"ludic" poems
Mongst the salacious ferns of
Artemis requested in the land
of the handsome labyris women
wealing and weaving Vulcans
shrewd hearts of jasper and
chalcendony, governess Hulda
cleaves Muspellsheims yew bones
fletching mandrakes philtre whetting
hie Cupids perfuse herb of grace
intercessorial unto volcanic pious
virtues haranguing loves cataract
dashing herewith demotic enditements
distempered of ludic ordination;
forging a year and a day halest
cledonomancies volley of truths
bequeathing privity of Heavens
prismatic trajectory.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 9:25 PM UTC
Peeping through my window.
O you playful, ludic moon!
Tomorrow I've to wake early.
I cannot play, leave soon.
Go away! carefree moon.
Put off your assuasive light.
Tomorrow I've to wake early.
I've a meeting with sun bright.
I don't want to close window.
I don't want to be rude.
Tomorrow I've to wake early.
I am not in playful mood.
Hide behind dark clouds;
Or behind mountains steep.
Tomorrow I've to wake early.
I cannot play, let me sleep.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
Souls, once one in the sun,
Now reach for fallen stars.
Ludic, hopeless fingers—
G r a s p i n g
For a sole thread of truth.
Don’t fly too close, little firefly.
For it’s flame shall render
All your desires and dreams
To spurned puddles of wax.
D r i p p i n g
In these wrinkled hands
Formed for puppets
A silhouette on the sphere
As the Earth only knows,
The darkness it adheres.
May 25, 2021
May 25, 2021 at 1:38 PM UTC
What a price to pay to say "well said"
For all great phrasing comes from great tumult
And gladness, sadness, joy are all but fuel
As the "sayers" translate thought to word
They are as hunters, patiently in wait
For a great stirring deep within their being
Emotion wildlife rustling the trees
The game that does not recognize the game
Strategic are these hunters, clever souls
Whose precision cannot be repeated
Miners for the gold within their hearts
Exploring, exploiting their perceptions
And yet, it is but great coincidence.
They do not mean to feel, but still accept
The ludic, accidental inquiries
Subpoenas to their creativity
How much does it cost, a wondrous phrase?
The charge is pain, or love in great amounts
For words upon the page can but reflect
The bittersweetness of their author's id
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
These Monsters try to get me
not before i get myself, i lock myself in this empty room
hoping for this ***** carpet to **** me through this false foundation,
**** me up right between my sheets.
I open my eyes just before my alarm beeps,
a step ahead of the time- all the time
I can see you back there two steps behind,
laggin behind the seconds- just like the big hand on the clock.
Like im moving ahead of everyone else-head of the curve,
as the Doctors like to call it-as im trying to explain my increasing condition.
Son this is straight ludic-ration, It might be a part of your toonish-addiction.
Boilin' up this sketches and pencils, Bottlin' these un-inked rations.
I could use these another day i think to myself conspicuously,
wondering if anybody overheard my thoughts
writing down my exact words-
to someday use them against me in this trial,
with the judge,
jury im pleading against denial
Sittin' there with my crooked grin, my vanishing eyes, and my grittin teeth.
The judge has it out for me i can tell,
by the way he made me stand up and sit down,
i cant take much more of this questioning-
My mind wandering loosely now, maybe its what they wanted
tryin to get all my thoughts, those greedy ********
My ideas, my brainchild's- there all worthless they'll see.
Nothing but a conspiracy against me,
But what they really dont know-there's a bomb under my seat.
Apr 2, 2010
Apr 2, 2010 at 9:10 AM UTC
IT WAS THEN
She realized it then
When her heart hopped
Into her mouth screaming
Out ludicrous love songs
And her stomach started
To spin around like a cyclone
And she had this overwhelming urge to
***** and run
But he was her home
So she collapsed into his arms
And relished the feeling of just him being
There.
IT WAS THEN
She realized that she had
Fallen hopelessly in love
And she remembered that feeling
Seven months later
When she craved it so bad
That she fell to the floor and
Broke like glass
Bits and pieces of herself
Shattering
Everywhere and she had
Lost herself
Truly that time
Feeling like she was grasping at thin air
Or clouds
Trying to get a grip
To stop the falling
But every firm thing
Slipping through her grasp.
IT WAS THEN
She crashed down on the grasslands
Numb.
Her back ached from landing on the
Earth with such force
And her ears rang.
The broken bits had
Come back together
Forcefully, and it hurt to breathe
Because she was used to some places
Being empty
So it felt awkward now that they were full.
She lay there
For a while,
Looking up the sky
Watching him lead another girl up
Abysmally high
Waltzing on clouds
Her laughter innocent and sweet.
IT WAS THEN
She felt the sharp ache in her head.
She knew now.
All ludic childishness
A faint memory
She was back to normal now
Reality.
She wondered what love was
Blindness or foolishness.
She couldn't decide.
She got up
And walked away
Into the sunrise.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
This is not the beginning of my story
Nor will it be the end,
Hasten or not, it must be told
In my undying grief I can no longer go on without His strength
I am Sir Thomas de Charney, of the Order of the Knights Templar
Born in the Year of Our Lord 1270, now a man, 20 years old
My Father is William de Charney, Grand Master of the Order
He is currently headquartered at Acre, I Master at Gaza
Our lineage dates back to 1119, with the nine original Knights
The Order and my Ancestors names will live on forever
Until I was 18 I was unaware of the outside world
That story is for another time
At present the Christians control most of the Holy Land
However, the Muslims, or Saracens, continued to wreak havoc
They pillaged and plundered the villages outside our fortifications
The infidels accomplished this madness using vagabonds or tribesman
This story is about my love, Dagung; ne’er was a woman as beautiful
I was Master of the City of Gaza the first time I laid eyes on her face
While our garrison remained strong, proximal towns were under attack
Rakish strikes by Muslim non-essential forces made them dangerous
This we knew was the first line of assault by the Saracens
At the moment they were just toying with our minds in ludic form
Bearing assault on our townspeople like poltroons I took umbrage
Therefore I dispatched my men accordingly to make well the trouble
On this particular engagement I decided to join my men.
___________________________________________________
To be continued
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 6:04 AM UTC
Atop the tor with ancient horn
Blows bardic spirit newly born
With magic emblazoned on their tongue
A descant begging to be sung
Through the saccharine morn
This is the song. The babes rejoice
To hear the magical ludic voice
They sway, and clap, and swing their heads
As bard goes round them with gentle treads
The music paints their passion red
Alight! For cosmic sense is said
The flame of love be theirs to behold
A treasure that can't be bartered, sold
That brings life back to the dead
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 3:52 AM UTC
I wrote a poem two days ago! I meant to put it on here yesterday,
It was called 'easily read easily said'!
It was O'Reily a special moment for me and of the rhyme it took to be complete.. When you end in terms of a poem with rhythm, balance and in written cliché de par example; don't look back in anger,
To O'Reily when he wrote Easily Read Easily Said..
My name is Kevin Egan I'm a poet of do I know it?
But you can call me.... 'O'Reily'!, A Pseudonym name, you said, you read or maybe you pointed north, the other way like an order of the day to forget and carry on with your daily push.
I copy and paste... Hails Mary Grace,
I then, once finished proceeded to paper it on @here when suddenly, instantaneous not famous not loud but proud my poem disappeared, My hesitant scream along with a crack on my screen it appeared with Order Order!!
A poem running round me like flying words and getting away in my house,
Soundings like the swear words that had ludic in finding order like a cat chasing the mouse..
Up it appeared Order Order under my need,
My post title of Easily Read Easily Said the last of my poetic disorders lost in my trivial complicated head showimg its nemesis!
Like a head master out rages his dandy lip orders, ripping them up in to tiny little pieces and discarding the energy of thy work..
But no, with no saving grace it was Easily Read Easily Said!
6 long verses gone forever!
All that was left, all that maintenance to reflect,
It Was its title and you readers now taking the michael.
After a work all day, with a bed,
sleep mammoth on my head,
I slept away.
Hours later I woke up refresh and up getting ready to write and work on something and somehow often mesmeric,
but not touched by the dead poet in my attic.
If anyone you know who forgets what he wrote and its burnt out in the fire smoke,
Erased from its first gibberish sketches of ambience,
If they're remembrance of each detail word, each written birth mark and of going back over with a certain cert,
Then he or she would then be an O'Really remarkable poet,
and that's not me.
In honour of the pen writer
The technology forget me fighter,
The dip in the ink calligrapher!
and dit, well is that it? Finished!
If ever I had a collection of poems for a title then O'Reily! I would call it Easily Read Easily Said!
Just need 50 more collection of poems or lyrics or is it 100?
I have burnt, learnt my lessons now
I wont pinch myself over that or lose sleep over it either thank you very much.
That is i before e except after O'Reily
O'Reily@21062014
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 11:34 AM UTC
in pursuit of you
i put myself in harms way
something ‘teethy’ entered my bloodstream
and flooded i hoped for the best
we crashed and meddled and crashed
again
a fixed ache we were yanked back to
chairs, tables, sofas, beds
bending to the shapes and endurance levels
sounding off of their abilities to aid our act
even thrown over washings machines
tatting against their vibrations
tossed about in bathrooms
our clothing pulled from us outdoors
risking winter exposure
dragged to the gritty pavement
and hurled against solid public art
all very much in tune
with natures ludic intentions
and without a mote of embarrassment
on our part
Nov 4, 2024
Nov 4, 2024 at 1:41 PM UTC
Rejoice! Rejoice! For the bardic voice
Is born again in innocent infant souls
The magical ludic spirit does entice
Their stainless minds, rapt in thrall
From whence does this purest passion come
Its origin is unaccounted for
But it's magic music they happy hum
And to cynical, jaded souls implore
O, the babes of the world rejoice
I love to hear their tender voice
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 2:04 PM UTC
“Deeds To Remember”
Castle cast! Lo, hail the Aloft,
Wisest of Wise He indeed is.
Forsaken Herald forever forbidden
To oven never to return to Kingdom.
5.That Pride! That iniquitous Overthrown.
Beware! The Fallen lures and crush soft,
Disciples walks in darkness of forsaken
Taunt them not, merciless they are
Peril Serpent desires vengeance.
10.Bind the chain of authority to defeat.
Thee reckless numb! Thee commanded One,
Paradise filled by plaintive of atrocity?
Oh! How unprophetical jest!
Holy wrath wiped luring serpent out.
15.Double-edged sword is sharp indeed.
Holy man! Indeed a perfect craft
Thou art the clairvoyance of God,
Pillar of Paradise on Earth
Boon by wisdom to realm of Heaven.
20.Hell's Oven not meant for thee.
Yet! Lust seduced thy virtue,
Lust for pleasure did lured thee.
Ah! Mortal man not a ludic
But perfect creation in Him,
25.Err is natural thou mustn't lessen by
For pleasure of lust once known
Is valley of abyss for eon.
Thou mustn't astray, He say'd!
Thou art Holy boon of Will
30.Of ***** of everlasting Living.
Valley of death now a deficient!
Thou thrived conquest not a bish
Sitten upon Thee, man shall bow
Salutations they'd wave, oh Mighty
35.Restful cuddle for them with Thee.
Hark the Herald of Divine,
For trumpet sings for man.
Feast indeed! Now lamb to Shepherd.
Sacrifice that pave way to Home
40.Forget not, for He awaits thee Home!
Nganyah Ngonyen Phom
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 4:02 AM UTC
Truly,It's ludic how you play me.
But what for? I want you to tell me.
Is it cause I'm a fool for you, so you wanna use me?
But see that's not how it's supposed to be
And by the time you'll decide to take me seriously
You'll realize just how late it will be.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 5:53 AM UTC
Singing down the valleys, meadows
Casting smudgy, dappled shadows
Go the children, skipping, swinging
Their gleesome joy through daylight ringing
In nature's ***** their rustic beauty shows
The children wake. They wake to love
And on that thought their sweet minds rove
The forest is their treasure trove
An enchanted and protected grove
For harmony the children strove
And take guidance from above
They will not be defeated, slain
So hear my ludic, joyful refrain
And leave so we can be left to love
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 5:14 PM UTC
The Bengalis rejoice, for the bardic voice,
Is born again in innocent infant souls,
The magical ludic spirit does entice,
Their stainless minds, rapt in thrall,
From whence does this purest passion come,
Its origin is unaccounted for,
But it's magic music they happy hum,
And to cynical, jaded souls implore,
O, the babes of the world rejoice,
I love to hear their tender voice.
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 7:18 AM UTC
On this starlit night I balter
Nubivagant am I, floating as I dance
Although my faith, it shan't ever falter
I can't shake the feeling of impending doom
Daring am I, for I shall bite this fruit
Foolish might I be, from the mouth I'll shoot
Devilish smiles, the owners I know
Fiendish agendas,unkempt is their false deity
Tenebrous alleyways,they are our friends
Pine I do,to retain my sobriety
All the time flies,no progress made
Alas I fear I've lost my own identity
To desert them,woe is me, 'tis a velleity
For my throat they'll slit,leave me be
Lord knows I'm guilty,come set me free
Ludic am I, in spite of my fate
The crawling anxious thoughts await
Darkly smile I do,wearin' a brave face
Ascension 'tisn't mine,demons leave not a trace
Not a soul shall avenge me
For I am stained, a heathen indeed
Judgement Day 'tis early for me
Holy light,it shines luminous upon me
Dammnation 'tis mine; Father I have failed thee
Mar 5, 2020
Mar 5, 2020 at 5:05 PM UTC
It is not expected of men
Any sense of logic
Or any reason.
Maybe we're emotional,
Maybe political,
Maybe ludic,
Maybe Luddite,
Maybe lunatic.
We're attracted to frames,
To guardrails,
Afraid of the ocean,
Afraid of thirst
And of drowning,
Admirers and avoiders of boldness,
Cowardly seeking courage
But hiding when faced
It's raging face.
Maybe it's just me
But, hey, I'm one of you
(At least I put effort into it).
Each of those I see
Is my own extent,
Part of what I am,
And I am part of them
That are part of me.
You look at me as a misplaced past,
The deformed evolution of the perfect
(Or it is only a mirror?)
But I am now a better me,
With a load of sensitivity,
A trigger to a bullet without powder:
The click may tremble your bones
But my sharp edge remains still inside.
What you hear from me
Is what refuses it's own death.
No matter what I'll keep breathing,
For a thousand years
Or beneath the ocean,
I'll still pulse
Out of sight,
Without any shadow,
Bounded by no walls.
I can feel now
The pressure of my fingers in this pen.
It's the same pressure
To vibrate the air,
To load anyone's shoulders,
To explode lips with heavy words,
To keep continents still.
I bear no truth
For my own body is exactly what I can carry.
That's enough for me.
I just train my eyes
To see colors that aren't mine.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 10:08 PM UTC