They bloomed together
within the same state of mind
though separated
by zones of time.
Sultry words sprouted
sprig-like inklings flourished
as they bound each other
to a burgeoning erotica,
yo florid images.
O such efflorescence!
O how the swelling vine
can cling and clutch
at far distant hearts,
sadder yet the perfidy
of too hungry a need,
for indeed
he also tendered
to many other female offshoots,
and she herself was a veritable
Venus Fly Trap.
In such a way,
they wove their sensual spells,
a hothouse sorcery
doomed
never to be close enough
to ever take root.
What I see in stars above is extremely wearisome,
with useless inane details that I wish I never knew.
Light years, space-time, black holes, big bangs,
myriads of pricks 'n specks a billion miles away - who cares?
I've been over-dubbed, deluded, and robbed,
of the romance, songs, stories,
and delightful spiritual legends
that ancient master star gazers saw
in stars above.
Hunter and archers with sword, belt, arrows and shield,
A veritable zoo of animals - lion, ram, bull, bear, llama, emu,
goat, scorpion, fish and severed heads, under arms.
Pots and pans, the scrub-a-dub dish that
ran away with the spoon.
Regal Heracles, Achilles and Troy in battles raging skyward
Bickering Gods, Virgins, Kings and Queens with kids and twins.
Action-men Pharaohs, wannabee Gods,
leaping from pyramid tops,
onto the ladder of the Milky Way, which is -
The River of Heaven, Road of Souls
The Spilled Breast Milk of Hera the Mother God
The seed-strew pathway the mighty Emus trod,
pecking their way,
In stars above.
We all should get out and look up more!
Gazing with ancient eyes into the sky above,
reveling to see and enjoy what they saw,
in stars above.
"She reassured me with an unfamiliar line."
Love is a mystery school, yearning for sages
well able to reckon sixes from nines.
True wits should elect sin's disbursements
rather than reflect on love's scenes of rushing bunglers.
Love is sick, blind, unkind. Aren't we cruel?
She chided: brush your flapper, dying blue
between that pair of cheese crackers.
Remove the Devil's Pitchfork from your hair.
Doubling as Dracula, your zeal repealed
by loving an unpersuaded other.
Stay not inconsolable, my weaning one!
She knelt beside me, interpolating my orations.
Entreat for veritable blindness to take better blame.
Apathetic to any flame, resisting even sipping sunshine
interred in the long night of voluminous drapes,
pray for cardiac arrest to efface 1700 hours of shadows.
Perhaps, pray you would love me, and I shall say something of it.
CELEBRATION
Celebrating 40 like a hottie, I victoriously venture valiantly in my New Era,
Vowing to vanquish every vexing challenge as I get older,
Yet younger, yielding to the years of yesterday.
With vigour & vitality in victory, I say HAPPY BIRTHDAY...
To yours truly, as I celebrate added year soulfully.
I valiantly vanquish the veil of doubt and fear,
Vowing to victoriously voyage through life's labyrinthine year.
With veritable vitality, I vigorously venture ahead,
Victoriously claiming glory after all done & said.
Though my age & appearance decide to fool me,
I say HAPPY BIRTHDAY to me, yours truly!
VICK MANUEL POETRY
{VMP}
FORM: Alliteration/Rhymes
Copyright ©? 16th February 2025.
Neither bells rang
nor rifles sounded
The transition quiet
neither looting nor riots
A veritable coup
pulled off by old pros ~
helpless, pinned to the ground
Cry ‘Uncle,’ Joe, it’s time to go
How did it happen
the years piling up
like books stacked at crazy angles
a veritable house o’ cards
V I C T O R
Victor, a visionary, who won't vanquish,
Voyaging through virtual veils of a wish,
Very valiant in his virtual venture or quest,
Venerable in his reality & veritable deals.4
His virtual vesture, a verdant shroud,
Vouch safes the virtues of his vestal proud,6
Victorious, he voyages through the void,
Veiling his virtual & very presence, unemployed.
His vivacious voice, a symphony of sense,
Vibrates with visionary intelligence,¹°
Victor's virtual vocabulary, a treasure trove,
Vast & varied, a venting virtues to prove.¹²
In victors realm, despite vices, he reigns supreme,
Vivacious, vibrant, a validated visible gem,
Though Victor's virtuality, a verdant dream,
But in actuality, a veritable victorious realism.¹6
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
FORM: Alliteration/Rhymes
Copyright ©?6th January, 2024.
A grateful dream is woven into every moment, and gratitude shines in all the colors of the mosaic that is life.
This feeling shines through both joy and hardship.
A veritable gold mine of comfort in its regard.
Gratitude is a warm, comforting stream that envelops people and builds thriving ties between people.
Gratitude is a beacon that leads the way when the skies become gray and the shadows grow longer.
Because it illuminates the battleground during the darkest moments and serves as a reminder to treasure the first light of morning.
See blessings rather than problems as a rainbow of colors, the gratitude symphony, on exhibit in your soul.
Gratitude is shown via small acts of kindness,
A gentle stroke, a whisper, the truth revealed.
Gratitude, a virtue, is revealed and hearts are healed in the symphony of thanks.
Since the spirit has yielded in gratitude,
An unveiled Monchielle homage to thankfulness.
("Untitled - The Eye of Jihad", 2019, original encaustic)
Love is Love - and other absurd truisms
“Love is love” is like “Follow your bliss”
a way to deflect the moral agency
and subsequent consequence of our desires
with vague equivalency.
It’s like all love and bliss is somehow equal,
which is absurd.
What if my bliss comes from destroying yours?
Or I love abducting, raping, slicing and dicing
then barbecuing
the infant you love…?
Where is the moral equivalence?
This is why the Golden Rule sounds great
up until you are up against a masochist.
And the world today is apparently filled with masochists.
But it’s all good…
At least it feels good,
to think we are all the same, all equal
in what we love and cherish.
The truth is we aren’t.
We may all be made of the same dust,
but that doesn’t make us equal.
Meanwhile the world turns,
a hit soap-opera
in its nth season
spinning relentlessly
a veritable Wall of Death
which in its shocking extreme
delivers some kind of perverse pleasure.
It may not be bliss,
or even what we love,
but it’s certainly captivating.
(11/1/23)
As he looks at all the stuff
that‘s stored inside his head
he marvels at how randomly it’s all been packed away
“Gently, gently, be careful where you tread”
he reminds himself to move about with care
although he’s been up there many times before
and knows his way around
there are some dodgy places up there on his attic floor
as he looks about him with wonder and delight
there are things up there that he’d rather just forget
that he wishes he’d never done
that are cause for deep regret
but, when taken as a whole
he is pleased with what he finds up there
a veritable hodgepodge of life’s travails and pleasures
admitting that at times he should have paid more care
he considers it all to be his very own box of chocolates
he has his favourites that he wishes there were more of
and there are those that he vehemently wishes
he could quietly just get rid of
I wonder what it’s like
to be inside your head
would you like to spend some time
in somebody else’s head instead
even for just a moment
perhaps an entire day
and rummage through what they have there
all secretly stored away.
Life's journey starts at momma's breast
where nutrition and love ever rest
Yet too soon do we leave this place of rapture
by the lure of greener pastures captured
reveling in ourselves, we run, jump, skip and hop
in a veritable stampede to reach the 'top'
of whatever mountain we've climbed
leaving momma's breast far, far behind...
There comes a day when we realize
all our striving's for naught
that the world sold us a bill of goods
which we fell for and bought
A bit ashamed of ourselves we head back home
to find momma worn-out, with no more to give
Decades of worry (over us) ~
drained of her will to live
There once was a lady from Lynx,
Who was a veritable minx,
she wrote about love,
cooed like a dove,
loved mixing ambiguous drinks.
Now the minx was wearing a wig,
Which made her look like a fig,
And she had the gall,
To hold me in thrall,
And jabbed me with a two-pronged twig!
I know a family that doesn't have much
But their small abode is spotless
You can eat off their floors
'Course that makes them 'classist and racist'
The home in which they take such pride
~ a veritable eyesore
Mirror neurons wherever you look a
Veritable house of mirrors.
Tell me your troubles or not I will
take them on all the same
When you turned in line at the grocery store
with eyes that called out to me
message received,were you lighter in step
as you walked away
For I trudged out into the winter's glare
tipping the scales heavier than when entering
What some call Aldis I, with my mobile
Freak show in tow I refer to this gauntlet as life
I try to keep my head down hoping to dodge the inevitable bullet
But found I am cowering by the frozen foods
trying to camaflouge myself appearing aloof and cold
As you step into my realm my sacred personal enclave the transference begins with a hum.
Were it not for the transcendence of joy and beauty from the occasional wry smile of a child
Or the grounding keen eyed sobriety of the aged
I would never go out again
Respected but more feared
As a man of tempered steel
An expert at ensuring he got
The best of any signed deal.
He got a Degree in Pomposity
From the university of life
Followed by a Masters in
The Obvious and The Trite.
Doctorate soon followed
In Self Righteous Thought,
Waxes forth on Social Media
Where he daily holds court,
Pouring vitriol and scorn
To those who don’t know
Life’s a veritable paradise under
Our beneficent Status Quo.
A paragon of virtue, this
Self proclaimed made man
Telling the world if he can do it
Then surely anybody can.
International businessman
With his modern sweat shop
Using Zero Hour Contracts to
To keep his workers on the hop
He attends religious observance
Al least once every single week
Where he virtuously professes
To be humble, mild and meek.
He’ll probably live for ever
Which really isn’t so very odd:
No Heaven could be big enough
To hold both him and his God.
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