Best Accosted Poems
Accosted many years ago
By the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe
I'm now obliged to come forthright
About that dark eye-opening night.
It's only fair to let you know
I've held a torch for Mr. Poe
It's all because of the ink of his pen
That my love for poetry did begin.
(His sad, sad tale arrested me;
the saddest tale I've ever known.
Small wonder then when he chose me,
an easy prey, home all alone)
Toiling to write like him for years
Happy was I when his ghost appeared.
A tragic figure past, present and now
He entered my room with a humble bow.
And fixed me with a haunting stare
And whispered softly 'life's not fair.'
I nodded my head just to agree
When a strange sensation took hold of me.
Possession felt more than 9/10's of the law
I felt frozen and badly in need of a thaw.
My body, not mine now was his to command;
Just a shell, a mere puppet, at the will of this man.
His voice so melodic, belied malice or vice.
He drew near to the fireplace, the warm hearth felt nice.
There was music, a waltz, seemed familiar {mere chance?)
Embracing the moment we started to dance.
His thoughts were with mine now
And mine were with his
And I swear by my bank book
As long as I live
The unbearable pain of his loss gripped my heart
And the moment I fainted we were ripped apart.
He was anguished at how he had handled his grief,
How his life was cut short by his own inner thief.
He'd wanted to write more
His mind was an ark
Just those few moments with him
Woke the poet in my heart.
And so it happened in just one night
He taught me verse; he taught me rhyme
And stretched my mind to higher heights
That's quite developed over time.
He's never visited my bedroom since
Or with my body had his way.
He left me with this gift or sixth sense
Of a fire for poetry that burns in my veins.
Unfinished business is quite finished now.
Passing on I imparted to him 'quid pro quo.'
'Rest in peace, the whole world
Knows your name Mr. Poe.'
-Reta Pruitt
July 22.2018
Glorifying thrills of curious weeds
Wandering children with careless deeds
Broken leaves embracing the sun
Goblin heads for the better sure
On boundless grounds, allure
Vapours from the void so numb.
Release from heaven,the Godly tears
Silently succumb to the human fears
Thirsty flock of birds galore
Accosted branches reach out for help
The heartless Mother had never felt
The thrust of Wintry furor.
Rails of stillness,thunder past
Childlike happiness racing fast
Against the skyline,blue
The blazing lime,ever so greedy
Lazy cows and cranes dreamy
Raindrops and melancholy flew
Misty mornings of cobweb twists
Freezing feelings of stuffy fists
Prancing on a rainbow, over hot coffee
Golden veils spun from the fire
Over distant highness of desire
A magic, a mystery, it seems to be..
The times of love and the times just
Dozen reveries of scrumptious lust
Abduct the heart to the same
Humble nature with happy dreams
When nightmare comes, it screams
Even the mountains vehemently maim
The labyrinth of a decedent mind
Indulge in masquerade like a rind,
From the sublime beauty of a picturesque felony
In rivers, flows the ardent smiles
Between mountains, are hidden rhymes
Of craved love, left behind,peace and harmony.
Entry Landscape and Towns ...Thank you
As I was walking in the snow
I was accosted by a crow
It did not like my face
I ran and it gave chase
Amused onlookers watched the show.
----------------------------------------
For a contest hosted by Kevin Shaw
21st February, 2018
I'm a solitary wanderer
Guided by the winds and the sol rays
I roam through lonely valleys
Sipping from streams to streams
Riding on cascade , up and down
Sleeping under stars and silver moons
Night’s canopy as tent
Wandering in the verdant fields
Rolling on soft grass
Swimming in colossal oceans
Climbing onto the mountain cap
Motleying acme of the sky
Drowning into the heavenly showers
Lay supine, dreaming
Of the sparkling stars
Holding them in the eyes
Life sparkles with glee and gaity
Solitary wanderer is I
Accosted from the crowd and streets
Blancbec meadows and gardens
I encounter with four seasons:
Frigid,blood-Warm,green ,and mahogany
Salutes and welcome me,a solitary wanderer.
Desertation is beatitude
I find meaning in myself
Meaning to sojourn in sole calmness
To sapid the sap of serenity and composure
That's how I turn myself away from crowd,
Wandering as long as meandering ogins.
__19/06/2018.
Scene 2 - Easy Rest Adult Care Fascility, Doctor Mendelsohnn's office.
"Good Afternoon, Mr Potter, I am Doctor Eric Mendelsohnn. I have some
forms for you to sign. This is the payment arrangement to be electronically transferred
the first of each month" "Whoa, wait a minute, I want to know why Mr. Johnson was
sent here anyway" "He accosted 2 hikers in the woods" " In his woods, on his property,
200 feet from his home." " The lady and gentleman were afraid, his hair was flying everywhere His beard was unkept, and he wasn't dressed in hiking gear or carrying a back-pack" "He wasn't hiking he was out on a nature walk, Chef could walk that mountain blindfolded and never stumble"" Look all I know the police brought him here in cuffs. He was ranting and raving about his Rights. I felt compelled to admit him for observation and testing; which he failed; in my opinion as a physchologist." " You
know what you can do with your opinion" " Mr Potter calm down, we have Mr. Johnson sequestured in the adjoining room. His memory is failing, and He shouldn't be left alone on top of some mountain. I am going to give him some cognative thinking test now, your more than welcome to sit in on the interview""that's a good idea, I'm not signing anything until I see for myself that he's forgetful" " Please right through this door""What the F***, take that off of him right now" Mr Potter he is a danger to" "I said NOW!!
Chef are you ok" "Kenny are you taking me home: Please" "Look Doc, I'm getting a bit pissy with you right now. Get that Straight- jacket off of him right now. He recognized me right off, I don't see any signs of forgetfulness." "Ok the restraints are off can we get started now." "No, not here. let's go outside" "I don't think that is a good idea, there is too many people out there to do any responsible testing" " Ok, You said he
has a temporary room, Do it there" " Very well"
Scene 3 - Easy Rest Adult Care Fascility; Chef's room.
Whilst in deep sleep
Found a strangest place amidst
Strolled somewhere anew
Creatures lead wrong ways
But still best life chose its path
Mystic doors were closed
Glimpsed one and the rest
Until one by one opened
Watcher accosted.
Note: Following a rash of local breakins, thieves murdered two people who happened to be
at home when they entered. This event produced a lot of anxiety for me and James was
kind enough to help divert my attention by joining in this write. Many thanks to James, Tim
and Dane Ann for their support during this difficult time. -- Carolyn
A hungry gray feline sees a mouse; quickly does she pounce
Instincts come into play as jungle creatures eye their prey
Natural selection rules the vast animal kingdom
By striking fast they earn the right to live another day
We read in the papers and we watch on the news
As I look out my window, and ponder man's thoughts
What do we see, through our eyes as we view
Our ability to kill and leave one's life nought
Complicated survival games play out each strenuous day
From the frigid Arctic tundra to torrid dark jungles
Beasts on the prowl are trekking nature's intended path
Another victim falls as distant thunder rumbles
Opportunists linger as the perpetrators dare
Man stalking down dark alleys and dimly-lit streets
Confronted, accosted in criminal stare
Where the innocents in danger, generally meet
Other members of the animal kingdom have no choice
They slay only to keep themselves and their families alive
But it's man who plays the most dangerous of games
Killing for thrill, politics or greed; how can man survive?
It's the evil of man who takes what he wants
With the blade of a knife, with his terror taunts
His escalation from flint to gun
This most wonderful world in masculine haunt
If man continues to develop harsh weapons
The skies may explode in carnivorous fashion
Consuming not just one animal species, but all
Leaving angels to mourn the death of God's creations
An Apple Across Acres Accordingly Accosted, Angelic Answers Awaits!
Back on the river, forward into the howl of the unknown,
for three days Sergeant Floyd has been crippled by excruciating pain in his abdomen,
as the only man here trained in internal medical matters it is incumbent on me to treat him,
Doctor Rush's "Thunderbolt" pills are failing to alleviate the malady
and the ground Peruvian bark hardly sedates Flyod, his agony is bleeding into the eyes,
for 48 hours the rains have been rampant making the river sizzle in cool agitation
the mosquitos are swarming like whispers in a brothel
they are the devil's needles, we resort to spreading lard on ourselves as a repellent,
ironically, despite the downpours the wind is high at our backs
so the sails are up and we are moving swift as a curse off a witch's lips,
Sergeant Pryor woke on the boat this morning with news of death
his voice didn't wait for breath, the steps of his boots broke open my irritation
after informing me that Charles had recently died,
I believe he expired from a ruptured appendix which we had no remedy for,
he had the soul of a lion, Godspeed to him,
while I slept my spittle smeared the ink in my journal
forming a pictorial omen of a tombstone on the page,
the only question is whom be it for,
Clark has identified a suitable burial place for Flyod on a large hill,
no one speaks, its just the slurp of the paddled water
and a handful of gold finch birds that seem determined to skip on the wind
reminding us that there is always a place for a soul to go,
coming up on the riverbend we are accosted by an armada of geese
so plenty that the trees wish they had that number in leaves,
my Lord, the ruckus these creatures are generating in honking indignance
as they lift into flight is nerve pinching,
its like an army of imbecilic people shouting in panic all at once
yet these geese are noble in their beauty and militant nature
and I see this moment as a sign that no Indians will interdict our passage,
J.A.B.
With the demise of the midnight dreary
When all mortals,'hope', long to receive
some the morning wish to come
to wash away memories of cut-throat nightmares
some the morning pray to come
to take away the torture of the gloomy darkness
i as well partook in this mass prayer
prayer for morning to come
but as though unto some hellish gods,
the answer to my prayer,behold was more dreary
drearier than my nightmares
nightmares to which i had been condemned to the night before
a hhappy man would i have been,if i was accosted by blood and gore
but no.twas something more dreary,more deadly,more grim
which no mortal man has imagined or in dreams seen
a thinh whose mere appearance spelt doom
which in me inflicted spasms of tempestuous shudders
and behold i dropped,i lay and inly the hourglass can tell
can tell how long lay i,unconscious,the body away from the soul
until consciousness whispered with tyhat piercing sound,shrill
awoke me to yhe bustle and hustle of the midday
Soon all things will owe themselves to progress
and nature will neither wane nor wax
accosted by bulbs and cog-laden streams.
Children in god-awful Christmas jumpers
gather around the May-pole to watch
the leaves become what they’re deprived of.
We are taught to fear puddles, duty free
purchases, and heroes speak in slant rhyme.
Thermodynamics washes the feet
of tired old gravity, entropic
kisses to keep loved ones close; parody—
if absence does what it does, we should leave
and never return to this place of progress
where bluebells can’t frost and starlings sing falsetto.
I don’t know how to start
The story that I want told
The parts that chill me to the bone
And makes my blood run cold
When I was but a little child
And they thought it not be heard
Though I was busy with my play
I attended to each word
Never spoken above a whisper
Barely breathed the truths come out
The darkness that lived within our town
Beyond gruesome was no doubt
A mother and her children small
While sleeping in their beds
Were each accosted everyone
And then were left for dead
The father when returning home
Was horrified at the question
That he would kill his family
Made him ill at the suggestion
He was overwrought and confused
Did someone have their four year old
Was he safe, was he well
This is where the darkness
Becomes a mystery no one would tell
Where’s the little boy
That looks after the sheep
Why he’s under the haystack
Dead asleep
Written for Debbie Guzzi's 'Something wicked this way comes' contest
With tender heart we live alone
Void of noise and stress
Two miles each day we walk for health
My doctor seems impressed
Sporadically we change our view
And travel to the park
To watch the timid critters play
Stirring my listless heart
When one day, along the way
We startled a feeding hare
The frightened bunny jumped to run
Which caught us unprepared
My tender heart began to bark
Excited and alert
He caught that bunny awkwardly
To steal a dance in the dirt
The accosted bunny kicked and screamed
Sounding like a child
My tender heart let it go
Wagged his tail and smiled
Daniel Turner
Do you mind
If I share a dialogue?
My chalice of truth and reality
Is far too full to contain the depths of my soul
A chalice of roads trod, rivers crossed, and mountains climbed
Bearing a brew too overpowering and juxtaposed
To consume in solitude
Come share in my abundance
Lest I overflow.
Do you mind
If I share a smile
The sun in my face
Reflects the sun on a topaz sky
Reflects the gurgle of a newborn
Reflects the grace of the cotton-tailed hare
As does the sun
The joy of a friend
The harvest of effort
The awakening from a dream to a dream-filled reality
Creates a warming hearth within me
A hearth that comforts but never burns
Come bask in my warmth
Lest I grow cold.
Do you mind
If I share a tear?
My portmanteau is heavy-laden
With the tears of grief, fear, and shame
Tears of my own vulnerability
Tears of distrust
Tears of surveying the parlor of felicity
But an unidentified hand holding me back
Preventing me from entering
Tears from screaming for help at those in that parlor
Until my voice is bereft of speech
Yet no one even notices
Tears at believing that even God has turned a deaf ear
Tears at saying farewell to loved ones all too soon
And forever accosted by enemies and naysayers
Tears at the eternal thunderstorms
Thunderclaps that ascertain that misfortune is imminent
Crystal balls of hail that smash all goodness into oblivion
And floods that wash away all signs of its existence
My salt-caked, drenched burden
Has increasingly become overwhelmed
Come help to relieve it of this liquid sorrow
Before I explode.
Do you mind
If I share a hope?
For as long as there is
Air in my lungs
Ink in my pen
Paper on my desk
And a God in Heaven
There is hope.
Hope, like a new spring
With the budding of daffodils
The sprouting of leaves
And the melting of the remnants of a cruel season gratefully forgotten
Hope, like the comforting embrace of a friend
The respect of an opponent
And the support of ones with nothing material to gain
Hope, like a holy dove
Begs us to acknowledge it
And the leafy message it brings
That life can be beautiful
As beautiful as we make it
Come nurture hope with me
To keep it alive.
Mary and Joseph fairly did it,
That night when they each gave,
Everything to the other,
In energetic zealous rave.
Heaven and earth co-aligned,
Stars shone just on them,
Nature whispered unabashed,
As their voice was of 1000 men.
Morality and good were with themselves,
Unmarried yet with child,
But they knew their baby’s genotype,
His personality, meek and mild.
In fear of reputations pull,
They adjoined him with God, the divine,
And accosted the shepherds interest:
The people, the folks on the vine.
There had been predicted,
By the world’s predictive prophets,
A saviour by name of Jesus Christ,
In etymology’s linguistic minuets.
This man was to be the saviour,
Of the then known world from doctors,
Who only treated the rich and not,
Those who to them were doctor callers.
The baby’s name was already up for question,
And Joseph had complete discernment,
There was a census of the population,
Which Joseph completed with endearment.
There was no god to whisper a name,
His parents had to decide on his needs,
They had to determine the appropriation,
Of the prophesies and the creeds.
So they maybe called him Jesus Christ,
As false as false could be,
And that he became such bold and true,
Is due to his own credibility.
Although in life he may have been confused,
About his birth name from Mary’s heart,
He had twelve close friends and brothers,
Who helped his career start.
These disciples were to me colleagues,
Of the man who could heal,
And for a first mover in equal care,
Twelve is a respectable peal.
So Jesus became Jesus Christ,
By his own work and thought,
And to know this is to have
Knowledge of history taught.
This historical Jesus makes most sense,
Navigates literature’s demands,
Gives interpretation its true space,
And issues no religious commands.
Understanding the Jesus meme,
Depends on reading about the child,
Accepting his parents circumstances,
Forming the context of the ancient world.