Best Cred Poems
fo'c·'sle /'fohksel/ noun deriv: forecastle
1. the forward part of a ship below the deck, traditionally used as the crew's living quarters.
2. historical: a raised deck at the front of a ship.
With the equinox illuminating a fortnight of recovery
On pelts spread like Ionian jars left askew,
My flame-keep sparked alight against the doldrums of
Greed. Stagnant and fetid.
My bark beats out a call stretched
Skin-tight over the sea’s virgin core
And sets trust aflame.
Ashes collected into the collated casks and
Corked with animus, Moon Girl pounded on.
Drumming a dirge on the tanner's own flesh.
Pounding the seed of echoing hope.
Pounding the corpus beat of life anew.
Those echoed my own harmony and emptied my ears.
My tunes would now be true and crisp.
My struggle to syncopate the middle eight
Was like on the saltchuck the time before.
Before we crossed the bar,
Breakers chasing, pounding aft of stern.
Now in the glow of the coal oil lamp
Sat The Dane who came to trade.
He mumbled a Chinookian curse and winced.
He sensed my mariner's cred, how I lit my smoke;
Muscle memory and addiction married in my subconscious.
But His eyes would never sense the venomous flow
Of the seabreak distant,
Like hounds baying to the highway of stars
And up to the dunes ran with phosphorescent faces
Fermenting the blackness.
Hell-hounds bounding.
Lungs pounding.
Driving on.
River may lick Disappointment’s shanks
But Drake’s gold remains unfound.
The cavities carved along the capes
Echo an emptied ethos and sapped spirit
Which salal and sage cannot clense.
Walk with me now Sister Ilchee.
Beat your dirge
Along the pock-marked ports of plunder
Laid before the flattened corpse of
Ebbing freedom found.
BIRD DREAMS
The worst nightmare would be if I
Was an ostrich, and (of course) couldn’t fly.
The fly-guys sit around chugging bird-beer
Boasting of chicks they’ve held dear -
And tales of diving and soaring -
But my earthbound tail is boring.
They exclude me because I’m absurd -
I’m not a real bird. . . . not a bird’s bird.
But if there was reincarnation later,
I’d want to be a penguin, a wearer
Of a smart suit like a posh waiter,
With a kick-ass name like Emperor.
Surely all would find the idea bold:
A story for other birds to be retold.
Yes, my bird-cred card would be gold,
Enjoying the Antarctic cold.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
5/10/19
"So Long As"
Came a long way from being a rook
They're about to forsook
Scared to take a look
Competition shook
Not ready for what I'm about to cook
Can't find it in any book
Everything is what it took
By the end, you'll be hooked
It's already afoot
Up around a brook
In a certain nook
Is where I put
Each foot
Atop miles of soot
Better start knowing
It's been ongoing
Showing
No signs of slowing
So long as waters are flowing
The moon is glowing
And life continues growing
If need be, I'll make them regret what they did and said
Wasn't surprised, because the thought crossed my head
Tried to leave me dead
So they could get ahead
I kept seeing red
Which was not just from when I bled
Focused on getting some bread
Gaining tread
And staying fed
Then I sped
Around straightaways and bends
Barely seeing my friends
Instead trying to live more on the edge
Before I'm on all the these meds
And near the end
Doesn't matter if I do, or don't get any cred
Colepatra kissed and shrunk me down to microscopic size
please believe this phenomena cuz these lips refrain from lies
metamorphosis transformed mine human manly guise
while strolling one spring day me vision turned to compound eyes
unfettered vesicles uttered pleasant shrieks and cries
Chorus:
she danced with a feverish spring and stepped as if in the air
no worries existed for whose well being she did care
with eyes of sparkling emeralds with a shimmering flair
amber waves brought serenity from her flowing glistening hair
attracting like a magnet every person she that came near
spreading infectious contagion of happiness every where!
tossed out the fashion boutique on a cushion squarely led
this lady in red
with her snug outfit against her slim body did wed
pizzazz and personality that bred
this well healed nanny with high street cred
made sure charges looked spiffy and well fed
chorus:
she danced with a feverish spring and stepped as if in the air
no worries existed for whose well being she did care
with eyes of sparkling emeralds with a shimmering flair
amber waves brought serenity from her flowing glistening hair
attracting like a magnet every person she that came near
spreading infectious contagion of happiness every where!
atop shoulders bounced a well coiffed and adorable head
drawing followers wherever she led
and listened to her sexy voice no matter what she said
chorus:
she danced with a feverish spring and stepped as if in the air
no worries existed for whose well being she did care
with eyes of sparkling emeralds with a shimmering flair
amber waves brought serenity from her flowing glistening hair
attracting like a magnet every person she that came near
spreading infectious contagion of happiness every where!
I am a dare-dreamer, a mask wearer
a soul bare-r (not always my own); a word-weaver.
I pull thoughts like strings. Strings of cobwebs,
cirrus, frayed dungarees, threadbare memories.
I warp and weft strings of thoughts into poems.
Sometimes I get caught in knots—
I cut myself loose of those naughty strings.
I hold kite strings. Oh and rainbows strings.
They connect my soles to realms of my soul.
At times, I lose sight of kites in the gale.
Was I irresponsible with responsibility for strings?
I think, “thoughts”, should get lost in wind and clouds
to find the eye-of-the-storm—where I rescue
kites and make a poetry page my stage
and arena. I twine strings into heavyweight rope.
Fasten it to four corners of a contest page. I enter,
incognito, with Apollo imagery and Dionysus metaphor;
a masked prize-fighter filled with creative angst.
I grin for wins in poesy masquerade parades.
When I fail, strings break off of my drama mask.
Revealed but unrecognized, am I a fractured rainbow?
My inner balcony critic reprimands:
“sunlight through raindrops must be flawless
to create flawless strings of prismatic color”! Alas,
lack of refraction leaves words white; non-prismatic.
I restring tragedy mask; ego sphere of a versateer.
I create poetry because I love to pluck things;
harp strings and heartstrings…
If I no longer make readers cry, will pen cred be lost?
Don’t think I won’t pluck nightshade petals, fly’s wings
and cello strings to make you feel my tormentia!
I’ll quiver lips of lost-in-love verse. Coax your soul
to sip pale ale of sorrow, as strawberry scent
scalds your skin. I’m not unhappy to gratify your senses.
I loop maverick string, whirl it and throw—
lasso a funhouse mirror; rein it in.
Imagination stilt-dances in looney-glass gaze.
I use muse strings to hang mirrors and ask;
who’s the puppeteer and who’s the puppet—
poet or reader?
I don't have bling
I don't rap, play blues or sing
I'll never be a cool black guy
My strut is weak
My cred roams far yonder
Miles away from the street
I'll never be a cool black guy
The booty I shake
The moves that I make
Won't qualify for Soul Train's sake
I'll never be a cool black guy
The name my mother assigned
Won't force Grandmaster Flash to resign
I'll never be a cool black guy
The vocal lords which gospel brings
Cannot pervade thy angel's wings
I'll never be a cool black guy
Cruising slow at sunset
Love, joy, exaltation
Politely asked to pull over
Algorithms bleed into
Indignant subjugation
I'll never be a cool black guy
When a simple arrest
Leads to civil unrest
Then comes the ripple, tsunami
Of economic infest
I'll never be a cool black guy
My options broken, then severed
Left to dangle without a net
The asphalt calls
No qualms or regret
I'll never be a cool black guy
And one leads to two
And two leads to ten
History's palindrome nightmare
To invoke and offend
Why can't our same bag of bones
Simply care, soar, befriend
I'll never be a cool black guy
That diploma on the wall
Smelting books, with brains and gall
Will humanity's insanities
Finally yield beauty
Leading us to stand for all
I'll never be a cool black guy.
(5/22/17)
Houses on parade
Guards to civilisation
A great divide between man and space
Escapism opposed to reality
Sentinels stand at either end of street
Neighbourhood watch
Dangerous tongues gossip
Prepare for another onslaught
So many ideas rest in my head
kinda like the dreams who die in my bed
figurative bullets fill me full of lead
figurative money what I call bread
without it, I...
would probably fall dead
sometimes I tell people I live in a shed
In winter...
got some screws loose in my sled
credit is “cred,” suits are the FEDS
I'm on my meds
maybe I’m on me rather instead
the words I have said the blood I have bled
oh yeah my meds, I’m on my meds
I deserve cred, I deserve bread
paranoid in my shed scared of the FEDS
scared that I’m dead and bullets with lead
I bleed my own blood, scared to be bled
i'm on my meds can't you hear what I said?
On a hill all alone in the snow with my sled
So many ideas rest in my head
many come from the books I have read
maybe my meds is the pen in my head?
Maybe that' just the way I was bred
maybe I’ve just bled inside of my head
maybe give my meds some of the cred?
I am a leader, I can lead, I have led
Its seasonal, unbeatable but reasonable DREAD
I hope you have listened to the words you just read.
Because I can promise you...I’m off my meds.
A seismic surge is gathering pace, propelling a wave
Of multi faces many creeds, diverse street cred.
From public also of private ed' facets shimmer
Thoughts Intense myriad humankind immense.'
Mainstream channels pour out scorn, early morning
To midday lies take form, pushing into night time TV
And radio, dangerous anti-vaxers rabid foes..'
Yet when the millions gather wherever? One fact is so '
But You'll hear it from them never ! No all points bulletin
On the crazy folk that have escaped those penitentiary yokes
Or from their social workers..' I find it so scary.)
Cause this means the protesters (must be sane.')
If You'd consider if fairly.? And in the main !
.....continued from The Little Monster, Part 1.
The monster sighed and shook his head
And in his booming voice he said,
“I may be big, I might look scary
Yes, I’m ugly, green and hairy
I know my fangs are rather long,
But can’t please we just get along?"
Toby laughed and did a dance,
“Forget it matey there’s no chance!
Making sure that you are dead
Can only help with my street cred”.
Again the monster shook his head
And once again he sadly said,
“I may be big, I might look scary
Yes, I’m ugly, green and hairy,
I know my fangs are rather long,
But can’t we please just get along?”
The monster gave a plaintive wail
As Toby struck his spiky tail.
By now the beast had had enough.
His tone grew mean, his voice grew gruff,
Yes I’m big and yes I’m scary,
Yes I’m ugly, green and hairy
I’ve tried to be your friend, he said
You should quit while your ahead.
But Toby didn’t heed the warning,
Believing he’d be rich by morning
He struck the creature once again
Laughing at his cries of pain.
The monster grinned and stroked his belly,
Toby’s knees both turned to jelly.
"The reason that I’m big and hairy
The thing that makes me rather scary,
The reason, as a point of fact,
Is ‘cos I gobble little brats."
Toby barely knew what hit him
The speed was such the monster bit him
But Toby thought while he was chewed
“Perhaps I should have been less rude”.
His name is Mr. Phire,
but he insist you call him R. Syn
He's a torch for hire,
if you need something set ablaze,
something smoking
Make the right down payment;
and have a full gas can, flick foolproof plan
If you need five-alarm action ...
yeah, R. Syn is the best ashes delivery man
So, there is no need for a heartless heater;
the barrel cold, bullet indifference of a plastic gun
Mr. Phire is a passionate pyre thrill seeker,
he sure loves having some Fahrenheit funeral fun
When it comes to pyrotechnics,
he's the Spark Vader of demolition
There's nothing he can't destroy,
he'll scorch all of your competition
R. Syn for hire
be his fiery street cred calling card lit boast
Get in acetylene touch with him,
if you want something turned to burnt toast
But right now, he's presently indisposed
at an undisclosed penal facility
He's currently planning an accelerant daring escape caper
Waiting for a rookie guard to permit him
unsupervised use of contraband matches and toilet paper
"In·cred·i·ble "
On this lonely road remains a mystery.
This sudden darkness fills the air.
Where are we waiting to?
Won't anybody help us?
What are we waiting for?
We can't afford to be innocent
We have to stand up and face our enemy.
It's a do or die situation - we will be lost forever.
Our shattered life we cannot justify.
We're going to pray until we're saved from this evil.
What are we running from? We've got Jesus in to help us.
Jesus is incredible, wonderful, loving, forgiving and understanding,
Just come to Him and you will see
Rev. Dr. Samuel Mack, OMS, DD
Copyright 2015
be-ing...........some-thing beau-ti-ful
is the song.............the ser-en-ade
Herald-ing........................our
unique-ness
origin-ality
singular-ity
alone-ness
Be-ing
a-live to
ex-press
what serves
us from all
other life
be-ing...................to-gether
in our at-trac-tion.....ex-plor-ing gra-vity
common mean-ing.......the good and cred-ible
uni-versal elements..........emanat-ing pur-pose
be-ing...the posi-tion.....scheme....rhyme...reason
be-ing..............the............grati-tude........of that
be-ing.....................the........................ARIA
reach-ing........out........note.....by......note
so...beau-ti-ful......we.......sing
January 12, 2020
Aria
A question or two for those rebels who take a knee
During the USA's National Anthem, openly, for all to see
When playing in Russia will you act similarly
To protest a regime which kills dissidents indiscriminately
What will you do in India or Pakistan when you are there
Will you countenance the torching of women who've had an affair
And against the Saudis, will you make strident demands
When for stealing an apple they cut off their citizen's hands
C'mon now, you heroes, and show us your 'cred'
Stand up for freedom when it may cost you your head
haint gonna mock ridiculous science
asper to be bled
dark practices to leech out mailer daemons,
not so laughable nor in cred
double, when oppressed diabolical dread
oompah loompah fealty l'chaim fled
as hand grenades explode within my head
mettlesome monsters
make mercuric chrome dome feel like a led
zeppelin with fractured stairway to heaven in stead...
delivers me zombies, where angels fear to tread
cuz, the devil and psyche did wed
shotgun Swedish crow did house mafia style
wrenched, wrested wretched
mental state most intense (no croc) dial
shattered, slewed, splintered sanity,
thus practitioner with "FAKE" know how aisle
apprentice Aunt Roadie,
who will skewer me evil spirits den da deuce
till I beak home one sacrificed overly cooked goose
a burnt offering shish kabob
no longer able to raise cane on the loose
like a red bull
rocky on the shoals of a frantically angry moose
livid with rage
(akin to diary of mad a housewife)
entropy written, where death will be only truce
pyromaniac qua ramshackle shanty (tinderbox)
unleashes wicked zeal
hellacious incendiary juiced ride
up plies noisome rubbery odor,
sans hot wheel
along the outer limits of functionality explosions
precipitate like drops of molten steel
routing hunger, searing nostrils,
tearing tenuous fragile tethered tendrils
self cannibalizing via tooth and nine inch nail
linkedin with nauseousness as thine meal
exemplary asper full blown panic attack
lodged within mine genetic
blooper imprinted within
threaded helical deoxyribonucleic acid deal
like a thunderbolt out of the blue
sympathetic nervous system
thrust in high gear with no warning and/or clue
finding spouse helpless asper what to do.