Best Eagle Eyed Poems
birds of a quill, or a feather
flock together at odd times
from all four corners
of thinking creative
to jostle with keyboards,
pens and sharp pencils
fingers fidget, tap-tapping
frantic scribbling down
in notebook's lined pages
screens and keyboards
prepare for posting
all that flutters in skulls
staring blank-eyed into spaces
behind temples hot throbbing
turns tensile to tactile
steely minds become strings
unhinged yet synaptic
as typists happily fly
out of the window
out doing much undoing
with words, concrete stacks
of thoughts buried in letters
homing in on ideas is noted
by fraught-filled grey matters
e-motions will ruffle, jostle, shuffle
trying to find their feet
on narrow high perches
no one cooped up again
in confounded wired places
safety in numbers protects
from eagle-eyed predation
teeming teams have no trepidation
preening each other
pecking order in order
while who's who is related
faithful fair friends love being updated
lovebirds are word-cooing
with beak-kissing nibbles
some of us like darkness
it brings poets together
winter hibernation in torpor
taking wing in springing up ether
fancy that take off?
it's what we are made of....
all that really matters
when feathers start flying
is the daylight between them
caused not by division
but the tight act of trying
to avoid mid-air collision!
13/10/2018
Poets need poets....enough "space" for all of us!
I can’t rid of the bags under my eyes
The crowfeet despise, all were lies,
Conjured was an illusion of you
Throughout my groping confusion
evasive, flimsy
A-m-o-r-p-h-i-c, innuendos
I was subjected to your derision
dissing me relentlessly
deriding my appearance,
disparaging my intellect
as I stumbled and fell into the abyss
Mocking doesn’t suit my countenance
My lips desert dry, thirsty, parched
An amazon no longer beats its drum
My buoyant nature now laden with coarsened shroud
Leaving a cardboard moon deprived of its shine
Stars like candles blown out one by one
No use waiting for the rising Sun
The end of world does come,
stopped spinning neath heavy ebon clouds
Expectations unreal
All zeal gone, listless is my spirit
along with my illumination
Now you see me
unmasked in raw anguish
I d
r
o
o
p
jowls hang from endless
torment endured
like the drenched and cold, wounded hawk
taken flight, eagle-eyed, a warrioress
more determined and bold, traveling on
with unlimited range
and self-esteemed
This bird,
you
c
a
n
n
o
t c h a n g e
Cold howling winds have finally died
And a spring sun’s decided to abide
There’s no sweeter place than countryside
What a wonderful time to send the kids outside
Reclaiming a chunk of ‘me’ time I decide
To tackle that novel and sit by the fireside
Hang stress out like an old faded apron to hide
It’s the perfect moment to feel thoroughly satisfied
Plenty of time later to be busy and preoccupied
Children intoxicated with spring are wide-eyed
Exude joy and freedom in their stride
Silly with excitement, wild and cock-eyed
Running free up and down the hillside
I see no reason for chide
As I watch them eagle-eyed
Smiling with so much love and pride
Thinking of days gone by as a guide
When I'll call them back inside
The kids will be exhausted, bonafide
With rosy cheeks into bed they’ll glide
Won’t take long choosing a side
For tonight’s treasured stories at bedside
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
Submitted on March 10, 2018 for contest SPRING FLING ZING KING (OR QUEEN) sponsored by MICHAEL VASEK - HONORABLE MENTION
The lavender clouds, lowered, like a fluffy blanket
on top the eaglets’ ledge.
Its loblolly pine lingers on the palate of the tongue
like a luscious lollipop.
The nestling-siblings, downy light, slightly on edge -
eagle-eyed leader seeks kill.
A bald rivalry rides the snowy sledge, unshielded
by the adults; harmony sleeps.
The earthlings’ Hallelujah - wings climb,
soar, a lavish flight - celebratory sigh.
Sunlight’s vantage slights - the flourishing cradle
unsettled by uprising; loss.
The lovelorn will land its own fledglings, feeling
only for the solo Caesar,
hailing through the rainbow slide - the Salome quilt,
nevertheless God’s will
on earth, necessary suffering for a season -
a sour lollipop; sloppy life.
We glory at the eagle’s flight, flourishing wingspan,
falling towards us.
Stalwart, its talons’ prey; we pray unfailing strength
and fly towards heaven.
6/28/2020
STRAND COMPLETELY NEW(2) any theme any form Poetry Contest
*Long lines are divided into two lines
It was like a fallen phoenix
Fired with rust and memories,
The body was open to the rooks,
Its ribbed, bare chassis, opened arms,
Unsure whether to defend or
Or make love to the falling sky
The radiator, home to busy insects,
Tiny carnivores, stood in sentinel,
A figurehead before the rotten mast;
For where had once been pedals
Now gaped rusty sink holes,
Observers to the oily brew below
Sans wheels to show; wheels once
Rolled, on busy metalled roads,
Where policemen, eagle-eyed
Checked for wily gangsters, riding
On the leather seats inside: now
Rat food gone to ratty- hell, amid
The scrub and surrounds, tilted
Viking coffin, waiting for heat and
Cleansing, cracking-fire, opening
Doors to buckled, automotive rest
I guess we can struggle when we sit down to write
But use your own words - to plagiarise isn’t right
When I read a poem that’s simply too good to be true
I then begin to question, was it even written by ‘you’
If I google a few lines it will give me the answer
You’ve been caught red handed – you were a chancer
I just want to read poems that I’ve never read before
If I find stolen work I won’t read ‘yours’ any more
Why claim words from another writer, as it is a crime
You’ll never find stolen words in any poem of mine
Part 1 posted on soup 7th February 2015
Part 2 ...
To obtain contest glory and gong
You stole another's words, it's so wrong
Plagiarism is vile
You've done it quite a while
I’m hoping this is your swan song
Hollander died aged eighty three
So tell me how could it be
His work’s here on soup
‘you’ wrote it – that’s poop
Soup booted this fraud speedily!
Sadly the culprit has once again been posting stolen work soup even entering it for contests, thanks to eagle eyed souper's he has been removed once more.
30th December 2019
patented genuine leather gloves
captivating our boyhood heroes
those same gloves flailing about
towards fly's we were supposed to catch
a glowing white ball with red thread
that begged to be rocketed into orbit
we dreamed of such heroics
pleaded to the God's for the power
most times we flailed there too
it was a tiny aspirin
that evaded mammoth sticks
eagle-eyed trembling lads tried and tried
at least three consecutive times
before retreating with lowered heads
and yet we swore we'd return
with vengeance upon our hearts
there were parents, encouraging
some hopelessly, others with zest
each and every ball pitched
held a lifetime of recollection to come
hopes that immortality would strike
inhale, swing....exhale, next
one by one we took our turn
learning life, the struggles, the joys
suckling each moment with precious breath
tomorrow didn't matter, this was the day
contact, wood upon a now scuffed ball
foulball the ump screamed!
a delightful sound
for it meant success
no matter how miniscule
clapping, smiles broad as the horizon
shoulder slaps, that a boy!
proud parents boasted
picnics were planned
even the diamond itself sparkled
it lived for moments such as these
ah the stories held within those fences
Part 2
thirty five years have gone by
our "field of dreams" now a grave site
ironic that coach Lou resides at homeplate
his stone reads "We lent him boys,
He returned young men"
a great tribute to his dedication
and love for the game
the grave yard littered with former players
however the mound lies bare
no hill, nor stone
only my own precious memories
one day, I shall play again.............
They weave, they weave
They weep and they weave
Smarting under the persecuting whips -
Verbal, literal or carnal whips
They weep, they weep.
Locust-like they swarm the streets
To reach the factories before the sun settles well
In its diurnal rounds.
There are no circumstances unavoidable
Reach they must the gates at the hour final….
Sartorial gladiators they are
Salary they draw but in the
Etymological sense- they are well off
Enough to buy salt.
Eagle-eyed lustful look
Do the ups and downs of their physique hook -
Surveying the geography of their constitution
And the lecherous bosses or carnally starving colleagues
Devotedly concentrate on each continent
And ready to pay compliment
Only if they are crowned with the sovereignty to discuss
Issues that make the gynecologists blush!
Penelopes of the modern times,
Your hands transform loan-sharks
Into pot-bellied, globe-trotting tycoons.
These textile Sheikhs
When their family or female(s) sneeze
Millions and millions they unsqueeze
As if they are sylvestral leaves
Falling beauteously in the vernal breeze!
But alas! These helicoptered and villaed
Villains, as if through the alchemy of a vile wand
Into penniless paupers transformed
When the Midas-hands entreat them
To get exchange for their tears and sweat.
All big talks, fountains of philanthropy run dry -
And they weave and cry
They weave and cry!
Cry no more, Penelope, weave no more,
Never will your Odysseus come
Cease weaving, cease embroidering.
Yet the dream-laden Penelopes
Weep and weave,
They weep and they weave!
They weep and they weave!!
"Kiss the Leopards"
Kiss the leopards
before dying
confiscate their spots
for memories
ever changing
to place as stars
stamped across a sky
of evergreen
where hidden lions smile
writing out their scores
on blank canvas
clean sheets for clouds
waving sober dreams
turning pages dog-eared
notes marked in pens unclear
the eagle eyed watching
sunflowers pressed in between
where azure bluebirds
fly invisible, messages unseen
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Isn’t it a Pity” / Nina Simone
https://youtu.be/DitOFrGBEQA
“Isn’t it a Pity”/ George Harrison
https://youtu.be/nFxYsWCT6_k
Our lamb has finally flashed his mane.
Crashing through the Bush.
Into the Armageddon plane.
Tail twitching, slashing fangs.
He's going to liberate a people shrouded in our blood.
Clean up those weapons of mass destruction.
Make an oasis out of glass, an oasis theology.
That open palm has turned into a fist...on a dime...on a dollar.
Over the top of a barrel of sweet crude oil.
To prove you're not a ***** like those tea partiers think you are.
You're the lion president, feeding our enemies.
While our children go hungry.
It's been a long, hot summer.
Did you know our schools don't have air conditioning?
But I'm getting off topic....
Fruitless war
your biggest blunder...to date
leaky intelligence
trigger finger
eagle-eyed bombs
charring children
lamb to lion
on a dime
on a dollar.
Over the soul of a barrel of bittersweet crude...
Now I'm probably censored for speaking against your wishes.
I could give a $hit.
Let the truth clear your opaque transparencies...
The pinkies are laughing hysterically.
Tea party, anybody?
(Dedicated to Penny Wilcox)
Nice people, rear to come by without ulterior motive
Good fellows tend to strain from doing what they do
Because of unpleasant surprises they sometimes get
Bad girls are everywhere pretending to be angels
Animals in human physique living “animalistic”
But you are different, of exceptional attitude
I believe that your virtues are divine
You are a fabulous creature that really exist
Radiant, full of happiness and love
You are sweeter than honey pie
Eagle –eyed with supersonic focus
My first love that saw the need to smile in me
And always encourage me to do smile
You are not too old to be my sister
Neither are you too young to be my mother
I am whatever you want in me
Very perfect to be my friend
The first to know by revelation that I’m blessed
I know I am a blessed man because I have you as my friend
© 2010
Exfoliated Eddie is an eagle eyed spy
He likes hot Hoxton coffee with his cold Shepherd’s Pie
Crazy for a Sheffield lass, a Steel City shrew
Her conversation’s retro but her attitude is new.
Flopping like a flapper in a 20s Bluebell hat
Comes Information Irene with her ever ready chat
With Rock steady Rory making stories out of facts
Their veracity is skinny but they’re generous like that.
Annihilation Annie’s sitting waiting for a fool
She never wants to play the game but loves to break the rules
At the table by the window now she’s looking out the door
Left her right glove on the bus and dropped the other on the floor
Say goodnight to the sailors, say good heavens to the sea
The light on the horizon must remain a mystery
Nancy joined the Navy but she never had a chance
Argued with the Admiral, got lagging at the dance
She’s dreaming of the oceans from the comfort of the land
And she’ll empty out your pockets if you offer her your hand
The sailors are all sleeping now, in softly rocking beds,
No mattress for their bodies and no pillow for their heads
Say goodnight to the sailors, say good gracious to the sea
The light on the horizon must remain a mystery
Son, you haven't really experienced life,
(And it will surely make you pine for a wife!),
Until you are thrust into noisy open-bay coops,
With fifty other snorting and snoring troops!
The sergeants demand that things be just right.
Bunks must be made with blankets smooth and tight!
Clothes must be hung straight and boots shined to a glow,
And all your shoes lined under your bunk in a row!
As the bugle at early dawn is blown,
Fifty guys rush to the latrine as if chased by a cyclone,
All vying at once for a place at the sink,
Because the line gets long as quick as a wink!
You're invited to a GI party on Friday nights without miss,
But this is no occasion for a cool beer and socializing, this!
On hands and knees with a GI brush in hand,
You'll be scrubbing and waxing until the floor is grand!
Saturday you'll stand by your bunk for a white-glove inspection,
The eagle-eyed captain checking everything demanding perfection!
If dust he discovers you'll receive reams and reams of demerits!
Forget the weekend pass - you'll be on KP peeling taters and carrots!
The Touch Of The Artist
The curtains were drawn aside
I gasped with dropping jaw
Spellbound at the magnificence
Of the shimmery gigantic golden eagle
Overpowering the stage
With massive open wings
To fly above the clouds
The auditorium bedazzled
With its looming presence
Its black eyes and hooked nose
Tilted frequently side to side
Preying for parents
In the audience seated
A pyramid of tiny golden eaglets
Hailed a welcome song
On their school's annual show
Having eyed their meat
With a single swoop
They drive their emotions to a teary edge
Ripping their genetic hearts with pride
My heart commended
The visionaries laboriously working
Behind the scenes in an endeavour
To create a raison de etre
For parents to feel proud of
The tenacity of their children
Which phoenix like
Is reborn with
The touch of the artist
October 3, 2015
Contest: The Golden Eagle
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
* An ode to teachers for carving out the personalities of children who like an eagle learn to fly above the clouds while the rest of the birds seek shelter in the rain. They train them to be eagle eyed, to be focussed, to rip through obstacles with tenacity, to turn their dreams into reality and create a raison de etre for themselves
Eagle, what do you see from the top of the tree?
How wonderful to be able to fly, fly free.
Do you see every mouse as it scampers past?
Can you still catch it when it’s running very fast?
Do you have hungry babies in the nest to feed?
Do you only kill what you actually need?
Do you know every bird fears you in the sky?
For they know you see all with your eagle eye.
With your beak and talons do you know your power?
When for prey you are searching and all countryside scour?
Yet, when you soar wings outstretched, opened wide
Are you aware that you have a beautiful side?
Do you really care if you are loved or hated?
Do you think that your status is over-rated?
Amazingly it is me that scares you to fly,
When you spot me with your eagle eye!