Best Filings Poems
South Of The (United States) Border...
(Reigns A Welter Of Disorder)
Caravans comprising multitudinous
peoples plodded a steady course
analogous to iron filings drawn by
strong magnetic force
gravitational pull generated
by North America
an irresistible source,
which tug felt
nearly all the way round
webbed wide world beckoning
for waves of humanity
figuratively donned as spawning fish,
toward which currently dimming
beacon of democracy flickr
Trump might extinguish
though tis quite heart
breaking to experience
vicariously as one collective soul,
these desperate folks
ambitious to seek asylum,
(and eventual citizenship),
while this "FAKE" president
invents many a...holy SMOKES
outrageous, nefarious, and malicious
dagger o type cruel barbed wire
accusing, condemning, and emasculating,
(I could continue),
but ye dear reader would tire
unless individuals
affected by xenophobia
countenance same stance
as Commander in Chief,
or contrariwise some
like minded
thinkers, rack coon sitter
the migrant situation dire,
would effectively serve me
as preaching to
the Unitarian choir,
yet any sensate
person must admit
tis quite upsetting, lamenting,
and agonizing to witness
hordes of persons treated like
some pestilential
eyesore dagnabbit,
yes this chap can
endlessly spout flibbertigibbet,
though thee crux of my opinion,
inspires a poem express
sing supportive emotions
particularly acknowledging,
how these masses (thousands)
of vulnerable individuals
show true grit,
nonetheless yours truly,
would be hard pressed
for an immediate
humane solution to corral
this extensive kit
and caboodle, though this generic guy
with a poetic knack
shakes his noggin
watching armed flack
delivered from border patrol agents/
United States military, lack
restraint, and who outright attack
trespassers at point
blank range that pack,
a deadly (Judge Judy ish
huss) punch smack
king young ones
upside the head forcing
everyone to backtrack
to their homeland of
persecution by crack
headed gang members, which thugs
violently land a deadly whack!
Unrealities and realities
grind together in mortar’s mouth,
spilling, pulverizing, volatile perfumes—
succumbing scents of citrus, crushed copper,
musks of bruised lightning,
threshing thunderous throbs.
Instability incarnate sings her reveling wails,
fragrances of something
Beyond Name.
I guide existences into black curve,
severing them against sharp, obsidian walls,
letting them rupture—letting them bleed
—syrups and statics—
messy marrows of forgotten equations.
Their shapelessness mutable,
pliant pages to pulp in the plunge
of the merciless pestle.
How many combinations will one
blend and crucify—
to crush, to coax, into coherence?
Rasps of bone bend against sanguine salts,
sheens of opulent oil merge with ember embryo—
iron filings licked into life by tempests reigned.
Anything of matter becomes
moisture—mass—mold—
hunger pooling at my basin’s heart,
seething for impending strike,
for sudden and unforgiving
birth.
A TAXPAYER SPEAKS
Years ago when filing tax forms reared its proliferating death’s head
I cursed, perspired, and thought about moving to a foreign homestead
As a low-income taxpayer I felt too unimportant to hire an accountant
So I filed and filed for years, at all times a very incompetent combatant
Penalties-plus-interest plagued me and I could not raise a skilled defense
Prolonged tax failures destroyed my sense of self-confidence
It was past time to explore options to end to all this tax nonsense
Waking to a new day I jumped out of bed at the crack of dawn
And scoured the yellow pages for a tax advocate to call upon
After detailing my sad tax history they agreed to take my case head-on
My tax life was now covered by tax experts with knowledge and brawn
My “Tax-Saviors” wasted no time plunging into battle early-on
Past tax filings were messy, chaotic, confusing and jumbled
Yet they contended, defended, persevered and never crumbled.
I have learned that tax advocate giants who defend vulnerable taxpayers
Give Tax Dictators headaches for they are tougher and tenacious tax players .
A tribute is due these Tax Defenders who aid us so nobly
And recalling the moving inscription on our Statue of Liberty
(An Emma Lazarus 1883 poem composed in New York City)
My tribute follows and is submitted very humbly
(please forgive the “re-phrasing” substituted for clarity):
Give us your tired, your poor, your tax-ignorant masses,
Yearning to breathe free who have no one to file their taxes
Oh, send these huddled and tortured masses,
(Who feel so inept and like derisory asses)
To Tax Saviors who lay waste to all kinds of tax matters
Rescuing taxpayers dwelling in indecision and tax-law tatters
These Tax-Saviors welcome all with an open-door policy
And any taxpayer who makes the journey
Will at last enjoy fear-free tax filing yearly.”
(However, new tax laws are being drafted by devious Tax Dictators
Who derive joy from harassing captive taxpaying participators!)
Trainer must be a powerful magnet
For inducing dipole moment.
Guiding star for orientation
Orientation leads to self realisation.
Realization leads to field creation
A potential to a give proper direction.
I could see now clinging filings
All now set up to reflect their feelings
MSDEED team at North and South pole
MSFDA has kept its all energy in store.
With their strengths they work as magnetometer
Strongly holding and controlling the filling together.
A cascade will eventually build up
Your efforts will keep us pushing up
Master trainer will definitely evolve
Problems in higher education will resolve.
A Cynosure of Sadness
As gun has that sense of humour in the trigger,
It triggered my mind that I clouded darkness in your happiness with sadness,
Sadness that is brewed from failure to curb the vase of your love,
Sad that is being punctuated by disappointment that can't bend to your calls,
A gait of loneliness that widens by the open gate of my embarrassment
It is a cynosure of solace.
As magnate files out iron filings from chunks of dust,
Sadness attracts malice intent as it kills happiness,
Sadness embeds itself with deception lie and cheats,
Sadness that fathers hatred a bona fide it savour most,
It sads how love is neutralized in the bog of sadness,
It is a cynosure of sorrow.
A fail in raising the need for house graze fight,
Fight that has an eternal engagement with sadness,
A salt of sadness that blends well in perfect love and kills its soberness,
Halts not and give birth to somber of drunken sadness
It cyclone a clone of peace that can't digest, as it allows to be poisoned,
It is a cynosure of sadness.
Losing Someone
Written: by Tom Wright
2/23/2016
At times we catch ourselves questioning why
That in droves grievous things, appear to come
We spend time in prayer then say goodbye
While the one we’ve just lost has left us numb
We retrace those steps from former days
For footprints have remained in each path
Shortly, those faded prints at which we gaze
Face disappearance in deaths aftermath
The footprints we leave at death
Reveal not only the size of shoe
But filings of our life;
I open the jar of poems like a bottle of whiskey on a long night,
where the poet's whispers are raw and direct, a course of love in four acts,
obsessions and (un)blamable loves writhe like cigarette smoke in the room,
and we laugh blue, like ink spilled on a dirty table.
I swallow the silence like a bitter shot,
place spring in my steps, like a season crucified on the pyre of colors,
we find ourselves in the sea of rediscovery,
where weeping brushes shed their tears on leaves,
and frowning clouds mock the horoscope of coming days.
You propose a love-test to me, like a diagnosis of a weary heart,
a surgeon of emotions searching through the darkness of the soul,
and a concert in two begins softly,
a symphony of love with rebellious strands and stellar amalgams,
when you smell of stars and drawings come to life on the dusty sidewalk.
We invent seasons, my breath becomes freckles in the rhythm of love,
a tangram of mad silences, a puzzle of existence,
each piece of tranquility fitting into the chaos of the everyday, like a lost day.
The spiriverse carries us into a world of psychospirituality in verses,
a universe breathing and living through each harsh rhyme,
lessons flow like venom sold at life's corners,
thoughts like iron filings sneaking into the night,
a radio suspending its melody at the corner of silence's mouth,
lights struggling to break free, words parked at destiny's traffic light,
where is the congruence in a world where death is the color of chestnuts?
Dreaming becomes a refuge in the realm of revelation,
Nefertiti chases us through the desert with helium thoughts,
the galaxy sleeps in an octave of love,
let me love you to the depths,
let's step out of our comfort zone,
running through subtleties and handicaps,
seeking our place in a universe for just us two,
a universe waiting to be discovered in every verse of brutal reality.
agape gave grave to age
bent not to burdens born
cleave verily the leaves of life
distilled stilled styled reviled
entry net try and try
filigree reeds figure loosely
grave gave the age to rage
humble bled humid muddle
insomnia sonogram moss grass
jubilant talent bilious slant
koan known now shown
lilting quilting tinged with gilding
mellifluous flows of metal filings
nervously reverse obtuse nouns
opulent lute plants ting
preening terns plead for flight
quatrains track rain tacks
remote restless rustlers rust
still lilting laughter silenced
until nettle salve unwinds
valves self-seal veil sails
wishes she eschews clothes
xoxoxox the ox loves my ex
yew we way away my yes
z in me sees z in you
Tonight we set the clocks ahead.
The morning will be dark;
But afternoon will linger,
As from day we disembark.
The sun will last for hours.
There’ll be much more time to fill;
And all that light will beckon
Hyacinth and daffodil.
Like filings to a magnet, we’ll be
Drawn to the outdoors,
Ignoring mop and vacuum
And those boring indoor chores.
For once the day is longer,
There’s a need to be outside
To soak up all that air and sunshine
Nature will provide.
It’s strange to lose an hour
But it seems an honest price,
For the trade-off is a brighter day
And that is very nice.
I shall begin this tale with a storyteller's flair
take out my flute to play a soft seductive tune
between pauses, as I recall my journey.
Facing the unknown does not frighten me
unchartered waters are a challenge not to ignore
lure me like a siren, or filings to a magnet.
I am not an old god, doomed to search the world
on a quest for an elusive Seven Cities of Gold
excitement runs red in my blood, vivid as a wound.
I chase mountains as they loom enticing ahead
sometimes they fade like mirages in summer sun
so I drop anchors unfazed in strange lands.
After the rains, thick stars scud the summer sky
I could gaze at them forever in the moist darkness
leave the world, getting off it with not a look behind.
Can this be love - an insanity which is willing
to risk everything for what turns out to be
a colossal mental illusion - be shipwrecked at sea.
@jjote 02/11/2017
Rude awaakenings
passive resistances
offset reposes
nominal com-pre-poses
clattering synopsis
reflective rejections
loveless offerings
sentient longings
goober finales
creepy filings
jubrient jiltings
assinine intentions
cooperative unintentions
lazy notions
graded offerings
misguided annotations
guilded gonads
perserverant punishments
unabridged miscellaneous
assertive nothings
blinded essentials
ill acquaintances
riddled resentments
staved sequences
toiled romances
piss pot potentials
dragged molecules
finite measures
copious credentials
minor mirrors
killed desires
zoned inadequacies
victim gags
witless endeavors
yearless covenants
useless touches
homely juxtaposes
unfiled females
tattered testosterone
monumental misguidedness
aperture unfocused
twitterpatted wantings
yielded misgivings
drop dead desires
perpetrated hum drums
bread crum bewilderment
quilted quietudes
aforementioned alls
envious emotions
leveled trash
yearning alofts
zoo plays
dead and gones
in a postmortem periphery of
dance denied inequalities that
superstand a millennia of non
standard consequence of a riddled
ridicule composite cramp-pede
psychosociodomesticoillnatureds
fecalfried anesthetizing bewilderwilderments
co-efficient based non soulecular biscuits
baked clammer insistent on/off comforts
couture of random thoughtless criminals
effacement of non living entitlement egos
Good f-ing luck with thats.
Losing Someone
Written: by Tom Wright
2/23/2016
At times we catch ourselves questioning why
That in droves grievous things, appear to come
We spend time in prayer then say goodbye
While the one we’ve just lost has left us numb
We retrace those steps from former days
For footprints have remained in each path
Shortly, those faded prints at which we gaze
Face disappearance in deaths aftermath
The footprints we leave at death
Reveal not only the size of shoe
But filings of our life;
Unsoiled white pages attract like magnets
Waiting for words like silvery bits of iron filings
Words and phrases seeking recognition,
Hungering for an emotionally satisfying place
Of lasting importance -- meaning, a message
Not to be erased by this age’s mediocrity,
Worthy of being a literary rite of passage
That will more than merely fill a blank space
Not cold or unmoving like a legal deposition
But inspiring as a glorious choir of voices singing
Unsoiled white pages attract with no regrets.
Written July 18, 2022
LAVENDER LADY
She was my lavender lady;
Standing by the lake,
Gazing across the sky-blue water
At who-knows what in the distance.
She was the very essence of elegance.
Spurning the mini-skirted fashion of the age,
Her flowing summer dress
Modestly reached mid-calf.
I was not given to approaching perfect strangers
(And I use the word ‘perfect’ advisedly)
But I was drawn to her.
Like a moth to a flame?
Iron filings to a magnet?
Choose your own simile.
“Lovely day,” I ventured,
“For gazing across lakes.”
“Very pleasant,” she responded, coolly.
“Do you come here often?”
I heard myself say, with horror
And caught a glimpse of amusement
In those pale blue eyes
At the outrageous cliché.
“Did you really say that,” she asked,
“Or I did I imagine it?”
“Sorry,” I said. “I always get tongue-tied
At moments like these.”
“I see. And what sort of moment is this then?”
“!t could be a moment of destiny.
“Hmm,” she said, “and, then again, it could be
An insignificant moment in time”
She turned to walk away.
“Lavender really suits you,” I tried.
But she kept on walking.
I called after her.
“You didn’t answer my question,”
“What question was that?”
She asked, over her shoulder.
“Do you come here often?”
She laughed
“Come again tomorrow and find out.”
19th September 2020
Clutching at Straws contest
Sponsor Kai Michael Neuman
The tracks left at our death
Will reveal more than our shoe size.
For in these tracks,
Filings of our lives will be found.
The test facing us then,
Will not see pencil to paper, or voice to air,
But our life as an overlay
On the image of Jesus Christ;
Make each day count.