Best Dubbed Poems
A desperate housewife I knew
had such mundane housework to do.
Being so tired of it,
she decided to quit.
Then off to Las Vegas she flew.
Having always been such a lithe girl,
she thought “I’ll give dancing a whirl!”
Her audition went well.
From a large oyster shell
She emerged, so they all dubbed her Pearl.
Her skin, soft and fair, shone like dew
as she smiled with eyes crystal blue.
All the men threw her money
as her voice, sweet as honey,
called out, “Let me entertain you!”
As Pearl danced each night, looking pretty,
Her husband, back in her home city,
was fit to be tied,
thinking maybe she’d died!
Poor fool didn’t have a clue, did he!
Unbeknownst to sweet Pearl, her “dear” spouse
had been sneaking off as she’d played house.
To conventions he’d said
he was going. Instead,
he’d been gambling in Vegas, that louse!
Off to strip clubs he’d gone every chance
that he got. How he loved to see dance
naked women all sizes
in sexy disguises
while his wife at home longed for romance.
Now the tables were very much turned.
And her husband was feeling quite spurned.
He would sleep restlessly
thinking where could she be!!
But her whereabouts he never learned.
No longer could he run away
on a whim. He still had bills to pay.
That cleaning and cooking
meant no time for looking
at girls! He had less time to play.
In Vegas, his wife had come far.
In fact, she was a superstar.
Wearing naught but a fan,
she’d entice every man,
then drive home in a pearl-colored car!
Her spouse lost his job. The years fled.
His wife he then had declared dead.
But with no job in sight,
he’d stay home each night,
with loneliness causing him dread.
Do you think this guy ever has let
his conscience feel any regret
that his wife did so much
while he gambled and such?
Has he learned anything at all yet?
Did he marry and get a new bride?
Did Pearl go and change her sweet ride
to a sleek red Corvette,
and did SHE marry yet?
I leave it to YOU to decide!
Written June 2016 for the Desperate Housewife Contest of PD
When gazing Beta Persei,
a star with many ghoulish names,
be wary of a winking eye
with fluctuating flames,
evincing evil aims.
Ancient mariners would watch with dread
and chant their prayers out loud,
when that “Eye in Medusa’s Severed Head”
was held by Perseus, proud,
high o’er the heathen crowd.
Sailors' hairs would stand and straighten
when that shady eye would shimmer.
The Hebrews shouted “Rosh ha Satan!”
when “The Head of Satan” grew grimmer
as "The Demon's Eye" got dimmer.
Dubbed “Ras al Ghul” in Arabic,
or “Algol” in the West,
“The Ghoul's Eye” plays a demon's trick,
resulting in unrest,
and much astro-interest:
Riding high in Autumn skies,
guiding galleon ships,
then fading before fearful eyes
by mean of an eclipse
of stars in an ellipse.
Then three days hence this trick repeats
with pre-ordained precision --
dark demon light again depletes
when it winks with wild derision,
which begs a bad decision.
Oh Ras al-Ghul! Oh Ras al Ghul!
So near and yet so far --
do not take me for a fool
that fears "The Demon Star,"
“The Devil’s Demon Star.”
Yet many who think it mirth, or myth,
will double down with doubts,
when that wily eye would wink forthwith
they’ll watch their whereabouts.
Better watch your whereabouts!
For those Gorgon snakes give you the shakes,
and chill you to the bone.
And one wrong look is all it takes
to turn you into stone,
eternally alone.
Submitted June 27, 2020
Born-torn, scorned and scarred.
Baby's thrown like a bone, choked and charred.
Raised by a mother shackled to Meth,
Dismissed by a father, deserted and left.
Itching for a fix, Mom hunted a high.
Twisting white truth, entangled in lies.
Selling sob stories with emotional pleas,
She abandoned her kin with relative ease.
Time ticked by to the beat of a tear.
Hate accelerates with the fleeting year.
Shattered remnants marked her absent roll.
Mother’s hiatus fueled a bitter soul.
A lonesome heart thuds with empty space.
A drug dubbed “love” was never replaced.
Despite the embrace of another’s clutch,
The kid still cried for mother’s touch.
Born-torn, scorned and scarred.
Baby's thrown like a bone, choked and charred.
Raised by a mother shackled to Meth,
Dismissed by a father, deserted and left.
Dunblane
A senseless waste
These young live lost
Let's all stop to count the cost
Melissa, Charlotte,
Kevin and Ross
All over the world they will mourn your loss
A town United
In grief and pain
We all share the sadness of Dunblane
Victoria, Emma,
Mhairi and Dave
All the world will weep at your grave
When at the gates
They waved you goodbye
No-one could have known that you would die
Abigail,Emily,
Sophie and John
Once bright young and lively now all of you gone
Your whole lives before you
Still left to live
So much time remaining so much left to give
Hannah, Megan,
Joanna and Brett
In all of our hearts you are living yet
Spare a thought for Gwen Mayor
Their teacher so brave
Who gave up her life her pupils to save
So let’s learn the lesson
And maybe then
We can ensure it won’t happen again
That's the best tribute
To the kids of Dunblane
That their innocent blood was not shed in vain
By Denis Briggs
(On 13th march 1996 at 9:30 am Thomas Hamilton broke into a primary school in Dunblane Scotland and shot 16 children and one teacher dead. The whole world was shocked and it was dubbed the Dunblane Massacre)
The kind of film most women love to see
is all about romance, thus women pick
a type of show that paints the fantasy
of love sublime, so it’s dubbed a chick flick.
I like the fun ones and the sad ones too,
but there’s another genre I like more!
Though dramas with great plot will always do,
there is one type of drama I adore!
There’s nothing like good horror and suspense.
Inside the theater there is a hush
as tension builds, and feelings grow intense,
for your adrenaline will get a rush!
The films like Hitchcock made I never missed.
I love a scary movie with a twist!
July 19, 2017 for the S Form contest of Broken Wings:
Sonnet form. Chosen word: Scary
There was once a king who decided that for him - beauty was silence.
He issued a decree that all sound was banished henceforth and that his land would forever more be as silent as snow. To enforce this impossible law he sent countless envoys to every corner of the land. Every creature was informed. No birds can sing. No dogs must bark. No man, woman or child could speak their needs and must now make them known by signs. Even the very thunder was ordered to be mute.
The penalty of course was death. Few were able to obey.
Flocks of birds were shot from the heavens. Dogs were slain before their master’s eyes. All the trees were stripped of leaves lest the wind should sigh through them. Brooks were frozen so water could not splash or gurgle down the stream beds.
It was like a permanent winter with bare trees and frozen ground.
Children at play were wiped out without mercy. Cows being herded were bombed for lowing. This unmerciful killing went on for many years.
The merest sound so angered the King that he ordered atrocious punishments for offenders that he did not kill.
The talents of artist were in great demand as they painted cards for all occasions for people to flash. in lieu of speaking. The effect on the population was to cause the formation of many covert societies where secret meetings, when betrayed, were raided and countless murders committed by the ‘silence’ enforcers.
The King was greatly feared by everyone and dubbed “Snowman - the Silencer”
Generations of good people were wiped out. Countless noisy species were hunted to extinction. Music was never heard or played.
Silent clocks were invented. Sound-proof rooms were built. Some desperate parents, to protect their children, opted to have their babies larynx-es removed at birth.
The King was surrounded by silent apathetic, joyless subjects.
The King’s obsession had effectively destroyed all the people, the life and the environment around him.
How much easier it would have been, if he, in wanting silence had only thought to destroy his own eardrums.
I think I shall never see the beauty
In absurdity of human bareness.
The aide in whom God entrusted duty
Of our design was quite inept, I’d guess.
The feline form was designed to impress,
With fur coats adapting to the weather.
No bird is pretty without a feather.
God saw the bad results in time to say,
We should give to man a coat of leather.
We’ll hire fashion designers right away.
I don’t go to the beach just for the sight
Of man or woman in bare essentials.
They may be young enough to look all right.
Others should wear clothing and credentials.
Parts of us should stay as confidentials.
Ruben’s nudes are ridiculed as fatter
Than savory pork served on a platter.
In public keep your clothes on if you don’t
Want to be dubbed crazy as mad hatter.
Stay safely home if nudity’s your wont.
Chicago's been dubbed the windy town,
but Great Falls has that tag nailed down.
If you're facing Montana's fierce wind,
you're moving where you didn't intend.
Prairie grass rolls like ocean waves,
tumbleweed mounds resemble graves.
Aspen leaves' fluttery swirls abound,
scarcely settling their golden mound.
Longhorns stay bunched within a draw,
hoping the wind will soon lose claw.
Snow gusts into drifts high and wide,
pickups and hay-balers shrouded inside.
Who sent this wild, careless wind
the bronco busters cannot unbend?
This, I suppose, could be left unsaid:
Keep those Stetsons jammed on your head!
Written: December 02, 2023
Quote "Without birth and death, and without the perpetual transmutation of all the forms of life, the world would be static, rhythm-less, undancing, mummified." Alan Watts
________________________________________
“we woke up early one morn, ego shorn
it felt as though we were in form reborn
nodes within stirred, boundaries blurred
our head and heart, with love concurred”
I deploy discursive divine depiction as a guide.
A gateway to Genesis, where it takes its side.
Unbridled and untamed, my voice may rise.
I pursued knowledge out of pure surprise.
Low-frequency vibes induce a shift in shape.
Scarcity leads to transmutation, of spare scape.
Alchemists transmute leads to sacred gold.
Metal sheds its genius luster in the kiln hold.
I waltz freely with doom in the gloom.
I inhale oxygen to marvel at life's bloom.
I endure steps yet disappear in the dream.
Structure is unaffected by the skill stream.
Love is my soul—my reason for existence.
Living in lavish love is a lifelong vow of diligence.
A mind, weaved with such insight, was so warm.
I flaunt my firm frame in this fabulous form.
When you are feeling opulent and egotistical.
Those who are dominant were miscible.
Departure might induce an unfillable hole.
Descry a suitable way to purify your soul.
There are ecstatic and tragic days, love and hate.
No matter how tough we strive, this will be our fate.
Note how sporadic and fleeting life is; spot the stride.
Our days of tribulation bruised our noble pride!
Rather than succumbing to hatred and rage.
Turning negative into a rising trend of assuage
Let trust and troth tackle tricks and malicious
Such a restrained demeanor is truly auspicious.
Within, most consensus spans are wide.
It's all whim; scatter love and watch it glide.
Trust your scintilla—trek to the boundless sea.
We may all profit from sowing wisdom trees.
Conquered the most-dubbed landmass on Earth.
And yearning to discover raw levels of worth!
Death, then delirious with deceit, drove his life.
A wicked beast embedded himself in strife!
A susurrus sparkle to the shimmering love.
Enhances adieu strut below the moon above.
Breeze says, "Love on, my dear, and dance."
Across the trees, a gentle man's glance.
It’s Christmas Eve, fire
lovers by the hearth, others
unanimous flee
Camp Pendleton, soldiers, spouse,
kids presently forfeit gifts
a fire warms the heart, the Christmas tree — bonds true lovers in ecstasy
a fire lights up morphed lives — creek fire sends smiles, rosy cheeks into cruel night
12/24/2020
Tanka and two monokus
*A sad fire on Christmas Eve. Camp Pendleton-area evacuates around 7,000 in the early morning hours. The wildfire is dubbed the Creek Fire.
Written: February 19, 2024
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The dam, in which
the tissue residue is present
has a saline ecosystem
despite the dryness
It is still preferable
to a carnival of wood and
burnt bryony bushes.
You could smell it.
from light-years afar
a tourniquet grasp of
saffron soil in a swooshing
flame is inscribed on the
plains armrest.
The grassland dips in
revealing slabs of an ancient utopia
the focal halftone of a
floating forehead features
a house of clovers motif
my torn lobes throb
beating as a breathing bruise,
hiding behind the partial eclipse
the integral aspects of
crimson maple.
I started overlapping
the threshold
to be buried as an
enigma in the depths of her soul
in the funnel, mists of ash, and shaking
sprinting into the intricacies of a
heavenly sanctuary
dubbed heart.
Written: December 12, 2023, For Shadow Hamilton Contest
_______________________________________
People can only thrive on this wealth scale
With undying faith, we admire our flag
Sullen calm and dearth of prowess prevail.
Just few people groove stanch affluence gale
whilst most all strive tough with null in the bag
People can only thrive on this wealth scale.
We are rivaled with a stern choice trial
A person's rank is viewed by his wealth tag
Sullen calm and dearth of prowess prevail.
Trading rule exceeds all neat deals for sale
Where smash checkers are, indeed, rulers slag
People can only thrive on this wealth scale.
There is a fictive guise dubbed classless tale
Though, our right of recourse has little brag
Sullen calm and dearth of prowess prevail.
With their bogus pledge to clear off our lag
A plush caste is riding blindly as swag
People can only thrive on this wealth scale
Sullen calm and dearth of prowess prevail.
Before you read this poem, I would like to invite you in reading about the great American sniper hero. I am also dedicating this to the fallen sniper because he is a true Patriotic Hero. Thank you.
Chris Kyle was and still is loved by many, this to be true I say
I always believe him to be, a great sniper to this undying day.
Why must things happen to people, that are always so kind
Life would be better keeping some, alive alongside mankind.
Why don’t I tell you a story, about this very kind honest fellow
He was and is an U.S. Navy Seal, but along that chill and mellow.
The most lethal sniper known of, in American military history
With a very high percentage confirmed kills, quite the victory.
At the young age of eight, his father taught him how to shoot
A great father teaching a son, instead of giving him the boot.
A bronco rider for the rodeo, sadly gave it up for a serious injury
It was to his arm although he still lived, with very great dignity.
Being a great sniper had an effect, putting souls to their bed
Eventually somewhat famous, an increasing bounty upon his head.
Undoubtedly dubbed the “Devil of Ramadi”, by non-other than Iraqi
An increasing bounty shot twice, but his body and will still intact.
After a while serving his country, he retired heading home graciously
Taking back some long spent time, spending it with his family.
Chris Kyle a loved husband, a friend to many and a beloved son
His homeland now saddened, for America has lost a patriotic one.
A great warrior indeed, in my opinion our greatest honorable hero
He put his life on the line, instead of becoming the common zero.
The greatest treasure of all, came from within himself to prove
That all humans aren’t wrongful, but that we all can improve.
=Dawn Raids
A sudden crash awakens the night
The stomping of thundering boots only to serve to heighten fears
Little spot lights are darting across the room
Half naked man bewildered and angry
His castle has been violated by a wall of blue invaders
His is pinned to his bed with a truncheon at his throat
The hysterical women is pleading for mercy
Unaware of their crimes
A singular figure upright and self-righteous
In a authoritative voice demands for their passport
“Are you married to this woman?”
“Are you a permanent resident?”
These are the questions being asked by other invaders
If this sounds eerily familiar, you would be wrong
New Zealand in the 60s, one of her proudest moments
Once dubbed the land of milk and honey of the pacific
Inviting her brown cousin to part-take in her fortune
Then she ridiculed and scorned her guest
Labelled over-stayers by her gracious guest
With the blessing of the populace white
My fellow countrymen do not wish to be reminded of such events
In this land of milk and honey covered in sheep dip
It is good to remember in case we forget and repeat.
Lest we Forget=
The trains of old, were dubbed the “iron horse”;
newer trains were known as, “bullets”, of course.
Flying past with the speed of light;
they cross the world, both day and night.
Once coal and steam propelled these beasts;
today the beasts are fast, but weak.
Of tin and vinyl, these are made;
of fiberglass and plastic panes.
With electricity, they are now, propelled;
nevertheless, they do not run as well.
No personality, have these new trains;
they’re not pretty; just quite plain.
If only man could see the facts;
He’d not hesitate, to bring, the old trains back.