Thick and effortless.
        Lubricated by the surge of mindsilver.
The uninitiated- moonlighting a
witness through whispered- 
           association of secret lever.
   The Great Pond ripples of something 
  impending, flowing.-
         In the silver mirror of the knowing.-
             The silky smooth ultra wet 
             welcoming of significance.
  Arouse the fogs of ceremony-
  the mists of the extraordinary-
  are awakened after a long slumber.
  To remind once again of something more.

The Broken Bridge of Death

Bask not in the delusional orgy
Embedded in the barren attempt
To pull wool over the eyes
Of the uninitiated

True, we did fear, fret and flex
Nuzzling in a banquet of uncertainty;
Obliging death brazen vanity

The intercessor, in intercession,
broke his service
Forcing a tie break
To a binge of birth, death,
Rebirth and death;
By plunging into quietus

We, made in his image,
Did hug the great divide with him
When he revified,
We riposted with him

From dust we ensued,
To dust, we must retire

Serenity

Serenity

Nonchalant was not in inscribed in their Universe 

A rendezvous lived coming round full karmic circles 

Precarious only to uninitiated tantric disinhibition

They taste sacred ecstasy and follow the script

Acquiesce moons stars comets milky sunny ways

Kindness love caressing compassion’s subtle finesse

Secure in sensual expression unique to their bond

Gallivanting to each other’s lips and to heaven below 


07th May 2018

Spring of Life

Out to the bleacher
We were drawn
By sun burning down,
Melting stubborn
White snow mounds,
While the girls
Still with wintry-pale legs
Trotted the bases
Or lowered to grateful grass
In the broad outfield
And stretched calves out
With spread lean thighs
We somehow knew
Would one day open
That way for love,
So we bee-essed
About doing it,
How much, which one,
Braggadocious banter
Of the uninitiated;
And some cute face
Buried in the shade
Of her batting helmet
From time to time
Would smile through
Wire backstop diamonds
At us, bat shouldered
And gold block letters
Denoting “West High”
Adhering to the contours
Of her nascent bust
While darkness stained
Cloth at shaved armpit
And atop pert fanny;
Maybe, we hoped,
One or a few
Would mount the ladder
Of wooden bleacher
Up to us after practice
And offer thanks that we
Shagged foul balls
By letting us inhale
That perfume-sweat-red clay melange
Only a girl can attain,
Fragrance that lingered with a guy
Late at night
In a desolate bed
During the sublime chaos
Of his spring of life.

Midnight Mass, St John's

Church on Christmas Eve
Experience of spirit
Secular delight

Candles flickering
Stirred by one communal breath
Casting bright shadows

The choir whispering
Mournful cadenced melodies
That bless the silence

Drunken folk giggling
Respectfully hiccupping
Noisy chundering

Strange and precious faith
The uninitiated 
Wary, questioning

Through agnostic eyes
Such peculiar mystery
Custom, novelty

The truth hides in love
Ancient priests and children know
It’s simplicity

The door is opened
Out in to the night The Word
Flies on sacred wings

Midnight mass; the light 
In darkness comprehending
Emptiness with joy

by Gail

Mollie

Mollie's gone and lost her brolly,
left it on the bloomin' trolley,
what to do now she's fried,
Mollie's fit to be tied,
unprotected, without any lolly! 

              *******

Notes:

brolly = umbrella
lolly = money
bloomin' = friggin'  

for the uninitiated...

For the Uninitiated Impostors

I feel a nauseating revulsion to see scraps of prose
Bundled together in a neatened pile in the name of poetry,
And prizes being awarded for such otiose verbiage
And praises being heaped for such boring coquetry.

Poetry, my dear uninitiated impostors,
Is the language of the mute solemn gods.
You ought to choose your nifty title well
And thus commence your verse against the odds.

Avoid Soyinka’s worn-out style of incompetent blank verse,
Instead, give it the rhyme scheme of the unbeatable Yeats;
The superior verse that one Tom Mboya has never read,
The taste that a Kenyan editor will haul over the rooftop sheets.

Line after line beg the company of some higher Muse
So that you may pen the will of the gods and not your own;
Alliterate here and there though you must not make it your aim,
Then lunge into deeper thought with a deity-like melancholy tone.

And never seek fame for your sacred poetic tasks.
Leave the young to sing your lyrics centuries upon your death,
And remember a great weaver of rhymes long deceased
And pray and wish you immortal blissful health.

Onyemaechi

Onyemaechi: A Tribute

My earliest encounters of him was during the war
The war fought in the hinterland of cities and suburbs
Cities and suburbs filled by aborigines and internally displaced persons
Displaced persons mingling in blood and death, bemused, hungry and doing all to survive

To survive the war, they learned and began to do simple uncommon things
Uncommon things, to the uninitiated, heartrending and daring
And daring were his exploits to rescue his own despite the odds
The odds stacked against him in the line of sporadic enemy fires

Enemy fires notwithstanding, he blazed through the blitz attacks
Blitz attacks targeted at uncommon people who started off as ordinary people 
Ordinary people who in their distress stood their ground 
Created new consciousness, refused to bulge, made fear to be afraid and discouraged discouragement!

• Short Uninitiated Poems
• Famous Uninitiated Poems
• Best Uninitiated Poems
• Read Uninitiated Poems
• Long Uninitiated Poems
• Uninitiated Quotes