Best Discus Poems
We had just got married - was the month of June
This is the saga of our disastrous honeymoon
We started off in a hotel in Norwich
The bedding was itchy just like doing ‘porridge’
Back home to Birmingham to get ready for our cruise
To the Norwegian Fjords - stunning scenery to peruse
I had already started to get a horrid cold
My sneezing was totally uncontrolled
We arrived in Norway and I was feeling ill
The fjords were smooth no need for sea sickness pill
I started to brighten as we began the cruise
Hubby and me together we had nothing to loose
Enjoying the scenery and the fresh cold air
Watching the waterfalls oh how we did stare
We arrived at the first hotel and got ready for the night
We were on honeymoon and wanted everything right
Climbing the stairs to our hotel room
Separate beds – you could sense the doom
Well we got over that hurdle… details I won’t discus!
But when we saw the tour guide oh how we did cuss
Next day we got onto our honeymoon boat
Enjoying the experience whilst we were afloat
On to another hotel as part of the tour
Separate beds yet again – oh what a bore!
Every hotel we stayed at we had separate beds
Hardly ideal scenario for a pair of newly weds!
Finally it was time for us to go our journey back home
One more meal at the hotel – oh how time had flown
Disaster struck – it could only happen to me
I got food poisoning I was as sick as a flea
Firing from both ends it was absolute hell
My honeymoon disaster – oh I remember it well!
A pretty accurate description of our honeymoon in June 1991…
but despite everything that went wrong we are still together!
04~24~15
Contest: Memorable Vacation – Shadow Hamilton
~awarded 2nd place~
The winged god Zephyrus, handsome and graceful
gently flapped his wings, gliding across the meadows.
His eyes fell on naked youths splashing at play
in the sparkling water of a deep wide pool, sheltered
by willow trees, where fragrant flowers bloomed.
He slowed his flight and looked with lust and admiration.
On the green grass he espied a tender youth;
athletic and beautiful was this young Spartan prince,
scantily dressed, playing his flute with nimble touch.
Zephyrus’ heart fluttered and leapt; he could not help
falling deeply in love with beautiful Hyacinth.
Little did he know that he was already being
courted by Apollo! Out of sight he lay in wait
then made his move and sought him out at sunset.
He approached him and with golden words he tried
to tempt his heart, but all in vain. Though impressed,
Hyacinth remained firm and faithful to Apollo.
That night, Zephyrus many restless hours spent
alone, ignoring Chloris’s sexual charms.
Entangled thoughts engulfed his frenzied mind,
jealousy clawed at his heart, tore deep within.
Dawn arrived, and bleary eyed he hastened forth
towards the hills, in search of calm respite.
Alas, it was not meant to be; envy reared its head
with poisoned fangs that sent him reeling mad.
Emotions changed from red to green, and in despair
he flew high up, aimlessly circling in the sky.
Then all at once, upon a verdant field below,
he caught sight of Hyacinth and Apollo
playfully engaged in discus throwing.
The green-eyed monster lunged and with swift intent
Zephyrus blew a gust of wind that swerved the discus
from its route and it hit Hyacinth on the head
resulting in instant death. Jealousy prevailed.
Furious yet heartbroken, Apollo held Hyacinth
tightly in his arms, blood dripping from his temple;
and with one last act of love he changed that blood
into a most beautiful flower called Hyacinth.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Contest: Epic Only
Sponsor: Skat A
Placed 3rd
I remember, I remember my garden of joy,
It gave me great happiness when I was a boy
At the bottom of the garden was a delightful stream,
When alone, I would sit beside it, meditate and dream.
In the garden stood an ancient apple tree,
In the spring time its coloured buds were a joy to see.
In the autumn the russet apples were harvested in,
Our neighbours also enjoy surplus apples from our bin.
At summertime my two friends would come in and play cricket,
Game stopped when the batsman knocked the ball into the thicket.
On summer evenings Mum or Dad read us a story in the eventide,
Other children came in, lemonade and biscuits mum did provide.
Subject to weather mum packed a picnic on a Sunday afternoon,
To meet the local villagers, to gossip, farmers sold their eggs, that was a boon The villagers would meet, discus each others fortune, on the village green, There all the local gossip everyone could tell or glean.
The young ones played football, cricket or handball,
The girls often beat the boys, that did not go down well.
Some times in the evening Dad would take me down to listen to the local band, Some music I did not like, some I thought was grand.
I left home at twenty one to work in the city,
My little village is now a small town, what a pity.
I have photo’s to remind me of my happy past,
With an expanding world villages like mine will never last.
Yellow Butterflyfish and Snakeskin Discus
swim freely in this life I call an aquarium-
I see a Purple Regal Tang as the Pufferfish
sang with a melody like a sweet guitar strum.
Blue and pink coral, like a make-believe floral
stand strong and tall in the salt-watered tank-
The lemon green Laurel streams along so eternal
as the Orange Angelfish swim along the bank.
A Red-Tailed Crab and a slimy Snail like to grab
food sprinkled from the main aquarium caretaker-
Instead of eating scraps they find a lily pad
to rest and continue being nosey spectators.
Is this just a dream? Is my life not as it seems?
Cuz’ when I look around along the ground
my human reflection is all I unbelievably see-
This life that I have found, I just sit here profound
gazing at the amazing life of salt water beauty.
Oh no! I see a Reef Shark and I start to embark
on my way towards the side of the glass-
I find relief in the belief that he may depart
since he comes from a breed of a docile class.
Rainbow Sea Stars you can see from afar
with hues like a pink and yellow sunset-
What a lovely sight! I can’t forget the spark
of her glowing romantic shaded silhouette.
A Painted Turtle guy who caught my fascination
wandering in front of me slower than a snail-
A super fertile Ray lays her eggs with illumination
as the Foxface Rabbitfish flips her yellow tail.
Living in a tank of salt is obviously my true calling,
even though I always wanted to be a veterinarian-
My true wish is to live with fish,
for in water there is no falling-
Floating, swimming, kicking with a swish,
I love my life in a beautiful aquarium.
Theme: Life In An Aquarium
February 15, 2017
Led to believe
you'd help me achieve
the grace of a ballerina
a voice operatic
from my usual asthmatic
cackle like a laughing hyena
Distaste despite
I endured your bite
the party with gusto to steer
true state of affairs
via video fare:
drunk, I'm a weirdo, witless and *****
Alone on my porch bench
abhorring my stench
I sit with my head on the pound
in hangover's claws
I glare at the cause:
scores of bottles strewn all around
"I'll drink no more
on wine declare war
as of now I'm calling you quits
thief of humanity
my reason for insanity
'cos of you my life's in the pits."
A-cuss and a-curse
I pick up the first:
"Say hello to the wall of the park
sing your last aria
afore I smash yer!!"
as with a discus fling a wide arc
"Nice tinkle I reckon."
bend for a second:
"You fiend, I'll smash you to bits
you dug me a hole
my life to control
stole the bigger chunk of my wit."
Tinkle-smash-tinkle
my eyes a-twinkle:
"Down with alcohol, scourge of society
to drink is absurd."
smashing a third
"You monster, you stole my sobriety."
"Whoa! Whoa! This one is weighty
unlike your mateys
with you I've never had quibble
in fairness to you
you'll lift my blues
for my woe I don't hold you responsible."
DELYSIA. FOR GIORGIO'S CONTEST.
INSPIRED BY:
"Dear alcohol, We had a deal where you would make me funnier,
smarter, and a better dancer. I saw the video. We need to talk..."
- Anonymous
The club event at the Paralympics,
Is unique only to the Paralympics,
And is for people with cerebral palsy,
Or for the brain injured traumatically.
It weighs 14oz and is 5 or 6cm in width,
It is made of wood and is quite a megalith.
It’s end has a spherical ball for you to grab,
To throw it, ‘cos that’s the aim, the slab.
The club is an athletics field event,
But Gemma previously did loudly tent,
Discus and shot put, and in Beijing 2008,
She came 8th in discus, shot put 7th gate.
At the Deli 2010 Commonwealth Games,
She came third in the shot put’s frames,
But then changed to the club throw gaiters,
To claim bronze in it in London, 20.50m.
She comes from Truro town in Cornwall,
And the BWAA help her workout, do call;
From Great Sankey High to St Andrews,
She did go to gain in maths a Masters.
She was born in September in the year ’83,
And has cerebral palsy just as I do, bree;
I used to throw the club like her, at school,
Out the back on the grass where I was cool.
I comprehend the days when rays do shine and Ra does set
When inner soul and façade connect, 24 hours in one day gave me breathe, that’s 1,440
seconds closer to death rather than oxygen left. Aspire to build that dream shape that
atmosphere, win a Nobel peace prize, become Man of the Year
Build homes in the smog inner city ghettoes, where blocks and countenance of lost souls
decay and rust, maybe spread poetry and love as well as a monumental philanthropist,
raise seeds that spread, root, bud fruit, then trees, then yield juice to saturate the Earth
with only sweet organic humanity
Turn impossible into “Can it be” then push shriveling raisons of doubt into the fathoms
of Davie Jones’s locker, to the depths of no man’s land where oxidation and sea level
pressure crush submarines into aluminum cans, cans where can’t conforms to can,
starve doubt and feed your faith, slow and steady wins the race, but more than
anything,, remember without tree-shaking fear, find that passion and equilibrium, killing
opposition and the antagonizing meniscus, swiftly remember that life through birth is not
a boomeranging discus, life never comes back so dream, execute, relax and become
life’s subtle screenplay until the script and its cast wilt into debris of cremated urns
holding dreams, aspirations, and the well worked remains of me.
SENIORS OLYMPICS
Images of fearsomely fit youth everywhere,
healthy people, all bronzed, featured
by the second, on screens and public spaces :
fit and flash, but always young, Olympians.
I protest, for we seniors are just as sporty;
we recycle daily, suffer running noses;
fallen archery’s no problem at all - well, it is -
as we routinely wrestle with living.
Best not to even mention water sports.
Weightlifting self out of armchair is hourly,
when diving for the loo, as is rowing back
from much too easily expressed criticism.
We ping pong daily with potions and pills.
Sailing close to the wind, shooting mouth off,
leads to embarrassed synchronized grinning.
Annoy us and you will get a right kayaking.
Much of our lives consists of sundry hurdles;
shops are like a cross-country marathon,
or a steeplechase broken into relays,
bench to leaned-on wall, to bench again.
And, we’ve all done pent- and heptathlon,
with the dec- coming in to (or out of) focus,
we need not discus these ageist Olympics,
I have hammered my point enough ....
Alan McAlpine Douglas
You've been invited to a hot debate:
A dangerous war between two fighters.
Those who are fighting with extreme hate.
An inspiring topic for sci-fic writers!
One side is the boss, the king of the earth,
Who's glory of his Territory.
The Lord gave his fade at the time of birth.
Should everybody reads the story!
On the other side: a real underdog!
Someone who has been neglected for years!
Poor employee, like a tiny bug,
Should be killed and then, hanged from his ears
[Employee:]
I always do more than what they expect,
Hoping to be seen, willing to get "Thanks!".
But they don't give me, award or respect.
They just put money in their goddamn banks!
[Boss:]
They always discus about football games,
or about movies, when they are working.
They stand against the company's aims.
I should catch their faults, while keeping lurking!
[Employee:]
I'm real pro, hard-worker and keen,
In my job field I'm a unique expert.
famous companies (Top-Levels I mean)
are seeking me in jungle and desert!
[Boss:]
They are useless guys who waste resources
Why don't we fire them?! How soulful we are!
I like to march on their heads with horses!
and tie their bodies to tail of my car!
Dad has ordered a new shed,
he'll site it in the shade
replacing the one put out by
the local Fire Brigade.
The wheelie bin is full of food
almost a three course luncheon
with sausages as black as coal
and harder than a truncheon.
Home made sauce clings to the sides
like toffee, not that viscous,
and burgers that could be re-used
on sports days as a discus.
Mummy's apron, holed and scorched,
no whiskers on the cat,
bare lawn where flames extinguished with
the neighbour's cricket bat.
“Will there be another one next time?
we'll have to wait and see”
says Dad as he goes to fetch Mum
from outside A&E.
His frizzled locks like coiled springs,
he will not need his comb,
but never mind, the family sings-
“she's coming home
she's coming home
she's coming,
Mummy's coming home....”
(* A&E- Hospital accident and emergency department in the UK)
Beverley is a professional at the Paralympics,
Because she’s been to five of them including Rio,
And in London she made the podium’s antics,
Since she won discus third with a lush glow.
Born the 17th of October 1974 with Cerebral Palsy,
She made the 2000 Sydney Summer Paralympics,
‘Cos back then she was a sprinter of great agility,
Coming 4th in the 100m and 8th in the 200m bricks.
She ran in the T38 class of running and sprinting,
But after these games she also competed in track,
The F37/38 shot put took her, it was challenging,
At the 2005 Worlds she won shot, 100m, 200m tack.
In 2006 at the CP Worlds in Conneticut USA, again
Three golds for the shot put, 100m and 200 metres,
And at the IPC Worlds, Assen, also in 2006’s pen,
Beverly set a shot put WR of a huge 10.57 metres.
At the Commonwealth Games in 2006 in hilly Wales,
She won the only event that she entered, sprinting,
When she took bronze for the 100 metres, T37 pales,
To see her climb the podium, Wales remembering.
Then she dropped running and just focused on track,
To build up her shoulder muscles for a fluent arm action,
So in 2011 at the IPC Worlds in Christchurch, jack,
She threw a discus 30.62 metres for silver convection.
In London she came third with a score of 30.99 metres,
To win a bronze, and in Rio de Janeiro she placed fifth,
“You have to switch…off [the crowd with all your litres],
[and] think [of] what you’ve been doing in training, [sith].”
I remember, I remember my garden of joy,
It gave me great happiness when I was a boy
At the bottom of the garden was a delightful stream,
When alone, I would sit beside it, meditate and dream.
In the garden stood an ancient apple tree,
In the spring time its coloured buds were a joy to see.
In the autumn the russet apples were harvested in,
Our neighbours also enjoyed surplus apples from our bin.
At summertime my two friends would come in and play cricket,
Game stopped when the batsman knocked the ball into the thicket.
On summer evenings Mum or Dad read us a story in the eventide,
Other children came in, lemonade and biscuits mum did provide.
Subject to weather mum packed a picnic on a Sunday afternoon,
To meet the local villagers, to gossip, farmers sold their eggs, that was a boon
The villagers would meet, discus each other’s fortune, on the village green, There all the local gossip everyone could tell or glean.
The young ones played football, cricket or handball,
The girls often beat the boys, that did not go down well.
Some times in the evening Dad would take me down to listen to the local band, Some music I did not like, some I thought was grand.
I left home at twenty one to work in the city,
My little village is now a small town, what a pity.
I have photo’s to remind me of my happy past,
With an expanding world villages like mine will never last.
Pathological spit-steroid addict,
blame-shifting weightlifting fanatic
Decathlon cracked lip truth ...
Jumping over another
high cloudy crystal
methane alibi
aloof sprint hurdle
Twisted twin-lip discus throw
on a poppy milk turbo fan blow
Veracity record unverified:
Marathon factual finishes
don’t have a Mary Jane
Photoshop shred of proof
Possessing a prosthetic tongue
allows them half-truth pole vaulters
to perform
those verbal gymnastic,
lying athletic feats of strength,
so hash mark daringly
Yielding honesty sweat labor sparingly
Such a Festivus mucous odor:
pandemic ground-zero celebration fête
Noxious nitro nostril gas,
on a downhill imposter incline oxy splat
Lie ability
don’t hinder a moral victory thief,
it’s a boon to the burglar, actually
Carousel tales ... up-and-down lung sales
giving hazy, rowboat circular details
Ever racing for the Pinocchio prize,
wouldn’t knowz
losers,
with smelly rumor toes ...
Fan the foul exhaust fumes —
when their tale pipe empty,
bad-breath bellow sneakers
reach the end of the road
A Rose
Most chose
A Lily
So frilly
A Peony
Bee honey
A Hibiscus
Bloom discus
A Lilac
Purple crackerjack
A Daffodil
Yellow thrill
A Wave Petunia
Will rave Ah
A Begonia
So bona
A Daisy
Sun crazy
They gather there most every morn
The retirees at the coffee shop
To discus events and each others ills
Politics and the new traffic stop
It is a highlight of their day
To greet each other as they dine
And so it's easy to take for granted
They're always there,- rain or shine
But then we notice - Joes not there
On the second day and more
Investigation tells us - he passed on
It's just not the same as before
As we adapt to his departure
Months later we miss Mary's face
Sadly we concede, she is gone
Only her memory - we embrace
Slipping away - - slipping away !
Dear ones that we miss so much
As the blossom of a summer flower
Relinquishes life, to winters touch
But we are reminded in God's Word
Life is but a vapor or a flower
So is the span of our sojourn here
We know not, the day or hour
But there's a promise to each one
Who is anchored, safe in His fold
The future can yield untold rewards
In a Place where, "we never grow old"
So there's consolation we can claim
When a dear one "slips away"
For them - it's just a stepping stone
To usher them from, a house of clay
Colan L. Hiatt = 01-26-14
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