I'm here for the critiqueful, with an eclectic
Resum'e not quite yet-full.? Interested in pure
Poetry ' raw un-bridled full emotively ' such essence
I pursue.. Sometimes energetically.' Other times
It indeed (corners me') evaporating all that is me
Till i am but, aware of a great vacancy.' That allows
For much thought vagrancy.' I gasp and out-grasp
And also mentally.' At the birth of vocabularies
Eventfully distending, my awareness and creduality.'
Draw close reader...Tell me of your current
Observancy.?
Sometimes, people are missing some dignity here
Of being good and unclean is two different things
Have we lost some honor to become dishonor then
Can we sometimes be good men than being barbaric
Two days ago, when I woke up, nice scenario here
I saw the scenery of rice field, lush and green
Today, I woke up and saw the scenery of garbage
It feels like a dream, but it's real to appraise
Between rice field and garbage affecting our life
It's unfair to good people for one act of vagrancy
Let everyone act according to the precept of law
Let government execute and solve this without flaw.
snowman three meters high
an inelegant formation
of grizzled snow packed in lumps
needing refinement
stubby tree-branch arms
glutching fastened balloons, blue and yellow
bobbing in the wet licks of wind
snowman towering, gently twisted
desperate grit to thwart a winter's thaw
as blue and yellow balloons bounce near an icy chest
like a slow tempo beat of heart
plundered sense of capture
quirky
resilient balloons
scripted bits of childhood charm
not yet swept aside by tempest
nearby
snatched away by breezes
one red balloon traces the street gutter
like a beggar foraging returnable cans
red balloon smitten with blotches of mud
deflating in the mercenary chill
its gentle sway like a cheeky concept of self
unrestrained
in the vagrancy of night
Poem composed February 7, 2023
When devouring a hot chicken pie
An advertised flat caught my eye,
I would hazard a guess
Judging from its address
That the asking price wasn’t too high.
I collapsed in a state of deep gloom
When the landlord denied me that room,
He said “Nothing’s worse
Than a chap who writes verse!”
Within minutes I started to fume.
After snatching some six hours of sleep
I thought I should challenge that creep,
For with scant explanation
His discrimination
Might cause a young snowflake to weep.
I knew I should counter his crime
With an angry yet passionate rhyme,
He was powerful and scary
And so arbitrary,
And his property’s well past its prime.
My letter, dispatched the next day,
Employed words that I’d rather not say
(They are not in the bible),
Then he sued me for libel,
So his rent I’m not able to pay.
So the lesson is easy to see -
Do not venture to write poetry.
It could end in defeat
Then you’re stuck on the street,
Simply begging for coffee or tea.
Double parked
in a no-comment zone
A writer sat quiet
unheard and alone
Idling vacant
the needle on E
Silence impended
no crossing of T’s
Given to vagrancy
nothing else left
Sounds in the distance
begone and bereft
A Muse but a figment
of something not heard
His vacuous instant
—devoid of the word
(Dreamsleep: January, 2023)
Heart at ease, if we be here now
In the present moment
Free from desire, our soul mellow
Heightening bliss quotient
Ah! The bliss vibrancy
Ending thought vagrancy
Free from delinquency
Gentle breeze
Heart at ease
03-October-2021
Quietus
Lamp on a dreary night of a feverish vagrancy,
may I latch on you as if you're mine for free?
Perhaps I could say you're heaven-sent,
spare me from this abysmal moment
Deeply and darkly tinged I am blinded,
while the storms persist you're my warm bed
You might disappear along this dour weather,
but these are the times I promise to remember
We speak no words nor exchange glances,
I'm just sitting down here taking chances
and you're the light emanating above me,
my relief as though I'm not a forsaken plea
These are not coincidences I will reminisce,
but one with fated interventions I will miss
Flickering firefly clearing the hollow night,
of a swelling cold and hazy foresight,
would you still frequent my empty porch
and volunteer to be my lifelong torch?
-Nicola An
His eyes held the opaque aura of vagrancy
immune to the generosity of strangers
offer him dubious fulfillment,
reflect a scene without ever seeing it
his eyelids a blinking metronome
counting coup on times tenacity.
This blindness, this long sullied sight,
devoid of compassion, empathy
tarnished in the blackened light of day
denying what once was seen as beauty
shuttered visions shadow dancing world
gray forms in silhouette half life.
©11/22/2019
opaque poetry Contest
Taxied to the terminal. The fare paid,
vagrants begged for alms, some too drunk to care.
Shrunken faces, weather beaten, they played
a sad tune of which I was unaware.
Some had the means, even possessed the fare
to transport them to towns with better care.
I passed the huddled poor, stepped on the bus,
took my seat at a window facing west.
Soon, the highway’s open arms greeted us.
No longer stranger, a solemn house guest.
Believing the ride would force me to test
my endurance, I slept. I’m not a pest.
Vegas came, sponged every cent from my purse.
Should have listened to the driver. He knew
how slots are rigged; still, could’ve been much worse.
Could’ve sold my soul since winners are few.
Back on the bus, we zipped through burgs so new
to me, I ticked them off my map on cue.
Three days passed. Felt like a tree that was felled.
Then I saw my love. So nice to be held.
Urban Sonnet poetry contest: 5/17/19 by Emile Pinet
262
She wants my love
But I am dead
Heart beats no more
Especially not for
For that whore
But she still stands
Silly am I with the
Stupidity
Of this life
Beyond
Vagrancy
And vice
Success will
Answer soon
My love
Peterson was his name.
Pied Piper was his fame,
Led kids down dark path with his flame,
Smokin pot and singin songs with no shame.
They dropped out of school, lazy and lame.
Now, vagrancy is their aim.
Sleepin and smokin weed, their game.
But Peterson felt no guilt and no blame.
I strut the lane of vagrancy
With breaths choking from evening’s plea,
As lampposts dip across the night
When love undone grates my delight;
Reflecting scenes... a cracked marquee.
Trapped in the void of emptied lea
A begging howls... my cries decree
For sparks to glow, to take new flight!
I strut the lane.
On narrow bends, I find no glee
Against clogged lamps, an eve’s debris
Oblivious to new morn’s rite…
While ravens croon with all their might,
This heart nailed bears dusk’s agony.
I strut the lane.
rob carmack's Oblivion Contest
12/10/2015
* oblivious---4 syl count
Here again, on the the crest of the eve,
the sound of them...calling out to me
Their sound of arrival, coming from the crimson sky
The ceremonious cry as they frame the V
Causing me to lift eyes upward
Canadian geese, heading home in springtime mode
I need not fear, their steadfastness is proof
The voice in unison against the vagrancy of altered mood
In the sureness of the morrow
When I shall think and speak my thoughts
When I eat a meal, and do my daily chores
Exclaim of the budding branch before the door
I will have assurance of a miracle
I shall make laughter out of bafflement
And meet the wind...and watch the day's declining
For when the geese appear again in the fall
Southward bound, honking with their timely voice
I'll know once again how to feel the comfort of the plan
My assurance that is in the telling of the flight
To feel how certain is their autumn calling
To feel how certain is their return in spring
And when all the world fills my thoughts with doubt
And when all the world fills my heart with fear
I am sure enough to lift my eyes
Canadian geese, who cause my eyes to lift to the evening sky
With a song of assurance of His love...
He stumbles on the subway
Initially I cringe
I'm put off by the way he smells
From alcoholic binge
He mumbles incoherent
I start to feel ashamed
I slide my hand in my front pocket
Fumbling for some change
But I don't think he's asking
And now I feel confused
Why suddenly he's deathly still
In contemplative muse
It's then I sensed my pity
That's founded in this thought
This vagrant's smell is rank with failure
Surely mine is not
But just as surely comes the notion
That my thought is wrong
That maybe this man's always been
My equal all along
And in my mind I contemplate
Why I refused to see
My world won't be so bad a place
If love is given free
And so my judgment loosens as
I know not where he's been
A brotherhood in harmony
Absolves the need for sin
I owe this man his right to freedom
The same that he owes me
I spare myself the cost of pain
And simply let him be
And from that moment on I'd ponder
My inner vagrancy
But was it me who smiled at him
Or him who smiled at me?
What says the silence between us now
With dour acoustical deadness?
Roaring waves of invisible vagrancy,
Breaking down the white rock transparency
Heavy and burdened with leadenness.
And all that is unspoken screams
With clinical padded-cell madness,
Hissing clues in a deafening vacancy
Falling flat as a pancake melody
With an albatross-fated sadness.
What says the silence between us now
With love raped a dialogue soundless?
Splitting hairs with a dumb antipathy,
Lit up like a cross-wired Christmas tree
With its circuitry spitting and groundless.
And whatever decays behind us breathes
With lungs cursed of punctured tissue
Telling tales of an undying chemistry,
With a quick-fire wit and repartee
You and I left the lonely issue.
What says the silence between us now
With our feelings insidious as cancer?
Hung upon a mutual reticency,
What means it to you, what means it to me?
Even God can't conceive of an answer.
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