Best Blandish Poems
Bring me a cup of Java, honey, and put some coffee in the water, will you?...
Whoa there! Bet you can feel the withering sarcasm in that simple phrase...
People, I welcome you to the world of crime novels by James Hadley Chase...
With cryptic titles like I'll Bury My Dead, it's a crime novel befitting even the dead...
The protagonists in every novel, Mr Chase humanized each of them in good stead...
As a crime writer, Mr Chase has no master, or even an equal of his calibre...
Dialogues, suave and cultured or in the low life lingo, is excellence beyond compare...
Most of all, the many believable twists and turns in every one of his crime story...
You'll empathise with the hero and the heroine, and root for them in each story...
What Is Better Than Money is yet another master yarn uniquely spun by Mr Chase...
About how a piano player bidding time tangled with a junky beauty with trilling vocals ....
It is amazing how you will identify with the struggling two bit piano player as he grapples...
With the opportunity of a lifetime to hitch his economic wagon on a less than perfect starlet..
In No Orchids For Miss Blandish, I remember rereading the same book twice over...
To be thrilled and to savour how the master story teller spun the story altogether...
Mind you, I was back then just a little boy, given access to the senior section of the library..
Faced with rows and decks of all kind of books, I was a bewildered boy lost in the library...
Then I spied a rather worn out hard cover book entitled No Orchids for Miss Blandish...
Small in print, yellowed in pages and looked slightly misbegotten, but the title intrigued..
Reaching home, I could not put down the book once I started reading that slim book...
I was thrilled, I was truly engrossed in a fascinating tale of crime found within a book...
Etched in my memory to this day, I recall vividly the awe and the joy in novels by Mr Chase...
Little wonder through the years I often read and reread crime novels spun by Mr Chase...
James Hadley Chase, crime story teller supreme, without any cheap graphic x rated scenes...
He is the ultimate maestro for story characters and crime tales that electrify your senses...
Readers, Mr James Hadley Chase, he's The Man for grippping realistic crime stories....!!!
No divesture of this, the soul's remind
the will of intervention supplements
with watching's wrest, the citizenry not bind
to sameness value, while the truth is blind!
I then must separate from that ensuing kind
that regulate on vestige, inheritance assigned,
my courage has one merit, yet options are sublime
to change the course of wrongness, others leave so behind!
It is this costly virtue, no gain, no riches mined
but everlasting oneness, with those whose crowns were lined
with scars from no assuming goodness was just consigned
to those who blandish glory from past renowned refined!
It is the price of freedom, continuous ~ divine
that scourges not resumption, but "freshens" from confined!
"Sentenced but not silenced" Mandela, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King
James Bevel. (Gandhi and Jesus) Civil Rights Movers!
As I sat in quondam agony and anguish,
The inimical air stales through my nose.
A teary, terrorising sting like a potent radish,
So envious of shared beds and emotions volubly composed.
Weakened by haste I screamed in ignominity,
Unaware of these eyes of judgement swelling my wounds.
I pushed away the triffid times. Silently. Cautiously.
On my knees i begged for repletion in ruins.
I stood up with broader clarity yet ponderous,
Awaiting the moments of interregnum once 'He' was king,
Looked up to the persed skies on edge with sights so wonderlous,
Trying to share such cogent details to you in the interim.
A Wraith. Such shock and surprise, I ought to follow.
So suddenly, the despair secretes out of my soul.
Confabulating the past while smiles start to nourish what used to be hollow.
Thankful I avoided the burking. Blandish with touch, sprouting to be whole.
Stricken souls gasp amid rapt tension
And surreal panic as the world spirals
Under throes of exacerbating fire;
Trapped between numinous brawls.
A virulent pandemic subsides
As near-nukes its pedestal take;
Stubborn fear every limb guides
Amid unceasing numbing awe.
Shall life outlast such brutal fury:
As invisible realms arsenals dumb
Blandish upon this bleeding plane;
Upon this rage-pillaged stratum?
Not when viral variants surge
And spikes inoculations defy;
Not when troops against troops vow
And warheads against warheads vie.
We live not inland, but on the beach,
where splashing waves and sand crabs reach.
So, we style the place we dwell Outland,
where people's ears are filled with sand.
Like English, our cuisine is blandish,
but our languish is Outlandish.