Best Clued Poems
An evanescent bouquet of skewed briars,
is how a tinsel laden tawdry essence wickedly unfolds ,
scuppered signpost to a fetid human compost,
faint light pendant on soul crushed quantum migrant,
who might chortle at vivid veil flimsy vacuum,
skirt recklessly around bogus symbols,
peer behind the squalid limp sodden hedge,
mock myopic moribund mist upon boundary busting dawn chimera,
sneer at synthetic spectrum elastic in its irritating tidal wave surfeit,
cerulean fabric‘s milky way escape plot,
in a perilous quest for that eternal tape loop mantra,
the synaptic heart of that vainglorious horizon,
self-knowledge under charcoal moon and silver cloud veneer,
or feral waste rapid fire contagion,
the indecisive day glow dither on the margins ,
of fly weight feeble frantic dash,
that velvet shadow treason daubed pettifog,
known as tangential wanton cobweb fester creed,
the mind a bloated ripple vortex numbing in its scope,
golden mirage but faux fur real concoction,
against the banal backdrop of complex-ridden superficial eddy,
from floral garland poseur stricken en train,
some vox pop indignation mere shrinking violet showcase waver,
the gleam-hued truth has this dastardly demonic derailment,
that I brush aside as spiteful oxalic sting repost,
that deceptive mint green forest of chameleon cant,
sly nuanced molten maple syrup hint,
from out of kilter tree pierce otherworld,
unseen yet bliss-edged virtual garden of firm conviction,
not just from isolated enigmatic individual script,
such as torrid turbulence or mindless scattered rim shot,
when conventions can be altered in exotic prose,
human zeitgeist has this far too often penchant,
for silkworm rapt effervescent double speak,
whilst plain unvarnished uplifting utterance,
resides within the deep crystal spring well,
of us torch aloft emerald earthling sages,
please augment the rock buttress stark phrase,
whose bluntness is a carrier pigeon of candor,
devoid of muted gray cloud blind waffle,
aromatic sprig to giant spasm of bold pluck,
quandary of human race at hearth,
frightened cliques, hidebound yes men who yen,
to swim the azure gulf of august freedom,
to the Eden where lucid tongues herald pristine witness.
where values at the centre of our being should blossom
Soothing sliding silvered tides, fields of verdant; rolling co-inside..'
Beards of algae flow on wrecks, phosphorescence guilds the whitecap in flecks,
As a mirror shattered myriad shines, to uneven waves that crash in; times..'
Un-counted amounts of wash elapsed, endless etchings have surfs out; scratched..
I see the glimpses I hear that noise, in awe; I observe the power and poise,
Atlantic grey-green, Indian serge, pacific hued, I need to re-visit & become re-clued
The saline reeks, there are nets of fish, tootling tugs, low tide rippling in meek.'
Memories crowds... Of golden sands..' Ice cream, picnic baskets; beer and bands..'
He was young and attractive and quite debonair,
An upstanding young man who was going somewhere.
Or so it would seem if you knew not his history.
To we in the know he’s repulsive dark mystery.
When I think of it now I feel chills descending,
He went to same school my child was attending.
But as far as I know, he hadn’t yet killed.
At that art, with practice, he became very skilled.
In 1974 women were disappearing.
While Ted with his studies was still persevering.
He had way of asking for their sympathy
By pretending to have broken arm or bum knee.
By now the police knew their suspect was called Ted
Clued in by some girls who escaped being dead.
Many others who listened were not seen again
And parents were left with unbearable pain.
Not born in our state, had moved here at age five
So much better if he’d been born dead not alive.
Wherever he went there was death visitation.
The mysteries were a multi-state-wide sensation.
Nita Neary came home and found her door ajar.
She saw a man carry a log to his car.
What she found in her home were two roommates dead.
Each was bludgeoned to death in her very own bed.
He was stopped by police for traffic violation,
What they found in his car was a gross aberration.
There were handcuffs and ice-pick, crowbar, and mask.
He was questioned by those with right questions to ask.
He was arrested and tried for his various crimes
But somehow escaped from justice three times.
Wherever he went he was brutal and bold.
His last victim of all was just twelve years old.
Ted Bundy died in the electric chair
The most hated man that ever went there,
A hundred dead females at least was the count.
Other lives shattered, unrecorded amount.
Written May 26, 13 A true story.
heres how i see it
and heres how it is
living in this world where half of it is advanced
with indoor plumbing
television
stereos
cell phones
computers
and a huge chunk of the globe is not
part of the world still has a hole in the floor for a toilet
and we say ignorance is bliss
oh funny funny man on the moon
the joke you really meant in the Hollywood basement
of one giant step for man
and one leap for mankind
Have we not clued in yet?
Do we not live blind leading the blind?
Am i the only enlightened who realizes
that we were in space probably 70 years before we made it public to the world
and Nasa is full of it
oh funny funny funny man on the moon
why is society so gullible to think
that the governments technology hits the mainstream market
before they use it for years and perfect it and work out all the bugs
and then hands us something that just looks faulty
and we fall for it hook line and sinker
give me a moment
funny funny funny us
half the world buries their waste
and we flush it away
half the world has technology and half of it is in the stone age
and yet we seem to think
that whoever invents these things has no ties
or affiliation to putting us under their thumb
i mean come on do the math
they landed on the moon
how they tell you they send sattelites into space is a truth within alie
they made up 50 years ago
and were falling for it today
let me play
i get it
society is dumb
I'll write something yesterday
say i wrote it today
no one will know what to believe
I'll even put a cowboy hat on
I'm sure those cowboy western movies
they had just as many cameras and cellphones
but didn't release them in the market
consider yourself a fool
if you don't think they don't have something in their pocket full of tricks they are
working on right now
they're going to sell to the future
and no one gets the famous joke
the man on the moon told to the mensa geniuses
but a hush fell over the crowd
and I'm sure there was consequences for laughing
and chances are even they were blinded by the bling
life and blind leading the blind
such an easy concept to grasp
and man on the moon
your a funny funny funny man!
Jude's
no prude, but
photo'd nude whilst
viewed by
some crude
multi-hued
tattooed
dude
who'd then
distributed
his lewd pics of her,
her mood
'blued.'
Brood she
did. Glued to home
she stewed,
eschewed
food
and rued that
he'd construed for joy
to elude her.
Her ire accrued and,
imbued with fire,
she clued him in
as she sued him: "You
had to intrude!
You too'd
exude rage
if I'd brewed this
and a feud
ensued."
Then with a rude
allude
to the brood his
not so shrewd
mother'd 'zoo'd,' she
'shoe'd' him
where he poo'd.
To Timothy Lee, My Tim
The soulful whisper of love’s promise bore an
enthused mood when it softly clued me love assured.
In silent speech, an otherness air did somehow speak
soothing assurances I innocently absorbed as honest
but I was only nine when those promise words occurred.
Decades hence, I have ridden attractions to passions
that proved to be romantic cons dressed in love’s
fashions. Such snagged me in years of love commitment
stress battles that dysfunction ultimately throttled. I was
left with only brutal pains, numb dreams and traumatic
regrets as darkly grey stretched by threats of lonely.
Then came your engaging grin and blue-eyed smile.
Any thought of charade vanished when you displayed
such a steadfast pursuit that my cynical came loose.
Our soul’s mirrored love has long shown soulmate impacts
as proof love’s whispered promise was truth, solidly exact.
In silent speech, an otherness air did somehow speak -
'he will have a three-letter name' - I never forgot that share.
In a world that’s changing quickly for the likes of you and me,
we can hardly keep up with the pace that passes endlessly.
I’m not talking ‘bout technology, computers seem to give,
I’m talking ‘bout society and that means the way we live.
I’m no example; I’ve had two wives and working on me third,
so marriage seems that it’s no more than just a fleeting word,
and if there is some hassle that means working through the heat,
it seemed much easier to turn my back and walk off down the street.
But the weighted scales of justice take their turn along the track,
and bring up what’s forgotten when they tighten up the slack.
There’s derision then division and a lifelong scar to heal,
then silly buggers just like me jump back upon the wheel.
After two bites of the cherry there is a certain wary mood,
and when a woman steps up with a smile I’m pretty bloody clued
as to what intentions she might have - not like a friend Henry
who recently got married to a perilous divorcee.
I know she doesn’t like me much, but she really don’t like men,
and with the attitude she’s got I wondered why she wed again,
but Henry is the type of bloke who just likes to tag along,
so I bet in their marriage she’s the one who’s bloody strong.
I’m in the hospital and visiting my good mate Henry now.
He’s been beaten to a pulp and I’m about to tell you how.
We were dining in a hotel; Henry and his wife and me,
when we saw this fellow stagger and as drunk as he could be.
Henry made a comment then, that put him in a tricky place,
when he noticed how his woman kept on looking at his face,
so he asked her if she knew him and she answered “Yes I do.
He is my ex husband - now believe me this is true”.
“Since I left him seven years ago he’s been drinking every night”,
then Henry made this statement with its power to incite,
“That’s remarkable” said Henry; then things went awful wrong,
“I can’t believe that anyone could celebrate that long.”
This haventh most insidual
close
Benoculous ovent kodisius
drock
Do we wanderin doolist postedin
blose
Or flingering office methological
lock
Idolist wintering crystalline
glue
Totally muddling fuct in thy
mine
Withever we neverick mystaling
dew
The lilliest flower of smiley and
pine
Tarantulistic; they sour me
down
With animals anamalitix in
breed
Query in for the vernactical
sound
Infinitality and caustic they
need
Draindium zander in rocksick I
mix
I’m alwains honest the losketter
Liss
Rubexickly intrm and slocxing my
ricks
If oxlen you new clued would volly ride
this
Donald Trump
Donald J. Trump
chief executive chump
still not clued in
for his love of Putin
Clerihew Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by The name forsakes me
July 22, 2018
It is in the small things we see it.
The prophesies of the diluted delusional irrational rations
That pull together the fortifying justice
Upon mankind and intellectual vandals
Of this disgusting bland tropical environment
That tears me from my stupidity of injustice and non riotousness,
These small things eventually grow
Like an iridescent and gleaming tumor of the boring music in my mind
I am at the peak now and the flamingo of a flock has clued in
The the selfless stupidity that has endangered my world,
Is it that this correlation of fluctuation has indeed
Set present the motivation and bouldering descent
Of our final and conclusive death
The afterlife is another analogy
The prophesying ancients of the colonizing and efficient soldiers
The past and present of our slowly crumbling universe
Some people may question the irrelevance to this statement of devastating truth,
My statements of disbelief and romantics
Overwhelm the readers that do not totally compensate or pay tribute to this amazing and exciting junk
Astringent virtue, antecedent's hope
a calling from the Master denotes scope
to fire away my vestige interlude
the sanction seems belittled by intrude!
And my ears plug with cadence, not my feud
that blaring indignation sensed to rude
the grave occurrence shouting matters lewd
acquires my investment, misconstrued!
The penance of attainment must be shrewd
to not encounter violence, versus brood
and weigh the patience, God's or human mood
as His direction points to anger's clued!
This then converts the stress to His thought's viewed,
I tame my counter measures as reviewed
to higher power's central line renewed ~
Thus training of the Spirit ~ God sees . . . . as good!
Familiarity, the bridgework of intent,
as common measures rise, or bring dissent,
I plead my virtue, cave to my insight
the road aspiring network asks invite!
Ah, but familiar were the sound of love,
that too would perish, as the listening's groove
would leave aspiring, my own heart the louvre,
so far from thee, condition not to brood!
And that desires framework is intrude
as almost all my ploys and plots extrude,
some deepening, like reliving's interlude
is in the separation longing's mood!
And as I miss you, not as duly good,
but in a faked response exchanging feud
If we that once did not feel understood,
away from thee, the measures now are prude!
And I do love thee more, from knowing's clued
and devious of time still pray resume
were but a moment's chance, thy trust be proved,
I tender mine in searching trials renewed!
It is this, giving up, our lives are nude
and that which wears our time, but function's cold,
what e'er the causing costs, I ask improve,
If I could love thee once, be not removed!
The edge of all regret, dysfunction hued
should stay beneath my feet . . . stamped out construed!
My uncle is married to Brandie -
A nympho who’s frequently randy
If she’s in the mood
He’s no chance of food ...
Their dining table comes in handy!
My uncle he dresses so dapper
Whilst Brandie resembles a slapper
Tight tops plunge so low
Huge boobies on show
Their neighbours wife sure wants to slap her
The neighbour’s husband has now clued
That Brandie sunbathes in the nude
He’ll climbs up his stairs
And views all she bares
To 'bird watching' he is now glued!
Part 1 written for Tania's contest but i couldnt resist extending the poem
08/30/20
Like art, hope is the cradle of life
with zeal, this cruel world
from frustration, our haunting zones
ours' are tormenting chapters untold
when tomorrow has nothing to offer
while soothing music shadow all the misery
And alarmingly ours to perish
mother nature's angry fumes
her rage great and highly infectious
without hope, fading of tomorrow's blossom
despair in rise....clued
into tomorrow's uncertainty
such haunting, I reluctantly quit
In finality, my pen bleeds
I shall feign the smile...you perport
as I ponder of a blank future, I dare quit
It’s 1:30am and we were at a cute little dance club in Dublin called “The Sugar Club.” It’s a converted movie theater with tables in stadium seating rows. That night was Salsa themed, and the regulars were stylin’ - the men dressed in white Havana or Colima, Italian Linen and women in bright salsa dresses.
The DJ was mixing a gr8 groove - with music from Bassia, Brazilian Girls, Kate the Cat, with some ElectroSwing thrown in from Tape Five, Pink Martini and Doja Cat (Yes, I asked the DJ for his playlist). The tiny, darkly-disco-sparkling dance floor was crowded and refrigerator cold.
We had a good time. Irish guys are funny and unpredictable, they’ll say practically anything, “Shall I buy you a drink, or do you just want the money?” and those brogues make everything they say spankin’ hot.
We all danced a few times, but Sunny’s a gwyn who never seemed to tire. Guys kept asking her to dance and she seemed happy to oblige - I would have collapsed already.
There was a dead-fit guy, Rían, throwing a strong Chris Evans vibe, who seemed completely smitten with Sunny. He seemed a real dean but he didn’t 404 that Sunny’s femme-facing and that he might as well be offering lettuce to a shark.
We’d discussed the possibility that things might come up and decided to avoid delicate public acts of disclosure (Sunny’s gay, Leong’s a communist, etc..) - we’re trespassing different cultures on this trip, after all.
We explained to Rian that we were students, just in town for the Duran Duran concert, and consoled him with a couple of “Black & Golds” (Kahlua, whiskey and orange bitters) - he was a LOT of fun to talk to.
The bartender asked me if I was one of the colleens with “Margot Robbie” - he was referring to Lisa - which Anna found amusing - but I think Lisa’s way phater than Margot.
Slang:
gwyn = a hot dancing queen
dead-fit = gorgeous
dean = a nice guy, a gentleman
404 = clued into the fact
femme-facing = lesbian
phat = pretty, hot and tempting