Best Champing Poems
The falling man, one photograph captured in time
An unforgettable image, imprinted on this mind
He represents us all, weather we like it or not
His faith did not kill him, destiny was his lot
Spiralling out of control, once the planes hit
Acting purely on instinct, not champing the bit
Fire and terror stoked decisions, until overcome
Incinerating heat compels him, never did he jump
This was no leap of faith, Infinitely more than that
A transcendence into agony, he’s looks down at
I try to pen his plight, impossible as it seems
Of a world going mad, upon our Tv screens
I wish it was over quick, that fall to his death
Alas he suffered slowly, until the very last breath
I’m been brutally honest, won’t gloss over the facts
For we owe it to him, it’s with innate honesty, he acts
A picture’s worth one thousand words, some disagree
Falling man, gives nothing away, we can clearly see
My heart’s telling this story, his fall sets the stage
An immortalised snapshot of life, will never fade
For all other innocents, murdered that fateful day
If there’s a silver lining, it’s with confidence I’ll say
Your loved ones cradled you, as the towers fell down
Far across many nations, pain is felt inside every town
Sun and moon appeared together, purposely that morn
Heavenly bodies, bore witness to a new world reborn
And this occurrence, should give a tiny ray of hope
Not used as a tool of glee by Helios misanthropes
Below is a comments box will the Helios misanthrope set foot in it
not a cowardly chance
By
David Kavanagh
Today's Date July 24. 2015
Contest Entry---First written Spring 2015
game bullying, hero, silly, sports, strength, word play,,
Champing At the Bit! ©
I hear the roars in the almighty arena
I like to see many a game played out
I am a contender ready for sport
Out for a rematch when elected to strike
Bringing on 'mite and dare' with battle-ax!
.
Inside fielders, outside shots
With vinegar, brawn, spit and guts
Side lines, guidelines guard rails spin
Play your bit and take over until ‘taken’
“Roll me over in fields of clover” again
“Let's roll out the barrel” once more
“The gangs all here” for (old time’s sake)!
To ‘bare’ false teeth replaced from knockouts
Falsely breathing like the lion when times taken ‘out’
False starts, ball belongs to the court ‘out of bounds’
Man ‘sports’ a rebel cry with clansmen at the helm
Fight your battles; fight your wars, fight to finish!
frozen treat
sweet ring-shaped muffin
champing at the bit
11.02.16
I
“Charge!” they said and charge they led
from out of a dry desert wadi.
Every man of the Light Horse Brigade
across the desert thundered -
their pulsing veins, their loosened reins,
toward the wells of Beersheba
rode the brave eight hundred!
II
In gallop stride they fought and died
on mighty Walers champing.
Every man in the Light Horse Regiment
faced a foe greater numbered -
with rifles cocked, their bayonets locked,
onward the wells of Beersheba
rode the brave eight hundred!
III
Again and again the Lighthorsemen
the Turkish lines outflanked.
Every man of the Expeditionary Force
of horse and rider wondered -
their squadron raid, in great crusade,
forward the wells of Beersheba
rode the brave eight hundred!
IV
And across the sands into their hands
the Ottoman guns fell silent.
Every man in the Desert Mounted Corps
the battle trenches plundered -
with martial force, on valiant horse,
further the wells of Beersheba
rode the brave eight hundred!
V
With God they rode and victory owed
with emu plumes in their hats.
Every man of the Light Mounted Infantry
sat his saddle or lay sundered -
like Gideon of old, their trusty fold,
beyond the wells of Beersheba
rode the brave eight hundred!
VI
On horizon’s red light an heroic sight
in clouds of smoke and dust.
“Charge!” they said and charge they led
when enemy lines blundered.
The legend tells of Beersheba’s wells,
how the march on Jerusalem
to glory led all eight hundred!
Written: November 2010
I sit and wonder,
wonder why I sit.
Why am I unmoving
champing at my bit?
But still I stay.
always away.
Im waiting for a reason
to get out of it,
but here I remain,
sitting still,
still here I sit.
I want to get up and go for it,
My chair is getting sore
Maybe tomorrow a reason will come
And I will need more,
But here I am, sitting still
I guess I wont explore.
Someone pushed me off my chair,
is there a reason for it?
Yes, I need to go for it,
but let me stay a while.
until
I wont be still.
I want to go for it!
But until then
here I remain
I sit.
Still,
waiting.
TRUE FREEDOM
The true freedom we breathe in
from the bondage
is the labor and tear
of yester years;
the sore and pain
defeat and despotism
of the past
is an ever memorable
gift by the west;
after the freedom
with trust and faith
india the enshirined soil
bequeathed a bequest
to her glorious heirs;
but today
the communal choas
saunter, in abound and
unobstrusive terrorism
trot all around
and the pangs of poverty
champing overhead
we, the free indians
look for real freedom.
With these winds of July ever sweeping the earth,
How should I follow the footprints of men that believed that no man shall auction another?
... Here, dawns are graceless, birds are no longer early to chirp peace.
There is a mist of desolation befalling, even the blind see it,
There are solemn cries down the woods even the deaf are sickening.
... Do you know that, south of Zambia’s capital,
Thirsty thousand stomachs live in the barren womb of the Zambezi valley,
Nothing grows but seasonal wild fruits
And grasses few to suffice our cattle and donkeys.
A lifetime's fishing among crocodiles, hippos and other river-monsters of the Kariba
shows on bodies of men from head to toe;
Our women’s hearts for survival fate them to gut what’s of our toil,
That's how some of us have come to read and write.
Yet his belly has risen much like dough
Only to start sagging like thuggery pants;
Four years it is since his eyes last saw his belly-button
And word from the capital of his intended visit is said with tears.
Greed and greed are virtues of African leadership,
With promises only vials of black ink in a mansion of white curtains.
Power can sometimes be as coarse as file and erode man's soundness,
Only when the ant-hill is fresh is his wisdom next to whom that created him.
... Men of my country are capable of redeeming this otherwise proud nation
But our leaders see us for chickens and dogs,
Tossing grain at political rallies and swaying us into dog fights…
Barking and champing at our own kindred, bembas and tongas alike
While our kids like wind grasses in a country wind
sing praises of insolent might only to burn in the wild fire.
Where is that pride of free men standing under the sun of our land?
Where is that sovereignty our forefathers surrounded their groins for?
A soul borne to years of pitiable living has no choices, has no will to call its own.
… True authority is like a shell of a tortoise;
Rough on the outside yet smoother than a kitten’s meow on the inside,
Doubt not, people like me believe zambia shall eat from the same plate again.
07/02/18
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
...To Save Strays Deserve Lagniappe
Ruff lee, e'er since
aye waz za lil whippersnapper
watt wit dis awful temper, yet
obedient to a pooch loving Aleut
til present moment, Asian ole mangy coot
this hot day (woof faux pas
dipping into animal shelter
donated water bowl)
filled to the brim with smoothie fruit
flavored slaking, moistening, cooling,
sans lallygagging tongue
doth wipe phlegmy ooze away,
where nearby a kazoo
playing labradoodle
accompanies mum
muttering prettifying self,
via quasi preening snout
when squeezed
automatically issues
honky tonk sound imitating hoot,
where passerine twittering
fly night passersby
toss bone fied token loot
and a Norwegian
bachelor farmer named Knute
Rockne took immediate
liking to yours truly,
who when scratched
itchy fur patches remained mute
imparting unconditional love
to petting man's best friend
hoof right then and there
Isaiah felt as top underdog
momentarily distracted
Fermi n Rico as petsmart necessary fix
reduced to that as newshound junkie
oft times in desperation
shine shoes ala boot lix
usually rewarded with bona fide prolix
about such a docile mix
breed to old for chase sticks
to learn super champing cheap tricks.
Autumn sets in
Forgotten are the hot,
humid and wet days,
as autumn has reached,
Shivering icy fingers,
hoarfrost consolidates at my window sill,
Early sunset and shortening of days,
light snow sets in spirits,
Champing at the bit
enthusiastic children,
This year sure will sight
an abundant frost on Christmas trees !
Written Sept 26th, 2015
For contest "Seasonal" by Shadow
( To a fellow local poet, Susan Booth, who is taking a sabbatical)
Blank page or white screen champing at the bit,
both restless for the whip of pen or key
mind struggling for a word or phrase that fit
the image that the inner self can see.
Sometimes one finds the pitcher leaves the well
with nothing to inspire, no flame, no growth,
on other days it seems one is on fire,
the mind alive, the soul, or sometimes both.
A poet's voyage often is alone
so fellow wordsmiths are a welcome sight,
the flags they fly different in style and tone
their cargo thoughts, emotions or delight.
Set sail soon, your Muse dictates your tack,
where we in safe harbour welcome you back.
Champing The Seasons
A March spring rose like December,
pale shadows meet, by my shutter,
blues screech, that I brooded over,
... my gist be faint, cause a clutter.
As seasons shift their daily quest,
recurrent graduate the stressed,
the day soon proves to modify,
this challenge is met, up go I.
Like December, pale shadows meet,
by my shutter, a March spring rose,
--that I brooded . . . over, my gist . . .,
be faint, cause a clutter, blues screech.
Capricious seasons my journey,
groove the best exact a tourney.
2020 September 28
*2nd Place*
Charonnet
~~charles messina
And if by love they should be saved
lift them by angels
in innocence to a horizons trumpet
They who have fallen unnumbered
to the hate of bullets
and the factions of brush aside politics
And then by flag those nations of God
share the profits
Raise this silence to a desolate choir
purported reports of agony
blast them on the newsreels of insanity
Gods of the bomb
the stalwarts of tomb stones
by billions count their collateral damage
When you prey do you think god is listening ?
When you agree do you think God enjoys the carnage ?
They do not exist among histories counted
in corpse ridden piles
but soak their blood in televised heroics
As by hell only expedient created
the foul mouthed bankers of the false profits
Such are their ghosts
forgotten and uncounted
sacrificed to the warring trade of economics
And by the flags of those nations of God
wave on high the belligerence of their self elected mob
These empty prey of a weapons industry
in the champing mouths of governing bodies
chew out their lives to spit cold bile and feed humanity
The guidance of saviors a joker in the pack of deaths card game
But by the salvation of guns shall share the blame
in hatreds disassociation
When you prey do you think God is watching ?
When you agree do you think God is enjoying the carnage ?
I wait for no other days
so I pinch this one
I haunt rocks and trees
to caress
with each ebb and flow
I celebrate a minute
and dedicate it to hours
honouring a moment
just one,
this,
as I breathe from the
firmament of life,
my exhalation
fogs the soul of time
scattering all sense
I suck what my mistress desires
I steal her nourishment
sipping it like a fine wine
time is unquenchable,
forever devouring life
down to the gritty bits
and this day stands like no other
she saunters in her finery
greeting all with a cool breeze,
but as the other side of her face
turned into view,
a ghoul of time slobbering
and champing at the bit
revealed her true self
slavering to eat me alive
drool pools on my window sill
but I am thieving again
I inhale
breath by breath
looking for the cracks
to sneak back to thievery
My life has lately taken a divergent path,
age has slowed me down,
I am no longer champing at the bit,
I seek a little calm,
the reading of a psalm.
I no longer seek the promotion of strife,
as I did in earlier life.
I no longer pitch an angry fit,
or cuss like a demon from the pit.
but soak calmly in a warm bath.
There comes a time and an age to calm down.