Best Aimed Poems
Before you read my poem below please know:
This poem is generalised and not aimed at any individual
It is solely my observation and voice!
~~~~~~~~~~~
Why must it be analysed and dissected
To whether a poet comments or not
We all do what we choose to do
We are a mixed bunch in this poetry pot
Some poets just like to write and read poetry
They are not interested in anything more
That is entirely their right and prerogative
That is what they are here for
Others like the social interaction
Making connections and poet friends
What you give, what you get here
On you it solely depends
Who we are …our wants and needs
Is our own personal choice
There are no set of commenting rules
No do’s or don’ts….no dictating voice
What another poet chooses to do
Is nobody else’s concern
As long every poet is respectful
Respect will be returned
Comment or not, turn comments off, or even block
Just do what ‘YOU’ want to do
Never feel pressured to do anything less
“To thyself you must be true”
There are an abundance of poets here
Who thrive on interaction and chat
They comment, encourage, support ,connect
Poets aplenty rich in socialising are here in fact
No judgement, criticism, negativity ,nor pressure should any poet face
Just a kind, caring and respectful environment on the whole
We are all unique and special individuals
Writing and enjoying poetry…..our united goal!
I See You...
Wanderer, wanderer, lost in the haze
void of direction, succumb to the craze.
Give ear to my madness, so deftly designed;
deception de-jour: aimed to muddle your mind.
Hocus and pocus no need for free thought,
erase your opinions, your conscious to rot.
As sugar and soda your smile decay,
a hoax and swindle, then off on your way.
Smoke and a mirror, please don’t look too close.
The truth makes one banal; drugs for the morose.
Illusion can conjure emotions untapped
a quick misdirection, now I’ve got you trapped.
You think you arrived here, quite all on your own
you’re one of a billion, another sad clone…
I’ve stolen the treasure that once made you free
brainwashed you to thinking all’s as it should be.
Gobbledygook and hyperbolized drivel
platitudes, platitudes, mentally shrivel;
accept what I tell you, and not an ounce more,
wanderer, wanderer, you’re lost evermore.
07/12/15
I remember when
Q was part of a Tip
now Q is a one way trip
to crazy town
It’s a place where thoughts flip
and up is down
Where every imaginable
conspiracy is found
Listen to that mind cracking sound
in a basement of a pizza shop
they think that trafficked
children are bound
Democrats demonized
Satan worshipers
Drinking babies blood
Some welcome the insanity
in like a flood
Internet researches
named Beth, Karen,
Mike, Bubba, Bob and Bud
all of them happily
wallowing in the mud
So wether they believe
in the Deep State
or PizzaGate
QAnon somehow thinks
an Old World Order
controls our fate
Slick videos crash minds
as feeble sheeple
bite into the bait
January 6th
becomes their new favourite date
Somehow
they feel truly Patriotic
instead of Psychotic
Crazy takes off like gangbusters
a fuse attached to a rocket
It seems a certain President
had them in his pocket
A gun aimed at the Capitol
and Donny cocked it
They were all dim lightbulbs
and he electrified the socket
So the Q tipped
as we watched on TV
what a crazy trip
“Hang Mike Pence”
dripped from their lips
Through broken windows
the mob slipped
as the fabric of Democracy
was stained and ripped
Still with that darkness over the Country
freedom was only temporarily eclipsed
So while the world watched
and ridiculed
“We The people” found a way
Thankfully the majority had the final say
Yes America witnessed a new day
QAnon, White Power, Proud Boys
and Anti Semites were kept at bay.
Should that not in the end
be “The American Way”?
Your words,
are projectiles
dripping with Arsenic
and aimed at my heart
spitting out darts and swords
that expertly find their mark
and draw blood
Your words,
when aimed at others
are carried by Pixies
and sprinkled
with honey and sugar coatings
that melt in their ears
and taste of confection
Your words,
cloak me in pain and guilt
for undone atrocities
and imagined factors
as your blame
riddles my soul
causing it to
prune, wither, and crust
Your words,
accusing, spiteful, degrading, malicious
paintings of what I once thought
was an indestructible bond of Love
that no one
should be able to destroy
and yet
you do so
with your words.
I've no soul left
no appetite for your touch
no desire to want for anything
except
to become deaf
so I will no longer
have to listen to
your words
There was a fussy bovine named Flossy
who was snooty and always so bossy
her udders would droop
when she took a poop
She bellowed until her eyes got glossy
Flossy had teeth like a barracuda
Her biting habit just made her ruder
She's not very sharp
She spit when she'd harp
So I called a few friends and we shewed her
Then she threatened to have me arrested
Thought she'd beaten me and had me bested
Knocked her on her duff
She wasn't so tough
Alas, she kept right on and protested
I saw her on the street the other day
Her monstrous butt sat on a bale of hay
Stuck her tongue at me
Mooed, "Hello, ducky"
She trotted off when I aimed pepper spray
What a chunky hippo she has become
I think Flossy secretly sucks her thumb
Waddles when walking
Ranting and squawking
To senility, Flossy has succumb
Bovine creatures can be quite abusive
When they should be a closet reclusive
The more that they speak
The more that they reek
My findings are all justly conclusive
I'm a grit teeth beginner breaking out the cage,
growing strong and fitter with wit coming of age,
squeezing letters out of lemons got me in a rage,
but this bitter will get better and steal the stage.
I'm out to lay a new way suitable to a renegade,
angrily squashing this yellow fruit into lemonade,
using the skin to pave a golden route in the trade,
writes rooted in the age of this transitional upgrade.
No scourge can submerge the courage I preserve under the surface,
that purrs with an urge to hand carve words with power and purpose,
this marvellous occurrence undoubtedly surges to resurface,
and repeatedly emerges delivering perfectly superb verses.
Attempts to pull curtains on my spirit,
only teach knowledge that I inherit,
I react and catch before impact to my merit
and you can't collapse the soul of this poet.
Everyone falls but my core's impenetrable,
and my mental resilience is unbreakable,
they can't remove something unshakeable,
trying is a mistake that'll make you miserable.
I've learnt to benefit from attempted attacks
aimed to prevent the way that I vent and act,
catching the weaponry and adding to my stack,
I've a determination that I'll never let crack.
I'll elevate as I stimulate with flow
and levitate the audience to show,
I'm able to continuously demonstrate
that my work is something to celebrate,
even though my opinion will make them hate.
Coming back is what I do,
don't make me come back for you!
Sing for me the sweetest song
of love when life was still so young.
Those tender times and days devoid
of cares and wants troubling the old,
when smiles and laughter ruled the day,
when worries passed and did not stay.
Strum so softly your guitar
just like the nights along the shore
when music meant the world to us
and dreams were spun with so much fun.
With nary a thought to hindrances,
and silence in between did not mean sadness.
Sketch the image once again
of all our hopes and aspirations.
Paintbrush, our imaginations
that fueled all our conversations.
Let the canvas capture the moment
when each one’s triumph was heaven sent.
With words of wonder I will write
of every look and all the sighs,
of every throbbing thud within
our hearts that sometimes drown the din.
Still, we aimed our sight so high
a desire defined by what’s ideal...
When life was young, and love was innocent.
16 May 2015
Kim Patrice Nunez
When Love Was Innocent Contest
It’s like you’re
in a game of
love, a game I
can’t take part
I’d play the
role of Robin Hood
trying to steal
your heart
The game
you’re in it had
you trapped within
its dungeon cell
A barren
place, with
many guards
I rode into this hell
I aimed my
arrows at the
guards striking
them with force
Then grabbed you
in the nick of
time and rode off
on my horse
We rode
all night, made
our escape and
got back safe and
sound
A ceremony
then ensued
which brought
out all the town
At the coronation
happened what I
always dreamed
I became the
king of all the
land and You
became my queen
After all is
said and done
we’d sit side
by side
And rule
forever King
and Queen
together you
and I
Written in Queens, New York -Circa 1994 (Revised in Texas 2012)
The gifted house and the ghost of his Grandmother trapped him. Her presence clung with the leftover nicotine to the walls of every room. A childless marriage and a rancid divorce left its bile in the scum atop the kitchen counters—rust-rings on the bathroom’s porcelain. The horse chestnut tree outside the door stood as an overt warning, pelting anyone trying to enter. As his lover, I disregarded it.
wisteria
uproots the moss-laced lawn:
a pet’s gravestone
With steel wool and a strong arm, I whitewashed the house. Grandmother’s spirit smiled in the spring when new bulbs rose. But, the antique cannon in the front hall still aimed at the door. The man was too used to his darkness. Love was not enough.
trespassers
are shot on sight:
empties on the stoop
Published by KYSO Flash 2015
Santa was in his sleigh waiting to go
But the elf loading team was a no show
A strike had been called
Santa was appalled
The elves taunted him saying ho ho ho...
Santa muttered and swore under his breath
Warned the strikers they ain't seen nothing yet
Called his friend Bill Gates
They were golfing mates
Bill said " don't worry we'll beat them you bet"...
He sent Santa four hundred giant drones
And an army of robotic elf clones
Who sorted the toys
For good girls and boys
And from the elves you could hear moans and groans...
Santa didn't need to leave the North Pole
Sent the drones off by means of a console
All drones delivered
The poor elves dithered
Santa laughed he was now back in control...
The elves were fuming and they all saw red
They were so angry and wanted him dead
A bomb they did place
In Santa's fireplace
He defused it he was one step ahead...
He came after the elves who all turned pale
Disappointed that the bomb was a fail
Santa aimed his gun
Elves started to run
But the Fed's caught them and threw them in jail...
The next day they went up against Judge Dread
Who listened to what was done, what was said
It ended in tears
All got twenty years
And told don't mess with the man dressed in red...
Written on 6th December 2020.
When the night wind changes course
sending breezes from the north,
when farmer's fields lie brown and fallow
and empty ropes swing from the gallows,
when children's faces are drawn and gaunt
and earth-bound spirits wail and haunt,
when eagles scan the barren snow
and field mice shiver deep below,
The dragon stirs deep in his lair,
the townfolk sense him with despair,
the mountain rumbles as he wakes,
he spreads his wings, the valley quakes.
He snorts and breathes a sulphur fire
and eyes his cache with dark desire,
gold and gemstones line his cave,
a sea of diamonds with emerald waves.
The trees are black against the snow,
one warrior stands to face his foe,
chain mail clanking, his sword is honed,
he goes to face his fate alone.
Fire breathing, wing-spread vast,
the warrior is at first aghast,
the dragon's chest and stomach, too,
shine with gems of multi-hues.
He'd slept so long upon his loot,
he wore a jewel-encrusted suit.
He saw the warrior's weapon glint
and chuckled at this innocent.
The dragon swooped and breathed his breath,
the warrior smelled the scent of death.
Many times the dragon dove
and set aflame the fields and groves.
Lost in this game, he gave no thought
to the warrior who mattered naught,
and as the dragon flew by low
the warrior drew his mighty bow.
The bow and arrows were Elfen-hewn,
inscribed with words in ancient runes.
The warrior held his breath and aimed
and steeled himself against the flames.
The dragon saw the arrow cocked
and turned his head, their eyes were locked.
The arrow's flight was straight and true,
into the dragon's eye it flew.
The warrior was elected king,
he wore fine jewels and heavy rings,
but though he tried, he found no peace,
he'd formed some strange bond with the beast.
The corpse was plucked clean of its jewels
and all the people danced like fools,
though he was king of hill and glen,
they never saw him smile again.
The sparkle of charity is alive and well
It’s the grounds for cohesion and solidarity
Making spiritual gardeners of us all
Goodwill marries kindness
Sharing bounty with open heart
And helping hand inspired by faith
Benevolence born of compassion
And hope aimed to appease
Brethren down on their luck
A heart that’s pure gives without asking
Who is sincere who is deserving
Or who is out there to deceive
Charity is best when unbound
Spontaneous and genuine
When it leaves us humbled
Wanting to contribute
To a world of philanthropy
After all who are we to judge
AP: 2nd place 2020
Submitted on October 13, 2019 for contest 1ST CORINTHIANS 13:13 INSPIRATION sponsored by REGINA RIDDLE - RANKED 2ND
I wonder where I will be
when the sun sets on me…
for if I were a flake of snow,
a dying breeze, or autumn leaf...
then I’d know.
I am but a blink of a father’s eye
desperate for answers to my words and rhymes
waiting for another world or God to intercede,
in what may come or ever may be.
I wonder where I will be
when the moon rises over me...
for if I were shadows in a cave,
a cricket, star, or ocean wave...
then I'd know.
I am but a drop of rain on a summer night
vaporizing where I fall and touch,
waiting for clouds and sky to again define me;
not knowing who I ever was or aimed to be.
If I am clay in my Maker’s hands…pliable, yielding,
I wonder where my own will comes to end
and where His fingers start forming me
into the masterpiece He desires me to be.
All the answers dancing gracefully,
from omnipotence and my need to be free…
I wonder where I’ll be, when I start to
speak, live, breathe, dance….fearlessly.
If I were air and sea, with all of Heaven shining on me,
then, I’d know…
I would practice each day without satisfaction,
longing to capture the moon's oratory.
DeBussy, God, help me, I should say that I'm sorry!
Though my fingers were nimble, I'd lose concentration,
and fumble along with a grumble and sigh.
Provoking the chords, that should tumble and rise
into a glorious, exquisite river of mist.
But, when thumbs went adrift, beyond the abyss,
I'd return to the first bar, and start once again.
-
I'd retrace every note of the measure and time. And time after time,
I'd assault a B-flat, where a C-sharp should chime.
All my hopes and my schemes came from this longing to please.
My dreams to succeed, and to offer this gift.
To grant her the wish.
The rapture, to swoon, as I played 'Clair de Lune'.
My mother's favorite. -- And I aimed for the moon
__
I remember my mother with dishes piled high,
soap on her nose,
calling out from the kitchen.
“That time, much better!”
Or my dad, in the dark room, Walter Cronkite, his companion,
calling out from the shadows,
“I think now, you've got it!”
Tonight in the dim light,
I'll watch how the moonlight,
slides over the piano, sliding over the keys.
It seems that the moon knows,
that time cannot stand still.
That years come and the years go.
But the tune, is the same tune, and the moon is the same moon.
And DeBussy still winces in the place I called home.
"Monday Dreadful Monday"
Most people are terrified of its presence
Only this moment can be the most hated
No more time for r&r....that's reefer and rum
Damn it....if he even looks at me I will need to find some new religion
And it's not even football season yet
Y did i even set the alarm clock....somebody make it STOPPPP!!!!
Do you watch the morning news
Reality check, why can't I find my shoes
Enter me back to the world where I must follow rules
Are there any sane people who don't think Trump is a fool
Dare I say that he is the biggest tool
First of all, his toupee ain't close to cool
Under his direction, we are fed a bull's stool
Like it or not, those IDIOTS elected a goule
Man, many make more mistakes
Only original ordinary organs orchestrate obediance
Nothing necessary needs new nihilism
Don't demand daily dreadful decisions
And are all actions appropriately and angrily aimed at apocolypse
Yes, you yearn yearly yet Yahweh yells yin young yang
July 30, 2018