Best Forewarning Poems
Take care, fellow, that you not a cuckold be,
for spring is in the air; the cuckoo sings!
Woo your wife and treat her tenderly.
Flirtatious whims can blossom into flings;
a woman left alone might test her wings!
Note: A cuckold is someone whose
wife has cheated on him.
For Francine Robert's Contest:
Wow Me in Five Lines
It came in silence of the night
And almost stilled my heart with fright.
The voice was very low and clear
Saying the name of my only son
Telling me that his life was done.
That night I slept no other wink.
My mind was muddled, I could not think.
I had seen my son that very day.
He was happy and looking well.
What that voice meant, I could not tell.
I called my son when dawn appeared.
I didn't tell him what I'd feared.
"I called to say I love you Son".
Those had not been useless tears I'd cried.
Before another week, my son had died.
Spoiler Forewarning Alert!
This averred title announced straight
away so lingering fans
(hoop fully letting me abbreviate)
a short cut so ye
can up and evacuate,
while metered time,
not yet foregone and not to late
hence best heed mine caution
which can protect minimum damage,
asper gray matter within pate
or blithely ignore
admonishment, aye accentuate
hmm...okay,...you apparently
decided to forsake adequate
prophecy, resigning despite
honest to dog admission to punctuate
a most unpleasant prediction,
I did woof lee aerate
worst case scenario,
leaving disabling genetic trait
to effect generations,
where legions of lesions adulterate
causing future offspring to mutate
and closely resemble
teenage mutant turtles, this potentate
(albeit self declared
only mein kampf, thee only life,
his existence he can arrogate
he doth officiate),
hence proceed at your own risk,
to avoid unpleasant fate,
visited upon unborn sons and daughters
uttering imprecations
unintelligible expletive laced spate,
that would approximate
(a cross between duck and pig)
incoherently gutturally excoriate
ting tee, thus don't tell me, I didn't
forewarn ya, whar
yar heart might palpitate,
thus causing da ole
ticker to fluctuate
dem eyes of yaws
could severely dilate,
while sweat gushes out every pore
streaming like liquid useless tube video,
a salty sea would then perspirate
out every last drop of fluid,
erupting magmatic plasma
to pool agglomerate
right under keister,
a lovely bag of bones
delivered to Norristown State
which inability to hydrate,
hence resultant mummification
heroic measures futile
thus humane decision would necessitate
and remaining days
on Earth numbered
starting with zero, not very great,
now this extinct reptile
hoop heed dead gratefully,
express message, and clearly articulate.
12/5/20
Forewarning
It's only morning
But my day starts off far from boring
Usually up by 6 AM, not snoring
Weather getting colder or warming
Clouds in the sky forming
Soon to be storming
Thundering, and pouring
Nearby rapids that continue roaring
Birds in the sky soaring
Above houses with wooden or tile flooring
She acted like she was adoring
Then quickly was ignoring
Meanwhile I kept exploring
And scoring
Originating from the sourcing
As folks were still warring
It's rather abhorring
Did not get it done or was performing
My energy depleting and restoring
As time continues coursing
I found this life rather rewarding
Folks starving or gorging
Staying silent or reporting
Didn't always go according
To plan, but my own path I was always forging
The temperature scorching
People torching
Over one more thing
It's petty and useless, like hoarding
Did or did not get it in a recording
Was either false or accurate reporting
Against it or supporting
Taking a stand is more like a demand.
Quit asking for what they ignore.
Be more than a supporter. Be a man.
Otherwise you will always be on the other side of their door.
Knock, Knock, Knock. Their not letting you in.
Your visions to them are a bore.
Be forewarned. Don't become another victim scorn.
We vote at their polls. Wonder where your vote goes?
Oh they got you with the, "We gave you a Black President" craze.
We are still at war. Still broke. Children still hard to raise.
But it has nothing to do with race. That's no longer a factor.
Black Brokers. Black Bankers, Black Singers & Actors.
Be forewarned. Don't become another victim scorn.
Even who once had blacks enslaved have to eat off of floors.
But we still struggle for what exactly to stand up for.
They say don't discuss Religion and Politics.
But that's the earth's variety.
Do you really have to wonder who are the real secret societies?
So try with me. Seek what they wish of you not to explore.
What they say is unlawful. Not to be performed.
Be your own you. Don't be like he before or him who may come after you.
Be forewarned. Don't become another victim scorn.
Suicidal thoughts.. Because of words and bruises.
Go to the police, case treated like a nuisance.
So what's the excuses? Seems like its alright to be beat for who you are.
To bare scars. The only hope you have is wishing on a star.
But that's not it by far. You say you have the ammo to fight this war.
You have an advisor write a senator a speech, as if their hearts are warm.
But they don't care. That there are grown men who still have nightmares.
They cry real tears. To be bashed is one of their greatest fears.
Because of difference. We have to now fight for our civil rights.
Constitution won't back us up for what we do in the bed at night?
Please, Be forewarned. Don't become another victim scorn.
Lots of forewarning
Fair steadfast of the Lord
New in the morning.
Beware the frustration,
the ultimate complication
of the premarital affair.
written July 24, 2021
Brilliant start will depart
with storm, tempest fermenting.
Red at dusk fomenting,
brewing, red sky delight!
Cheers folks! Let's party!
Tomorrow hovers, an uncertain ghost
trying to recall how to haunt.
The calm is over, the leafy drape dropped.
Beyond the window
sparrows are digging trenches,
feathered preppers pecking on the edge
of a dim and looming sunset.
November peeks out
from under a russet and smoky skirt,
It is losing its color
turning into a pale harbinger,
beckoning us into darker dreams.
The climate is finding its ice roots,
it spooks the blood.
Time to shake out the woolens,
those bullet proof garments of winter.
Tomorrow is coming
and it is pulling the dead
behind it.
A bird that dips and wavers
Over lone waters round,
Then with a cry that quavers
Is gone—a spectral sound.
— Cale Young Rice
Sopping wet, the organ floats,
flounders in one of several boats,
severed from the blue-green sea,
nevermore to scurry into the lee.
Hearty laughs, ebb and flow, on wind
oblivious to a malevolent whirlwind.
Cupid’s arrow, a bullseye contortion,
took from mate, a violent proportion.
The dawn had beat its forewarning,
hungry reds and yellows of morning.
His wild-eyed grin at heart’s wild pulse,
in his manhandle, a violent repulse.
Sin does course through shattered veins,
but in its course of port and starboard brains,
he doesn’t reflect upon the seagull’s call,
nor see the whirlpool snare mixed with gall.
The salty-scent of frangipani burns the hairs
inside his flaring nostrils. A curt whisper, dares
an invitation to Davy Jones locker, with sore siren
exhalation, the iceberg chill of Cale Young Rice.
Her bloody valentine feels the squeeze, not with
torn flesh, but a spectre’s hand with calamitous pith
inside his chamber walls ; sans lee. Sharks
circling, inhaling the scent of brute; wave arcs
all about this fanfare, with the strumpet’s reprisal.
All her shipmate’s innards fight for his survival.
In his case, Cupid’s arrows sting like a frozen sea.
The ghostly wisp enjoys the massage-latchkey,
slowly intensifying, as his loins had torn her apart.
She has a heart; she had a heart; boat’s sweetheart
of flowing ringlets, tossed to and fro, sinking
where she thought she’d found love, blinking
back an ocean of tumultuous tears, afraid, broken.
The sea accepted a plea bargain, with him as a token.
She’d live from ship to ship, shining with brilliance,
protecting, like a lighthouse - a harbor’s resilience.
Back on deck, he’s tossed overboard; Cupid decides.
Into seaweed of sharks, who prolong eating, he slides.