Best Inhabitant Poems
three incisor teeth burst through fresh flesh...
opaque as pearls, strong as love, precious
beautiful baby babbles assertively
mesmerized by mishmash sounds
that her astounding mouth can make
prose poetry in its practice
as canines erupt, she moans from the ache
teeter-tottering restless to repress pain
speedily advancing in substantial strength
distracted by oblivious destructiveness
a significant stepping stone approaches
as a capable kindergarten adult
she wiggles loose her first baby tooth
receives a rich reward from a fantasy fairy
more teeth disappear like pressed piano keys
then return acutely out of tune
braces displace awkward half grins
an investment of finances and adolescence
unstoppable with seducing sweets
she sneaks cuddly candy under covers
falling asleep with sugar plum dreams
not counting a few costly cavities
free-spirited, experimental teen
meets Christina on the street
samples compelling quartz crystal
returns for seconds, as someone else disguised
mesmerized by mishmash sounds
that her astounding mouth can make
speedily advancing in substantial strength
she lucently levitates to a loftier place
a magnificent mind babbles assertively
sweeping the streets of pixie dust
no need to eat or sleep
like a firefly in heat, she dances frantically
teeter-tottering restless to repress pain
distracted by oblivious destructiveness
she visualizes voices that vivify the way
to the day's salacious survival guide
prismic vision's shimmers no longer satisfy
cotton candy granules' sweetness subsides
coming down from kaleidoscopic clouds
half-awake, she moans from the ache
shrill shrieks portray poetry's unspoken pain
death's drab projection is her heartless reflection
hocking heirlooms to trade for a transient thrill
a despondent inhabitant of tragedy
creepy crawlers invade every inch of skin
her thin figure balances a skull's shadow
irretrievable, ill-treated teeth crumble
like the city's plundered storefront windows
filthy, for granted, forlorn, fast-fading
...three feeble canine teeth remain
10-8-2023
CALIBER
The mental quality of spirits is unveiled.
Anne saw them in imagery.
They were in small shapes as a displayed mural.
A bust of lives demised with estate being conveyed as an inhabitant or the occupier.
Their capacity was that of full animation and stream.
Anne watched the mystical images that were once all men.
Their colors came as black, white, and olive.
Attuned to their surroundings, they did not alter their position on the wall.
They desire was to rectify a wrong.
Calibers are competent to their form in which Anne was not afraid of being forewarned.
Anne began to name them the ones that she saw.
The black one was called Magic because he was the leader of them all.
There were two level of white men seated by rows.
Anne named them Parchment because of their lab coats.
The olive one was called Mixed-Blood.
Stature they formed with ability to construct.
The degree of their mental capacity paraded the capability of the physical you being possessed.
Might they enter via an oval of the body?
They haunted this house to influence cognizance.
Anne’s knowledge is such that she may not be aware of their existence from where they exist.
Ignorance is the perception Anne lived in.
Anne and her family moved from this house in her seventh year.
She saw their presence first when she was four.
Once Anne and her family left, she did not see them anymore.
Anne moved on Briesch when she was an infant.
She never spoke of what she saw until she relocated.
Anne’s mother stated that a veil was over her eyes, a pall of despair trying to develop premonition.
Caliber is a degree of mental capacity or moral quality.
Anne cultivated this identity.
_________________________________________|
Penned February 17, 2014!
For Anne Currin Contest Any Poem/Any Subject!
Beneath the realm of Reality
Lies a secret- a world of fantasy
Feasting my eyes upon the faded stone
Delving into a vast world of the unknown
Whispers dance in the curling fog dancing amongst the dead trees
Murmurs of those who have long passed, float against the breeze
Passing the large tree, the gate surrounding the stoned castle
A slender inhabitant, dazzles my mind, his speech facile
Shall I trust this unknown creature, from this the unknown world
His arms, his...tendrils, curl...and around me swirled
My thoughts-he knows them-for he and I are entwined
Further into the dead woods I wonder, a sense of fear encompassing my mind
A bubbling stream I faintly hear, as further I go into the forest
The watery grave seeming to get closer, it's symphony-a chorus
Entranced I follow this fellow into the unknown
Closer and close to the stream i go, further away from the grey stone
Above the lines of fantasy
This, has become my reality
Dreaming-this land I return, once was I lost
But now here I am at home, everything quiet and soft
I search for you amongst the dead
And there, standing behind those gates is cloaked figure-hood on head
I wonder who this master of mystery is, but he soon disappears
A blink of my eye he is gone, and I have not seen him again in years
I search once more for you, my fiendish friend,
But soon I fear you have left me here-to come to my own end
I do not wish to wake, I do not wish to leave this place
Soon I come to spot your featureless face
The King of fright, so tender towards me
Showing me, when I lost my way so long ago, out misty dead trees
But I could not stay away, I wanted to see him again
And thus he promised to return to me again
That forest land I wish to see once more
But I have lost my way, trapped in a darkness forevermore
Kept away from what I so desperately yearn for
To return to that mysterious home I adore
She know she's putting her heart in danger,
As she asks for the love of a beautiful stranger.
The elusive inhabitant of her heart and soul,
You're the one and only who can make her feel whole.
Masked by the distance of a thousand miles,
But still unyielding to inevitable smiles.
Amazed by your loveliness to which none can compare,
But of your weak grasp of apathy, she's also aware.
With great diligence does a relationship bloom,
Saving you both from your anguish and gloom.
Yet from deep inside her a hunger lurks on,
Yearning for more of your heart, brain, and brawn.
In the back of her mind she argues and quarrels,
She questions herself and she questions her morals.
Is this desire to love, something she really feels?
Or is it her own remedy for her heart to heal?
You're the only one for which her heart sings,
Should she be allured by such fairytale things?
Can she really feel love or that kind of care,
For an intangible being who's not even there?
She'll build you a bridge to make one of two hearts,
And you'll both take the roll of a less foreign part.
You'll have no need or desire to change her,
And to her you'll be beautiful, but no longer a stranger.
I accidently let one loose today
I've cooked earth's goose its fair to say
I won't pretend it wasn't me
Soon it'll be clear for all to see.
Who even knew that was a containment field
and an innocent stumble would cause it to yield
its inhabitant singularity
was a well kept secret evidentially.
Til I let it go - chased it thru the door
- hole in one - then thru the floor
Two of the little buggers headed for the roof
they can multiply I have the proof.
Mathematical joy they did perform
Arcing thru cars, pipes, sieving up a storm
flickering jolts of fiery light
following their orbiting trailing delight.
So many now - not long to wonder
til earth's a faulty falling colander.
So, sorry for the whole untidy mess
But I did front up and confess.
Hadron Collider Cleaner
Written 8th July
For Charles Messina Contest
I accidentally let one Loose
I am a very ordinary inhabitant of this world.
Even before I was born, our ancestors had divided the earth into fragments.
One of those fragments is my country—India or Bharat.
You too have your own fragment—Brazil, Venezuela, Cuba, Finland, Ukraine, Nigeria, Iran, Bangladesh—or some other nation.
I can clearly see—on this human earth, horrific and grotesque dinosaurs are roaming about.
They walk on two legs, speak in human language,
wear the garments of civilization— yet in their hearts lies prehistoric darkness.
In their brains—fire, arrogance, imperialism.
Some know them as Trump, some as Putin, some as Xi Jinping, some as Netanyahu, some as Khomeini, some as Laden— the names differ, but the politics of destruction is the same.
These dinosaurs turn fire into weapons,
turn humans into ashes, and standing upon those ashes
they raise the flag of power.
I wish—just like millions of years ago— that an asteroid would come hurtling toward the earth, that these bloodthirsty two-legged dinosaurs would become extinct.
Let the earth remain. Let children’s laughter remain. Let humanity remain.
Let this monstrous species of power be annihilated.
Every day, with basil leaves in my hand,
I pray to the Almighty—for a moral cataclysm.
The smoke rising from the scorched bodies of innocent people is not extinguished even by our tears.
It is not extinguished at all...
Africa my home
Africa there is still hope
Africans blow horns and assemble
To unite as siblings from the same home
Africa my home
Africa day should not stir ashes of colonialism
But arouse the spirit of Ubuntu
So we can skip the hinges of isolation
Individualism was forced down our throat
During the journey to slavery
Now that our hands are free
Let us use them to plow change
Let us use our hands to dig out our dark past
And the brain cells that naysays unity
We can pull out prevailing thoughts of divisions
Let us do it until our skulls are empty of racial intolerance
This is a self-inflicted pain
For the roads that connects us are in ruins
We spend hours knocking in border gates
Just to see our people on the other side.
My home is the second largest in the universe
With vast mineral resources
Housing millions of intellects within its 54 units
Yet we are world’s poorest inhabitant continent
The wires in our brain cells does not connect
Because our leaders seek the glory of their former colonial
The challenges are unique
African values are unique
African renaissance is a vision
Unity is our mission
Africa day is the start
Africa is my home
Oh mother Africa
A citadel of brotherly affection
A place of epitome of beauties
A place where morality flourished like sea wind
Where positive values are honored
Where ethical principles strive with passion
A continent where peace dwell
A place where perfect tranquility abound
A place where spring flow without caution
A home of good tidy
The origin of the mother earth
Oh mother Africa
A land where birds signs melodiously
A place where rivers claps
And rocky stones serve as shelter
Where earth honors the existence of man
A land where structures are monuments
And were man thanks the creator for all things
A land whose existence
Proved the existence of the creator.
A land with all it takes to enjoy perfect happiness
A land where pleasure and joy spreads like wind
To her inhabitant
A land with flourished pleasantry
And tranquility
A land where birds sing gloriously to God
A land where lilies of various kinds
And colors
Dance graciously to the creator
A land where the blueness of the sky is felt
And wholeheartedly appreciated
I would have being unfortunate if I was not born by her
"Hindus" that call themselves,
Regard It as a holy tree
Which alighted from the sky--
Originated from the churning of sea;
One of the fourteen 'Ratnas'
I happened to have a look at,
Which has as its guardians,
A bunch of bearded religiocrat:
Whilst I was nearby it,
I looked at it as I'd at any other grove;
Not even once it occurred to me--
The thought of its sanctity--
I was in a state of emptiness;
I had only come here to enjoy Nature;
This is when I made a move...
...Insensitive to anything but blissful greenery
Prevalent all around,
I made a jump to pluck off a leaf--
Just overhead,
And lo!there were issuing sounds
From the mouth of the sagacious,
And miscalculated words were hurled
For me as a curse...
But what could I do?I stood there,
In an imprudent fashion and kept smiling
At the miserable state of their thoughts:
They abused and mouthed obscenities,
They asked me if I was Indra
Or an inhabitant of Swarga--
The abode of the Holy tree--
I had no answers and no other expressions
Tried to cross my face--
I smiled and looked at them
In a state of serene calmness...
By the by, I took a look at the Parijat,
That Arjuna had summoned to earth;
Then I witnessed the blue heavens
And walked away as another gust of wind
That had rustled the leaves on the Sacred Tree...
Lamp posts eyes
through cracks
of curtains
spying
sewing needles
through mine
uninvited
screeching tires
honking horns
sirens
plucking mind’s guitar
unstop.
Take me to the Sonoran
steal into a hut
while its inhabitant
hunts
fall asleep in its belly
hidden
from rattling reptiles
hunting grasshoppers
coyotes
the howling hunter mouse
monsters, giants
the Gila, the Iguana
scorpions!
Take me to the Sonoran
illumed by the Saguaro
opening its white petals
at night
a lamp post of
candelabra flowers
where lizards
on waking
take sunbeams
showers
savoring magic
of orange red
golden yellow flowers
winking at sunset
and vanishing.
Honk, honk! Screech!
Splash!
Spilled my glass
of chamomile
slumbering on the sandy
waterless beach
of the Sonoran.
Third Place Winner: Brian Strand-Premier 1196-3/11/23
First Place Winner: Brian Strand-All Yours-3/12/21
Third Place: Debbie Guzzi- Exotic-7/22/17
That is truth,
in England
all people have looked as polished talents and genius,
even a driver there
or porter, or steward,
or begger, or trader,
or stealer, or priest,
or head of ministry
do not work without great quality and service.
There is, seem, only one stupid man - mister Bean,
who prevailed all brilliant persons given together.
They are all have made themselves
as they want and planned
through successful work
and competition
in various branches and activities
of high improved community,
while the others unlucky
inhabitant of authoritarian countries,
post-soviet states
and Islamic caliphates
as the Iranian regime
that must proud only with Omar Hayam
in last millennium,
have had a very small portion
of really famous and respected men
or just intrinsic professionals.
And their waste majority
looks like as screws in clock,s engine,
or as soldiers in training camp of rebuilding empire,
or as religious fanats in Friday namaz
or as new slaves
in collective farm and weapon producing factories.
They have not any chances
for arise to personality
in terms of quality and standards
so usual for British community.
To utilize this is our life's
responsibility
For in disguise opposition an
opportunity
This is a chance to prove our
ability
Of what use could be storms
impunity
It cannot create a sail to
celebrity
No fact has the human race
accepted
No law has it established
Unless it can be understood
and measured
And the social intergrity
quantified
So does the leader of such
race be qualified
At home being a stranger! Not
us
Homecoming fun,not nervous
Would not dare call the
inhabitant monstrous
Feeling a love and welcome
surplus
Memory of home in my heart I
can't minus
Leadership not left to
aristocracy
Politics an unending conspiracy
Of a mans eccentricity
Evolved into an age of
democracy
What is the reward of this
legacy
When in diligence a man seat
He sweeps kings off their feet
Not over you,not over
me,never forget
The shadow does not take
sway yet
For power no more a secret
Author-TIMIPRE BRIFINI
Everywhere I go, industry dominates this world
Vehicles run on diesel,
Massive industrial complexes have many factories
That create a skyline of smokestacks
The heavens are filled with a gray only we have created
Man and machine have come together
Like haywire to wire,
Generating a power countries only dream of
Diesel, our main power source,
Allows massive airships with smokestacks of their own
To block out the sun
Nations around the world use machines for industry, war and everyday life
Without diesel,
It seems the planet will come to a complete standstill…
As an inhabitant of this industrialized world,
None of what I see around surprises me…
For I have lived in the midst of man’s mechanical reign
All of my days
But I often worry and question our remaining humanity
Some of us have grown prideful and cold
Nations have fought us
Merely to prove their weapons are stronger and better
At times I even wonder if we could
Possibly find other ways to go about our lives—
Like alternative fuel sources
Maybe it seems like the world is industrializing too fast
But no one seems to notice that after the Great War,
Industry spread like a weed that would not stop growing,
No matter what you did to it
One must begin to wonder
How long this kind of life can possibly last
I long to feel the sun on my back,
And to breathe in fresh air untouched by the fumes I know too well
Can we use what we have,
Can we use what we live for,
To build each other up,
Rather than destroying all in our path?
Shall we put our hearts into the cores of our unfeeling machines,
Or will we turn to Mother Earth with reverence and passion?
Taking and never giving back,
How can we expect our planet to provide and sustain us?
August 20th, 2014
Collaberation by Justin Connor and Laura Breidenthal
Two questions to ponder:
What do you think will become of this dieselpunk world?
How can this message apply to life in your own society?
THIRD WORST CLATTER OF ANTIMATTER
clatter of antimatter
alien dishes splatter
(the shape of spaceships)
his antennas* whir with rising
he considers going wireless
a dish flying at warp speed
like a zillion cyclonic bats
(female Vogon shriek encapsulated by rage)
the creaming of eggs
the earth took a beating
(local yokels evaporating)**
the pounding of this poem
pretty bad prose
destruction of the first and second worst verse
because everyone knows a Vogon
must clink and clank
on its dink and dank typewriter***
the third worst clatter of antimatter
mama Vogon whisks their deadpan bottoms
if you think your kids make noise
you’ve never heard a Vogon cry
D…o….n, well f…i…n…i…t,
Fingers smack on each key, pounding little hammers.
Zip..(return carriage)
How oh how did those earthlings type with these
Zip…(return carriage)
But this is rather priceless after earth’s fiasco
3/7/2017
Shadow Hamilton’s The Noise contest
*American television show depicted a martian with antennas
that would rise from his head “My Favorite Martian”
**Local yokels – an inhabitant of a particular locale
***Everyone knows that a Vogon doesn’t know the “meaning”
of the Universe (or words for that matter)
Have you ever tried, no REALLY tried
to not sneeze
to not scratch
I did, if I said no, I would have lied
But in doing so, all attention
in your head
in your body
goes into focus on prevention
You can't do anything else anymore
All muscles
In action
To stop you.... All of your body feels sore
***
Tourette is a strange inhabitant
I didn't invite him, he just stays
I can suppress him, for just a little while
Hold him under, keep him away
The worst is feelings of shame
for a condition I cannot control
And the terrible bullying
Wounding my very soul
So please if you meet someone strange
Don't just discard them at first sight
Try to be patient, benefit of the doubt?
And know about their internal fight
If you manage, only for a little while?
You made this little person smile :)
***
March 4, 2017
© Darren White