Best Marauding Poems
Crisp end of winter morning,
my shovel digs the soil,
turning over weeds and worms,
and watch them twist and coil …
hoe the dirt once more again,
until a soft and silky bed,
then plant seeds, where once grew weeds,
and grow vegetables instead.
Watch out for snails!
Watch out for slugs!
Watch out for earwigs!
Watch out for harlequin bugs!
In two weeks or a little more,
shoots of green grow from the seeds,
now fighting for their patch of ground,
but a little later than - the weeds.
And so I’m down upon my knees,
working out what plant is what;
making sure carrot and parsnip,
are growers in this garden plot.
Watch out for sparrows!
Watch out for silver eyes!
Watch out for blackbirds!
Watch out for magpies!
Summer sun and drying winds;
summer storms with chance of hail.
Caterpillars, thrips and aphis,
do their best to have me fail,
but murder - mayhem travel well,
with snail bait, dusts and poison spray,
scarecrows, nets and old wine casks,
to keep marauding birds at bay.
Watch out for virus’!
Watch out for rot!
Watch out for mildew!
Watch out for black spot!
Late summer, autumn and the plants
are looking rather worn.
The leaves are dry, stems are dead,
as nature typifies her scorn,
for death will come with winter cold,
but thankfully the harvest flesh,
has been worth the season trials,
to dine on garden fresh.
I meander through verdant valley
where meadows collide in windswept jade,
hillsides bathe in summer sunshine
and oceans of clouds, commit to shade.
Moorland sheep laze in woolly clusters
creating footpaths upon the hill,
busy hedgerow a rural city
scar of an era, is town head mill.
Vibrant coppice alive with creatures
leafy towers caress morning mist,
sunlight shines on distant window
across the valley, a sapphire twist.
Crag and beacon rise majestic
standing stone a monument to thrall,
sculptured by marauding seasons
an ancient culture’s, rocky stall.
Yet to chance upon misty patterns
softly sketched upon the hill,
I will savour these happy moments
awakening to, a distant trill.
Wharfedale, Yorkshire England
© Harry J Horsman 2001
Night stirred memories, once forgotten of the days
I burnt in love when you consumed my days,
and I carried you like a queen in the palanquin of my thoughts!
without forethought, to elbow out the marauding of memories,
I set out, travelling miles, my heart throbbing in my chest
my legs shaking and trembling, finally reaching your hermitage
casting away my stilted pride, expectant and anxious,
I waited at your doorstep to seize the moment
to renew a commitment and knocked hopefully at your door.
while listening intent for the approaching footsteps
and the sound of the key turning on the latch
did I see a face peering through the window, and quickly withdraw?
was it the face I longed to see?
time skipped quickly by, hours flitted
between limping dawns and staggering nights
how long had I waited there? Was it weeks, months, or years?
I knew roots had grown under my feet
and my body had vegetated into a tree
in Time’s eternal motion, the tree will remain there
as a trunk of fossilized dream till your love charges life into it!
Nov.24. 2022
~ Placed Second~
POEM OF THE DAY
Don’t Quit Your Daydream Poetry Contest
Sponsor -craig cornish
Dec.8.2022
2022, Marathon Mile.22. Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Mark Toney
"Broken families beget culprits, and late remorse can never set things right"
~ By Poet.
Scenes reel back casting dark shadows,
Of the fated day I had to leave my home,
Handcuffed and guarded by cops on either side,
Despised by all as one so loathsome.
I had in me, then the heart of stone
All I could think of was my own gain.
Thoroughly swept by the rip - tide of illusion,
I had no regard for another's pain.
‘Drink life to the lees' was my credo,
So, I gambled to make a hoard of money.
Drugs and dopes gave me instant delight.
Initially my days were all too sunny.
But suddenly life derailed from its track
My wallet was like a leaking tank.
All its contents drained out in no time.
Gradually into dejection and despair, I sank.
Eliminated from life by my own misdeeds,
Weary of mind from stress and strife,
Hate grew and hardened within me as a rock.
Once I ripped my rival with a knife.
Convicted and caught red handed,
I ended up in this cheerless cell.
Within these dank forlorn walls,
I shrink like an oyster in its shell.
Everything here is dusty and rusty.
To get some peace as I attempt to sleep,
Marauding thoughts invade my brain.
Like a line of red ants, they listlessly creep.
In my ears fall the sobs of my loving mother,
Now in dumps, orphaned by her drunken husband,
I could never love my father, a true rascal
But I feel heartbroken as I think of my mother so abandoned
Once we lived together in a surreal world
So full of beauty and fluorescent light
I remember those lovely blissful evenings
We rambled along country paths in great delight
I think of the beauty and charm of twilight dusks
When we listened to the enchanting choir
Of crickets and night birds singing for us
Counting glowworms with tiny lanterns of fire.
How those romantic nights swim into view
When we slept in each other’s warm embrace
Your tender touch and love’s soft murmurs
Contrasted with your snoring, my topic to tease
I still recall the vacations we enjoyed
In a thatched cottage by the riverside
Lulled by the quiet music of the river
Neither concerned nor conscious of time’s swift ride
How we sat together weaving magical dreams
Of building a posh house with modern facilities
In a far-off place beyond the village, we lived
And our occasional trip to enjoy the amenities
That was a time when existence was like a dream
When from joy to joy- uninterrupted we flew
Relishing every act of concern n' care we shared
And in mutual love and trust as we grew.
Now I stay, a phantom under this rotting roof
With awful memories barging in~
On windswept nights like marauding thieves,
When I sense a cauldron churning within.
All things you once used remind me of your absence
The armchair you lay sprawling, now lies empty and bereft
The books whose pages you often turned lie unopened
Bearing marks, your constantly moving fingers left.
What remains is the love you planted in my soul,
The deep scar caused by your absence, time can’t heal.
A handful of memories, passing years can never erase,
And traces of an eternal bond, no force can ever steal…
Block by block it starts to rise, Great Wall of China begins,
A barrier to stem the horde, marauding Mongolians,
Must be bigger and better, than ever attempted before,
Also should be breathtaking, far into the clouds will soar.
Where on earth do we start, going be thousands of miles long,
Everywhere at once, of course, otherwise it’d all go wrong,
Need to find lot’s of workers, ten million on the ground,
This is China, unlimited manpower, labour forces abound.
Build a wall upon mountain ridges, never been tried before,
Yeah it’s a pickle ok, most shall die, replaced by millions more,
Emperor decrees, “Thy Will Be Done” no matter what it takes,
Nothing can impede our way, even the country’s deepest lakes.
So onwards and upwards it goes, for better or maybe worse,
Now he demands a road atop, for soldiers to ride their horse,
Crowning glory, the beacon towers, seen from all around,
These almighty fires, warn our armies, from hilltops to town.
Like most things in life, comes with a double edged sword,
So ulterior motive triumphs, for planners and overlords,
Even back then, a master stroke, laughs Dynasty of the Ming,
By keeping invaders out, our slaves imprison themselves within.
Best N-A poem of 2020 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton 13/01/21
N/A COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE(38) any theme any form
Brian Strand 12/3/2020 12:00:00 AM 11/5/2020 1:08
We rode out of Camelot, sun arising,
five knights led by Galahad all bold and true,
on a quest to slay a marauding dragon,
at Arthur's request.
T'was noon when we discovered the dragons lair,
and kept a safe distance at the forests edge,
then crept forward surrounding the cave entrance
and hell was unleashed.
He snorted and spewed his lethal bursts of flame
and then flapped his enormous wings to escape,
we moved forward cautiously drawing our swords,
he died a quick death.
We then rode back galloping at breakneck speed
with good news of victory, King would be pleased,
I had in my possession proof of the kill,
a sharp dragons tooth.
Written on the 8th July 2020
For Pick A Title, Vol 19-4 Sapphic Stanzas- Poetry Contest
Theme Chosen, Number 1, Dragons Tooth.
Sponsored By Edward Ibeh.
Music, Oh mysterious sprite!
Lift me to the seamless realms of delight.
Your ubiquitous presence I feel;
In the hum of crickets, in the silence of the stars,
In the falling cataracts, in the running streams,
You are there in the roaring sea breakers,
And under the swift wings of the wind.
Come as subtle vibes to saturate my being,
Winding your way through every sinew.
Enfold me in your rapturous hold,
Raising my soul to the magic of rhapsody.
Paint intangible pictures in silence,
Creating a sensation beyond the reach of words.
Let my soul savor the taste of ecstasy,
Daubing myriad hues on all ugly stains.
Land me in the sequestered pools of oases,
As the blistering sands leave burns on my soul
Oh Music! Come and fill me.
Soak me from foot to crown,
Like a falling drizzle,
Like a caressing soft wind,
Like a marauding sensation.
Drown me in the subaqueous quietude of the sea,
Levitating me through ether,
And lifting me up onto the borders of heaven!
Within the subtle soundless silence
There exist echoes of a lingering loud
My pendulous heart decrees in defiance
Such emotions plundered and ploughed
Like a geocentric giant guillotine
My lamenting love sacrificially sliced
My soul slaved in the Enigma machine
Where dreams are deceptively diced
The loving light battles the darkest day
And sorrows surrender at portals gate
For love barely escapes the submissive sway
Marauding memories reminisce and recreate
Stained surreal abiding accumulative art
A priceless painting of my Pendulous Heart.
May.20.2017
Pendulum of Time and Place - Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Through the eyes of one born in 1952:
1950’s TV craze
Muscle cars, blue jeans
Poodle skirts, class ring exchanges
Simple time, grandparents involved.
Girls want to be pretty, men call women girls
I Love Lucy
Topper, Loretta Young,
Show of Shows
Grandma’s house on Sundays. Grandpa’s teach skills.
Girls want to be beautiful, men call women “dames”
1960’s Marauding cold war
Russia cosmonauts
Space race
Grandparents are moved to nursing homes.
Girls want to be Jackie, men call women “wife”
JFK and Bobby
Dr. Martin Luther King
Killed by cowards
Grandparents give advice, but visits are more seldom.
Girls want to be housewives, men call women back home.
Early 1970’s, hippie revolution
Egyptian cat queen make-up, free love, anti-war.
Barbara Streisand, Sonny and Cher, Bette Midler,
Grandparents see an alarming pattern of disrespect.
Girls want to be singers and dancers, men get confused.
1980’s
Fur vests, striped pants
Disco Music, John Travolta, Sundays are just another day.
Grandparents have rights, and try to get part time custody of their grandchildren.
Women want to have rights, be independent. Men call them “busters”
1990’s, Turn of everything, selfishness on the rise.
Assassination of Innocence, church and family are scoffed.
Grandparents back off, not daring to give advice, seeing it is not wanted.
Women are working all over the place. Men are not the only bread-winners.
2000’s Computers are in houses
Children are alone, latch key
911 happens, people pray for a day or two.
Grandparents are nowhere around.
Men and women get depressed; children are too.
2010’s
I-phone. I-pad, I-know. I, me, I, I, I.
Lawsuits, lawlessness, spiritually bereft.
Communication breakdown; facetime grandparents once in a pink moon (rarely).
People sit next to each other and text. Confusion reigns supreme.
Breaking down of family is complete. Sorrowful, angry people, disjointed, sad.
Historically accurate, narrative poem
27 November 1868, on the banks of the Washita River
Dawn’s peaceful first light streaks the eastern skies,
belying the horror of a marauding force of horses and men,
silently stealing over new fallen snow preparing
to deliver a fateful blow to the Cheyenne camp below.
The silence is broken when bugles sound the charge
over frozen ground, against a sleeping village that
having complied with every previous unjust demand
thought themselves safe from Custer’s command, deployed
in three columns according to plan, to charge from the west
and the village front, while Maj. Elliot’s column blocked
escape to the east. With the Washita river to their back,
there was no place for chief Black Kettle and his peaceful
band to escape the attack. Braves, women and children, it
made no difference, no preference was shown or quarter
given, most were slaughtered while their lodges burned,
though soon against other creatures the killing would be turned.
Black Kettle reached the river but lost his life while attempting
to cross over with his wife. The lucky few that did survive the
bloody strife and fled across the river to the ridge beyond,
below which their pony herd grazed, soon were filled with
dread and fully amazed when at Custer’s command the entire
herd was shot dead. But by now from other encampments
further east, many Cheyenne Arapaho, and Kiowa braves,
drawn to the sound of guns in the early dawn, were massing
on the hill beyond, milling and buzzing like angry bees, singing
and chanting prayer songs for their dead, filling the soldiers with
a fearful dread. So Custer broke off the engagement and began
to withdraw, but the stage had been set for another day-
June 25, 1876-
when at the Little Big Horne the debt owed for this atrocious
act, Custer and the 7th in full would pay. Meanwhile, as a
prelude it might seem, Maj. Elliot and his column, trapped without
a chance, were wiped out to a man by the Indian’s western advance.
Hilly lent me his post hole digger ‘cause I’m putting up a fence
around me veggie garden, so I could give it some defence
from marauding sheep and cattle that some keep on their block,
and forget about their fences, so I feed their wandering stock.
They eat all my silver beet and give me cabbages all hell,
and what the mongrels don’t prefer they trample in as well,
but I suppose there is one upside with growing what they eat,
for now and then the neighbours stock have saved us buying meat.
That post hole digger made life easy where it twisted in the ground,
instead of digging with a shovel that near breaks me back I found.
So with treated pine snug in their holes and rails upon the face,
I cleaned up the post hole digger to return to Hilly’s place.
I thought I’d leave it ‘til the morn although it has to be ‘round eight,
for that’s the latest Hilly’s sober, so nine o’clock is way too late.
But as it happened I slept in and got around there close to ten,
then for a moment I had thought that Hilly’s drunk again.
He was prowling ‘round the kitchen with a fly swat in his hand,
sneaking up to where the blighters were trying hard to land.
I asked him what he’s doing and with a mad look in his eyes,
Hilly said one got in his porridge so he’s killing all the flies.
Well I suppose sometimes we lose the plot and do get over keen,
but he would have got ‘em in one go by spraying with mortein,
so I asked him “Have you killed a few?” Then heard one of his jokes,
“Yeah, I’ve cleaned up five” he said - “Two sheila’s and three blokes”.
I could see that he’s fair dinkum ‘cause they’re splattered on the sink,
but how he knew what sex they were made me stop and think.
I asked “How do you tell the sex of flies?” Of course I should have known
when Hilly grinned - “Three were on the beer cans and two were on the phone”.
Nameless nomad from nowhere needed nestling niche
Emotions enveloped evermore excitement exuberant
Vague venture veered on valiant venerable voyage
Ever eager to enter enticing enclave of enduring endearment
Recognized remote rhythm of romantic reverie in rippling rapture.
Life’s listless landscape lighted lunar luminosity lured by your lilac love
Evidently eager I’ll earn, emerge enamored at edge of ebullient ecstasy
To tread the twilight trail, travel to your tulip tinged turquoise terrace.
My mind marauding in mauve meadow murmurs don’t maroon me
Even if eroding emerald enchantment ever ends embedded in ember.
Glitzy green garden gone grey, growing gloom grabs, never let me go
Open obscure old orifice on orb, I’ll orbit out of oblivion owning you.
March 27, 2019
Contest : Pick A Title, Vol 3 Alliteration
Sponsor : Edward Ibeh
Title chosen : Never Let Me Go
Monomaniacal Mist
I am the finite of the infinite for the shadows bleed my presence
My habitual hunger is imminent and toxicant time is of the essence
Like the serpent swallowing sorrows slithering to sanitize your soul
In view of marauding morrows whispering winds wavering console
As a malodorous mist, I appear a demi-god of recyclable tangled time
A fallen angel fostering fear bringing forth a new pernicious paradigm
I come within denigrative dreams a diabolical debacle demanding end
A Svengali of silent screams an oblivious organism that will transcend
A jaded jackal conjured by the broken hearts withering to their demise
The grotesque genie that departs only to enslave before it’s downsize
I am the confiscating conqueror of night banishing your barren breath
Like a fallacious futile frostbite a feculent frozen fire ... for I am death.
April.03.2018
The Life of Death
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
Long, long ago Thai monks covered up
a golden Buddha in clay to hide it
from marauding armies and their greed.
It had been forgotten until recent years,
overlooked by invaders, ending all fears,
until monks saw through a single dried crack
seeing the shining statue safe and intact.
So the monks continued chipping away
revealing the Golden Buddha of Sukotai.
Let your spiritual journey begin
by finding your Buddhanature within.
Your hidden power can change so much:
unleash your passion, let souls touch.
For all your hopes once unspoken,
crack your Buddhaself wide open.