Best Lurch Poems
The steadily falling cold August rains
Continue to pour upon Cheshires lanes;
Over flattening fields of soddened wheat,
Soaking the grass, splashing the feet.
Stands the Combine in the shed;
The unripened apples hanging rosy red.
Stands the caped heron all alone -
His glinting eye as cold as stone.
And in amongst the many puddles
We step around like our troubles:
So lurch ahead with our retreat
Like drunken fools in the street.
And through this months darkly frowns
The cleansing downpours wash the towns;
Scrubs the spire from ingrained time -
Absolves the guilt from the crime!
PROLOGUE
The Flame, aflicker, licks and flays,
illuming evening’s negligees
With braided curls she swirls and sways,
and flits and floats in light ballets
APOLOGUE
A Flame, to conquer creeping fog,
flew dancing towards a random log
Her flight perplexed a leery frog
beside a silent somber bog
The Flame, a ripple, all alone
alit on leaves where birds had flown
The aching twigs began to moan
A rising breeze began to groan
The Flame arrayed an ancient oak
with torrid tongues and veils of smoke
A beaver bailed, the dam had broke
The leery frog soon ceased to croak
The Flame uncoiled and lashed midair,
consuming crowns with utmost care
A crazed coyote fled her lair,
left in the lurch bewildered bear
The Flame, unfurled, went wild and grew,
enkindled cats and caribou
Remaining... not a residue,
as reeking vapors bade adieu
The Flame revealed her strength unshackled
Flora, fauna crisped and crackled
Fire Witches clucked and cackled
One more forest stripped, then hackled
EPILOGUE
The arsonists were well aware
the Flame would travel everywhere
The weirs are gone, the land is bare,
and soon you’ll find a city there
It jumps not to the thought of riches or the prospect of gold
For common treasures are not what it seeks
But rather it responds to that probable possibility
That it may have touched the depths of someone else's soul
It hearkens not to sparkling gems or lusts after a lifetime of wealth
For inside jewels lies the hearts of thieves
But rather it stirs at giving a word someone needs
For inspiration to even the smallest person is a diamond in itself
It doesn't ache for dollar bills or lurch at the sight of green
For nowadays money comes in many different forms
But rather it longs to patch up another heart that may have been torn
And once again to give that person's life meaning
It is a place where the world dare not or otherwise cannot go
A safe haven for valuables other than currency
A hidden trail where treasure means finding creativity
A path that only the hearts of poets know
A funeral is not the place when you find you need to laugh
Here is my true story about my little gaffe
I hope this poem does not offend
It is written in memory of a very special friend
My father’s friend had passed away
And to the church we went that day
I was heavily pregnant and feeling glum
And awaiting the birth of my lovely son
The priest he came from a foreign land
His words we found hard to understand
When he said the words ‘let us pray’
I bowed my head and heard him say…….
‘Heavenly Farter’ (I cannot remember the rest)
For tears of laughter were falling onto my chest
The more I tried to stifle my laughter
The worse I became, it was a total disaster
I got a hanky to suppress the giggle
My shoulders up and down they did wriggle
Tears were flowing from my eyes
My husband looked at me with great surprise
He took me by the hand and we left the church
On the pretext I was so upset and needed a quiet place to perch
Outside the church my laughter freely flowed
My eyes were shiny and my cheeks they glowed
When my father finally came out
I told him of the priest’s error and at me he did not shout
He decided he better have a ‘quiet word’
Their conversation it was not overheard
On our next visit to the Catholic Church
Out of the building I hoped I would not have to lurch
I got ready to bow my head to pray
And then I heard the priest say ……
HEAVENLY FARZER! Oh thank the lord
My father’s words he had taken on board
Now when I hear the words ‘let us pray’
I cringe and remember that awful day
Jan Allison
7th February 2014
Contest The Poet III
sponsored by Gautami Phookan
~awarded 3rd place~
Discarded in yesterdays trash
Cardboard boxes never last
New things arrive in them
Old things stored in them
Rotting boxes on a voyage
Leftovers to those with out any coinage
Tom O’Seary had come down on his luck
Just couldn’t seem to make a buck
An elder at church who snuck a shot in a lurch
Now he sleeps in the rain
Cardboard box umbrellas
His home and his pain
One cold winter day
Poor old tom was dead where he lay
Inside his cardboard box
Was his last writings and will and the lot
I, Tom O’Seary of no determined address
I write these words, for they are my last will I confess
I regret all the pompous ways I was an ass
I missed the meaning of the messages, thus I was crass
Now you will lay me below the green grass
I thought I’d be looking down from heavens gates of glass
I was wrong about that too, so wrong
I am just rotting here in the green green grass
My purpose in life may not have been clear
The irony of death is now I know what’s so dear
Live this life with kindness and love
Or else on your grave will be the droppings of white doves
THE CYNICISM OF DISILLUSION or Perhaps Hamlet was right.
Disillusion frames the drama of our lives
As we lurch through props and sets with pratfalls tripped
Wood Pigeon soars to self applause and then subsides
Fine woven fabric inadvertently is ripped
Why essay to climb the peak, perchance the ending
Where demise succeeds your rise, while descending
16 February 2019
Written: June 22, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lovely, two-week luster.
lasting sylvan smell,
lavender, blue, crimson, lilac, pastel
light lifts people's mettle
leading light is a liking illustration.
loamy land leaning of landowners.
Lubed language is silky and crucial.
land lightly in people's whimsy
locution of literalism logicality
lasts for a lengthy time, if not longer.
Lapis lazuli lanes link labor.
limitless loop layout lends a look of light.
lost from landscape left walls in flux.
looking for love losing out
learning to love may launch
letting love lurch may be a loom.
lift by living a loving life.
lasting love is pulled to lead
Living every day, listening to the wild.
learning life lessons by laughing
lifting lethargy, limiting lemons
loving our Lord, love one another.
love talk leaks recall, lie seal.
loving recalls rekindle love's loyalty.
lips locked, long-lasting.
long, salty lacking friends.
love, latch loss, live for those who care.
looking for a soulmate alone looks cruel.
limping life’s path, listening to voices.
lambaste the bamboozled mind.
laugh, scream your feelings loud
Lustrous eyes reveal loneliness.
lost will, loyalty remains.
lockets and lullabies depict it.
lyrics praise long, dull winters alone.
lacking friendship, grieve less.
Licensed to fix wrongs, omit loopholes of lies.
lure rivals to confess, and learn their lies.
Today the darkness comes.
Music is subdued and low --
measured beats -- an ebb and flow
of oboes and of drums
to pace the sluggish feet.
I do not choose to meet,
this day of blacks and grays,
the collared priest who prays
but ultimately betrays
the cant that fills his days
with repetitious words.
I view the streaming hordes
descending from the church,
watch them as they lurch
about -- in apparent disregard
for any ordered exit from
the sepulchre, dank and dim.
They met to worship Him --
but I -- I try so hard
to suspend my disbelief --
to find, in faith, relief.
Still, the darkness comes.
The Drag of Writing
A smidgeon of silly,
a scintilla of sad,
a wee gong of rhyming wit,
a sentence to start me
a participle dangling
a lead to bring me to it,
a last ditch lurch to my
personal God, who says
“this is not worthy of prayer”
six single words is all I need
for my fingers to fly with a flourish,
a little ole ‘v’ to victory,
parse me up
and parse me down
I’ll carelessly click the keys,
till I alphabetically ache
and a roll of the dice
brings a poem for the centuries
Is that how THEY did it
Longfellow and Poe?
I’m not so sure they were so slow.
©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
May 28, 2013
A strange sight upon a lonely road.
A dream ripped in half.
Looking closer, I wonder what was the travail.
An old price tag attached, making me wonder at what price it was sold.
Along the edges, tattered and torn, it gave forth an evil laugh.
As if some sly devil concocted a way to turn someone pale.
Onward I traveled, with pack upon my back.
To the left and right of the road were littered with more broken dreams.
So many that one could not keep track.
Some having been blown into the parallel stream.
So, I checked the pack upon my back.
And, yep all my dreams were there in a stack.
Cold winds howl, trying to rip my back pack to shreds.
Freezing were the winds, but forward I march.
Never losing sight of my dreams in spite of many dreads.
They all hold up strong even though many times I'm in a lurch.
Suddenly I see people returning to the road.
Going back and picking up their dreams.
Dusting them off and restoring them to their pack.
Each and every one said to me, you are quite bold.
To go forth and not let the cold winds of fate not destroy your knack.
To face life as it comes and not give up even if offered gold.
Good, bad fortune, are likewise of no importance.
Put a failed dream back in your pack and maybe a new day will appear.
Where you can unpack that dream and give it another go.
But, for today, march forward, today's failure might tomorrow's dance.
You gave it your best, and win or lose, that game has ended with a spear.
Win or lose, that game is done so pack it's knowledge away in your pack and grow.
Suddenly down the road a new vista appears and a brand new game.
Left high and dry or victorious are the two possible ends of any venture.
But in truth, knowledge is all you will have, win or lose.
For tomorrows game is just around the bend, all the same.
Win or lose, the game of life only ends for the moment within sight of the new adventure.
So, to quit and call it the end, only makes you look like a goose.
ABANDONED AT THE ALTAR
You cast me aside
Like an unloved old rag doll
You no longer wanted me.
Jilted as your bride
Your betrayal took its toll
Where is my apology?
No explanation
Has been uttered by your lips -
I was waiting at the church!
Humiliation
As my life is torn to strips …
forsaken, left in the lurch.
Contest: Sedoka Contest
Sponsor Laura Loo
Checked with how many syllables 5,7,7,5,7,7
01~04~16
.-G-.
.-R-.
.-O-.
.-O-.
.-V-.
.-E-.
.-S-.
pierce my ears,
caressing notes to rake
tears on such moonlit aches,
strings groan through passages
on breaths as scrapes of violin
lurch; veiled weeping dives
low like fine spear falling
on my riddled head,
as if to crack reeds
just there,
enthralled
by heaves of waved air
swelling along melodies
tragic in liquid gothic drones,
my old innocence plucked raw
beyond deep allegro of time;
tunes' long drags hard to bear
peeling my burnt flesh slow
the fine bow screeches,
I cry on slain notes
poetrysoup must finely flourish
This is my most sincere wish
Her difficulties give me anguish
She helps swim every poet-fish
By giving the site my best write
I must supply minds bright light
The site provides enough delight
I must take her to a great height
For a long time the site never opened
I was worried as to what happened
My agonies due to this deepened
No help at all I could usefully send
A site which helps all noble poets
By giving to their emotions outlets
Getting troubles gives great regrets
As all poets got caught in worry-nets
I felt like a sad fish out of water
When the site I could not enter
Due to defect in my brain-computer
Membership problems I did encounter
The site gave kindly clarification
By intimating me the rectification
Proper application of correction
Ended in membership-completion
I felt like hugging my mother
And being kissed by my father
Kindly embraced by my brother
My mind faced nice weather
A site where poets play
And their skill they display
Their ideas they convey
poetrysoup shows a way
Really her presence is a gift
As she gives to emotions lift
If her happiness suffers theft
In the lurch we poets are left
May God bless dear poetrysoup
As she has a lovely poets' group
Using pen we poets form a troop
This Godly site, none can dupe.
SEARCH MY NAME IN GOOGLE OR YAHOO
Where did I leave it,
the key to my heart
Guess it doesn’t matter
can’t find anyone
To give it a jump start
It’s been so long now
starter motors probably gone
Thinking too hard about
where it’s gone wrong
Want to feel the rush again
Heart beating and pounding so fast
When someone special finds the key
And unlocks the passion at last
I want to feel that lurch
When butterflies flutter
In the pit of my belly
For when he is near my legs turn to jelly
Want to find my book in the fridge
My shoes on the table
Cos my mind is a mess
Concentrate I’m not able
To just think his name
And say it over and over
Like I’ve found the four leafed clover
Will I be that lucky
Or will the door stay shut
And the key lost forever
And my heart will turn hard like
An empty nut.
One Sunday, I came back alone,
Home early from the church,
Not having the key to get in,
I was left in the lurch;
Locked out in the scorching hot sun,
Looking for shade to stand,
Counting the vehicles go by,
I passed the time in hand;
Scolding myself for thoughtlessness,
I sat on "Jupiter",
Hoping my parents would come soon,
I waited undeterred;
Standing almost for one hour there,
Stuck outside my home zone,
In order to avoid the stares,
I tinkered with my phone;
That day, I learnt to be careful,
To check my handbag twice,
Be cool in all circumstances,
Be patient and precise.
09/18/17
*Jupiter - a two-wheeler brand
Form: Poulter's Measure