Vexations Poems | Examples

Rubicon Prophecy

I weave a narrative of unspeakable taboo, a symphony of sighs and groans, a cacophony of defiled innocence.

Your body, a temple of decadence, a sanctum of sadomasochistic excess, where the strictures of societal mores are rent asunder, and the very fabric of reality is torn apart.

Echolalic luminaries periodically tilt, their sumptuary influence shrinking villages into steel vexations.

Precedence of principles and codes, a paradigm of insecurity, influences vermillion equations.

Jeopardized crescents and tacit furor satisfy the economist’s balloons, coached through versions of fossilized tutelage.

Cathedrals of vice and transgressions wraith through legends, inferring civilian nudists infected by hurakens.

Cultures torque and embark, communicating through the columns of Groningen.

Chiaroscurist initiations of mnemonic memories effloresce in alabaster vigils, aberrant cadastral mortmain consuming convergent dispossessed flâneries.

PRAISE BE TO GOD FOR ADMONISHING US TO FEAR HIM REVERENTIALLY

July 20 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on Proverbs 24-26

Key Verse – Proverbs 24:21 My son, fear thou the LORD and the king: and meddle not with them that are given to change. 

PRAISE BE TO GOD FOR ADMONISHING US 
TO FEAR HIM REVERENTIALLY	

Praise be to God for admonishing us to 
fear Him reverentially to overcome:
Mischievous persons with their meddling pestilence
Mishandled pressures due to mocking pleasures
Mismatched plans midst misbehaving posture
Mistaken plaudits caused by mystifying ploys
Misjudged pursuits along melting poverty

Proverbs 25:22 Praise be to the Lord for 
rewarding us for our:
Heart of honour
Hope against hell
Help for the helpless
Hunger toward holiness
Hatred against haughtiness
 
Proverbs 26:10 Praise be to the Saviour for 
rewarding us toward:
Victory from being a victim
Venture that vies over void vices
Virtuous vanquishing with our vow
Valuable vigour against vicious vanity
Valiant voyage against voluminous vexations. Amen!

July 20, 2024

Swallowing a knife

If only swallowing a knife could cut the words from my minds eye
So complex open wounds would slowly bleed until its veins run dry
Carving a way for my vexations, though my heart will never be free
To release the tournament of deeply hemorrhaging wounds in me

Ink is the Mistress

Her heart was 
                  whirling, 
       swirling,
                  twirling 
             inside the eye 
                    of a 
                whirlwind,
                    so I 
weaved words 
                   to calm her rage,
because, 
            like an empathic eagle,
a poet is a 
             storm chaser,
unafraid of 
             human hurricanes.

A wordsmith word weaves 
against windstorms,
decorating nebulous skies 
with rainbow bridges,
kissing the warm balmy 
neon glow of the sun,
softly soothing, 
                    vivid vexations 
         through 
intimate intrinsic artistry,
because, 
a cloudless day 
                   is a bandage wrapped...
Too tight.

Only a bard can 
                    affectionately alliterate 
the grip of grief,
                    as poetry can be the cure 
to calm tempested trauma. 

Ink is the mistress 
to butterfly sentiments.
I will not stop the moths 
from devouring you,
as long as they feed 
on toxic thoughts.
                         I have made a home on the moon,
               where stardust scribbles carry us to freedom.

A Red Breasted Robin

Spied a red robin, hopping on the grassy mead
Tilting its head this side and that, looking for feed
Knew her young ones were waiting eager to grab in
Hopping on the grassy mead, spied a red robin

I have found its nest on a tree by the brook side
When in flight, it's a beauty in bright colours dyed
Flying around, it searches for food without rest 
On a tree by the brook side, I have found its nest

From branch to branch the bird hops, singing songs merry
With its beak, it pecks at clusters of red cherry
To check enemies, from its nest, sometimes it peeps
Singing songs merry, from branch to branch the bird hops

Sitting on an oak, every day it sweetly sings
From places far and near, its cadence loudly rings
Its musings drive away all thoughts gloomy and dark
Every day it sweetly sings, sitting on an oak

Hearing its sweet strains, my vexations go to roost
The lovely bird’s presence makes me feel richly blest.
In music’s magic spell, it drowns valleys and planes
My vexations go to roost, hearing its sweet strains


October.5.2022


Swap Quatrain Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Emile Pinet

By the Seaside

Staying by the sea, now at sunset
With the light slowly fading into greyness
And the waters lying quiet
A peace fills me as never before

Dismal fears barred entry into the soul
Mind freed of all disquietude.
Through the soft whisper of waves,
A low sweet melody finds its way.

Listening to the gentle sibilance of the sea,
A new insight suddenly dawns on me~
None but we are to blame
For all our angry bickering
With all swirls and whirls underneath,
Is an abstruse calm in the deep.
In this continuum of flux 
Is a permanence – abiding and perpetual. 

Staying by the sea at sunset    
With its still waters glimmering in twilight
And the stray clouds straggling in the sky,
My soul undulates with the slow rhythm of waves
And in me fills a calm submerging all vexations
 And breaks a light, luminous and clear
A glimpse of a scintillating radiance – ethereal!


July.22.2022 


Submitted for 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile.9.Poetry Contest
 Sponsor- Mark Toney

A Little Gossip

...or In One Ear and Out to the Bridge Club...

Everybody likes a little gossip,
Everybody likes to hear a bit of dirt.
It brightens conversations,
And arouses shocked sensations,
And might cause some mild vexations,
But should never, never, never ever hurt.

What the neighbors do should be nobody's business,
It's not your fault if they don't keep their curtains drawn.
Besides, you're reasonably sure
That's what binoculars are for,
And if you hide behind your door,
What you can see them do by them is never known.

The Browns across the street are having problems,
He's been sleeping on the couch since New Year's Eve.
It seems those last two business trips
Involved some extra-marital "slips".
You're not adept at reading lips,
But gossip needn't be precise to be believed.

Yes, everybody likes a little gossip
To discuss at lunch, or brunch, or over tea.
To be aware of the mistakes
That almost everybody makes
Is all the skill and guile it takes
To be a gossiper, and not a gossipee.

The Feeling of Getting Lost In a Book

In this modern world of hustle and bustle.
When I hear the pages of a book, rustle.

At the end of the day when everyone is gone.
In the darkness of the night when I feel alone.

When in a hectic routine I want the ease.
Getting lost in a book is the only source of peace.

A book is not silent it does speak and talk.
It writes on the board of mind with a quiet chalk.

From all the vexations of life, it gives you escape.
Help to re-build your senses and your attitude to re-shape.

Indulging in a book nourishes both soul and heart.
And you can give your day a fresh new start.

It is a gateway from this cold world of brutality.
And entering peacefully into the world of tranquility.

The feeling is far better than a peaceful nap.
It is as comforting as your mother’s lap.

I can say about myself not about any other.
A book is my second mother, A book is my second mother.

Spider the Civil Engineer

Fumigate the neglected rooms of Caleb,
Backing this up with prayers at Mount Horeb 
And tomorrow, another ever wavy web
From an irksome zeal that wouldn’t ebb!
Guess: from the Eight – Legged Catcher of Insect 
Which dares to its lodge near and inspect.

The Arachnid with a True Architect’s mind 
Never by civil engineers judged behind; 
Often swiftly replacing their cherished structures
Immodestly pulled down by no-nonsense cleaner: 
A painless recreation of the thread-like mixtures, 
At long last emerging their destroyer’s winner.

The spider’s masterful labyrinth – a dazzle 
The all-time brain-teasing cobweb and puzzle 
Its rating on scale, second to The Ant 
When it gets busy, still would not pant…

But watch it: A Harbinger of Vexations Nightmare 
For the weary one now running the sleeps-race
A sound slumber by ninety percent rare,
If the spider should decide to face a glazed face:
Satan’s snake I saw lose its life to Tarantula 
The kingly Spider with a hairiness that is titular.

The Divide

Do you feel it? The divide?
The chasm that runs between us?
Do you sense it growing?
Standing on opposing sides Screaming to be heard.
To be understood
Desperately trying to build bridges 
We could fill that chasm with our love Right to the brim 
Almost to overflowing. Overwhelming 
But still we can not seem to cross
Can't even meet in the middle 
We hear echos of our discontent that were once drowned out by our kisses 
Vexations muffled by shared caresses now barely remembered 
Can we love enough to fly over the void?
Or will we fail and fall?
Fall into the depths of our differences Plunge into the parts of us that can not change
Drown in our discord
My deep endless love is inexhaustible but I'm not without limits
The edge is so close
Denial is my greatest friend The refusal to be broken
But the cracks are showing in us both
Growing wider with every battle Breaking us apart
Tearing our fragile hearts to pieces 
Disconnecting our appreciation 
Provoking our divide
Do you feel it?

Blackness

BLACKNESS
No racism, we are all made of black
Like a bacon-eating balaclava-wearing bachelor Jack,
And even if you're white or Caucasian,
Can't run from black hair like typical Asian
Cos of creation we all had our fair share
And even if you're blonde or red at all,
Can't run away from black eyeball,
For sure, our full cup of character will always pour,
Even if you're hazel or blue eyes,
Can't run from black eyebrows or lashes
Even if you're completely shaved or albino,
For a spot or birthmark you can't say no,
Even if you're clean, fresh and pure
There'll always be that identification you can't cure
And can't run from a dark soul or dark side,
Whether saved or unsaved, you confide...
In the phenomenon called life
As if both of you were husband and wife
"You're still made of black" is the said slogan,
Whether circumcised, uncircumcised, Jew or pagan.
But if you evade all these notions
You're certainly of or in a dark world of vexations;
Darkness is always here to stay.
BUT LET YOUR LIGHT DO NOTHING BUT SLAY.

VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright©2019.

X - Xenomorph

Coexist in complexity
A perplex proxy of our galaxy where exotics exist
Exhale the excessive vexations toxic to expansion and relax among the obnoxious exposure
An example of expanded thought mixed with textbook genetics
An extrovert flexible to the exceeding paradox
Excited to be the exemplar, to exit and convex from the parallax of proximity
The nexus between over exquisite luxury and existentialism is the elixir to this maximized hex we were coaxed into
Explode in the mixture of climax and detox, 
Expelled in rebirth of the matrix
The phoenix complex exhibits flux and exalts us to a higher axis
Beyond this matchbox mindset we extol

Happening No 9 Ear Candy

steps of
           sound
quiet 
            intervals

pause:

     one finger
sans
        chords:
ongoing
         sadness
in
      melancholia

Inspired by YouTube clip of Satie's Vexations

Acceptance

Accept lack of infinite knowledge
accept there is much to impart
accept my mortal existence
accept my falable heart
accept the limits of language
accept the curving of time
accept the eternal expanse
accept my downfall of virtue
accept the inconsistency of words
accept my purposeful intentions
accept my discourse with ego
accept my negative nature
accept my torturous suffering
accept my wandering moods
accept the critical glances
accept my sated desires
accept my unruly vexations
accept my moral incontinence
accept my bitter diatribes
accept my feigned attention
accept my solicitous silence
accept my anxious aggression
accept the death of civility

I accept nothing, I strive for perfection

Avian Dreams

Like a balloon, I am tethered
Cares, like strings,
tie me down  

‘Til the light of dreams
comes to me 
and severs my binding,
releasing me from my earthly burden

Not only do I fly from consciousness, 
but from the earth itself,
which, like a pebble, 
becomes small, 
insignificant.

Warm winds carry me
I let them take me wherever they wish
and follow gladly,
leaving behind my vexations
that held me, like an anchor,
to the ground

To the wind gods, I pray
to lift me up,
and make me forget that 
Solicitude ever whispered its words in my ear

Soaring above the clouds,
I feel as if I can do anything
Boundless possibility--
like the endless horizon before me--
no ceiling, just sky 
Limitless, free

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