Best Leers Poems
It’s Christmas Eve; there’s someone at my door!
But with the horrid sound outside my window,
I wonder who is knocking and what for!
Midst violent wind I see a surreal snow!
Within it’s haze, there is a grotesque sight -
gigantic and so out of place, I quiver!
A snowman leers at me, and frigid fright
goes through my bloodstream like an icy river.
Again, the knock! Whoever could it be?
This morning I wished Christmas would be gone!
A premonition now is telling me
that nothing good is out there on my lawn.
My friend had warned me that I really ought
not curse this season. Oh, what have I done?
More pounding at the door, but I cannot
go near that door; there’s nowhere I can run.
I look out at the snowman. He is more
enormous than a tree, and now I hear
a sound like laughing elves outside the door.
I stand as thought I’m paralyzed by fear.
That movie! There’s a movie I heard of.
A boy hates Christmas, wishing it away.
A storm brews suddenly in skies above,
heralding a deadly Christmas day.
A Shadow Santa comes. This wicked soul
is known as Krampus, and he brings with him
an evil that can swallow people whole.
If I have summoned him, my fate is grim.
The storm keeps wailing; now there’s a new sound
of scratching on my roof, but there is no
more knocking. Oh, who’s walking all around
my roof? I run out to the blinding snow!
At first I can see nothing till my eyes
are drawn to where a great big bag was put
beside my door. What’s this? More Santa lies?
Though filled with dread, I push it with my foot.
There jumps out from the bag the strangest thing -
A tiny man; he’s made of gingerbread!
He laughs maliciously, and starts to sing,
“Before the night is over, you’ll be dead.”
Out on my lawn, I see beneath the snow
there’s something creeping fast and right toward me!
What creature slithers underneath the snow?
I can’t escape, so back inside I go!
I shut the door and bolt it, then collapse
Upon my sofa near the fireplace, when
I hear an eerie sound above. It taps,
taps, taps. It’s something on the roof again!
Past Christmases with family go through
my frantic mind; I cower there and wait.
It’s Krampus, and he’s up there in the flue,
and soon to be delivering my fate!
Written Dec. 24, 2015/ Inspired by the contest of TAMMY REAMS
and the current Christmas horror movie Krampus.
A short little guy,
walks by,
"please don't mind me,"
he wobbles.
His shadowed face it asks,
"is it five o'clock already?"
He hasn't had a meal,
his belly rumbles.
He sits outside the local market,
waving at each passing patron,
how busy they are,
ignoring his kind gestures.
His kindness is mistook,
with leers of suspicions,
just a little man,
in a big world, so pressured.
A lost soul,
who once had it all,
homeless,
people set his measure.
A hobo,
he's defined,
by his,
unfortunate life.
Is he,
only thoughts to you,
as bread is,
to taste the knife?
Do you believe,
that all is well,
in his world,
because he has survived?
A kind gesture,
would mean so much,
he's begging for,
acceptance from passersby.
Condemned and broken,
like the cracked bricks,
where he seeks,
warmth for the night.
Just a little man,
holding onto,
a simple gesture,
to stay connected with life.
I’m a free spirit rising
a freethinker dreaming
Stoically climbing
the surreal limbo bar,
But I don’t know why
i’m no bright spark
for split seconds on fire
lighting up the dark
Yet we have one
with burning aspirations
peers into his own sky
it goes over most heads
Just like mother earth
oh that monster
who never shared a bed
Unresurrected yet alive
drones from a hive
uniformity in his wardrobe
reminds me of
a Gucci slave
in fox fur skin
self imposed virgin
His yellow ribbon tie,
symbolic of no hope
tourniquet for the throat
leers around corners
peers over the edge
paranoid with multifaceted sides
seen through opaque eyes
equals the root of Pi r squared
be careful not to stare
Does his hell refuse lepers
can I comment
without being masked
stop me spreading gossip
through questions I ask,
Searching for answers
or setting traps
they come thick and fast
But like always
with many gaps
Cast out of Eden
for the beef he’s eaten
an iPhone heathen
Doesn’t know when beaten
perhaps tofu can sweeten
the Shakespearian cretin
By
David Kavanagh
Unswallowed lumps of lobster immodest
Crustacean returns to pincers persimmon
Waitress whisk indiscernible clears linen
Custom of one equates her eight hour day
Has It All Paul wipes away gourmet residual
Exhaustion frightened by frothy latte
Fingers in pies finance necromancer denies
Bulging funds fail to complete, coins conflict
Periphery rebuffs, enough is finite, endless leers
Goblet of gluttony grape broth overflow inflicts
Victim of vanished virtue, bon vivant declaration
Transmutes rules, outruns consequence
Guidance glued in buttery dough glides rhetorical
Yacht reined in quay quiver, another arrow for Cupid
Entertainment timed to change with shifting tides
Inglots tossed overboard drown in debauch
Drunk playboy Paul while vulnerable divulges
Disdain for greeds' steep scrag, perpetual pursuit
Outdo, prove prowess for those who never realise
Incongruent grapple for further forgets to cherish
Partners relent, resources force caucus to submit
Patronising Paul procures boardroom obedience
Inundating debt retards bombastic boon reward
Promise of association silences indulgent sin
28th June
Plenty Stimulates
Illustrious? Too sophisticated.
Advanced? Sounds too modern.
Awkward? Not in the mood yet.
Animalistic? A nice ring, bereft of a special ring.
Will consider it for later though. Jotting it down now.
I could cut up some onions. I got up early to cook a roast right?
I get up from the chair, and my muse bops me on the head,
A light smack. I know, I tell her. I will be back in two.
It is actually ten minutes later. I had to cut up the onions and the roast.
Antiquated? Too prissy.
Profound? Dharm it! You already use profound in every other poem.
Pollutive? Is that even a WORD?
I will set the crockpot on high.
Trixie gets out her machete and leers at me, really mad now.
If you use that, I will not help you at all, I warn her,
So she files it back in her knapsack, and starts stomping up and down the paper.
She is storming angry when I return, I know because the paper is torn into
Teeny, tiny bits, I pull it back together, trying to read it again, as I recopy it.
Plain? Too plain.
Demonstrative? Circle that one. I like that one.
Delectable, delightful, deliriously diabolically, do-able.
The D words are here, and they are dancing and prancing.
Discerning. Where did that come from? Trixie helps me scratch it out.
Hey! Were you going to put the meat into the crockpot?
INSTANT brain stop.
We come to a screeching halt.
Dhramn!
I take Trixie to the kitchen where she hammers on Joe’s head with her axe.
Unfortunately, he does not feel it.
No one else here can put roast into a crockpot?
The opal anchor clings, clutching, falling,
fetching the lapis lazuli. Mermaids flee,
frightened by the heavy ornament. Fate,
like chain links of Jacob Marley; shaking
of the seabed at the pounding of sin.
Gavel striking like a velociraptor storm.
Sand churns as if Scrooge is turning
in his bedclothes, his premonitory bed.
Sapphire eyes suffer the crashing. Abode
of ponderous tales, predilection of sharp
shadows, darting hither and thither,
reserved for the most heinous of beasts.
“The beast is dead,” speaks Amphitrite
Her children carol, “Ashes, ashes…”
They dare not speak the scathing name
of molest and neglect, mutilated beyond
recognition. His fists forever incarcerated,
His face, food for the scavenger fish.
Mermaids remain innocent of such leers,
never drawing near to earthbound treachery.
The silk sense of security constantly tending
to their flesh. Tails fearlessly splashing.
~ ~ ~
But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to stumble, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.
Matthew 18:6 BSB
The angry learner chef
A discerning chap
Leers at how he's going to cook
That special meal he likes
In which pot shall he make his Asian delight
No one goes near
When he's about to take a turn
Stay calm little chef!
It's only an onion
It won't make you cry
If handle it properly
Make no mistake
We'll Stand well back and instruct
Even applause when you've made your dish!
Amen.
Why is there fog, thick with grim
from the breath of pursed lips
that blemishes the view
distorting the glass?....I ask you
Is there a peaceful place for the soul?
I stand by the window and peer through the blinds
The wind whips trees and muddles the mind
something sails through the dark with a thump I can hear
leers up at me with hopeless blind-sight,.. and tends once again
to instill me with fear
A tendril of grass from the devil's own hand
snakes its way up the porch
beyond the first step
And there….lies intrusion
an anthill away, ..it comes every day
to dim all the light …… no peace for the soul, blood red ever flows
There is always a grim taste of nightmarish reality,
It is not an illusion
a voice too inhuman….it reeks of the devil
not a game to be played
I can't hide like an ostrich…..but maybe I should
Deceit mixed with truth, only death in pursuit
Which has now been cloven by the worst of mankind
Now waits on the stoop
Rumpled and bound for the weary to find
Have I triumphed from fear
when I open the door
A slit to peek out,
take what lies at my feet?
What is black, what is white
what is read, bloody red
bringing dread, bringing grief
No solace, relief
Am I weak, without will, a moth drawn to the flame?
What is sane? What is real?
Where is peace for the soul?
There is death at my door
Always more, always more
…..where, Oh dear Lord, is there peace for the soul?
__________________________________________________________
9/14/16
Scare Me Good Poetry Contest
On the lake as I sit free.On a vacation I would be.I see the trees and I hear the birds.I see the deer that run in herds.On a mountaintop far away, I see a ram,and he wants to play. He dances, he jumpsand knocks rocks loose with all the fun.But the ram is unaware of the danger that leers.I see a cougar coming near. Luckily, the ram veers.I am glad and filled with glee.And I see a butterfly land on a tree.With its bright colors and large wings,if only I could be such a thing.I would fly away, with no care in sight,and carry on all through the night.I fly around and visit the flowers.What a gorgeous day. I hope it doesn't shower.I stop dreaming, and awake I be,and there I am, for all to see.Back on the lake, until the next dream I dream.
A LEAPING ACQUAINTANCE
O ask me if a friend is mine for keeping
And I will scroll down her countenance in years
To show acquaintance that’s a target leaping
And I will tell you of the long nights’ weeping
Into the valley of the corrupted seers
That her acquaintance was a target, leaping
As if acts of confidence were seeping
Down the drainpipe like a burst of tears,
Asking if a friend is for safe keeping,
Secrets unravelled in the glare, bleeping
With the traffic of the times that hooked my peers
Just ask me if her friendship’s mine for keeping:
I say, a pox on their assiduous reaping
Their facts are gleaned where the bar sells beers
To show acquaintances like a target, leaping
On opportunity, grafting on chances, peeping
With trashy envious shades adrift in leers;
O ask me if this friend is worth the keeping,
I’ll show an acquaintance missed the target, leaping.
from IN MEMORY OF HER 2008)
I
I search myself within skeletons closeted sunshine
Sick from love laughing leers sick from tired lessons lesions clichés
Sick from smug smart snooty soldiers in a war without enemies
Slaying hope light flashed in the whisper of a child’s heart
I beg for the dream again when magic was sown in my soul
II
Now only the outside answers nature wind
My mind suffocates secrets suffered slow
Pitching prayers in the dark room empty
Lights stretch snips of longing on the split wall
In corners perfumes perform mirrored operas
III
The monster changes the law and sows lands
In dust time will be a new hand reaching back
Deserts will bloom gospels pouring beatitudes
Walking religiously toward the thrilling purple sun
Night is a bath of stars boiling life and lust spinning
I was just a kid
Lost in a world of grownups
I was often with a sad eye
I never admitted the cry
The street was not a happy place
Seekers of the dark
With adult leers
I was so so filled with abject fear
Twm mocked, even though de-frocked
Chasing the pains and nightmares
Glamorgan was full of bridges
Under which the trolls held vigils
For Twm chased many to death
As I ran and I ran, as fast
As my little feet can
I reached the bridge
On top I stand
A child’s fear drowned
I jumped
I wave the peace sign, everywhere I go, you know, to and fro.
As I board the city bus, I wave the peace sign.
Now what's the fuss you know, now, That I've now paid my full share, of fare.
I wave the peace sign as I pass, my fellow passengers.
Sneers, leers, and jeers. Oh my, my poor ears.
So now with this I received, I wave the peace sign as I leave.
I met my wife at the very end of college. About 24 years ago.
She is still smokin' hot beautiful...
_________________________
When you hold my hand
I cannot even stand
How I feel so grand
Look at you, Baby
You make me hazy
I'm not feeling lazy
How in the wide world
After so many years
Such laughter and tears
My drive's still so strong
And it's just so wrong
You still draw my leers
As you have for years
Like a college girl
Your healing hot touch
Is still just too much
For verses and such
This look in my eyes
You will not disguise
Your passionate cries
Time supposedly softens
The lust of a man
For the woman at hand
And so he should seek
A side-lover's cheek
But instead in my plan
You'll know I'm your man
'Till I'm in my coffin
Your body is mine
To make your heart shine
All of the time
I'll see you tonight
You will know I'm right
Once you're in my sight
Flim-Flam dances to the beat of a drugged out drummer
Her moves are suggestive and sometimes vulgar
Her hands are soiled and damp holding onto the grimy pole
She’s topless and her dancing is like a listless puppet performing a role
She has a striking body and her hair is curly and luxuriant
It makes patrons’ thoughts lean towards prurience
As the evening lumbers on, Flim-Flam’s dancing slows to a crawl
She’s tired, hungry and wants to curl up and bawl
A huge man approaches the stage sneering at her with tight dark eyes
He’s obese, sweaty, dirty, and wears an obscene leather tie
Flim-Flam looks down and backs up in mortal fear
It’s her stepfather; he’s found her; he staggers as he leers
He hollers. “Got ya, Gal, you gonna be sorry you ran away – you hear?”
He grabs at Flim-Flam, but a bouncer steps in with a bone-crushing slam
Her stepfather pulls a hunting knife bellowing and slashing
But the bouncer is bigger, fitter, and not afraid of grabbing
Crazed bullies, liquored, riled up and flailing
The bouncer drops the stepfather to marry the floor
Disarms him, pins him while hollering, “Flim-Flam, get out the back door”
Slamming into the bouncer’s 4x4, Flim-Flam hunkers down weeping
She hears sirens, people shouting, cursing, tires screeching
She hears the Miranda given just before she slides into oblivion
A gentle hand shakes her awake, it’s the bouncer, his name is Jake
Her new husband smiles with kindness, his love shining forth
“We’re going north to the farm where I was born and want to live my life
With you by my side, not “Flim’Flam”, but Grace Marshall, my wife
He holds her close whispering, kissing, reassuring
“Va-Va-Voom” disappears; a happy ending, a promising beginning.