Best Co Poems
We met in Valletta city on a fine November day
Introductions...hugs and kisses; we got talking straight away.
All agreed to go sight-seeing – architecture , harbour view
Made a stop to buy an ice-cream where there is a constant queue .
We strolled on and at Cordina’s chose al fresco to sit down
Next to regal Queen Victoria, a stone lady with a crown.
Drinks were ordered and pastizzi, which were followed by some cakes
Freshly baked and appetizing, all adorned with chocolate flakes.
We were served by cherub Fabio busy running out and in
Second time the badge said Mario, then we found that he’s his twin.
Jan and hubby soaked the sunshine, the Calluses hugged the shade
Those around spoke multilingual, a musician plied his trade.
We stayed there and spoke for ages, watched the tourists walking by.
Valentina took our photos; she is young and sweet as pie.
Jan and Bob will be returning in two years on Malta’s shore
Although Maurice has predicted it will be a year before!
They will then be celebrating married bliss with silver ware
All on Soup will be invited; this occasion is to share.
That’s a promise made for keeping – friends will meet for sure once more
We shall have some cake and snickers; sweet surprises lie in store!
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Fun poem ~ co-written by Paul-Jan-Valentina on 2/11/2014
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]
Wipe that silly grin from your face, boy
I am a woman, but certainly not a wimp
Watch me roll with the punches, tough guy
It'll take more than your words my style to crimp
Hey, babe, your style really sucks
Call that art, I have seen kids write better
Have some heart, instill it in your writes
Feel the moment, feel those letters
My feelings are there, you just may not relate
If you can't grasp my intent, too bad for you
I write from my heart, not from a man's head
I know what I'm saying, you just haven't a clue
Oh, i see you have posted another piece
Let me read and determine my thoughts
Excellent shape and so true to form
This definitely has plusses, you must be man taught
Hold on, joker, no man has influenced me
Dickinson and Teasdale are among the finest
Your thoughts on my work I'll disregard
Your views on poetry reveal your blindness
The last write you wrote, has invited my see
It has clearly shown, your writing to be
Scope, shape and the form you have written
I have scrolled to your past, and I am sorrowful smitten
No more condescending from ye on the throne?
What was it that made you feel superior?
And, furthermore, what gave you the right
To make any poet feel inferior?
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
*NOTE: Jack and I wonder how many of you have heard of the Zona Shue case –
an American murder victim who had revenge in Virginia in the late 1800s.
Zona was killed by her husband, Edward Shue, who then took elaborate steps to
cover his crime. In an attempt to disguise Zona’s broken neck, Edward dressed her
corpse in a scarf and high necked dress, stuffed her coffin with pillows (to support
her vertebrae) and refused to allow even the doctor near the body.
However, Zona appeared to her mother and revealed the truth. Following
exhumation and an autopsy, Edward was found guilty of murder. It was the only
case in American history where information provided by a ghostly apparition was
admitted as evidence for consideration by jurors.
Jack and I are co-sponsoring a contest on ghost poems. Our co-write "A Ghost's
Testimony" below will give you an idea what we're seeking in entries.
"A Ghost's Testimony"
"She must have fallen down the stairs:
A tragic accident," he said.
"I've washed her body, laid her out -
Oh, Doctor Knapp, my Zona's dead!"
"No accident! Shue broke my neck.
Mother, please hear my ghostly plea.
Take him to court and make him pay;
It's murder in the first degree."
“I’ve dressed her in her high necked frock…
Thought pillows by her neck looked fine…
She’d want to wear this scarf,” he wept.
“But no one touch the corpse - she’s mine!”
"Thanks, Mom, for bringing this to court.
The autopsy was not done right!
With malice Shue cut my life short.
Exhume my body; shed some light."
“Her mother wants to see me hang,
But she can’t prove my guilt,” he fumed.
“She claims the body sheet turned red,
And wants to have my wife exhumed.”
"The judge disagreed and allowed
My spirit world testimony.
Shue, my killer, was not so proud;
A death in jail for this phony!"
Come December 21, two thousand and twelve
On the winter solstice, mankind may burn in hell
As man's Creator, I've sent multiple warnings
Nostradamus, the Mayans, Hopi Indians
All believed there was still time to reverse this course
But My warnings have ceased, even My voice grows hoarse
Dear Father, my sacred heart is of course willing
Though mind be the enmity of Christ's blood spilling
My center most being, with Your spirit's all seeing
The sacrifice of Your son saves souls of all beings
Father, though slay my flesh, Thou hast immortal stash
For Thou has the Adamantine, the adamant cash
This is not the response I expected from you
My warnings so long unheeded have made me blue
You are my children and I vow to save your souls
But to save your flesh, you will have to meet these goals
Let the evil wars end, allow nature to thrive
Cast aside all notions of greed to stay alive
I shall heed with God speed to sow the righteous seed
My love will manifest, for 'tis my soul's main heed
I shall present my flesh body as this soul's alarm
I shall not conform, from this world I shall transform
Holy acceptably my receptacle sin free
By my renewed mind transformed by Christ's mind shall be
I will spare your flesh if your words prove to be true
In turn, dire prophesies I promise to undo
Encouraged am I to hear you express remorse
It was never My wish to take action so coarse
To save body and soul, I sacrificed my Son
It has been My wish that all men will live as one
Forgive Father, so shall I speak just this once more
As Thou has given thus this world for to explore
‘Twas a parasite seed from derivative mind's greed
Brought forth by chance, a wild branch, doeth Thou not concede
Purgeth my wild branch of chance, ‘tis your right to do
That I might pursue Your true vine, my love be true
Rainbows are smiles when the rain tumbles down
My heart is showering as all my sorrows do drown
Every dew drop glistening, delivered from heaven.
Rainbows are smiles when clouds are deaden
When nature shines, our goodness grows
Trusting in the soil to nurture us so
With a sky filled with colors that make us glow
Rainbows are the goodness that makes love flow
Co-Authored by the beautiful Casarah Nance and Arthur Vaso
I stand in silence and behold the sight,
staring in wonder, waiting for thunder.
A chariot of fire travels through the night.
The white-winged horses gallop in full flight
pulling at the reins; flowing are their manes.
I stand in silence and behold the sight.
Where are they going? There’s a shining light
leading all the way, so they will not stray.
A chariot of fire travels through the night
amidst the heaven where in pure delight
resides the Master, the sweetest lover.
I stand in silence and behold the sight.
Blessings whisked to amble slowly with plight;
heartbeats race to sway, courage on display.
A chariot of fire travels through the night.
Armoured by God’s spirit they ride like knights
fearless from pain; victory, their peak gain.
I stand in silence and behold the sight.
A chariot of fire travels through the night.
--------------------------------------------------------
Collaboration: Paul Callus & Olive Eloisa Guillermo
November 2014
With no toilet seats carelessly left propped up
Oh, now I can be such a comfortable pup
Please take your Playboys straight out that open door
Then shut it quickly; I can take no more!
Be gone with you, take all your shoes
Your hairspray, make-up and your girly blues
Three weeks of the month you loved me fair
For the other week, I lived in fear
MY shoes? Why you foul beast! Your odor eaters
Didn't work! Your smelly boots rest in sewers
Where they belong with that greasy hair goo
That left ugly stains on pink pillows once new
Your pants were too tight, I couldn't get them off
I can now wear my own; no longer you'll scoff
And as for your cooking my health has improved
Your name on the rent book, phew! finally removed
The credit card tab from your pub is gone now, too
That hussy barmaid can deliver it to you
And your shavings that clogged up my bathroom sink
Will be mailed to your mistress fast as you can blink
At least she knew how to look after a man
In bed with you was like a flash in the pan
At least barmaid Betty purred when this Highlander taunted
She was sensuous, delectable and she knew what she wanted
I'll remember you most when viewing pond scum
You sure were a loathsome son of a gun
I'm leaving this pit, too, so what the heck?
I'll send a new address for the alimony check
You'll get your money like you earned it before
Dancing naked on the pole in the floor
I took you in, clothed, cared and fed
But it wasn't me that was in your bed
We gave Johnny a gun and a uniform
Trained him to kill, in a regiment conform
Sent him deep into Vietnam jungles warm
With little regard to how we did him harm
So certain we knew what we joined to fight for
We were shipped off to fight an unwinnable war
A war of "containment," unlike those before
Mothers screamed, fathers wept, siblings ached to the core
By parachute dropped to a ghastly death scene
Johnny ached for the life left behind, so serene
His family, fiance did not know what war means
Especially the haunting of lost children's screams
Those of us who survived thought we'd just done our jobs
We returned and were shamed by violent gobs
Of silver-spoon white kids in hate-spewing mobs
Spat-on and welcomed as baby-killer slobs
No heroes welcome would await these young men
No ticker-tape parades were staged for them
Just jeers from crowds, uncaring government
Greeted the lonely Vietnam Veteran
Too classy and noble to demand our fair share
We lay in that shabby old hospital there
In a closet-sized room with no visitors' chair
Understaffed, underfunded, with short-handed care
The "benefits" they found would astound all now
And it leaves one to wonder how our hallowed ground
Would be filled with unnamed graves of men once proud
Before the rows of white crosses we should bow
Our Wailing-Wall stands now in Washington, D.C.
So shiny but black, a telling-tale of the fee
We have paid for our nation, our land of the free
Will you come pay respects? Will you not at last see?
Some veterans still suffer disgraceful neglect
So please explain who more deserves our respect
Let us pause with angelic choirs and genuflect
To show gratitude as on this Wall we reflect
Friends, Dane Ann is among those who served in the army during the Vietnam war and is
now recovering from long-overdue hip surgery performed at an old VA hospital in
Gainesville, Florida. Thank you for your prayers on her behalf. Many thanks
to Tim Ryerson, another Vietnam veteran, for joining me in this write.
The steady pull
of temptation--
a tease on
my resolution.
When I can sleep,
I take what dreams
afford me.
In these dreams,
my 'noxide comes
to ward me.
Her smoke is an invitation.
my conscience
falls for
the con science
of my imagination.
I give in
and reality spins.
Between the sleeps,
I lie in sanity.
I wonder:
Did I give into
my humanity?
did I'd err?
Is that
smoke in the air?
As the rooster crows:
A look in the pool mirrored a perfect mop
At times of frizzy hair or defiant shaggy tresses
Ohhh the satisfaction at the sight
And yabba, dabba, doo!! echoed loud and clear
Triumphant male ego at its best!
A man’s crowning glory
Pulled, cut, brushed, curled, straightened, shaved
Lathered, gelled, creamed and pasted
Soaked in fragrant Makassar oil
Invigorator, conditioning both groom and style.
Macho, gentle, sweet, daring tastes
Side-partings, medium, undercut and long
Sporting pony-tails, short back and sides
Elvis and James Dean quiffs curled kiss-me-quicks,
Punk, Mohawk, flamboyant fringes
Highlights and lowlights, sprays and blow-dries!
All part and parcel of male vanity and crowning glory.
Heckles from the henhouse:
As some men grow older they shed hair.
Each day they seek strands that were once there,
But skin patches widen --
Just check out Joe Biden.
Prepare to shut eyes in the bright glare.
A comb-over seems like a good plan,
But ladies don’t flock to a con man.
With 10 hairs remaining,
A “crown” they are feigning.
What happens when strands face a wind fan?
No reason for men to grow manic;
Mustaches and beards can work magic,
Diverting attention
Without the pretension
That balding is simply too tragic.
The “rug” method’s just too expensive,
Espec’ly when loss is extensive.
Like Telly Savalas,
The outcome’s not callous --
Few women find baldness offensive!
*Many thanks to Paul Callus for inviting me to join in this co-write.
In early spring I found you on Poetry Soup
A haven where wordsmiths congregate to recoup
Some sense of sanity in a world filled with grief
Your friendship, dear Highlander, has brought much relief
Being new to writing, I decided to try
So I joined the Soup, and a name caught my eye
Carolyn Devonshire, was the name in question
Her guidance has taken me to a different dimension
Who'd know the Soup would bring a Scottish writing mate
It was our destiny; now I believe in fate
A braveheart's pen paints history and mystery
Erasing fear and lifting me from misery
No sooner had I arrived beautiful comments were received
My writing was enjoyed and I now started to believe
An American lady has become a soul mate and teacher
Her words of kindness enhanced my words to be featured
So much loss I'd incurred just before we met here
Never had I dreamed of finding a comrade so dear
He reached across the sea and took me by the hand
And together we've escaped to fantasy lands
Before the Soup, I posted somewhere else
If you were not one of them you were left on the shelf
But the Soup's beach babe led me by the pen
I was absorbed in her circle right there and then
James and I propose a toast to many Soup friends
Whose talents are displayed here again and again
Too many great writers to mention each one's name
A new year comes as you enter our Hall of Fame
Happy New Year from James and me to all of the Poetry Soup Family!
Chain smoke until
I'm in care of the CO.
There's one left, still.
I smoke it really slow.
"It's the end," I anticipate
As the last inch evaporates.
I can't get
Over it;
It's over before
I know it.
Butt, I can't quit.
I'm possessed with this
Obsession; I'm addicted.
My lungs have oxygen,
Yet I'm suffocating inside.
I can't breathe again
Without my 'noxide.
Smokeless inhales hurt.
I cough tar on my shirt.
As my black lungs breathe,
Shrilling exhales wheeze.
Cabrona
Falls me
Down to
My knees.
The nicotine cracks
My will.
My composure
Spills.
I want
This.
I must
Have this.
I sink
Into
The brink
Of madness.