Best Empty Headed Poems
I have the rhythm of a winding road
how do I consign myself to being confined...
rows of poplar pillars prop
rendezvous canopies beneath we meet
—I self-cajole on ooh-la-la afternoon
yellow eyes; daffodils watching
lean into gossip groups nodding
a prodding breeze instigating deep-freeze—
I am a sweet weed in this place of sway and betray
with a stranger I stroll my arranged betrothed
height of his black top hat challenges trees
much like Corinthian columns
guards of an aisle I must walk —dear God! must walk
trepidation trips down my bridal spinal column
tiger eyes; lilies watching wish they were me
dare they dream they could uproot their roots like me
wish they could wedding waltz like I must —like I must
but their envy-leaves remain embrace-less
—I secretly envy lilies’ arms empty of yet unmet love
daffodils; empty-headed —laugh
they try to read my mind to fill their own
what do I care of their curdled thoughts lemon tart
and orange lilies’ with their brocade brimstone
what do I fear of fire-breathers burn of words
undergrowth feels the square heels of my lace-up boots
post impression grows more expressive than first—
beware French tongues of sundew and burdock burr
marriage-carriage rolls in ruts to Versailles
where my coerced corset of hooks and ties lie
rhythm of a winding road dies in minuet strangle-hold
empty headed,
just me
and Jesus
drinking jack,
both trying
to forget our name,
both victims of the insane.
Sitting watching,
soil turning to mud.
rotting seeds
and black roots,
we pray.
the rain it never stops.
In silence we drink,
as eternal sorrowful clouds
cries its tears,
upon the wandering souls below.
Don't come here,
looking for shelter from your sins,
or forgiveness for your failures,
our blood runs cold,
just whiskey and water
flowing in our veins,
and when the treacherous sun,
rises upon the dusty morning.
the black crows on the wire laugh.
as man crawls on his belly again today,
and Jesus kicks a beer can down the road.
Dawn again in this gaol
The jailbirds are imprecisely numbering
One hundred and sixty million
Or more of my countrymen.
The jailors are three hundred and sixty humpty down
And 109 dumpty members up.
You will never see vessels that
Could be emptier.
Empty headed riggers; we never elected
The two other estates of the realm
Are but a sham.
Even the fourth just stroll
Through the corridors
Hoping to be beckoned in
To share of the loot.
They call it national cake.
The ignoble governors are known
For stealing huge funds
And they show no shame;
You can't show what you don't have.
And so nothing works anymore.
Yesterday, Yusuf John stole 23 billion naira
Worth of of public fund.
He was taken to court and he confessed.
The the lead-headed judge,
Slapped his wrist with an option
Of seven hundred thousand naira
Worth of fine.
The thief paid instantly from his back pocket
And walked away free.
Never has there been a country like mine
Never will there be any like it.
Shower me not with
Such sweet sour emptiness
From your wagging tongue of lies
For this earth beneath my foot
Could be a sinking land for loot.
Like you did told our fathers
To drop their brains back home
And walk upon your shores empty headed
For you to replace their hollow heads with yours.
Your pot of lies never ceases to boil
Like when they sat around that round table
And you dished to them meals of deceit
While their bulging bellies replaced their heads.
I can see why we the children
Like Almajiris still run to you for grains.
If I shake my head
Like I was paying heed
While you try to beautify
The essence of being a tenant in my own house
And your firework makes a mockery of the fire-fly
We shall soon see which of them outlives the other.
We have always relied on you
Like we have always relied on our legs
To be as swift as that of the fastest antelope
We even murdered our own
On an ideology over blown.
Now you are back
With the storm in your hands
And fire in your mouth
To enshrine or to consume
Of what we have left of our toil
This time we didn’t go to you
But you have decided to come to us
With Larger or is it Lagarde in your hand
Possibly to get us foolishly drunk
For this time we won’t accept a re-lie.
I’ve eaten the chocolates you brought last night
in the box that was prettier then the taste of the candy
oh…
forgive me, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful
but...
I’m not that kind of girl you know
one who is bribed by roses and Whitmans
nor...
am I likely to fall for fluid practiced lines
meant to make a girl swoon and fall in love
for a careless hour of your time
with your hungry, shallow anticipations…
of removing my pearls and chemise
you know…
the one who waits with excited expectations
for your silvery seductions...
just yearning to be seduced
by your lover boy’s touch
or …
for a midnight tryst
that ends before it even begins
oh yes...
I see your majolica, opaque heart
It reveals the opacity of your dull mind
nay,...
you interest me not
my heart rises to the golden boy
the one who laughs with his eyes
and...
he really does see me with his heart
the one who listens- who knows the color of my eyes
he spends $1 on my favorite kind of licorice
not…
$20 for a meaningless box of chocolates or…
roses meant only to impress
he's the one who learns quickly
he really wants to know things about me
those little endearments…
you know...
like what my middle and last names are
he knows and sees what I have to offer
it will be appreciated by a true heart
for I am not an empty headed
young, seductress
waiting...
to sweep you off your feet
with empty lines and ploys
no...
I am not that she
who expects fancy gifts
unloading your checkbook of it's contents
putting out her soul for sale
no...
I'm not some plastic Tinker toy
you put together and then pull apart
so…
I think I’ll just wait until he comes along
If not…
when I’m alone I’m happy
the smell of the dogwood
their fragrance in the breeze
I’m okay with just being me
One funny morning,
the man returned home,
after fishing for a period of time,
and he decided to take a nap,
but he didn't know the direction of the lake!
This act annoyed his wife,
and she decided to take the boat,
out of the gate because he was fool
for a long period of time.
Along came a boy,
black and short,
and said quickly like mad,
good morning mum,
and what are you doing now?
The sweet fat mum,
replied right away,
that i'm reading a book,
you have to leave me alone.
The ten aged guy
informed her with love,
this is a wrong place,
restricted every time for fishing to occur.
This word annoyed her again,
and she replied quickly,
hullo my friend,
i'm not fishing at all,
i'm readind my book as you see.
Yes, but you have all the fishing nets,
for all what i know you can start at once,
and the wise you're,
you can start think about me,
and how my love is so sweet.
Hence, i have to take you in,
and write you there up,
all the sweet day,
until the sun to set.
Oh! the sweet fat mum,
feared alot to bomb her Baghdad,
and told him at once,
have a nice day,
we shall meet in Hell.
Really you're a fool,
all days of your life,
God bless you alot,
to change your heart,
a stupid creature of your age.
All what you think,
are useless in my heart,
and really a heavy load on your head,
that makes you mad,
day and night.
Shame upon you,
the empty headed guy,
who think like a child,
whenever you're.
I can't blame you at all,
you behave like a fly,
that familiarise every thing,
the flesh and the rotten meat.
The sweet fat mum,
ran back home to meet her sweet heart,
to disorganise the lake,
all the funny day.
Finally, the rest of the world
come to know the truth
that familiarity brings contempt.
Oh, today's world is hard!
LOSERS
If there’s something I can’t stand it’s all the losers around -
And man, there’s a ship-load of ‘em out there, having a ball.
Amazing how the world gets by when so many surround
Us as useless passengers. Not really pulling their weight at all.
You see them every day, the deadbeats, the nothings,
Playing the empty-headed drifter roles,
Who really should and could get busy doing something -
If they had more gumption in their souls.
I dunno, they just make me feel so mad and kinda uneasy
Because they seem to have no feel for the real nitty-gritty,
Lurching from one smutty moment to another, maybe more sleazy -
Like autumn butterflies, but not nearly so pretty.
Need their wings clipped, and a serious job of work to do,
Settle down and straighten their lives out, see?
They make me uncomfortable. . . . probably. . . maybe it’s true. . . .
Because they remind me - of me.
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Entered in John Freeman's Contest - Give Me Your Best Shot!!!!!!
envelope rhyme
Humpty Dumpty, brave fall guy
attended the King's Christmas ball.
He never guessed his downfall,
empty headed, brain gone awry.
Humpty Dumpty's sneaky try,
bucking the Queen's serving line,
“Expelled! out back, you shall dine!”
close by yon royal pig sty.
Humpty Dump, give us a clue,
"Why did you behave so rudely?"
Your etiquette, so crudely
like a simple, naïve ingenue.
Humpty Dumpty then stone-walled
devouring a dozen eggs
plus twenty-four chicken legs
Sprawled thither on stone wall, he stalled.
Thus, Humpty Dumpty got bumped,
a bold nudge from one palace horse:
"Noble king cannot endorse
a cannibal, so totally stumped.”
December 17, 2019
Past the furthest reaches of the Mad Hatter's soul
A turtle wins a race on the slowest of a roll
There are dusty emotions compiled in an unorganized stack
Next to a wallflower that is blooming in the pitch black
Thoughts swirl that I do not wish to share
Wordless eyes give meaning to a blank stare
A formulation's absorption is in the process of assimilation
Aspects are broke down on the road that I've taken
I store horrible things that I should have let go
“I told you so” resonates in a tired echo
There are letters unopened from a man twice bitten
That contain beautiful paper with words yet written
A song bird sings a jaded tune dubbed mercy
Glasses of water do not get poured for the thirsty
In a society so full of the empty headed
My words sink in akin to a tick embedded
There is nothing left to do except to pay the toll
When found in the furthest reaches of the Mad Hatter's soul
9/12/16
The shine of emerald green blinds.
Their narrow slats will pinch your eyes.
Be moneywise - this trip’s not kind.
The shine of emerald green blinds.
It’s not for empty-headed minds,
Nor yellow brick tail-biting cries.
The shine of emerald green blinds.
Their narrow slats will pinch your eyes.
5/2/2019
Celebrate May with a Triolet
Sponsored by Andrea Dietrich
Swinging my new bamboo fan,
tall mountains,
steep foggy valleys where the swans gathers,
story of thousand moons,
carried by winds of people wining and dining,
come let's read poetry together,
and draw our dreams with ink on the sky
drop the sword,
a little fan against a steel sword,
send your eagle off to sing about the ten thousand rules of humanity,
double edged sword hidden beneath bamboo,
with just the wave of my fan,
it could pierce through the wind and silence the noise
I never understand what is being taught,
I just want to drink wine from the gourd staring at the sky,
paper flowers thrown over my head as my body glide like a butterfly,
no care for the world,
until the ink splattered on my dreams like blood
Until the wind blows off the light from the candle,
until then, I will climb the tallest mountain,
question the gods,
I will paddle my lonely canoe down the stagnant river,
I hope the swans aren't troubled?
I shake my head 'no' to everything
Just me and my ink stained fan,
watching the moon go down,
I think the coming autumn might be better,
this spring used to carve out dreams,
winters used to bury bodies,
I don't know,
I'm just empty headed
Ink now in my favorite lilies pond,
I'm thinking to drain it and let the rain fall,
or fill it with tears?
Beautiful innocence, purity plain and true is fleeting
Spent the honest face of likeability that wore the thin veneer of naivety
Forgotten the simple control of ratiocination, it has gone.
To be seen and heard, to be adored has become a primary focus, a purpose
“Listen to me, I’ve nothing to say”.
Jargon, so annoying, the argot so cloying
Phrases falling thick and abstruse
Self-respect adds pace to the celerity of idiocy
Suffocating sycophants arrive
Needing to be heard by one and by all
Surrounded by yes and no
Encircled with friends but friendless
At home but alone, minds clouded by the void
Told what to say, and love and do and who
Care less of others opinion, a talent blind and envious
Believing themselves eloquent sophisticats, nothing but empty headed morons
They could fill a room with words and not know their meaning, nor spell them
Not realising how vacuous and unnecessary they’ve become
Their inanity is an insult to the inane
Hate them, despise them. Want to be like them.
THE STARS ARE MUTE TONIGHT
THEY ARE BRIGHT
BUT THEY SPEAK NO WORDS
THEY TELL A STORY OF NO SOUND
EMPTY-HEADED I RAISE MY HEAD UP THE SKIES
TO HEAR THE WORDS FROM THE GODS
BUT I COME NOT WITH A SINGLE WORD
I HAVE NOTHING TO WRITE ABOUT
EVENTHOUGH I HAVE A PEN AND PAPER BEFORE ME
I HAVE NO WORDS TO WRITE
EVENTHOUGH ALL I SEE IN THE SKIES IS A SEA FULL OF BRIGHT STARS
MY MIND IS STUCK IN THE MUD OF PAST THOUGHTS
MY TRUST FOR THE FUTURE FADES OFF
FOR I HAVE NO WORDS TO WRITE ABOUT TOMORROW
SORROW IS WHAT SWIMS AND DRIFTS IN MY HEAD
HURT IS LIKE A RAT IN MY MIND
IT SLOWLY EATS AWAY EVERY PIECE OF ME
BUT I RUN NOT FOR HATE BECAUSE I RATE NOT A FACE
ONLY LOVE WILL HEAL MY BROKEN HEART
FOR IT RUNS THROUGH MY VEINS EVERYDAY TO MY BRAIN
It happens to be that we all perceive
in a grand allegiance never brought into question
as though the clocks have been frozen
giving us all tock subtracted from tick
and Change the poster child has a gun to its head
in the hand of an empty headed juvenile
a caricature with an imagined context
an exfoliated ideology digging its own grave
shouting all the patented paternal virtues
pulling the dirt over its face with a shiny shovel
compulsively polished to a mirror sheen
reflecting no basis in fact whatsoever
no penalty whatsoever for failed interpretation
existence itself an abstraction of the mind
and its endlessly wagging untrue tongue
if anything an inconsistent flightless avian
the suffocating confinement we call tradition
trapped in a charade that cannot be spoken of
by a silent and entirely unanticipated mule kick
applied with a certain malevolent degree of purpose
grinning like it was an intimate family joke
bred enough mistrust to set a house on fire
spending the rest of my life playing with matches
wondering what the state of all states might be
trying not to confuse supposition with detection
with the unseen mystery rope pulled taut
according to chronically uncertain eye witnesses
but role playing is encouraged for this farce
as is a tighter antipathy to deviance
blurring the lines on the road to certainty
with an unregulated quantity of rectitude
being that knowledge is the past long and short
unlike a world where the new is actually new
“A window would really open up
The place”
The builder had said,
“Light up the room,
You know.
Gotta have something to
Bring in the light
Round here”
“Yes, yes,
A window would do fine”
My dearest replied,
So long ago.
And sitting here
At the window
So many years
After she had
Gone away from me,
I am reminded of her.
When the sun peeks its rays
Around the stoic clouds,
And as they make their way,
Through the panes,
Spilling onto the floor behind,
Past my tear-stained face.
As I remember
Her smiling face,
When she sat in the chair beside me
Looking out the window,
On days such as this.
And with empty-headed lament,
I draw the curtain
Across the window,
That was meant to bring light,
And happiness
Into our home,
But now only brings sorrow.