Best Accomplices Poems
Sophie Scholl was raised a Christian in a Lutheran family
Born in the town of Forchtenberg in south west Germany
For standing defiant against evil with her young life she'd pay
In a country that was in deep turmoil and had lost its way.
She was a young teenager in nineteen thirty three
When a new leader offering hope, emerged in Germany
Adolf Hitler was an Austrian, who came to power
And for many it was the start of their darkest hour.
To unite the German people the Nazis held rallies
In some of the larger towns and all the big cities
But something dark and sinister was taking place
The evil Nazis were plotting to create a master race.
All the youth were encouraged to join an organisation
Hitler youth they were known all over the nation
Sophie and her brother together, with some of their friends
Turned their backs on the movement and vowed to make amends.
Word was getting around about death camps and persecution
Together they decided to form, a small non violent organisation
Known as the 'White Rose' who urged the people to renounce Hitler
They handed out leaflets telling the truth, about the Nazis slaughter.
One day at Munich University where Sophie studied as a student
She was seen distributing leaflets on what Nazi ideology meant
A janitor intervened and confronted her, and wouldn't let her go
She was arrested and then handed over to the notorious Gestapo.
They interrogated her to find out, who her accomplices were
But she wouldn't give them their names, as they tortured her
They charged her with high treason and sentenced her to death
To die by the guillotine and the date of execution was set.
They executed twenty one year old Sophie for making a stand
And they had accused her of being a traitor, to the fatherland
They eventually captured the others, five of them in all
And they too walked to their deaths standing proud and tall.
It’s people like Sophie who want to make the world a better place
And not supporting some twisted ideology like a master race
The Nazis were eventually defeated and their leaders tried
But not before Sophie and millions of other innocents had died.
Written 15th May 2021.
The maple leaf of autumn is now crisp crimson,
shortly ere sun-bronzed skin simmered lumened
I indulge with the saddened left behind to wither,
these not listful ears awaiting beckoning me hither
Hours freeze, minutes in tow, the world halts,
when pains chronic symptoms claim free of faults
Suspended in time lingering in liminal limbo,
indefinite neglect being its sanctified symbol
Decline is a beginning I politely pick up the pieces,
within my confines the endless summer ceases
As a recurring familiarity in the distant breaches
shadows sweep at dusk attaching as leeches,
feeding on a sueded soul, voiding bruised veins,
hallow numbness in my chest is all that remains
Love weeps salt tears brined with both joy and sorrow,
fasting with false hopes macerating raw tomorrows
Ache tests how much weight my heart can hold,
I’d glide into the dolostone matrix, I’d break the mold
What is shared binds two souls along with betrayal,
and only feeds this fervor, savior this is where I fail
Arrows dart freeing these eyes of debited desire,
through a heart, a flame that had once felt fire,
suffering knows that I and I only hold love blame,
at a time when two accomplices felt the same
A brief breeze during a feverish Roman August
foolish pride thwarted lost, what won, writhes lust,
whys are worn, days don’t pass, nights don’t end
Sextilis its name should’ve kept, allotting to transcend,
moods madness ‘neath moon’s tortuous tattletale’s
of September’s blighted face flurrying gust strewn gales
I now stand in a place of my own crowned in pearled onyx,
reborn upon the highest thrown, I drink fortitude’s tonic,
'till September’s sapphire emanates from melancholia,
here you come again, shattered dreams laden with insomnia
Complicit in our nightly rendezvouses
The moon and stars, my heart's accomplices
Clandestine lovers take celestial cues
As we fulfill the soft night's promises
Conspiring with my heart, the when and where
We meet in places only they can know
Reflecting from blue eyes and golden hair
They greet my heart and lend their heav'nly glow
And then in silence watching from above
Seducing with romantic ambience
They blink and blush as you and I make love
Two star crossed fools locked in our heart's response
The moon and stars bring nightly fantasies
For passing ships that sail on starry seas
December 13 2016
by Daniel Turner
Rendez/vous (voo), vouses (vuz)
they're not speaking to me now, the Muses;
they're being stubborn,
witholding information, like beetle-browed accomplices -
their mouths pulled tight as drawstring purses.
they sit on their twin thrones of epiphany and genius,
smiling silently,
mockingly, while my fingers twitch with impotent yearning
and the chambers of my mind are cold,
dark and hollow as a cave.
i have become a contradiction in terms -
the wordless poet strikes again...
writer's block is the yoke around my neck,
the anchor that sends me drifting lachrymose
into the suffocating depths -
i am drowning,
swallowing tendrils of seaweed and tufts of
gossamer melancholy.
a struggling artist shouldn't have to work this hard -
to pay the bills yes, but not to create;
without the birthing process there is no artist...
yet there is still hope, a smidgen, a dark smudge on the horizon.
some knight errant might appear, with golden locks
and a smile that trembles the knees,
to inject love and longing back into my sulky heart.
he might extend his brave hand, down into
these murky depths, and yank me up;
dragging my creativity, bedraggled, choking,
retching, into the bleak light of inspiration's flare...
but then again, who believes in knights these days?
i am just as likely to wither away down here,
among the fishes and the wall-eyed anemones,
until the words have all filtered from my brain
and poetry is just a fond memory
from long-ago halcyon days...
Little Charlie was a seven year old who was picked on in school because of his
height. Some of the kids would poke fun at him and call him Shorty Charlie. His buddy Brian would always tell the bullies to knock it off. Charlie always felt awkward because Brian would always come to his rescue and he himself wanted to stand up to the Bullies... Charlie lacked confidence and he dreamed for the day of getting even with them. Bobby the Bully had it in for him. Charlie couldn't wait for Halloween because he was going to dress up like a Superhero Superman and walk on stilts and be tall and Powerful and get even with Bobby and his accomplices. He thought that's what he must do to stop them from bullying him. He couldn't wait for Halloween. Halloween had finally arrived and Charlie and Brian headed out together as best friends Trick Or Treating. Then afterwards to a School Halloween Party.
The Night was Erie as the Full Moon shined,
as Little Charlie had one thing on his mind.
The two boys headed into the dark of the Night.
Tired of being made fun of. He was going to
do what was right.
Walking as Superman with stilts on his feet.
Gave him confidence to win and achieve.
His poor little feet hurt as he walked on those stilts.
He had to endure because of his strong will.
Brian said to Charlie, "You don't have to do this."
Charlie replied, "Thanks Brian, but I'm not a sis."
Just when he said this he looked up to see.
It was Bobby the Bully getting a Treat.
He knew it was him from the sound of his voice.
As he shook inside to confront this bad boy.
He got scared for a moment, as he was going to confront.
Then approached him like he had never done.
Like Superman he asked Bobby "Do you know who this is?"
Bobby had a puzzled demeanor, and asked, "Who is This?"
" I am Superman to you." Charlie replied,
and landed a punch to Bobby's right eye.
Bobby fell to the ground and started to cry.
Charlie took his stilts and mask off, and asked,
"Are you all right?!"
When Bobby saw who it was, he said," Is that you Charlie?"
Charlie responded, " I am Superman to you, Bobby."
Michael Tor
Most are related to shipwrecked ghosts,
accomplices of my blood
that can still be found
in geographically scattered albums.
When there were cities to occupy,
they lived one level below expectations.
Like defective fireworks, some went off early.
A more dedicated few grew old and medicated.
They built defunct railroads and dug ditches
they later fell into.
They were navigators of small shady schemes.
Their brief settlements and abrupt departures
left fuzzy lines on blacktops and concrete.
As a family, we are estranged and unknown,
but we do speak to our dead
if they come to call, of course
only after a respectable period
of life-long disinterest.
Strophe
The polygamist had a big house
Where he chose to warehouse hundreds of girls
And women including 29 stepmothers, his father’s spouses
56 of the girls were each other’s sisters.
And 24 were under the age of seventeen.
Some of the young wives even assisted passions
The pedophile with his sexual assaults
Telling the girls that if they refused to please his preen
In what he dubbed the “heavenly sessions”
They would be “rejected by God’s favorite cult.
Antistrophe
Wives were both the victims of his abuse
And the accomplices subjected to a cruel
World of worship and sexual abuse
And were so indoctrinated and used cool.
Who cruelly bred them for manipulation.
Calling himself the ‘humble servant’ of God
Asking the girls to please God to atone community’s sins
Oh, the wives of the notorious polygamist’s predation
Into the twisted world of subjugation fold
With which he surrounded himself amidst the teens.
Epode
Had a wisdom tooth for his sexual gratification
Raping the young girls in his big house to make housewives
The State of Texas has a big house for lamentation
Where he will spend the rest of his life’s cloves
Well, he will have plenty of time to repent.
And think deeply on the meaning of life
Out of the 50 wives none of the parents got relief
Where are the parents of these young girls tormented?
Does that mean all were brainwashed for strife?
So scary that pedophilia can be masked as religious belief.
.===============================================
Dr. Ram Mehta
First Place win in :
Contest: A Toothful Ode by nancy jones
** This is the English Ode, also called the Homostrophic or Horatian Ode.
The Romantic Ode often followed the Irregular Ode's structure
and the Homostrophic Ode's meditative quality.
Rhyme Scheme : ABABCDECDE (Ten lines)
So shocking was that news from France,
we stared at TVs in a trance;
no way to understand.
Those young and old without a chance
were taken down in wide expanse.
Such horror had been planned.
Who could have then foreseen the fate
upon them cast by those who hate?
Just gathered there for fun,
not knowing that their deaths await
while music played and people ate,
their lives were over, done.
Who could have thought ahead that they -
that enemy that wants its way
to change our form of life,
would sacrifice their own to say
that their belief we must obey?
Misguided thoughts run rife.
That Paris scene that fretful night
prepares us now to face the fight.
Define this threat once more
that could erupt within our sight.
Entire world must join the fight
to face this crusade war.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Rime Couee - Tail-Rhymed Verse - For France
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
Judged: 01/03/2016
~2nd Place~
Contest: Best Sad Poem EVER
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 08/29/2016
=============================================
Rime Couee
I went with this pattern for Rime Couee as shown on "The Poet's Garret" website
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x b
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x b
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"The November 2015 Paris attacks (sometimes referred to as 11/13) were a series of coordinated terrorist attacks that occurred on Friday 13 November 2015 in Paris, France, and the city's northern suburb, Saint-Denis. Beginning at 21:16 CET, three suicide bombers struck outside the Stade de France in Saint-Denis, during a football match. This was followed by several mass shootings, and a suicide bombing, at cafés and restaurants. Gunmen carried out another mass shooting and took hostages at a concert in the Bataclan theatre, leading to a stand-off with police. The attackers were shot or blew themselves up when police raided the theatre.
The attackers killed 130 people, including 89 at the Bataclan theatre. Another 368 people were injured, 80–99 seriously. Seven of the attackers also died, while the authorities continued to search for accomplices. The attacks were the deadliest on France since World War II." Wikipedia
Elegant in burnt orange afterglow,
sparkling starlight opens the show.
Neighbors and strangers appear all aroun’,
porch lights and car lights enlighten the town.
They arrive afoot and atop handlebars.
Tots wave from strollers like famed movie stars.
Mothers bellowing orders to stay in sight,
transgressors will rue being naughty tonight.
Flickering lights and untied laces
nudge fidgety feet through their paces.
Masquerade masks make eager accomplices’
too impish eyes and mischievous faces.
Scowling Jack-O-Lanterns carved in creepy effigies
prove impotent charms to appease candied fantasies.
Festooned arches adorned in orange and black,
ornate ornaments to win the neighborhood plaque.
Into the gauntlet of terror they swarm;
dressed to play in pillaging uniform.
Tree and flower tremble and quiver;
Bumped and trampled in their fervor.
Werewolves wailing through grimacing grins
herald a night of howling hymns.
Ghostly spirits from the bowels of earth,
hang from gallows, grinning in ghoulish mirth.
Silken chains embracing all who stray,
beckons the widow to her frightened prey.
Garnished by cackling cries of certain demise,
steaming cauldrons poach their pitiful prize.
Spades of woe shadow souls who rashly ignore,
ominous omens attached to windows and doors.
Like tocks from a clock they continue to arrive,
will the morrow find anyone left still alive?
Hostiles charitably looting town,
sacks of booty slowing them down.
Toting bags of looted plunder,
looming hordes scatter asunder.
Pass me by, to my neighbor grace his stage,
assuage with him your gluttonous rage.
Rapacious hands swaying in ritual dance,
exuberance untethered in blitzing advance.
Eyeing my castle the rioting rabble rush in,
guarded only by growlin’ dog an’ smilin’ pumpkin.
Upon my stoop they brazenly climb,
my breath on hold, I hear the chime.
My time I fear is near at hand,
my blood or treasure they demand.
Hunkered down and hidden from sight,
no mercy presented for my plight.
With sweaty palms and pounding heart,
please Lord I pray, make them depart.
For a shot of strong “Spirits” I silently scream,
‘cause I forgot the candy on this Halloween!
The killers are not only those who bombed this nation
But also those who knew their hangouts and kept
silence
The killers are not only those who slaughtered
humans
for religion reasons
But also those religion leaders who refused to
condemn
the act
The killers are not only those who imported
weapons of
destruction
But also those pilots, sailors, drivers, custom
officers
who let their palms be greased to let them in; also
those
who made the weapons; also those who sold the
weapons
The killers are not only those who kidnapped
innocent
children and other men's wives
But also those who sponsored the wicked
expenditure
The killers are not only those who disguised as
soldiers to
commit genocide
But also those Generals, Colonel, Lieutenants who let
them had access to the uniform
The killers are not only those who ran away from
their
responsibilities of protecting our lives
But also those who procrastinate or know what to
do
to bring THE KILLERs and their accomplices to book
but
refused to do so.
Do or Die?
I am perplexed
unable to decide
what to do?
Either to spare
a traitor's life
or to kill him
what if the traitor
is my own son
or brother?
I am perplexed
unable to decide
what to do
what to do if the traitor
in concert with his accomplices
gets his hands on my life
what if he kills me
while i indecisively sit
and think
then suddenly comes to my mind
how the great Mughals
dealt with such problems
the gentler Mughal monarchs
would catch their inimical brothers
who were after their lives
so that they could
grab the Throne
and come to power
They would arrest them
and blind them by bringing the fiery glow
of red hot burning rods
opposite their wide open eyes
and then throw them
in dungeons to rot
the other more harsh Mughal Emperors
would fight against such traitors and enemies
and kill them
in the battle grounds
But I am not a Mughal King
nor a kin of the blue blood
yet I am am
in similar situation
in a place where law and justice
bows to the strong
and corrupt
So what should I do?
Kill or get killed
by the greedy enemy
none else but my own
flesh and blood
I am simply perplexed
unable to decide
which course i should
adopt
to save my neck
from imminant risk
of being swiped
while i think.
it is said; that for evil to florish
all it takes is for good men to do nothing.
what was it like for Wilson to watch
Poland and France get marched on
and dominated by an evil force
it must be the same for
China, Russia and the United States.
God has a hit out on these kings
and not one of those countries
combined with the other two can stop it
but my question is; Why is'nt my country
helping God?
One week ago, a suicide bomber, a murderer took many lives at the Manchester Arena
The police are hunting down his accomplices to subpoena
It seems that the papers have nothing better to do than to show his face to us every day
Replaying each and every horrific moment to his families and relatives: including his unfallen, his prey
Go on let’s make him famous, some journalists seem to say
These are the images that imprint themselves in the minds of relatives and friends
What kind of a message does this ultimately send?
This story really sucks
News makes big bucks
Who is going undercover to catch these monsters that lurk?
Has the world gone completely berserk?
When it came to the crunch, they caught the evil leaders not so long ago
They knew where and how to overthrow
Those in power know how to catch these wicked murderers if they really want to
Instead, they sit back and hold up their hands up in horror as if to say how can this be true
The reality is who is selling weapons to the enemy
Their identities will surely put them in jeopardy
So until someone commands the word “GO”!
This remains to be one big psycho show!
Young minds see options like sand on a beach.
Decisions born of freedom,
The keys to doors leading
To mysterious worlds made from boxes and sheet.
'Lets pretend' a password to scabby knees you find
boundaries unfenced, beckon brave adventurers.
Grandad's old hat now that of Captain Black Beard.
Thrills beyond belief to hide or to spy,
achieve weightlessness on a swing or climb to high.
Brothers and sisters accomplices able
to find treasure buried under the dining room table.
Such are the delights of a childhood;
who could imagine anything better.
How wicked the tricks of your serpent’s lair
a lingual place of wild mango magic behind caliente lips
where a supple sensualist lies in seductive ambush—
rum on the rocks spices the red bed of your taste buds
libation temptation whets my wish like a knife on stone
medieval my want to stir my tongue in your firewater
my fingers a captivated trellis
jealous and zealous carefree and careless
find their way to getting lost in your midnight curls
S curves wind from devil depths to bind
aroused fingers— coiled accomplices hold me captive
as I’m pulled in with potion-puncture fangs
piercing my heart deep piercing my soul sweet
eyes of winter blue skies belie your stealth
l i p s heat-seek as you place your face to mine
tongue flicks for a taste ah flirts with lust-basted taste
yes y e s s s press your whispering mouth on mine
my mouth blooms like a dusk-loving moonflower
throat white against night my breath your honeysuckle
unholy hunger unleashed a famished desperation
my desperation so full of babydoll flame and ash
your jaw unhinges to swallow whole my fire and ire
oh bend me like a willow in the tongue-tie of your kiss
break me take me make me buy the bliss in your hiss
feed me fantasies I need to cede lace without chains
as hush-winged-talons scythe bloodstreams of dreams
bleed me in the weed greed of your sidewinding river
‘til you shed my love the way a constrictor sheds skin
I crave to tame you claim you
make you my burlesque feather boa—
your lightning I’d capture
and wear your glamour with rapture
instead of being your convenience pet kept