Best Enquiring Poems
On the wall of a house I might be
Owned by *Brangelina Jolie.
There’s no real reason why.
I’m just one nosy fly.
Not to mention, Brad nude I might see!
House to house in each fine neighborhood
I’ll spy like a super fly should.
An “enquiring” mind,
Lots of scandal I’ll find.
As I fly over all Hollywood.
When I tire of the “stars,” I’ll fly to
Any place juicy plots might ensue.
Just beware. Flies like me
Are as sly as can be.
Right now I am looking at you!
*Brangelina refers to the coupleship of Brad & Angelina
I'm assuming they are still together?
For the Contest by Michael J. Falotico:
"A Fly on the Wall"
The scent of lavender and Rosemary
In the hedgerows as I walk
The fox disappearing so quickly
Into the hollow caves of chalk.
Within the old oak acre
The trees reach up to meet the sky
A humming bird providing magic for
A little boys enquiring eye .
Then I see her wild raven hair
and those gleaming emerald eyes
She beckons me with her finger
To disobey would be unwise .
Though she may be elderly
I know she'll bring me luck
So I carry her crockery
To wash in the friars brook
Then I fetch her water
and I do not spill a drop
I turn to leave as I was taught to
She insists I stop .
She takes my hand in her hand
In silence she reads my palm
I don't know how but I understand
This lady means me no harm .
Then she made a big mistake
Her story did not make sense
What does a child know of heartbreak
Or its dreadful consequence .
I was to remain faithful to my conviction
and true love would find me
I must not be swayed by contradiction
The colour of lavender held my destiny .
At home my grandma told me
Gypsies were fantastic at reading sign
That dear old lady Rosie
Had just predicted mine .
I have had so many heartaches
As into a man I grew
but forever love make no mistake
I still believe in you.
THE PSYCHEDELIC STEW
We loved to drive out through the hills
Where landscapes are so green,
And always sought the smell of hay
That seemed so fresh and clean.
We'd rent a cosy cottage there
Around that time each year,
The days and nights were magical
And life was full of cheer.
That night we planned a simple tea
A good old country stew,
With fresh grown mushrooms we had picked
As 'round the place they grew.
Those mushrooms seemed much larger then
The ones we'd norm'lly find,
But in they went with all the rest,
We really did not mind.
Our stew was just the best we'd had
On that we did agree,
Then sitting back and quite content
Enjoyed a cup of tea.
When suddenly, in front of us,
Our kitchen came to life
With antics never seen before;
Sure terrified my wife.
She sat and watched with fear filled eyes
For both her knife and fork,
Were standing up and quite erect
And both of them could walk.
The kitchen curtains did a jig
And plates flew 'round the room,
Our mop then left its corner spot
To line dance with the broom.
Old teapot sang and clapped its hands,
The tea cups joined in too.
My mind it boggled at the sight
and wondered what to do.
I grabbed the phone and dialled for help
That soon was on its way;
Though not before the pots and pans
Had all began to play.
Poor doctor tried to calm us down
Enquiring of our plight.
We mentioned what had taken place,
The horrors of that night.
He summed up what had taken place,
The answer he now knew,
We'd eaten mushrooms which produced,
A psychedelic stew.
Blowing up things, unfortunately,
Birth’s the printing of endless money.
By Gov’ments and world money makers,
That overwhelm global undertakers.
Yet we cry out that war is unsound,
That it spreads grief and guts all around.
Yet money printed that’s spent on death,
Shamefully gives our markets bad breath.
Which helps to inflate our portfolios,
And house prices rise when their money flows.
Which is a bummer when we are buying,
But when selling our spirits are flying.
That’s the nature of evil Ponzi schemes;
They’re a huge faux dough making machine.
But when interest rates start going higher,
The globalist fear’s become direr.
Yet they’ve pre-planned for any crisis;
Funding Hamas, Hezbollah, and Isis.
So all sides may have weapons for gore,
Creating more dollars; yes, much more!
But faux dough made on printing devices,
Is the main reason for all high prices.
So they help blow up half of creation,
To help lessen that sticky inflation.
But most aren’t aware of the real players,
Who divide and distract behind layers,
With ‘news’ and psyops that raise our ire,
Fooling us to put out the small fires
Oh fie, a poem about money and war,
What is the point of writing this for?
It’s for those with an enquiring soul,
Who care to see that our sons remain whole.
It’s all of three feet long, in order it is not,
And then there’s all the other stuff she’s probably forgot,
The first thing on the list, it simply just says, ‘beans’,
Is that broad beans, baked beans, whatever does she mean?
Next is the marmalade, there’s a hundred in the store,
And if I get it wrong she’ll say, ‘it’s the one I had before!!’
There goes another ping, it’s the fifth message to date,
‘Don’t forget the milk’ it reads, ‘if you can accommodate?’
Next it is the bread - brown and white and crust,
With a helpful little note saying, ‘the thickness I’m not fussed!’
But the note that takes the biscuit states, ‘get something for tea!’
Now is that for the both of us or possibly just me?
Course the final item on the list takes me back to the first aisle,
It’s another lengthy trip, so far I’ve clocked a mile.
I reach the checkout desk and there goes another ping,
It says ‘tomato sauce, oxo cubes and a pack of chicken wings.’
The checkout girl senses, my frustration and dismay,
By honestly enquiring, if I’m having a good day,
But I look at all the stuff she is bleeping at the till
And wonder how, with three bags, I’ll ever fit it in!
At home comes the inquest of each item I have bought,
And all items not listed, I’m well and truly caught!
The marmalade is wrong, the butter isn’t light,
But think I’ve done quite well as it’s fifty percent right!
In the morning while his faith is weak
one when the moon has gone, he declares
upon the rising of the perpetual sun
in the safety of the light
at this time, he still loves the best
this place, of birdsong surely blest.
His need to wander the balmy moor
turn his life around, and unwind
if only to feel life’s reflection
of an era, a youth and life of faith
in happiness, sadness or pain
which whatever plagues him this day.
Everyday, he caresses the rugged cross
that still hangs around his neck,
one that consoled him along many a fiery road
deep in mud and bodies along the trench,
where once, he had fought
the good fight for lasting peace.
Yet still! So many questions
locked within an enquiring mind,
that refuse to languish on meaningful lips
while here now so much strife
so much hate, so much fear,
so, the dream has no reason to end.
One tries so hard to lose it in maturity,
but age has now saturated
and every night, the search goes on
within this onward human metamorphosis,
where before many have ridden life’s carousel,
waiting for the ultimate time to step off.
Yet when that time befalls him
either in sheer exuberance,
or shadows deep, he’ll need all his
strength and endurance, to guide
him over ill at ease, prejudiced waters,
to the promise land!
© Harry J Horsman 2022
Beauty
beauty, beauty, I don’t recognize 100%
I don’t see fair, I’m confident…
Like a manual German machine, I’m Neutral
Like a four-year old boy, I’m enquiring
But, through You beauty is distinct
Beauty is when I look at you and understand smile
It is not open-air where beauty lodges
But within, where smile arises
You’re a guide to beauty
You’re a habitat to beauty
Beauty trusts upon you
For You are beauty’s true definition
Beauty is when you take away your glasses but still shine
Beauty is when beauty can’t go round you
Beauty is when beauty can’t go overhead you
Beauty is when beauty can’t go without you
Beauty is when beauty can’t go beneath you
Beauty is when beauty goes through you
Beauty is when beauty can’t live without you
…You are beauty
If a fly on the wall I could be,
some celebrities I'd want to see -
like the ones that got missed
from Sean Diddy's guest list.
I'd get buzzed on a fact-finding spree.
Bugging homes in each fine neighborhood,
I would spy like a covert fly should.
My enquiring mind
would some cover-ups find
as I flew around all Hollywood.
Bored with wicked rich stars, I'd fly to
where the schemes of elitists I'd view.
Just beware. Flies like me
are as sly as can be,
and right now I am looking at you!
Narwhal of antartic deep, trusty
heart my soul to reap, ferry last
my wet cold skin, cross the river
Styx of sin
And if you ask of me now gone,
enquiring where my light has shone,
speak them with salt-sea’s romance,
“He’s gone to prance the Narwhal’s
dance”
Moronika ...
there are whispers a-floating
People say you got a low wattage bulb,
your thoughts be dimly glowing
The ideas you think of
covers a lot of six-year-old territory
Temper tantrums are your cake-and-ice cream first love,
pineapple upside down behavior cherries
Moronika ...
rumors are spreading, spreading around
Tabloid talk of the town,
enquiring minds hear tell you’re a moron
Insult that stings like angry bees,
got you buzzing madder than a wounded Klingon
Bruised pride hurts a lot indeed,
no loyalty serpentine bites from seditious peons
Moronika ...
intelligence suggest three cans missing in your six-pack
Empty top-shelf drawers,
half-pint wit in a ten-gallon size zeppelin wide hat
Living in a mansion of fun house mirrors,
reflections of yourself are so distorted
The blank television picture is getting clearer —
uptight smarty pants fitting over a loose petticoat Id
Moronika ...
got dense popcorn thoughts
that never puffed
Moronika ...
the whispers are a-floating:
the twin air quote balloons you bought
were helium dumb and dumber
Descending,
I manipulate and manoeuvre for the updraft
Spluttering,
I spiral down, then briefly up again, to glimpse a glowing sky
Flapping,
I fall forever faster, flat-eagled
Plunging,
I watch the unwelcome gloom envelope my horizon
Tumbling,
I twist, turn and turbulate, ... then the thudding thump
Gasping,
I groan and exhale, a noiseless moan
Curling,
I recoil as innards become outward form
Emerging,
a base inside-out creature crawls and creeps
Tasting,
the tongue-tied intestines and the unseeing socket eyes
Groping,
a gruesome grub befriends the worm and slurps the slug-slime
Engorging,
as flaunted members flail blood and flick licky, sticky fluid
Reforming,
dim visions populate carnal shapes with awful movement
Gaping,
a fearful half-formed and startled face averts its gaze
Residing,
in deep gutter niches... these are my companion dwellers
Wallowing,
I sniff a redolent upswell of dank fissured earth
Disturbing,
I scrape, cleave and wipe away a smear of covering soil
Trembling,
I sense a warmth of body, a stretching of exotic wings
Enquiring,
I mutter clumsy overtures and crude enticements
Retreating,
I hear unmistaken rebuke and a sigh of disappointment
Imploring,
I elevate my utterances and seek a further hearing
Caressing,
I feel a welcoming and forgiving response
Pulsing,
the creature's cocoon gives way to nebulous female form
Ascending,
at first a cherub woman smiles playfully down on me
Transforming,
a stimulating and sensuous siren cavorts and teases
Uplifting,
wings gather me in for a swooping flight of fancy
Revealing,
from above, her intimate view of dwellers in the hinterland
Coaxing,
she fills me now with empathy and understanding
Alighting,
my body-mind lies prone beneath her
Tingling,
I feel her form and thoughts slowly enter and encompass me
Exploring,
I arouse and we gently probe between lips and sphincter
Delving,
I follow our rhythm of kiss, taste, touch and thrust
Wandering,
I experience our ambiguous male and female desire
Playing,
I laugh at how we tickle our innocence and sophistication
Loving,
I know for delirious moments what it is to be another
Consumed,
lost in coexistence with a like- but more extraordinary- mind
PASSIONS
On the deck of his life’s boat
In a state of confusion
Was he sitting
Gazing at the horizon of
The unknown
Dark clouds of doubt were hovering
In his puzzling mind
His thoughts in disarray were venturing into a labyrinth
Of faint speculations
The dilemma was his, knowing not where to go
The roads of virtue and that of vice before him
They stood:
Equally appealing
Equally accessible
Equally demanding!
He tried to pierce the veil of life’s mystery
With his wondrous, enquiring eyes but
Every effort is a sound failure:
The riddle persists
The obscurity endures
The enigma remains.
Impatience enters now his troubled psyche and
Horrid panic becomes his constant companion.
Suddenly, his choleric aimless, and violent passions
Snatched the rudder of his life’s boat in their needy:
For control
Hungry for rule and
Thirsty for power
Arrogant, reckless hands and
In their eagerness to rule over his
Disorientated mind, enslaved
Reason: The illuminated helmsman
Hand-cuffed love: The tender-hearted captain and
Tortured understanding: The knowledgeable pilot and
Threw overboard benign compassion and
Holly mercy.
Shortly after, the humane crew of lofty virtues,
Subjugated to the newly established tyranny was:
Ruthlessly deprived of its power
Violently derailed from its course and
Brutally twisted in its meaning,
To fit passions’ newly adapted schemes,
Of infamy
Of turmoil
Of inconsideration and
Of shameful vice.
Then, as the sails of vanity and blind temptations
Opened wide and
The craven wind of uncontrollable urges rushed to
Swell them with corrupt impetuous desires,
His shaky boat unguided drifted to the open rough sea
Of self-destructive indulgence,
Through the hurricane of obscure ignorance,
Towards the perilous sterile rocks of despicable lust
Where it crashed and sank into the abyss of filthy appetites,
In the graveyard of lawless souls at which
Murky desperation eternally reigns!
Ah, if only he had chosen the path of virtue!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
18 January 2013
Charity begins at home
A proverb often heard
Helping out our family and friends
Though surely not where charity ends
Belonging as I do to Parkinson’s UK
'tis a degenerative disease ~ will ne’er go away
We sing each week in our Parkinson’s choir
raising funds ~ giving hope
as we pray for a long awaited cure
A world without Parkinson’s what more can I say
Well may be ~ hip hip hooray!
As Parkinson’s Awareness Week now nears
Should be happy ~ but are very close to tears
When enquiring at our local Mall
where we can place our stall
to encourage kindly folk who pass
with donations to P from one and all
So imagine our shock and dismay
to hear that we now have to pay
Though previously free for Parkinson’s charity
Now six hundred and fifty pounds for the week
plus the dreaded VAT…
Just a stall in a corner of our local shopping Mall
We speak to kindly folk as they pass by
Encouraging donations
that may help to find a cure one day
Though sadly no donations here for Parkinson’s UK
Charity begins at home ~ but here you have to pay…
Written by Ann Gilmour 6 April 2022
Copyright © Ann Gilmour | Year Posted 2022
Contest A BRIAN STRAND STANDARD
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
I heard their call in the far land
But I will not respond
Their deeds I will not look at before rising
Their accusations and murmurs however whack me in the face
And my tears become unstoppable
Is it my fault that I know not my father?
A first son born into a royal home
But today I walk among our people as an outcast
I am a stranger
With no father’s blessing or a mother’s love
Is it my fault I come by night?
To the home of my father
I come by night because I am ashamed
Ashamed because I am disowned
Disowned because I am despised
Despised because I am abused
It is not my fault I know not my mother’s prime mate
When I walk among our people I am teased
Teased because I have no father’s blessing
They toot all day, enquiring
‘’But where is his father?’’
Answers always arrive at my door post
‘’My father is dead and left me with no blessings’’
But I know he lives somewhere in the next village
Papa, come and shower your blessings on me
As a child is born and loved
Papa, come and kiss me
As a child is accepted by his own people
For in your absence
I was humiliated, lacerated and castigated by your own people
How many sleepless night I have encountered
When they say there goes the outcast
But papa, come and shower your blessings on me
As a child is born and loved
Papa, come and kiss me
As a child is accepted by his own people
For I am your child and a son of this village
When the ceremony has come
For the sons to recount their father’s achievement
And pride themselves with their father’s glories
Tears filled my eyes
For my face drenched in pool of tears
And my mind enquire
‘’Where is your father’s glory’’
And how should I know
I am an out cast
Hated and despised by his own people
Like a stranger
Like an uninvited guest
Papa, come and wipe the tears on my face
For your arm is all I crave for.
Nii- Ayi Solomon
Poem 9/11
Believe me,
Just watching my TV
News Flash!! Skyjack!
New York City Centre,Jet Crash.
Check that.
News Call,Broadcast stall.
Drop the headlines!!
This is the new line
Look up on the Skyline
Flash,Bash,Crash
Right on the building top.
Biff Baff Heart attack,
On another line
Pentagon now a X a gone
Another plane drop.
Whats that?whats that?
Beam in on the spot.
Another streak across the sky
Sliiced another tower
Question asked.
Why,Why,Why?
Whats going on?Whats going on?
Another crash,big explosion
Switch broadcast over to Washington
Whats your impression? Whats your emotion.
Bystanders,commentators,confusion
"Whats your reaction"?
Can't believe my eyes J
Just as it began,I realize
This is an atrocity
Right here,in the heart of the city.
Terrorist attack.Terrorist Attack
Then the burning Walls a falling
Like crashing dominoes
Right to the ground.
Limbless,Lifeless,a giant fallen.
Armagadeon has arrived,without warning
CIA, FBI,Home Security Then the Guv
Connecting,Enquiring
Blaming intelligence,asking why.
Collate and evaluate
Then the appropriate reply.
Calling the president for a comment.
"What do you think of unfolding events"?
"WE will find the perpetrators one by one
Whether he is hiding in Iraq,Iran, or Pakistan.
We will call up the troops,assembly the galleon,
Then bomb them ,blast them Clean up their land,
Bring in new administrations,
Thats the plan
Fireman, Policemen,all on the scene
"This is total disaster,the worst we ever seen.
Engines,sirens,surgeons and volunteers
Combining efforts in a stream.
Such a nightmare, awful dream
But in the present, the on going theme.