Best Flicks Poems
Death be not proud but humble with strife
Old man flicks ashes, has one last choke
‘Tis nothing to fear, just the nature of life
Many passed before him, cut off like a knife
They fester in his memory with this his final smoke
Death be not proud but humble with strife
In youth there were ladies, his courtships were rife
But never a vow, no promises he spoke
‘Tis nothing to fear, just the nature of life
He lived wild and free, never seeking a wife
Much wealth he acquired, never to be broke
Death be not proud but humble with strife
He failed to see beyond the edge of gold’s knife
Shared nothing, loved no one, found no comforting cloak
‘Tis nothing to fear, just the nature of life
Tonight he wishes that he should have changed his life
He snuffs his candle, knows he’ll not feel heaven’s stroke
Death be not proud but humble with strife
‘Tis nothing to fear, just the nature of life
Whatever turns your crank
Whatever tickles your pickle
Whatever dunks your donut
Whatever waxes your dolphin
Whatever buffs your Buddha
Whatever pops your cork
Whatever pets your monkey
Whatever frosts your cookies
Whatever spills your pills
Whatever trips your trigger
Whatever humps your camel
Whatever melts your chocolate
Whatever peels your onion
Whatever chafes your carrot
Whatever flops your mop
Whatever rocks your socks
Whatever teeters your totter
Whatever milks your goat
Whatever pings your pong
Whatever peels your banana
Whatever blows your nozzle
Whatever tips your canoe
Whatever flicks your switch
Whatever zips your zipper
Whatever blows your stack
Whatever... whatever... whatever!
© Jack Ellison 2014
Enter the Everest that devastates
as he never ever rests and demonstrates
his quick wit picnic of traits that place
with lickety split flicks on the page
the tricks of a contortionist wrist that emits embers at pace
as he commits and performs on the centre stage
with the impact of a storm from the biblical age
the act of an adorned prolific rampage.
Irresistible talent abundantly apparent
you thought you'd witnessed
ability but until now you hadn't
when the rest in the business
appear to be unskilled
and transparent
as their best rhymes diminish
right here to be unfulfilled
and redundant
thus divested of finesse
while it's clear to see you're thrilled
in this moment.
I’m living in anticipation
With other cigarettes who are also growing impatient
We’re waiting
Praying
To be the next chosen one
Now, the door opens and we’re soaked by the light of the sun
Screams of “PICK ME!, PICK ME!”
She plucks me from the bunch; I’ve never felt so free
Straight from the prison she sticks my butt in her mouth, which is odd
Now, she puts a flame in my face and sets me on fire, OH MY GOD!
But hold the phone, this feels great
I wish I could tell the fellas back in the pack their fate
She takes me out of her mouth and holds me with two fingers
She blows my smoke in the air where, for a couple seconds, it lingers
She taps my back, a feeling so good it might be a sin
Some embers of mine fall to the ground and disappear with the wind
After 5 minutes of pure bliss
She once again pulls my butt off her lips
Smoke, as usual, flows into the daylight
I’m waiting for the taps and for the embers to take flight
But instead, she suddenly flicks me away without a sound
I fly through the air, drop, and crash on the ground
No big deal, It was certainly an accident
At least I’m still lit
Then as I look up I see the sole of her shoe driving down
All I can do is stare and frown
She crushes me on the asphalt
Then smears me around; sprinkling the wound with salt
I disintegrate to ash
How could she just treat me like trash?
I thought that feeling would last forever
But I guess you decided, for no evident reason, it was time to sever
I’ve been betrayed
Alone I wither and decay.
Ash - grey chemised
she shifts her shape
as silver flakes float coat
stripped naked places,
sheath curves and angled spaces
Angry glitter tingle stings
thick earth skin with prickly flames
and rumble rise regurgitates
shimmy - shake shudders
in magma's deep thrombosis.
Her feather boa plume
tightens hot cloud chokehold,
acrid smoke flung up in air
without a care, heat exhumes
her arrival, announced fiery flounce -
Hot air blast flicks ash everywhere
Grande dame, her vital force runs hot,
and bold, red and gold- full blooded flow,
feisty fight to escape fate,
inner pulses push a violent urge
to bleed and drape red lava's cape
across green fields, human habitations
Unplacated, rising up, proud impairment
anger virulent, out of hellbent
immolation via pyramidal vent.
She lifts her tiara, red ruby globs,
hurls evidence in defense - great blobs
of royal reign - no abdication!
Throaty roars rend intonation
into screeching supplications -
She knows full well, soon enough,
her phoenix fate infarction
Too late for earth's burst heart
High drama is a living, dying art
Impassioned pleas too late for some,
Earth's burnout buries victims in her wake
High on an island hill,
the boy lay crushed, and still
on temple altar, throat cut, bled out
Hurried offering, did not appease,
nor bring softening release
for angry, ancient mountain
Head caved in by falling blocks
of measured, square cut stone,
the priest grovelled on his knees
Gravel filled their mouths, no space for pleas
No one heard half- whispered final groans
And Earth, once she settled down,
murmured not another sound
Posted 17/08/2018.
He said, “Chick-flicks I do not like.”
As they settled into place.
“I need violence, shoot-up scenes,
And at least one good car chase.”
But he promised to watch with his girlfriend
Full of embarrassment and disgrace;
Half-way through the movie
Tears streamed down his face.
“Why was he so mean to her?
And those girls sure were good friends.
I didn’t think the illness
Would consume her in the end.”
He tried to hide his sniffles,
So a cold he did pretend.
She knew he had a touched heart
Every time he squeezed her hand.
Now every one of his Friday nights
Is a movie night with her.
An emotional outpouring
Is surely to occur.
He wonders all week long
What new story might be offered.
Cuddled up on her living room couch
Is the venue they both prefer.
Tell me I am pretty and sexy and hot
Tell me you like everything that I’ve got
Say that my clothes fit me just right
Even if some things are a little too tight
Laugh at my jokes even if they are dumb
Massage my neck ’til your fingers go numb
Don’t get mad becaue I make more money
Do the dishes, vacuum, and call me honey
Respect me for my intelligent mind
Treat all my friends friendly and kind
Tell me that I cook better than mother
Say that you’ll never love any other
Kiss me goodnight and good morning
Make love to me without any warning
Call me at work just to hear my voice
Say that being with me is your first choice
Watch chick flicks during a football game
Give me a sweet little sexy pet name
Tell me my lovely face is all you see
But darling, don’t you ever lie to me
STAND WITH A FACE OF HUMILITY
Thou curse a great angel to fall
from the heavens of glory and power,
though let man build towers for himself alone
letting him gaze on earth down.
Daggers are unknown but
they are directed to oneself
piercing six-inches deep in the heart
though made unreachacble stars of ruthless dreams,
there bete noire, implacable enemies abounds ,
occurring impossibilities cause bitter torments
art a fortress a defense for nothing, nothing?!
A sneering wall for a human being
the lowly thou had trodden down
callused feet has stepped upon.
The anon ignorant void of wisdom infuse a poison
drops dripping from temptuous cup
of sweet assurance, of self-ambition and arrogance.
A pedestal thou arts amidst life's superficial ways
a courage to lift up a haughty face
the narrow rocky roads thou dwell is full of blooms
but will the ends refrain from drowning doom?
Poor man thou hast enslaved
in thy ruthless breaking embrace
secured within thoughts of highness
knowing not where he will stay.
Above, may he think and look unto the ground,
a place of fifth to step upon
for alas he has partaken from thy cup,
so now he's done.
Thou made a distance so near
yet to very far, unreachable.
A human never a god
harsh and vicious
are the gigantic trials knocking him down
Imposing.Intimidating.Haunting. Freezing
but must they be?
Must they be or should he rather
open his eyes and flee
to the flying flicks of times?
Crepuscular are the cascading days
but always they pass epiphanies.
A heart of stone melts but
from it births the human heart
who is able to choose paths which lead them
to face the world not with pride
but with humility...
__________________________________________
Sponsor Name: Broken Wings
Contest Name: Any poem trashed in a recent contest
~~6th Place~~
Olive Eloisa Guillermo
12:38 pm. August 01, 2015
Inspired by Friedrich Von Schiller’s poem,
The birth to a tumultuous...orchestral bliss.
The flicks of his wand was the rhythm he heard,
A call for dramatic attention...an extraordinary passage.
As he pulls...he demands...rejecting the three movements,
A dense prelude to what is to come softly emerges.
The lower strings of the orchestra sadly...grope,
And transcend into a new melody...a higher plateau.
Intermingling yet surprisingly...exploding into full orchestra,
The rhythm leaves his wand...to the choral of ode to joy.
A musical patriot with passionate poise...conducts in silence.
His soul’s final composition permeates from the gestures of his wand.
A deaf body with a mindful soul...fatigued and battered,
Deprived to listen to the thunderous applause...of his life’s magnum opus.
My
birthday
joy brings sweet
treats of cake and
ice cream, loving smiles
warm me as well wishes
abound. The flames burn brightly
as they flutter and twinkle and
my happiness shows as I wish a
wish on each of them and blow them all out.
As one by one they fizzle my life flicks
before me, each season but a frame,
in this film, I'm the star, but the
celluloid images fade
into distance, like each
grain in an hour glass,
moments slip past
me and my
flame burns
out.
03/07/16
When visions crawl into his dream
to grate against a hilltop’s ire,
a sheriff flicks like soft campfire
where hazy winds dip low ,midstream.
Bandit frays stab a roguish past…
he gazes at Time…in lone sojourn
as plucks of hummed guitar return,
to soothe a mind now calm, steadfast.
Though old wounds bite the edge of glow
a hundred stars bathe eyes quite whole,
and moonlight kindles to console
the raid of dark through glazed halo.
From where he rides, the visions fade
in homage to a pure moment…
that on warm breath of contentment,
morning knights his final crusade.
4/18/2016
For Rob Carmack’s Lyrics Contest
Inspiration from lines of the song,
‘God Hates a Coward’—Tomahawk
31/10/18
Beneath a pale sky of bleakest white,
Songs carried by the eastern wind,
The faint sounds of flutes and lesser known cries,
Reveal a surface less skimmed.
The slowest of flicks by a wise older wrist,
With contentment despite all the noise,
A story to tell at the call of five bells,
Displaying of true grace and poise.
Manicured plants, slow songs and arts,
Early Sundays a skew,
To walk on this road, a foreign mind wanders,
To feel one of only a few.
This once was a place of long pondered dreams,
Of esthetic smoke screens,
Of mystery wonder and awe,
Now shrouded behind bureaucratic decline,
Can China be China once more?
I walk in frustrated. My mind is full of anger
but I don't know who I'm mad at.
I just wanna yell but I hold it in
And take it out on those that don't deserve it.
Then the light flicks on and off
As if I'm in a ring.
I keep yelling "show yourself!"
But I get no response.
I feel an evil tension coming towards me
As I take a hit to the jaw.
I keep swinging and throwing blows
But I'm getting no where.
I keep yelling "who are you"
Then I take two to the chest and one to the gut...
I fall on my knees trying to hide my pain
Asking myself "who is this that's hurting me?"
A light comes, I looked up
And I seen myself.....
In heat
the pulse of your streets.
I've heard the crack
of hard political whips
that pinch the air.
Cores of human topography,
your aging neighborhoods.
Your people kick cans
counting gravel like jewels,
while chiselers roast dogs
in the courthouse.
Swine flu kills
the papers.
And already the sky is
feverish.
In your train tunnels
a violinist plays pianissimo.
I've seen
railroad men search for him
along your tracks.*
But you are always
the sweltering sore
of the Atlantic.
A rusty mouth
for dark ships.
A blind brick town
of boarded storefronts
and ***** flicks,
you are buried.
Brown bag your way
to the last alley.
The tenants throw
rocks at your windows.
The rain has stopped
washing your sewers.
*From an old legend of
railroad workers on the east coast of the United States.
Published Black Buzzard Press - 1982
The wild belongs to the wild
The world belongs to the world
I stay safe and stay away
Because nature was designed that way
You can’t escape the reason why
All carnivores are so spry
An unleashed paw in your flesh
Is not worth a stroll on a lion's turf
A roar of a lion is not a buzzing house fly
It’s an unwelcome politeness, take flight
If feasting on buffalos is how they dine
Then your blood can only be dessert red wine
Don’t let your flesh invite the canines
Don’t get de-boned just for facebook likes
Lions never takes a stroll in our streets
Why should I trespass on theirs, with camera flicks?
My love for lions is a relationship from a distance
We don’t trust each other but I keep the romance