Best Boomed Poems
He was my sun, my one and only son,
attired as a cowboy for the day.
And so I handed him a little gun
of fastened random sticks, for him to shoot and play.
Attired as a cowboy for the day
he searched for foes (with bows and arrows made
of fastened random sticks for them) to shoot, and play
the part of ‘Injuns’ in a mock charade.
He searched for foes (with bows and arrows made)
well written in his story books before he left for school.
The parts of ‘Injuns’ in a mock charade
were tainted with a crimson war paint, oh so cruel.
Well writ in history books before he left from school,
the tales (retold of victories that we’d won)
were tainted with a crimson war paint, oh so cruel.
The flow of paint was not to staunch when once begun.
From tales retold of victories that we’d won,
he learned to fight for God and country glory, though
the flow of pain, ’twas not to staunch when once begun
and bane to both sides (as he’d later come to know).
He learned to fight for God and country glory, though
the wounds of war were kept unseen (while nigh)
and bane to both sides (as we’d later come to know);
but still he stuffed a duffel bag with several things of youth, then said goodbye.
The wounds of war were kept unseen. While nigh,
the hours boomed, the clock struck 12 at last, his time to leave.
But, still, he stuffed a duffel bag with several things of youth, then said goodbye
to those who’d stay and even those who wouldn’t grieve.
The hours boomed, the clock struck 12 - alas, his time to leave.
They sent back body bags they’d stuffed with severed things of those who’d died
to those who’d stayed. And even those who wouldn’t grieve
with tears were stiff and masked like wooden boxes meant to hide.
They sent back body bags they’d stuffed with severed things of those who’d died;
his boots hung loose, one camouflaged in mud.
With tears, the stiff were masked in wooden boxes meant to hide
our children from the spilling of their blood.
His boots hung loose, one camouflaged in mud;
they said they’d needed him to help defend
our children from the spilling of their blood.
But can they ever see or really comprehend?
They said they’d needed him to help defend,
and so they handed him a little gun.
But can they ever see or really comprehend?
He was my sun, my one and only son.
The horizon was brewing ominous clouds,
Dark as if they came out of hell.
The once azure sky became hazy
As the north wind chilly breezes
Puffed up more stratocumulus,
Rain-heavy clouds signified storms.
I rested against the balustrade
Of the promenade, looking down at the sea.
Waves upon waves dashed at the dark crags.
Seaspray washed my tired face.
Above the seagulls came to enjoy
The thunderstorm that would soon erupt
Above the small bay, now emptied of boats.
The seagulls were indeed a sight to see.
Only a hundred or so circled the inlet.
They plunged into the sea for food
Irrespective of where the chilly wind blew.
They were an elegant sight to see.
As the first drops of rain fell, I betook myself home.
My wife was waiting anxiously for me
Afraid I’ll get wet. “Watching the birds?”
Clearly, she was not very much amused.
She turned her back on me, as thunder boomed
And lightning flashed but I went with the wind,
And clasped her round her winsome waist.
She did not resist, and neither did I.
In a room that once commanded great respect,
stage lights began to hiss with heated anticipation.
There were sounds of alcohol infused rumblings
and laughter rolling through the rows of seats
from the tongues of young fancies whose foibles
await the reverence paid to tales that may last
a lifetime.
A baritone voice boomed in imposing prominence
that demanded attention. With such articulation,
trained by years of experience spent in circus tents
and speakeasies, the once proud barker's monologue
cracked from age and fifty years of bad whisky.
He had a past filled with evil deeds and dashed hopes,
but on he stumbled as the introduction to tonight's
show surged from his lips.
A young lady emerged mid-stage from behind a curtain.
A single spotlight bathed her every titillation,
perfectly choregraphed to a pulsing rhythm.
All eyes were fixated as imaginations were provoked
beyond reality. The white feathers of her costume
teased senses and libidos raged while she strutted,
ending with a peek that would even give a preacher
reason to pause.
As the lights dimmed and the cat calls subsided,
backstage an old women picked up her broom and slumped
upon a stool. A tear fell, caressing her weathered cheek.
Breathless, after performing the dance she'd practiced
a thousand times, the young women took her final
curtain call to an uproarious standing ovation.
As she dashed toward the dressing room,
the old woman rose from her stool and the two embraced.
The joyful exuberance was that of a child at Christmas.
Her voice cracked as she exclaimed,
"I haven't felt this alive .
in fifty years!
"My dear sister, may I wear this enchanted costume
again after your next show?" "May I, May I,"
the young girl implored.
"Of course", the old woman replied,
"twins share everything."
C.W.S.
03/25/2020
A Fantasy
There was I, forgotten in the attic.
Mannequin discarded, ready for demolition.
Cracks everywhere with some rags thrown on
Haphazardly over me like a scarecrow.
Suddenly all lights went out, an outage.
Immediately the generators went off but failed.
In the attic, the air went into a trembling atmosphere
Thunder boomed and lightning filled the room.
An electrical power surge lit everywhere.
Suddenly I felt alive and began to walk, rags and all.
There were other mannequins, so completely ruined,
Some in good shape. But one caught my attention
As she walked towards me. The static turned into music.
May the last waltz last forever. I took her in my embrace,
The dance began, not a word was spoken just gestures.
Mentally I counted one, two. three, around the attic.
Occasionally I twirled her around on her toes,
Suddenly the lights went on and we all went back
To where we were initially, rags and all.
Some people came to inspect the attic and said:
We must get rid of these mannequins once and for all.
Oops, It was an Accident
I accidentally let one loose
on a blind date with a guy named Bruce.
We went to the movies on that fateful day
happily carrying our snacks on a tray.
We settled down in our comfy seat
all ready to enjoy this special treat.
Things were proceeding oh so well
with popcorn, hot dogs, banana split with caramel,
when suddenly my stomach began to rumble,
and to my dismay, gurgle and grumble.
In fear, I felt the gases build up
like a once dormant volcano about to erupt.
Then helplessly, I had to just let it loose;
oh my gracious, the stench was profuse!
Mortified I wanted to drop to my knee,
but played possum so none would suspect it was me.
People started shouting such gross obscenities,
and hollering out unmentionable profanities.
One voice declared that something had died;
another indignantly wanted the stinker identified.
Someone suggested the skunk should be drowned;
I wanted to flee, but I dared not turn around.
So quietly I sat unknown in the dark cinema,
as poor Bruce wondered aloud if someone had been given an enema.
My heart boomed forth just like a doom-drum,
I prayed no other foul odor would escape my guilty bum.
But like a clan of skunks, it lingered and stunk,
I was so afraid folks would figure out who’d made that funk.
Thankfully I was saved from public disgrace
as ushers armed with spray cans fogged up that whole place.
Gratefully I sighed, relieved that my crime
had not been traced back to me by show time!
07-09-2018
Contest: I Accidentally Let One Loose
Sponsor: Charles Messina
Placement: 1st
Once there was a famous king,
More famous than Ozymandias.
His name was King Wolf.
Sultan was his nickname.
He called himself a benevolent despot;
And his style of government
A ‘democratic dictatorship.’
He spoke good English—
A foreign language, though;
Only a minor problem with 'l' and 'r':
Once, for instance, a reporter asked him,
"What about elections, Your Majesty?"
His response:
"Why, I have them everyday!"
The poor reporter was thoroughly confused.
His kingdom was a land of superlatives:
The oldest civilization,
The largest standing army,
The largest population,
The largest exporter—of people,
The largest emitter of carbon dioxide,
Now the second largest exporter of goods, too,
And will soon be the largest.
Since his was the most populous kingdom,
Demography was his obsession,
Which he called his specialization.
Of course, Sultan had tried his best
To check population growth—
By means of family planning.
It didn't work.
So he curbed people’s Right to have children.
But still there was a huge difference
Between the optimum number
And ground reality!
Therefore, Sultan hatched a wonderful plan:
Started a war with a friendly neighbour.
Every section of twenty soldiers in his army
Had just one primitive rifle between them:
If a soldier went on,
He would be shot.
If he went back,
Again, he would be shot.
A Catch-22!
Many of his men were slaughtered.
But still Sultan won—by sheer numbers!
Oh, God!
But the King did not believe in God.
Like king, like people!
But the dead soldiers were only a small number.
So, now another plan:
Government is the boss.
Let people overwork.
Sultan cracked the whip.
And a number of people died—
Of overwork, year after year.
Further reduction in population.
Production increased:
Cheap goods flooded the world market:
From PCs to push-up bras.
No warranty.
The economy boomed.
Ah, his kingdom became a Big Power!
But once some workers gathered
In the Capital and protested—
Against exploitation.
The name of Karl Marx was in the air.
“Listen,” Sultan roared, “Marx died—
Long ago.
So should you—now,
For raising his name in vain.”
So, still further reduction in population!
Now, when this narrative ended,
Sultan was busy, planning for another war.
Poor soul!
How else could he solve the problem—
Of overpopulation?!
***
The air was thin and icy.
It was dark and cold outside.
A blanket of snow covered the ground.
The footprints in the snow led the way.
We loaded the bus one-by-one as if we were animals entering Noah’s Ark.
Statuesque beings sat motionless in their seats.
Twenty pairs of eyes half-open stared blankly ahead fixated on nothingness.
Our journey to the unknown was about to begin.
The bus tired spun in circles like a child’s merry-go-round.
Round and round they went like the thoughts in my head.
I felt like a kid at the circus.
Excitement and freedom swept over me like a cool, summer breeze.
The road was long and unfamiliar.
Time passed by so slowly as if the earth’s stopwatch had been turned off.
The once frozen bus was not swimming in a sea of hot air.
Our final destination was a small, almost-deserted town in Upstate NY.
It looked as though a plague had swept through like a giant broom and devastated it completely.
One after the other buses pulled up.
A sea of yellow painted the once dreary canvas.
Girls of all shapes and sizes descended onto the now colorful landscape.
All dressed in tan britches, black boots, and smiles.
The clan of riders filed into the ring like a colony of ants all with the same mission.
This was my first mission.
I was a soldier going into battle for the first time.
The ant colony gathered in a circular formation.
The sign-in table was engulfed and swallowed whole.
Numbers were being handed out, one-by-one.
36, 17, 41, 54, 62, 12, 19, 38…
The judge’s voice boomed over the speaker like the voice of G-d.
Every crevice of the ring was filled with the loud, unclear syllables.
Girls of horseback walked proudly and calmly into the ring.
Horses arched their necks and pranced around as if they owned the world.
Tails raised slightly, eyes beaming forward, chests massive.
Hours passed by like days.
My nerves built up like a roaring fireball in my stomach.
One swift leg-up from my coach and I am propelled onto the horse.
I land smoothly into seat of the saddle.
I am welcomed with open arms.
Together, as one creation, we walked into the ring to compete the mission at hand.
You stand on "Wounded Thunder's” hallowed ground.
He boomed such boastful tales that fearless chief!
There was no brave as clever to be found
until he met the source of all his grief.
There came a one who all his tricks would tell,
and this is where he made his greatest blunder.
The minx so bold who knew him all too well
he married, . . . . and her name was "Stealing Thunder."
Contrary let’s have a conversation
Let’s speak to euphemisms
And pregnant letters of anagrams
Sentencing fixation declaring persona non grata
Heads chopped for Eskimos
Sensing heresy and heresy’s
Running around context to a content
Telling a novel to a telenovela
Paragraphs to a paraplegic in paralysis
Please let’s not sell confirmation to be firm
Brought to be bought
Needles piercing through a pierced needle
Mending letters for letter heads
A grieve sensing tears departing death
Condolences speaking so well with pain
She’s passed on, on to the ethos-
And incarnations
Ancestors to an ancestor-
Leaving God with bill to captures guts;
A man with a liver
Words with a man and it was men
Independents, depending on what happens
Independents where are you?
Schizophrenia for frivolous
Respect for all who respond
Spirits speaking so well with spirituality
Serving a soul so soul for flesh purpose
Unity with bones for free
Miracles doomed and boomed in miraculous
Listening to a beginning: a sun so sweet for a sweet
Manifest in emblematic sworn in; the alchemy
Mending Words : THE TRENCHES
THE TRENCHES the pure truth so colorful, so to bring out the beast in a beast; philosophy, spirituality and dreams in priggish ways a fifth chapter.
He stood at the French window fascinated with the storm outside.
Thunder boomed as lightening formed serpents in the ebony sky.
There would be no rainbows beneath the heavy dark clouds.
The uncouth woman lay supine on a comfortable couch
She looked at him almost contemptuously like a jilted bride,
Her cruel eyes darted like lancets that could only kill.
Had she even shown some compassion, he would have
Run to her and planted on her full lips, a loving kiss.
He felt her looks, knowing full well why he felt so jaded,
Yet slivers of her lust still resided in his soul,
She recognized he was not just some ghost from the past.
Though he yearned to tolerate her as a lover,
He knew she was not worth it. She realized how he hated her,
Saw her face darkening and foreboding,
Little did she know how strong he was and in full control.
He knew she wanted his body, not his tender love.
He felt her yearning heart now beating faster.
Outside thunder rumbled across the murky skies.
This wrought havoc as it continued to rain!
There was a fury inside her too, yet he yielded not.
He refused to be a mere plaything in the hands of a wanton woman.
Calmly he put on his jacket and raincoat,
And left her, knowing he needed a true radiant rainbow.
Through eldritch streets I walked alone
With shadows on my track,
Full jellied was my every bone,
I thought my mind would crack.
Through mist and morbid mire I went
To revel where gargoyles dwell,
A guest whose soul was spent,
To meet the host - the King of Hell!
Through caverns dark I made my way,
The squelch of shoe, the crack of bone,
Chittering squeaks from shadowy grays,
Would never leave me alone.
At last I reached the caverned maw,
Ceiling glint with stalactites,
And of course its bretheren I saw,
The saber-toothed stalagmites.
And on the high-domed hellish lair
Hung a grinning crystal skull,
It threw a ghoulish, greening glare
Which made my senses dull.
All around there was a damp,
A noxious putrid smell,
And slightly a-centre on a ramp,
Stood grinning the Lord of Hell.
His feet were hooved, his head was horned,
He flashed his fang-like teeth.
His eyes were huge and darkly burned;
Heart stopped, I could hardly breathe!
"Welcome", boomed my infernal host,
And flashed a rotting smile,
"A welcome drink, a one-time toast,
Before you join my rank and file!"
Something clammy seized my mind,
My clothes turned very wet,
I screamed and woke myself to find
I wasn't dead as yet.
But close to it I surely was,
My narco-ed mind amid I had lain,
At hell's door without a fuss,
When with maddened mind I'd cut my vein!
He sat in his living room
And cast an apprehensive look
At the window
Pounded by the fury
Of the storm outside
The elements had gone mad
An unexpected storm
Had blown in
Out of nowhere
He didn't like storms
They reminded him of feeling unsafe
Even though he was being held by his mother
Oh, she tried to comfort him
When the thunder crashed
And the lightening flashed
She’d put on a brave face
And she'd hold him near
But he could feel her body trembling
And his hair getting wet from her tears
Only when he was older
Did he truly understand
The depth of her irrational fears
Her unstable mind
The storms reminded him
Of the storms within her
That had raged furiously
With no letting up
Until they’d found her
Sprawled on the bed
The empty sleeping pill container
A paper weight for her note
“Forgive me…I can’t stand the storms anymore”
He walked to his window
And peered out
He took a second look
There was a young woman
Battling the elements
Her raincoat whipping about
in the gusty wind
Her long black hair
Plastered to her face and shoulders
Soaked by the rain
that her umbrella was unable to keep out
Who would be crazy enough
To be out in this weather?
Her books scattered
And as she bent to pick them up
She slipped and fell
The umbrella blew away
And she was left
A heap on the road
In the grips of the storm
He wanted to help
He wanted to go out there
To get her to shelter
But he was furious
How crazy was she to be in that hopeless mess?
Didn't she know better?
He saw her struggle to get up
Damn…he’d have to go help her
He rushed out of the house
Running to where she lay
Before he could reach her
A car pulled up and a young man bounced out...
Collecting all her scattered things
With one one quick motion
He then scooped her up into his arms
And rushed her to the car
He stood there in the pouring rain
As they drove away
The lighting forked in the horizon
The thunder crashed and boomed
He turned his face up to the sky
The dead thing in him moved, took a breath
As the pain and hurt washed away with the rain
He had stepped into the storm
And for the first time
In many a year
He felt truly alive.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Thrust in the centre of the storm’s wild roar,
Oh Lord, my Heavenly Father, you were near.
I relied on you and it was your kind face which I saw,
That you mended my torn spirit when fear did gnaw.
When wind howled loud and thunder boomed and burst,
In your mercy that exceeded all bounds, I did trust.
I knew you couldn’t turn your face when your child,
Held in utter helplessness was crying for aid.
When fear and anxiety swivelled and raked me
Shaking me and sinking me into the depths of the sea
You anchored my soul to faith that made me proclaim-
‘Jesus alone is my sole refuge and no other name’.
Thrust in the eye of the storm, when I was with fear rife,
And when no one was around to save my life,
I saw you standing lovingly within my reach,
With hands held out to me, ready for outreach.
When tossed by the currents of fiery storms
Lord! You made me seek the safety of your arms.
When I was drowning in the sea of escalating pain,
You strengthened and sustained me and kept me sane.
Make me feel, you are there in every rhythm of my life.
More when life becomes burdensome with problems rife.
Over the arid deserts and the stormy turbulent sea,
I pray to be by my side as an abiding presence, piloting me.
I drove around the countryside, one wet and stormy day;
as lightning flashed, I realised I'd truly lost my way -
I saw a house and went to ask directions from the folk;
I'll tell you what then happened, but you may think it's a joke...
The door was open, just a crack;
I knocked, then went inside;
the stench was terrible, just like
an animal had died.
Huge flies were buzzing all around
an ancient photograph;
as footsteps echoed through the house,
I thought I heard a laugh.
The front door slammed - the laugh again -
I shivered then with fright;
the door was stuck, I couldn't leave,
and guessed I'd have to fight.
'I - I mean no harm,' I stammered, then,
'I'm sorry to intrude -'
I wondered would my story hold
verisimilitude.
The voice that boomed was deafening,
and curses filled the air;
my heart was thumping, hairs on end.
I felt an evil stare.
The stench was growing...footsteps neared...
a shadow on the wall!
I trembled like a frightened child,
and staggered from the hall.
I ran upstairs; from room to room,
I wandered, panting hard;
and cried, despairing at the sight:
the window frames were barred.
I spun around and saw a face -
such malice in its glare;
I knew I'd have to leave, somehow -
or else I'd die right there.
I sprang towards him, ready fists;
he towered at the door;
I paused, then like a bull I charged...
and he was there no more!
I slipped and tumbled down the stairs, the door was open wide;
I hurled his photograph and, chased by flies, I rushed outside.
Sponsor- Dear Heart
Contest- The Haunted House
written 18th August 2018
The sea gathered her voice
on the crest of the waves
as dark clouds were herded
by the wind as he raved
in a symphony orchestrated
through elements of sound
composed by the air
from his drafty compound.
By the drum of the surf
on the beat of the waves
a crescendo that climbed
with the sea as she raged
while the wind as the maestro
pulled pockets of sound
from the whistles and moans
as he swept ‘cross the ground.
Soprano! cried the killdeer
Tenor! screeched the gulls
as a baritone foghorn
boomed from the hull
of a ship that swayed
drunkenly atop of the surf
staying clear of the breakers
that crashed on the turf
The ship creaked a response
as it groaned a refrain
but the deft hand of a shipwright
would keep it sustained
for he’d hewn and he’d whittled
great emblems of love
carving an angel for the figurehead
and atop the masthead, a dove.
When the wind stopped his jostling
and the sea spent her ire
the ship slipped back to its haven
of warm hearths and bright fires
where the men mused and wondered
over great tankards of ale
if the hymns and hosannas..
had been but, the wind in the sails?