"oratory" poems
Dear Poet Friends, Here is a poem by a young Canadian poet named Darien, which I found while browsing the Net! I would like to share this with you as a prelude to my poem about the 'Rise of The Third Reich', - which I hope to post on this Site shortly. Thanks, - Raj Nandy, New Delhi
World War II - ADOLF ******
by DARIEN, Aug 21, 2006
Austria raised a man so vile and vicious
His life was dark, callous and malicious
Passions of hatred engraved in his mind
As he plotted to create his own mankind
A soldier for Germany in World War One
War to end all wars had only just begun
The National Socialist Party appeared fast
Their numbers grew rapidly as time passed
Charismatic oratory and propaganda his tool
False promises made, people he would fool
Were Nazis the one to bring hope? Perhaps
Without their help Germany would collapse
The Reichstag Fire would be a stepping stone
Germany's President died, he took the throne
He became the fuhrer leader of all Germany
And would start the worst war of the century
War had been started with a Nazi-Soviet pact
Together with Russia, Poland they attacked
England and France were not ready for war
Marching of Nazis soldiers was not ignored.
Mussolini became his ally and supported him
For all other countries their chances were slim
Many countries were defeated in a few days
the Fascist and Nazis would give him praise
Blitzkrieg was a strategy that worked most
In defeating all his enemies he came close
The Nazis would spread all across Europe
But it would be at Stalingrad they would stop
Communist regimes were one group he did hate
Yet it was the Jews he would try to annihilate
In all cruelty, bloodshed, war would soon end
There was still so much for people to defend
On V-Day he saw all his armies demolished
****** and fascism in Europe was abolished
World War Two ended the areas were secure
From that evil, monstrous beast Adolf ******
- By Darien. (Canada)
..........................................................................
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 11:11 AM UTC
The stars try to shine
Down through indifferent clouds.
Her tears mix with rain
and water her path
defining the moments
Of forever.
Love is the fiercest part
of her being.
Though she struggles to
find it’s authenticity
Hiding her codes
behind barbwire and thorns.
Her hands are bloodstained
in the hours of time.
She is mysterious
With many latitudes
Calling from a different
Kind of universe.
Yet she walks that path of stones
Believing she is a different
Person than the one she leaves
on the trail .
Walking away from that
Hushed comfort of
understated majesty.
Hearing music amid
The squalor of verse
With strangers who love
among the poetic’s
of language.
I grow tired of the
Deep waters
I’m learning to navigate
the shallows
Where purring oratory
Captures me and leaves
Me spellbound beyond
All measures and time .
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC
Equations of creepiness exist beyond the surface of interplanetary suckers or tendrils.
So, tell me, how horizontal are your expressions?
As girls are not dissimilar to counting backwards on a scale of oratory genius, then
how far do you deviate from what is considered to be the norm?
Although foliage may display her open and ontological beauty at this uncertain period of nothingness,
I unravel myself from this Egyptian tomb of aborted eloquence.
Just be yourself, please.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
This is the story of a man
The story of a brilliant man
Most men would call him a resilient man
A man of principle and logic
A man who’s principles may defy logic
A man from whom come words with magic
And illusion
The illusion is the man
The illusion is a brilliant man
The illusion would make him appear a resilient man
The illusion of principle and logic
The illusion of principles that appear to defy logic
The illusion is this ‘brilliant man’s’ magic
And deceit
This deceit that is the illusion of the man
This deceit that is the illusion of the man’s brilliance
Of his resilience
Of his principle
Of his logic
The deceit of his principles that apparently defy all levels of logic… that seem to be a notch above our regular reasoning
The deceit of his oratory magic that enthralls us all
Day in, day out
Season out, season in
You know who I’m talking about…
That politician that fooled us for too long, and very soon, will be on his way out.
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 8:23 AM UTC
~~
**Dialogue and Oratory Between
SPT and Nat:**
~
***At the Intersection of
Perfection & Beauty,
By Blue Candlight***
~~~
come let us by and by,
soon meet,
under blue moon candle lit sky,
at this worthy intersection of
beauty and perfection,
be together,
contained,
yet unconstrained
let us speak of what
we see and sense,
come to come
to know,
of what does not appear
in this world easy readily,
what lies between
two points,
sharing,
needy of,
crossing destination revelations
*It's said of beauty,
once uncovered and
gazed upon whole,
be visible only at the
bottom of the bin of the
picked-threw,
it was here, where, perfection
once was lost
and may yet now be found,
where souls,
singled and singed,
seek to find of,
the perfection lost,
the untarnished beauty
within ones self
from the meadow can be seen
The Field Where Wonderment Grows,
wild is the bounty of colored beauty
then
and only there,
can oan one,
locate, judge and
accept
what never departs
a self*
at the road'meeting point,
at our time and place
appointed,
arrived but come
disappointed,
crossed and creased
by the journeys
travels and travails,
burnt blind,
eyes by life's headwinds,
singled and singed,
and the mind disbelieves, doubts,
the existence verily,
of the locale,
beauty & perfection
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
Baron wastelands sound the trumpet in the midst of the ghetto, where sobriety gathers in connected ambivalence.
Acknowledge the animism within naturopathic spirituality. I urge you to have explicit *********** with unfamiliar prostitutions, whilst political prowess ingests her toxicities in the guise of oratory genius.
The expulsion of vanity is haunting in its reverence.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 2:52 PM UTC
At Heaven’s window I knelt to pray what do you say when you are dwarfed by Christendom’s vast portal
What cries from hearts of the faithful in anguished burdened prayer they assailed such Holy veneration
Common tongues caught up in awe and adoration found oratory’s fount how they created an unequaled
Spell it clung to holy symbols and pictures that hung on the walls it tore away time itself revealed the
Secret mystery of holiness’s true heart and meaning the sky strained to carry the weight of words so
Profound any and all armies would fall before their mastery to question one’s self at such depths would
Make you defenseless to all obligations you crossed grandeurs stronghold you intervened no less into
Matters that only prophets are obliged to discuss you have fashioned with words great bastions to
Supersede they mock the infidelity and foolishness of many kingdoms Royalty is not just to wear fine
Robes but to center the mind on those richest of finds and then return to mankind and spread them as
Star dust in the lowly places and see the birth of equality and liberty flourish from the lowest to the
Highest that honors not one but all lead at all points root out ignorance that is the cause of all shame
With words that are akin to the words that created worlds this is what you are caught up in there is no
Time for idleness go and spread this word to the four corners of man’s domain we are heroes yet made
By the very words that are possessed and won at altars the planks of mortals that build a stairway to
Glory the earth yearns and dies while you tarry the breach long ago in Eden now the dream is to be
Fulfilled by holy men and women strong enough to face this most demanding challenge forget self catch
Fire with holy zeal burn only for others the world will change from carnage to gifts that bestow
Abundant Life we have never lived in a world that we could make by surrendering our dreams for stellar
exploits
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 5:51 PM UTC
Verbiage
Sagacious humans would concur
Salacious verbiage is trenchant
Verdant language withers a guileless soul
Hubristic linguists deem limpid oratory irksome
A Didactic, petulant, boorish, garrulous, nefarious, obtuse, and insolent
Overtone is not my intent
Puckish, risible, mannered, jocular, antic, and adroit
Reverberations I am manifesting
TRANSLATION
Words
Smart people would agree
Healthy words are sharp
Unripe words die naive spirits
Self-confident word users find simple language annoying
Moral instruction, rude, insensitivity, wordy, wicked, blunt, and contemptuous
Feelings are not my purpose
Impish (silly), laughable, artificial, playful, clownish, and clever
Reactions I'm hoping to create
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 12:15 PM UTC
If you were to venture across the forceful shelf of societal direction, would you succumb to the currents of the majority? Right now, I need to take a step back into fresh perspective as I give consideration to my deceptive impulses.
A New York cheesecake is surely seductive in her decadent and caloric beckoning. However, English sausages are not dissimilar, my opinionated guide of presumed health and well-being. So, take a hike over endless moors of serial-killer familiarity, because I offer myself upon the altar of elocution.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 11:39 PM UTC
Anglican death drips her intoxicating pronouncements around the squares, whilst obscure gossip prevails in the forests of Massachusetts.
Give me some bread whilst I stir this cauldron of distorted communications.
Will you please explore my future epitaph, and guard against the myriads of undertakers who seek to raise the chalice of dark and oratory expression?
Let us travel together, as we have already channelled the wisdom of the ages.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC
The skin of consumerism parades her promiscuity in desolate and sheath-like urban stratospheres.
Gaze upon the beauty of a hanging basket and understand that the flutes and trumpets are an orchestral force of nature.
But permit me to cut to the metaphorical chase, oh pilgrim, amidst this treacherous journey of socio-political asylum -
Propaganda is a scaly, oratory genius who wholeheartedly adopts her role in a manner which is not incompatible with the very last day in October.
And the spirit of the blues unashamedly casts her vulnerability to the masses with utmost integrity.
Therefore, I have to ask: do you balance on the brink of hilarity or calamity?
Turn up the heat, oh seductress of the ages, and watch those colors change.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
"The pity of war, the pity war distills". - Wilfred Owen"
Just as a feral war begs for armistice,
a season of peace engenders
a violence vacuum that begs to be filled
as surely as a hollow begs for a pond.
It seems a cosmic battle rages
between the oversouls of people
who would chisel a sculpture to grace
and those who would hack off its arms.
History’s fools fire up their bully horns
shouting proud oratory to ignorance -
and lemmings goose-step to the precipice -
doomed to plunge into a sea of misery.
Then there is quiet - guilty and reflective.
How could we let this happen
with so much gain and loss in the balance?
and the sculptors of civilization
find fresh marble to once again
carve reason, beauty, purpose
from the acrid ashes of pride.
But the oversoul of hate will brood and re-fester
as long as it's thought noble to **** for a cause.
© 2016 by Robert Charles Howard
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 8:50 AM UTC
S-So many times she stands in this place
O-Offering her fine opinions so full of grace
A-Always she's in the know about everything
P- Politely we listen to all of her verbal meandering
B-Brilliant is her oratory its akin to Churchill's
O-Oracles come to mind when her tones spill
** marks the spot where she'll be performing her drill
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 5:46 AM UTC
(Washington, August, 1918)I HAVE seen this city in the day and the sun.
I have seen this city in the night and the moon.
And in the night and the moon I have seen a thing this city gave me nothing of in the day and the sun.
The float of the dome in the day and the sun is one thing.
The float of the dome in the night and the moon is another thing.
In the night and the moon the float of the dome is a dream-whisper, a croon of a hope: "Not today, child, not today, lover; maybe tomorrow, child, maybe tomorrow, lover."
Can a dome of iron dream deeper than living men?
Can the float of a shape hovering among tree-tops-can this speak an oratory sad, singing and red beyond the speech of the living men?
A mother of men, a sister, a lover, a woman past the dreams of the living-
Does she go sad, singing and red out of the float of this dome?
There is ... something ... here ... men die for.
1.3k
Kodfather was a young adult
At the time this story begins
He went to a tea shop
with one of his followers
Started debate
with few of the fellow
Tea-toddlers
and was virtually
unbeatable
Impressed with his oratory skills
One man asked
How old are you Kod?
Dunno sir
But one thing
My mother said once
When my sister was born
"You are three years older than her Pizzie"
For she loves pizza
Thirteen years passed since
So I must be
Sixteen years older than her
Now
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 12:38 AM UTC
The world is full of fools’ theory
Listening to them I feel weary.
Such egoistic heads tell not to worry
And at our back talk oscillatory
Bad about us, creating a crematory
Where they bury their own glory.
They have a bad attitude of sanatory
Coward, showy, deceitful, predatory.
The world is full of fools’ theory
Listening to them I feel weary.
I too had such a mad hoary
Who was ready with an itinerary,
Where all bad & deceit come corollary
As she had a base habit of obfuscatory.
She knew less concepts contemporary
And thought herself vital primary.
The world is full of fools’ theory
Listening to them I feel weary.
Would always ask if I hunky-dory?
We knew those emotions were vapory –
Happy, then sad, angry then nugatory!
Her emotions changed as witch’s allegory,
Hate, spurn, prune are her favourite mandatory:
Now singly fights with colleagues hortatory;
Alas! Does not know her faults & category.
Listening to them I feel weary.
Would always ask if hunky-dory?
At first I tried to be a promontory
So that I can save her crematory;
Blind with pride, less corroboratory,
She spurned me having derogatory.
Now also I pity her as she is a hoary
But wish she improves her oratory.
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 8:52 PM UTC
An Easter message
At Heaven’s window I knelt to pray what do you say when you are dwarfed by Christendom’s vast portal
What cries from hearts of the faithful in anguished burdened prayer they assailed such Holy veneration
Common tongues caught up in awe and adoration found oratory’s fount how they created an unequaled
Spell it clung to holy symbols and pictures that hung on the walls it tore away time itself revealed the
Secret mystery of holiness’s true heart and meaning the sky strained to carry the weight of words so
Profound any and all armies would fall before their mastery to question one’s self at such depths would
Make you defenseless to all obligations you crossed grandeurs stronghold you intervened no less into
Matters that only prophets are obliged to discuss you have fashioned with words great bastions to
Supersede they mock the infidelity and foolishness of many kingdoms Royalty is not just to wear fine
Robes but to center the mind on those richest of finds and then return to mankind and spread them as
Star dust in the lowly places and see the birth of equality and liberty flourish from the lowest to the
Highest that honors not one but all lead at all points root out ignorance that is the cause of all shame
With words that are akin to the words that created worlds this is what you are caught up in there is no
Time for idleness go and spread this word to the four corners of man’s domain we are heroes yet made
By the very words that are possessed and won at altars the planks of mortals that build a stairway to
Glory the earth yearns and dies while you tarry the breach long ago in Eden now the dream is to be
Fulfilled by holy men and women strong enough to face this most demanding challenge forget self catch
Fire with holy zeal burn only for others the world will change from carnage to gifts that bestow
Abundant Life we have never lived in a world that we could make by surrendering our dreams for stellar
exploits
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 12:59 AM UTC
his fingers sing, strumming
melodies from circle sweeps,
telling tales of lovers’ tryst,
getting caught, getting kissed.
oratory of silence
he sings without words, muses
dance behind his eyes, with
all is told in dances, myth
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 4:39 AM UTC
I recall the evening invocatory call to the will of the 'Almighty' by
a visiting Pastor .. Ladies with fans , gentlemen waving hats .. Thunder
hammering the next county over to the west , streetlights filled with bugs and the occasional brown bat ...
Babes crying out , children becoming restless , his oratory becoming louder with each concurring "Amen' from the crowd ..
Tent ***** swaying ever so gently , the sweat on Dad's forehead and the smile on Granny's face , a stick of gum from Mom to get me through the evening sermon on a humid southern night ..
Tables lined end to end filled with potato salad , fried chicken and baked beans .. Ambrosia , peach pies and cakes .. Sweet tea ...
Evening dinners with gospel quartets and old time bluegrass bands ..
The kids receiving their Vacation Bible school certificates after the congregational feast .. The drive home ..Carried indoors , tucked away in bed with fond memories ..
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 10:02 PM UTC
You’re swimming, okay,
And the Bible suddenly opens up.
Not many people are faced with this,
Except you: you’re an exception.
How do you take it?
Barely, would the sublime horror of communion pass on your lips
Once the ocean take its Leviathan form, and it opens its mouth to speak.
Its oratory becomes very clear in the maelstroms of countless gallons
Rushing blue cannibalizes itself before you; you have no time to think of death
When the salt’s burning your eyes and you’ve finally figured
How useful a gyroscope can be.
Too soon, three darknesses will emerge from the desolate homily
Taught not to discriminate in thought or action: the backs of your eyes
Straining against the buoyancy, the restfulness of not seeing a bottom,
And the path Jonah’s bones took, the disbeliever.
Mostly, you’ll want to congratulate yourself like a legend,
You wonderful piece of **** when you come in crashing on the waves.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
Aren’t you amazed at the propagations of politics? But let us not become enraptured by the plausibility of oratory wonders. That which is palatable, yet unexpected, is revealed in spectacular semantics. The winds may blow the surface of grass from side-to-side, as we perch on the threshold of a new dawn, while rhetorical laughter echoes her hysterical shrieks in familial connectedness. We are truly on the brink of advancement – don’t you think? Scottish mist hangs her powerful head over the glens of Rannoch moor, in a manner which is ghostly atmospheric. The clearances of old will never be forgotten in the valley of Glencoe.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:33 PM UTC
"Dim light please",
I softly wheeze,
as you seductively tease
the nape of my neck
and I sensuously shudder
in my fleshly hearth.
Playfully,
I break away
as my heart sways
in a hitherto unknown desire....
a desire;
that took its time coming
and which is now ablaze
in your eyes so scintillating
that it makes me skip
an already fluttery heart-beat.
You proceed gently
and speak softly
about my mischievous smile,
my expressive eyes,
the curve of my lip,
...... my shapely hip.......
You stroke my hair
with ardent flair
and I listen blithely
to your unfeigned oratory
about a man's intensity,
...his unbridled frenzy.
I hearken reverently
to your admission of piety
and pledge you my fidelity
as long as there is light
in my impractical, dreamy eyes.
As we submit
to the fiery delight
I finally see
beyond the crevice of duality;
into my integrated embodiment
of anatomy and sentiment;
...that I am
and always was
a unique, solitary singularity.
Nov 28, 2019
Nov 28, 2019 at 11:19 AM UTC
I sat down after being told,
by the old hungry *****
Not to worry but there was,
a better spot then this one,
Of course,
The pedistals that sit outside,
occupational windows,
That familiar unknown feeling,
O That town they call Dinky,
There sat a confusing aura,
the pious religious freak said aura,
he talked and gave change,
yet the skull girl,
you could tell,
didn't want any of it,
The scene was joined by Tank,
His armada pockets full,
towering and proclaiming,
fits of oratory rage,
them ******** in Washington.
He saw us and scared the poor muertos,
The friends she was waiting for came and fled with them,
I lumbered after her under duress to myself,
breaking Tank's train of thought
I'm sure,
To tell her sincere,
There are normal people here,
To which her friend said after
they'd gained distance,
" You must have a target on your back or something!"
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 9:46 PM UTC