Best Feted Poems
Gold Fever
History will not record the bloated weight
Of this pious and bigoted race
Or count the fat and flaccid wealth
Of religions idolatry
Those pages have been scrubbed clean
By prosperous forgivingness
And the cruelty of established political dominion
Will not tally the bodies of the oppressed
To them, faith and belief are merely a weapon
A system of abusive control
And a means of power continuation
A dictatorial right to rule the population
History will not record the inheritance of opinion
But lay blind at the doors of massacre
The Aztec, The Aborigine, The North American Indian, The African *****,
Pray in silence to The Church
Centuries written in blood and torture
For a message of verbiage and usage
Extracted and leeched from the poor and uneducated
Created the western dream
The long night of the witch hunt is not over
The Inquisition has saved us
With fake blood and wooden crosses
This elite of moral perspective shall save us all
We have paid the price in conscience
Superiority managed by white skinned indifference
Holy mother church has welcomed all
All into its iron embrace of slack jawed wonder
And what more despicable rule can there be
Than to dictate ones own spiritual journey
Spouted by the rote of political expediency
And the promise of heaven
Ingrained now this so called Christian ethic
And so much of the truth left distorted
Forgotten now are the ancient mystical secrets
Which united mankind to understanding
Idol of gold and crucifixion
Of cathedral and stained glass objectification
Gilt and holy water of sumptuous ritual
Of silken pope and luxurious self righteous invention
An aberration of human faith and belief
An unrepentant destroyer of “ Loves ” dream
The curse of The Christ as you continue to translate
The Word
And where the paupers fist crunches the dirt
Where dried and parched lips pray for rain
Where the desperate cry for a reason echoes
Where blood flows in feted anger
Where children scream in fear
Where hunger and despair debase and demean
Where there is no light
And in the dark only pain
If you wish to care for the souls of mankind
Preacher
It is there with them
There
Is where you should be
One tall and gaunt with hooded eyes
The other bearded, bent, time-worn and wise
They relished unfurling their intellectual sails
To seek secrets of wisdom on ancient gales
Two wizened old philosophers in a huddled conspiracy
They picked through the bones of archaic mythology
Pondered the tomes of scholars of yore
Then fleshed out the virtues of masters of lore
They sniffed out the dragons of hateful hypocrisy
Harangued and railed against heinous heresy
Decried the dogmatist's intolerant curse
Then like poets esteemed they trundled through verse
Their furrowed cheeks glowed as the whiskey flowed
Voices gravelled and slurred as their logic blurred
They fumbled and mumbled, weary and weaving
As the dying embers of day, dropped into evening
With their feverish fervour fully feted
They stumbled into the night, agreeably sated!
The word on faerie lips, I’ve heard -
A gleaming, white, pristine, grade A...
Baby tooth. And rarely used.
A solid, shining, well-endowed,
enamel-laden tooth. I’m wowed!
And....
It’s in the next town!
Flyable!
I gather my reliable
Companion faeries...
and
we’re
off.
Now, they’ll be the distractions
from this night-time interaction.
One can change into a rat, and one a bat.
And, readers, THAT
Is how you keep
prying
parents
BUSY.
I’ll be the procurer
of the tooth. Magnifico!
Window’s just open. In we go,
My troops and I,
A squeeze.... a wiggle...
We’re there.
We giggle.
The holder of the tooth
Is fast asleep.
So in we creep,
And there she is - blonde, dainty pinkish lips.
And I'll admit
she’s pretty cute.
Though drools a bit.
And now... the moment...
I lift the pillow....
And that’s it! I have no doubt!
And look, some gore is hanging out!
I don’t mind telling you, I quite like that bit.
Anyway, I scrape off the food....
Oh, mercy me....
Spinach for tea.
But...
It’s gorgeous.
Flawless.
A tooth without a mark, a nick
Or dent. Enamel slick
and gleaming new
as the first day
It came through!
My troops and I - we dance in glee
around the bed - unstoppably!
And our giggles wake...
no one.
A
Perfect
Score!
We fly out, we’re elated
They’ll rejoice
We will be feted
And paraded all through Faerie Town!
They’ll pull the other posters down
And photograph our faerie faces
All the faerie places
Will be graced
With our fair countenances!
We’ll launch such legends and romances!
What’s more!
What’s more!
The Grand Dame of the council... she’ll be BOUNCING
With excitement and announcing
Our awards and trophies shining
We’ll be signing
Faerie books and faerie hands
Our names will sing through all the land!
Oh, a treasure was scored today!
We’re laughing, laughing all the way
Home. Careful!
Don’t drop our
Treasure, for with that,
all our high dreams would....
Oh.
enjoy the reed
now displayed as a satisfactory deed.
* * * * * *
A Senior Moment - written months ago commemorating
the graduation from a vaunted charter school
in Bend, Oregon of thy lovely youngest,
this papa could not attend -
geographical distance constituting the primary determinant.
* * * * * *
Valedictorian treads across makeshift platform
i.e. most likely auditorium stage marked
by hushed audience inhaling, notating,
and regaling gleeful lightness of buoyant feat
(but me Yeats heavy of heart) feted for 2017 Redmond
Enrichment Academy graduates, who attained,
a milestone vis a vis earning their
high school diploma, and ready to launch
bountiful daunting challenges, yet sure
footed each young gal and/or guy
will exude joy and sorrow upon grasping their
high school diploma aware a sound education
sent each on their own future path
while pomp and circumstances issues forth
by adroit musically talented underclass
* * * * * *
man, which emotional celebrated achievement
evoked by keynote student speaker,
but also underscored via that well worn mortar
board, linkedin, kickstarter, Joyus
tune (composed by Sir Edward Elgar –
subtitled March Number 1) acknowledging
cheers, eliciting grownups immense Kleenex
moistening overpowering quintessentially
simmering ululating wrenching yowling
as tassels flipped (maybe in conjunction with
a non twittering uber bird) to the left side
of the caparisoned newly anointed future
Dharma Bums, professionals and/or trades
persons momentarily stung with sadness
to depart favorite classmates and teachers
who voluntarily cosseted, ferried, and
* * * * * *
capitalone did flickr imperceptibly, kneaded
and leavened LivingSocial, and massaged MineCraft
outlook plenti full confidence, faith, and inherent
lettered oblations serve as snap chatting,
The lure of untainted flower,
Its sweet perfume encased in a whorl.
Alas! That which I await is scarce.
This memory will be banished tomorrow.
Tomorrow ,
I must satisfy her.
My labour waits for her belly:
The weary days
The sun
The rains of my struggles
Bear fruit tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
She said, “I will come tomorrow”
Her many delays must end tomorrow
‘cos her quest for vanities are fully spent.
Our wedding shall be tomorrow.
Tomorrow,
Her lust shall be feted
Her feathers of courtship plucked!
The downs, I know, shall be not be rubied
But tomorrow we shall deceitfully walk to the altar.
Tomorrow.
I bid you, wait till tomorrow.
She goes home now to break her bond
With him that was in her dreams only yesterday.
I, shall wait till tomorrow
To make her drink from her fountain of lust.
Her secret desire of a ride to a far country
On her lover’s back, a wish not penny can grant.
Tomorrow.
I must nurture the wounds and scars of another
And regret I never made the first cut.
Yet, she must do it again as before.
But we shall start tomorrow.
Tomorrow,
She shall dance like a maiden untouched;
All her lovers in the pew,
Mocking my folly with unspoken memories of their voyages
And I, a victim of blemished womanhood,
Ready to fool the world in “unholy matrimony.”
Tomorrow,
When she parades foolishness for fashion
Then, call her not my wife.
When she fights on the street in rage and fury
Oh, call her not my wife.
When she slips into darkness to drink from the cup of a rival
Please, call her not my wife.
When the stench of her reputation chokes the neighborhood
Then, remember her not as my wife.
When she regales her mates with tall tales to my hurt
Please, call her not my wife,
When she wraps herself in fineries yet uglier than a mummy
Please, call her not my wife,
When godliness is exited and the fear of God abolished
Please, call her not my wife
Think no shame on me
Then, when she becomes a Matron over innocent children.
But, I must marry
Tomorrow
Be it for a day before I die.
Durian Fest
This being the month of September....
It is the season made just for tropical fruits lovers...
Given a favorable season of good sunny weather..
Coupled with intermittent rainfall all over..
The daily market place teems with fruits galore..
Abundant supplies of various fruits spill over...
The undisputed king of these fruits is the durian..
A aromatic thorny fruit that has its fans swooning over..
Some just can't tolerate its aroma, it is pungent...
But durian lovers, they are salivating in anticipation. ..
When it is a durian fest with a eat all you can invitation...
Bring your partner, your friends and your family members...
Partake in a merry session of eating luscious durians...
Forget the traditional lunch, gorge yourselves with durians...
If you're there on time, rest assured you all will be feted...
With all kinds of durians, kampung types and hybrids...
Best of all, you each get to test your durian instincts...
Are the durian pips you're eyeing are as good as your instincts...
Nothing could be more satisfying than getting your hunch right...
That those succulent durian pips you're eyeing are just right...
You take a little pause, should you go for another pip....
You feel you've had enough but look at that pip...
You've got to try it out, it has to be heavenly, you bet...
You've had enough, but let's see how is this last pip...
Burp! Burp! I've got to try this pip, though I'm full indeed!
Look at that other pip, please I've got to taste that pip...
Lordy me! I'm so full of durians that I feel I'm bursting..
But look at that newly opened durian, let me have one last pip...
Burp!... Burp!...
Footnote: Google "durian" or watch the following you tube
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v2iVY7RCcTY
Dictionary in hand Bobbies
manned state of the spy craft created
strategic peripheral outposts
a comma dated,
(sans syntax garnered monies) equated
justifiable to build galley ma free
Highland Manor wing - feted
via "FAKE" glitterati
creating surreptitious hated
surveillance monitor ring, which insulated
decked out starry eyed Starship
Enterprise surprise rated,
as an unbelievable well Spock kin
Duplicated Star Trek venerated
popular culture science fiction set piece,
where elderly residents waited
this other worldly architectural phenomenon
didst immediately outshine by alight
year among the original seven wonders
of the world prominant
as a buck toothed over bite
yet, didst camouflage top secret AngloSaxon
incognito missionaries delight
upholding correct language usage,
Thence trumpeting amidst
nonchalant onlookers as excite
mint hinted grammarians with listening devices
some flying unseen
as period size drones taking flight
other more sophisticated
electronic accouterments
dolled, gussied, issued with apostrophe
shaped flower buds scaling height
of cerulean sky, where blinding light
of a solar ellipsis, thus
arousing no discovered night
gallery suspicion during
feted occasion rife with polite
"FAKE" markedly questionable legatees quite
suitable asper The Art Of The Deal during
ribbon cutting ceremony,
and after words right
ting up citations slyly
slipped under windshield wipers
as the madding massed crowdsource,
would take dispersed out of sight
nonetheless echoes plenti chutzpah left
English figures of speech
uttering unstinting (quote unquote)
premature ejaculations,
eh so blandly trite
non-sequitur visited
by thee epic of Gilgamesh
for a dangling participle
during the split infinitive Sumer season
(exclamation point) no more to write!
Hester let her say sequester-
and she feted the focus,
folks fallen inside say-
i wonder,
! plunder,
say Donner much dumber than plundering the groovy grow.
Too much woolen sleeve not enough reep!
Too much stolen ski not enough heavy peace!
Because the people will all fall over,
into fives-
into lives -
and yes baby into the night.
They're all here,
the last one arrived,
company's assembled;
sisters, sons, in-laws, grandmas.
Heartfelt hugs all around.
handshakes, back-slaps,
worn-out platitudes
exchanged.
I love the sound of it,
now that I'm standing
in Mother's shoes.
She's here, but at 88,
she's my guest now,
feted by three generations.
In the gathering room
they stood,
sniffing.
Impossible to move freely.
Last minute preparations bungled.
I'm all thumbs,
burning the yams,
spilling lemonade,
forgetting napkins.
I want to shout,
"Vamoose, get lost,
this is my kitchen."
How did she put up with us
All those years?
Fast as an atomic banshee, he roils sacred halls
of White House clutches levers with brass balls
American powers remain unrestrained when he calls
Armada to exorcise imagine aery dragons,
he inarticulately falls
non-communicative, faux eruditely generative,
and heartily galls
toward this introspective kickstarter male,
and most likely others he appalls.
-------------------------------------------------
My inner guru hankers to share voice
amidst increasing din
and clamors in reaction to insidious machinations fin
hushed via Machiavellian offal prince,
who unleashes clout with Cheshire grin
unconcerned about population, chaste,
from their wells Fargo wing.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Most every citizen banker, and kin
stared down vis a vis fierce-some intimations
catapult escalating, spin
laughing at rigged voting outlook
gratefully inflicts populace with monstrous win
doomsday soldiers -
art of the deal book not writ by said urchin.
-------------------------------------------------
Though regularly affiliated with top notch
kudos to virtual soapbox platform
re: all poetry to express Bing averse
toward ill feted Barron settlement
of United States government tossed like scotch
on thar hocks, thus an uneasy angst
also invisibly grabs me by the crotch
cuz das Trump power monger,
I fear rubric of democracy, he will botch!
-------------------------------------------------
This poem alternately titled -
harbinger of political debacle wolf find antipode
where toxic brew at crack of 12 a.m.
January 20th 2017 doth bode
doctored pregnant swollen tidal anarchistic military toad
deeds sheepishly shape into battalions
in tandem - fraternal order of police erode
Civilian protesters unite with ordinary citizen bankers
crowdsource sing metallic ca clash to goad
Form:
If You Live By The Sword
Then You Die By The Sword
How do you explain that to a child?
Do on to others as they do on to you.
An audience in the trees
gleamed upon the sight
darkening the light
blotting out the sun.
Nesting birds departing
upward flight,
dancing images
of children's play
in a sandbox
in the shady shadow.
Toys round them
all colors and shapes.
A drop of sand in a dump truck
another in a red bucket;
it made contagious laughs
with occasional exceptions
lost tempers,
sand flies
toys fly.
Isolation
or
integration.
We're the pearls of wisdom.
Play nice
or
get hurt with your actions.
The sunshine through the roaring clouds.
Rain drops brought deject day,
Bathed the children in feted glee.
Friends helped each other gather toys.
From play-time and cheerful day
to gather back with promises sweet,
another day of feted glee.
12/9/2019
not for the contest "to long"
Nay, despite failing to make the grade,
this bluesy well red, duff mute
average white band hit,
hard knock school alumnus
jack of all trades master of none bumped along
pot hole cratered steep pitch
while riding the bus
bullies skewered kosher me all, cannibalized
carte blanche timid ego
brandishing exacto knife
threatening jugular, cuss
sing maniacally pulling out all stops
going headstrong for this doofuss
Embracing premonition making me mincemeat
vis a vis via, Atilla the Hun plus
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
after diet of worms
as hors d'oeuvre hug guess
if given a choice, would prefer Loch Ness
monster, or the whale that swallowed Jonah,
either t'would be a quite im press
heave feted feat, versus being poached,
roasted, skewered burnt alive
perhaps sautéed to feed additionally,
the Gothic (Jacks sin) five
the latter adorned with
Bandolier prototype, whence they would jive
to Vandals mess sigh ya,
these last yet another contra band
to play on command, or risk not being
he gee beegee bing a live
all thee above iterated blather spluttered
as punishment against revive
ving human sacrifice by pence hoove lee donning
a new jersey wordlessly trumpeting, and strive
ving assiduously as a one man lobbyist,
and aye willingly negotiate
to take more'n one wive
even though that would be big o' me decor,
thus a last minute reprieve given
without axing por favor
and black keys handed over
to Holy Roman Empire in hoar
rubble ruins (over the Weeknd), thus brutish nasty,
and short tempered surprisingly
(boot not prematurely) ejaculating bon jour
foo fighters actually (grand
aery an nah - did a three sixty)
feting me guest of hun or,
boosting self esteem, the first time
since being a kid in a candy store
which poetic digression
did make quite a dee tour,
and bringing detente amidst marauding
village people hoop reef furred war.
They stood there by the shadows
Two vagabonds should you call,
One was a man of honour
The other a mongrel small;
The winter sun was setting
Twilight had crawled overall,
The north wind clamoured and howled
Dark clouds had suffused their shawl;
Few townsfolk shuffled about
Hurrying with chores of their day,
But none caring to glance at
The two who stood by their way;
Horse-drawn carriages laboured by
As did porters to the quay,
None had the time to stand by
Caught up in their worldly fray;
Ignored stood the wanderers
Who once had home and hearth,
Their lives blessed with plentiful
For it had both joy and mirth;
But destiny had beguiled
Now they were ever in dearth;
They needed food and shelter
But could barter not its worth;
The two sought caring glances
They sought for a helping hand,
Pleadings a gentle flourish
Like sea-shells upon the sand;
Yet, dusk felt their suffering
Bats feted them to their land,
Stars cajoled from a distance
That Venus would wield its wand.
Huddled upon a doorway
They made a grievous sight,
They stood for heaven's mercy
Their state a piteous plight;
The north wind seemed relentless
It rumbled with all its might,
Snow-flakes heeded their pallor
And left them shrouded in white;
A snow-owl spied them at dawn
Hunched at the doorway below,
Their reverie lay frozen
With desires none would know;
The mortal world had cared not
With compassion's running low,
But nature had been kindly
Having buried them in snow.
The owl mourned their tragedy
Sadly hooting at the sun,
It resounded like a dirge
Alas to hear, there was none!
***********
(alternately known as the Doubting Thomas Crown
Taj Mahal Cupid Affair)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Fortunate (for me) thee bona fide "FAKE" Cupid
(aka Decoy Donald Duck
and side kickstarter Jay Rad,
colluded donning one alias,
which (former and latter)
amounted tube bing disguised incognito
as the cingular "Ivan Ha Bea Robber Baron),"
while same above placed
their System Of A Down on high alert
whereby, they unwittingly, fortunately,
and accidentally discerned disquieting "noise"
i.e. static electronic crackling
purportedly from nemesis, asper sans above
whereby broadcasters colluded
confusingly, congruously, and convincingly
as thee infamous digital (duplicity)
faux "Big Mac" Trump.
The chalkboard scratching, hair sprayed bouffant,
and knuckle crackling
appeared tubby the handiwork cleverly disguised
(as tinpot dictator antics of Moscow's version,
sans Putin on the ritz),
which decrypted garble (a fluke) as iterated above
strongly emanating via polygamous,
prestigious, and pseudonymous
pull no punches ploy
innocently convincing feigned
duo code named "Ashley Madison and Bert"
disclosing (when uncovered),
a heartless conspiracy in concert
with Sesame Street studded lesser known Muppets
pretending tubby oil tycoon Bedouins
intent to fleece "sensitive"
top secret military defense contracts,
which Russian motley crue ace double agents
intended this act of espionage thence sabotage
feted as a Black Sabbath Lupercalia feint
not for the faint hearted clubby fete
where Cupid given free rule of the roost
allowing, enabling and proffering
Cyrillic chattering Cherubim
hook cooked United States "figurative goose"
lock, stock and barrel, which stratagem
captured president unawares
and did significantly boost
Eastern Bloc reconnaissance (on par
with the Philadelphia Eagles
winning 2018 Super Bowl LII
which surprise clenching championship
wrought frenzied hoopla, gala, and bacchanalia
where barenaked ladies
cavorted nsync with beastie boys,
whence City of Brotherly love hoopla found
nearly every man, woman and child soused
(analogous to each person garnering
an early Sainted Patrick's pot of gold.
On the day she was born
Fields of wheat danced joyously,
like sailors coming home.
Skies hued in pink to
announce a newborn female to the world
The beasts of the wood ran exalting
All of nature celebrated the birth
of this extraordinary girl
God sent down a smile-
dancing birds in a feted swirl.
6th place in the "Heaven Sent Smiles" contest by Carolyn Devonshire.
A tribute to the day of her birth.
A. Green