Best Analyst Poems
Whom the horse is looking for
Every day in the scarlet breeze
It comes and taps at the door
Have you forgotten your blue cheese
Is it the one I dream of
Accompanied by the charged shiver
Especially when I am burnt out
Like the lean exhausted river
The last time I saw it
In blue light it stood
The pink link it signalled me
I was in a restless wood
I tried to recall
Where had I seen it
The tempest and the thunder squall
Then the ocean of the mist
But how come I am morose
I have got nothing to do
With this equine inquiry
Then what for the blues overdose
But the residual pink remains
I have seen it somewhere
Beside the blue Euphrates?
My another mind inquired
A Freudian explained me
Your horse misses you
Your bosom friend of the boyhood
Longs for a hue or two
He reached me a magazine
Inside I came across the faces
Of lovely blonde and black women
In very skimpy dresses
I couldn't remove my eyes
Was in a reverie
What is it, the analyst asked
Is it the equine spree?
Was the horse now inside me?
Something I felt scary
Does Mathew still hold good
Was it the visual adultery?
From above
Dropped a dew
Are you living still
In the age of Mathew
Was it the horse
Yes, said he
Goading you
Into harmless glee
And my thoughts
Went astray
Last night in Paul's house
How charmingly in the sofa she lay
The tremor in the cup of tea
Now the horse again for the infidelity
I knew it for sure
It was the mental adultery
Now Mathew not alone
Beside him glared Mark
I was in a blind cone
This crimson sky how to shirk
Tush tush
Smiled the analyst
Without the child
You can't exist
You are living in the light speed life
It is the child that slows you down
Makes you smile amidst your strife
In the mirror you wear a crown
February 12, 2018
Loss of an Innocent Mind - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Data Birth;
INFILE 'C\Fathersperm\Motheregg\9_months\The_One_Of_Shadows.txt';
INPUT FNAME = 'Yoni'
LNAME = 'Dvorkis';
Var Hidden_Meaning = "SAS code is not meant to be poetry you nut job";
Run;
Data Child;
Set Birth;
Where Age >= 4;
Var Worldview = Parents_Worldview;
Var Facial_Expression = compress('Fear'||'Bewilderment'||'Jews believe in guilt');
Run;
Data Teenager;
Set Child (Drop= Innocence, Baby_Fat, Cheerful_Disposition);
Where Age >= 15 and BAC_Level >= .01;
Var Worldview = (Peer_Pressure * 100) + Favorite_Teacher_Worldview
- Parents_Worldview;
Var Hidden_Meaning = "Where are you going with this?";
Run;
Data Adult;
Set Teenager (Keep= Anger, Intelligence, Need_For_Material_Wealth, Hatred_Towards_Body
Drop= A_Sense_Of_Security_In_An_Unforgiving_World);
Var Job_That_Slowly_Kills_You = "Healthcare Data Analyst and SAS Programmer";
Var Worldview = (Company_Mission_Statement + Family_Is_Most_Important)
/ Screw_Everyone_Else_I_Have_My_Own_Problems;
Where Age >= 21 and BAC_Level >= .15;
If Yearly_Salary >= 100,000 then
Self_Esteem = "Now I'm worth something!!";
Else if 50,000 = 65 and Yearly_Salary = "Whatever's left of Social Security";
Var Cynical_Being =
(Why_Did_It_Have_To_End_Like_This * Years_Hiding_In_Plain_Sight )
- The_Will_To_Keep_Going;
Run;
Proc sort data = Old_Man out = Old_Man_On_Deathbed nodupkey;
By What_This_All_Meant_To_Me;
Run;
Data My_True_Identity;
Merge Old_Man_On_Deathbed (in = a) God (in = b);
By _all_;
If b and not a;
Run;
Edward Snowden
When Edward Snowden* snowed in,
no one thought it a sin,
save the snooping sultans who froze.
When on the run or cubby-holed, for friends, he had only woes.
11 jul 13, Clerihew
* Eddy is a former NSA systems analyst who recently leaked details of U.S and British top secret mass surveillance programs.
Mark Halliday
Son of a California Englishman
And a small-town Utah Mormon.
In his youth, nothing extraordinary;
Later served in Europe as a missionary.
Pianist, marching flutist, then a Guitarist;
Enlisted to be an Army Intelligence Analyst.
Speaks French; spoke Spanish, Russian,
Serbian, Croatian, some German and Macedonian.
Has resided mostly in California.
Spent months or years in Makedonija,
La France, le Belgique, Deutchesland,
Kuwait, Iraq; in the USA: Maryland,
Utah, Massachusettes, Kansas,
Arizona, Missouri, and Texas.
Of course, he’s known here as poetic,
But with charcoal, pens, and pastels is artistic.
He’s starting to slow down due to age,
But loves to sing original songs on stage.
During the French Bicentennial, went to Paris,
Where he met his future Mrs.
Has sons Steven and Tony, wife Nelly.
They’ll soon celebrate their silver anniversary.
Like many other military veterans,
He works with Dept. of Defense civilians….
Commuting between Salinas and Monterey
(Defense Language Institute, Presidio of Monterey).
He loves to read (especially military science fiction),
Go to cinemas, and grow food in his garden.
He’s interested in music production software,
And dreams his songs will someday go somewhere.
Thrift Store Foreshadowing
by Odin Roark
Inventory of past life inventories
Poised in dress-parade attention
Obliging his obligatory inspection,
Seeking the suit that would fit him well,
Avoiding the over-priced,
Cleaned and pressed,
Yet with frayed collar conspiracy
Luridly foisting their prominence
Beneath overhead fluorescents.
About the store,
Bathed in mist-like dust mites and hidden cobwebs,
Dummies dressed in street-window conceit,
Stood like Nutcracker soldiers
Their Mona Lisa eyes tracking his every move.
As rickety fans stirred the summer’s air,
Racks of faded dresses sashayed to and fro from hangers,
Not knowing he was of manly preference,
Even though…
Racks of shirts and ties waved
As he hurriedly sought an exit.
Dead men’s boots and shoes vied for his attention,
As sweat-stained Stetsons rolled along the floor,
Chasing him back to his slumber,
Where his time to wake meant quashing the noisy Big Boy alarm,
Following his ritual of ****, shower and shave,
And the daily venture into the real world of fear.
Sadly…
His analyst, the only known confidant, gave little credence to the dream,
Until having to identify his still body at the morgue,
Her doubt developed a bit more dream consciousness,
Insomnia becoming her constant companion.
Who I never wanted to be…
a cynic,
an instigator,
an attacker,
defeated,
afraid,
mean,
primitive,
self-destructive,
a terrorist,
a killer,
a destroyer,
brainwashed,
a victim,
abused,
damaged goods,
abandoned,
disrespected,
ashamed,
superwoman,
an actress,
a tragedy,
poisoned,
neglected,
attacked,
used,
manipulated,
a weapon,
a recluse,
hated,
an interpreter,
confused,
a broken spirit,
broken hearted,
bitter,
a threat.
Who I am meant to be…
a Child,
a Servant,
a Mother,
a Student,
a Teacher,
a Provider,
a Dragon,
a Martial Artist,
a Mentor,
an Advocate,
a Politician,
a Lawyer,
an Analyst,
a Scientist,
an Inventor,
a Troubleshooter,
a Problem Solver,
a Fixer,
a Creator,
a Psychologist,
a Theorist,
a Linguist,
a Warrior,
a Poet,
a Lover,
a Friend,
a Daughter,
a Sister,
a Survivor,
a Humanitarian,
an Ambassador of World Peace.
With painted face and silent smiles they light the night so dim,
Oblivious to their stalker and his diabolic whim.
They'd come to sunny Florida to flee Maine's winter snow
And play their silent pantomimes on sidewalks as they go.
But the analyst has programs and experiments to run;
Methodic’ly he thus connects the silencer and gun.
Onlookers claim the analyst did murder them that night,
Then calmly pulled his pencil out, his test's results to write.
But as for wherefores and the whys, when asked of him a reason,
If these are not fair game, he cries, Why call this 'Tourist Season'?
His court appointed council does the best that he is able
To win the jury's pity for this client so unstable.
This man, his sobbing lawyer pleads, was brilliant as a child.
He never was a vicious lad, and next to most, quite mild.
Such things he pondered others wondered, if indeed they never spoke them,
As, to what hue those Smurfs, now blue, would turn, were one to choke them.
The lawyer then begins to quote behavior science stats
Of those who make their living pulling habits out of rats.
If in his heart a man resorts to rationalization
A wrong might seem a right when there's sufficient provocation.
As situations worsen and confusion grows with time;
Seems right, when with a silencer, one shoots a silent mime.
If innocent is how you find there's none 'twould you disparage,
For squelching this inquiring mind would be a grave miscarriage.
Those murders were experiments, not born of animosity;
Performed were they to satisfy a morbid curiosity.
Still the jury found him guilty and to ease his troubled brain,
Ordered soon a lethal potion be injected in his vein.
When asked before the gavel rapped for any final comment,
The killer scratched his head as if his muddled mind to foment.
Yes just one further question in this form of execution
do they disinfect the needle in a sterilized solution?
an unseen menace
a state of perplexity,
hard pressed analyst
from behind binding masks
all that they do, is for you.
© Harry J Horsman 2021
He was an enigma, a true one.
His followers see him as religious.
Few people say he was a philosopher.
Some say he was a prophet.
Many prefer to call him a soothsayer.
Yet, others call him a political analyst.
He was all these and many more.
He was not only a musician,
but one with a difference.
Stating his opinions in music form.
Proffering solutions with his songs.
Reaching out to everyone with his lyrics.
He was and still is a role model.
One of only a kind.
If only we had more of him.
If only they had listened to him.
Things would have been different.
But they didn't and things remained.
Fela for many is still what he was.
Eba mi eda is gone but he still lives,
very much in the lives of his admirers.
Peter Beechey capped the last bottle, of the latest Lager that he'd brewed.
He's changed his recipe this time, so the argument will be renewed.
He say’s the Lager that I make is not near the standard that he sets,
now we'll argue this for hours until we’re finally making bets.
Stout, lager, bitters labeled; the smell of malt drifts through the shed.
Air-locked and popping through the water; a brew ferments below a head.
Us pair have now refined the art; our little breweries come of age.
No longer do we show impatience - we've stopped bottling hand grenades.
Both of our stocks have built up now and so of course the word soon spreads.
This means the visits from the connoisseurs; blokes each home brewer dreads.
On weekends we roll out 'Hilly' - insensible - to which beer is best.
Even the local cop and publican closed the pub to take the test.
Water, yeast, malt - but no sugar - clarity and flavour of the hops.
The head, right down to the barley, but the disagreeing never stops,
and 'Hilly' never cleared one point; our beers were locked in similar status.
We need an independent to give a true scientific basis.
I suggested what we ought to do, is send samples to the public analyst,
for he will clear the finer points; the ones that obviously we missed.
Three weeks later in the mail, his analyzing caused a further strain -
'Gentlemen, I regret to tell you - that neither horse will race again!'
I dreamed once a future
with Mary and her long claws
suspended from a dragon body
captive and held by force field
hidden beneath a big cowled robe
saddened by a stainless steel trough
and a baby tended by robots.
Joesph busily scanned nametags
from angels misting purifiers.
The drummer boy stood by self-playing
digital drum and keyboard
while field hands guided home cattle
with drones directed by a joystick.
The tri-satellite video capture
appeared simultaneously
on all earthling implants
and all tipped with a click and smile
but when the three kings zoomed in
from Mars on hovercraft,
everyone reposted. Alas,
it was all an eggnog induced
hallucination cured by my analyst
mind wipe. Merry Christmas Techies.
11/24/2018
Humdumpty was an analyst, a Cambridge Ph.D.,
A noted bio-atomist, whatever that might be.
Indeed, from earliest childhood it was his single aim
To analyze no matter what might enter his domain.
He analyzed his father's watch and next the neighbour's cat.
Ah! Little more was seen or heard of Felix after that.
Astounding learned pedagogues, hard pressed to keep his pace,
Humdumpty grew up daily--in knowledge if not grace.
And then at university his intellectual power
Decimated Einstein and the works of Schopenhauer.
With ease that was amazing he romped a Double First,
And yet, for all his learning, nought quenched his burning thirst.
Despite the storm, and tumult that marked his inner life,
Humdumpty found the leisure to woo--and win--a wife.
He loved her--Oh! so dearly, his idol and his joy!
Alack! How oft our dearest 'tis we ourselves destroy.
One day in stormy weather he raised his eyes above,
And posed himself the riddle: "What constitutes her love?"
One night--to angels' weeping--the dark thought seized his mind:
"By scalpel and analysis the answer I shall find."
Full soon she took a sleeping draught, and when the time was due,
He set about his gruesome task, inspired by love so true.
How tenderly, how lovingly, he cut into her heart.
With what profound emotion he set his spouse apart.
To isolate that molecule in which all love resides
He scrutinized each corpuscle, and did much else besides.
All data was computerized, and ere a while had passed,
A reasonable hypothesis was imminent at last.
How tantalizing is the truth, how far--and yet, how near!
'Twas in the corner of his eye--and then would disappear.
It dawned at last upon him, his efforts would prove vain,
Unless he somehow managed to join her up again.
Of every art that served this end he tried the whole range through.
He first tried biophysics--and his last resort was glue.
Alas, alas, Humdumpty! There is a fateful law:
Some things men set asunder no mortal can restore.
They did not need a hangman or Madame Guillotine.
Before another week had passed, he died of bitter spleen.
Now some say he's in Heaven, and others, he's in Hell.
I'm not a theologian, it's difficult to tell.
For sure, he cut his dear wife up, and who would call that right?
But was it not his quest for truth that brought about his plight?
Warrior
Musical, analytical, religious, artistic.
Son of soldiers.
Lover of Nelly, ragtime pianos, and rhythm guitars.
Who reels angst, inspiration, and regrets.
Who fears retirement, isolation, and mediocrity.
Who would like to see Scandinavia, wealth, and grandchildren.
Resident of the Monterey Peninsula.
Poet
(A True Story)
She was only seven, this little petite Asian girl
took a trip to Canning Vale,
on a shopping spree, as a surprise.
But this day there, lingered evil
working at the local grocery store,
saw the little girl, grab her unbelievable in a crowd
to the public convenience fled.
Her brother did search in this place
but to no avail,
called out in desperation her name,
a sound from the cubicle disguised
sent him away.
The Butcher snapped her arms and legs
like a new born twig upon a tree,
then had his way,
but analyst says
she was dead before the deed,
which when interviewed disappointed him,
this bastard.
She died an agonizing death
yet he still lives, at society’s expense,
because today we are taught to tolerate
while lawyers profit to the shame of the human race.
One can imagine the sheer fear
in those final seconds of this little girl,
at the hands of the likes of the
Canning Vale Butcher.
My tears on this page as I write
I hope God are not wasted, as those for this sick society are!!
Last week in Wales
April a little girl was abducted
as yet to be found five days on,
bringing back memories of the above
in Canning Vale, Perth, W.A, Australia.
a few hundred yards from where I lived
yet I did nothing to stop this,
my excuse of not knowing
does not abide well!!!!!!
© Harry J Horsman 2012
A maddening re-tune this flip-optimist.
Placid savant of scowl repeated.
Thickset, daunt in idle, overly pist.
Identical figuring head of lists.
Circuit loops to retreat.
A maddening re-tune, this flip-optimist.
Brave speculating his death-mix.
Offspring"s statements over slipped.
Thickset, daunt in Idle, overly pist.
Color of choosier brown the analyst.
Saturates sometime smile.
A maddening re-tune, this flip-optimist.
Lucidity reminds this Alchemist,
of dreams, ink wet for keeping.
Thickset, daunt in idle, overly pist.
Wit serpentine, spooling a cyrisalist.
The mystic, realizing the trick
A maddening re-tune, this flip-optimist
Thickset, daunt in idle, overly pist.