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Best Herring Poems | Poetry

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The Best Herring Poems

Details | Herring Poem | Create an image from this poem.

What a wonderful World

Blink if the title drew your eyes in See, the breadth of our human functionality Sparks interest Curiosity Thankfully, no evil kitty cats were killed because of it. But, humanity continues its descent. We live in a world of blasphemous sacrifices Judgmental stares And vicarious living A world where identities are being kidnapped Assaulted By ill-defined pronouns and verbs from Blogger’s egotistical delight Yet, we crave to be free & think for ourselves. We used to live in a world where “boys” never expressed their emotions Yet, today, they are criticized for mansplaining But, beg us to be a dictator in the sheets Oh, the lust of hypocrisy’s tongue knows No bounds Pre-emptive screams, the only “logical” sound As critical loudmouths burn off pounds Of social media dislikes While they stare at their obese internal sadness … We live in a world Where love is defined by what humanity’s online profile Shows on their Relationship Status Not the private memories Not the personal moments The less we share online, the less we care offline! Everybody wants to know about everybody else In order to forget about themselves Insecurities abound, Another red herring in their chilled soup They dance with spoonfuls of illegitimate intimacy Spinning their self-declarations round robin But, refuse to dip into change We used to live in a world Where it was a penny for their thoughts Now it costs a life when the mind is spoken So, I think to myself… ©D.J.E.


Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2018


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Late Summer Nights Dream at the Cat in the Hat

  
    It was way after eight, at the Cat in the Hat.
    The whole plaice was swimming, quoth the mackrel to sprat.
    Though the milk was upset, she still stifled her cry,
    So sorry i spilt you, mumbled poor humble pie.
    My joints are the bees knees, squealed the honey roast ham,
    And the apple agreed, she was better than spam.
    Then red herring denied, he had something to hide,
    Like a small Bombay duck, is a fish that is dried.
    While tasty choux pastry, bared her soul to an eel,
    The mock turtle announced, i believe i am veal.
    And the ice cube was crushed, as she played fast and loose,
    For an orange refused, to be part of fruit juice.
    As warm rhubarb crumble, melts in custards embrace,
    The sour gooseberry tart, wails she's taking my place
    Then a voice in my head, spoke it's all fantasy.
    Your table awaits you, said the waitress to me.
    I glanced at the menu, it was all a la carte.
    I said,bring me everything, but let's start with that tart.
    


Copyright © george seal | Year Posted 2017


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Innocence

Long ago
a year or so
I received accolades a plenty
I won this, and I won that
I was on top of it all
I was almost the whole shebang
I was important
I was all about me
I pandered and pounded
I wanted attention and I won
I was sad, when my cheating was undone

Caught with the red herring deep in my mouth
I left to sulk a bit and have a wee pout
then I figured out after I was caught
there was a way to still receive
the praise I so sought
once a month
that's how she works
post only then
the egoists trophy is my new perk


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2018


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PoetrySoup

PoetrySoup …

I Was Heartily Welcomed… As I Sat At Your Table
By:  Carol, Sara, Carolyn, Dane Anne,  Moses, and Abel
               Tim, Leon, John, Michael, Jim and Yoni
               Deborah, Krista, Adeleke and Charlie
   …  James, The (Two) Ruben(s) and (The Quik-Composer) Raul
   …  and Many, Many More, I Love to Hear At Dinner-Call !

                  The PoetrySoup …

… It Has Member – Mushrooms
Chew and Chat Lunchrooms
Delectable  Hors d'oeuvre
Every Ear-Full… Heard
Every Mouthful… Taste
Spoonful of Gourmet Grace
Voila’ Words, Don’t Waste
Simmer-Slow and Baste’

In Dug-up, Sweet Potatoes
  Ripe Food for Thought Tomatoes
And Onions, That Will Make You Cry
Artichokes and Lemons that Squeeze – ‘til You Die
Garlic and Oregano Are Just Some Suggestions
And Here’s Some Mint… for Your Digestion
Parsley to Parley and Jive-Chives, Just Keep Stirring
But There’s No Clam Chowder, Shrimp, or Herring

A Dash of This… A Dash of That Seasoning
A Pinch of That and Sprinkle This Reasoning…
On The Side with the Mustard and Relish, so Fresh
Are the Cucumber-Contest and Radish Requests
And I Can’t Forgo the Tongue-in-Cheek Puns…
Your Laughter is Passed Around, like Hot-Buttered Buns !

…  Poets … Are Proverbial Peas In The Pod
The Harvesters of Herbs-Heard, in The Garden of God
so... Salt and Pepper to Your Superb Style
Did You Say Cheese, Please ?... ( Full Mouth Smile !)
There’s Hot Chicken Broth, When You Are Cold
Everybody Knows… Its Good For The Soul
And All That’s On The Human Menu… It’s In There !
… Even A Mother’s … Tenderized Care
Like Campbell’s Brand… Its Umm… Umm… Good !
The Aspire – Asparagus, I Took… I Understood
So, PoetrySoup’s Cupboard is Never Bare
And There Ain’t No Bones, No Medium, Just Rare
And On The Star-Burner… Is The Savory Meat
So… Grab A Heartbeat-Bowl… and Bona Petit’…

Yes, Thank You, PoetrySoup
(You’re Up There with MoonBee’s FruitLoops !)

It Has Been A Pleasure Getting To Know You All 
Thru Your Beautiful Expressions, Coming Straight
From Your Warm and Welcoming Hearts

God Bless You......

MoonBee


Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009


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Sad Sea Tale

SAD SEA TALE

There was once an old man of the ocean
For a mermaid he had a devotion
But instead of two pins
She’d a tail and some fins
Which precluded their harmonic motion

But in spite of her disparate corpus
They maintained their romance polymorphous
‘Til a herring one day
Brought a message to say
That she’d gone off to live with a porpoise


[Gift for a lady]


Copyright © Geoffrey Brewer | Year Posted 2018


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Midnight Sail On Massachusetts Bay

Releasing the rigid anchor line
Leaving the safety of land in our wake
Warm July zephyrs filling the sails
Resting even hands upon the tiller
As the bow broken waves drift slowly aft
Herring Gulls night songs hang as we pass
Violet clouds drifting in pinkish bronze dusk
Outlining the schooner adrift on the horizon
Dancing rhythm of the Highland Lighthouse
Gifts a moment of wine warmed lips fervor
Alone with the lights from distant headlands
Their essence illume the crests softly breaking
Gently swaying the craft in warm foamy brine
Faint guitar moments with my voice uninhibited 
Evoking past memories of love on the Atlantic
Aspiration caught whole in the sail as we lay
A fearless embrace in the ethereal darkness
Of midnight on Massachusetts Bay sails…


Copyright © Charles Fuller | Year Posted 2007


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Herring Run at Cape Cod Canal


I could not paint a better picture,
Than the one in front of me,
Of twists and turns of the canal,
Bordered by endless trees.

A warm day with a slight breeze,
Giving the grass moving shadows of leaves,
Multiple species of birds stop by,
Some on the ground, some in the sky.

Gulls, Terns and Cormorants dive,
For crustaceans and fish of various size,
While sparrows, robins and occasional chickadees,
Grab insects on the fly.

Parades of boats, barges and ships,
Fascinate and entertain our time,
Sitting by the canal is more than a pastime,
It's watching life at its prime.

Fishermen, bicyclists, joggers and tourists,
They enjoy this special place,
Taking it all in; they embrace,
Nature at its purest!


Copyright © judith kerttula | Year Posted 2018


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To Heal A Vacant Heaven


The gods awoke early that day,
For the sun had swallowed the moon
And left a ragged, gaping wound in the sky.
It bled darkness like cold oil,

Threatening to stain all that they had labored to create,
Not the least of which, humankind,
Had yet to suck a breath
Or betray its common senses.

What of Byzantium, they pondered?
The horizon still ached for sails,
But to weave an empty sky was doom,
Even for the regal bateaus of Valhalla.

Breach the canopy, they thought,
Sew the temporal seam with threads of divine intent ...
Net the stars like silver herring
And bind them to the gunwales en masse.

Grave the hulls on the cosmos,
And set the sextant to unholy dreams ...
The day be damned, it would end nonetheless,
And tomorrow would still come ... sail on!




Written and submitted on December 10, 2018
For the "Standard Contest Number 145 Any Form" Poetry Contest
Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.



Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2018


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Kirsty (one)

Even now I sit, slump, shuddering,
Remembering...
Stale walls echoing lamenting calls,
their house...
A nightmare flickered in the red herring of betrayal.
Stumbling hormones, skinless evil.
it breathed...
Blood red lips snarling, capturing someone else essence, bone dry.
A nightmare...
Deliberately slithering up my calf, I grasped a cube of insanity as a last hope.

The shock...
Dead eyes feared a toy box, a fragmented sense
clung to my only protection, my untouched hell.
Blood soaked, dripping sweat, saturated fear I escaped...

I awoke...
Demons hell-bent on demise. Curiosity craved,
crushed my soul into submission,
But it's just a box...
Teeth exposed, chattered, blindly shoved fingers in to catch my tongue,
the taste of soured flesh.
Wait...
A vibrating voice crackled static pain, shivered in pleasure.
He escaped...
Bargaining, a blissful retreat, whilst exposing incompetence, irrational?
Go to hell.

Run...
Pounded at death's door, let me in...
Dad...
Warned the worm of the vulture, coming to devour its soul.

Something didn't fit, the sacrifice seeping into the floor smelt half human.
A twang...
Realisation, cold, the door creaked, locked,
grinning gruesomely, the veins pulsing along a sadistic mind,
Quaking, i flinched around to a lubricated nightmare,
clenching my muscles, the hiss of hell's rapture...

A prison shook, a prisoner shrieked,
Sanity split like perfect fission, slime coated his
perverted call...

Come, to daddy.


Copyright © Holly King | Year Posted 2010


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Fishy Footles

A RACE TO DE-BONE FISH:
Filet
Relay

A CONVENT FOR SHELL FISH:
Oyster
Cloister

A MEMBER OF THE UNDER SEA MAFIA:
Mobster
Lobster

A PROMISCUOUS SHRIMP:
Trampy
Scampi

A MUSICAL RED SNAPPER:
Snapper
Rapper

A COMPASSIONATE FISH:
Caring
Herring

A LAW ENFORCEMENT FISH:
Grouper
Trouper

2/2/13
For Yasmin's Footle Fun Contest









Copyright © Kim Merryman | Year Posted 2013


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Witness Statement

As I watched,
like a lion with its prey
the wave growled and snarled
while crouching, preparing to pounce.
Rushing up the sloping shingle beach,
it reached out and dragged pebbles
down into its lair.

I heard
the rasping raking of the beach tumbling
pell-mell and headlong into the sea
and saw
stones spewed out as leftovers
in the next cold wave of grey water,
breaking in trails of white foam
along the coastline.

I watched
the wind-blown spray
and the black clouds over grey water
threatening and evil;
a wave rose, a hooded cobra
striking the rocks of the breakwater
before devouring them.

I listened
to the plaintive cries of
a young herring gull high above the sea,
blown sideways by the gale.

But
full twenty feet from the shore
the black-clad cormorant sat securely smug
on a post, the predator’s perch.
A swift, triumphant swoop filled his beak with supper
and I watched as he flew away.


Copyright © Elisabeth Sheaffer | Year Posted 2013


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the Curry man from trinidad

 I leave my home in Trinidad
 And I come to live in America
 And now I working at Kmart
 Whole day at a cash register

 But I do have a lot of problems
 Every time I get hungry to eat
 all it has is a bunch of junk food
 Or bread with some artificial meat

 So I decide to take all my money
 And invested it in a food van
 Is about time I introduce to America
 The tasty cooking of we Trinidadian

 And I though for the first few days 
 That business will be real slow
 Boy, but I was so wrong
 now I see people line up for so

 So I open up with trini breakfast
 Smoke herring with tomato and roti
 Baggi, Pumpkin, baigan and aloo 
 Fried bodi ,doubles and fever grass tea

 It’s the first time they tasting Doubles 
 The chutney burning some of them nose
 One guy look like he from Russia
 Drop some curry channa on his cloths

 I get all the recipes from my brother
“naz cuisine” The best food in Trinidad’
Some people start complimenting
 Saying, it’s the best they ever had

 A white man faced turns red
 Eating the double with plenty pepper
 But he says how he likes it
 It has a very nice flavor

 And For lunch I roll out the big guns
 All different kind of talkari
 Goat, duck chicken and fish
 Bake and shark, bush up shut and dhalpurrie

 Two Puerto Rican girls
 One looks like Mariah Carey
 They order dhal, rice, and goat meat
 Saying how they love the curry

 And every body line up
 They love the curry real bad
 And every body talking about the curry
 the curry man from Trinidad

 From my stove comes hot roti
 Tomato choka and fry plantain
 Since morning people line up
 Waiting for the Trinidad cooking

 And now is evening everything sells out
 I didn’t even keep one roti for me 
 And now I feel real hungry
 So I guess I will buy a bucket of KFC


Copyright © kasim ishmael | Year Posted 2013


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The scent of Your Soul

Wafting in the air,sweet scent of your soul,
Like a garden of lilac shrub and sweet pea;
Exuding my path, deodorant of your whole,
Like the path of African civet cat or hill
Of scent-born-beetles. You are not afar,
Your beacon,your sweet aroma is distinct;
Yours is not red-herring,but a sun’s compass;
Ageless trajectory that never misleads .
I am close,nearer than phalanges to metacarpus;
The scent of your soul,beam of light to my sight,
The scent of your soul,eternal buoy in my life ocean;
You are the mouth, I am the hand; in sun and in shade,
Does hand miss its journey to the mouth? Does hen
Miss its path to the brood?When horse comes to stable,
It does not need the bridle ; often in hide and seek,
Romeo knows where Juliet is. The scent of your soul,
Like the moon in the sky,which hand can shroud?
The scent of your soul, effulgence of the sun,
Which curtain can veil?When thunder sparks,
Who can extinguish its light with his breath?
Doubt not, delay not, deter not,no fissure;
Like onion’s flesh we are bound;like hunchback
Glued to the back we are locked;you wait not in vain,
Because of the scent of your soul,we shall cut cake.


Oct.12th,2014.


Copyright © KAYOD5 Kayode | Year Posted 2014


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FREDDIE AND FELIX


                                  Freddie a fury to the red herring dish
                                  Felix zeroed in on the waft of the fish
                                       Freddie the dog winked at Felix
                                      The cat's eyes were double helix
                            They toggled a shark at the Barth's Park Office











FREDDIE AND FELIX/Limerick Copyright© Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty 19 November 2014


Copyright © RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY | Year Posted 2014


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Sardines on the Sand

                Sardines on the Sand

     Two Sardines danced hand in hand
     At their wedding upon the sand
     As a Herring played the violin.
     A portly porpoise clothed in grey
     Greeted guests from far away.

     A pair of Cod beheld the scene,
     The bride was dressed in seaweed green
     And an Octopus sang a gliforal song
     As the assembly wept into oyster shells,
     While an elderly Crab played whale bone bells.

     A gumley Anchovy bore the ring
     As the Vicar asked the choir to sing.
     Then a choir of Kipper sang on the strand,
     And throngs of Mullet from far and wide
     Danced by that strong mantigious tide.

     Then there came a flumifinous roar
     As the tide surged upon that shore
     And all the party were swept away.
     All on that bright framtitious day. 

         19/08/16

       For the contest 'In the Style of my Favourite Poet.
           Sponsored by The Seeker


Copyright © Barry Stebbings | Year Posted 2016


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Prose is my devil.

I believe prose is the devil,
The page is too large with detailed explanation.
A herring that is hungry for details and plot lines.
A parasite that taunts me.

I am in love with the poem,
The page is concise with word paint.
A butterfly kiss on a lilac desiring immediate nectar.
A lover that teases me.

For the verse is easier quest
For the moment bound
the present beloved
the feeling liver.
The solemn sinner.

I believe prose is the worthy prince,
The one with the page and the avid reader.
A well educated monarch on a lofty peak.
A soon king that rejects me.

I am in love with the unattainable,
The poem's black heart.
An ignorant fool who understands
A line left open.

For freedom is heartbreak
For the doomed spirit
the critically judged
the cursed be-er
The chosen loner


Copyright © Autumn Ehrhardt | Year Posted 2010


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A Fishy Tale

Said a Cod to a wise old Eel,
I would like to know how you feel?
Though people snack on dips,
Lots more eat fish and chips.
They say it has great meal appeal!

Said the Eel to the wise old Cod,
I find that unusually odd.
I've never had to worry,
As so many eat curry.
Very few are after my bod!

Just then a worldly old Squid,
Doing what Squids always did.
Went swimming slowly on by.
Said he "Me, they'll never fry"
"They'll only eat me jellied!"

Next came a Lobster and Blue Crab.
Followed by a Flounder and Dab.
They agreed with the old Cod,
A fish with a succulent  'bod'
Always ends up on a slab!

Then a Shrimp, Whelk and a Mussel.
All went by in a hustle.
Then the Winkle with the Clam,
Who said "I'd better scram!"
"Cos I give chowder its muscle!

Following next came the Herring,
In a disguise he was wearing.
For he was truly afraid,
That the batter being made,
Was for him.  His instinct unerring!

Then both a large and small-mouthed Bass,
And a lone, solitary Wrasse.
Not to forget the Scallop,
Going by at a gallop.
All getting away en masse!

Next Mackerel, Haddock and Plaice.
Not one with a smile on its face.
The handsome Halibut too,
Was looking glum and blue,
Which went as well for the Dace!

Now to all fish its crystal clear.
Most of them have plenty to fear.
Be they skinned, fried and eaten
With bread - White, Brown or Wheaten,
Or soaked and battered in beer!

Rhymer. December 6th, 2016.



Copyright © Denis Barter | Year Posted 2016


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the way home

Distant shores tumble over the rocks
Resting among orange lichen and salt grass
Warmed by the sun

Herring gulls circle, searching for food
Uneven rocks slow my path to shelter

Where comfort waits for me


Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2012


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Humpback Whales

Hear the song of humpback whales
Gathering in Hawaiian waters,
Gathering for Cetacean opera,
Male exclusive grand recital;
On the brink of epic journey
To Alaska’s icy waters.

Off the West coast of Alaska
Shoals of herring feed off plankton.
Humpbacks fresh from far Hawaii
Gather at their leader’s signal.
Thus begins the “A-team’s” mission,
Brilliant modus operandi.

Giants of the Arctic ocean,
Diving ever deeper, deeper.
Round and round the bubbles spiral
To the surface of the ocean.
Net of bubbles in a circle
Traps the shoal of startled herring.

Mouths a-gaping, rise together,
Burst the surface, prey engulfing.
What a maelstrom – whales and herring;
Seagulls join the feeding frenzy,
Till, at last, all satiated,
Calm returns to freezing waters.


Copyright © Mike Jones | Year Posted 2014


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One day in san Fernando

 A lady on high street with ah tight pants
 And all the men turn and watching she
 Well I pretend I didn’t notice
 But in the corner of my eyes I look to see
 
 Then I went down by the hospital
 Stop and drink an apple J
 Was to full to eat any doubles
 Because I was by naz cuisine today

 Had smoke herring with tomato
 With two hot sada roti
 And some nice mango kuchela
 With a hot cup of coffee

 Then I walk up Harris promenade 
 Sit on a bench by the engine
 It was under a big tree
 So I just sit in the shade relaxing

 San Fernando really has nice girls
 So much passing in front of me
 I tell a red Spanish girl good afternoon
 She said “mind your business you stupidly”

Trinidad girls is very nice and friendly
 But it has a few with bad attitude all about
 Some girls talk sweet like honey
 And some have a pepper in their mouth

 Well I going to the place I learn tailoring
 By “ram mohess “on the lord street
 It’s been many years I haven’t seen them
 So I carrying some beer and KFC to eat

 Many don’t know I am a tailor
 I can make suits, dresses and everything
 And Use to designs at “images sewing factory“
Own by my good friend “SHIVA GOBIN “

And I cannot forget” Mr. Lopez”
Another tailoring shop down the coffee
 He who give me my job letters
 To get visa at the America embassy

 All these people has really help me
 And I am grateful for what I’ve learn
 And they will be in my memory
 Although our roads in life has turn

 Then I went down by the sea wharf
 They do catch big fishes down there
 Then pass by San Fernando market
 Ands stop In a rum shop to drink a beer

 Jump in a taxi to ste Madeleine
 See my nephew riad in the backseat
 He said, man it’s to early to go home
 Let’s go to a bar on high street

 Lites and roger was by the library corner
 So four of us went in the bar to lime
 Then girlfriend text to say she love me
 Enjoy my vacation, have a great time


Copyright © kasim ishmael | Year Posted 2013


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Nessie

Well I remember yon fine day
down by the deep Loch Ness.
I cast my fly so far away
which soon caused me distress.

Instead of hooking trout out there
on mud banks thick and messy.
Stepped through flat fish floundering where
I had to battle Nessie.

I wrestled her as you have guessed
though that was not my plan.
I only wished for herring dressed
not pilchards from a can.

It took a while to free the line
that Nessie had entangled.
I found my rod, my tackle, twine
hopelessly were mangled.

She gave a roll of victory
and left at a great rate.
Then I saw looking full at me
her own enormous mate.

Glad to say they went their way
and left me on the bank.
Now each day I sit and pray
and wonder who to thank.


Copyright © Keith Logan | Year Posted 2016


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the elderly man's made a pass at her

the elderly man's made a pass at her

i witnessed the saddest thing I've ever seen
in a long time
i hope it's not a premonition
my life playing out before my eyes
there's a couple sitting across each other
eating breakfast at a jack-n-box
another normal day
i thought
wait
before going further
no it's not crack-in-the-box,
like how she used to call it
that clowness 
okay let me continue 
so there's this couple
and the reason
i'm dwelling on this
is that 
the elderly Japanese man had to be near eighty
and the women, Hawaiian-mix, around five years younger
and no connie's not from Hawaii
but then again that might be a red herring
so no one can accuse connie of being a sneak
anyway the elderly man eating his breakfast
pauses, looks over and sees his sunshine across the restaurant
he goes over, nice
now i'm watching intently
at my romeo , my hero
he can barely walk, gimping along
however i do admit he had nice thick white hair
he ask if he can join her
so harmless, i thought
she said candidly, no i'll be alright
those were her exact words
no remorse for his feelings, nothing
i kept watching ... this was good
the human emotion
the tears in his eyes
the blood draining from his face
he cleared his throat
went to refill his drink
and out of her presence he cried deeper
now keep in my i watching
the human emotion
the tears running down alongside his cheeks
so raw
a picture, a kaleidoscope of dejection
i saw flashbacks of my own, too
two near eighty years sharing the same emotion
as a youngster would
i felt his pain, so sad
he had just finished eating
and went back to get another breakfast platter
to curb, i guess, his depression, shake off the sadness
the women she kept looking towards me
i couldn't begin to think what was going through 
her mind
then i began to think
the stretches of gods reach
why did he allow me to witness his message today

connie pachecho

1/24/17





Copyright © connie pachecho | Year Posted 2017


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The ambiguous red herring

Fished all day not a red herring on the line                                                                     but I got a basketful of kipper                                                                                    Hunted all day not a fox one                                                                                             with a red herring on the line  										  a shark ate my sandwich today                                                                                       He got away with the halibut                                                                                          a shark ate him today for the halibut                                                                                He did not get away


Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2014


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The Lewis Trap

“The Lewis Trap”
Well, of course he's misanthropic He’s a Misanthropic Man The Devil’s in the details Buried deep under the covers Of bedtime stories, slithers ‘neath loose sand A Liddell bit of cake A Liddell bit of julip Sweets for a sweet pretty thing Brings her closer, his lovely little Alice This trapped butterfly makes his tired flaccid dreams sing A leering Feline that can be trusted Hides invisible, comes and goes as he pleases The Caterpillar offers her his peace pipe The Smiling Cat, he gently teases A Liddell bit of cake A Liddell bit of julip Time it races, it is fleeting, she is small enough Before too long, too big with petulant airs and graces To fit his mind, the House of Cards And it’s dark spaces, he is clever, he is cunning He’s hidden everything ‘tween the seams of his pockets Gold coins jingling sweetners rhyming, he is moving, the unleashed Serpent’s slithering. A best seller, he is camouflaged A shining shooting star, he’s so brilliant Plots escape route, he’s exonerated He weaves his story’s sticky web Unleash a monster, he writes in a Red Herring He’s elated He’s not retreating A Liddell bit of cake A Liddell bit of julip Her clothes fall off before celluloid She is shrunk to his best fit, now’s the time not to avoid His dire crime, he appraises, now’s the best time to commit She is complacent, malleable and easy, every Liddell bit-by-bit Like a Quiet Doormouse He’s perceived by her Mother as unassuming, empathetic Sweet and Kind, not one jot a bother She leaves her Alice and her sisters in his care Who simply adore all his childhood bedtime stories He is writing for mankind, to be fair… She walks off to her engagement, smiles and surmises, “He’s such a true gentleman, so charming, genuine, kind and rare”. A Liddell bit of cake A Liddell bit of julip How should he erase this evil mess he’s cruelly stripped, conscripted for inscription Return her back to normal Return the stolen prize he’s taken Cheshire creates a worthy monster, for young Alice to embowel Right before his very sorry wondering eyes, he can’t contain his thrill a sweet to swallow greedily she's all his, his delicious secret bitter pill All that glitters is not Gold A story of a Mad Hero, one that walks by her side he unfolds There is a monster in everyone He laughs and then he cries The Secret of this matter, oh what fun! He turns, then he denies He now is the Mad Hatter A Liddell bit of cake A Liddell bit of julip Eventually his misdemeanour will be uncovered There are strict laws for his mistakes He gives birth the romping Jabberwocky Needs to kill it just the same Give her back all the glory Take away all her loss and all her pain He places his Sword of Truth within her Liddell hands To plunge deep within the Monster’s heart Cut the hair from Samson’s mane. A Liddell bit of cake A Liddell bit of julip A story of Great Love What better could there be? Make her fall into the arms of the much loved, misunderstood Mad Hatter, that is he? Not the Cat who purrs watching over her, invisible in dark green trees – “’Tis Done!”, he thinks He’s saved from villainy A Liddell bit of cake A Liddell bit of julip She sits at a Tea Party in the Autumn of Her Years He is dead and buried, there are no more bitter tears She looks to God in her Blue Sky A hint of Love’s reflection in her tired cold dead eyes A Liddell bit of cake A Liddell bit of julip Maturing, now it’s her Winter Season if you please She turns the pages, buries The White Rabbit and his blasted fob marking time Closes Chapters, turns the dry and papery leaves, She thinks it is all a bit too late for revenge in a good rhyme Sits down at her table with her feeble hands A Liddell bit of cake A Liddell bit of julip Closes her eyes slowly, final sleep, walks through The Gate Last sigh is very deep Purring invisible in the Trees Cheshire's watching her, he smiles and then agrees. (Lovejoy-Burton/March 2018) for the 3 Liddell Sisters & any other child with a Lewis in their life
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” He chortled in his joy. “ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CfclMlRfTiM
2. https://news.artnet.com/art-world/was-lewis-carroll-a-pedophile-his-photographs-suggest-so-237222 3. “Jabberwocky” https://news.artnet.com/art-world/was-lewis-carroll-a-pedophile-his-photographs-suggest-so-237222 4. “The Secret World of Lewis Carroll https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_KQ9kDbduTo


Copyright © Leanne Lovejoy-Burton | Year Posted 2018


Details | Herring Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A song for the herring gull

The cliff tops were bare, rocks lay scattered across the beach, the nearing harbor holding all in its silence. Along the bay the ripple of a kayak hovered on a waters edge. All was quiet, or so it seemed.
Overhead clouds rolled and arched a landscape in blue, held by a shimmering backlight in grey-orange hues. Up there, amongst the rocks, movement issued the break of day. Columns of fledged juveniles headed out to the shore on surrogate wings so new in all their mottled grey glory. Clumsy at first, innocent of death, they practiced their art.
Many years ago, decades ago, before our monopolized greed, these wings could learn their craft on broken hills and rock face to a sanded shore now desimated by poisoned or starved waters. How the human spirit lives on.
Year by year, in urban habitat, overwhelmed by our desire to regenerate, encrypted in a culling desire, no co-existence, just hate, a lack of education, a provision of landscape in need, forcing extinction to deaths lonely door again and again.
Today I watched the bonded pairs high up on the roof tops, a tireless nurture, their weakened bodies, their empathic care. I look down through the alleyways, broken wings fall or on discarded earth or through my town, hiding in corners. We are the invaders, not them.


Copyright © Lily Radcliffe | Year Posted 2015