Best Consign Poems
I have the rhythm of a winding road
how do I consign myself to being confined...
rows of poplar pillars prop
the rendezvous canopy beneath we meet
—I self-cajole on ooh-la-la afternoon
yellow eyes; daffodils watching
lean into gossip groups nodding
a prodding breeze instigating deep-freeze—
I am a sweet weed in this place of sway and betray
with a stranger I stroll my arranged betrothed
height of his black top hat challenges trees
much like Corinthian columns
guards of an aisle I must walk —dear God! must walk
trepidation trips down my bridal spinal column
tiger eyes; lilies watching wish they were me
dare they dream they could uproot their roots like me
wish they could wedding waltz like I must —like I must
but their envy-leaves remain embrace-less
—I envy lilies’ empty arms of yet unmet love
daffodils; empty-headed —laugh
they try to read my mind to fill their own
what do I care their curdled thoughts lemon tart
and orange lilies’ brocade brimstone
what do I fear of fire-breathers burn of words
undergrowth feels square heels of my lace-up boots
post impression grows more expressive than first—
beware French tongues of sundew and burdock burr
marriage-carriage rolls in ruts to Versailles
where my coerced corset of hooks and ties lie
rhythm of a winding road dies in minuet strangle-hold
Summertime, summertime
And homemade vegetable soup
This is no place for fruity loops
Only foods from the garden that rhyme
Oh! Give us soup in the summertime
One writes tomatoes, another squash
Another corn with peppers by gosh
End with dessert a pie from lime
Summertime, summertime
Oh! Summertime
Shoestring budget on a dime
Carrots, potatoes, butter beans prime
Awesome soups, mighty fine
Cut some okra, dream a dream
Snap a few beans then just steam
Cook some cornbread, make a design
In that soup mixture, have some verse
Maybe a sonnet, where love comes first
A stormy day Haiku, and rain clouds burst
Maybe a clerihew somewhat terse
Maybe precise wording, in every line
Just the right noun, verb, or conjunction
To have it just blend in a junction
On soup write, then forever to it consign
A crystal lattice so Devine
Slowly falling on earth supine
Surely we now must redefine
Our place in nature so sublime
Such elegant beauty a shrine
A crystal lattice so Devine
Each delicate flake is a sign
Slivers of heaven gods design
Ephemeral glory is thine
Fragile resplendence so benign
A crystal lattice so Devine
Fleeting splendour to death consign
Complex simplicity combine
Enchantment one cannot decline
Nor Michelangelo refine
A crystal lattice so Devine
Dedicated to my friend Mary Jo who so loves the snow.
Written 04/05/2015
You crush to dust, my walls to see, the measure of my cold ennui,
Though I, a dilettante supreme, am bearing brash, a barren scheme -
Consign my love for HER, to you, so sweet you'll swear it's deja vu ...
Drenched in such elan and chic, that lust alone will blush your cheek.
Baroque and lush, that gilded lie, refurbished for a choice goodbye,
Oh, I have chiseled, fine and hard, to make deception avante-garde.
I'm faced now with anomaly, as YOU have turned the tide on me ...
In younger years, I spun my web, carte blanche as fit me, flow and ebb,
But now your virtues, bona fide, have plucked a touchstone deep inside ...
My pulse-less, pitied myths shall be, my justice ... guilt's cacophony.
Joe Biden now rules our White House
Together with his 'doctor' spouse.
His blunders, for sure-
We have to endure;
To caring, he does not espouse.
Those mishaps, like names he misspoke-
For sure, were not meant as a joke.
But much worse by far
His failures that scar-
Appeasing the will of the woke'!
Day-one, he shut down the pipeline-
made our oil production decline.
Gas prices- despise!
While heating bills rise!
We now must import and consign!
Appalling- how he shut that door
To exit the long Afghan war!
Left our troops behind-
Their rescue declined
In spite of their sacrifice bore!
Our vast Southern border, exposed-
All previous rules- he opposed.
He let millions in
And, to our chagrin-
Come outlaws and drugs- unopposed!
Bad crimes multiply by the day;
The victims now feel cast away.
With no fines or bail,
Or time spent in jail-
No need that bad guys must obey!
Inflation's gone way off the chart;
We dread the time spent at the mart.
Less food we now choose
For his brainless ruse-
Just printing out money's not smart!
And, last but not least, Hunter's life!
This son and his dad cause us strife.
With Chinese, each deals-
While 'The Big Guy' steals;
Through quid pro quo- they become rife!
Our media hypes left-wing views-
So, therefore, presenting fake news;
When really, they should
Show bad with the good;
Lay out all the facts to peruse!
November 25, 2022
Contest: The Bidens Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
Remote within the piney wood
so far away from nearest ear,
and out of reach for one to hear
a tree lies still where it once stood.
As it came down there was no sound
cuz none to hear would e’er be wise,
and know of this tall pine’s demise
as it came tumbling to the ground.
You say my words are shining bright
through poetry my thoughts consign;
to give up writing wouldn’t be right,
and hide these thoughts, to share, decline.
But like the pine tree’s silent plight,
the words unheard will never shine.
August 2, 2020
Does the tree falling in a forest make a sound
if no one is around to hear it?
Do the words of a poet shine if his poetry is not read?
The master of my wolves was so trusty
and so very good at his job,
without him my pack, unmentored,
would have run wild, but they never did,
my packmaster had them well in hand.
I don’t know where they are now,
my canines that I loved so much,
they disappeared when he died
in the jaws of less civilised wolves,
not a well behaved unit like mine.
Mine might have left in disgust, not fear,
at that shamelessly savage new lot.
A pack that I’ve never seen
left only enough of my wolfmaster
that I knew that they were his remains,
but worse than his untidy remains
they left a note, callous, gloating.
‘Haha – We Ate Your Master Of Wolves –
Sincerely – The Wolves.’
I worry that they’ll huff and puff
and pick my front door lock
and consign me to the same fate
as my trusty master of canines,
I hear them at night, sometimes near.
I knew him well enough to know
that he was an excellent pack leader
and he was definitely the master
of my dearly loved wolves,
but I can’t account for those wolves.
8th November 2018
Wake up every day, give thanks to the Lord
An expression of gratitude you can surely afford
Then take a minute, just a minute, to contemplate
Is there anyone on this Earth whom I think that I hate
If so, purge that hate from your heart; it has no place there
Consign it to ashes; of its return - please beware
After that one more minute - OK - maybe two
Infuse your heart with love for every person you knew
and now know... at home, at school, at work, on the street
Vow to receive with good cheer every new face you meet
Manifest the image of God; He's yours to glorify
Fill your heart with pure love ~ in abundant supply
WHEN NERVES AND PULSE CONGEST
Tender are the days brushed with thoughts of light
when yesterday rolling, rolling are the tears...
Jagged nerves and pulse congest in colliding repair,
they... rise to roar beams and rays of medley grace.
Glitters of gold and red cartwheel slow on my face,
I, before filthy shades of earth stand like a knight
to whoever dares, forgetting crime as I fight!
Even to ember flames of days, I... brave to step and chase
for if deep the earths' steep it births you: "my sunshine",
I keep forth to reap a mirth: me being with you.
Black as coal creep, it rebirth night that seeps the signs
but later sun peeps, its smile girths our blues.
To a new life, new day, I faithfully consign
with burning daylight as my sweep leap to have you...
__________________________________________________
***Sponsor rob carmack
Contest Name Screwed IV
~~5th Place~~
Olive Eloisa Guillermo
11:02 pm. April 24, 2015
Mankind, you're so proud and tall
You really think you know it all
And once you had discovered fire
to such great heights you did aspire
Once, gladly, of myself I gave
but now your plan is to enslave
Do you think it is your right
to consign whole species to the night
You rob the forests of their trees
and think you can do as you please
Disfigure me in your quest for oil
and with your wastes, my seas despoil
My rivers now flow red as blood
choked and dying with your crud
I've pleaded, but to no avail
as you wiped out the mighty whale
My atmosphere is choked with fumes
just to heat your fancy rooms
Radiation blights the ground
Everywhere your footprint's found
Pesticides pollute your crops
Acids taint the pure raindrops
My icecaps melt with global warming
A hole in the ozone layer is forming
I am your home, your ONLY home
Amongst the stars you'll never roam
Will you then, your home destroy
with these methods you employ?
You care not for this pollution
What then, mankind, is the solution
Should I let you on Earth remain
or wipe you out and start again
Mankind take heed you have been warned
So far my warnings have been scorned
One day soon you'll feel my rage
I'll knock you back to the stone age
With earthquakes I'll destroy a city
Too late then to ask for pity
With fire and storm and tidal wave
I'll consign you to the grave
What you've done make's no sense
Now I demand much recompense
Mankind, betrayer, of you I tire
Heed my words ... my name is Gaia
The gods must be crazy to create such bad logic,
To validate suffering, pain and distress, they tick,
To allow their existence, ‘cos that’s what logic’s for,
Logic defines the systems and structures which soar.
They must be mad to claim bad weather, all year,
Intervention only points to their responsibility here,
Natural phenomena stands proud with autonomy,
In independence they have expression in taxonomy.
And those car accidents! Ah, how folks claim them,
As god’s doing, for the victim’s edification, ahem;
Joni Eareckson Tada thinks her diving accident divine,
And happened for a godly reason, for her to consign!
Christians are sour to equate a healthy man with god,
Rather than a woman who’s disabled and LBQT, odd,
Because worship should elevate up only when it should,
As it offsets a prejudice, imbalance or personality mood.
Or even a coloured person as god would be far better,
Than a white male that so permeates art and literature,
‘Cos the subliminal has such a strong, pervasive effect,
That some gods today should be dismissed as a defect.
Another trash bin filled with food
Reminding me of Society's strange paradox
Of how we gluttonously consume
And yet waste so much.
Ripping morcles from famished mouthes
Only to discover they are past sell-by date
And consign them to their grave.
Fruit that's misshapen, has a bruise or is oddly colored.
More food in the dumpster,
Than in over 900 million rumbling bellies.
How is it possible,
That we can be so round,
When others scrounge for crumbs?
Count your blessings
And give to those less fortunate.
for George
"You always said you had little invisible friends,"
He wrote in a Christmas card one year, and Yes,
funny he would remember that. I called them Shovel,
Hoe, and BicaBacaBoca, all of indeterminate gender,
like Arial in "A Midsummer Night's Dream," beautiful
like that, and mysterious. Like the Bard, I now
consign them to the page. Reborn again.
My Navy hero, he sent us letters in brown V-
Mail folders, wartime paper and postage efficient,
and in one for our pianist stepmom, the lyrics
and music to "Lili Marlene." As for pin-ups,
he never owned up to Betty Grable's fabled legs,
her teasing over-the-shoulder glance, aimed toward
GI's everywhere, though there was the obligatory
tattoo he could never erase after sailor days, bluing
like Popeye's down the inside of his right arm.
Pacific time brought reward, some misfortune:
a bout with tuberculosis in Bizarte, Tunisia:
a year of recovery in a Naval hospital at home,
painting by the numbers, waiting out the time.
But, there was a hero's commendation from his
commanding officer for "aid in evacuation
of the wounded, and bringing the vessel into
port after torpedoing."
The ship, LST-3, earned two battle stars
for World War II service. Decommissioned
and struck from the Naval Register, it was sold
for scrapping, 10 September, 1947 - the year
I graduated from high school.
He was not sold for scrap metal, nor sustained
any. He came home to his sweetheart, and his kid
sister -- you know the one. That's her in a middle
row of the Ritz movie house, the one crying
while "Anchors Aweigh" plays after the War Bonds
trailer to the image of a warship, plunging
valiantly on a faraway sea
The Mourning Morning 100 and 50 Years On
Robert Graves lies in Wilfried Owen’s grave ponders the War
to end all Wars that continue with nothing else for us in store
and Barry Mc Guire sang summed it all up in 65 in destruction’s
eve thereof a cold dawn of reckoning conscience lost ever more
My Lai lives on and Srebrenica in naked truth of persecution
soars Wall Street Abrams Challenger Tanks as the best solution
for keeping pacifism social justice common sense at dismembered
arm’s length and loss still counts body bags for the good of delusion
Wounded Knee White and other blood rivers Tigris Euphrates
Nyabarongo swell swollen this morning today at great ease
with buried tears pounding of drums the pride and disgrace’
falsified messages broken walls shots of money’s droned lease
You can’t bury the dead and not leave a trace but attempt very well
to photo-shop engage propaganda erase meaning and sell sell sell
Marches alone will not consign madness ethnic cleansing proven
genocidal greedy insanity but disapprove sin and continue to tell
About 'Eve Of Destruction' like Graves Ghandi Mc Guire 50 years on
tune protest poetry and rock ballads shout clear in more than a song
Contemplate on the call up imagine a battle and nobody goes forth
scream howl against dogs of war and their masters please sing along
31st August 2016
I’m all out for In, Boys, I’m all out for In
I’ll not consign dear Europe to the bonfire or the bin
We’ve fought too many flippin’ wars to call this thing a day
And isn’t such division just a little bit passé?
We’re a tiny little island, all surrounded by the sea
And the days of the Empire are consigned to history
Let’s not be cast adrift, Boys, in some Captain Pugwash boat
Vote to stay in Europe, Boys, it won’t dry up the moat
What say you? Immigration? What, the white ones or the black?
Which ones, which precisely, are you wanting to send back?
The ones who work for naff all cash, in dirt and sweat and mud?
Or the ones who ran from ISIS just to save their children’s blood?
What say you? Benefits? Well now, you’d best look in to that
It isn’t quite that easy for them all to get a flat
There’s rules to do with public funds, and residence as well
And doesn’t all that tax evasion leave a nasty smell?
And what about Intelligence, and Military Alliance
Employment, the Economy, and Human Rights compliance?
What will happen if we leave, well, lovely Boys, it won’t be pretty
There’ll be rhetoric on rhetoric, committee on committee
And all of flippin’ Europe will be looking down its nose
“You’re not with us, you’re against us” will be how the anthem goes
And Boris, hey don’t start me off, don’t listen to the bloke
Unless you went to Eton you’re the punchline of his joke
“More Bolly, Boris?” “Do you know, I don’t mind if I do
Oh dear, I fear I’ve drunk the lot, and now there’s none for you”
And Dave isn’t much better, though he’s talking far more sense
Hey, even Ms Claire Perry’s on the right side of the fence
And what about the Berlin Wall, the night that it came down
You could hear the cheers from Germany from old Devizes Town
We all thought that was progress, some sure sign of evolution
How can leaving Europe be a sensible solution?
And would you trust the Government to sell you a used car?
I’d rather have them supervised by Europe, thank you, ta
So, Votey McVote Face, it’s all down to you
I’m all out for In, Boys, and I hope that you are too
© Gail Foster 2016