Best Defused Poems
By David Kavanagh
On second thoughts
When instinct becomes
an educated guess
And improvisation
demands quick redress
Like thinking on one’s feet
if too drunk to stand
Be found all at sea
throwing up on dry land
Twisted situations
we find ourselves in
When bundles of joy
reek original sin
Smack on the butt
for showing a bit of cheek
Do everything perfect
get labelled a freak
Gestures, signals,
often appear to confuse
High five or fist bump
sweaty handshake defused
One or two fingers:
the bird a sign of peace
Kneel with respect
submissive purr on a leash
Diversions, promises,
never black and white
Passive aggression
silent treatment for slight
Jack in the box, ripper
jumps out with a knife
Break a leg, for the
performance of his life
Police warning: never
mess around with guns
Gut reaction sparks a
stampede, or the runs
Playing it very cool,
whilst feeling much heat
Praying devoutly,
burnt at stake for deceit
Sticking out one’s tongue
in contempt, no a kiss!
Sigh of relief
they were just taking the piss
Such is living, such is death
come friend or foe
On second thoughts
syllabic verse, or sh!tshow
By David Kavanagh
hms
Santa was in his sleigh waiting to go
But the elf loading team was a no show
A strike had been called
Santa was appalled
The elves taunted him saying ho ho ho...
Santa muttered and swore under his breath
Warned the strikers they ain't seen nothing yet
Called his friend Bill Gates
They were golfing mates
Bill said " don't worry we'll beat them you bet"...
He sent Santa four hundred giant drones
And an army of robotic elf clones
Who sorted the toys
For good girls and boys
And from the elves you could hear moans and groans...
Santa didn't need to leave the North Pole
Sent the drones off by means of a console
All drones delivered
The poor elves dithered
Santa laughed he was now back in control...
The elves were fuming and they all saw red
They were so angry and wanted him dead
A bomb they did place
In Santa's fireplace
He defused it he was one step ahead...
He came after the elves who all turned pale
Disappointed that the bomb was a fail
Santa aimed his gun
Elves started to run
But the Fed's caught them and threw them in jail...
The next day they went up against Judge Dread
Who listened to what was done, what was said
It ended in tears
All got twenty years
And told don't mess with the man dressed in red...
Written on 6th December 2020.
THE SOLID TRUTH
On the day I was born.
Everyone put me on a petal stool.
The Angel's played a trumpet horn.
While everyone called me a ~precious jewel.
Harps played!
Doves flew!
That's how my birth was displayed.
As I got older ~ As I grew!
My heart of gold started to fade.
Sinking down in to the blues.
I hide my thoughts under the shade.
Wondering how one screw got lose.
I removed the pin from my own grenade.
Like TNT~ I lit my own fuse.
Blowing myself away from your masquerade.
My life has no buttons to defused..
My heart is twisted with barbwire as a barricade.
I live this rotten life, no reason to hit the snooze.
Sweating and letting the thoughts of revenge cascade.
A level of rage and hate is my only muse.
You camouflaged into a blonde beast with the eyes of jade.
The truth has come out, with an unacceptable excuse.
The solid truth, is like solid waste.
A force of mean, turning a heart cold.
Here's the truth do you want my new sour taste.
Forget when I was sweet, when I was bold.
I enjoy this new feeling of being out of place.
The truth was told..
In your face.
I laughed at the way it was all unfold.
Walking with a smile~ one day you will die,
and pay for what is owed.
While I sleep at night with Glory..
You'll wake up everyday to my untold story.
With the solid truth that lies have no end.
Guilt will have everyone crying at my funeral.
Wondering what happened to their "precious jewel.
by;p.d.
Uniquely Me Beauty
Creator I am ....... I love to draw, design, .... INNOVATOR .... Yes I am.....
I’m not perfect in anyway ........ half of the time I can barely get my edges to lay #slayed... but I know one thing, God made to create......and that’s exactly what I am doing .... From writing books to sketching cars, houses and shoes..... Touch my soul then float back from Jupiter.. There is no hold on this planet correction U.N.I.VERSE...... my focus can’t be moved, blocked, blurred, deterred or defused..... Humbly I stand before you uniquely mused... perfect in every way..
Can’t wait to create a printer for my brain ....Wait I’ll just meditate and manifest my dynasty ...no but seriously I’m not a basic thinker........ I go completely outside the tesseract to be exact....The Who, what, where’s and why’s ... rise beyond the surface I know I was meant to fly... waves of peculiar thoughts ......3 dimensional.....yours might even become your conscious thoughts if you can get beyond all the hidden figures.... g
e
l o t
s t
Beautywhispers
Respect in uniform
A man with respect
Major Oliver O. Howard
One of the US Armies best
A courageous soldier
With an order to follow
Dis-quell the Indian Wars
So there be peace tomorrow
Born in Maine
His dad died when he was nine
But this little boy
Turned out oh so fine
At nineteen, he graduated
A young man, already well rated
1854 Military pass
This bright young man, 4th in his class
Time advances to the Indian Wars
To do his duties, soldier sworn
To quell the fighting, peace be ours
Chief Joseph and the Indian colors
His task achieved, tho Indian losses
Orders he served, from Washington's bosses
Chief Joseph, from his lands he was moved
To Oklahoma, situation defused
1894 the retirement of he
Major General what he rose to be
Universities and College named in his name
This quite amazing soldier of Military Fame
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/native-americans.php
" When i heard about this gentleman, it desired me to write. Unknown to me he has actually
been in the historical background of one of my poems, and an ancestor of one of our poets "
A sudden darkness veiled the world below.
Luna was defused by a shadowed sky,
giving cause for Earth to be wrought with woe.
Something strange caused the night to go awry
as a shroud covered moonlight's golden glow.
My pulse quickened at the phenomenon.
I inhaled the floral scent of roses.
Snowflakes drifted over garden and lawn.
Like a fairytale that one composes,
it was a magical scene to dwell on.
Stars were dancing around the somber moon.
The brightest ones provided enough light
to see them twirling to a rhytmic tune.
What a spectacle I witnessed tonight;
stars waltzing and snow in the month of June!
With drooping eyelids, I soon fell asleep,
awakened when dawn's fingers touched my face.
At the window I sat, ready to weep.
Of snow and roses, there was not a trace.
The tale of last night I'll secretly keep.
December 1, 2020
Quintain - Sicilian Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Upon the desk the Great Poet’s pen ; covered in dust, lays unused
The discolored , unfinished POEM speaking, a LOVE never defused
The Great POET’S Soul leaves this earth to live with the Great Divine
Memories of a Great POET’S words , FOREVER embedded in Your mind
To die and be remembered for the eons of ALWAYS
Inspired by Light and LOVE : Deborah Guzzi’s Contest : “ My Inspiration “
Dedicated To Carol Brown
My Inspiration : “ Upon a Great Poet’s Death “ by “”Carol Brown””
A sudden darkness veiled the world below.
Luna was defused by a shadowed sky,
giving cause for Earth to be wrought with woe.
Something strange caused the night to go awry
as a shroud covered moonlight's golden glow.
My pulse quickened at the phenomenon.
I inhaled the floral scent of roses.
Snowflakes drifted over garden and lawn.
Like a fairytale that one composes,
it was a magical scene to dwell on.
Stars were dancing around the somber moon.
The brightest ones provided enough light
to see them twirling to a rhytmic tune.
What a spectacle I witnessed tonight;
stars waltzing and snow in the month of June!
With drooping eyelids, I soon fell asleep,
awakened when dawn's fingers touched my face.
At the window I sat, ready to weep.
Of snow and roses, there was not a trace.
The tale of last night I'll secretly keep.
When instinct becomes
an educated guess
And improvisation
demands quick redress
Like thinking on one’s feet
if too drunk to stand
Be found all at sea
throwing up on dry land
Twisted situations
we find ourselves in
When bundles of joy
reek original sin
Smack on the butt
for showing a bit of cheek
Do everything perfect
be labelled a freak
Gestures, signals,
often appear to confuse
High five, fist bump
a sweaty handshake defused
One or two fingers:
the bird a sign of peace
Kneel with respect
submissive purr on a leash
Diversions, promises,
never black and white
Passive aggression
silent treatment for slight
Jack in the box, ripper
jumps out with a knife
Break a leg, for the
performance of his life
Police warning: never
mess around with guns
Gut reaction sparks a
stampede, or the runs
Playing it very cool,
whilst feeling much heat
Praying devoutly,
burnt at stake for deceit
Sticking out one’s tongue
in contempt, no a kiss!
Sigh of relief
they were just taking the piss
Such is living, such is death
come friend or foe
On second thoughts
syllabic verse, or sh!tshow
By David Kavanagh
hms
Oceans, woods, abused, confused!
Mother nature not amused!
Her bellies aching.
Mistakes we're making!
Time pollution was defused!
There is an old man of the ocean,
To marine life is his devotion.
We have to put right,
Marine waters plight.
Or suffer our own devolution!
A thought provoking
angry words are now exchanged
smiles come, peace remains
Racking anguish vandalize my soul,
as my pen crawls across the empty page,
leaving the mirror image of my vitality.
A futile exercise turns into self pity.
A useless effort in self agitation.
Months of inactivity has left my muse
abused, misused, defused.
It seems I can write no more.
Is that correct? Is it the writing or the muse?
Writing is discipline, a few words each day.
Do I countervail my imagination?
For subjects must be born within the soul,
that soul I forgot about months ago.
Should I dream of valleys green,
or ice capped mountain unassailable?
Is my muse so hermetically sealed.
Perhaps I'll find it again....or perhaps not.
A Silent One Contest
Rumours and gossip cause us to wonder
about the threat of a great big blunder,
appearing to threaten you and me
and it is as strange as strange can be.
A Blunder is so tall and hairy,
more than that, he is rather scary
often heralding some disaster,
in which line he is the Master.
A great Big Blunder is the friend
of politicians to the end.
In public life, Big Blunders seem
empowered to achieve their dream
and mark the candidate for fun.
So after all is said and done
pomposity will be defused
leaving the voters most amused.
So watch for Blunders every day
and praise their antics while you may,
for they won't be here for long I suspect
because they're Politically Incorrect!
The Saga of dusty roads of Utah
(To the memory of Don W. Esplin, father of Kathryn Esplin-Oleski)
= =
There he was playing with some mild explosives,
in his own backyard, a resolute boy he is;
the June month had swelled like the taut belly of
a neighborhood lady; the boy wanted to be
a scientist which he became. He, of course could not
envision that all these sepia dust of Utah,
the noon backyard and a young scientist’s narrative
would be remembered by his explosive daughter
and a strange Indian was going to pen a saga.
Alfred Nobel was smiling from a page of a book
The boy rolled a cigarette, the smoke’s curlicues
swirl up to grain the picture. A blast almost choked
the bright blue jays and robins. Defused sun slanted.
The end of the road was just an end of the road
where sun could meet earth, warm grass shook off the heat
and the covert window of the farm house would yield
a father and son talk. Strong argument on
future, on an university, on money
on a world that could differ in generations;
of course the boy, as a father, understood
his girl, then living apart. But distance is in heart.
He would grow up midst dreams. A quirky wind would blow him
here and there; navy, marriage and science,
pharmacology and marriage again; a gust
of wind would take him on a ride that, if he could
read this he would have said, resembled his truck rides
down the roads of Utah. But at that point of time
he was wide awake inside his misty night’s sleep
and an American novel is shooting up
its multiple heads in search of fresh oxygen.
The waves of moon were enjoying a full tide.
=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar
Frigid temperatures drop
Wind chill in low digits
Park benches become co-ops
Under newspaper blankets a man fidgets
Trying to make the best of the hand he was dealt
Man, he’s felt so many lows
Now he’s just looking to sew any clothes
that he can get his hands on
into another layer
Just to help him answer a prayer
Don’t look at him like he has cancer & stare
He’s weathered the storm
many a time
Trying to keep warm
Begging for change
A nickel
A penny
A dime
He’s begging for change
and he don’t even know it
We show it doesn’t matter
when we look at him
Creeped out
Stoic faces weave doubt
into his old tattered coat
Twice removed
Shivering
Giving up on life
Defused
How hard he tries
or how hard he cries
Strangers despise him
Is it Darwin’s theory or Marx’
that deprive him?
It’s a pitiful scene
without words to describe him
Defeat in his eyes
with no Phoenix to arise him
He smiles grim
Not cuz he thinks something’s funny
The trials trim away pounds from his face
He’s got no money
Can’t get a job
Who would ever hire a slob?
He’s got no address
Doesn’t even sleep on a mattress
He needs a shower, new clothes, and groomin’
Before anyone even considers him
somewhat close to being human
Harry Truman walkin through Manhattan projects
Looking at people as objects
We need to stop this
Who’s got this?
And who’s got next?