"conferred" poems
I am the Poet, hear my siren’s song
My woven whispers ****** ways and words
Mesmerizing, you will feel you belong
Be part of an inner circle and be heard
Write with me, no lines will be false or blurred
Together we will create and be strong
There’s no need for pleasure to be deferred
I am the Poet, hear my siren’s song
I have been sad and alone way too long
Belonging together is most preferred
Creating brings joy, won’t you come along?
My woven whispers ****** ways and words
Take a chance and your senses will be stirred
Part of our circle, not lost in the throng
We are more together, grace is conferred
Mesmerizing, you will feel you belong
All ideas are welcomed, no thought is wrong
Just know this; your spirit won’t be interred
May our venture be successful and long
Be part of an inner circle and be heard
I am the Poet
krs
July 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 6:34 PM UTC
1081
Superiority to Fate
Is difficult to gain
’Tis not conferred of Any
But possible to earn
A pittance at a time
Until to Her surprise
The Soul with strict economy
Subsist till Paradise.
5.7k
Greetings audience.
I am off my medication now and I am feeling vastly better. Something just cleared my conscious and vascular blockage so joyously. I will not be posting videos due to my camera and devices breaking. No diatribes nor any vitriolic comments were conferred during my time gone throughout my family and my peers, assuming that is the reason I am now healthy (dropping toxic ties). Unluckily, all of my social media was hacked. Refrain from following anything linked with my name. Indeed, I am not here to bloviate, rather to celebrate. Thank you for your cooperation. I will now go play childishly. Farewell. : )
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 3:17 PM UTC
1072
Title divine—is mine!
The Wife—without the Sign!
Acute Degree—conferred on me—
Empress of Calvary!
Royal—all but the Crown!
Betrothed—without the swoon
God sends us Women—
When you—hold—Garnet to Garnet—
Gold—to Gold—
Born—Bridalled—Shrouded—
In a Day—
Tri Victory
“My Husband”—women say—
Stroking the Melody—
Is this—the way?
5k
1386
Summer—we all have seen—
A few of us—believed—
A few—the more aspiring
Unquestionably loved—
But Summer does not care—
She goes her spacious way
As eligible as the moon
To our Temerity—
The Doom to be adored—
The Affluence conferred—
Unknown as to an Ecstasy
The Embryo endowed—
3.6k
Pythagoras taught that reality was
but one among an infinite number
now u've got the quantum multiverse;
& Pythagoras thought of it first, saying
all it amounted to was a line leading to
& through a point, like a thread through
a needle; & so the Universe was
stitched together like a multi-directional
dream catcher; excluding no area
in space & miracles taking place
when the strings
are manipulated according to preset
patterns or improvised designs;
what else did the ancient ancients
do that make ur high-tech gadgets
look like the simple-minded toys
that they in truth are; the ancients
told time by the movement of the
sun & shadows & communicated
w/ unseen higher spirits, conferred
w/ still higher spirits, higher than
those both above & below; spirits
taking the form of sacred prostitutes
& poets, geniuses every one of them
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 12:30 AM UTC
Disdain and enmity,
for which there is no remedy,
gives acrimony inside of me,
for which I have no doubt,
The only way that I can see
an end to animosity,
is a clear and simple breaking free
from shackles which hold me down.
Without your burden, I can be
free to surreptitiously,
achieve a sense of normalcy
to what was once before.
Before the orders conferred to me,
carried out, sans questioning,
I had a life; a dream you see.
But no not anymore.
I used to live quite happily,
free from thinking cynically
of my peers along with me;
Our intentions leave some doubt
To what is just morally,
defensible with sanity.
A torn asunder effigy,
of who we used to be.
My name will fade from memory,
a number chalked in history,
regarded with incredulity
that I was here at all.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
Dedicated To My Loving Daughter SUZANNA CHRISTY
On her 12th Birthday (08/09/2015)
Days rolled on; moments of time trotted; Waters changed shapes;
She walked with His Grace; smiled with His Mercy; grown with His Love.
Eleven nautical miles she hath crossed; might be twisted with ebbs and tides;
Yet His provident Arms have carried her in tender and glorious ways.
I see her seated on the banks of the stately throne with scepter of innocence,
My heart is thrilled with her mother’s heart of her child-like majesty
Envisaged across the firmament with the rainbow colours within.
Each of the rainbow shade dappled with Heaven’s Glory to glow.
I have drawn her in the sky of my fancy with figures of speech in colours,
She hath become a poem in my kingdom of poetry in pageantry.
We’ve been dreaming of her splendor glowing in His Presence
And pray unto Him no blemish shall taint her soul till the day.
My heart perceived sweet smiles on her lips translated from her within:
Every smile is His Blessing showered on her heart - gratitude to HIM.
We planted a garden and ‘ve grown the seed of godliness to grow like His Son,
Our hearts rejoice in the growth of the seed beside the sweet flow of His Love.
She hath grown through lightning, storms, showers and withstood with His Grace,
She’s been God’s Gift’ conferred on us late but in His time mystifying to mankind.
It hath been His Eternal episode that she ought to be in our arms crawl.
And God’s Gift is in His Image to grow in His Shade and fly under His Wings.
We are instruments to lead her in the way of Eternity, and her soul is precious to Him.
All have souls and all have Eternity, and have to choose His Son hung on the Cross;
Yet earthly affinity hath no role to play in His Kingdom, for He is Spirit,
And all His children ought to have His Image ever to reign in His Glory.
We perceive Truth of Eternity on her child-like countenance each day.
She hath stepped on the twelfth way of life and hath years to walk through.
Our prayer unto Him is His Providence be showered on her soul till the time.
She hath awakened us to share the Truth of Eternity in my simple verse.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 5:24 AM UTC
The year I would turn nine
Charlie Kelly threw his pint over Paul Brennan
in the opening scenes of a new Irish drama
called Fair City. The 25th Dáil was dissolved.
Ireland got its 1st lotto millionaire.
There was talk of mining for gold in Mayo
and Christy O’Connor Jnr
won the Ryder Cup for Europe.
(Years later playing Trivial Pursuit
one of the questions wanted to know:
what profession gets the Ryder Cup? —
a cousin from Carlow answered; prostitutes.)
I was growing through 3rd class
St. Brendan’s National School; Loughrea —
on the other side of Tiananmen Square
another student stood up
as the Guildford Four walked free
after 14 years innocently incarcerated.
While in Germany, a wall
that had been built to divide: separate, fell.
Pushed over by people. While Hungry, Poland
and Czechoslovakia: all said: enough.
The Russians left Afghanistan and in South Africa
Apartheid began to crumble. Pity
it was allowed to even begin.
Iran was ****** off about some book
and on Christmas Day in Romania
Mr and Mrs Ceausescu were executed.
In 1989, the Church of Ireland allowed female priests.
96 people died at Hillsborough.
Haughey was Taoiseach,
Mr. Heaney was conferred
as Professor of Poetry at Oxford
and we qualified for Italia 90.
I was 9 and the only thing I remember
about that year; I fell out of a tree
and broke my arm.
Nov 7, 2010
Nov 7, 2010 at 11:53 AM UTC
All I really want is to talk to you rather than distract myself with the petty things I do.
I'm almost gone.
A deep hollow in my chest leaches at my sanity leaving me bereft of a connection that could seal up the cracks in my heart from which leak my wounded humanity.
Scrolling through my Facebook feed leaves my hungering for what I really need.
The stupid games and apps light up my phone and make me forget that I'm alone.
Tomorrow creeps into each patchwork day. You can't hold time it slips away.
Each hour is fractured by distraction the sun is sinking before I gain traction.
While I'm not looking I miss the sunset. Time to cushion my head with this night's fret.
I won't sleep tonight, like most. My place is haunted. I'm the ghost.
I drift the twilight between realms with clipped wings and overwhelmed.
Sun and moon chase round about; light blinded eyes, thick-dark-muffled-shout.
That's the way it is at night things look different by starlight.
But which am I the sun or moon; do I give chase or am I pursued?
I won't find the things I seek. I'm stuck like this from week to week.
To be needed is exhausting, but to be not needed is accosting.
I need to hear you hearing me and be realified in that harmony.
Instead of trapped between death and life, I'll be free when I see you seeing that I'm Being. Existence could suffice, yet personhood is reciprocally conferred. Make me a Being like you then you'll be a christ.
What is my name?
You say that you can't read my mind as if I haven't put it down line by line.
I want to know I'm more than heat rising from the pavement to dissipate in the sky. Or else call me Mirage--If you can't see me, feel me, hear me.
I'm already gone.
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC
Jack Cornwell was a Boy, First Class
On the Chester’s forward gun,
There to relay the settings with
A pair of headphones on,
He’d turned sixteen just months before
Was trained for his chosen task,
And hoped for a life of adventure as
He sailed, before the mast.
The Chester sailed to join the Fleet
That had left from Scapa Flow,
The Grand Fleet with its battleships
Sailed under Jellicoe,
They’d intercepted the German codes
And knew that they’d put to sea,
Hoping to split the British Fleet
And gain a victory.
The Chester turned to meet the flash
Of gunfire, far away,
The light was poor before the dawn
And the mist was thick that day,
Three funnels of a German ship
Came gliding through the mist,
And the Chester turned to starboard
Ready to show the British fist.
But the German ship was not alone
And the shells began to rain,
From the following battle cruisers
Shattering decks, in blood and pain,
Jack Cornwell stood at his post while all
His gun crew lay there dead,
Ready to take his orders, though
The Chester turned, and fled.
The medics found him with shrapnel wounds
Steel splinters in his chest,
He wouldn’t desert his post, he was
As brave as all the rest,
The Chester sailed for Immingham
Disembarked the wounded crew,
Put Jack in Grimsby Hospital,
There was nothing they could do.
He died just two days afterwards
Before his mother came,
She’d hurried on up from London
Where she’d caught the fastest train,
They buried Jack in a communal grave
So many men had died,
Fighting for King and country
Steeped in duty, worth and pride.
His name was honoured from lip to lip
How he’d stood beside his gun,
Determined to fight the German ships
‘Til the Chester turned to run,
Such courage born of England
Where it was tempered at the forge,
Was so inspiring in one so young
Said the Navy, to King George.
‘For shame,’ then cried the ‘Daily Sketch’
When they heard of the communal grave,
‘Is this how we treat our heroes,
Jack deserves the nation’s praise!’
The coffin was shortly disinterred
And draped with the Union Jack,
Drawn on an open gun carriage
With the Navy at its back.
His name went down in the history books
As the boy who stuck to his post,
In the midst of dead and dying men
As they made their way to the coast,
King George conferred the highest award
That there was, for bravery,
Awarded him the Victoria Cross,
Jack Cornwell, Boy, V.C.
David Lewis Paget
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 3:16 AM UTC
The problem with phantoms, rings so clear
Like fear, they don't just go away
The more is learnt of the world, the smaller it becomes
The less of open space is felt.
The mnemonist lives in a pretty tale
And heads the way off rocky shores
For, oft a fool will come along
And wilful, bash his mind on reef.
Spill then thee, cantankerous spirit
Thy guts of ill-placed rancour
For in puny efforts to uproot
Fresh soil turned is...fresh soil turned.
The more we feed on empty words
The larger grows that aching void
Engulfing all but esurience
Engorged thus, thee will choke.
A mere gesture of goodwill
And extending act of kindness
Will conquer every wicked sentiment
And leave thee broken ... in thy own mess.
So, thy tiresome pictures on the wall, we see
Paint on, dear artist, paint on
These very merry parties, ye assemble
Will ken thy sharp and twisted ire.
Push on, weary soul, try to find thy heart
Thee seest not thy efforts fall in vain,
Fail to latch, for thy error sits too tall
In the absence of saving grace.
So caught up in thyself, art thee
Thine eye too bright upon the prize
That thou did not see thy plot at play
Thy goest yet on; breaching full redemption.
Weave thus thy tale and clothe thy mind
For, in this act, thy mind doth shut
So ill-fitting thy own garish attire
Seams must needs split eventual.
Seeketh truth and truest, thy find's a trove
But sadder yet's the day, indeed
All vouch that in thy heavy plunder
Its value now plain conferred.
Treasure trinkets, happy hoops
Whatever be thy favour's currency
When day is done and swift sea smoothes
Revered will always be...saving grace.
Star Toucher, 17 February 2013
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 4:49 AM UTC
White Helmets.
Construction site discrimination
was rampant when I was a welder
back in the 70s, but we were
exempt, anonymous, just as Zorro,
The Lone Ranger, Batman or
Ned Kelly, because one can't weld
and wear a helmet.
The rank n file wore orangee yellow
hat, the electricians were blue etc.
I remember being one a job, where
there was a question team from each
of the trades, including the labourers,
even management, (white helmets)
A tie breaker question between the
yellows and blues, was,
Which English King had 6 wives?
I was the question master (not enough
welders on the job for a team)
Charlie Kelly was the head of the Yellow
Helmets, the team conferred, but Charlie's
answer left me in no doubt that he got an
oblique peak at the answer on my desk.
Up went his hand, out loud and proud, came!
" HENRY ViLL"
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 6:34 AM UTC
891
To my quick ear the Leaves—conferred—
The Bushes—they were Bells—
I could not find a Privacy
From Nature’s sentinels—
In Cave if I presumed to hide
The Walls—begun to tell—
Creation seemed a mighty Crack—
To make me visible—
1.4k
Celebrate the invisible embrace.
You will be quite alone,
When the altruistic deed is done.
Content your heart in silence.
No choir will raise its voice
To sing your praises.
Consign your life to anonymity.
History no longer needs
Martyrs to fill anthologies.
Comfort your dreams in oleander.
Flowers are an appropriate caress,
For love conferred in obscurity.
Cultivate a flair for solitude.
Isolation is the purifying fire
That steels a damascene soul.
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 11:34 AM UTC
seeds sit in
this swollen
belly like snowflakes
individuating fire.
traceries of flame.
sprouting extended
families.
the pregnant glow
of our Mother carrying
us.
blue as boons conferred
to what defines her
dark outline.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 1:51 AM UTC
Night's hours gathered slowly at my chair delayed to stare
as each conferred upon the next I was still.
The hour of doubt crept in a shroud for me fear
a storm to tremble in the hour of remorse so reticent to leave.
Memory gave Judas' kiss desire an empty cup to parted lips.
At the edge of dawn the morning stars do fade I saw
an amber line on distant hills weak before the vow of dawn was made.
In that final hour only you.
Before what light could prove
gathered round the hours of my days whispered hushes
rustling as crowds do in cinemas and concert halls.
Then only you
the one I fell on spent a scent breathed in
out object of my touch the parts of you
the wish to hide the night in you.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 11:37 AM UTC
My heart's delight
Razor groomed, baby's bottom
To glide my fingers across
Gripping, fascinated
You breathe in a sweet fog
You exhale a trembling sigh
An indescribable exclamation
An indiscernible exhortation
A dove's song of desire
Caution for the wind
Need
Fear
Mine to control
No puppet, yet I pull strings
No fortress, yet I crash the gates
Effortlessly
As you throw open the doors
Willingly
I halt
So as to worship
Before I cross this line
Of fire and water
That no longer wields power
To lock me out
Left to wander, to live
For this moment
Or to let me slip
Out of consciousness
Into the womb
Soft baby's bottom
Sharp razor groomed
The Cherubim and Seraphim lie dead
Bleeding on the floor
Slashed and drained of the power
Conferred upon them by YHWH
Drained and stained
Dry and stolen
Given to a flower
A dowry so inadequate
I feel enlightened
But
Punished as I leave
For such an epiphany will not come again
Whereas I feared the intensity that brought me to
This place within you
So I dread the inevitable
Being born again
Better to remain
Surrounded by infinity
A gas planet that bears your name
Where the air I breathe
Smells of cotton candy
Hot coffee
Marijuana smoke
And your darkness bright
A shroud of purple light
Laser beamed into the back of my head
With the sole purpose of making me forget
All that came before
So that I might be clean and prepared
To get ***** again
I'm given 9 months
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 7:17 AM UTC
1117
A Mine there is no Man would own
But must it be conferred,
Demeaning by exclusive wealth
A Universe beside—
Potosi never to be spent
But hoarded in the mind
What Misers wring their hands tonight
For Indies in the Ground!
1.1k
He tried so hard to fulfill,
Something that was not his to build,
But now his blood has been spilled,
and he is not the only one who was killed.
I do not say, he was brave.
I do not say he had it made.
But I say this, as my final words,
*Thy who remained unheard,
The unseen sibling of Hiccup the Third,
I wish I could have conferred,
the death of his old vicious herd.*
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 3:55 PM UTC
Blinking cursor
Nemesis
Friend with benefits
I
Spill
Pixel
And disseminate wisps
A dais for your tor
Glyph of whim
Cursor that waits
I know you
I know you all too well
You grant a world of potential
And yet I'm all knees
I bite the curb
My words spent
conferred to a
Vampiric ligerhawk Nemo
Whom eyeballs me
Into an X
New Document
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 10:21 PM UTC
in the deserted streets last night
the Aliens pointed their laser
and equipment at me
and one of them said:
“Take me to your Leader.”
And hoping to pocket
all the presents
they might have brought
I said:
*“Well, I am the Leader
of all Planet Earth.”*
And the Aliens
conferred awhile
(as I waited in anticipation
of the presents they might pull out for me)
and one of them turned to me
and the gender-negative Creature said:
*“Hail, Leader of All Planet Earth!
Our Intelligence Measurement Devices
give a Low Life Form reading on you;
and so we can deduce
what even Lower Life Forms you must lead” –*
and then this gender-negative Creature
turned to the other Aliens and declared:
“Lets’ go. This planet’s not worth our time.”
And thus did I save the Earth
though I wish, at least, those Aliens
had left me some presents for my trouble…
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 1:08 AM UTC
*That evening,
The irises of a lady’s eyes
Aroused the vastness of an ocean
& her pupils glistened
Like pearls beneath shallow,
Languid waters of crystalline blue;
Their lustrous nacre
Reflected the sparse rays
Of dwindling evening light
& swooned over the elegant
Procession of the stars above.
That evening,
The fractious mysteries
Of the universe withdrew
Their reticence & conferred
Their wisdom upon her;
Deep and troubling questions
Which once had lingered in
Her thoughts were burnt to cinders
By kisses from the flame of truth;
Memories found their meaning,
& rhymes found their reason.
That evening,
Her once perpetual,
Merry exhalations
Mingled with the ocean air for
The final time as she
Became one with the night.
As she ascended into
The great unknown, she saw
Memories flash before her eyes.
For life is but a flash
Within the spectrum of eternity.
That evening,
She discovered so much
But paid the price of what she knew.
That evening,
She became nothing more
Than stardust.
“For you were made of dust, & to dust you shall return.”*
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC
Around the world untold mysteries await
Carefully sealed behind hidden cryptic gates
A few brave adventurers who know the truth
Have fearlessly become God’s secret sleuths.
They are searching for things that to the world are unseen,
Looking for the buried proofs of the chimera and the Gibborim.
Enduring the elements and the government spies
Clandestinely placed to protect the lies.
Lies protected and told for centuries in order to hide
Those things that would surely open men’s eyes.
The truth upon which these adventurers are fixed
Was revealed long ago in Genesis six.
It is a journey into mystery upon which they have embarked
Without fear of the shadows they stand firm facing the rulers of the dark..
They brush off the attacks of the scoffers and enter even the realms of tyrants
In order to find the protected and hidden remains of the giants.
Who are these men who search for the artifacts of earths earliest ages,
Who can decipher the clues with the wisdom of sages?
Searching the world’s most dangerous, hidden and secret places
Uncovering every stone and uncovering all the traces.
Deciphering the clues that have survived now for centuries
Then sharing the truth in revealing documentaries
Following a plan conferred by heavenly instruction
These men are the men of Gen 6 productions.
Take heed to the reports given by these men
They will guide to the Alpha and Omega the final Amen
Through exploits and discovery they have but one burden they bear.
That man will see truth and for the future prepare.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 1:52 PM UTC
. O' My Mother! I pray for you
O' My Mother! You pray for me
You used to be worry about me and that made you weakened
You used to be worry about me for my pleasure and happiness
I was feeble at that time but I think that
Might that I had been the facilitator to remove your woes and regrets
Might that I had fulfilled your desires when you had
Might that I had given you bliss
I’m fear of your anger, O’ my mother.
I always pray for your pleasure
O' My Mother! I pray for you
O' My Mother! You pray for me
Now! I am a young one but
I often used to think
Your poise soul, services and honor are conferred to live at highest level that
World dare not to give any reward so there is no any reward of your fidelities
So there is no any reward of your prayers for me
My fidelities are for you for your eternal bliss and pleasure
My prayers are for you for your eternal bliss and pleasure
. O' My Mother! I pray for you
O' My Mother! You pray for me
I’m result of your prayers! and I think so!
I’m result of your fidelities! and I think so!
If I could able to leave facilities of the everyday life
As these are mortal
So
I wish I could break these idols
The stars which were tearing and falling ones for your sake
I observed them all on my eye shades when I recalled you
O' My Mother! I pray for you
O' My Mother! You pray for me
I wished to spend this age for your fidelity
I wished to do this great job by the grace of God
But
I often used to think so
There is no narration able to deliver an appreciation
As Mother is “Flux of eternal light”
So a span of one thousand years is too short to capture such light.
O' My Mother! I pray for you
O' My Mother! You pray for me
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 5:16 AM UTC