Best Hoist Poems
Villanelle: Hoist not the flag of your hidden vices
Hoist not the flag of your hidden vices
Wonder not why enemies pick on entrails
No foe will salute nor sing your praises
You cannot make curry without spices
Worst not enemies with cat o' nine tails
Hoist not the flag of your hidden vices
Enemies crop up as you throw dices
They hide in pockets and wear long tails
No foe will salute nor sing your praises
They even sport horns to cuckold spouses
Call you names while you look for holy grails
Hoist not the flag of your hidden vices
Enemies revel not in open spaces
Splice them only in their hidden entrails
No foe will salute nor sing your praises
Best enemies wallow in pungent sauces
Flapping from naked flag-poles stuck in jails
Hoist not the flag of your hidden vices
No foe will salute nor sing your praises
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
He walked up from the lake
Throwing open the door of the glorious day
Like a smiling OB-GYN snapping off his gloves
With a toolbox in hand
Delivered to my dad the good news.
“I’m certain this new ignition will take care of it
This time.”
My old dad said to the boat guy
I hope we can still get a few more years
Out of her.
The boat had become mainly show for us
Suspended in its hand-cranked metal cradle
Propeller crying
Like a pinwheel held in a hand of gale
Boat broke down summer after summer
Amongst the new Lear jets
Parked up and down the lake in solar-powered hoists
All the way to Sandy Pointe
We pretend it doesn’t matter
Swimming here
Is better than at the Sandbar or Cove
I swim deep
A shadow sprawled
Along the sun-refracted sandy bottom
Spearing this kaleidoscope of doubloons
While silver bubbles shimmer from my nose
A silver necklace
Drawn up to the blue universe
Past the gray of my temples
As it should be
Let them fillet the water with their young magic hulls
To enjoy a sunset beer at the Dockside
Like we used to in the Four Winns
Indeed, it is wonderful
Centuries ago
The Ojibwa canoed this lake Was-wa-gon-ong at night
With birch torches roaring
Hunting Whitefish until they were all gone
As well.
The earth looks so moist
Please give me a hoist
right on into that coffin
Now shut the lid
'Quid pro quid'
I like this game ~
Let's play it often
He who disregards truth and justice
Will sooner or later go the whole hog;
His bestial appetites and habits,
His love of cruelty and power eventually will take over
Perhaps without him ever realizing the danger.
He is not only beyond the control of others
But beyond his own control.
He does no good ( like rainless clouds or fruitless trees,
Heaping abuse on anything he doesn't understand;
Spoiling the fellowship meals with his irreverent behavior.
He lives at the mercy of his brutish instincts,
Looking after Himself instead of caring for his brother.
Like storm, he leaves behind him shame and disgrace;
like the dirty foam left along the beach by the wild waves.
He's like stars that have wandered into outer space and give no light,
He grumbles about everything and have a huge chip on his shoulder.
He is one in reign,
A loud-mouthed show-off
Who flatters others for his own advantage
And give free reign to his evil desires.
success eluded
all of those
who have not failed nor
pay their dues but
dear Lord all in all
what i have learned
success shall
hoist the sails
success prevails