Best Goggle Poems
I've never twitted on Tweeter
nor am I an Instagrammarian
I've searched on Goggle
but cannot find MyFace on the interweb
I ask "how do I find the North Star?"
and get 4,460,000,000 hits, mostly ads
for an ice cream bar called "The Big Dipper"
so I go make some toast and eat lunch
at least I can work a toaster
Kids think I was born in the Jurassic era
believing my first job was swabbing the deck
on a Byzantine sailing ship
for I speak of phones connected to the wall
and TV sets with 4 channels and cars that got 8 mpg
I don't know url's from www's, or http's from html's
my mobile phone always auttocronects my speeling
and cyber censors block my search for 'penal colonies'
I cannot find the mute button on Zoom
so my belch might make it into the meeting minutes
my internet takes regular coffee breaks
and the only tweeting is the birds outside my window
so I sit at my screen watching dots chase themselves in a circle
trying not to get toast crumbs
on my high tech keyboard
Written 16 Mar 2022
I was as high as the eyes could see
A giant dark cloud of pure misery
I seemed to roll as one with the wind
A giant black wall that had no end
I stripped the land and left it bare
Of the lives I destroyed, I didn’t care
Those who stayed I covered in dust
As their children died I broke their trust
From my hell many families did flee
Left to wander homeless in misery
I changed the word these words are true
Black Sunday brought darkness on you
I didn't see any direct link but just goggle
pictures of the dust bowl and you will see
what i have written for Brian's Contest.
The Dust Bowl - Alexandre Hogue - 1937
Wallflowers with their faces raised,
and others too, with heads bowed low;
the weak, the stronger, eyes all glazed...
those flowers there all in a row.
Wallflowers placed against the wall,
stems bent and twisted, on display.
In a long row, they line the hall,
like wilted plants, no role to play.
Wallflowers there lined up as eight;
tomorrow perhaps there are less.
So soon replaced by whims of fate...
more added flowers in distress.
They stab the heart of those who pass;
eyes look into our depth of soul.
Blank eyes that glare like faded glass...
sad hearts that know there is no goal.
Wallflowers there against the wall;
from wheelchairs come the quiet cries.
I hear their silent, pleading call...
My anger I cannot disguise.
Sandra M. Haight
~8th Place~
Premiere Contest: Weepy Quatrain
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 05/21/2016
================================
I wrote about this moment, which is
intensely frozen in my mind, because of a visit to a local
nursing home. (photo from Goggle images.)
And so they sat, this learned three
in full pursuit of liberty,
the turkey, eagle and the dove
looked down upon them from above.
The declaration almost writ
they rubbed their chins a little bit;
looked heavenward, and there espied
their feathered friends, as one they cried:
The perfect symbol he would be
to represent our great country!
His visage shall our seal adorn
To celebrate our new land born!
But harmony became dissent
as three ways now their discourse went;
voicing long as they were able -
till three bird splats hit the table.
Silenced now, the conversation
at this triple defecation,
the trio must now make a pact:
clean up the table, and their act.
Full focused now, the case was laid
for each bird, compliments were paid,
pausing only, eyes a-goggle
at the turkey’s goofus gobble.
Despite their eloquential might
they could not make their choice take flight;
just as they made their virtues soar
another splat would hit the floor.
The birds, enjoying now this game
attempt to calibrate their aim;
to make their mark and thus complete
the declaration at their feet.
The Dove, descending from his perch
aghast at our trio’s besmirch;
peppering poop across their stage
like little stars across the page.
The turkey, not to be outdone
slicked back his crop and took a run;
with several rather clumsy wipes
he bathed the document with stripes.
The Eagle watched with some disdain
his adversaries stock now wane;
their lust for glory now long gone -
he knew he was the chosen one.
The Eagle may have won the day
his image is still used today;
but Dove and Turkey may still brag -
they made the stars and stripes your flag.
I've never twitted on Tweeter
nor am I an Instagrammarian
I've searched on Goggle
but cannot find MyFace
I ask it "how do I change the oil in my car?"
and get 570,000,000,000,000 hits
so I go make some toast and eat lunch
at least I can work a toaster
my kids think I was born in the Jurassic era
for I speak of phones with cords
that came out of a wall
and TV stations with 4 channels
to choose between
I feel like I'm swabbing the deck
on a Byzantine sailing ship
I don't know url's from www's,
or http's from html's
my mobile phone tries
to auttocronect my thumb typing
and cyber censors block my search
for 'penal colonies'
So I walk to my neighborhood park and
...lie on the grass
...stare at the blue sky
...pet my neighbor's schnauzer
...feed peanuts to the squirrels
...imagine shapes in the clouds
...watch the sun set and the moon rise
The cyber world is
an amazing supersonic ride
but the great outdoors is my landing strip
and I've just touched down
Sunday cockcrow nascent
aural essays reveal
laissez-faire raptures.
Enigmatic silken piece compost ushered in by
trenchant trademark tremulous signature.
Doe-eyed instrumentalist’s strident brass ensemble,
wakey wakey for the pier gazing loiterer whose blasé
sashay amble’s out of kilter.
Maverick antennae on a radio safari,
hawking hourglass heritage lodestone.
Closet Peter Pan’s astride transistor, literati goggle eyed and glued.
Silhouettes of wistful mint leaf tract,
navigating hoarse throat shellback allegory.
Earnest weekend welcome mat to madcap jester, laureate, bohemian.
Religiously the listener’s transported
from a humble tepee sanctum
to alluring levee inundation area,
far flung folly edifice,
nomad siren hymn sheet to mount Half Dome.
Long wave bounder in my dreams,
I limb skip oe’r fiction world simulcast entanglement,
snoop beneath rogallo-wing parachute in a Middle East plot,
“twin peaks” would be awestruck by this labyrinthine concourse.
One can flit invisibly round medieval black market cobblestone arcades,
ghost novelist’s ethereal penchant for pinch and pilfer retro-fit infringement.
Melting pot cinnamon dispenser, whiff stick fix antidote to kettledrum ennui
the blight of urban jungle setting and rural folklore.
Otherworld contortion with a shard of drama for magic carpet flight of fancy broadcast
Lineage derived from ancient epochs now assumed but for an inkling, icons I become with card shark sly booth legerdemain.
Maybe I’m that fictile clueless hiker, destitute, indigent
As the ink dries swiftly,
peer into the invisible thoughts
these poet eyes see
Blink blink
The world is on the brink,
following dire voices
that speak darkly
Many underground secret plans
are silo hatching
No peyote ingest is required
to see the sign
of a mushroom cloud looming
And soon mutation burst opening
Nuclear rain is not a small-talk,
weather topic
most people care to discuss
at cocktail gatherings
Blink blink
There’s plenty of mouths excess wanting,
and even more famine bellies needing
But they both pale numerically
in comparison
to the torrential violence bleeding
And the talking rear-ends say,
“Have a Balaam mule work day”
As the share-the-wealth resources
get pilfered off-shore —
Somewhere clandestine secure
That kind of information is classified!
I’m pretty poetry sure
many have heard that line before
Blink blink
As the white paper turns yellow,
the time of Man
is turning fiery red sunset
Apocalyptic visions
of city heaps glowing in the uranium night
Cold pocket calculations
of nuclear winter burnings, so solar bright
Goggle minds having
no sense of mass extinction urgency
Blink blink
This be what these poet eyes see
By Elton Camp
She was weak from vomiting and diarrhea
Blood ran from her gums onto her teeth
Her husband and sons had died horribly
Only she and daughter Anne remained
The whimpering child clutched her mother
Soon, there was no longer any response
Anne ran to the neighboring metal shack
“Help me! I think mother is dead too.”
“Get away!” the family fearfully ordered
“You can’t come here. Go to your auntie.”
Her mother’s sister lived a half-mile away
The ten-year-old fled, stumbling, crying
“I can do nothing, child,” the aunt said
“You must never come here again!”
Small and frail, Anne collapsed in the street
Passers-by diverting gazes, walked on
Not lack of care, but fear ruled the day
Anne was an outcast by no fault of hers
Hours passed as Anne grew ever weaker
A doctor in a yellow bio-suit appeared
A mask and goggle completed her protection
Anne could see only a pair of brown eyes
Desperately ill, she could only give her name
The Ebola treatment unit was her only hope
Anne was bathed, clothes burned, new ones given
But without direct contact--only a faceless nurse
Enshrouded in the manner of the doctor
No vaccine or cure could be offered
The health care workers must be kept safe
Spread of the infectious virus must stop
It was a lonely, terrifying time for Anne
Parents dead, rejected by friends and family
To save young Anne proved impossible
She began to bleed freely from her mouth
Her final hours were a terror of desperation
Anne died miserably, alone and frightened
The burial team sprayed her with disinfectant
The same done for the inside of the body bag
They slipped her inside and closed the zipper
Then added a second and third body bag
Open pits in the forest awaited
Red Liberian clay filled the grave
A crude, wooden marker erected
“In Memory, Anne Rathborne”
We have murdered morality and raped reality.
Every chicken wants to crow before they grow.
Our boys are hunters and our girls flaunters.
The future is forgotten and backwardness begotten.
Our fathers are scavengers and our youths avengers.
Our mothers are murderers and our wise men wanderers.
Character disorder is the new order.
The sun and stars sink as the whirlwind winks.
We have nabbed nature with our cruel culture.
I see the spurious spills from the hill of ills.
Listen echoes of errors and tantrums of terrors.
The king of the kingdom is on the throne of thraldom.
Workers of wisdom are sacked from stardom
because weed and wine make them famous and fine.
There is battle between civil right and moral rights.
Adam and Steve neglects beautiful Ada and Eve,
they are declared man and knife in a wedding without a wife.
Must we be lost at all cost?
Youths crave financial freedom and social stardom:
the making of mindless millionaires and brainless billionaires.
Real value is missing while ponzi plans are kissing.
Beautiful ladies are nude, bold boys are rude.
We view our naughty needs with the goggle of greed...
before the sun sets and life begins to regret
my pen will has a tale to tell like the jingling bell:
I see civil lies in our civil eyes.
To be continued...
Copyright 2017 Adeleke Adeite
Bloody streuth look out mate here they come
The Tourists Downunder to have some fun
Clickin’ their cameras, looking goggle eyed
While out in the hot sun getting deep fried
Askin’ for service and getting in our hair
Makes you wonder if there really all there
Thinkin’ it Spring in the middle of May
Speakin’ foreign lingo, as they say G’Day
Forget we’re multi-cultural and highly urbanized
Give em the Aussie salute that the ads advertise
Imports are out, the Aussie image wins
Now here’s were your work it really begins
Wear Moleskins, an Akubra, Drizabone
Hide the credit cards and Bluetooth phone
Cover the microwave, throw out Sarah Lee
From now on its damper, pavolvas and billy tea
Yack about the outback and the old pioneers
Have a bush Barbie and down a few beers
Quote a couple of verses from old Banjo
Hobnob round the fire, put on a dinkum show
Get out the four wheel and take em for a drive
Never mention our crooks can eat you alive
Ignore all the snakes, sharks, mozzies and the flies
Crows flying backwards, and them peckin’ magpies
Explain that kangaroos don’t hop down our streets
Nor for breakfast do we bush tucker eats
Throw a boomerang, take em to a corroboree
Tell em the tour guides take care of the fee
Bush dances are popular, and so is Uluru
Dingoes, frilled lizards and wallaby stew
Show em the Australia that we’ve never seen
Mate tourists on nature are so bloody keen
Let em hug a koala, they’re as cute as can be
Just watch the bloody bastards don’t on em pee
Before they go home, help them spend all their loot
Then add departure tax, so they’re real destitute.
Sing “Waltzing Matilda”, “Advance Australia Fair”
In those tourist dollars, we all want to share
This Aussie image to some may seem passé
Mate you watch em flock here, what more can I say!
a massive coral reef just off the shore
of a tiny island in the South Pacific
a tropical reef filled with sea life galore
breathtaking and stunningly majestic
like an enormous rainforest on the sea floor
rare kaleidoscope of colorful sea creatures
a fishdom of seldom seen underwater life
even a crevice hiding a notorious moray eel
a reef so magnificent, an oceanic cathedral
a community of sea life in a grand display
exotic swimmers in an oceanic aquarium
gracing the reef with healthy marine life
offering much for visitors to that domain
begs it be respected and kept pristine
this grandiose basilica of the blue sea
surface floaters unable to dive appear
like bobbing corks on a fishing pole line
static observers, yet witnesses to divine creation
while skilled divers invade the watery nation
the abode of sea inhabitants extraordinaire
a face goggle view has its rewards
though surface viewers covet those of
the divers who can fathom the deep
viewing the ocean floor’s beauty mark
a kingdom of oceanic life of divine art
surface views are provided with small
portions of the reef freshly harvested
but a rare experience is squandered
because of the inability to dive deep
a lack borne with shame and regret
those who dive deep gain profoundly
by interacting with the life of that watery den
while those fear of depths are deprived
as others dive and find rich treasures
that the surface viewer never discovers
being a surface viewer can be humiliating
causing awareness of one’s shortcomings
taking what others gained at great effort
with risks that only success could unfold
gracing the lesser with hard-earned gold
My brother reprobator and oedipus.
Nimble selictor, nisus impersonale muss.
Improvidence, goggle eyed or irrational,
Instigate inane dowdy, kinsfolk isolate fuss.
Paramour or inamorato objurgate carlish,
Impune contrivance, obfuscate gobble tush.
A partner inauspicious or inartificial indigent,
Not same as before lumber or lurcher hiss.
Irremissible offence fidget formidable lead,
My parents exaggerate emotions I ever miss.
I simply stumbled when I saw I fumbled;
With my strength I struggled to come over the trouble
But I end up building up more tackles.
I've said, '...well...with my knowledge.., though little.'
Diverting the people's attention from God's temple.
Some too, joggled after me like dull bulls.
I talked as if I were a guru.
Deep within I knew I was feeble-
Not able, even to solve a simple riddle.
But then, I would save my ego too
Any way before the people.
Some handed over to me the praises' mantle- an example.
Again, deep within I knew it is an attribute
Meant only for the incomparable.
Others simply mumbled;
In climax they gathered words to make me lockable
With their sort of verbal battle.
I thought they weren't faithful (to me).
Somehow, I called them rebels
One said, ' High praises-for God only. For you- unimaginable !'
'Of course not for me ! ' , I rumbled.
At that, Omniscience must have giggled.
'Save my face, I wore my goggle.
That day, the crowd were muddled.
So, I quickly jumbled within the rabble;
Then I left them, though I still bubbled-
I couldn't settle.
And doing that I was gentle
'Cause some already have in their hands broken marbles;
Ready to crush me down with their serious pebbles.
I would have been crumbled !
My condition would have been horrible and terrible.
I would have been in bogus trouble !
I knew God was not baffled;
Lucifer did that and was severely disabled.
Father might have seen mine as a mere twinkle;
He could still do a sanctioning in the next jiffy.
I just realized my foible...
He took me back - I was forgivable !
A surprise - I was acceptable and receivable !
Never again will I be pride-gullible.
May God help me always to be humble.
Stone set unblemished unworked faces create hardship floors on which to sip out of rock puddles. Such luxury. In a fine art landscape one must always wear clicking heels. And one must always lift ones head and toss one's bowl hairdo around. It gives an embellishment of establishment. Yet whilst closing establishments always arrange the items on the tray to perfect the mass erosion of corrosive killers. It is to be said that dueling in a spa is the undeciphed leak of a giant cat. Fat catacombs playing whilst the sky bird drops upon the earth in destructive violent ease. Smiling. Thumbs up. Goggle eyed. Then carcasses pulled by mules. In skirts. Carry no silver blade. Wear no authentic ancient dress. Don the hats and adornments of the fake. To fix a fax is to fornicate frantically causing fish to float. For danger lies in spewed out materials. Look no further than within for truths said millipede to centipede. They were crossing a heavily used junction. Look there at the fortresses and deem not of importance the wealth of a breed born. Then off. Zoom. They went zoom. Good. Gratefully grabbing garters giving greatness. And a small atomicity agonising. Not good. Not great. So no hahahaha to that fried wok explosion. Of sorts it is a curvaceously built argumentative and aromatic compound in a cutlery drawer sailing. Admirable. No not admirable. Jeer not a rolling pin shaped triangularly. Be not a bend in a lane. Xxxxx insectivorous ideologues. Xxxx bean bomb. Xxxxx destitution demon xxxxx dragline drainage basin *** cosmopolitanism z z z.
He is about five feet three inches high,
his head is half-bald and remaining hairs are gray,
though original color of the hairs was dark brown.
He wares mustache that both ends are pointed
and rolled up like Kaiser Wilhelm; however,
his mustache is somewhat thinner than that of Kaiser’s.
He has brown eyes and sharply nose.
Although he is a short, his body structure is upper range of
medium built. He is not wearing glasses in his daily routine;
nevertheless, he wears glasses while he is working
at bench. In addition to the glasses he even wears
a pair of goggle type magnifiers on his forehead.
When he talks, he slightly shakes his head.
And if he is in exiting mood, he even shakes more.
He was a forsaken child brought up in a slum.
He was an abandoned child never knew the parents’ love.
Nonetheless, his most unique characteristic that makes him different from others is that he loves to play a clown, because his heart is filled with tears that to be hidden behind thickly-painted makeup; because his heart is full of concealed grudges that to be glossed over with the funny gesture.