Best Dike Poems
It’s too early to prite woetry.
Let me hay lere in my bed.
I hartied pardy. Woe is me.
Oh, my hounding pead!
My joughts are thumbled. My oh my.
It’s hust so jard to think.
I heel so forrid; why oh why?
Did someone dike my sprink?
Good grief, it’s tuch moo early to awake.
It’s ten a.m for seaven’s hake!
January 23, 2017
Finger in the hole in the dike
Holding back vast volumes
Of raging emotions
Surely to sweep me away
I try some comforting
Favored music from my past
Grab a book
To distract my fear
Linger in the Black Hole
of despair
Reach out to memories
Misty unrealities
Sweet and sour
I pass another hour
Only the peace of sleep
And ultimately death
Will bring craved relief.
When I was young my parents taught me…without ever telling me why
that whatever happens to me in life…boys aren’t supposed to cry.
For years I heeded that childhood lesson…and anytime tears escaped my eyes
I would quickly try to hide them…or if someone saw them…I’d apologize.
Even as a man when I felt tears forming…whenever my emotions would spike
I’d quickly try to suppress them…to hold my finger in the dike.
I wish my parents had taken the time…and taught that little boy
the advantages there are in tears of sorrow…the benefits in tears of joy.
How teardrops have many functions…but two of their ultimate goals
are their ability to cleanse our hearts…and the power to soothe our souls.
Luckily for me and my tear-imprisoned eyes
I met a woman along the way who taught me how to cry.
When I saw how easily her tears flowed…that she was not afraid to cry
knowing the way I was brought up…I had to ask her why!
“I never stop my crying.” She said. “Crying starts the healing only tears can bring.”
“And once my heart has finished weeping…only then…can it begin to sing.”
So…to all the young (and old) ones out there…a lesson I learned late….
When it comes to tears and crying…do not hesitate….
Never hold back your tears
never dry your eyes…
cry whenever your heart feels like crying…
and when you cry…do not apologize.
The torrential rains
Poured into September with a vengeance
As the black clouds were driven in
By autumn winds,
Giving summer a sudden farewell.
Crushing my fading petunias
As the leaves along the dike
Were painted all shades of gold
And pushed to the sodden ground.
He put his thumb in the dike
hoping everyone would see
how brave and courageously he saved the day
but in his lack of guilt
it was he, who hammered the spike
that would break the dam and make the waves.
You know, I thought changing one’s job would be easy,
To start a new vocation would be breezy.
I got me local newspaper, looking for a job as a sparky, (electrician)
But I said “what the F-ck, these ads were written by a sarky.”
The first job was an “Almond Knocker,”
Now this sounds as sleazy as sniffing used jockstraps in a locker.
Who wants to look for an almond the shape of a woman’s top half of her anatomy,
But, looking at women’s breast to find one that looks like an almond, appeals to me.
The second job was a “Blind Hooker,”
Now what can I say, that’s a woman’s job and boy she’ll have to be a looker.
She would be the cheapest thrill you’d ever have
You can imagine the police chasing her as she is lead by her all eye seeing sat nav.
Nope not for me…
Uuhh! Here’s one for me, “Bosom Presser”
Squeeeezing them breasts from the largest to the lesser.
I gave them a call straight away
Only to find out the job was not really that way
Dam!
The next one was, what the f-ck? a “Dike Stoneman”
Well I don’t think any man can
This must be a woman bouncer for a happy club ( I hope this is more politically
correct than saying “Gay”)
The one you greet say “Hey Bud”
Well later I googled the titles and yes you right, I was wrong,
I suppose me old job will be lifelong
Overworked, under paid
Oversexed under laid
Here are a few more jobs I came across, an “Egg Smeller, Chicken Sexer, Pillow Girl
:-) , Butt maker, , Fire Drier (never heard of wet fire) and for all you animal lovers out
there, Frog Shaker, Monkey Tail Puller and those who don’t change their underwear,
a Skid Marker
I scorn thee, Puberty! Damn thee as well,
Thou abominable herder of shame,
Will thou findeth glee by my told sarspell?
I beseech thee of ineffable name,
Rendereth thineself as quiet slain game,
For thine cruel ends be reached, let thine eyes droop,
Immortal Rite, meeteth Poetry Soup.
Forsaken specs findeth young Phillip (me),
He the first noble son born of Sir Mike,
That betrothed Diane, mother of he (me);
Neareth NASA lived they by Houston’s dike,
We plus two girl offsprings I still dislike;
Turneth back time to nineteen ninety five,
Thus now the setting as ocean, we dive.
I of ten years then plus three more years aged,
By mine mom’s woven hand rags yet adorned,
Draperies bindething spirits encaged,
Mine lot too ignorant still ‘be forlorned,
For two years would pass ‘fore Nike I yearned;
Looken now friends, at thine narrator’s dress,
Mine costumes for school were each mismatched mess.
And hath we not yet speaketh mine afro?
Then let us for humor’s saketh too laughs
For atop mine snow pale flesh did it grow!
It was beneath that nest mine brain did graphs
On one Tuesday morn; during sixth grade math,
Unbeknownst of a sneaking wretched pest:
That ineffably named prepubescent guest.
Still in present times remember I can’t,
What the hell kindled mine loins ablaze,
Yet fiery flames of embarrassment
Secretly smoldered through my brainy haze;
When mine teacher upon me called that I raise,
And thus stirred the scene I’ve oft reflected,
The moment I’ve chosen for my most embarrassing?
When in 6th grade math class I stood up…
…fully erected
As I walk the dirty streets, I look into a crack head eyes,
as she look's up at with surprise.
Knowing I got what it takes to supply them dimes!
She has her high beam's on, and a crack pipe in her palms.
she has no time to speak, as she crosses the street.
I'm her pusher man!
That keeps the past, in the past.
She beg's me for a hit, with her cracked white lips. She say's she needs a dime,
for it's her last time, knowing it's lie just to get high.
As I smile in her face, with a look of disgrace, for I'm the pusher...
I know to never let the street's get to you.
I alway's know rule number two...Never smoke from your own supply!
Rule number ten,... All rule's apply!
I'm your pusher man...
All these other rules, from one thur nine, is for only real niggas that put in time!
Never be weak for the drug's you seek, for she knows what she needs.
She really has no need to plead, what ever she needs, I'm pleased.
For her money is coming to me! If she only knew I was taking her life.
Everything she has, or ever treasured, from her husbend, to a straight dike!
She needs me for I'm here to please. With out an "us"... they'll be no "we"!
She'll give up her home and, her family, she'll never go to far,
I'm her pusher man!
I'll make her dreams a reality!
To reconcile, to feel all she needs is me! I'm the prophecy, she'll live in poverty,
talking with profanity. Selling her big screen to me!
I'm her pusher man. I make her happy when shes sad,
I can get her higher than a kite, she'll be in the streets all night!
Her family wouldn't see her in weeks, her home, was with me!
No need to eat, drugs was the beef!
I'm her pusher man!
She'll rob her mom, just to get her high on.
She'll steal from the police, If she see me in the street's!
I'm her mom, I'm her dad, Im' her everything she had,
I'm her pusher man!
She keeps me richer, my pockets stay thicker!
She loves me more than she loves her self... because the crack, is what it's really all about! I'm her pusher man!
I am what I am, I give what I can!
From the suburbs from, the hoodest of all hoods! I stay with the goods!
I'm her pusher man...
The streets will be watching everthing you do, and one day they might come for you!
For I'm... your pusher man!
Said baker Ted to baker Ned:
Ned, did you knead the dough?
"Dough, I did dot dead the dough"
Why not knead the dough, Ned?
"I didn't wad to sdeeze on the dough"
Sneeze on the dough, Ned?
"Yes Ded, I god a code in by doughs"
Well Ned, at yeast you’re being honest
"It’s the yeast I could do, Ded"
You’re not going to do the yeast again are you?
"Of coors dot, I did the yeast yeasterday"
You’re fibbing Ned, yeasterday was Yeaster
"I always worg Yeaster, last year I worged Yeaster"
It’s against the law to work yeasters on holidays
"Why Ded? The yeasters dode mide worging Yeaster"
Well, doing the yeast is perverted to say the yeast
"At yeast I dode loaf and fridder away by dime"
Are you accusing me of fondling the fritters?
"If the fridders fid, then fry the dab fridders"
How would you like me to fry YOUR fritters, Ned?
"I subbose I dike by fridders a diddle on the brownie dide"
Not what I meant Ned and please stop poking my brownie
"Oooo…Dough dared! You’re gibbing be the fridders"
You don't have the fritters to whip my cream, Ned
"I cad whib your cream with one had deading the dough"
Cannot-Caddo-Cannot-Caddo-Cannot-Cad...
Cold-ridden, frustrated customer Homer Simpson:
DOUGH!! There they dough again, Baaarge!...
Eyes like the Aegean Sea,
Burn with a passion for life.
Like underwater volcanoes that erupt and make the sea rage.
Poseidon striking the sea floor.
With the intensity for experience,
Like the fire that smolders deep within your essence;
As if Hephaestus, God of Fire placed this potency within your heart.
Raven tresses frame the noble gentleman
Traveling along his journey like a silent Spartan: King Leonidas.
With Themis and Dike protecting him in battle; guiding his sword and shield.
Appointing him to be the leader of justice for mankind.
Like the regal Lion that sits upon his golden throne high in the Heavens for all to
see. Forever etched in the memories of men: so are you--endless;
Sitting with Hercules on Mount Olympus.
Celestial orbs safeguard the one whose utterances are as vast as the
mountainous landscape.
And whose songs are as boundless as the sea itself.
this poem is my take on weary blues by langston hughes
Langston hughes truly was a great poet and one of the best ever!
Bombilating a snappy euphony rhyme
Fingers crackling against palm and time
I heard a soul play
Down on dike street the other night
By the dark alley illuminated by car lights
Her words were a tail rhyme
Her words were a tail rhyme
The holy melancholy catachresis
Was an oxymoron to my ears
It brought life but was killing me inside to hear
With those ebony hands wrapped around the standing mic
She made that mic vocalize her soul’s cry
O poetry!
I remember fingers crackling against palm and nature
She spoke words turning carpe diem to a sweet cacophony imprisonment
Of syllables slipping off her tongue.
Sweet poetry!
Coming from a black Woman’s SOUL! cafe
O poetry!
In a deep performance, her voice rang
I heard the soul sing, and the mic cry!
“Lord, has she stolen your diary of my life?
Or have you given her the word to “kill me with poetry”
Her tongue has conversed with my soul tonight
Don’t let this sweet death sentence end
Let her recite my death in words again!
Snap snap snap, went fingers to palm
Her next words cracked lyrics worse verse against my unshielded heart
“ Lord what Is this poetry I hear? Don’t let it stop”
This weary soul needs rest in her words
For I know now the angel of death
Has shown grace upon me!”
I Got a weary Soul
And her words give me rest
I got a weary soul
And her words give me rest
But it’s killing me slowly
And far into the night that spoken word rang
The stars had ears that night
And the sun crackled snaps too, through the universe
To her words
The night of poetry, that soul on the mic
Retired home
While that souls words echoed through my souls expression
In the end, my walk began again, and my weary soul
Continued to search the world but found none like
That night on dike.
ARTE MAYOR*: Neither Cricket nor Football
Is this the way to prop A-first
Sock not oval ball overhead
Slam not round ball with drumstick dead
Cut not corporate tax: the worst
Hundred millions sweat till tv burst
Swamp Super Bowl cheer-leaders' tights
The day England scorned Wales' rights*
Would arméd football rugby durst
Catch not ball in leather-gloved hand
Watch how slip-fields pluck balls from air
Out-fields brave boundaries debonair
That's what cricket's in any land
Trumped-up charges make no A-men grand
Nor soft base balls stop eyes grow sore
A-1 Nation must make World soar
Hail Rugby! King Twickenham brand!
Throw missile back You Quarter-Back
Take no step beyond the Red line
Referee draws to keep the front-line
Push no further than ball in pack
The Golden Rule's not to kick back
Unless you're in scrum cheek to jowl
And lick the foe if he must growl
Block those horns in grid-lock Am-track!
Curve ball's By Gad no in-swinger
Reach first base sans one lone strike
Home runs no match sixes through dike
Stop runs coming through huge bouncer
Best way to take the World over
Scrap apéd games from lean memory
Learn to play ball gentlemanly
You'll need no Vinson carrier!
*Arte Mayor (Sp. Major Art) stanzaic form, the art of Archiprest de Hita (12th-13th c.): eight syllabic lines in eight-line stanzas, rhyming abba acca.
*England beat Wales in epic match at Cardiff to win Six-Nations' Rugby 2017 Trophy; the same day the Super Bowl was watched by 125 millions on TV. If the same audience could have seen the match at Cardiff, I'd wager that would have been the very last Super Bowl event in history.
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
THE SECOND COMING OF AN IMMACULATE MIS-CONCEPTION
I hear preachers claim that Jesus walks by my side
Alas, Jesus has also lasciviously lied
I can’t see Jesus with my very own eyes
Yet with my eyes I read all of His lies
The Bible promises that Jesus always protects me
Until our Lord ultimately rejects me
I know the Son Of Man is supposed to be my Lord
But quite frankly by my Lord I am
frightfully bored
I am married to Jesus, at least that’s what I read in His Holy Word
Yet now I seek the seclusion of divorce and the freedom of a flight blessed bird
Jesus made a mansion for those he sets free
Well Jesus would rather I live under a rotted and well-weathered tree
Jesus healed the sick and also fed the poor
As for me he has only a well slammed front door
Jesus took water and in His chalice wine was made
Only I was there and know He used a packet of grape Kool-Aid
And if you tell me in His time Kool-Aid wasn’t even known
I’ll tell you that Jesus created it for His use alone
Jesus could have taken his act on the road
But He wouldn’t have been so popular since David Copperfield can turn a tiger into a toad
Jesus took fishes and loaves and fed a whole mess of folks
Well you didn’t hear it from me but He also dispensed eggs with no yolks
And when Jesus created mankind he made trillions of very sick jokes
Yesterday I bought a Bible but it was way overpriced
and that's another grievance i have with Jesus Christ
They say He came for sinners and the righteous alike
Well my lesbian sister knows that your Mary Magdalene was a hard core dike!
© 2013….copyright...PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
TOO OFTEN A COFFIN
I’ve faced the familiarity of faded fascination
I’ve let the loveliness of a lady become unspoken
I’ve examined the exclamation mark of exhilaration
And let beauty allow my blackened heart to be broken
I have haunted harbors and arbors alike
I’ve searched for the most perfect rose ever grown
I’ve seen ships stranded by too many a dike
And allowed lost loves to leave me alone
I’ve cried in crevices of cruelty and brutality
I’ve crawled through canyons so unkind
I’ve negated the nature of negative neutrality
With maudlin memories that mesmerize my mind
I’ve faced the fading of infatuation
And lamented the loss of love too often
I’ve ignored the aroma of arduous ardor’s creation
And have remembrances that will follow me into my coffin
© 2013….copyright PHREEPOETREE.~free cee!~
Test icles
Female dog
Oral stimulation
Wood
Rectal insert
Bulb of the vestibule
Raccoon
Box
Ipipi
Del dool
Dike
Cigarette
Akkineni
Mouthification
Analingus
Fornication Under Consent of the King
Fudge factory worker
Gay
Ejacu late
Fleshy folds of skin
Handwarmer
Black person ethnic slur
Pene
Rose thorn puncture
Cono
Strange
Sack
Fecal matter
Promiscuous woman
Pluck
Pecho
Obnoxious person
Faighne
Master Baker