"jubilantly" poems
The diamonds shone like broken glass
Upon the midnight street
And all atop the walls were wet
Their white eyes glint & sleek
Then from afar a gnome appeared
An angel flashed on furry feet
The boulevard became a river
While waiting crowds began to quiver
I was in a motel watching
Whiskey in my hand
Her breath was soft, the wind was warm
Someone in a room was born
~~~
Accomplishments:
To make works in the face
of the void
To gain form, identity
To rise from the herd-crowd
Public favor
Public fervor
even the bitter Poet-Madman is
a clown
Treading the boards
~~~
Cold electric music
Damage me
Rend my mind
w/your dark slumber
Cold temple of steel
Cold minds alive
on the strangled shore
Veterans of foreign wars
We are the soldiers of
Rock & Roll Wars
~~~
Whether to be a
great cagey perfumed
beast
dying under the
sweet patronage
of Kings
& exist like luxuriant
flowers beneath the
emblems of their
Strange empire
or by mere insouciant
faith
slap them, call their cards
spit on fate & cast hell
to flames in usury
by dying, nobly
we could exist like
innocent trolls
propogate our revels
& give the finger to the
gods in our private
bedrooms
let’s rather, maybe,
perhaps,
get ******* out in
the open, & by
swelling, jubilantly
Magnificently, end them.
12k
How glorious it once was
My Wonderland
Singing flowers, unbirthday parties
And painting roses red
Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee
Laughing, playing jubilantly
White Rose
Beautiful, brave
Shy Violet
Strong, sweet
Hatter
Protective, playful
Gave hope, kindness, love
I grew older
Wonder fading
Until only madness remained
My dormouse hid in his little teapot
My Cheshire cat disappeared
The Queen of Hearts gave misery
Tied in a treacherous bow
The caterpillar tried to transform
Toxic, ***** fear
Beware the Jabberwock, my dear
He wants you for his bed
My love, the Hatter left me
One golden afternoon
Devoid of wonder
Doomed to ache
The White Rabbit came
And took me by the hand
To lead me from my once wondrous Wonderland
You’re late You’re late
Your future will not wait
No time to say “I love you, Goodbye”
You’re late You’re late You’re late
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 12:28 AM UTC
making sandcastles at the beach while being basked by the sun
quickly turned into doors slamming so hard that the room vibrates
laughing until our ribs felt like they would burst
quickly turned into insults that would rot my soul away
jubilantly screaming on rollercoasters and squeezing hands tightly
quickly turned into punches and threats
smiles that shined brightly with purity and joy
quickly turned into tears that i'd find myself drowning in every night
being daddy's little girl
quickly turned into being the one that got away
Feb 2, 2021
Feb 2, 2021 at 11:19 AM UTC
This is not atrocity
This is the basement
This is the sea receding like lips to reveal tooth-like shells
Amongst the bullet casings and corpses felled leaving the boats
This is the sand like an inverted moat around the
Kingdom at sea, and this is the Remainder.
Yet they remain jubilantly-
Is this what being jubilant means?
Chamomile anklets adorning a hanged child.
This is not atrocity,
Ignorance wielding pitchforks and fire.
Anger alight and hostility riled
This is not atrocity.
This is not far from this reality;
Remember this child-
And the mob piled like tinder on themselves
Convincing carrion feeders
And unimpeded breeders that
Halt the march of science that
This is not atrocity.
The certain hot song by which Earth is greeted
Has an immediately recognizable tune.
And
This is not atrocity;
It sounds more like ****** ******
But I can't hear it
And I have no fear anymore
I open my eyes to another routine killing, and I know-
This is atrocity-
But a necessary one.
It's hardly enough to stay alive
And as I and we strive for
Money and coffee and love,
I and we let
atrocity
enter us.
Climb into us like a hand does a glove,
or a puppet.
It is not nature;
Nor fate;
And one needn't be dead
to appreciate the ability to open the senses
and actually sense.
And this,
I am certain,
Is not an atrocity
May 21, 2010
May 21, 2010 at 8:30 PM UTC
Hot and licking.
Clot and pricking
Jubilantly unrehearsed.
But cools. Now a curse.
Waning the soul.
Draining the whole.
Too much a tax.
Is this. This raining wax.
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 9:34 PM UTC
The Songbird
Are you broken-hearted? Mend it with a song.
Sing one retaliating against how you’ve been done wrong,
Songbird your voice draws goose bumps, and tears.
Sing out loud using only your deepest wounds, and fears.
Sing by heart, be confident and proud
Sing in the shower, to yourself, or bravely to a crowd.
Lullaby yourself to sleep,
With soothing songs much peace you’ll reap.
Strong and beautiful, this voice in me
Soulful anguish will set you free
When expelled from your spirit lyrically.
Sing a song of sorrow for the little one inside,
For she remains twisted from insanity, still cutting, deprived.
Sing one jubilantly, of sunflowers and frogs
Then laugh so hard it hurts your sides until giggles become sobs.
Don’t be afraid to sing one hymn along with me,
About how life endured, strengthens our melody.
Whether acappella, country or the blues,
Let your raw emotion be the one to choose
Notice how we pick the songs that strum our broken hearts
It's only through revealing pain, that the healing starts.
Heidi Shavill
2013
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
Deity of wars,
Devourer,
Defender,
Domesticated, yet wild at heart.
She cast her light and protection upon the Middle Kingdom and Upper East,
Blessing the soil and crops upon which her followers jubilantly feast.
Do they dare forsake her?
Suppressed ferocity,
Longing to break free of that which entombs her.
The shrine lies in ruins,
yet nine times immortalized.
In her eyes that see all,
Lay a world lost for so long,
Brought back to life by her awakening roaring song.
She claws at the sky and rekindles the flame,
She slips through the gates of time unscathed and scalds those who fail to do the same.
Her eye became The Sun,
Her other eye, The Moon.
Her blood became The Nile,
And she encouraged her children to drink of it,
An unswayed symbol of the eternally nubile.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
Merrily
And warily
The girl does spin around
Jubilantly
Exuberantly
The girl does hum a sound
A face
Of grace
And slightly comical
Her hair be blonde
Her eyes be blue
With a tiny pointed nose
Freckles dance upon her face
Like music from another place
Where she's from no one knows
From a world
Of little black lines
The girl does find
Another life
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 1:53 PM UTC
She lifted me, a feather glided down
from somewhere,lying on the sand,orphaned,
for eons that coiled like a serpent,to escape cold.
She made me feel as the warm part of her wing,
beating in unison,jubilantly on an onward journey,
to luminous eternity...your abode,in timeless bliss,
that appears in my every single dream...so near!
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 12:38 PM UTC
Reluctant
or aloof gestapo.
Peers
look shocked,
or... waited apathy.
As they jubilantly run off
to implement the last resort.
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
Exultant in hiatus hovering
Indulgent in this paused rewind,
To Jubilantly rob the reaper
Bleeding him of stolen time.
Illicit whispers silenced now
A brooding hue invades the room,
Whispy red, magenta forces
Hold at bay gloom's moody doom.
Translucence in the shadow shimmers
Time and space suspend as one,
Whilst others wither on the vine
Eternity's embraced by some.
This gentle feeling, floating there
The thrill of flying free,
From complications vagaries,
From life's complexity.
The crystal cadence starts to wither
Silky walls do billow in,
Hurled abuse invades the instant
Carping walls of harping din.
Retreating to the everyday
And wrinkled skin again,
The golden days of pause have fled
As time resumes her reign.
Marshalg
@theCoalface
Mangere Bridge
29 October 2009
www.worthyofpublishing.com
Oct 29, 2009
Oct 29, 2009 at 10:26 PM UTC
*So clearly i see it now...
the rhythmic beat of your heart
to mine...
blood pulsing through your veins
carrying with it emotions
love, happiness, desire
all from a mere touch of my hand
**
"The best and most beautiful things in the
world cannot be seen or even touched.
They must be felt with the heart. ~Helen Keller""
**
It's the truth though
beauty is merely a visual
imagery playing upon the
simplicities of the human mind
yet when it's whittled down to it
you... are not beautiful
You're the pure embodiment of beauty
everything you are is jubilantly harmonious
desireable...
unattainable...
to anyone who isn't in my position
a position of weakness and trust
where anything they do is determined by you
with the heart set on your happiness...
you've made me want to let
everything i know as true
just fade to grey
and become part of the background...*
..........................................................................
Jul 17, 2010
Jul 17, 2010 at 1:16 PM UTC
As beautiful as the sunrise Mwende was
With an enchanting figure which
Was wrapped with other features,
Miraculous features which performed miracles
Of sending masculine minds to another world.
Her rich-brown complexion was like highly scented roses
To men who would transform to bees on seeing her,
And began visualizing how to harvest her honey.
Most of them were influentially moneyed.
Her heart, however did not go for them,
Did not go for any other man even.
Her blood was, however, a sister to that of Eve.
Severally did she find herself having divorced from her Father’s command
Of not eating and sharing the forbidden fruit with Adam.
Now, she walks with her heavy stomach protruded
As though it has become the real body
Her once rich Mount Kenya compartments have shrank to the size of ugali
Capable of feeding only a family of two, if not one
Or even a half.
Her mother had great hopes for her only investment.
Any form of ‘dirt’ should not catch up with her.
So, the doctor executed his duty to the fullest
As Mwende lay uncomfortably on the bed.
The innocent mutilated creature emerged
Mwende saw it and nearly died.
A sight she would never forget its existence
Or rather a creature which would keep on haunting her dreams.
Her mother was jubilantly elated
When her daughter’s heart was bought with a lot of goats and money
By some financially worthy man
One, two, three, five, seven----------
Many years passed and Mwende was yet
To be called mama somebody.
Her man chased her away
After realizing her genuine productivity state
For her body baby sleeping mat was the problem.
It could not accommodate a breathing creature.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 7:09 AM UTC
thunder rolled in
from the south east
it roared as a wild
untamed beast
creatures took to
havens secure
as the ensuing tempest
did bring its demure
volleys of thunder resound
in our undulating terrain
within the next few minutes
there will be a torrent of rain
drops fall from the dark clouds
onto the landscape's arid cloak
their endowments of wetness
received as a goodly soak
the countryside infused
with a quenching drink
quelling the thirst of its
dry unfilled sink
soils bereft of dampness
for such a long time
jubilantly hearing the sounds
of a saturating rhyme
thunder heralded
this afternoon across the sky
bringing a downpour
as it passed by
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
dearest caroline,
you and i were dancing jubilantly,
waltzing to a tempo that was far
too fast for our feet.
but there was no music,
and all that could be heard
was a deafening silence.
we did not realize that fact
until it was too late. and that,
my love, was our downfall.
sincerely,
will
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
Feel the amplifier
Pulsating a passion
that pushes and pursues
Values
Jubilantly jumping
In and out of musical Eroticy
Sensuality
Music brings forth the life
Inside
A mind
Trapped and lost
A maze
A daze
These days
It's my only escape
The wailing weeping and sweeping
Down the fret board of a fender
That centers me in Ecstasy
The pulsing pounding petering
From the bass drum
Teetering
And then some
Crash goes the cymbal
I let out a scream
A resonating symbol
That brings forth my dream
Arrogance
Pestilence
Enemy of silence
My musical Resonance
Stills the brewing violence
Listen...
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 4:14 PM UTC
I'm compartmentalizing my thoughts and delivering them to you on my tongue. Gift wrapped in a silver metallic paper, with a tiny pink bow on top that bounces jubilantly with every step I take. Waiting to be opened and heard, the gift sits on my tongue.
Sometimes no ears are lent so I swallow the thought and redigest it. It falls into the black and finds itself trapped back in my head. It ricochets from wall to wall, eager to be released.
One day I found out no one wants to listen.
So I bottle it all up, and the thoughts start getting crowded. I become scatter brained, my head hectic with inmates, jailed without a crime. They riot, burning me out each time. My head sizzles like road **** in the heavy heat.
It's time for a jailbreak!
I pick up a pen and release the inmates into my veins. They pump through me and fill me with life, violently pounding their way through my fatal heart. Once I channel their energy, they flow out my fingers, into the ink and onto the paper.
They bleed as they're released, finally free,
singing the song of a man compartmentalizing his thoughts.
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 9:53 PM UTC
It’s not singly your jubilantly playful smile
Or eyes that instill faith,
Faith that miracles exist in us
And absolutely not independently
The miraculousness that ever so gently
And tenderly
Sleeps on top of a face to which
No being can compare to, it makes such
Euphoric feelings kiss the world
And my heart, now zapped
By a current of life and flare
This miraculousness fabricates an image of
Your benevolent wind, light and sublime
Rolling softly over the waves and hands
Of the ocean, flowy and ecstatic
And the cause of my enamored state
Is not isolated by
The effervescently sanguine blush
Of your adorable cheeks,
Which regularly has exploded
A nervous, yet amazed smile
Upon myself
No,
Although with the fullest probity
I may spew that these angelic virtues
Have spirited me to a place
Where Zeal is my name
And time with you
Has become my heroine,
It’s your energy, your aura
Your vivacious fire
That so happily bombards me
With laughter and excitement
It’s your poison, your wonderful stain
That’s colored my life
And shocked my heart
It’s you;
You are a poem
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 6:50 PM UTC
The Octopi Jars
by Michael R. Burch
Long-vacant eyes
now lodged in clear glass,
a-swim with pale arms
as delicate as angels'...
you are beyond all hope
of salvage now...
and yet I would pause,
no fear!,
to once touch
your arcane beaks...
I, more alien than you
to this imprismed world,
notice, most of all,
the scratches on the inside surfaces
of your hermetic cells...
and I remember documentaries
of albino Houdinis
slipping like wraiths
over the walls of shipboard aquariums,
slipping down decks'
brine-lubricated planks,
spilling jubilantly into the dark sea,
parachuting through clouds of pallid ammonia...
and I know now in life you were unlike me:
your imprisonment was never voluntary.
Originally published by Triplopia and The Poetic Musings of Sam Hudson. Keywords/Tags: Octopus, Octopi, Medusa, Sea Angel, Angel, Angels, Nature, Sea, Ocean, Aquarium, Aliens, Imprisonment, Prison, Ship, Ships, Shipwreck
Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 4:20 AM UTC
Moments fly and phrases die
Like thistledown in breeze,
Creativeness evades
The minds capacity to seize.
Shadows of vast portraiture
Do beckon from within
Just to dissipate like gossamer
When almost penciled in.
Sequences of magnitude
Dissolve upon the lips
And laughter’s spontaneity dies
As vapoured humour slips.
To fancy pearls of rapture
Emanating from the brain
Would tax ones capacity
To ever fantasize for fame.
Frustrations of the frantic day
Those rushing points of call
Where interruptions, interrupt
In fleeting moments all,
Where focusing, just shatters
In the face of crass demand
Where inspiration’s stillborn babes
Are delivered cold to hand.
Tragic are the losses
To the mortified’s dry pen
And jubilantly, Satyrs claw
Creations’ prize …to them.
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
28 June 2010
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 9:26 PM UTC
unlit bare stage 2 voices
VOICE 1 (hollers) everything!
VOICE 2 nothing
VOICE 1 (yells louder) everything!
VOICE 2 (speaking volume fading) nothing
VOICE 1 (screaming jubilantly) everything!
VOICE 2 (whispers) nothing
VOICE 1 (earsplitting blare) everything!
VOICE 2 (silent)
Sep 3, 2010
Sep 3, 2010 at 9:42 AM UTC
we shall test once
this ‘nothing is coincidental’
bias
to sense all senses
as if not ours
to fill a bucket full
of thoughts
as if not ours
to place the body
temporarily
in a tree
as if not ours
and connect
these lines
to a wireframe
as the collaborative work
of the ingenious director
and the engineer
both of which
staged their dream
as one complete piece
not longer than
all that could be perceived
in one lifetime
“so much work
oh so much work
still to be done …”
s/he said
in the meantime
yet 5 minutes should just be enough
for that ...resolution
without wondering and complaint
you know what to do
you walk the path
like a tailor
sleeping and waking up
working on one garment just
tagged as life
tailor that will sleep and wake up
until the garment is unpatched
so they will disappear all together
a garment that makes one invisible
when cycles are dropped
when autumn leaves shower
to show off
what they can do for me -jubilantly
as I pass
because I pass
I hear the twithoo
of the nobly circling wild bird
resonating from far aways and depths of the
valleys that are known so well to both of us
one of us though forgets sometimes:)
She
the bird of wisdom is there
to remind me of
who I truly am
once again
patiently
by the sharpness of the sound
that contours the visibility of the thick mist
as friendly monsters of childhood dreams
and I look up
Sky is
while you would be reading these lines
No you can’t disprove me
nothing is coincidental
but I still like to play the coward sometimes
and incidentally ;)
hide under the safe blanket of your poetry
making it a patchy garment of you and me
that will be dropped someday
non coincidentally
for one love only
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
a blushing van rolls to a stop.
he steps out onto the school parking lot
walks around the embarrassed bumpers
clad in duct tape and inaccurate repaintings
brazenly
so sure he has it all.
she slides off the hood of a manicured foreign tank
hulking and onyx.
they embrace
too long
something is up
he is wary.
arms at her sides
she reaches for his lips
he does not look down
he is wary
she leads him to the grass
his suspicion turns the green from vibrant
to synthetic
he is wary.
they sit
across from each other
no table to negotiate over.
she is sure of the future
unsure of the way through the present
searching for words.
he prods
she speaks
she reaches for his hands
he tries to sit back on them
she catches his fingertips
he knows.
sitting
she leaves him.
sitting
he calmly waves goodbye
and heads in another direction.
still on the grass
he
so it goes, eh?
she
hah, vonnegut.
days
weeks
months
years
jubilantly lilt by.
he is becoming a whole
looking to pair up
instead of a half
scrabbling for completion.
she takes trips
draining coffers on other continents.
in between vacations
another party
another one-word encounter
become but tallies
on a scoreboard no one reads
until
she finds him squeezed onto a full couch
tripping.
she slurs
pre-vomit
hurt and frustration.
he looks at her
he is weary.
he was free.
in this moment
he is trapped
on loop.
she stuck a fork in him
chest bleeding
it was not enough.
she honed his lust
against his pride
until
the fork
hummed a tune
only for her.
the vibrations cease
he stops singing.
he is hoarse.
it is over
this is overdue
he
finished with belting out
softly speaks.
she
you just don’t say that
he
why not?
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 5:42 AM UTC
Growing up I was always told:
"Jonesy, you will change the world, I hope they're ready."
I was sold on the idea and held fast to it ,
I was there, awaiting jubilantly my future duty.
Growing up I was never informed:
"Jonesy,this world will change you"
Appauled that after trying so hard to know your character
The world just change the script.
Growing up I should have been notified:
"Jonesy, life offers you more pain than joy"
Slowly, I realized that and I cherished those beautiful moments,
And dearly I did.
I know now what I was never told then,
Life is stressful; it is relaxing;
Life brings obstacles; it brings you aid,
But most importantly, Life is what you make of it.
Jonesy 2017 ©
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 2:39 PM UTC
my daughters deserve a daguerreotype;
daughters of the quietest mind-
their philosophy matches that
of the finest 19th cent. Gents
and whose morose morals lead the anarchist
internal world to unabashed victory
triumphant horns play
never ceasing, playing their song
a song of short stature
but repeated evermore
signals the triumphant okay-ness
signifies the oncoming entropy
greyscale geniuses grunt
as they
march in melancholy,
moribund but never malignant
crying casually, callously chanting
for the monsters to take hold in the dark,
only to find the dark monster
has had them in her grasp the whole time
the jazzy genius, jesting jubilantly,
with wilting wit, whispers
“wow”
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC