The Meandering Lion
Latch the doors,
I want to meander
With flaming feet
Of an opulent lion
Inside my prattling veins
And in the currents
Of your thunders
If you can see them
In the condoles of the scars
And in the knot of my temples.
Let the arrows strike
With vengeance and repugnance
They do not have the heart
Of gilded susurrations,
They can nick my tawny suit
But never touch the soul
Basking in the prowls
Of a protracted and brazen
Glissando.
Stay, inside my forlorn forest
If you can endure the enigma
And if you can wrangle
With the lashing of
My violent yet pliant chains,
Not of lightning,
But of infinity
In the farcical veneer
Of the moon-kissed eaves
Dispensing all amiable jewelries
Into the sea
Of drudgery.
Hear me feign a tongue-tied roar
And rip myself with electric tongues,
Corrupt these eyes of a child
As I pretend to scamper the wiles
Of the labyrinthine riddles;
I am who I am,
A perplex cacophony,
And the dissonance of the desires
To be heard while whispering
A clandestine interpolation.
Leave and shun the scintillations
Of the lackluster stars
That would remind me
Of you and your lucidity
And wedging distraught,
And of being one amongst
These far-flung constellations.
If you cannot give me
A lion soul,
Stay away and permit me
To pretend that I am
A meandering lion.
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Cradle the Lion's Grave
The meandering Lion, impaired by a trance
Of feral instinct and hedonistic impetus
Torn to avert or succumb his fated tragedy
But only festoons the lion's unwritten fable
Ensconced by the eaves of pure enigma
Slithering the ornate tangling forlorn forest
Whilst the Moon stroke the fiery wisps
Of his cynical golden tresses and bastion
Grazing on his poignancy to submission
And scintillating a cordial theme park
Clandestine with a selfish feisty carnival
From the Lion's lacerations that stalls
Upon the labyrinthine forest's walls.
poem by Norman Santos
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The Lion of the Dawn
The sun sliced through the ample sighs
Of the foggy dawn and grazed
The inert life in each
Quiescent leaves
Of the forest's canopy.
The world was a burning orb
In the misty horizon
Of its arid skin.
Every fraction started
Rousing into life,
From the blossoming buds
Of the wild bougainvilleas,
The elucidation of
The forest floor clad in moss,
The subtle tremble
In the boughs
Of the yawning tress,
The lifting waves
Of the hampered grass,
The fading of
The cricket's revelry
Paving way
For the cacophonous harmony
Of chirping birds;
And there was something sublime
Inside the chromospheres
Of the fulmination of life.
Something supple as
The battering of eyelashes
That is all the same surreal
That it can set forth
Colossal waves to another
Acknowledging eye.
Unfortunately,
Only a lionhearted soul
Could grapple this in sentience
Without suffocating the feral splendor.
In the belly of the shuddering abstraction
Lies a pristine vista
Of an olive pond.
It was making billowing ripples
Instigated by a pink unwavering tongue.
Massive paws rested on the fringes
Of the sodden aqueous mirror,
Serpentine tail wags in svelte grace,
And tuft suspicious ears
Twitch invariably as
An immensely sized and aloof head
Of gilded ropy hair
Bows into the mirror.
The steely gold orbits
That drown in the dithering cesspool
Mused on the pockmarks and scars
That squandered the dazzles
Of the tawny skin
He used to muse upon.
But then again,
With every roll of the undulating water,
He had seen the forest bloom
In a looming dance of ethereal flames
In the unfathomable surface
Of the impenetrable membranes
Of the pond.
The forest emerged vigorously
In its sedentary breathing,
Cloying the qualms of a
Ferocious cat in the distorted
Reflection of the pond
Of delusions.
The lion's heart was made of glass,
Frangible and brittle;
His bones were hollow
And they constantly quaver.
The lion's heart roared and prowled
Ripping the evanescence
Of both anguish and bliss.
The lion was weak
And easy to topple
But he burned of golden cinders
That spoke of a fervent desire
To stand in the front line of surrealistic
Crusades of heart
Without any remedy.
The forest has ears
And he can hear the vying
In every pounding of the forlorn chamber
Of the lion's heart.
The forest has eyes
And he can see the lion rising
Every time the sun would shatter
The mistral darkness of the eve
With zealous desire for life
In the verisimilitude of
The breaking dawn itself.
The forest had no tongue
But it had called the lion several times,
And the leaves pranced
For the wind to carry its message,
Brushing the laments of the lion.
The forest called him "The Lion of the Dawn".
And the forest could only brood
In the whim of each gloaming,
That he could never speak of
What the lion was
And no one would ever find
The lion in his lanky,
Unattractive and farcical veneer.
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Be A Lion
(charlie smalls)
There is a place well go
Where there is mostly quiet
Flowers and butterflies
A rainbow lives beside it
And from a velvet sky
A summer storm
You can feel the coolness in the air
But youre still warm
And then a mighty roar
Will start the sky to cryin
But not even lightning
Will be frightening my lion
And with no fear inside
No need to run
No need to hide
Youre standing strong and tall
Youre the bravest of them all
If on courage you must call
Then just keep on tryin
And tryin, and tryin
Youre a lion
In your own way, be a lion
Come on be a lion
I am standing strong and tall
Youre the bravest of them all
If on courage you must call
Keep on tryin
And tryin, and tryin
Im a lion
In my own way
Im a lion
A lion
A lion
A lion
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lion of the Dusk
The flourished crimson heaven
That had been mantling the meagerness
Of the famished world
Slowly escaped in seething hisses.
Every layer of faint illumination
That dissipates is refilled
By a jet black cloak.
The cicadas and the crickets
Seemed to enjoy the sublimation
And started on a
Strident carousal,
The soaring birds sang
Their swansong as
They heaved the thinning air
To ferry their plumage home,
The dog-tired grass
Halted from beating the blows
Of the southern winds,
The wind dragged deeper
From the clandestine place
Where it was accumulating
And the afternoon zephyr
Started to whistle
To call for the pouncing gales,
The trees stooped
And their eaves scooped lower.
The premature night extended
Its pliant hand holding
A lighted match and sets fire
To the slumbering
Sundered quasars.
And then it hanged a slice
Of a bloated disk
Burnished with pallid opalescence.
There was something subtle
In the dance of the dawning eve
Along the halls of ambiguity
That is not too subtle,
For you can feel it in insentience.
It was subliminal and with ornate
Delicacy that could only unfurl
Its armadillo potency
To a soul with a lion's heart.
In the pensive metamorphosis
Of the firmament,
An olive pond resting
On the core of the frowning
Life ebbs with the cloying
Darkness.
Its resilient diminutive surges
Swelled and rouse into
A silver river.
It roused shrilling,
Hastily filling
The drought in the hungry mouth
Of a vale.
It circumnavigated
And shrouded
The whole forest
And the lion could not escape
The lure of the briskly mirrors.
The clarity of its veneer
Resembles the piercing
Enamel of death's scythe
And the lion mused upon
The face of reality
In its hostile fangs.
Wrought defeats,
Scarred abandons,
Marred advances
Were groveling in the dark lids
Of two tired and deluded eyes.
The lion stood like a frozen rock,
His feet were a frozen brook.
Before the frozen pillars thaw,
The lion ran with scorching alacrity
Escaping the alluring slices
Of the starlights in the vivid reflection;
Running back to slumber on his den.
His den; a cavern of profound
And grotesque assemble
Of copper yarns, metal strings,
And serrated attachments
That pulls each other
In a taut embrace
Then toppled
As a cloying phantasm.
And there were hurtling daggers
Nicking in his tawny skin.
One got him in the chest,
And he lowered his head.
His golden mane tangled up
In the stubbles of his face.
An owl hooted
From the distance
And the echoes of it
Hammered the punctured chest.
The forest stooped lower that night
In a desire to haul and cradle
The tatterdemalion lion,
But the forest's arms
Could never reach a wandering soul.
The lion ceaselessly vied
In profanity.
He hunts surreptitiously
For chances
Of vindicating his golden diadem.
In such instances,
He would divulge the colossus heart
Made of diamonds.
In those instances,
The scars and disease
Would overwhelm and engulf
The diamond heart to shatter
In jagged pieces.
The forest has ears,
But the roars and prowls of the lion
Exploded in an atomic static
That no ears
Can ever realize.
The forest has eyes,
And he can see
The lion sprinting into
The expanding breadth
Of the pitch black
Holding a fire fueled
By a lithe ardor between
His latticing fangs,
In the semblance of
The waking dusk itself.
The forest had no tongue
But it had called the lion
Several times,
And the leaves pranced
For the wind to carry its message,
Brushing the laments of the lion.
The forest called him "The Lion of the Dusk".
And the forest could only brood
In the brittleness
Of each sunrise,
That he could never speak of
What the lion was
And no one would ever find
The lion in his lanky,
Unattractive and farcical veneer.
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Lion’s Roar (Fun Poem 36)
They say a lion’s roar
can be heard five miles away.
Therefore, if you wake up one night,
and you hear a lion’s roar,
which is completely different
from the old man’s snore.
Don’t panic, the lion could be,
at least five miles away.
Then on the other hand,
maybe you should panic,
the lion could actually be
only five minutes away.
13 August 2007
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bias
even when the lion
smiles at us
we still withhold
confidence
even if the lion is
sincere
and does not think of
evil
like eating all of us
as prey
we always think of
the worst
even if it is just a picture
of the lion
smiling at us
we still suspect
that this can be a trap
another deception
a lion is a lion is a lion
and will always be lion
no matter what
as simple as that
ask the wind
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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(I'm A) Mean Ole Lion
(Charlie Smalls)
Say what you wanna
But I'm here to stay
'Cause I'm a mean ole lion
You can go where you're gonna
But don't get in my way
I'm a mean ole lion
You'll be standing in a draft
If you don't hear me laugh
And if you happen to come around
Well, you best not make me frown
For I just might knock you down
I'm a mean ole lion
You know I'm ready to fight
And turn your day into night
'Cause I'm a mean ole lion
If you're half bright
You'll detour to the right
From a mean ole lion
All you strangers better beware
This is the king of the jungle here
And if I happen to let you slide
Don't just stand here
Run and hide
You just caught my better side
I'm a mean ole lion
Look,
You better beware
This is the king of the jungle here
And if I happen to let you slide
Don't stand here
Run and hide
You just caught my better side
I'm a mean ole lion
I'm a mean ole lion
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mean Ole Lion
(charlie smalls)
Say what you wanna
But i'm here to stay
'cause i'm a mean ole lion
You can go where you're gonna
But don't get in my way
I'm a mean ole lion
You'll be standing in a draft
If you don't hear me laugh
And if you happen to come around
Well, you best not make me frown
For i just might knock you down
I'm a mean ole lion
You know i'm ready to fight
And turn your day into night
'cause i'm a mean ole lion
If you're half bright
You'll detour to the right
From a mean ole lion
All you strangers better beware
This is the king of the jungle here
And if i happen to let you slide
Don't just stand here
Run and hide
You just caught my better side
I'm a mean ole lion
Look,
You better beware
This is the king of the jungle here
And if i happen to let you slide
Don't stand here
Run and hide
You just caught my better side
I'm a mean ole lion
I'm a mean ole lion
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lion's Roar
In the jungle, a lion's roar,
Loud rumbling from it's core.
Magnificent mane of golden brown,
He is a king but wears no crown.
Predator and enemy they have two,
Human hunters, Hyenas too.
The lion and his lioness pride,
If you cross them, run, don't hide.
The roar of a Lion,
The rolling sound of thunder,
The chase of a Lion,
His prey runs asunder.
The Lion's roar is his symbol,
Of Strength, Of Leadership, Of pride,
The raw Roar sound is tribal,
His pride, so true, abide.
Lionized
The night dawned beneath
the searing diadems
sprawled on the floors
without a king or a queen
like a roarless lion
prancing on a tawny field
without any manifestation -
a gilded mass of a shadow
capitulated from its vigor
The light spangling faintly
upon the sweating glass
the pendulum crashed
with the moon on her boudoir
clad by gargoyle clouds
we possess the darkness
cloyed by our eyes
We took ferocity for granted
whuthering from the ascent
the soldering amber sent -
A babel of roars marauding
the forlorn passages to the
gaping chamber of frailty
like a folded letter sweating
in gasoline we await
to be torched before them:
a terse plea to be saved
in the resonance of the pangs
of a miserable wound's cry
cussing with a threat
In this clandestine stupor
I found the enigma of the trees;
their interpolations caught
in the equinox of time
while the whimsy downpour
beats our jellyfish backs
like storm-troubled wings
heralding ludicrous tidings
and before the jeopardy
cicatrize in the garrisons
we called for seraphic pardons
and their vanguard hailed
like blood lusting lances
turbidly awakening the lions
asleep under their cages
Insinuated from the mayhem
a searing sputter broke
like a child's innocuous laugh
tearing the madhouses
and the farcical torment
The crest of the smoke
assuaged the distraught
clogging the facial veins
unbeknownst to the shattering
before numbness and
naivety was the same
under the parsimony
of truth and humility
Pawned for the rectification
this panacea held
like stars in the firmament
I wished for the chandelier
to break and fall
and in the stupor
I broke for everything
broken and sleeping
under the sepulchral
in a forlorn furlough
perhaps, for never more.
This is the way
of the lions.
poem by Norman Santos
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Dead Lion
Lion died
And dead lion
Came to me crying
Dead lion wanted to know
so many thing about life.
I am not here
To told about
Lion's history
Or geography of the area
Where lion was.
Dead lion
I found within
My house my country
Lion was enchanted
on the scene here
Even after death
That much I knew.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Lion
LION
A MAN WALKED DOWN A LONELY AVENUE AND SUDDENLY HE SAW A LION! HE RAN OFF SHOUTING AT THE TOP OF HIS VOICE! LION! LION! !
AND A MAN SITTING AT A CORNER KIOSK HEARD HIM SHOUTING LION! LION! ! AS HE RAN PAST THE CORNER KIOSK! WHAT A WAY TO CALL TO THY PET! I ALSO HAVE A DOG NAMED TIGER! STATED THE MAN!
poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
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Be A Lion
There is a place well go,
Where there is mostly quiet;
Flowers and butterflies,
A rainbow lives beside it.
And from a velvet sky,
A summer storm;
You can feel the coolness in the air
But youre still warm,
And then a mighty roar
Will start the sky to cryin;
But not even lightening
Will be frightening to my lion.
And with no fear inside,
No need to run, no need to hide,
Youre standing strong and tall,
Youre the bravest of them all
If on courage we must call,
Then just keep on tryin
And tryin and tryin-
Youre a lion,
In your own way, be a lion.
Come on, be a lion!
Im standing strong and tall!
Youre the bravest of them all!
If on courage you must call-
Keep on trying and...
Trying and trying...
Im a lion!
In my own way, Im a lion!
song performed by by Michael Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sylvan Guest in the Forlorn Forest
As I lay in the resentment of serrated ryes
And beneath the tempest of impaling lances
That I stashed inside the scathing frame
Of my blatant harlequin repose;
Such a sapid filth, such a torment,
A stranger intruded my forlorn forest
Marauding with a flock of gypsies and pixies
Cloven beneath the echoes of her gyratory
Ebullience, submerged in her spruce plumes,
She laid another set of superfluous cards
In a house of marble and sycophantic pillars—
In the form of her vessel; gilded jewelries
Sealed in sprightly paintings and poetries
All for a shambling gambler's ineptitude
And unsheathe a sword of nimble odds
Succoring, caressing, a despondent hand
In an earnest finagling, you've sublimated
An ornate forest into a lustrous Silver Lake
Adorned by a buoyant polished Swan
Pardon my florid tongue, please do not dispense
This guise I feigned inside a poetry into
A brazen, unabashed, and deprived blarney
And I plea, do not err, do not be beguiled
For truth be unfurled, I like you
In the most unromantic fashion
So as to keep it unstained from treachery
And so, one night I opted to fold a letter
And slip it inside the notches of your door
And as I waft in writing you an epistle
About the gaiety, your gaiety, that tinkers
Beneath your wings, do you know that you have wings?
I saw you used it to inscribe and paint
And probe and divulge the unwritten splendor
Basking in every insignificant possessions
I dallied and mused upon your enigmatic grace
Are you the Zephyr: an ubiquitous crooning?
Or a damsel lost between your own lines?
Or a dreamer at the veers of every stroke?
A sanguine nomad in supernovas, or her fancy, thereof?
Perhaps, you are the psychedelic sunrise
Grazing the films of my weary eaves
And I would not permit Atropos or The Sisters
To rust our modest yet pliant chains
And the combing of your seething rays
Beaux of the unnamed king,
That thrones in a museum,
This is what I meant
When I called you a rubber duck,
You are, pleasantly, a guest
Purging an ornate forlorn forest.
poem by Norman Santos
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Unless Something Has Sprung It
Will the lion roar in forest without any reason? !
Unless it has a prey;
Does a trap spring up out on the earth on its own?
Unless something has sprung it;
But this lion has roared and, who is ready to hear it?
Two legs from the jaws of the lion,
And like your beds and couches;
But the winter houses and the summer houses are closer to you,
For the kings of the lands have fallen like water upon the face of the earth.
The prudent are silent like a raiser of naked sheep!
For there is no end to the treasure of man on this earth;
But where are the dwelling places of the lions?
Plunder the gold, the silver and the bronze! !
And like the whoredom of the seductive harlots;
But trample the mortar and give me hope,
And go to the clay pits and tell me more!
For the lion has roared and, who is ready to hear it?
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Lion Of Love
Calling down the lion of love
Use me
Calling down the lion of love
Use me
So much to say
So much to time and space
I said it load and clear
Plot and make my case
I put it into rhythm
Sculpt it into rhyme
Wrap my secrets in a melody
Fire it at the fortress of your mind
And if after all I sing
You dont believe a thing
Thats alright
We got all night
Calling down the lion of love
Use me
Calling down the lion of love
Use me
Use my heart
Use my hands
Use me any way you can
Calling down the lion of love
So much trouble in the world
So much pain
Ive heard it all before
Ill hear it again
But Im trying to imagine
A world transformed by love
Open up my minds eye
And let the pictures flood
Imagine that its real
What does it look like, how does it feel
Hold the vision
Bring it down, spread it around
Calling down the lion of love
Use me
Calling down the lion of love
Use me
Use my vision
Use my voice
Ive had a vision
And Ive made my choice
Calling down the lion of love
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lion Of Love
Calling down the lion of love
Use me
Calling down the lion of love
Use me
So much to say
So much to time and space
I said it load and clear
Plot and make my case
I put it into rhythm
Sculpt it into rhyme
Wrap my secrets in a melody
Fire it at the fortress of your mind
And if after all I sing
You dont believe a thing
Thats alright
We got all night
Calling down the lion of love
Use me
Calling down the lion of love
Use me
Use my heart
Use my hands
Use me any way you can
Calling down the lion of love
So much trouble in the world
So much pain
Ive heard it all before
Ill hear it again
But Im trying to imagine
A world transformed by love
Open up my minds eye
And let the pictures flood
Imagine that its real
What does it look like, how does it feel
Hold the vision
Bring it down, spread it around
Calling down the lion of love
Use me
Calling down the lion of love
Use me
Use my vision
Use my voice
Ive had a vision
And Ive made my choice
Calling down the lion of love
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Listen To The Lion *
And all my love come down
All my love come tumblin' down
All my love come tumblin' down
All my love come tumblin' down
Oh, listen listen
To the lion
Oh, listen listen listen
To the lion...
Inside of me
Oh, oh, oh
And I shall search my soul
I shall search my very soul
And I shall search my very soul
I shall search my very so-o-oul
For the lion
For the lion
For the lion
For the lion...
Inside of me
Oh, oh, yeah
And all my tears have flown
All my tears like water flown
And all my tears like water flown
All my tears like-a water flown
For the lion
For the lion
For the lion
For the lion...
Inside of me
(growling, scatting, etc.)
Listen to the lion (repeated 14 times)
(more scatting)
And we sailed, and we sailed...
And we sailed, and we sailed...
And we sailed, and we sailed...
... sailed to Caledonia
And we sailed, and we sailed,
And we sailed, and we sailed, and we sailed...
Away from Denmark
Way up to Caledonia
Away from Denmark
Way up to Caledonia
And we sailed, and we sailed, and we sailed...
All around the World
And we sailed..., and we sailed..., and we sailed...
Looking for a brand new start
And we sailed...
And we sailed, and we sailed...
All around the World
... a brand new start
Looking for a brand new start
Looking for a brand new start
Looking for a brand new start
And we sailed, and we sailed, and we sailed...
And we sailed...
Away from the Golden Gate
Way up to the New York City
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Were I A Lion King
Were I a lion king of the pride how proud a lion I'd be
To think that other lions for miles around are very scared of me
In the stillness of the African night I would roar aggressively
I would not be kind to other lions or in ways act neighbourly
Of the prey the lionesses did kill I would be first to eat
The other members of the pride would have to wait for their share of the meat
The male lion who has compassion will never rule a pride
Of any honour in his life by his attitude self denied
If I were a lion king of the pride the lionesses for me would kill the prey
But if's an obstacle that always does get in the way
Human beings need some aggression in life for to succeed
The timid like the timid lion are not destined to lead
Were I a lion king in the African night I'd give a mighty roar
That would be heard by other lions for two miles distant or more.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Lion
If you're attacked by a Lion
Find fresh underpants to try on
Lay on the ground quite still
Pretend you are very ill
Keep like that day after day
Perhaps the lion will go away
poem by Spike Milligan
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