Best Fictitious Poems
There once was a gal most religious
Whose love for her god was prodigious
She looked deep inside
Found fallacies most wide
She now lives a life less fictitious
From the word 'born', she was made to be a queen.
From the weight numbers 7.7 lbs., she was born to be queen.
She was daddy's girl and mother's pearl, a gift to the world.
Not all queens are strong, but this future queen was born strong.
Although some thought her to be mean, she wanted to be fair to all.
If in this queen's presence, someone acted or spoke unapproving, she
simply stared you down until you wished yourself to be invisible. This
stern queen believed in and practiced 'exceptionalism' like none I had
ever witnessed, and tokenism had no place in her presence.
She pursued 'education for all', and 'full employment' was her goal.
She believed in hard work and earning, not whining, one's way to success.
Queen Grace gave her best and from everyone else, she expected no less.
Queen Grace ruled with an iron fist, commanding respect from everybody.
She desired that long after her demise, her people would enjoy the fruits of both her labors and those of others in her kingdom. Future generations would be proud. She had inherited a solid foundation from her parents and was determined to make it even better.
There have been and always will be those who will fix things only temporarily.
Many are opportunists and do just enough to win the popularity contest or the next election. Not so with Queen Grace, who seemed to have had things figured out the day she was born. She refused to build a kingdom on hay, stubble, and wood. On the contrary, Queen Grace labored to leave a legacy built of pure gold and silver. "She wrought her people lasting good".
"She wrought her people lasting good", Alfred Lord Tennyson
081322PSCtest, Difficult Poetry Contest, Julia Ward
Daddy Warbucks
All I can Say Is Oh Shucks !
Pennies Nickles Dimes and Quarters
Digging alittle deeper for I know he likes to still hoarder
Entry For Matt Caliri's Contest
My grandfather Hymie
spent his entire life at sea
his thick calloused hands
and ruddy complexion re
enforced non verbal body language
voluminous tomes as testimony
to countless years
(spilling into decades)
exposed to salty spittled
spumed raw elements que
sin art finest artisanal blended, crafted,
dredged by mother nature pre
pared within each trough and crest only
for thy fiercely weatherbeaten nee,
tough as rawhide, leathery,
chafed skin to me
not surprising, since
this mariner born, bred and near lee
schooled within
briny deep ever since knee
high (or so he claimed truth
to swirling rumor), jovialy
pleased that his purportedly
learnin' myth writ tik ne'r included
NEVER settn' foot in formal classroom,
his knowledge icy
anecdotes aced, surpassed,
and trounced that of what he
referred to as grenadier landlubbers
green behind the ears – glee
fully jabbing with his
unsheathed scabbard play flea
actually downplaying any exploits,
that didst educate him, prith ee
teaching him survival skills asper
getn' taut via eddy fied tests frequently de
siding a life or death outcome,
yet our Dickensian mutual friend
shared exploits while
he dressed not in tatters,
but self made clothes from cree
chores comfortable furs, and though
a striking appearance cut, ne'r
did this ole codger (fit as a fiddle
with tall slender build),
said middle aged man appeared quite be
coming. An aura, charisma, dogma
amazingly graced stalwart, gestalt,
deportment aie
found added an air of charming debonair,
esteeming flair, genteel heir
which tasked guessing years old,
aye presumed him to exit the uterine lair
at least a few score tours round oblate sphere
as aspect of youthfulness played across his eyes
one colored green like a spring day in the country,
the other jetblue sans burnin'
four pearl jam oyster cult year.
ah...them tha many decades past
since the merchant
from Neptune to mast
to nether world, though his parting seems
like it hapt last
year, noot nay twas scores o' full moons ago,
that grim reaper came swift and fast.
on Friday
one pm
reporter
for the
standard-examiner
at s8
interview me
puffy puffery
it is the day before Saturday
one post meridiem (1 p.m.) demolishment
set in time
correspondent of journalist
falls quickly ephemeral, quick
standard and examiner
frolicking on Sections of eight
with a simple dialogue
of puffy puffery
safety unknown
(scoured from dregs of me muss held head)
I shore up a vignette to free
my ("FAKE") grandfather Hymie,
whose scrunched countenanced
evinced beetle that of browed monkey
he spent his entire life at sea
his thick calloused hands
and ruddy complexion re
enforced non verbal body language
voluminous tomes smoothed
nick holed money
to countless years (spilling into decades)
exposed to salty spittle nee
where watery terrain spumed
raw elements piscine
art finest artisanal blended, crafted, nein
mean feet resources dredged reluctantly
relinguished by mother nature mean
craftily pared within each trough and crest
found thee old man with privateer mein
whose skin fiercely weatherbeaten
leathery and lean,
epidermis tanned tough
as rawhide, reptilian, prithee
chafed skin to me
not surprising, since
this mariner born, bred and near lee
schooled within briny deep ever since knee
high (or so he claimed truth
to swirling rumor), jovialy
pleased that his purportedly
learnin' myth writ tik ne'r included
NEVER settn' foot in formal classroom,
his knowledge icy
anecdotes aced, surpassed,
and trounced that of what he
referred to as grenadier landlubbers
green behind the ears – glee
fully jabbing with his
unsheathed scabbard play flea
actually downplaying any exploits,
that didst educate him, 'ee
got taut learn'n survival skills asper
pre ponder hunt via eddy fied tests frequently dee
siding a life or death outcome,
yet our Dickensian
mutually bonding friendship
via shared exploits while
he dressed not in tatters,
but self made clothes from cree
chores comfortable furs, and though
a striking appearance cut, ne'r
did this ole codger (fit as a fiddle
with tall slender build),
said middle aged man
appeared quite becoming.
An aura, charisma, dogma
amazingly graced stalwart, gestalt,
deportment aie
found added an air of charming debonair,
esteeming flair, genteel heir
which tasked guessing years old,
aye presumed him to exit the uterine lair
at least a few score tours round oblate sphere
as aspect of youthfulness played across his eyes
one colored green like a spring day in the country,
the other jetblue sans burnin'
four pearl jam oyster cult year.
Your dreamy bold curious unstable eyes
Juicy lips mounted with sober plausible sexy ties
Though silent yet propulsive pensive piercing voice
Curly hair, bare shoulder possessing fervid demise
All is enough to drive my sincere soul over flies
Smokes
of cigarettes
and mugs
full of coffee,
next
to the fictitious line
where the eddy
of words
leans against
and nods,
wounded,
to my silence.
Maybe a simulation only
Tsunami tells us the waves
Will eventually roar storeys high
The endless quarrying tells us
One day the mountain rocks start rolling
The flood tells us the rivers
Will penetrate into the cities like roads
Pollution makes the rivers feed on colours
Acid rain sheds the leaves bald
Deforestation makes the forests thin
And animals start shifting
Radioactive waste makes the fishes commit suicide collectively
Workloads makes people
Become pressured cans with stony faces
The skyscrapers poke into heaven Resulting in a bigger hole in the ozone layer
The endless oil mines poke into hell
Resulting in volcano eruptions
Internal wars and boundary wars are Only signs of men struggling
To survive the pre-doomsday
A faux pas meant to be funny
a complicated compliment
undressing the address
Words intermingle
suspending the single
Ghosts masked in the past
hypocrisy lasts
living a lie
tears in the sky
Explaining the unexplainable
a throne unattainable
reprecussions released
a mindset at ease
Lay down your pen
surrender's at hand
The night grows dark, not my eyes -
With vision sharp, with a puzzled mind
I look, into the bushes, without a blink
Waiting for some light.
I can feel the fog, cold on me
It makes my palms and fingers numb;
My hard breath falls harsh on them
No peace for me, I see.
My tent is warm, I snuggle to bed,
Cold, cold! I cannot rest on them;
I had to endure a lot, a lot...
The despair deeply rooted in my mind.
I close my eyes, counting sheep in vain,
I cannot sleep, those memories wake me up
And I throw my legs in despair
Clutching my pillow and crying out.
I realize, I am in a metaphor.
You're my fictitious friend, whom I loved.
I hate your creator, who killed you,
And I would surely kill those cruel cannibals.
I'm still on the hill, with a wish to see you,
With a vain wish to get you back;
I can't plunge into the final pages
If I could, I would bring you back.
DATE: 26/4/2016
Found me raised
in the Antebellum South
born an academically gifted
whip smart, (and any other
apropos) above average adage
smart son with a
healthy dose of Melanin and Melania
donned and trump petted
asper a proud black is beautiful,
sans ebony badge,
whereat me instrumental mama and pop
acquired grudging cunning
insinuation to cadge
teaching material convincingly
claiming lofty aim
intent to instruct
slave master's children
all to eager to accept blame,
when any vicious rumor
got afoot with "FAKE" claim
that lessons did
critique and declaim
antithetical quasi Aryan racial superior
viewpoints (preceding Adolf Hitler
by about a century),
knowingly could enflame
status quo, which feigned
"playing dumb" duh -
faux blockhead frame
(wha ya mean massa) game
at very bedrock foundation
pre politically correct cursor meme
lee complex edifice
slave owning name
acutely aware intent esse chew
wing such societally
radical implications, to due
tee fully fortuitously, gradually,
and hopefully, un glue,
(especially via schooling impressionable
young African American
or other ebony hue
shaded skin with Jew
whoosh propositions of equality)
righteous precepts nullifying lou
duck criss bastardizing American moo
nuff phish witch hunts (sea thing),
a gimcrackery, mockery,
and travesty poo
poo wing credo, ethos,
highlights, et cetera sow
wing equality, harmony, and liberty in tow.
When I walk I don’t cause
Earthquakes
The world crumbles.
So proper and prim in my Brooks Broithers suit.
( I loathe that Obama! I much prefer Newt.)
Decorum at all times, when in public view.
( Dwelling on feelings would render one blue.)
An Ivy League background, a young trophy wife,
(I prefer peace and quiet, an absence of strife.)
Success at all costs is the rock bottom line!
( We keep cutting jobs and I think that's fine.)
All things in their turn and each in their place,
( That ***** they hired. I don't like his face.)
We must turn a profit. The public be damned!
(How dare they label our whole business a scam!)
How America prospers must be left up to us!
( If the gas goes too high, there's always the bus.)
Let them get here like I did- work hard and save!
( I have no regrets- save my untrod upon grave.)
Desiree Flake....
Stepping out on the man in her life
For a stranger she meets at night
O, she plays the game so well, always sweet
With the many secrets she keeps
One day she will learn that secrets do seep
That lies are like popping corn
They awaken a love one’s scorn
Apply enough heat, kernel by kernel
They all Pop! Pop! Pop! All over the place
Desiree Flake it is better to stay true
Secrets and lies will always make you blue