Best Casual Poems
Sweet Sensation of Whispering Words -
It was not that she was the only woman in the group, when mingling precariously beneath the bronze figure of William Booth, or her classic stance, when placing saintly, the newsprint covered bottle to lips willingly breached, but her opulent style, her contrast of attire, and as yet her hair unruffled. Although sparse of jewelry a gold ring dangles on a chain, catching the light as it shines in the noon day sun, a tinge of blood trickles down her neck. Her recently pierce ear lobe, bearing signs of some street wise ritual? Evidence of suave sophistication, exists with movements of grace and elegance, fingers more use to the gentle stem of the crystal goblet, than the demure grasp of the shapeless neck of a bottle of brown ale.
a fork in the lane
no signpost to guide one home
a need or a deed
Her head begins to lift higher and higher with every mouthful of distinct courage, every courteous act. Then! A look of deep despair, as the bottle is released from her reluctant deep red lips, a senseless shake only proved her greatest fear. Suddenly to her aid came a wayward chap, swiftly finishing his own endless gorge. He commences to wipe the neck of his perpetual habit, with a mucus soiled cuffless sleeve, before passing it on to her veracious hand, his eyes eagerly awaiting its return.
a lane to despair
not alone but in the palm
existence or life
After the corrosive day is over, the sun finally at rest, only the motley park bench will be her abode with printed tabloids to cover her chilled exterior, her metabolism accelerating, to become one of so many, a license to enter their dissipation, only then will options for her begin to diminish, external metamorphosis soon to blend with inner corruption, life’s destruction rapid along the highway of completion!
first rays of sunshine
a trial or tribulation
the signpost renewed.
© Harry J Horsman 2018
A swirl of color,
that spoon's stirring casual.
Tidal rotation,
moon drunk on a tie-dyed sky.
Easygoing, just flow slow.
I was born with an empty packet
filling it with enticing products as I grow
I’m yet to be forty and kids at ten
are already wearing stained jackets
What is this gene inherited from generation to generation?
haven’t we learn how it manifests,
as it gradually closes the gap between humans and other creatures?
A sweating conscience is still covered
with the blanket of misdeeds
empathy and pity more alive in the dictionaries
human kindness, practical only in poetry
as love is squashed by the strong rackets of our minds
The world has now become a public square
pack full with moderators of rights movements
but the ball of human responsibilities
completely plucked out of its socket
Perversion has drastically shortened its skirt
now getting almost bare as it attracts more lustful admirers
good deeds, treated like a worm
dropped into a Bucket of swimming Tilapias
The Alarm is ringing in emergency
triggering a staggering wonder
about the generation my kids become grandparents.
What has become of the mind which is now the chalk board
to daring adventures and extreme experiments,
with all ideas focused on romancing the other side of human nature?
Morality, now a tile to which curiosity walks upon
and sense of humanity greatly subdued by greed
we’ve been eaten up by this decadence
and our bodies supported by biscuit bones
the society will be completely consumed
unless we stop this cycle
which has reached its end-stage terminal process.
That will be fine
Drop me a line
Then we will meet
Some place some time
For a nice chat
Over a glass of wine
Or lemonade and lime.
A fleeting glance in a crowded room
Electricity hurtling through space
Drawn like a magnet, carnal lust unleashed
Wisdom and sanity scattered to the wind
Lost in a hedonistic desire for the unknown
Loveless fornication in an unquenchable sea
Humble,
Rudimentary,
Comfortable clutter to abate fears of agoraphobic stumbles,
A 4x4 white-washed landscape provides the perfect artistic study.
Claustrophobic,
Artificial,
The clean floors become lava so I've practiced my aerobics,
Ugh my artistic inspiration is siphoned by this unfortunately accurate description, an obstinate mockery of my work, look at it sitting there all pompous yet still so superficial.
Blank canvas,
Infinite utensils,
Every little "mess" perfectly fills settles in its stanza,
Of graceful brushstrokes and triumphant crescendos to form my easel.
Insufferable antithesis,
Genocidal doctrine,
Insidiously contagious and unbearably loquacious,
Infecting homes content in their mediocrity and ensembles' sheik rebellious fashion.
A standoff at high noon,
Between libertarian creativity and authoritarian germophobia,
Both sides claiming a fair fight between equal rivals yet they both undermine each other through sabotage and flaunt their charm like geisha,
Who shall I choose?
Eh, I'll figure it out in the morning.
Creative conformity
For the majority
Is something in which to take pride
I love getting dressed up
But usually end up
To my detriment out dressing the bride
I
Two hearts follow the eyes
Two persons, personalities collide
Too much joy in bedroom
If marriage can't come soon
Casual love, short-term, volcano pride
In your eye's gleam the stars!
It's the middle of the day...
We never end a night in tears!
We just argued last night away...
I've never meet any one
as beautiful as you!
Yet how your eye's are drawn
to the girl next in the queue...
I think of you all the time
You consume my every thought!
I know you only think of work
to fund bribes to keep my protest naught.
I feel the future is bright for us,
Beyond what I can see, My Dear,
I'll protect you, on me you can depend.
Protection against you is wise
but I daren't complain,My Thorn,
Beyond what you can see, is only next weeks end.
You're such a patient listener,
I hope my speech has not bored.
By no means, I must confess,
I am relieved of your fraud!
You'll always be in my mind,
My love has never cooled...
That would because there is none
I am not like others fooled!
I can barely bring myself to leave...
Shame you will be back again!
Know I don't believe my luck...
When it ends know you're to blame!
Not as arrogant as wine
Not as subtle as tea
it's suitable when you dine
it is a can of liquid glee
The casual drink for a care-free mind
Mostafa zaki
10/28/2011
Beverage contest
There she was sitting beneath a decaying
Magnolia tree,
Whistling the lamentations of the discontented,
Absent mindedly flicking empty beer bottles into a arsenic pool,
Hiding her soul from the pestilant sun
And the bitter hope of yet another false dawn,
I knelt beside her beneath the poc-marked
Black boughs.
And watched the ripples dying a painful death upon the stagnant water
So skillfully posioned by man's skeletal hand
I pleaded
" this is no place for one so young who has the privilege of time dancing at their feet.
These dung hills this poisoned land of wishful thinking and demented dreams
Is only for lost causes, disappointed truth seekers and the battle weary who fought the world,
Who spend their days taking obscure roads
To pointless destinations.
You must return to paths narrow and straight,
Where bitter words shrivel and wither beneath the radiance of a fulsome moon"
She wants to speak but I say,
"Please don't tell me your ills my wisdom is
As deep as that toxic pool.
There is no cure no hidden medicine upon
This parasitic breeze"
But she weeps,
"Why can't they leave me be to my rhyming
And my poetry,
I was obedient you see believed all the lies
They told me never realised they're reducing
My life to office cubicle mediocrity
And now they want more,
Body beautiful is what they say, a perfect life with white shiny teeth,"
I sigh " the world is what the world is they
Will never be satisfied "
I take her gently by the hand and lead her back
To the mist that poets and madmen cannot
Pass
I kiss her on the cheek and hand her a tattered copy of Yeats 'The land the Heart's
desires '
I whisper "your pasture will be greener
Your sky the deepest blue and you will bathe in crystal clear springs of the mind,
Your soul is for you alone"
As she vanishes into a haze I hope she gone forever and never returns to this empty God forsaken land.
Riotous revellers' laughter drifts up from their apricot lit late night haunts, four cafes are notoriously avoided venues for overindulgent consumption of alcohol.
Across the street, from my thirtieth floor apartment window, remote portrait of bodies bent enthralled over their beers,
toads on stools at mushroom stem tables.
Flicker of forbidden recognition crosses my cortex,
- I'm a resident of Broadwater Tower now.
Unstated policy prohibits proximity with riff raff.
Our bar ensures we wear careful attire,
floor gleams mirror marble.
Chrome and cracked leather oud absorbs expensive scents.
Ladies laughter upscale conflicts the low fading mens' vocal.
Tipsy sensation enhanced by deck docked
rolling prestigious flagpole chiming yachts.
Over the road, neolithic neon signs post grotesque cafe names,
Salivate, Green Grotto among them.
Customers come from squat squashed suburbs,
five minute drive away.
Dive bar dark sparks alcoholic amphibians unremarkable bravado.
January holiday season sees sardines huddled heartily under awnings, abandoning next morning necessity.
24th February 2023
151 words
Written for Contest: Four Cafes
Sponsor: Julia Ward
a bowl of spit an drool,
floating burnt matches
ashes blacken the bottom.
Summon the patient matrons from their hollow galleys
Waiting on the edges of the musical drums within the flesh
None will know a return
In the outpouring of words, the distance becomes a rather familiar apparatus
And eerie reflections upon the surface raise the darkness in a dance of ageless allusions
The gnomes sing into your oasis a monotonous insinuation
Held in the hands of passing expressions, who peer out through cogent faces
Until the contingent hours of darkness
Here they find endowed jest pardons
Sensing delicious manifestations of thought where none urge linger, but refuse in leering
And I pre-tinge my calm
Watching the calamity swerve ahead of me
And crash by an oak tree
Where the strangest things are bound to happen
Far under, the gaze deepens, something brilliant in disguise
Far under, the absurdity rises, as I speak with what words I’ve been given
Of the end
A speechless zero-time