Best Inspects Poems
*Like Caesar I wrote this in the 3rd person:)
In third person he talks just like Caesar
Stuffing bagfuls of sweets in the freezer
Mumbles loud in his sleep
An appointment can’t keep
Often plucks at his brows with a tweezer.
With false tan he conceals his complexion
In shop windows inspects his reflection
Cracks his fingers and neck
And exclaims ‘What the heck!’
When he drinks has no sense of direction.
He’s allergic to pollen and sneezes
Throwing up at the smell of blue cheeses
Hair extensions he wears
When it’s windy he swears
Swallows tablets in fear of diseases.
He invents and tells lies for no reason
Any week any month any season
Does it all with a smirk
(Yes, that’s also a quirk!)
In a cell he could end for high treason!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
For the Contest “Quirks”
Hosted by Madison Demetros
© 9th February 2018
Waking, she inspects the color under her sweater
and sighs that vague orange is still wearing her.
Orange can’t be her friend until it reveals its core.
While white is already a friend, the floating ones
aloofly speak of odd concerns she cannot pattern.
At times, float-whites hear, but never do they listen
or cease insisting that she has dreams, NOT visions.
Blue, green, pink and white all bring truths to her:
if she finds the correct umbrella, she could fly thru
blue-white skies adorned with smeared pink pops
over green’s velvet-thick and lush laid blankets.
When she gains the doors other side, freedom
will lead her to the right, flight-ready umbrella.
Sorting and storing colors keeps her busy all day.
Her favorites - blue, green, pink and white shades,
she tenderly places in see thru plastic jars, all
other colors she discards as too bland hearted.
Daily relief is happily seized by determining
not even a kernel of purple is in her world.
Purple startles, it is pain’s chosen dispersal
that circles and circles until she curls up,
prone atop piles of her own broken pieces.
Occupied with her color heaps, she spies a white-
float fluttering in her doorway at a time too early
for the syringe of colorless assistance
that simplifies her organizational tasks.
She hears white make words but disappears
inside of all pink things with soft plumes.
“Both your parents came to visit with you.
They are waiting inside the purple room.”
You'll soon be here
It's quiet now, all have gone
Last light
softens what was too bright before
the surf kicks a ball
as if to say
come play
with water teasing my toes
I wait here for you
one bird curiously inspects my wheels
tries to tear a worm away
The sky draws purple shawls
slowly waving in the evening wind
I still wait for you
In last fringes of light
I need to save myself
From floods rising fast
in my eyes
I give the ball back to the ocean
***
July 20, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Down in the crypt where the caskets lie
And dust stirs up when trucks go by
Giggling sounds, not moans and groans
From the tomb of Skelton Bones
When the trucks go by no more
No light peeks beneath the door
Bony feet on an ice cold floor
Skelton Bones inspects his claw
Skelton Bones was a pirate, old
Sailed the seas in search of gold
His right hand by a dragon took
Now its claw is Skelton’s hook
Once, he’d dressed in silk and cotton
Skelton’s clothes are long since rotten
All that’s left, a belt and buckle
And his hat which makes him chuckle
He’s Skelton Bones; a pirate, nude
But not intentionally rude
He says, “Ahoy!” in pirate tones
That’s the sound of Skelton Bones
But now he has a yen to be
Once more sailing ’pon the sea
Been too long; three hundred years
Skelton calls his buccaneers
When the door creaks open wide
Ghostly pirates lurk outside
But with no seas to sail nearby
Skelton’s ship takes to the sky
Hear that Jolly Roger flap?
Or the canon hatches clap?
Keep a firm hand on your riches
Or he’ll steal them… and your britches
And as he rides the clouds and skies
A crew, undead, that never dies
In Skelton’s wake the east wind wails
It’s in his bones and in his sails
Little Leprechaun
Abab Iambic T
a mischief, laden Irish elf
of Irish men quite bold
one collects, inspects, golden gifts
the bantam weight of gold
a legend bold of many told
the phantom thrills of chase
the race in sight of shining gold
is thither yon, the place
the thither yon, abasing race
for little pot of ore
the tricks are slick, amazing pace ……
a rich and golden store
the little elf, hombre, is spiff
a must to tether soul
the little bantam weight is swift
the little elf is bold
the Irish phantom elf of gold
a somber bearded man
of Ireland legends clearly told
a rainbow’s golden plan
the Irish rainbow bows to bond
as magic thrill unfolds
of stories one becomes quite fond
“of legends boldly told”
And then I saw her start to dance…
Feeling ‘In-France ',
I sang-
entranced...
"Once in a whole year
she orders the pizza!"
"The rest of it she's
spinning in place
saying chichineatza!"
But sometime, on the road to danger,
she came longer than anybody inspects,
she came longer
than impressive bereft,
it was a bonger!
This random guy took whole check!
But he was a bomber-
the world almost got wrecked,
but I came back on her
without my respect,
I ran around longer
than anybody inspects,
it came time to say 'I am left,'
so I ran, and then I lept,
never to return home-
now running for the press,
because Simon only knows what Simon really says,
I say, as I bite bronze harder than a T-Rex,
I smite the jogger, the wanderer, and the possessed,
I smite the Wrong-Doer whom nobody suspects,
because I am correct,
goddammit I am a mess!
Totally appalled and under arrest,
totally estranged to becoming undressed,
like wounds that are healing-
I want to do my best,
I just want one motorcycle, one girl,
and one neck,
don't call me horse -man -bear -pig;
but demon,
demon -man -chick,
pop your pimples
free up your ticks,
match and pair,
and then underwear-
rotate the clips,
story mode-
movie night-
interesting sight,
come longer than a pipe!
Industrial size...
and full of device-
be
white
hot
fire
ice
And smoke pot...
For Christ!
Pick ‘um all up at their price,
dose yourself like mice,
interrupt yourself when you have advice,
and notice it when their brains are away,
and on vacation for the day,
he~he,
stay away,
by staying awake!
I'm sorry prince fake,
you're going the other way!
It is funny!
Very funny how
A masked preacher can preach honesty;
And even points at the wrongs with his
Fingers of hypocritical righteousness…
We stare with grim satisfaction
Because the black winged Angel
Ridding a flaming chariot tells a tale;
And proclaims that God is love,
Yet he, himself is an Angel of death.
Day after wretched day Humanity walks!
He walks down the dark alley of freedom;
Freedom which shouts fairness;
Fairness that begets confusion—
And he tries to bottle the spittle of birds…
Every night he lies in bed and tries to hear
The voice of fishes shouting gender and Sexualty in a world where the scale of
Equality is unevenly proportional and
Equal rights mean the oppression of men.
Apartheid, the history of Mzanzi is
The present for the African world and
That has caused his inferiority complexes
To suffice and personalize racism and
One after another, generations play along.
Lest we forget,
The victims are just as guilty
As the perpetrators but at some point.
Humanity weeps as he inspects
His isle of hopelessness!
But just like the majority, men;
They cry in hiding.
Where no-one sees,
No-one hears and
No-one dares speak for the black sheep!
Deep down this egocentric radicalism,
He orders rotten eggs to make an omelette
With which he feeds pirate justice,
And he goes all year long
On a running stomach.
Although the words never sink,
Humanity hearkens to
The rumbling stomach of justice but
When the rainbow of life turns
Grey!
Humanity's children cry day and night
While the Angel of death entrusted
Their protection feasts on their tears
And dances to the beautiful sound
Of their troubled voices.
And when the wolf comes for their
Brazen souls we hail at the smiling lady
Who says 'I am virgin Mary'
With fangs behind her white vail
And poison under her tongue—death!
The rich are poor but morally,
Yet no-one sees
And no-one cares;
They say 'each one for himself'
Come shall the final hour do.
It is funny!
Very funny how
A masked preacher can preach honesty;
And even points at the wrongs with his
Fingers of hypocritical righteousness…
Humanity looks on
And passes his judgement.
The masked preacher scoffs:
“No-one is perfect.
No, not one!”
A State Of Majors and Algebra
From a bridge I lift eyes weary from equation forms
Majors and Algebra instruct
From on high the state loves us
Instinctively feed us what we must know
Keep us in place for hours
Guns on every head…to get ahead
Conclusions always drawn on time
Lines of math carried like conversations to their ends
Fractions fix themselves in front of us
Captured by majors on their heels
Algebra comes undone
Undressed for our consumption
Work, like dreams, goes on forever
Tonight it waits for majors and algebra to merge
Ranks remove me to seclusion
Books fall with rain into retreat
Lives are bulletins with holes
When government controls
Shocked to life with streams of data
Or shot to death in line with reason
Options can be unkind
No one inspects the dark
Perhaps it is not there
No one suspects me
In this my figures lie in wait
To see what moves prove
A state of majors and algebra
Or my escape
It's always a black crow, already in kindergarten.
The one that will always have the nicest, newest
and most shiny toys.
It's always a black crow in school, it is he who
cries out the highest and makes lots of noise
and bustle.
It's always a black crow at the workplace,
it is he who pushed the most, hoes on the others
and thinks he knows best.
It's always a black crow in the neighborhood,
who inspects the street and think that his crow's
nest is best.
It's always a black crow in the circle of friends,
which flutters with his wings and takes the whole
show, but it is the one who ends up with none!
Entered poetrysoup's contest 06.06.2012
I walk on tip-toes in the dark
To take another awe-struck peep
A perfect, tiny, masterpiece
In blue pajamas, wrapped in sleep.
My best creation, born of love
Whose life my soul perchance reflects
And every nuance of his face
My joyous heart again inspects.
An artist with her greatest art
Whose work has only just begun
Each day will add a color, stroke
To this, my canvas, called "My Son."
And nothing else this mother needs
Not food, not shelter, or even rest
But to gaze upon my greatest work
This simple pleasure is the best.
ANAGRAMMATICALLY SPEAKING: NECK DYE SPY
(PROBLEMS OF MUM-DESIGNER ’S EMOTIONAL UPSET)
Mum carefully inspects son’s neck for dirt;
Pays medical injury expense for his leg-joints hurt.
Good boat-design preserves celestial view above;
But forgot keys for furniture in house-move.
Use fast and energetic internet writing;
Watch for bad stains on material due to crying.
Peek, spy, seek neck’s speck;
See knees spend dense pence.
Deep end-deck keeps sky-scene seen;
Pesky desk needs keys . Send!
Speed-pens need dynes! Yes, seek Skype!
Eyes peed. Spy dye seep deep.
…………………………………………………………………..
Written by Sydney Peck
…………………………………………………………………..
NOTES
This busy mum has many problems in the first stanza, all of which are
expressed in anagram-form in the second stanza.
Each anagram word is formed from letters in “sydneypeck”
There is one thing
That inspires every living organism
That rises distinctively from what we know
One thing that freshen appearance of everything,
To be sanguine about future
There is one thing
That inspects the soul of every creature
That opens and closes all gates
One thing that knows every name
Only thing certain about tomorrow
There is one thing
That rises further alone,
To the level nothing ever will
One thing shining with goodness
Only thing holding pure perfection
There is one thing
That fulfills everything
One thing whose love is unmatched
Only thing whose reality never changes
Only one thing that is really the one
~The beauty of the flesh, the exotic Moluccas dream
the source of excellence, in the clash
the lust of the eyes, the flesh, and pride of life
peace of angel wings be in love’s reflection
the glory of vanity in strands of auburn hair.
~Grace of femininity in Victoria’s form
light rays reveal, her mind gazes with pulsating intent
as waters of life’s reflections teem vibrant
the silence of eloquence stored in the center of stillness.
~Multi colors pulsating with energetic heavenly bliss
as time immemorial immersed as liquid form instills
sweet smells of fragrant blooms mix with soft white light
births nature’s finest reflection, it's illusions in water
of the reality of the forms of love dimensions above.
~For what of the beauty of this female’s dream
but powered directions of godly cosmic thought
thus channeled potential into forms of beauty
as dimensions appeared for young maiden’s inspection.
~Intelligent life inspects and enjoys the beauty fashioned
for beauty’s enjoyment in Victoria’s dream contemplate
the graceful beauty of feminine flesh blends into nature of love’s kiss.
By john Moses Freeman
For and in honor of Constance La France ~ Ramblin Poet~
And contest: Reflections
Warm words work well
Touch thrills true tell
Feel fancy fling
Sweet sounds spring sings
Love lives last light
See sensuous sights
Bright blossoms bring
Rich rapture rings
Charm curls cute come
Sure signs start sums
Big blooms blur bust
Take tickles trust
Deed drains deep dust
Master moves must
Force feed free form
Nimble new norms
Pleasure primes pain
Greed gurgles gain
Blur bearings boast
Chance crazy coast
Mind moves most moods
Heart hurls harsh hood
Tasty treats touch
Spell sober such
Dance deepens deed
Sow special seeds
Leave lasting lines
Fine feed feels fine
Glimpse growing glow
See sanguine show
Mind moves matter
Sweet signs shelter
Id inspects ink
Breaks blessing brink
Leon Enriquez
11 April 2015
Singapore
A babys crawl picks up lint and grime
she sits and inspects her hands
picks away the mitten yarn and rubs
her hands on her legs
The wary cat just close behind
has toys to offer share
This cat is baby's mothers cat
and more than a little aware
that mother will give extra time and treats
to baby's cat
as log as wary cat remains
friends
no cat in the hat