Best Grimaces Poems
I listen to the sighing
of the wind, as I sit
in the cool shade
of a sprawling carob tree,
wondering if Basho,
in heavenly abode,
next to Elysian Fields,
is mumbling agitatedly
under his breath – possibly
grimaces, wrings his hands
as he flips the pages of
vain anthologies where
writers sell their wares…
Stuck in comfort zone
deprived of achievement,
wary of new horizons,
surprise ends and twists…
they cling to restrictions
and Mother Nature’s skirt.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Pareidolia Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
© 24th August 2020
Struck by chaotic lightning,
fear of unknown fields of turmoil,
feeding my desire to break free from
the confusion I once wore like silk.
Cluttered mind full of intellect,
dalliances of memories nourishing
all that has been sown in fields of
disarray,
for my lips are muddled, and my touch
entangled in shambles of loss.
Topsy-turvy disruption bleeds through
the veins I carry like yesterday’s
incoherent baggage-
and
now I am left forsaken in a state of
visceral confusion.
Lead me not to the staircase I once
climbed when youth was full of poor
grimaces;
allow me to follow the path to a
threshold that bestows peace of mind,
relieved by all who know me-
but
that is just a dream
and I am not
as strong as I seem
Date: 11.22.19
Contest Name: Disarray
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
The world is bleeding
We stand at the edge of a precipice,
Looking in fear on our Earth,
Boiling, bubbling, and steaming,
With pools of blood flowing.
Warplanes blanket the sky.
Volcanic sounds pierce the ear.
Booms of gun shots rent the air
Lightning passes blinding the eye
The skies let down a deluge of tears
The old world is strangled to death
Toxic waste muddles up every head
The world once dressed in green
Now wears a mantle of pollution
Green- not a colour any more.
The earth wriggles in pain,
But its silent whimper
Falls in deaf unheeding ears!
A sword dangles on a thread
Ready to fall anytime over our heads.
Might dissipates men’s eye sight
From everywhere rises the bleak cry for help
Pale faced grimaces of death as bombs explode
Groans of pain as bullets whizz past
Once warm blood spilled over the streets of Paris
Twin towers were raced down in the U.S
School children massacred in many parts of the world
Now the animosity between Russia and Ukraine,
Iran and Israel keep the world on tenterhooks.
All through the globe, seismic waves of terror
Sweep across… effacing life, love and dreams.
With modest tools, if the Neanderthal men fought,
Modern men are powered with lethal weapons
Any of which can annihilate the whole world in seconds
Men themselves turn as weapons,
And explode like bombs killing thousands.
Where shall we find a bastion
From this rabid pack of wolves?
From the quagmire of terror, we need an escape
Let it be writ on every wall and billboard
‘Down with War, Down with Terrorism’
At the end of Mercy Street
lies a forgotten wharf.
A single row boat is
moss covered.
The battered vessel is
moored and unwanted
like leprosy -
conducive to an invisible cancer.
Two splintered oars imitate antennae -
receiving distress signals
from no one.
The dinghy will not row towards God.
The boat will not sail past
Bergen-Belsen or Dachow
nor will it glide 'gainst Newton.
Mother wouldn't allow such a spectacle.
Tommy doesn't sleep on bottle caps anymore.
Tommy and Mother are content now.
(Tommy is dying)
Tommy's back is not broken
like a scarecrow -
(for he is good).
His leg is not twisted like a licorice stick -
(for he is cloaked in servile flattery).
Tommy doesn't skip like a river
nor shine like a sapphire.
Kevorkian wise and Barabbas blamed;
he grimaces -
he swallows Mother's red roses;
knowing when he sweats -
(in the afternoon funeral festivities)
he'll smell just like her.
The darkened sunlight -
(which Tommy cannot see)
throws itself between two clouds
marking a dramatic entrance!
Tommy's knees are broken yet
he still dances -
obviously dumb-founded
and matriarch approved.
Tommy hyperventilates and chokes.
Tommy eschews Mother's American beauties
and externally regurgitates the
memories he can't
(internally)
understand.
A single groove migrates
the needle into ambient static as
Tommy washes his hands.
Tommy simply washes his hands
and whistles.
(He simply washes his hands)
and whistles...
Brave New World
A 'world' it is and it spins around in mad circuits of loopy loops.
Has reached an infinite array of denominations in which foolish
insane clowns have taken over the asylum once more as bedlam
pretends liberation as the counterfeit currency of nauseating progress.
'New' I have my doubts though when fiddling with reconstruction
conjures novel aspirations from Holocaust to Hiroshima from pure
race unadulterated megalomania to narcissistic greed ‘all can be
done’ but the genie emerges from Huxley’s toxic bottle unrestrained.
'Brave' should pertain to courage when golden means and common
sense of virtue defaced by ugly grimaces facades mascara of tainted
moderation succumbs to mediocrity construed by disingenuous evil.
An aberration of jesters plotting naked feasts of blinded engineering.
Temptation is an ancient theme and just because we are capable to
plot our own demise does not preclude some hesitation or valid
inhibition as courage must incorporate the rationale. Not to follow in
wolf’s clothing a script of Faustian cloning just because we can.
Manipulation of chromosomes through twisted recombining helices
as a stairway to hell gave us Dolly the sheep. Another incarnation
braying ‘Give me body parts’ to harvest stem cells modified amino
acids like little devils on steroids and protein shakes of unpredictability.
The most cunning argument for creating whole new persons brought
to the fore the notion that if we the ‘good ones’ do not follow science
to create what evolution failed to build from nature’s garden and God’s
promise then the malign others surely will and consequently all is lost.
The mind boggles in the light of self-righteousness and the delusion
that refusal and resistance are signs of cowardice and the misconception
that two or numerous wrongs result in right and law when duty could
prevail as guardian for another world of sanity and accepting our limits.
The thought police and miscreant paradigms of Dolly’s dogma will surely
try to silence my opinion that courage has another merit than the scientific
infestation that my mind and brain needs to be cloned in order to restrain
my voice of caution but when I shout ‘enough’ at least my dignity remains.
I use a walker to get around
A device I need in order
To maintain my balance
So I walk slowly.
People rush by
Not seeing me
Making me feel that I am in their way
Some are impatient
I feel their warm breath on my neck
As I try to pass through the subway turnstile
On my way to work
Just like everyone else.
A few say their sorry
Over time I’ve learned
That people say things they don’t mean.
I tire easily
Occasionally stopping to catch my breathe
When that happens
Gestures are all I have
Since my hands are busy
Sometimes my face becomes like putty
Primed to be explicit in nature
Grimaces
Winks
Smiles
A nod
Laughter
Mouthing the words thank you for a door held open.
If forced,
By a unexpected blocked exit
Or a person suddenly veering in front of me
I do something
That crosses the line
Melodramatic
Emotional
Or angry
I do this because it’s the only thing I can do.
Donald Trump, that disgusting buffoon,
Grimaces and gestures like a demented baboon.
Liar and con man,
A friend of the Klansman,
As well as of Putin and his KGB goons.
for Charles Baudelaire
(Paul Verlaine’s sonnet : « A Charles Baudelaire », translated by T. Wignesan.
I thought I’ll first present to readers – they should see why - an unrimed version, and maybe later the strict sonnet form.)
I didn’t know you, I didn’t love you,
I know you not : period, and I love you even less :
I can hardly defend your diffamed name,
And if I have some right to count myself among your witnesses,
Then it’s, first of all, and besides all, towards the Feet tied.
Initially by the cold nails, then the surges of feeling
The women of sin – whose Oh ! how anointed,
So many kisses, intoxicating chrism and kisses full of hunger !-
You fell, you prayed, like me, like all the rest
The souls that hunger and thirst during the passage
Pushed so many well-wishing hopes to reach Calvary !
Calvary rightful and true, Calvary where, then, these doubts
This, that, grimaces, art, tearful at their rout.
What ? To die unprotesting, we, men of sin.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
He does not notice the grimaces on his classmates' faces.
Or hear their deep sighs, or realize he is fixated on dinosaurs.
His discussions are one-sided, he does not need peers at all.
He does not know that his constant blathering is bothering them.
It is not what they want to hear over the teacher.
He lives in a world within their world, a natural, loving place.
A place where pterodactyls, T-rex, and stegosauruses roam.
He cares not for social cues or for annoyed looks or for classmates.
He speaks in a monotone and expects no response.
Living in his own nature bowl of a classroom within a classroom.
A loud noise brings his face up, but he quickly looks back down.
He is interested in the noise about as long as he is interested in others.
A second; two seconds at tops.
He returns to his preferred world.
Where dinosaurs help him cope with the rest of his life.
I’ve seen the seaman’s life around,
So, when I step on solid ground,
Where I’ve forgot how life self goes,
Who rules this world and how grass grows,
I have a feeling of distortion
Of everything to smallest portion,
And breeze that blows humans’ faces
Out to the ugliest grimaces
Again remind me days and nights
That being spent away from lights,
The cities’ smogs and women’s laces,
Were fulfilled with the Ocean races,
Night watches, squalls, and pitch, and roll –
To name a few to d*mn’em all!
The sunsets miles away from home
And countries hardly ever known
To those wasting lives ashore,
The highest tides and cheapest whores,
The destined ups-n-downs after
I only heard the Fortune’s laughter,
When everything that I could make,
Was my face’s smiling poor fake!
I do remember ships-n-captains,
The seamen’s dreams of life like sultan’s,
Drake’s Passage monster waves and waters,
Chinese typhoons and bloodshed slaughters,
The taste of salt upon my lips,
The Lord God’s mercy giving tips,
Sea spirit, zest and playful mood
That raise up right in neighborhood,
Yet frequent kicks and rare smiles,
Else shipborne deaths, officials’ files,
And - to complete this shortest list –
Dead leeward leak and starboard mist!
Amidst contortations and grimaces, lucifer laboured.
In two hours and three, the beast was perfect,
Glaring around, he cackled his delight.
"Serpatinus," he spluttered, still cackling
He appeared and in lucifer's hands, fell the snake.
With deceit lurking in his eyes
He fitted it inbetween the beast's thighs
Then opening the gates of hell, he unleashed the beast
For her beauty, many a man did crave
Oblivious that such beauty takes to the grave
She could twist and untwist men
For they were always there begging for her light.
She was generous with her gifts
As they obliviously signed their warrants:
-Death and impotent warrants.
Inbetween her legs, the serpent never rested
There was an incessant invasion of many a *****.
Families never saw light again in the aftermath
As men grew wearied and hibernated without children.
Many had fallen; fallen for lucifer
Watching in amusement, he cackled
While signing their air tickets
Mission accomplished, the beast turns and journeys
From whence it came,
In wait of lucifer's next call to arms.
Presidents, ministers, kings ,nobles and clergies
were those who received the tickets lucifer signed.
They all fell prey in this
Lucifer's incessant destruction
Sitting in the bar; perusing the headlines:
From “Galileo Forced to Recant Statement that Earth Orbits Sun”
To “China Bans Reincarnation without Government Permission” -
Yahweh grimaces and hands Zeus another beer
As He mutters, “What were we Thinking?”
Thor turns to Meteora: “What about another game of darts, darlin’?”
Buddha just rolls His eyes
And sighs
As Jesus and Mohammed discuss hitching a ride to another galaxy
A man walks into a room to smell the wallflowers
to find their petals plucked
Perplexed at first, he grimaces then glowers
Some people have all the luck
The sweet yet fetid smell of nearly rotten fruit
in a dank and dark corner
Wafts in the air like muffled notes of a flute
or the whimper of a quiet mourner
I pick up the scent of mint or maybe basil
and scoop up a wilted leaf
It's not yet brown but turning a little hazel
and I hand it to the bereaved
We share an over ripe plum and a pomegranate
with a timid shrinking violet
Such is the ephemeral nature of a dying planet
when we're all deaf and we're all silent
Left over overspills are a typewritten error and a grammatical code of which there is no collision of nouns, verbs or adjectives. Descent described design deriving dug dirt. And a soil no shine. A voided coloured counting ball is many balls on cruises to oil lakes. Found in farm grounds. Sluice then slice slice slice. But thrice times an angle in a wailing tree is nit a crystallized orb nor is it a hyperlink or a cycle of cubic measurement. Mature mo frozen italic of thought to a paper in the mind. And gathering although hazardous is another feat to match the toes of soul. Anatomical wisdom rattle. Shake shake shake. And a smiley snake grimaces at very tight reeds to pass to get the kill. Good. Greedy goblins grabbing gestational genital garments giving going gravitationally. And in addition to this a wide mouthed toad sits on that cake over there. Good. Fake that freezer pop. Z augments Z pathologically Z
A re-post of poem 939895 that mysteriously disappeared from PS...
The early morning darkness oozes melancholy whispers
as enraged storm clouds enfold me in a final deathly embrace.
She has come for me.
I can feel her breathy torment
breathe cold upon my beleaguered brow.
A cautious glimpse through my bedroom window
reveals the rage in her nictating blue eyes.
Frozen to my pillow I watch in terror.
Her minacious exhalations mesmerizing me.
Like a beautiful child giddily watching weightless seeds
float gently from blown Dandelions,
I watch transfixed,
as blinding fury strips leaves from trees,
breaking limbs like snapping bones.
The canopy twists in distorted grimaces
her demented smile mirrored in each pained contortion,
her wail echoed in the screams of trees.
They bend and turn and pull their roots from the soil
in vain attempts to escape her wrath.
She has come for me!
There is no escape.
A swirling dance of death and destruction,
bleeding droplets assail the glass.
A thousand tiny fingers tapping, scratching,
try to gain entrance into my final safe haven.
I can feel her drawing ever closer,
hovering above me,
sniggering,
her passion tempting me,
seducing me,
exulting in her conquest for she knows I can’t resist,
draining from me my heart,
my love,
my life.
Her cold dead fingers reach for me in my dream,
stealing my essences, draining my soul,
leaving nothing,
a dying husk of what once was an ebullient life, a caring man.
Then through the night a ray of brilliant light beams hope against darkness.
The angel appears.
Her words beckon me to fight against the demon,
the seductress, the succubus.
encouraging me,
caressing me,
With her agile wit and calm caring mind
she soothes me.
She comes for me,
and I await her eagerly.
Her laughter like the tinkle of sweet bells
vanquishes my night terror, waking me from my dream.
She comes for me,
and I melt longingly into her comforting willowy embrace
as the ravaging misery fights its final battle,
destroying all that it can.
With one last desperate breathe it screams curses into the night,
while my sweet angel strokes me with her words
and her beautiful blue eyes flash a brummagem smile.
09/15/2017