"merriments" poems
Maybe it was Best for this Reindeer-Line
To Fix what should have been Fixed since ages
Or tie this Noose which lost all its Define
Then nod dearly at those Long-Horned Rages
But how, Prince, could you bear this Entropy
Even when Tories tell you to Conserve?
Such Lust, needled to their Empathy
May have Forgotten what you long Deserve
Twice that Life-Spoken Meme; And now the Third
Gushes well-rained Merriments from this Cloud
Pray, that soon admit this Settlement, heard
And invest their Songs and Prayers out Loud.
Come, take this Hymn, and sing-along with me
How greatly Petitioned; Yet not to Be.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
To learn this gospel of that Birthing Home
A splendid way to start your own New House
Of your Man so proud; Dignity his own
Shows this Great Fixture of a Faithful Spouse
And I, envy-filled, toddlerish to Draft
To ask when my Best Time would ever come
You, Heroine's Pride, caused my Sorrows to Laugh
And boot this Troll for his Merriments done
Only for your Wish more Blessings invade
And never, ever Dream it should Resign
Which, termed Jolly, decomposed his best *****
And Danced with Gnomes your Prosperity fine.
Begging you, this Heart, please tell HER I Care
For the Flames I lit; My Penance I fare.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 3:33 AM UTC
In Inferno, in a lurid inferno, smell of the dead bodies
Extreme lustful, famished, ferocious, poisonous worms are in a procession of merriments.
Swarthy, in grave swarthy, a sightless life, listening only lamentation
Coming, someone is coming towards me to help but no intention.
Having seen the face of light very little light, Brother, listen to me, “we are two souls in one.”
I see death through the death “Will you save my son?”
“ Oh Mom, why are you lamenting? Why are you smacking your heart? I feel pain for that
May I get a few drops of water? I will not beg yours milk, I am not frightened by death.
From an Inferno I have witnessed another inferno
Swimming in the ocean of blood instead of crying, I am the bravado.
See mom- no tears in my eyes; get up mom to see your child’s face
You came alone? I can’t find my father’s face in this death’s race.
I will sleep mom, I will see the world through my death
In the eternal world I will call you “Mom” this is my eternal oath.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 8:17 PM UTC
Not tasting like affliction,
Not looking with reflection,
Needing a new affectation,
Unable to keep either hand
off
that remote control,
surfing from place to place,
Finding varying degrees of
un-
kempt hair,
Channeling, "Chocolate,
My Chocolate,"
The darker the better,
silky smooth
mousse, melts, making
merriments,
for the senses,
These are a few, of some favorite things
yet nothing compared to what
red wine brings to the table,
with nothing on,
as it unveils the light,
as added swirl to glass,
the round of the cup in the palm
of an open hand,
reminds one of...
past...bottles lying about the place,
a few at a time, Listen...
To be true, only hearing about
drugs as recreation, or
******** substances of
abuse, strange mystery to me,
as I am high on life,
so I cannot write about
what I don't know,
On anger, the hurt, on self-loathing, sings
a call from the Halls of the mountain King,
as printed voices tell in clear,
of battle scars,
of toxic people,
influence,
on lives that matter much,
much more than you know, I care for y'all,
but this ends, a tortured
free
verse,
freed,
for now I must feed my addiction,
"Open up, beautiful, here is another dark chocolate wine dipped cherry, no, no,
not from the bowl, but from my naked lips...
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC
*Tomorrow we'll die
Before we must
Let us have cake
Eat at the tables
Of the Last Divine Feast
Offerings of Body and Blood
Lift them up to the High Heavens
Merrymen of Iron Clad Societies
Drink their timely poisons
Sing their merriments upon deities
Be merry my young folk
Eat, Drink until your stomachs are plump
For Tomorrow We Die*
Jun 8, 2010
Jun 8, 2010 at 8:47 AM UTC
That dare you bid Claim to Monopoly
Of Potent Spheres which Winged Beauty does fly
Ignite these Dames; Yet pampers their Fury
Of Somber Gentlemen their Choice deny
Yes, I know. Though your Genetics un-fault
For your Living God to birth you such Bless
He does so with Plans; And plans such Consult
Beyond which flexible Models impress
Friend. If by so still entitle you Friend
That sometimes for a quonce un-clog your ear
For at least a Moment; With un-due Percent
More than Prosed Merriments you beg to hear.
Of this I say; And say in Full Subscribe
Leave the Heroine be; And un-screw your Pride.
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
Easter Vigil, Sort Of
A vigil, no, simply quiet reflection
Minutes before midnight, with all asleep
Little Liesl-Dog perhaps dreams of squirrels,
For she has chased and barked them all the day;
The kittens are disposed with their mother
After an hour of kitty-baby-talk,
Adored by all, except by Calvin-Cat,
That venerable, cranky old orange hair-ball,
Who resents youthful intrusion upon
His proper role as object of worship.
All the house settles in for the spring night,
Anticipating Easter, early Mass,
And then the appropriately pagan
Merriments of chocolates and colored eggs
And children with baskets squealing for more
As children should, in the springtime of life.
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 8:37 AM UTC
Sing me a sweet carol
Twinkling sounds of happiness
Upon merriments of joyous celebrations
A time for joy
A holiday season
Old traditions new memories
Glows on the trees
Love all around
Kisses under the mistletoe
Thou gave us thy son
On a manger he was born
Our wishes came through
A king came
Special gifts he brought
Oh what a delight
Written by Tosan Oluwakemi Thompson
Dec 26, 2020
Dec 26, 2020 at 4:13 AM UTC
Thank God it's Friday
The god Bacchus is on a high spirit
The sons of men are gay spirited
And the daughters of Eve all soaked
Soaked their life in Irish cream
As if to conjure the Irish Kings
With the potency of the spirit
The spirit that flows in their veins
And make men high and women heigh
That they spend the evenings in high spirit
Cuddling and whispering sweet nothings
To the ears of the one whose arms they find solace
While riding on the rhythmic ****** of the beleza dance
Spirit has spirit, only a foolish man questions its potency
No wonder he ends up on the ever welcoming hands of WC
After every evening conquests and merriments on the streets
Merriments indulged in under the leadership of god Bacchus
Thank God it's Friday my people
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 2:30 PM UTC
You’re just too beautiful
The winds gives space
The plant get jealous
The air accompanies you
The universe honors you
But let’s fly to another universe
Where place solemn, full of peace
Merriments and love
Just you and me
Mar 6, 2021
Mar 6, 2021 at 1:50 AM UTC
A gloomy morning,
With thick fog and dew,
Being so chilled with a hazy view,
Looking out the window, at the trees –
The long black branches, bare of any leaves,
Scrap of paper lie to the right of me.
Imagination took me far to a land unknown.
Where I begin to feel the cold
Howling, bellowing, beckoning sound of distress...
The seasons were waning fast,
Nights were growing cold at last.
September extinguished itself in a rush of howling wind and driving rain.
October arrived with apricity; a bit sweet and salty.
November’s with hard frosts morning and night being cold as frozen iron.
December’s wintery breathe is already clouding the pond.
Flashback of days gone by,
Turn my experience into a reflective one; blocking me from reality.
And sometimes, I don’t bother so I walk down the road.
A shivering and foggy winter morning,
People enjoy warm bed, hot food and drinks and merriments.
Melancholy are the sounds on a winter night.
Thus, look so mystic and a divine feeling.
I can’t deny my dislike towards cold temperatures,
So, I choose to walk with a big jacket and a wand,
Tucked in my pocket dreaming to see the spring.
But I remind myself of how privileged I’m, to sit here,
Pouring my ink onto paper about the beautiful warm winter days.
Waquil
Dec 5, 2019
Dec 5, 2019 at 9:06 PM UTC
A vigil, no, simply quiet reflection
Minutes before midnight, with all asleep
Little Liesl-Dog perhaps dreams of squirrels,
For she has chased and barked them all the day;
The kittens are disposed with their mother
After an hour of kitty-baby-talk,
Adored by all, except by Calvin-Cat,
That venerable, cranky old orange hair-ball,
Who resents youthful intrusion upon
His proper role as object of worship.
The household settles in for the spring night,
Anticipating Easter, early Mass,
And then the appropriately pagan
Merriments of chocolates and colored eggs
And children with baskets squealing for more
As children should, in the springtime of life.
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 2:58 PM UTC