Best Figurehead Poems
Rancid lemon rope squeeze
around a rotten tomato neck tie,
crooked odor bow hanging out of place
Acid reflux raisin tax bleed;
dripping spoiled, milquetoast lies
out a sour-twisted, prune puckered face
Tart tongue
sulfur speak disorderly,
dirty saliva fingers in the propaganda pie
Such a bowel movement disgrace
Bottom rung
bung opening vault key
Onion groans ... chittering fermented cry
Boot-licking patent leather taste
Smells like government to me,
corrupt as can be
Dung pile of voter promises,
sits atop a pungent idol landfill heap,
swarming with stinking lip flies
Smells just like reeking government gluttony —
O beast behavior ...
swine odor, foul as can be
Swindle spit vapors perfidiously wafting,
kindle the vomit pit
Sewage waste material ash labors fanning,
can you stand the stench of it?
Smells like dead paper figurehead
government to me
Bait-and-switch fishy business ...
close your eyes,
what does your nose see?
Tainted meat polltry speech,
pluck the purse feathers
off the cable perched pigeon bodies
Smells like government
is about to make a putrid, baked-in story
Made up facts ... maggot video feed
Stale, bureaucratic policy hard rolls
warmed over twice
Buttered late with expired date lies
Served with a cloying cup
of steaming sound-byte coffee:
Substitute truth ... false sugary
Toilet swirl coffin cake,
gutter floss the oral cavity
Bad breath vows made,
garbage hope nobody needs
Government smells
like a morgue dog in heat
Very omit cadaver, obit disgusting
Smells like
a pot of burning bones
on a boil
Bottom lip scum
rising to the top
On a truthful breath: Let me tell you,
it stinks an awful lot
Smells like scurvy government to me,
corrupt as base bribery can be
The lobbyist rats are scarfing down
the moldy green government cheese,
so silver spoon tongue greedily
Nothing like some regurgitated split-pea pleas
to hit the decaying belly ballot gastric spot
Can you make a federal case
of this rank-and-foul flatulent republic rot?
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
The sea gathered her voice
on the crest of the waves
as dark clouds were herded
by the wind as he raved
in a symphony orchestrated
through elements of sound
composed by the air
from his drafty compound.
By the drum of the surf
on the beat of the waves
a crescendo that climbed
with the sea as she raged
while the wind as the maestro
pulled pockets of sound
from the whistles and moans
as he swept ‘cross the ground.
Soprano! cried the killdeer
Tenor! screeched the gulls
as a baritone foghorn
boomed from the hull
of a ship that swayed
drunkenly atop of the surf
staying clear of the breakers
that crashed on the turf
The ship creaked a response
as it groaned a refrain
but the deft hand of a shipwright
would keep it sustained
for he’d hewn and he’d whittled
great emblems of love
carving an angel for the figurehead
and atop the masthead, a dove.
When the wind stopped his jostling
and the sea spent her ire
the ship slipped back to its haven
of warm hearths and bright fires
where the men mused and wondered
over great tankards of ale
if the hymns and hosannas..
had been but, the wind in the sails?
Golden Jubilee passed over a decade ago,
Our monarch still vibrant and strong,
Diamond Jubilee at hand, and still she reigns on.
Swore an oath to Her Majesty, to defend her land,
Air Force uniform I donned while preserving freedom.
Valour, just one aspect of a warrior’s ethos.
Eternal is my loyalty to Queen Elizabeth II -
The Queen of Canada, our British Monarch supreme.
Her Majesty, a fellow sister-in-arms, a mechanic in WWII,
Endless inspiration to the future generations.
Quintessential woman, she shows us her strength,
Unique in her duties, now mostly symbolic,
Evermore the figurehead.
Everlasting, her legacy will stand,
Namesake for her newest great-grandchild.
Dad Revisited
RIP 1924-2015
Last night I sat up in bed and prayed a little longer,
I asked god to send dad back for just one more day with great fervour.
Dad was waiting for me in the verandah as soon as I reached,
Seated on his cane chair with legs outstretched.
Suited- booted, neat crisp turban, expectant eyes so tender
The same tweed coat, the warm muffler across his shoulder.
The moment he saw me he fumbled for his walking stick,
Stood up took a few steps forward in a nick.
We embraced each other tight as he planted as kiss on my head,
I nuzzled against his warm coat enjoying the love of my figurehead.
Warm drops of love fell on my cheeks,
Saw oceans pouring through his teary creeks.
'I can't control them', he said chokingly,
Feeling the other's heart beats we clung to each other tightly.
'Let's go to the garden, the grape fruit is waiting for you!'
We walked together slowly over his leafy garden dew.
Dad showed me the new cuttings and saplings he had potted for me,
He pointed to the overgrown grass and said his workers were on leave.
He said,' Ah, for more varieties of flowers!
But the dogs don't spare them in my bowers'.
We smiled and saw the overladen grape fruit trees,
I plucked three grapefruits and said they would suffice with a tease.
We slowly climbed up the steps to our sunny verandah to sit alone,
He asked me what was it that I had wanted to tell him over the phone.
I read out my poem, '13, West Macott Road', a nostalgia shakeup,
Of our ancestral home in Poona where he had grown up.
I was reared up there, too, by my grandparents,
He wept and hugged each other, our undying love evident.
'I can't believe you had this talent and I didn't know about it till now,
You always make me cry with your emotions, but no more will I allow!'
He took out his kerchief to wipe my tears, his permanent flair,
I was still sniffing when I sighted his empty cane chair.
December 10, 2015
Contest: Just One More Day
Sponsor: Laura Loo
I am Dedan
I tell tales
Tales of fight
Tales of freedom
Freedom to breathe
Freedom to think
Think to prosper
Think to liberate
Liberate Humanity
Liberate my land
Land is the mother
Land of my origin
Origin of human
Origin to be evolved
Evolved you are
Evolved from this land
Land you have ruled
Land you have exploited
Exploited peoples
Exploited to profit
Profit demands more
Profit demands all
All is not yours
All are human
Human feelings
Human face
Face the truth
Face to face
Face it nicely
Face divine eyes
Eyes don’t lie
Eyes will see
See the resemblance
See all equal
Equal we are
Equal are the rights
Rights to retrieve
Rights to render
Render love
Render amity
Amity can resolve
Amity got the power
Power to excel
Power to be kind
Kind to mankind
Kind to Dedan
Dedan did fight
Dedan fought for freedom
Freedom
Fight
27.04.16
Dedan Kimathi Waciuri (31 October 1920 – 18 February 1957) born Kimathi wa Waciuri, was a leader of the Mau Mau which led an armed military struggle known as the Mau Mau uprising against the British colonial government in Kenya in the 1950's. A highly controversial character, Kimathi's life has been subject to intense propaganda by both the British government who saw him as a terrorist, and Kenyan nationalists who view him as the heroic figurehead of the Mau Mau rebellion. Despite being viewed with disdain by the Jomo Kenyatta regime and subsequent governments, Kimathi and his fellow Mau Mau rebels are now officially recognised as heroes in the struggle for Kenyan independence by the incumbent government.This follows passage of a new Constitution in 2010 calling for recognition of national heroes, amid a dismaying trend in post-independent Kenya where benefits of the freedom struggle largely went to those who did little in its behalf while those who sacrificed the most went neglected or dishonoured. Dedan's role is perhaps the most memorable and heroic in the struggle to free Africans from the colonial yoke. His capture and execution in 1957 led to the eventual defeat of the uprising by the British colonial government. [Source Wikipaedia]
A set of siblings was in an effervesce
Of blossoms and bubbles.
This world to each was a bundle of joy.
They laugh and played like two girls should.
Somewhat different, as each became older, they would be captivated by desires.
There in a beautiful presence they thrived.
The blossoms were called The Country of Beautiful Florets.
In bubbles, this Country eternally occurred to exist.
God would choose this Country as his Kingdom.
These sibs were of royal blood.
Each emotionally governed the people ways.
Both espoused on the same day.
During one diurnal course, their world became dark
To reveal their purpose.
The bubbles formed a body of knowledge.
The blossoms would transmogrify humanity.
Yet the Country would revolve
Evolutionary to rebuild a new universe.
Worldly prophesy escaped
From a cosmopolitan figurehead.
God had redefined
As known!
The twins were part of his Throne.
Realm in matrimony within the brotherhood.
_______________________________________________|
Penned March 26, 2015!
When people say don’t use the F word, do they have any idea how formidable fellowship, flux, foxy, finite, and figure-head are freely and fervently formed?
The F word?
What F word?
This crazy admonishment has led me to
This F word poem.
A fantastical fabricated tale, formulated and foretold by
four flirtatious faeries who frankly, felt fractionalized, forever far-fetched, finely falsified, and furiously fantasized by formerly frozen phenoms.
You will find words like fervent, frilly, formidable, feathery, figurehead, and flicker, in this finery.
You will forget fizzles, falls, fits, feeling fervently and frivolously focused.
Foundationally, this formidable fleeting fable of a quadrant of feisty feminine femme fatales
Is fraught with falsehoods, fictions.
My assistant, Franchesa, who was one of these frivolous faeries, is in a frantic frenzy toward focusing her feminine fancies on a phenomenally fragile finish,
What? I have not even added my favorite f words yet.... Fun-filled, flesh-eating, form-fitting
freckled, frozen, fast track, fair-weathered forget-me-knots to name a few.
We are at the fidgety part of the flowery forest of fantasy now.
I appreciate your faithfulness in falling for my ferociously friendly, flowery, f-trap.
I find it funny that family, fellowship, famously, fleshy, formula, and feckless begin with the same F as fanciful, Felix, fanny and the word that shall not be named.
Formidable words forever feel forgiven in the forefront of the fanfare of the forest.
Philosophically, what about the furious finish, fortuitously finalized by my former free mason, Fritz?
Forgone conclusion, friends, the finale was fortuitously inspired, of course, by my favorite letter, F.
Dockworkers on strike, the ocean gray
and choppy. Wind whips the rigging
of a sailing ship with its weathered hag –
figurehead once lovely in a gentler
age. What Time weaves of us. A line
from memory flits to places farther
inland, when you were younger, every-
thing graced with light: the rain,
the chickweed, and the burdock leaf.
Tomorrow, another ship comes in.
ONE AGAINST MANY
A plentiful soul sits in London, England
Parliament Square “in all weathers and with
little protection.”
A peace campaigner, a Christian, and a father
appalled by the sanctions the West imposed
on Iraqis.
The results were tragic
brought death in a manifold.
Many Iraqi’s children are lost via the sanctions.
British foreign policy is the cause.
Brian Haw’s potential oppressors are Tony Blair
and James Gordon Brown.
Both Prime Ministers of Great Britain!
Mr. Haw speaks:
“I protest against 2003 invasion on Iraq.
The awful actions damage us!”
A figurehead, an inspiration Brain Haw was.
Few can claim his courage.
His determination was nearly a ten-year stay.
Night after night, he slept on pavement.
Parliament could not apprehend him.
The Police did not discourage Mr. Haw.
Outside stood Brian’s collection of flaunts.
Peace messages they faced day by day.
The Home Secretary introduced a Bill.
The Serious Organized Crime and Police Act of
2005,
The aim to amputate Haw’s protest was
disallowed.
The P. Square is the perfect place to protest.
One kilometer zone formed.
Haw’s protest continued.
Haw died nobly.
He meant a lot to the British.
He is a true dissenter.
He received his deserved recognition.
_____________________________________/
Sponsor: Joe Maverick
Contest Name: One against many
Entry Date: March 28, 2014
Date Written: March 28, 2014
Motif: Haw
Lines (w/o) spaces: 36
Lines (w) spaces: 47
~Please allow the spaces for poetic appearance/creativity.~
When old, I am sure I'll be grey,
retirement a long holiday.
But now, as a lad, life's boring and sad,
when scrabbling about for some pay.
In future, I hope to be wise
with dreams of a generous size.
But now, I just grunt, with attitude blunt,
which others all hate and despise.
In time, I will happiness spread,
be seen as a fine figurehead.
Right now, I am tired; I'm seldom inspired
and have to be dragged from my bed.
I am sure female hearts will compete,
as they swoon, by the score, at my feet.
But pulling the birds, I stumble for words
as they scatter in hasty retreat.
When I'm old, I will pray people say
I'm fun, when invited to stay.
But now, they just groan or moan down the phone.
I do wish they'd all go away.
~
For Gail Angel Doyle's Contest by Charles Clive.
A THOUSAND SHIPS
Is this the face, this old hulk in the salt marsh?
Is this my lady with creaking timbers
and peeling skin?
A mere figurehead, a turkey prow,
missing one oar, grandiloquent, vainglorious,
still fighting the old sea-battles
with the wind and waves
the thousand ships
that lie at the bottom of the sea.
There once was a pirate from Antilles
That chased all the young beautiful fillies
To all a deception vow
Carving of them on ships bow
Lies brought doom, now lies in field of lilies
4/10/2019
Pirates Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
Syllables checked with how many syllables 10, 10, 7, 7, 10
Above the craggy cliffs along the shore
a small white cross stands wearily alone
a solemn mark, a requiem of yore
where perils struck a young lass far from home.
A bonnie beauty, angel rose of spring
a wild and ancient tune stirred deep desires
she had a gypsy heart for wandering
she left to satisfy adventure's fires.
From port to port she followed Northern star
her face was set, a bowsprit figurehead
determined as she travelled long and far
she settled on an island where fate led.
The day she fell the winds whipped wild and free
her daring spirit brought her to the sea.
Written on 9/1/2016
Mongrel mongeese can fly at very high altitudes but dome headed calves cannot as they must wait until they are 672 years old. Fly fly flight then. Oh great. See how the waving whales chanting circulating wisdom in a foam. And bathing basking. The hypothesis of a 5minute triangle is a good idea for a specific dialect to be spoken. The noises of a parsnip parsonage swell. Ingest not a seabird sandwich. Opening in a cave a smugglers' house. Housekeeping in a coven. Hahahaha dripped fondling fig figurehead fantastic fakery. Hahahaha and a mealworm singing opera to a friend of a prawn cocktail. Weary wearing weather. Washing. Xxxx gastronomically z z c y g z