Best C. Poems
clad in rags, he wanders on Wall Street
he is invisible to hustling stock brokers
he is a man with no money, no property
a hapless struggler of excessive loan burdens
bitter winter winds blow across Broadway
he is invisible to affluent theatre-goers wearing warm winter coats
he is a man who watches them scurry past the cardboard box that is his bed
like a rain-dog, huddling in the shadows of alleys and doorways
he hears deafening explosions of New Year fireworks
he is invisible to the revellers
he is a man who cowers, recalling gunfire of a war he fought
echoing through his mind in restless nights
the incessant thumping of traumatic stress
he is invisible...a victim of post-Vietnam, Afghanistan and Iraq
who once bore a uniform and served his country with pride
he is invisible suffering alone, paying the price
through severe disabilities and permanent scars
with sadness, he watches voters going to the polls
he is invisible, a veteran with no voice in elections
he is a man who cannot vote without an “address”
a placard on a pavement might catch the eye
unemployed, homeless, unseen
but most of all forgotten
he is a man who seems invisible
but he is still a man
-------------------------------------------------------------
This is co-written by Paul Callus & Carolyn Devonshire
in remembrance of our war veterans.
[Published @ Muse to Move (A.P.F. Publisher UK 2017]
The battles on the field are harsh and tough
The looting in their wake engorged with greed
Abundant spoils of war are not enough.
Atrocious in their acts that make no sense
The women and the girls are taken slaves
Abusing them with lust and violence.
Unable to resist the touch of shame
The captive females cry in pain and fear
Their lives will never be again the same.
And when the dust of war has blown away
The children of the foe get born to those
Who months before fell prey and ravaged lay.
Unwanted children still need loving care
Mothers find it hard to nurture such babes
Shame is endured by children in despair.
Their lives are defined by horrid attacks
Evil men who satisfied selfish needs
Indignities make them fall through the cracks.
Who loves a child rejected by its kin?
Society offers them no solace
The “enemy’s child,” created by sin;
But all these children still have hearts and souls
Rejection renews the cycle of pain
When there is no one who cares or consoles.
*Co-written with Paul Callus
Let the night embrace you with honey dreams,
Where you find your beloved dressed in tangerine,
She promises love and you kiss her marmalade lips,
The trust you longed for, in her titian eyes is seen.
In the saffron valley where good things happen,
She sings to heal all your inner rustic wounds,
She offers you sip, from coral river of happiness,
And you believe her and listen to salmon sounds.
With bright orange sunshine, new day begins,
You hope someday, your orange lady you will find,
Your heart blooms like the young marigold,
Life seems beautiful, amber fears are left behind.
Any poem, you wrote this year 2016
Sponsored by: SKAT A
May 2, 2016.
Poems that are soup favourites Contest
Sponsored by: Shadow Hamilton
United colours: ORANGE contest
March 4, 2016.
Shades of ORANGE: honey, tangerine, marmalade, titian, saffron, rustic, coral, salmon, orange, marigold, amber
OPTIMISTIC word in each sentence: embrace, beloved, love, trust, good, heal, happiness, believe, new day, hope, blooms, beautiful
PORTRAIT OF SUSAN C.
If you glance at Susan
Three days in a row
same pose
same tilt of head
same diverted eyes
brows raised
firm round lips
She says something different
Each ardent flip
I suppose it’s the passionate red dress –
how it hangs in perfect V
only a suggestion of feminine property
how it further urges her tinted ivory skin
Oh! And the long sleeves –
how they paint those meaningful
finger slims
Yes!
The dress –
It quite overcomes
Well Susan is blond
Really blond –
long-hair-hanging blond –
It sweeps round her ears
To frame a coquettish-near smile
She’s fair enough for movie fame
Yet?
Take the expression away
And…well…
It’s back to the dress for a while
Oh there’s so much movement
In those hanging folds –
none the same –
So much suggestion
Even softness
satin flame
Ummm humm… hmmmm
To end though
The whole is T-Susan
The ever notorious tease –
the come-on
slight show of flesh
those white clear eyes
of kidney pool blue
Damn! lady!
Pity the poor sap
Runs into you
Dave Austin
Attitude can be nurtured and changed
By you in spite of what has happened in your day
Confident people master it quickly
Despite what they are enduring
Enthusiasm is a side benefit that
Fosters team work positivity and friendship
Give yourself a break if you
Have had a bad day. We all have them.
Inspiring videos, loving people and supportive friends
Jokes, funny TV shows, and hobbies might help.
Kindness to friends is wonderful, but
Loving them is not as important as loving yourself.
Many do not give themselves this important gift.
Naturally you want the best for others and your family
Outrageous as this might sound, you must
Positively become your OWN best friend first.
Quiet yourself and give yourself this all-important gift.
Rusty as you might be, find your strengths.
See yourself in the best light. Encourage yourself.
Treat yourself with the same empathy you
Utilize with others, a good friend, or a cherished neighbor
Vigorously appreciate your talents and gifts.
Wisest of the wise recognize the
‘Xceptional logic of doing this and often.
You will immediately reap the awards.
Zesty excited attitudes encourage others, please encourage you!
Word Quintet in C Major
By Stark Hunter
Open the door my friend,
Climb on in,
Join me here in this relentless caravan,
This unstoppable, this incontrovertible,
this inexorable movement,
To the depths of the dry gulf.
Join me here my friend,
In this annihilating armada,
This incontrovertible migration,
This inexorable swarm
To the watery crossroads of the dry places,
To the liquid asphalt of insipid time!
I stare at you from across the room here.
I stare and gawk and hawk at you,
And I feel the pelting rain of desire.
You look good over there, sitting
With beautiful gleaming crossed legs.
“Sorry, beg your pardon,
I say, but have we not met before?
Did we not share beers on the Terrace of Tyre
At sunset?
Did we not tell each other stories,
Old stories of love and betrayal and heartbreak?
At sunset?
Did we not look away from each other,
When stories of new love suddenly emerged,
As with a new sunrise?”
My friend, there is no
Escape from this throbbing hole, no
Escape from this cold numbing wind,
This whirlingly insane wind
Of cold blasts of killing ice.
And I ride here
Ride like a sweating Sultan,
Astride the mighty beast of Tyre!
Perched high in rich raiment,
I wave to the multitudes
I send a salute to the throng!
I ride shotgun here
Ride nice and easy
Like a tanning garçon on his off day,
Like a sitting trog waiting wistfully,
Waiting waiting for gams not intended for him.
My friend, the world turns and turns,
It turns today and tomorrow,
It will turn as the river turns in spring,
It will turn as a woman’s heart turns,
When eyes that once stared ahead, now look away.
It will turn my friends because it has to!
Riding, Riding, Riding….
Downhill now! The insane wind
Assaults me. Harasses me. Accosts me.
It presses its loose lips upon my face,
It seeks the mad blood of passion!
“Let us calm ourselves
Reassure ourselves
That all is right and as planned.
Let us all look at one another!
Let us all nod in agreement!
The days ahead will manifest themselves,
Transfigure themselves,
As blooms upon the water lilies.
A
wistful
eye never
sleeps;
Dreaming of
many
dreams
of thy
Lips
hibernating
within your
Lips.
Kissing you,
P~assionately
O~rderly
E~xpressively
T~astefully
D~esirously
E~ffectually
S~oundlessly
T~ransparently
R~espectively
O~stentatiously
Y~early
E~rotically
R~omantically
~In~
..............SECRET.............
Pace, G
INK-U-SCRIPT
The Kissing Game Contest
1ST Place Winner
If you should search for knowledge
To answer the riddle of your self
All the books found on every library shelf
Might not relieve your puzzle a smidge
Because ‘h’ is the difference of self from shelf
Search within and you’ll see without eyes.
Things happen in a test tube
That we can easily observe and explain
But anywhere outside of it
It’s not quite the same
That’s because it’s out in the open
Where there’s less control and closure.
Some advise taking only two steps
Once into and once out of water
Supposedly while you’re watching
Perpendicular to a flowing stream
So firstly you get your feet wet
And then you get them dry.
Or you take the opposite length
Over the adjacent length
Then every measured distance
Makes each tangent different
But if trigonometry was used at Pisa
That’s not why the place is famous.
So if a princess was in a tower
And let’s assume she was a prisoner
At least she should have a window
Because horizons offer a fine view
Then the next time the witch calls her
Rupunzel throws down her chair.
A man with a creative dream
On an arid afternoon
Admiring God's creation
Relaxing in the sunlight
With his cowboy hat
Giving him a little shade
Watching the cumulus clouds
Shading the desert wasteland
Captured all by the artistic eyes
Of a man named T. C. Cannon
Inspired by Abe's
Native American Ekphrasis
Smallest of ants could be called a hexaped.
Ants by the millions spew from a subterranean bed.
Cast(s) of thousands work relentlessly to be fed.
Long hours of constant foraging or many go dead.
Shadows of their incessant hunger we face with dread!
For the "Smallest Ants Cast Long Shadows," contest.
The lunchroom fart
of turbo pasta
scatters garlic teargas
laced with meaty mystery
without mercy to
flatten cubicles.
Chain-reactions
of Tupperware battles
erupt to devastate
once discerning pallets
until hobbled by stabs
of shrapnel to the gut,
prompting an exodus
of mournful bodies
propelled along that cloud
of processed misery
to wander, ashen-faced
along the concrete void.
My daughter had been sickly for a time
The flu, they said, her health will shortly climb
A few days later came the call we dread
I'll ne’er forget the words the doctor said:
"We got your daughter's blood work back today.
I'm not sure there is any easy way
To tell you she has cancer of the blood.
I'm sorry, but the outlook isn't good."
I dropped the phone and couldn't hide the tears
My daughter hadn't yet to reach six years
This had to be a mix up or mistake
But her frailness confirmed this wasn't fake.
We sat down on her bed and held her close
So tiny and so perfect in repose
But before either one of us could speak
She smiled and spoke in a voice small and weak.
"I know you want to tell me that this flu
Will not be getting better, but I knew
See Jesus sent an angel to my bed
Who said I needn't fear what lies ahead."
"I asked about the c-word sometimes used
By mom and daddy talking while I snoozed.
He told me about cancer inside me
And said that heaven very soon I'd see."
And seeing tears, my daughter grabbed our hands
“There's one more thing you need to understand
The angel had a note for both of you:
Said, 'Courage is a mighty C-word too.'"
Where she was laid to rest a stone highlighted by the dew
Reminds me she said, "Courage is a mighty C-Word too."
December 12, 2016
there he was
in his white coat
afraid of our reaction
as he dropped the C word
we watched it bounce off the floor
and hang there suspended
no one reaching to grab it
we all sat there with a blank stare
pretending to be deaf
frozen in disbelief
biting our tongue
holding our breath
limp arms down our sides
it couldn’t be
how could it be
wanting to unhear the word
but there it was
in all its ugliness
in the middle of the room
while the coat made its exit
that throbbing C word
loaded and sobering
resonating in our ears
leaving us in shock
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~THE POWER OF TWO~ 2020
AP: 1st place
black and white tones
ring together echoes
over two tone photos
scrolling along
memories
colored in remembrance
happenings in sepia
when we were small
imagination animated
claude leading the way
moonlight illuminates
a kaleidescope display
moon shines its silvery
rays, soft music plays
around the room
I will sleep soon
key notes weave harmonies
whipperwill and chickadees
night's sweet lullaby song
gently sings of rest and sleep
last notes fade away
musical dreams in C
eat away sharp edges
I smile in my sleep
I once wrote a poem that fit
All the contest descriptions. And it
Was praised with much grace,
I was hopeful to place,
But completely forgot to submit!
For Jan's NA collaboration, if she thinks this is within the prompt.