"judicious" poems
Sequacious demonstrative mongrel fantastication
Overt fantasias and monstrance clarification
Rhetorical rote of empirical justification
Whimsical enervations elicit ramification
Incite legendary fables of rectification
Tempestuous mendacious erudite personifications
Endemic epistemological semantics of edification
Evocative illuminism engenders mortification
Judicious spontaneous phantasms of gratification
Numinous salutatory statutes of ratification
Heuristic existentializing empiricisms alleviate confusion
Adamant machismo machinations eliminate delusion
Eulogizing enigma entity’s illustrious illusion
Torridly allusive revelries of reverie effusion
Educing morose maniacal moribundity’s inclusion
Epitomizing empathetic revulsions to corroborate elusion
Probitous erudite solicitations evade contusion
Raunchy riotous accoutrements appreciate exclusion
Optimizing subjunctively torpid recalcitrant collusion
Scenario syntactics of mythically epic allusion
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
I'm head starting the challenging life
12th grade decides my future strife.
Herein lies the mystery of tomorrow
Destiny of the mighty ship in my carefull row.
Not asking for incredible flourishing results
But delivering support for my stupendous work.
Not asking for imaginative unreachable marks
But holding my hands to provide the best of myself.
Not asking to pour elixir for hardwork devoid outcome
But strolling me through the gates of earnestness.
Not asking for your substitution in me
But to confront me with your intrepid grace.
Not asking for grade ten replica
But lending me the same earnest virtue.
Help me ignore the incompatible watchers,
To provide the least hope of comparing
Falling in despair in other's successful fruits.
But to help better and improvise my solitary results
And shelter me in your house of modesty.
No beneficial ranks but the submissive marks
that lends a hair to my cognitive efforts
To grant me light in the death of night.
Let me blossom as tranquily as the sunflower
Yet not vanish in the glory of jubliation
But gradually offer me petals
And extend the reliance day by day.
Mindful and heeding my compatible hardwork
Finally, let me conquer the glamorous colour
Of my utmost individuality.
Rehabilating the small hopes intro pristine reality
Aware of the hunger turning to lime light
To strike a chord for my year before.
Take me on your hands, float me through
legitimate mistakes, rip me apart in the wave
of unquenchable thirst and finally wrap me out as
a champion badge of jaded grade twelve.
Finally,
Bless me God, provide eternal marvels
Bless me God, honour the righteous path
As the testimony of your judicious grace
Bless me God, I'm starting life (grade twelve)
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 2:52 AM UTC
Your time will come slowly,
For now you must let the empty space taunt you.
Your grass will grow slowly,
For now you must plant the seed in the baron land below you.
Your heart will beat slowly,
For now you must tap the drum softly beside you.
Your love will heal slowly,
For now you must be patient and watch the tide take away the pain that troubles you.
A patient man is a judicious wolf.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 7:52 AM UTC
Gathered pieces of a great puzzle ;
refreshed perspective like ocean riptides
foment at the confluence collecting dark rivers’ flow
Repurposing back-eddies ,
rejuvenation of stagnant brackish waters ,
inherent buried soul-shine purging
from the ancient core of earth mother
Light arising from the hidden depths
of inner stillness as if a refilling wellspring
burst forth , reawakening muted sighs unspoken
Forming poetic constellations of black and bright
to lighten afar the nebulous darkness ,
a sea of swirling ink transformed into poetry
A sage opus renewed
by the muse of a migrating flock ,
striving to discover new sacred grounds ;
yet there is an undeniable song sung
in the howling winds of change
An incitement from a higher dialect
that empowers a restoration of spirit
Oeuvre uplifted by rogue waves
of summoning winds ,
arousing that which time erases
A manifest renaissance
among the rousing nuances
of poetic continuum ,
judicious to rediscover
the enthralling vastitude
of every breaking wave
in a boundless sea of poesy
Where prevailing currents
stir oceans of verse eternal ;
provoking a verve revival ,
the magnitude of an unbroken circle ,
ocean swells merging singularity
with the omnipresent colour
of uncharted depths
As if thoughts are assuaged
by a union of intimately touching souls
with words of intangible spheres ,
sparking subtle shades of meaning
spanning poetic immortality
Transcending barriers of unexplored lexicon
to manifest the immensity,
enkindling rhapsody of hearts and minds
Deeply rooted soul replenishment
harvested from the tree of humankind ,
willingly sharing without regret nor intention ,
with deference to the soul of one-blood,
one-love enabling an enlightening
metamorphosis of the human journey ...
© harlon rivers ... all rights reserved
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 11:48 AM UTC
My poems are my children, more or less.
I care about them, want them to go far,
would like the world to love them as they are.
Or would it help if I could maybe dress
them in fancy words, improve their accent? Yes,
though a judicious measure of sobriety
might give my work commendable variety.
Alas, they're disadvantaged from the start,
these single-parent children of my art,
and I can't blame their failings on Society.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 1:41 PM UTC
Wanted: her words!
Her inspired, breathless,
Sighing words
Needed for motivation
Desired for an elixir
Of broken hearts and corrupt minds
Wanted: her words!
Her mellifluous panacea
Breathing life into the inanimate
Defining the undefinable
And finding felicity in the fugacious
Wanted: her words!
Her intransigent, sagacious,
And judicious lyrics
Publicly educating and passionate
Privately life's denouement
Her words are wanted
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
Little ant, so small and insignificant
Yet in numbers up an elephant’s snout
How easily you make him indisposed
Lesson to learn: strength in numbers
Maxim to remember: unity of purpose
Oh termite, thou destroyer of civilizations!
How mighty when surreptitiously you creep in
Such ingenious civil engineering feats everywhere
Orderly highways with neither jams nor congestion
And tall imposing castles kissing the air proudly
Result: new architectures plagiarizing your prototype!
And you wasp of constricted waist and mean toxin
You make no attempt to hide or disguise your dwelling
Yours is a house built upon a hill for all to see and tremble
They say when a man has no obvious protection keep away
Lest you trigger subtle forces that mesmerize and pulverize you
Lesson from this: commandos are modern day human wasps
Everybody owes the bee everything, from sweetness to health
The bees a-buzzing speak of persistence and how it breaks barriers
In the end you listen because the message is ceaseless and urgent
And oh sweet bee of the hot sting shot from your posterior
No cordon bleu chef anywhere can ever approximate your finesse
Your formula and patent are hedged with natural mystery
Lesson to learn: the bitter and the sweet in judicious mixture!
Now little man recently so puffed-up and conceited and ever so inadequate
Hear ye this and know it well lest you stumble and fall into dark precipices
You’re nothing and you’ve created nothing; there’s a prototype of everything
In nature’s wonder store of huge surprises and unassuming wisdom
Lesson from all this: one day the other world will rise up and assert it itself
So steer your course differently and beware of those who bide their time
Grim in their purpose and determined in their unshakable resolve
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 4:00 AM UTC
How could this have happened?
Life took its time and tortured me.
Taunting, malicious, evil.
I lived a melancholy life.
The people weren’t enough.
I desired more.
I desired love.
I desired my other half.
Just when I thought I was forever alone,
Unexpectedly, he appeared.
He cared, gave me his everything.
He took his time with me.
I should’ve recognized the foreboding.
We all want happiness, no one wants pain,
But we can’t have a rainbow without a little rain.
Even then, rainbows don’t last forever.
Life,
You’re wicked.
You want to hurt me.
When I wanted to pick a fight, You started running.
You don’t care about me.
You don’t care about young love.
Ripping my heart out.
Tearing apart his.
When someone thinks of you, life,
They think of you being balanced.
A sprinkle of unfairness,
A sprinkle of happiness.
You surprised all the guileless ones
You are judicious; an ill-humored dowdy.
Maybe you’re just a querulous old women,
Tired of ignorant pests.
Or maybe you were just born with a blackened heart.
But, now when I ask you for a reason why,
You curl up in a ball, roll away and let me cry.
What a coward.
Conniving little *****
What comes around goes around,
You’ll get your share,
Three times worse.
Think you’re so contumacious?
What is it?
You desired more?
You desired love?
You desired someone else?
Are you jealous?
Don’t be tremulous about the topic.
Something will happen to you…
Your soul mate awaits you,
But for now,
Please, be kind to me.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 4:01 AM UTC
The Baker's Tale
They roused him with muffins--they roused him with ice--
They roused him with mustard and cress--
They roused him with jam and judicious advice--
They set him conundrums to guess.
When at length he sat up and was able to speak,
His sad story he offered to tell;
And the Bellman cried "Silence! Not even a shriek!"
And excitedly tingled his bell.
There was silence supreme! Not a shriek, not a scream,
Scarcely even a howl or a groan,
As the man they called ** told his story of woe
In an antediluvian tone.
"My father and mother were honest, though poor--"
"Skip all that!" cried the Bellman in haste.
"If it once becomes dark, there's no chance of a Snark--
We have hardly a minute to waste!"
"I skip forty years," said the Baker in tears,
"And proceed without further remark
To the day when you took me aboard of your ship
To help you in hunting the Snark.
"A dear uncle of mine (after whom I was named)
Remarked, when I bade him farewell--"
"Oh, skip your dear uncle!" the Bellman exclaimed,
As he angrily tingled his bell.
"He remarked to me then," said that mildest of men,
"'If your Snark be a Snark, that is right:
Fetch it home by all means--you may serve it with greens
And it's handy for striking a light.
"'You may seek it with thimbles--and seek it with care--
You may hunt it with forks and hope;
You may threaten its life with a railway-share;
You may charm it with smiles and soap--'"
("That's exactly the method," the Bellman bold
In a hasty parenthesis cried,
"That's exactly the way I have always been told
That the capture of Snarks should be tried!")
"'But oh, beamish nephew, beware of the day,
If your Snark be a Boojum! For then
You will softly and suddenly vanish away,
And never be met with again!"
"It is this, it is this that oppresses my soul,
When I think of my uncle's last words:
And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl
Brimming over with quivering curds!
"It is this, it is this--" "We have had that before!"
The Bellman indignantly said.
And the Baker replied "Let me say it once more.
It is this, it is this that I dread!
"I engage with the Snark--every night after dark--
In a dreamy delirious fight:
I serve it with greens in those shadowy scenes,
And I use it for striking a light:
"But if ever I meet with a Boojum, that day,
In a moment (of this I am sure),
I shall softly and suddenly vanish away--
And the notion I cannot endure!"
1.5k
There is oblivion. There is space.
There is futility. There is ubiquity.
There is pride. There is defeat.
There is emptiness. There is resentment.
There is darkness. There is rage.
The cacophony drowns all exaggeration.
It leaves no pity, offers no fight.
There is fury, it is black.
There is fury, it does not ****
There is fury, it showers no wrath.
It rots, it stays, it rots some more.
There is hope. Hope is dying.
It bleeds away, a crimson trail.
The fury is poison, it will prevail.
Morbid humour, judicious hate.
Delightful anguish, dusty slate.
The mirror lets me walk away.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
There was a young person of Bantry,
Who frequently slept in the pantry;
When disturbed by the mice,
She appeased them with rice,
That judicious young person of Bantry.
1.4k
Note: this isn't my work, but a work of one of the poet named Haron River ( currently go by H A Rivers) in this site who is currently MIA! Time to time I would scour poet's work, and allow them to teach me with their wisdom with their penmanship. This was a poem Haron River gave me as a memento, but all his work is golden, and should be shared! Hopefully new comers would check his work out! Without any further ado, here it is!
Untitled
Refreshed perspective gathered words
Like the ocean riptide gather
The rivers' flow at the confluence
Repurposing back-eddies,
Rejuvenation of stagnant brackish waters
Inherent soul-shine purging
From ancient core of earth mother
Light arising from the depth of inner stillness
As if a refilling wellspring burst forth,
Reawaking sighs too deep for words
Forming poetic constellation
To lighten the nebulous darkness,
Like sea of ink transformed into poetry
A sage opus renewed
By the muse of a migrating flock
Striving to discover new sacred grounds
Yet there is an undeniable song sung
In the howling wind of change
An incitement from a higher dialect
That empowers a restoration of the spirit
Oeuvre uplifted by rogue waves of wind
Arousing that which time erases
A renaissance manifest
Among the rousing nuances
Of poetic continuum,
Provoking a verve revival
Judicious to discovery
The enthralling vastitude
Of every breaking wave
In a vast sea of poesy
Where prevailing currents
Stir oceans of verse eternal;
Provoking verve revival,
The magnitude of an unbroken circle,
Oceans swells merging oneness
With the omnipresent of color
Of uncharted depth
As if thoughts assuage
By the Union of distant touching souls,
Spark nuances spanning poetic realms,
Transcending barriers of unexplored lexicon
To manifest the immensity,
Enkindling rhapsody of hearts and minds
Deeply rooted soul replenishment
Harvested from the tree of humankind,
Willingly sharing without regret
Enabling a metamorphosis
Of the human journey
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 9:20 PM UTC
i always fidget with my itches
then itch raw with each digit
of the rigid way we squirm with
words we feel to be explicit
but rearranged we're indifferent
without the frame we're elicit
no stopping shame that exhibits
the way your brain always listens
even in pain it's persistent
you can't prohibit the accident
of unwitting existence
don't say sorry to the superstitious fiction
stay judicious
just ease your mind with the lyrics
and grind the grass to find distance
don't mind, the path meets resistance
the system we're in's nonexistant
i'll build a fire ladder for each fallacy
and scale every rhythm
just cleaning out all desire
mind going off like a piston
mankind don't need this fine attire
but the dior keeps us christian
not built to feed to designers
only a liar does glisten
yet we find ourselves requiring
our own kind of inquisitions
in addiction and prison
a shiny label don't listen
so without your permission
i'll find my own set of prescriptions
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
His awesome silence
Allays the soul
His beautiful silence
Blesses our spirit
His calm silence
Comforts our heart
His deafening silence
Dramatises His presence
His eloquent silence
Eludes all words
His frequent silence
Finalizes all questions
His glorious presence
Gratifies the senses
His Holy silence
Hushes our being
His incredible silence
Illuminates our minds
His judicious silence
Judges all matters
His kingly silence
Kindles a flame
His long silence
Lingers all night
His mysterious silence
Mystifies His aura
His necessary silence
Negates all doubts
His outstanding silence
Outdoes our interference
His peaceful silence
Precedes all victories
His quick silence
Questions our motives
His royal silence
Restores the poor
His sudden silence
Surprises the proud
His tangible silence
Touches the searching
His unique silence
Unravels all misconceptions
His voiceless silence
Visits the hasty
His wonderful silence
Washes all fears
His X-ray silence
X-irradiates our consciences
His yuletide silence
Yields to reflection
His zesty silence
Zooms into prosperity
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 12:37 PM UTC
Diseased again , in the middle of May,
Almost threateningly fatal.
Dormant dimmed brain of mine,apt and inviting prey,
Been demented since awful April!
Earnestly eager to get healed,
I've enacted the preposterous tribal dance to the write(right) gods and appealed.
They unmistakably ignored my pleas,
and my mind still remains stuck,stagnant ,in a frigid freeze.
Changed my workspace to the garden,
To **** in the fresh air,clear my brain and brighten.
Result: Chewed half a pencil,
******** alien patterns in the muck,and a weak wasted writers' will.
Countless imaginary "stories" with no beginnings,
Right Brain-dead till late evenings.
Waiting on this blasted writers' block to clear soon,
Hopefully,the rains should clean the slates, in Judicious June.
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 2:45 AM UTC
Athens, February the seventh of two thousand thirteen
A long day is perishing, its dawn was short, its rain perpetual and its air heavy,
And I think it is a shame that you are not here with me, now that I look my watch and its 6 o’clock in the afternoon.
I have the stark feeling that Athens was much,, much more yellow with you here,
now that in my magic eyes are candles, and in my head bells, and that I listen the tachycardic throb of this keyboard,
being punched with rugged fingers for almost 3 pages, now that I see the clock and its 7 already,
I pop my knuckles just to harvest some cassavas for you, and briefly, I found myself judicious.
Because, today as always, and also as ever, I think it is a shame that you are not here with me…
My left foot aches like hell and I think about which running shoes I will buy, then I cherish the time we bought your brown running shoes and then, wonder the ones I just picked will like you, because
Maybe, in that near and also far day of fall, I will be using them, when I met you again.
Maybe then I will watch into my cellphone and, being 8 p.m. already, you will say “Hello, my love” while walking toward me … and I will say “Hello, my heifer”… And we will stand right there, both of us… me, stained with the green sea color of your glaucomic eyes, and you, with the blue stain of my banished loneliness.
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC
Debasing money is not just wrong
And generally suspicious
It’s personally destructive
It’s insulting and malicious
For those who store their value
The hard working and ambitious
To have their value stolen
Is insulting and malicious
Whether it happens quickly
Or slow and surreptitious
It’s pure and blatant theft
It’s insulting and malicious
For those who don’t have assets
It’s particularly vicious
But for ALL who use the fiat
It’s insulting and malicious
That dollars can store value
Over time, is quite fictitious
In not much time, the value melts
It’s insulting and malicious
With Bitcoin, we have a choice
It’s purpose quite auspicious
You can choose between the two
I hope you’ll be judicious
Oct 16, 2024
Oct 16, 2024 at 8:36 AM UTC
Every guy has a ***** ball smell,
a putrid essence
that takes a lifting of the sac,
and a not to thorough examination,
to detect.
I detected mine
while working out,
I was on the treadmill
going 7.5 miles an hour,
when I smelled
sour milk.
Ball maintenance
is very important.
I spent about five minutes
down there
with a judicious wash cloth.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 10:21 AM UTC
judicious July, two inches,
auspicious August, three; September sunk to half
an inch, but leaped to record heat for the month
October first, he was at the bank,
hat in hand and pride somewhere deep inside,
after he swallowed it two droughts ago
the banker would know, this time
he would not bother to ask--the reaping now
would be from blood, not soil
the blood of his ancestors
who fed a nation, anonymous plodders who plowed
the sod where they were now buried
he was the last; he would have to move fast
to get dollars for his dirt, before the loans came due,
before the wife, the children knew
they would soon be town dwellers--that October
would be the month "Farm For Sale" signs would hang from
his fences like mocking scoreboards
and the month he would feel like
he had drowned in drought, leaving no doubt
he had failed his father, and his sons
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 10:34 PM UTC
Judicious corridor
Risible, surreptitious
Elixir of self doubt
Bathed in radiance
Luminous arbitration
Crimson light
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
when i take a fleeting second to think on the rarity that is us,
there is no reason for me to be thinking about you
every second of every day.
they tell us from the moment we are born
until the moment we die that it is devastatingly useless
to want something that you should not have.
this is something that would be destructive to me.
this is something that would be even more destructive to you.
against the will of my judicious brain,
i spend half of my time daydreaming -
tracing the curves of your face in my mind.
against the will of my burdened heart,
i spend half of my time in torture -
convincing myself that i don't feel this way.
when i step back, though, the reality hits me.
the answers i have sought become as clear as untroubled waters.
it is the brilliant gold specks in your emerald and turquoise eyes,
it is the rush of warmth when your fingertips brush my skin,
it is the fact that your smile is brighter than any sunshine i have ever seen,
it is the cool, sweet whisper of your breath against my neck,
it is the feel of your arms wrapped protectively around me,
it is the rare occassions where i get a glimpse of the boy behind all those walls,
that keep me captivated.
i cannot say that this is love.
i cannot say that I know what love is.
i can say that this is a strange kind of happiness -
a common understanding between two dreamers -
two hearts beating in the same ¾ time.
this is the desire to jump - eyes closed -
into something i am unsure of.
this is the will to pick myself up off of the floor
and try to be whole again just one more time.
i want to tell you how i feel. i have to tell you how i feel.
Jun 15, 2011
Jun 15, 2011 at 5:52 AM UTC
___I am sand___ _- drifting formlessly, settling briefly;
dusting edges traced clean by housekeeping’s judicious forefinger._
___I am sand___ _- black with iron and ****** wrath;
shattering glassily against a wine-stained ceiling._
___I am sand___ _- my trespasses turned to pearl;
rippled and flurrying, wedged between sandal-clad toes._
___I am sand___ _- porous with desire yet disarmed by possibility;
a fortress on the brink of invasion by the sea._
___I am sand___ _- recalled to the desert, claggy with melancholy;
a loping caravan of travail, westward bound._
___I am sand___ _- measureless and infinitely uncontainable;
sifting from hour to hour...and life to life._
Sep 7, 2020
Sep 7, 2020 at 3:40 AM UTC
Sequacious demonstrative mongrel fantastication
Overt fantasias and monstrance clarification
Rhetorical rote of empirical justification
Whimsical enervations elicit ramification
Incite legendary fables of rectification
Tempestuous mendacious erudite personifications
Endemic epistemological semantics of edification
Evocative illuminism engenders mortification
Judicious spontaneous phantasms of gratification
Numinous salutatory statutes of ratification
Heuristic existentializing empiricisms alleviate confusion
Adamant machismo machinations eliminate delusion
Eulogizing enigma entity’s illustrious illusion
Torridly allusive revelries of reverie effusion
Educing morose maniacal moribundity’s inclusion
Epitomizing empathetic revulsions to corroborate elusion
Probitous erudite solicitations evade contusion
Raunchy riotous accoutrements appreciate exclusion
Optimizing subjunctively torpid recalcitrant collusion
Scenario syntactics of mythically epic allusion
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC
All that is will be,
This life was never meant for me,
I took my miscarriage son's place,
in this great spiritual race,
what could he have been?
wise, judicious or saintly?
but no I took his place,
being down here is miserly and leaves a bad taste.
Does none of us ever ask what is left for me?
when time is so boundless and set itself free,
pray for all that is,
that we may not take the place of one another.
but be true to ourselves,
and love one another.
May 14, 2019
May 14, 2019 at 12:16 PM UTC
what has come to this
indigenous things we do~
better follow the others
cause what once was fiction
now rings true
can't blame apocalypse
our letters aren't edible
and judicious arrangements
are post script letters
so i embrace the gift
that i'm a wandering wolf~
cow paths lead to danger in my book
and these sheep follow bull's ****
raw hide as a service
systems on delivery
don't follow lines of those deserving this
what has come
& what will be
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 12:35 AM UTC