Best Begat Poems
A young fertile mother begat
Triplets , called Tim , Tom and Tat .
Great fun at breeding .
Confusion at feeding .
When she found there was no tit~for~tat ..
The day I left the soup a tear begat my eye
pictures of streams, meadows, and fairy tales
somehow vanished from a bright daydream sky
emptiness tugged heartstrings in my holy grail
The spirits poured a sour sauvignon blanc tune
spilt out from closed chambers of a silent room
rags on the floor wipe away at an ugly buffoon
closing another chapter away in an ancient tomb
Sunset smiles for one final curtain call then flies
dreams darken, fairy dust is dropped and all is lost
promises all have floated away with the butterflies
and the Easter lilies have all given way to the frost
The day I left the soup a tear begat my eye
My dear friends it is so hard to say goodbye
03/21/2016
Everything fades at the end of the day
Time ticks by and the seconds make way
For a trip of a lifetime on the sleep train
As words expire and then numb the brain;
Can it be that the sun begat rain
When the wind blew straight and the pain
Was felt as you flushed down the drain
With a rhythmic sway that stole the words
That caused you to stumble when you climbed the stairs;
Watching the night light flicker off and on
As the day flashes by like a bad neon;
Terrible lines appear on the brow as wounds
From the work scar you gained at the loom,
Seeing the light flash brighter then dark
And nobody sees as you try to park alongside
The bus at the stop to the city, waking or sleeping
The day is escaping all thought that you worked at all;
Did wondrous fears overcome your desserts
When eating and sleeping are nowhere in sight
And words tumble around that memory space
But you have forgotten the time or the place
And visions of beauty and strangers implode
As the world of your wording is lost in the thought
Of a thesaurus vocabulary as words fall out
And there is no cavalry to rescue at the last resort;
As everything fades and memories jade,
Seeking all thoughts for words that engage
And finding the light has gone away
The dream of the wordsmith has lost his way
And the desert is calling as words keep falling
And nobody can show the way to the entrance again;
And light flashes on and off again as the last word
Expires and falls from the brain
And the words drop off and silence reigns.
I ponder marks cut into cliffs
or drawn in caves within the earth
and wonder if I have the gift
to leave a mark of equal worth.
As jet planes streak across the sky,
I think of modern man's advance;
will my profile engraved in stone
say only, "She excelled in dance?"
With silver trophies on my wall
and music thumping in my brain,
I long to weave a warm refrain
one worthy of someone’s recall.
Will sweet notes fall on future ears,
spit from my heart onto the page
and brand me as the wise old sage
whose written words a world reveres?
I read yarns penned by bards of old
and learn of fame poets begat.
Within my breast a yearning burns,
a wish that I could write like that.
I was honestly happy before we met,
there is not reason for me to regret...
I love the sunrise that begat this sunset;
and the feelings you will never forget.
Soar the skies and snug the silent stars,
I will be right here scratching unseen scars
while you walk away with a platter of nectars.
I pray you keep the cookies in the jars.
I know you will one day look back...
only to find me on a new track.
Your lying lips was our only setback...
I wish you will discard that stained sack.
There is no reason for me to retaliate...
Our relationship was a date with fate.
I will always love you my heart mate...
Your apologies will never be too late.
Eh, Bebe ...
clueless you with the wide eyes open,
which can’t see
So apoplectic of heart,
paralyzed by the cobra sway
of changeling channel charmer words
Gen Z baby gloomer
remote diaphragm controlled,
go back to analog sleep
Oh oh ... video comatose —
Nightmares begat by daydreams
of reel digital silver screams
Lost Vegas patch-eye vision
of one arm pulled down
And the coins keep trickling
into your open palms
Baby Bebe gon umbilical vault cray cray
Cut the cord of the eyelid dark violet curtains ...
bling-bling blind birth
shut the womb of twin retinal glow dearth
So aorta slow,
slug cranial coma critical ...
lobotomy comatose
Virtual voices say:
eh, Bebe —
Pull the plug ... let the dying vapors go,
expired from a necrotic nasal
Just a poetic (souper) side note courtesy chief
wordsmith brother unaware ye experienced grief
diagnosed as walking pneumonia please bull lief
yours me, he doth care and breathes sigh of relief.
Gratis the miracle of modern medicine wife
of Richard McGeehan, he offered succor
during serious bout when ye suffered strife
lovingly tendering lifelong counterpart
spelling finis regarding any galavanting nightlife
nurturing mother of their grown son (Brendan),
who immersed her whole self as housewife.
How aware ill luck of the draw
found thee inexplicably stricken
with serious malady against the law
nearly necessitating travois
(maneuvered by Kit Carson)
to transport thee to medical center.
The above stanza unbeknownst to you
analogous to current reading material
myopic eyes of mine view
historical fiction titled
"A Most Desperate Situation"
authored by Walter Cooper,
I just might maintain as keepsake
among various and sundry other books
lined up like soldiers upon shelved queue.
Courtesy perusing selective material
not so much to become boastful
self pedagogical ace,
but merely to expand knowledge base,
whereby latest erudition
preoccupies mindscape with displace
called realm of imagination
allowing, enabling, and providing me
to travel into hyperspace
only welcoming family members
like thee dear sister into myspace
a beloved sibling
thirteen plus months older
glad ye got begat December 1st, 1959
whereby ye got fifty two plus weeks headstart
to join (chance throw of genetic dice)
entrance into human race.
Though Amelie Beth Harris-McGeehan born
more than three score and three years ago
if series of unfortunate events would befall thee,
this sole brother would certainly mourn
and with futility emasculate and scorn
himself until... his own plaque
designating his buried cremains
in lieu of tombstone worn.
A graceful eagle soaring free;
Symbolizes our liberty.
Freedoms for which we paid a price;
In terms of human sacrifice.
Cannons, rifles, Revolution;
Bloodbath Civil War’s solution.
‘The Great War’ didn’t end all bloodshed;
On more battlefields soldiers tread.
UN action in Korea;
Containment was the idea.
Next the jungles of Vietnam;
Showed limitations of the Bomb.
Libya, Iraq, Afghanistan;
Still relevant is combat hand-to-hand.
Despite increased technology;
Conflict’s in our biology?
Nation born on “new” continent;
Freedom the great experiment.
Seven articles, ten rights, too;
Framework for our Red, White, and Blue.
Not just Founders’ resolution;
Begat our new Constitution.
Farmers, shopkeepers took up arms;
To keep liberty from all harms.
Soldiers, sailors, civilians, and more;
Also kept tyrants from our door.
The rule of law and not of men;
Safeguards rights of each citizen.
Mighty eagle can choose its way;
Strong wings, talons, a bird of prey.
Freedom, like eagles, can take flight;
From our grasp if we don’t do right.
Each generation has a choice;
Honor freedom or lose its voice.
If we don’t defend and cherish;
Oh, how quickly freedoms perish.
Let the light shine bright on thee tonight
of the times I remember as a child
you never said much but your actions spoke
in the tradition of all ltalian folk
creating your meals with a classic flair
of pasta and soups with delicate care
your solemn look of holding back pain
but always a smile when the dinner came
as a child in Salerno, you dreamed of life
of writing words but it wasn’t to be
In the new world, America, you finally wed
to Joe, your amore then little ones came
quickly then slowly and then
there were six
and of the six begat twelve
extending the line to races and creeds
for your children you were always there
in your final days we were left to compare
your legacy of love
to all your family and friends until the end
Dedicated to my mother
Maria Vincenza (Ardovino) Sergi
Contest
Brutality’s Day
There’s been a terrible accident
A plane rammed into the World Trade Center
What? Another plane?
The other Tower?
You mean it’s intentional?
Me at my desk
Thirty miles due west of downtown Manhattan
That’s how it was all begun
September 11, 2001.
Up my shield.
Emotions not breaking a steely barrier of denial.
And so the towers fell
As did my wall
And finally my heart succumbed at such mistral.
My cyber buddy, gifted poet, working in Kuwait
Said some were dancing in the streets.
They even gave out candy.
Can the fallout of carnage be displayed with sweets?
Oh please, ye dancing devils
Please, be you few compared to we.
We, mounted on earth’s primordial pebbles
Ready to smite the enemy.
Let’s annihilate the treachery.
This wells forth of desperation.
No! Not begat by hate.
A plea for brutality’s eradication.
© September 15, 2001
Kathryn McL.Collins
Retaliatory Repercussions
by Sean Kelly
A young fertile mother begat
Triplets, called Tim, Tom and Tat
Great fun at breeding
Confusion at feeding
When she found there was no tit-for-tat
( Chosen because it made me laugh..Sean always does...)
Tubby Triplet Trouble
The triplets became very fat
Except for the one called Tat
He became very slim
"Cause he went to the gym
Tim and Tom thought him a brat
The fat ones started to cry
Thought about giving up pie
When Tat found a girl
And gave her a whirl
Their cravings started to die
For the Double Limerick contest...
Fine Head, Great Posture!
By
Tom Wright
There once was a scientist from down under,
Who was predisposed to error and blunder?
In an attempt to clone,
He begat only bone,
And he became known as the Sidney wonder.
I decend from rock royalty.
On a local Irish level.
My Dad rocked around the clock.
At night in local dancehalls.
And daily in his chemist shop.
Accordion strapped on tight.
He begat three singing sons.
And four fine singing daughters.
At his funeral we seven sang his
favourite hymns and Danny Boy.
There was not a dry eye as
we all wished him goodbye.
Now, his eldest son rocks on.
Drove all the way on my wedding morn.
To rock my wedding night away.
With The Stunning, up from Galway.
Lead guitarist with fingers flashing.
Brewing a Storm, husband head banging.
Fitting poem for today, Elvis's anniversary.
I admit rock and roll is my forte.
Rhythm courses through my body.
I cannot sit when good music plays.
I simply must get up and sway.
Please take my hand...let's dance.
16/08/2016
Then Cronus, son of Heaven and Earth
accepted steel and cut the twain
Dead Earth descended low in sterile regions
of the sundr'd Soul
And a cry went up from mortal'd man -
"Great one what hast thou done to us?"
A part of time is cut in twain
repeating o'er and o'er the strain
And A begat him B and B begat him C,
and on and on
The boredom of the turning ball the reaching out
the anguish'd call -
"Great Cronus Son of Heav'n and Earth
why hast thou done this thing to us?"l
Or Woman, Or Child, Or...
The following elucidated
conjecture actually can
(reed best) be taken with a grain
of salt, and no re ban
nah nah split 'ope ya 'ere me
cloud and lear, cuz (Oh my...
heavens to Betsy), ennui
got pulled by Evan -
Jewel Lean, who handed this long fellow
(wads worth to you)
speculation with fan
see prestidigitation legerdemain - tan
ta mount to cheap tricks
re: out of thin air
by this half
fast hue man,
Hill Billy Willy Wonka Nilly,
who blithely doth asseverate
apothegm (poem title) equally applicable
Century21 today Aswan
damn maxim initially
bespoke, when collective
primates begat enfant terrible
foo fighting predetermining anon
metastasizing debacle Yeti
bedeviling civilization
a bajillion years in the future with
Matthew Scott Harris deadpan
words worth less his way
before even an odd iota
of dire straight sultan
of swing didst merely span
spottily scattered amidst
pristine Earth, where
unchanging arboreal
beastie boys to oman,
and flock of sea gulls
continuity elapsed – Ivan
hunch, albeit un
recorded disc contented sow
sow hogtied pan
dum mo' nee ham, or
blessed historical events,
kept (stay'n) alive,
courtesy"FAKE" Trump
petting Dapper Dan,
where he knit pattern,
qua oral tradition, sans clan
destine scattered hot pockets
of sparse *****sapiens,
i.e. humanity LESS preponderant,
primary, and/or prolific,
where superstitions parlayed
(voodoo with no Fran Schwa),
and whirling dervishes fed elan,
which earliest recorded (doctored,
digitized, and demented
oh yea), not
tomb mitt to dimly mentioned
asper "time and tide
wait for no man"
purportedly by one
Saint Marher, circa:
1225 anno domini.