Best Breech Poems
One’s poetry not always will unfold
beneath its author’s pen as some suppose.
And poetry one is to yet behold
might slowly bloom before one plucks that rose.
At times the lines come breech, the labor hard.
A trial of thought; a repositioning
of words emerging, offspring of the bard!
And then at last, the poet’s heart will sing.
The poet must write always, lest his mind
grow barren, for not always can he know
his muse will be there. She’s not always kind,
but oh, the joy, when verses want to flow!
1/8/13 For Russell Sivey's Poetry About Poetry Contest
As it unfolds, labeled cold, a wall confines the innocent
It looms of iron, bricks, where stones
are thrown and rifles aimed
to claim the hopes of those intent
to breech the sniper's scope
Risks are grave, if they should fail
and graves mound high, among the brave
Outrage cries, games commence - incident or accident
the game of spies, U know why-- a U-2 flies
against the grain of do or die
A chessboard filled with stakes so high,
they may enrage a fist to rise in wars against democracy
Labeled cold, …but hot as hell
pawns are played, and deals are made
Men sit alone within a cell, restrained, until a deal is tossed
Lines are crossed, a bridge is crossed, and breaths are held
for lives of men. Like ransomed gold
they are played, and waged as if a game of chess,
where consequence is life or death
and peace depends on games of chance
.............................................................................................
2/25/16 Inspired by Contest: "Pick a Theme: Bridge of Spies"
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Resubmitted For PD's contest:
100 in a ROW contest -- 11 PREMIERE number 2Poetry Contest
I walk on the beach approaching night,
while sunset slumbers awaiting my sight
upon its descent to breech twilight.
The half-breed child of night and day,
is slowly dying and slipping away,
turning golden hue to grey.
Night has arrived, I turn my eye,
back to the moment just passed by,
disappearing into a constant sky.
Tomorrow will come, the sun will rise,
and I will walk toward its demise,
a bit more tired...a bit more wise.
My mood is purple today.
A pinch of chilly, a slap of icy rain.
The kind of mood you silently curse.
When it knocks the sextant from self-worth.
My mood is purple today.
so, you'll say hello to me first.
or there'll be no plastic cordial at all.
This purpleness will soon pass...hopefully.
Like wind ripples in green whorls of grass.
but for now, give me a sliver of more space.
Stay clear of my vibrating horn.
The one with dried blood in its curl.
I'll stay chained to my pen for most of the day.
Writing a purplish poem...or three.
But when I breech keep it simple... keep it brief.
or better yet, just keep it to yourself.
We war with impunity
And weaponise such things as the
beauty of flowers
And all for what ?
When come today we have to guard the statues and Cenotaph that commemorate our fallen heroes
Only for them to suffer in death the indignity of being treated with such contempt for the very same right's and freedom they gave their lives for
You student's
You self effacing intellects
You political prophet's
You protest
You gather
You march
Underneath your slogan or banner
in righteous indignation of your cause
Such bravery
Such charity
Such courage
Such sacrifice
Once more into the breech
the rallying cry to those
with spray can in hand to vandalize
under the cover of dark with face hidden behind a bandana
I doubt their is anything you would be willing to lay
your life down for apart from maybe your computer and internet access
So next time you log on do yourself a favour and research
your family history and see if any of your family members
lost there lives and think there but for the grace of god go i
These statues and monuments are not supposed to justify or glorify war the complete opposite in fact they are
to remind us of the futility and human cost
but most importantly of all the cause Millions of people
deemed worthy dying for
I wonder if year's to come
how you will be viewed by history
Will people gather to commemorate you
build a statue in your honour
be you remembered by a bank holiday
Or will you hopefully end up instead being a
footnote in a museum
Entitled
When you don't understand your history
And talk before you listen
You run before you can walk
I watch the harbor through the falling snow
the sky and sea form one vast, gray tableau
the sun is nothing but a weak, background glow
the scene draws me, as if hypnotically.
Five mile’s lighthouse warnings go unvoiced
its strobes not lashing out, so what’s its point
it stands majestically but disappoints
replaced electronically
A tiny lobster boat makes its landward way
towards the inlet from the wider channel bay
a powdery blizzard is underway
which melts into the mirror sea.
Ospreys still hunt round the lobsterman's pride
snowflakes stain them as they soar and glide
other seabirds huddle side by side
shivering and crowing lividly.
Through the narrows the lonely boat steams
past icy Luddington Rock and East Breakwater's breech
its berths and moorings, within minutes reach
and sadly, it’s time for me to leave.
.
.
Songs for this:
Far Far Away (Charles Tone Mix) [feat. Brenda Boykin] by Tape Five
Hypnosis Theme (feat. Marina Quaisse) by Wax Tailor
Open mind and open heart,
I knew i loved you from the start.
Forgot the poison you became,
you carved my heart and etched my brain.
My aim was true,
my arrow missed,
I close my eyes and bite my fist.
You drag your feet across my floor,
please don't forget to close the door.
A breech of trust with ill intent,
i'll never know just what you meant.
Insisting," I cant do this now",
Your angry shot across my bow.
The circle, the triangle, then a square,
it's more frustration than I can bare.
No shame, no sorrow and no regard,
you drag your feet across my yard.
You're walking out again, "it's too hard"
Don't forget to close the door.
Time heals wounds and this will scar.
Just another shattered heart in your repertoire.
I walk, i talk, i live my life
surviving my own personal strife.
I think about you now and then,
my thoughts control my weary pen.
My water is calm, give or take.
Again I've weathered your might wake.
My yard is patched, I've cleaned my floor.
It's finally me who closed the door.
Dear Dr. Freud, what can I truly say?
You know my ego does get in the way
a heavy block of much love for the self
freezing up the chance for someone else.
I know that deep down in me is an Id
that’s stored away and properly is hid.
Trespassing not within forbidden zones
I dare to breech my bottom all alone.
I must admit I’m satisfied with me
a total, inner, self-complacency
and even at my age I still adore
the image in the mirror that’s before.
I live my life in quest of Godly good
treating others as I know I should.
For we get in return what we send out.
Karmic rhythms often turnabout.
Dear Dr. Freud, I can truly say,
I am in grateful reverence each day,
for all that keeps me going and is true
as daily, loving grace of God imbues.
8/27/17
1/24/23
YOUR SELECTION' Poetry Contest
Brian Strand, Sponsor
The Darwin Awards are a posthumous honor, recognizing those who have improved the human gene pool by removing themselves from it by their own foolish actions.
In a robbery way out in Long Beach
Elliot's handgun misfired in the breech
Down the barrel he took
A quite scatterbrained look
Then made it more than a figure of speech
There was a foolish fellow named Gary
Who gulped gasoline over near Cary
The fuel made him gag
So he fired up a ***
And now smokes in the state mortuary
"Look, no helmet!" Phil proudly decried
In the headgear disobedience ride
He stood for his rights
Then put out his lights
When he flew off his Electra Glide
An impatient Korean got miffed
And was ramming the doors of the lift
Then went a bit daft
When he got the shaft
But his ride to the bottom was swift
References:
http://jdgroover.wordpress.com/2013/08/20/the-2013-darwin-awards-are-out/
http://www.darwinawards.com/darwin/darwin2012-03.html
http://www.darwinawards.com/darwin/darwin2011-03.html
http://www.darwinawards.com/darwin/darwin2010.html
Cars raced passed,
As I patiently waited,
Nervously filled with distrust.
At a crossing where safe crossing,
Is now indicated,
This courier of fortunes
Not yet out of luck.
I pick up my pace
Like a man on a mission.
My thoughts now a vortex
Of possible plays.
But to visit this office
A long planned decision.
The matter at hand
Sheer providence dictates.
The doors open freely,
I enter within,
To the cheers of firm staffers
And welcoming smiles.
Word had spread quickly
To my eyes and chagrin,
At the expense of my privacy,
My name now beguiled.
The anteroom sanctum
Filled with polite pushy haste,
Containing serious suits
Who’d not rise from their seats,
Till proof be their witness,
No moment to waste,
And the breech of my privacy?
Short apology, hurried movement,
And onward at a feverish pace!
Careful inspection and lens,
Quickly confirm my declare,
Faces stiffened to stifle,
The emotional urge;
To rejoice while an outside call
To far voices is made,
Numbers again shared,
One through six, double check,
Final digits confirmed.
Moods shifted quickly
As reality spawns.
To great cheers
And some fanfare,
Till ushered away;
With military precision,
And much tinted glass,
Police guarding me
And ticket,
From mayhem this day.
Since winning the big one,
I've gained many friends,
Among them some old ones
Who at best were estranged;
Now calling me sir,
With no memory of past,
Nine figures and wow,
Both handsome AND popular...
...finally, at last!
© Michael Wegman, 2014
I rage, my need for you bleeding helpless
tied, bound by these silken ropes of love
my cries will never reach your side, my life
over the music that deafens my heartbeats
I stand mute and solo without you
till we belong to each other
even if that destroys who you are
you will only belong to our love
even if that kills us...
There is a riot in my heart exploding me apart
the burning blood of your beauty razing reason's rampart,
defenses devised by decades of destructive love
surround my soul with swords sharpened on evil known of,
I need you to breech the war barrior, to rescue my red potential
break the black bricks of the sorrow wall with a woman's wherewithal,
we will pay Fate's ransom for union legend
with unbroken breaths of lovers impassioned -
A Collaboration From The Quills Of Bindu & Justin
There I stood.
Despite the education received in the Personal Growth class from my Catholic High School;
Despite the admonishments from my father concerning becoming “whipped”;
Despite the late bloom I would realize when it came to experiences with the opposite sex;
There I stood.
One month removed from my twenty-first birthday;
Six months away from gaining a four-year college degree in three years;
Ten months after having moved in with my first college girlfriend;
There I stood.
After crying when she first told me;
After attending every doctor’s visit with her along the way;
After months of empathy breathing in weekly Lamaze classes;
There I stood.
Having just seen the X-rays of a fetus in the breech position;
Having just called the doctor to announce her water had broke;
Having just gotten lost on the way to the hospital;
There I stood.
In a hospital cap and gown;
In a maternity surgery room;
In a state of unencumbered fear and anticipation;
There I stood.
Ready or not …
There I stood.
.
.
.
And now, thirty-five years later, I still stand here in love with the daughter they gave me to hold back then, when I knew not … where I stood.
Setting: a cafe, chamonix, in hand a tea.
Across- a woman, seated, not seeing me.
Embarrassed I am,
that I, a questionable I,
like a lamb: 97 and 1 kilogram,
am engulfed by her,
like Noah by heavanly mer.
Can I help it?- No!
That this Helen
this doe
or maybe Annabel of Poe
has transfixed me so
No!
For she, unbeknowest to anyone but me,
has -- like a jockey to horse--
narrowed my vision, my every decision.
My goals, my independent roles,
are all now but foes
Dürers'crows
to that of this woman,
to that of this Syren;
A homeric vision calling my name,
my thoughts [set completely in frame].
For she is Femme French,
whose lip, whose tongue, whose
unequaled gaze,
melts hearts, muffles minds, and
spirits sets a daze;
She is a picture Romaine-
a poetic refrain-
a Cloud Loraine-
Tout l'univers(se), turning perverse-
all those once sane.
And when you, pardon- she
speaks; «please, more tea»
she, unknowingly, speaks to me,
wow, she trully speaks to me.
Votre langue francais,
what can I say.
We in the west, at our best
butcher and hack at our speach,
yet you- lyrically spue- a harmonious
coo,
a ventricular breech....
Our « (c)(h)(o)(c)(o)(l)(a)(t)(e), »
americanized, anglasized,
Is not as sweet as your---
« chocolat »--- taste that
mmmm-hmmm
tis better, the way you pronounce every letter
as in decrouver, or illuminer.
To think, that this, your verbal kiss,
turns me so amiss.
But lets ((focus))- back to the Now,
sitting in chair, starring at her hair-
tied back, pulled back, let's get abstract:
lips parted, bangs parted.
Her cheeks lifted- my heart uplifted.
Facial confusion!
Her eyes whisper, « mister, »
maybe sinister?
Who knows, maybeee... the nose!
Striking a pose-
Running, twitching, creating true woes-
in a heart that weeps, reeps, but rarely sows.
Now you can see what she does to me.
my mind is adrift, but who cares- What a Gift!
To be lost in her presence- a humble
peasant- in the present is a present.
So- I'm sitting in a chair,
staring, glaring, intimately at her,
seeking, searching, for our eyes to
meet, to greet, in lustful heat,
for her to return my gaze
and to be lost in that haze till the
end of my days....
But wait.... What is this.
Something is amiss.
A realization, a *****?
OH GOD....
I have a *****...
****. I'm just another creepy loner.
I lust for sightless soil
navigate between rock and root
eating so much darkness
inhaling so much darkness.
The only sound ... my sticky body.
Moving the reddened earth.
Back and forth breaking, into smaller pieces.
Others doing much the same...
(ghost ships-gliding over crimson waves).
For me, to breech the surface is to gather eyes.
See the blossoms that I've oxygenated then promptly set afire.
It's a miracle, I've found yet another petal soul to devour.
Climbed its jewel encrusted face.
Cleverly burrowed my way in.
Seduced an ember deep within its carapace.
While you were gently sighing out angels,
I was licking you into pieces.
My banner carries no oxygen, only the soil of past conquests.
I'm your heartworm, your sticky rosary of death.
************
To pick-up and to receive
In the Anointment
A moment of the
Mind's Eye
By His goodness
And by His grace
------
A second with
> GOD <
------
Ties' a wonder thing
For which we long await...
A dream' come true..
For Me and You
------
A blessing from the Lord
A gift from all time'
To dwell with-in His favor
Beyond the Most Holy
And truly..
The most Divine
------
To fellowship with GOD
The recoveries' of the BLESSINGS'
That He should bring
------
The mere Act of His touch
That is not a breech of Reality
But, a COVENANT that which
We need so much
To be in touch with Jesus
And to Thee, to be, Amen
Amen
Poet Author
Gary Fie