Best Clubbed Poems
TOOTHLESS in 1927
Toothles her tail began to switch,
Tuppy said “you’re too old, just stay a bit,”
Tuppy rode away to where,
A knocking stick a Roo would snare,
Roo hides pegged upon the ground,
Pounds shillings and pence, to be found,
From whence.
She galloped down the boundary fence ,
Clubbed a Roo right out of sense,
Got down then to skin this Roo,
Who sprang right up and bit her too,
He grabbed her close and then,
Jerked up a foot to disembowel, when,
Toothless cleared the fence,
Toothless took the Roo by the throat,
Strangulation the intent, I quote,
Death did then commence.
Kangaroo would seem very nice,
Docile friendly, but watch twice,
If his female is in season,
You could be clawed, bitten and slashed,
And Skippy might.
Don’t let your dog in water with,
Old Skip will drown him till his stiff,
But Roo’s out there in millions are,
Springing bounding fences ha ha,
And following the grass Tom Tit…
Toothless was an old greyhound female used for catching Roos on the bound….Don Johnson
On the ledge of Notre Dame ...
He watched through his one good eye,
Far, far below, the throng closed ranks around Esmerelda,
As she ran into the arms of her prince, waiting.
Oh, how his soul ached and shattered ...
Heart as big as the grotesque hunch on his back, he wished it gone.
He had fought to near death to keep her safe in the ramparts,
Yet now he knew that she had wanted to leave,
That he had fought for a forsaken cause.
So foolish - so stupid, as stupid as he was ugly and twisted!
What horrid trick, that made him want something so unattainable?
Why had he EVER believed she could love him?
She had wanted his help - he KNEW it, and yet now ...
Proof of an otherwise opposite reality lay at his clubbed feet,
The bells still pounding air against his chest and deaf ears.
Rain pouring from the darkening gray Parisian skies,
Dripping off the eyes of the carved gargoyles that surrounded him,
As if they, too, were weeping for his hapless sake.
But they couldn't be, lifeless and cold ...
"Oh, to be stone like these", he thought,
His last breath escaping ...
To the night mist.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Notre Dame In The News" Poetry Contest
Kim Rodrigues, Judge & Sponsor.
When I was 12 weeks pregnant
my husband and I found out news
News that would change our lives
Shake our entire foundation.
My first son
my loved
Wanted
Long-waited for child
had local exstrophy
During what we thought was a routine checkup
We found out that his lower abdominal wall had not formed correctly
He had a mass as big as his head between his little legs
In the ultrasound
I could barely see his legs because of it
His tiny feet were already clubbed
His spinal cord was tethered
The doctor told us he would never walk or have a functioning bladder
A week later
The situation worsened
We found out his kidneys weren’t working
His lungs wouldn’t develop
After eagerly preparing for our first son
My husband and I
Found out he would die by suffocation upon delivery
If he survived that long
Faced with horrible and difficult odds
My husband and I did what we knew
What was best for our son
Our family
We made the decision to end the pregnancy through abortion
My husband and I loved our first son and wanted him dearly
We named him Thomas
I will forever mourn him
The decision to have an abortion challenged my beliefs around life
My faith
But I have never for a second doubted
This was the right thing to do for myself
My family
Especially Thomas
06122020
A Cave Man Day
One day long ago a cave man slept uncomfortably
The brutal sun, good for nothing, woke him up abruptly
Ants crawled all over his body and began to bite
He ate every one of them one by one
Using his fingers and his thumbs as utensils
There was no name for breakfast at the time
Or the creatures who ate his parents
Cave man was all alone and had a simple job
To find more food and stay alive
Fire had just been invented and utilized
This miracle he took with him everywhere
The other 2 gods were sun and water
Fire would be his favorite deity
The man was good at picking berries, consuming plants
All of this at great peril and certainly by chance
They could be poisonous or make him sick
All cave men had to do this to survive and take the risk
He used rocks and sharp ended sticks to take down pray
Skills taught to him by his dad before he died
Cave man was short, stout, mean, with green and jagged teeth
And made his way through Stone Age foliage
He had a bushy beard and scratched it
Wondered what he was looking at… What was that?!
When he met a woman with long legs and tangled hair
She had nice features for a cave girl from that age
He took her by the hair and clubbed her on the head
Dated, copulated and married on the spot
What a lovely wedding day
They moved into a cave
I was taken from this life
in the black night, blindfolded
to be clubbed to death
so that I
might be born again
in spirit song, dance and name
given by my great ancestor
who, ten thousand years ago or more,
crossed the Bering land bridge from
Siberia to Cowichan and the Salish Sea
warm land of the raven,
the black bear and the salmon.
I have suffered
four hundred years
of dislocation of the soul
in this barren culture, nameless
but for “primitive squaw.”
I have lost
Tamanawas, the sacred ritual dance
the Potlatch feast of giving and
my children and my language.
I will endure
four days and nights
confined and cold and hungry
while all around the rhythmic pulse
of elders’ drumming, chanting
guides me back in time and space
to voices still resounding
stories of a dancing flame
light upon the earth
And I will rise in cedar forests
and walk the clamshell middens
feel our language on my skin
and see with startled eyes new life
the Soulfire I’ve been given.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was for the Shaman's Way contest but I think I missed it.
Cowichan --used to be pronounced coWEEchan now it's usually said like, Cow i chan.
The Canadian government outlawed many Coast Salish practices until the 1960's--the Spirit Quest, Potlatch feast and
Tamanwas dance among them. Children were placed in residential schools, away from their families, and were forbidden
to speak their mother tongue. More recently, the spirit quest ritual has been revived as (loosely) described in the
poem. However, it is also now used as a form of "intervention" to help address an array of problems frequently
attributed to colonization (e.g., drug and alcohol misuse). So, where in the past, young people would go off into the
forest voluntarily, it is now often the case, (at least in Cowichan) that young people are taken from their beds in the
night. Initiates are first symbolically "clubbed to death" then "reborn" after multiple days of ritual practices.
On asphalt, wet with blood and sweat (down streets with no address),
there lay a man, snuffed by the Man and left to evanesce.
The Man then strode along the road and smiled at his success
and, cavalier, he bought a beer, sat down to decompress.
A life was gone, but day wore on, the sun awash in heat –
the riddled head no longer bled, concealed beneath a sheet,
and passers-by began to cry, were sobbing indiscreet’,
while holy bells in distant hells began to moan and bleat.
In heaven's eyes (no one denies) due process is decreed,
but down below, where burdens flow, it rarely can succeed
and certainly not for those distraught, benighted in their need,
so Men in blue (you know the crew) thought nothing of the deed.
Though just eighteen, a little green (was still his mama's son!),
adored by all, but left to sprawl in webs of hate, undone,
the youth was shot and left to rot, but never held a gun,
so people cried and wondered why'd the evil deed been done.
The sheriff said "forget the dead, his crime was black as slate"
and in the rush to hush and shush, he hissed "I'll tell you straight,
that boy, today, was on his way to rendezvous with fate,
so now you know – I gotta go, it's gettin' kinda late".
Not satisfied with those who'd lied, some took to fill the streets
with peaceful cries neath blackened skies, were paid with clubbed retreats,
cruel gas cascades and stun grenades, then days in jailhouse suites –
though curfew's on from dusk till dawn, each night this scene repeats.
With exits barred, in came the Guard to rumble and repress,
for people stray both night and day in search of some redress.
The city's scarred, the houses charred, the locals in distress –
with cut or bruise, they still refuse to kneel or acquiesce.
So choppers fly above the sky with whirling, twirling blades
and drones in flight within the night erase the renegades.
The tarot cards and crystal shards reveal the masquerades –
the beating parts of diamonds’ hearts forever club the spades.
Now puppet Pols are making calls and acting out charades
(like shouting loud within the crowd, and marching in parades),
while underneath, where lies a wreath, the hope for justice fades.
Yet, freedom waits behind the gates, beyond the barricades.
25 Aug 2014
I had a little bunny
honey was her name
She was so cute and funny
till I clubbed her in the brain
So sad I had to eat her
but I'm really not to blame
Was the doings of my daddy
and his sickly little games
I had to hang my bunny
in the killing tree
She kicked and screamed so madly
till my mind went free
I cut her throat and peeled her
but I wasn't really there
That's the story of my bunny
my lifeless skinless little hare
Have you ever heard a rabbit scream?
It sounds just like me
Young Johnny Walford was a handsome man
He possessed a keen intelligent mind
Yet the life he desperately desired
In the end poor Johnny would never find
Lack of education, coal dusted hands
His heart was set on the Miller's daughter
Sadly one night he strayed with Jane Shorney
Made his life into the stuff of fodder
He was forced to marry against his will
Jane Shorney was now carrying his child
He could not bare the thought of forever
Her screeching voice, made him insanely wild
It was but three weeks into his marriage
Our young Johnny couldn't take anymore
He clubbed her on the head and slit her throat
This was more than they had both bargained for
He took her body, threw it in a ditch
Then he tried to cover it with dirt
In her hand she clutched a piece of fabric
She had foresight to hold onto his shirt
Her body found there with a hue and a cry
Johnny was dragged in chains through the streets
Hanged on the gibbet for passers by
It is said that a year later they would meet
She haunts both ditch and gibbet to this day
Her banshee voice screeches berating him
Poor Johnny would prefer to be in heel
Her words feel like being torn limb from limb
A Shadowlam production. Great topic for a poem Shadow thanks
for inviting me to write this one with you.
Tall as they come, this man is 1 metre 85,
A basketball player inspired by the 2012s,
To compete in disability sport so to thrive,
At the high jump, his practice bookshelves.
Loughborough students encouraged him,
To work on his basketball leaps by trying,
To high jump. He was so taken, no whim,
With the London Paras, he was pertaining,
That he became a T44 athlete for team GB,
To qualify with PB of 2.06 at Bedford in May;
2013 also saw him in the IPC, Lyon to see,
Where he took silver, loosing to Poland, ok.
2014 IPC Europeans in Swansea, Wales,
And he got another PB with 2.15m, a WR,
Which would’ve won gold in London sails,
But he had to accept silver, Poland did bar.
Jonathan lives in Reading at the age of 28,
But was born in Colchester well fine, fair,
With a clubbed foot, a week right knee fate,
And muscular imbalance thru his body, lair.
calm days oceans fit
dress coastlines in white lace
treacherous... the storm
on the wind it glides
oceans of the south surveyed
albatrosses feed
penguins flighty birds
cross ice bellies down... feet push
water... flight masters
aquatic parrots
puffins come to land to breed
Icelanders eat them
oceans deep smokers
new life evolves... dies when stubbed
potential islands
iguanas
some vegetarians
dive oceans to feed
sea mammals... furry
all once murdered for their coats
babies clubbed to death
great auks... now extinct
flightless... netted then eaten
man still hasn't learnt
A K-8 school, J.S. Waters, was roundly chastised today
Its students held a 'mock' slave auction
This happened in March, in North Carolina, in the year 2022
White students sold black students as slaves, and used the n-word too
One boy went for $350, later he was clubbed with a baseball bat
So, if you roll your eyes over 'Racism?' --in the USA?
~ You ought to think long and hard about that
Fire the principal, the teachers involved, expel the white participants too
Throw the book at the adults, and at those white kids too
Make an example of these horrid beasts, so this NEVER happens again...
We dare not wonder why Civil War wounds have yet to mend
All day it rained.
There was no destination.
The futurist will incite
the blue light in the itinerary.
You can convert the eye
into moon. The sky follows
the assassin under-
the cover.
O Brother, I wanted to
scream. Lines were not clear
but the blood was same,
in syntax and on knife.
The potential, the genius,
the capital. They were clubbed
to win the game. The earth
will go searching the fakir.
Satish Verma
KOKODA 1942 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e5VG58ypVuE
BULLANT BITTEN OR SHOT?
Oh yes its very popular to walk the Kokoda Track,
And people by the dozen have done just bloody that,
I you were there in forty two it wasn’t as much fun,
With a hundred weight upon your back and a ten pound threeo gun,
You climbed the golden stairs knee deep in the mud,
The mountains just got higher and the mossies wanted blood,
A little pimple on your leg became an oozing ulcer,
Iodine rag screwed in the wound by some flaming vulture,
The Jap would lay in ambush so you watched the bloody bush,
And you couldn’t stop a watching and no bloody food you wuss?
Then its raining food and ammo bully beef splat up a tree,
Dog biscuits shattered breadcrumbs fill your pocket up for free,
Till they got mouldy,
You’d be alone in the jungle and you would meet a scouting Jap,
He’d fire all his bullets from his Arisaka . Crack,
Then he’d come for you with a bayonet on a rifle at hi port,
And you’d try the bayonet fighting or plonk his brisket sport?
The bloody Diaorea made you weak , no strength in your knees,
The woodpecker is buzzing taking bark off all the trees,
So your eyes are full of bark chips Joes throwing sticks at me ,
And the bulldog ants are biting what an awful place to be,
Choices bitten, shot or clubbed by friendly sticks ?
Stop jumping around you’re drawing the crabs,
Woodpecker hammers my tree,
And the bloody ants are biting,
And I can’t quite bloody see.
Don Johnson
How it was for Don Johnson 2/25th btn Kokoda New Guinea 1942
http://www.scullywag.com/kokoda1942st...
Many months ago, a man from Middleton moved to,
A province of vices and soured delinquencies
Where dreams remain dreams
And reality seems unnatural
Like angels and demons in a guileful romance
Few months ago, a young enforcer was stationed
At the city of madness where reason has no reason
To be a reason, the city stood on a wild-wind bedlam!
Moans, groans and squeals were bedtime songs
That cradles everyone to sleep
The man from Middleton, my dad, a conformist preacher
A norm embedding parson passing creeds
From his forefathers to me, the enforcer, his seed -
He is the pioneer of my creation
An astute fellow to the bone
I live his air and breath his life
Just like him, I'm never pliant
Wrong is wrong and right is right
'No matter whose ox is gored'
That I've learnt, I've mastered and revered
*********************
One daring day, amid vast numbers of outlaws
A dare-devil hooped into the enforcer's bay
His face was masked with effronteries of crime
And calmly, he strolled to a safe like he owns it -
An enforcer skirmishes him halfway to the safe-room
But was overpowered and subdued with a deadly choke
And within the barriers of life and death
The man from Middleton who seeks the well being
Of his son; the son staring and clinging to deaths' strings
He man took a baseball bat and hit his head
And when the outlaw charged,
He hit him with a blow on the chest
And the outlaws' soul flee the earth
But he did something extraordinary'
He repeatedly clubbed his remains to mutilation
"Father, you just killed a man"
****************
I've sworn to you to solemnly uphold
Your sacred transferals in me as my ethical fealty
In which laws aren't dared but held in esteem,
My call to the Force was like that of a messiah
You knew that just like I too - very well;
"For if there was a crime, damn all involved and
Make the call asap" these were your words -
Your norm, my belief, a practical now -
When guilt smolders his old face
I grabbed the phone and thumbed 911...
Wrapped in the aromatic blossoms
of a modern-farmed orange
orchard, a four-room shack in Visalia,
California rises above the hard
pan and overgrown rose bushes.
The once palatial bell tower
of Taurusa School, peaks
over the sun painted,
fruit lavished branches.
It once christened
the ceiling-less, blue vault and
ochre-hued grass
cutting a swath
through a barren plain.
The winds whistle ghostly rounds of
"Brother John" through
cracks in the walls and
rattles brittle cackles of childhood
titters as it wafts
along the peeling tar paper
swirling the thick musk of decay.
Light filters through ripples of
dusted, liquid glass sagging in
splintered panes
to blaze across the pinewood floor and
spill between rotting slats.
Found in
postcards buried in
antique shops,
local revenants share tales of
sitting numb-legged in
straight-backed, wooden chairs
winking plans of escape
at the noontime ringing of the
school bell.
"We hike to the train tracks with
lunch sacks in hand.
Brother James bribes a soot
stained hobo
warming cold hands
over a fire pit.
He passes off his buttered bread sandwich
into clubbed, stumped, frostbit fingers for
the lecherous scoop of nearby towns.
Papa will only whisper such news
to mama upon his pillow
when the lamp flames fade to
a thin coil of smoke to
breeze on the night
air into our sleeping loft."