Best Leonard Poems
Standing before the microphone,
blank faces stare from cushioned chairs
Jewels sparkle, acting like they’re real,
while bow ties just seem sad…it happens
Marching to the beat of clicking heels,
unbuttoned vests as strange eclipsed spotlights
illumine smoke swirls in overhead rafters
flowing from my ember’d fingertips
And my hair is a mess…but it always is
and I don’t care…do you?
I’d clear my throat but that does no good,
gravel has taken up residence…it pays the rent
The room goes dim, the audience worries
Glares spark like steel on asphalt
I can see them clear, slowly fading in anxious doubt
My mind scratches some ink in dusty thoughts…
I love you, I love everything that is you
Need surpasses desire, and I need
My arms long to cling you, crushed against me,
breathing as one, harmonious breath…dusty thoughts…they come
The bass player plucks and that is my cue,
flicking my ashes I begin to read…poetry
and the audience smiles…I am a poet and poetry is cool,
Leonard Cohen was right
The End of Love
A secret grief rips apart all that was
Slaves to the sexual caresses of time
Stallions in black gallop gallantly in fields
Of spring full wishes
Thou seeith the birth of love
Naked hopes surrounded by sweet perfumes
Seduced by the gods or by demon fools
Dancing, towards our own charades we sing
Funerals consume autumn’s dead poets
The gravestone cold and gray
We hug it like a long lost friend
One may see a battle lost
The other a battle won
In November we reminisce the soldier and singers too
Didst you know I was a prostitute?
Selling my soul to the hourglass of eternity
Foolishly hoping to sleep upon her breast
Shivering as others seem to fall right at deaths door
Brimstone, black and rose
The underbelly of St Laurent
Youthful boasts as the old man in cane hobbles
Generations sailed down the main
Some seeking solace others finding fame
Vaguely the recollections appear
Visions inside dreams inside the darkest fears
The end of love is near
For the hand above is reaching
As I float to the end of time
Enchantment in the crypts
Ravens dancing as they consume our mortal
Hearts
No smiles, no sleep
Thou did knowest I’m surely certain
The dance of death
Only to be followed
By a piper
And angels violins
Rags and shrouds, kiss them all goodbye
Hallelujah
In Memory of Leonard Cohen, a fellow Montrealer, 21 September 1934 – 10 November 2016.
There was a Starship Enterprise,
It was the ruler of the skies,
But you don't really care for sci-fi, do you?
With Captain Kirk
And Mr Spock
And don’t forget the trademark jock,
And there upon the bridge you’ll find Uhura
Oh Uhura, Oh Uhura
Oh Uhura, Oh Uhura
You’ll find Bones Macoy down in sickbay,
“I’m a doctor Jim” he’d say,
And cure whatever space bug ran through you,
He’ll banish away every cough,
Even if your name’s Chekov,
Or perhaps you might be sweet Uhura
Oh Uhura, Oh Uhura
Oh Uhura, Oh Uhura
To make the starship up and go,
The man you really need to know,
Is the Helm officer called Sulu,
But if it’s a message you’d like to send,
Then of course you can depend,
Upon the talented Miss Uhura,
Oh Uhura, Oh Uhura
Oh Uhura, Oh Uhura
Your voyage lasted three short years
But despite the trekkie’s fears,
It wouldn’t be the last time that we’d view you,
Of feature films there’d be twelve,
Before the franchise they would shelve,
But we won’t forget you dear Uhura
Oh Uhura, Oh Uhura
Oh Uhura, Oh Uhura
Oh Uhura, Oh Uhura
Oh Uhura, Oh Uhura
Oh Uhura
Leonard Nimoy (Mr Spock),
His music career quite ad hoc,
Sang of Bilbo in sixty eight,
With his fringe still Vulcan straight.
An unsavory man from Montreal
squatted in dim lit cafes
writing of the pain of love
a charlatan
he was the darker lovely dove
he inhaled the smoke of Satan
he sang to the devils army
purist of evil
his grave a urinal
to be used, over and over
his words knelt like prayers
and rose like knives.
Thinning morals
he possesses zero virtue
just a shadow
of the fires down below
he sings for the child killers
the thieves and robbers of the land
he chants of love, he means rape
for those not of his blend
his wishes burnt under
hidden flames of hostility
He may dress in rags
he may play the victim
in the end though
he will burn your flesh
a sacrifice
then he will call you his fool
he sang for genocide
not for the goyim half wit
Dead, he is dead
angels he will never see
If I was Leonard Nimoy I would rush about the place,
I would hold my long pointy fingers in front of me as I sprang from door to door,
My pointy boots deftly propelling me from shadow to shadow my pointy ears sleek in the dark,
I would wear an elf’s cloak like a slender bony wraith and be like Pan in the woods.
If I was Leonard Nimoy, ceaselessly running here and there,
I would fondle things, peruse things, and look under things and open cupboards,
A real nosey sneak, climbing through windows and going through draws,
I’d sniff other people’s belongings with my long sensitive nose,
trying on peoples clothes, reading their diaries, wearing their shoes.
If I was Leonard Nimoy I would be a real cheeky bastard,
Quickly rushing about, hands in front, cloak flapping behind,
Stooping like a thief in the dark, arranging dinner dates, making phone calls,
Then I would vocally abuse people and adroitly cut them down.
If I was Leonard Nimoy I would use my Vulcan logic to orally molest people,
I would line people up with my stone hard glare and coldly hurl verbal perversions at them
Willowy fingers, hunched shoulders, flat black hair, pointy ears, spikey shoes, cloak fluttering behind.
Expressionless, cool, thin and dexterous, I’d cause a right awkward mess behind the scenes.
Born in 1874 Sir Winston Leonard Spencer-Churchill
Nicknamed Winnie, with a Bulldog spirit ~ resembled my Bulldog Bill
In thinking time sat on his ‘Throne’, Lord Privy Seal rang Winston’s phone
Yelling his retort said, ‘Tell him I can only deal ~ with one s*** at a time’
22nd January 2019
Contest: Educate Me with Humour - Leader Clerihew
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
4th place
Sir Winston Churchill was a British writer, military leader and statesman. Twice named prime minister of the United Kingdom, he was known for his bulldog spirit and his rousing rhetoric; he also won the Nobel Peace Prize for Literature in 1953. Churchill became the first civilian in the 20th century to be given a state funeral, which is normally reserved for kings and queens only. For three days and three nights, Churchill lay in state in 900-year-old Westminster Hall as more than 300,000 mourners filed past the casket, hewn from English oaks taken from his family estate. Such was the country’s admiration for Churchill that Queen Elizabeth II broke with monarchical tradition to attend a funeral for someone outside of the royal family. Even more unusual, the queen gave precedence to one of her subjects and arrived at the cathedral before the former prime minister’s casket.
17th November 2020
Contest Name QUAT-RO your four line Contest
Sponsor Brian Strand
N/A
You who transcend the shallow depths
Of commercial rants and ravings
You who labour, out of love
To satisfy your honourable cravings
Though some of you have fallen
At the alter that you serve
And further true, that so few of you
Have found what you deserve
For to be what you are and not what you aren't
To produce what it is and not what it wasn't
Is your only sin, your only failing
The muse of 'The Label', a banshees wailing
In your depths of despair, the weak and the strong
In your gardens of Eden your towers of song
Stay true my friends, transfixed in thought
Creative in your vision
Let not the chains of commerce
Bend your knees, in indecision
To work for pay, is not your way
Be paid for work you're doing
Enrich the World, with poem and song
Though that be your undoing
For to be what you are and not what you aren't
To produce what it is and not what it wasn't
Is your only sin, your only failing
The muse of 'The Label', a banshees wailing
In your depths of despair, the weak and the strong
In your gardens of Eden your towers of song
I will rise when my People return.
With hard eyes,
clinched fists,
and a cold heart.
I will paint myself for war.
With feathers tied in my hair.
Scarified and singing of the old days.
A whistle and blood for the old ways.
I will dance to dream myself awake.
To see the Sun setting on me.
As I am.
Old and fat.
My belly hangs like the heavy snow on a Winter day.
My trailer is cold,
and I have a long way to pay.
I wait for my People.
Where is our Messiah to lead the way?
Phyllis White-Thunder pats my cheek.
She tells me that it will be ok.
She tells me go back to sleep.
It was just a dream Leonard.
Just a dream.
E.G. Maynard.
46 & 2.
3.
Sir Winston Leonard Spencer-Churchill
a Prime Minister with many a skill.
Though his ideals by some were not favoured,
his victories by many were savoured.
Darkly touching at the soul for a pulse
Painting sordid affairs with shy lovers
Simple strung elegance meant to engulf
Voyeurs drawn into satiny covers
Deep soft chanting, contrasted by crying
Expertly picking out exalted chords
Selections of angels underlying
Electronic organs ring for the Lord
Examining forms from bleaker futures
Through crystallized visions of long ago
Scriptures of flesh sewn with golden suture
Observing non-secular rites of woe
Endless devotions defining your man
Dissolved by prayers of humble Jikan
I have not prayed enough to be like you,
I have not loved enough to write like you.
The night is my god, stars my angels
I'll never touch,
while the darkness that hides in my pockets
my lover, but we may speak to one another
in the ten minute afterlife of my brain,
trying to catch up to its dead body.
The conversation agreeable
until you joke that my heaven
is your hell, and I realize
the real Leonard Cohen more sophisticated
than such humour, proving
we all really die alone.
From: People More Famous Than Me (Published 2022)
I have an illustrious dream,
want to be Leonard
Cohen's gypsy wife,
he's kissing my lips on
Boogie Street,
impetuously we dance
to the end of love
'til closing time
midst his secret life,
he serenades me with
I'm your man
when we take Manhattan,
bewildered by his poetic beauty
waiting for the miracle to happen,
a sip of wine, a cigarette
in love we disappear,
here it is, you got me singing
be that dog in heat,
I'll take this waltz and
another please, cause
everybody knows
I hunger for your touch,
his famous blue raincoat
and the dew on my thigh
goes a thousand kisses deep
in the cave at the tip of the lily
with its very own breath of brandy,
slipping into the masterpiece
where Lenny is eternal
If you don't love Leonard Cohen's poetry and music, it probably won't make much sense.
I like Mr Leonard
for having the courage
to say that
he doesn’t know.
For asking the questions
and getting some answers,
though some questions
might have been wrong.
I like Mr Leonard
for taking us places,
down by the river,
up Tower of Song.
For showing us people
who may be half crazy,
at least in the eyes
of this world.
I like Mr Leonard
for his Hallelujahs
and asking us to
sing along.
For trying to get closer
to our creator,
to feel that
we aren’t alone.
I like Mr Leonard.
What Songwriter or writers Inspire you? (Leonard Cohen)
Leonard Simon Nimoy
the Enterprise did employ
he logically was very proper
and was able to live long and prosper