Best Newsworthy Poems
LEAST WE FORGET THE GIRLS’ KILLING CRY
(Apropos The Boko Haram Girls)
i
We no longer hear
the screams of the young girls
nor the whimpering
of their little brothers—
nor the echoes of falling tears
of grieving widowed mothers
and the muffled hush, hush, hush
to new born babes.
How much longer
must we awake
to another morning
we wished we never lived to see?
Mornings where
the horizon’s plains
are dotted with earthen keloids
of humpbacked graves
in overpopulated makeshift cemeteries
where food crops once grew.
Horizons reminiscent of
the screaming echoes animating
from departing Middle Passage ships.
ii
How much longer
must we experience nights
of damned deranged dads—brothers
roaming, ravaging, raping
sisters and slitting mothers’ throats;
damned deranged dads—brothers
driven by a demonized illusion
of the Nile goddess of fertility;
intoxicating themselves
with chalices of their families’ blood?
How much longer?!!!
How much longer
must our daughters remain
forgotten victims
Of those who’ve lost the free
in freedom—like those who’ve sold the in
in independence—lackeys
to and of ancient slave masters
who’ve learned well
the western ways of deception?
iii
Unmoved and no longer
grievously concerned,
the world mesmerizes itself
with a deceived sacrilege image
of a revered Nile goddess.
Meanwhile, defiled bodies
of African girls
are no longer newsworthy…
these wretched of the earth sisters
continue to suffer ethnocentric
rape and gendercide: perpetuations
of free roaming…hoodwinked brethren,
inebriated with neo-colonial genocide.
Predator drone recording:- 6.00am
The dawn sky dramatic
Multi-coloured in rainbow array
Mutating flares of crimson reds
One portent Wednesday.
Overhead the predator drone motionless
Metallic silver it's planed wings
and tip pointed nose
Alarming to view it's presence
Though reassuring to see it remain
As alien activity increases
In newsworthy reports of the same
Covert surveillance monitoring
Is commonly known
Also equipped with combative technology
Has this futuristic drone
The troubled nations looked skywards
From parliament offices, homes and schools
No communication has been received or ventured
As a stalemate seems to prevail
At 6.30 pm on Thursday
A bombardment of ferocious intensity
Annihilated a mountain range
Within 30 seconds as dust cleared
The landscape now had changed
Once where there were mountains
Only a rising mushroom cloud
Panic was endemic
As satellite news worldwide spread.
Communities in the vicinity
Had collapsing buildings
and the people laying injured or dead.
Countless areas were targeted
Cities razed to the ground
People as headless chickens
Madness crazed were hunted down.
Total annihilation of the human race
Was the aliens only goal
Governments faltered and fell
Young destined to never grow old.
The authoritarian levels of society
In bunkers down did go
As the skyscrapers monopolise
stood as gravestones over the
crowded inhabitants below.
No help could be alerted
from the defence forces,
ambulance or police
People decided to die in their homes
With loved ones silent in their grief
The old order had been toppled
No-one could envisage the end
Then, Monday at 5.00 am
An ear piercing whistling
continued without restrain
Ear drums were shattered
No-one could withstand the pain
Making everyone left suicidal
that was the alien's game.
They entered the Earth's stratosphere
at midnight on Saturday
But there was no human civilisation
No-one left to positively say.
One day.
One day I was a soldier.
One day I was a policeman.
One day I was a fireman.
One day I was a medic.
One day I was a husband.
One day I was a son.
One day I was a father.
One day.
One day I was killed on duty.
Killed by a terrorist.
Killed by a bank robber.
Killed by an arsonist.
Killed by drunk driver.
One day someone will be shocked
One day it will be newsworthy.
One day people may weep.
One day someone will do something
One day.
© Dave Timperley April 2015
Of Daughters and Aborted Liberties…
My ravished womb drips
precious blood of incestuous rape;
the ghosts of my daughters scream
from shared graves
marked with vaginal blood
shed by sons drunk
on the wine of intoxicating power.
Mislead adolescent warriors
fan holocaust embers
scorching time tested hopes
gone to ashes
as death winds strike chimes
of ebony genocide;
and the cradle and the grave
stand juxtaposed to each other.
My desperate screams
reverberate off once listening ears
and ricochet into the void silence
of a newsworthy footnote:
caught in the cobwebs of history
my aborted blood of liberty flows
like the meandering Nile.
Please stand by for this important announcement
Of news you’ll most assuredly not want to miss
A newsworthy, earth-shaking pronouncement
More startling than your first unexpected kiss.
Your favorite television program is interrupted
Just when you’re about to watch Final Jeopardy,
You’d think the U.S. government was bankrupted
By the sound of the announcer’s anxious perfidy.
Instead, there’s a tennis player who’s deported
From Australia, his name you never heard before
Seems his lack of a vaccine he too openly sported
Forever, hereafter, he’ll never again be obscure.
All you wanted to know was who won Jeopardy
You had waited all day long for today’s show,
For you faithfully watch your program daily
To see the champion trivia winner’s earnings grow.
written January 18, 2022
Vexation seeps through sighs
As the pen finds comfort
Sharing the same story
Nonsensical pretty boys
With smoke cloud habits
And bloodshot ponderings
Vaunting on their
Newsworthy delinquency
With incessant metal bar consequences
Promulgating in the same breath
they’re gaining
New ground
Breaking the cleanse
Of poisoning
Their liver
And feeling the linear
Coldness of a countertop
On their nose
With a half glass of water
In a ring of loneliness
On their nightstand
The gulp of insomnia
Rudely digs its hook of candidness
In your empathic being
Melodramatic memories
Of empty dinner table
Upbringings
Spending school nights
Placing cigarettes
In plastic bottles
With front porch
Heart to hearts
With their second self
Pulling the sleeves
Of sweatshirts once borrowed
Over tattooed knuckles
Shivering against the disbelief
That loyalty in this town
Is only face to face
Rehashing
first heartbreaks
With the outlook
That mistrust follows
Demons
That look just like you
The way you
Introduce yourself
With skintight beliefs
Low cut distractions
Met with
Amorous disposition
Abrade their thoughts
Of you from tantalizing
To discomfiture
And their ears
Can’t handle
Opprobrium especially from their friends
When you would
Put fingers
In yours like an obstinate child
Just to keep
Looking at them
With oblivious blissful daydreams
Even if you were
Stumbling drunk
Out of their broken front door the night before
After learning
They sent flowers to someone else
Like a man with his paramour
Leaving your existence
In a blighted state
Surrounded by empty walls
For
They
Took it all
But don’t worry
The guilt of breaking your heart
Is easier for them to swallow
Than the nausea
Traveling up their throat
With the spew of your adoration
Car
Leaping
Toyota
In big trouble
Fix
As we ransack Grandma's jumbled attic
in her blatant old house,
numerous ladybugs and even a mouse
snared in yellow dust, layered thick.
A rusty dress form displays only a hat
and a distant wall sports a battered ole' bat.
Boxes of antique shoes are
staged in a perfect row.
Scads of newsworthy magazines,
records of years past,
pictures, fashions of Victorian times
in frames, made of wood to last.
From a rickety stairwell
it's an effort to sneak a peek.
There's little chance to run around,
no space for hide and seek.
Large lofty windows appear to leak
as the floor feels unsound.
A passé leather trunk
full of winter scarves and such
sits on a mattress, once a GI's bunk.
Ah, there's a large Webster's lexicon
next to pieces of broken glass
from a battered kitchen hutch
A brass rack holds a faded quilt
draped in a heaped mass.
There's a wheel chair, a crutch -
wonder where those have been?
There's Grandpa's old uniform
with many medals, somewhat torn.
An empty silver flask that once held his Gin.
A child's rockin' horse sits alone
beside an honest-to-God telly
with a cradle & faded numbers
from overuse of long ago.
A recipe file in a dark corner,
at least that's what the label says.
I wonder how often Grandma sat up here
after Granddad passed away?
Many old treasures, to her so dear,
as well as her Bible & an old rug
upon which she would kneel to pray.
Catfish I love is on a plate
with tartar sauce, french fries, and slaw;
but I despise the type that trolls
online, those pervs who break the law
and tell some trusting kid, “I’m twelve,
like YOU! I live right by the park
near you. Let’s meet there by the bridge.
You’ll be back home before it’s dark.
Don’t tell your mom! If she’s like mine,
she’ll tell you NO. Let’s just sneak out.”
She says, “I’ll go slip out the back.
We’ll have a lot of fun—no doubt!”
The sicko rushed right to the bridge.
The “kid” he met was twenty-five,
an undercover cop with cuffs
and back-up. “Channel 14 LIVE”
rushed in on this newsworthy scene.
A big catfish was caught that day.
Because such wickedness abounds,
not all such stories end this way.
May 15, 2018, entered in Catie Lindsey's Catfish Poetry Contest
So what I kept some stuff
A few small keepsakes, merely fluff
They make such noise, so much dumb fuss
Their indignation careening like a bus.
Now they think I'll spill the beans
Use my powers by any means
I can clearly hear their screams
Trying to figure out my schemes.
All hot air like a balloon
Their pouting makes me want to swoon
The media bellows noon to noon
More newsworthy than the landing on the moon.
But oh what fun when dear old Joe
Was caught with files of which he didn't know
Or so he claimed to hear the crow
Of countless minders rushing to and fro.
And now comes Pence my dear old friend
Whose pious indignation never seems to bend
So let me just this little message send
He who laughs first laughs loudest in the end.
GREEDY AGENTS,
FORECLOSERS ON THE RISE.
BITTER DISAGREEMENTS,
BEWARE OF SENSELESS DEMISE.
TOTAL PRIVACY INVASION,
INSTANT MESSAGE TEXTIN'.
REFUGEE ALIENATION,
BIG-BROTHER'S WATCHING.
GROWING CHILD BIRTH DEFECT,
THE WORLD'S IN QUAGMIRE.
GLOBAL GREENHOUSE-EFFECT,
RAGING FOREST FIRE.
RECORD-BREAKIN' HEAT WAVES,
THE OZONE-LAYER'S CRACKING.
TRAFFIC OF HUMAN SLAVES,
FREEMAN'S JUST WATCHING?
FREE-ENTERPRISE ROBBIN' FOLKS BLIND,
WHO'S THE REAL HUSTLER?
SO-CALLED NEWSWORTHY GUIDE,
MINDS FLOATIN' IN ETHER.
GREEN-EYED GUERRILLAS,
ALL-OUT PLAYIN' FOR KEEPS.
VAIN INDULGENCE IN SPAS;
USURY PILING IN HEAPS.
MISSIONS BEING COMPROMISED,
BY ARTIFICIAL INTELIGENCE.
GOD-SEEKERS ATTACKED BY SURPRISE,
MAYBE DOOMSDAY HAS COMMENCED.
With a peaceful plot
My Big Game betting tickets I got
It seems they have a European divide that has an opinion for three nations that do try
With the American football putting gold and leadership on the stage
This message should be healthy for any age.
According to my results
That still have no faults
The British are selecting the Chiefs
Since their Liverpool Reds had the right beef
On their way to being number one
In matches that have no playoffs and are there for entertaining fun
As for the Italians Inter Milan
Was the prophet able don
As they selected the art of the deal
With a 49er’s meal
Now there was one that took the middle of the road
Since that was what the French know
Metz made the decision with scoring being the priority mission
Their ticket prints out Chiefs/49ers over 54
And if that happens it will be a nice payoff that will head out the door.
Right now, the half time show is on the floor
And ten ten is the score
It seems not to be a bore
But it is moving very quickly fir sure
With the draft coming here soon
This game being played under the moon
is the final seasonal visual NFL shield display
And hopefully one will say
Everything was worth the pay
But as for the British, Italians and French
They are not sitting on the bench
Since their matches are next week
And continue a heavy message they do speak
With a respectable peck on a cheek
In every small village and town
These games keep the peace before things go down
There are skills learned
That will keep one from getting burned
As tonight’s wind blows outside
Keep in mind of this poetic guide
It is not the winner loser that is newsworthy
Maybe the fact that a war is needed instead of someone being apologetic and sorry.
Carry on all you physical entertainers
And hopefully someday a point will be made to all those complainers
Let our lives be lived with much respect
And put in perspective that lucrative check
There is a reason for all this
And aggressive behavior can be missed
Put it in competition where it belongs
And that is indeed a nice thought for any lyric in any song.
Y'all c'mon down
any ole' time,
we'll be awaitin'
with watermelon wine.
Y'all are welcome
to come define
our red-neckedness
among the graceful pine.
We'll say, "Hey Y'all,"
and be inclined
by our southern-ness
to rip it up, divine.
So bring it on,
you raw moonshine,
let yourself be red
in the southern design.
There's nothin' like
fresh off the vine
for a sweeter night,
so poised and unrefined.
Y'all c'mon down,
form a headline,
make newsworthy noise,
along the coastal line.
We're awaitin'
the joyous sign
you ain't forgotten
our infamous dateline.
We are still here,
a fresh resign
of America's
disheartened central spine.
Y'all c'mon down
any ole' time,
we'll be awaitin'
with watermelon wine.
Y'all are welcome
to come define
our red-neckedness
among the graceful pine.
Escaping from the wintry plight
Fearless knight
Having golden locks
With a physique like a rock
Walked up and down the mountainous block
In the village filled with sweets
And treats
Back at the romantic villa
A few miles up the hill-a
Mrs. Knight was petting her coyote companion
While spending a moment getting tannin
“Hubby looking around
This quaint enchanted town
Something to bring back home
To me resting all alone
After performing that physical feat
Due to melting snow from summer heat”
Tending to his well groom locks
Plenty time on the clock
Still on a hero stage
Preparing to put name on the newspaper page
Going into the office named “The Traitor Post”
Easy conversation expecting to coast
Probably receive a kind professional toast
Sitting there was the Editor acting the role called a host
“Le Claire is my name
Sensationalism is my game
I will take your account
Whatever it is about
Make the paperboys scream and shout
Headlines blaring
Information worth sharing
All of which has meaning
Newsworthy and beaming
Never considered just dreaming
As the knight explained his story
Where the avalanche was sorry
Feeling like number one
Doing the interview was quite fun
Mrs. Knight on the other hand
Watched the frozen ice stand
Far away taking out the garbage cans
Wondering if the warming trend
Will make the watery based particle bend
And send
Down the slopes
Giving everyone no hope
Seeing her coyote inside
Ready to guide
Waiting for her groom
Returning under the moon
Walking at night
Faithful husband and knight
Stopped by the Indian Trinket store
Encountered a lovely seller on the floor
Needing excitement since she was bored
Knight still had power
Leaving a flower
Near her working computer tower
Next to a signed photo
Showing the knight shirtless and bolder
Before heading outside where it was colder
Who decides what historical events adorn
textbooks students read,
hence a starry notion born
grew up while
this lumpenproletariat day dreaming,
Asian aw shucks husky
husbandry furrowed brow gritty farmer
barnstorming across
expansive fields of baby
(barely) barley corn
crib bed crop 'pon harvest time,
(an maize zing genre), especially
when enriched with humus
laden loamy muck cob bra,
then aye delightfully
trumpet from dehorn
of good 'n plenti kernel Sanders gave me
saluting rank and file fool's capped
fecund fashioned earthborn
dunce sing tassels,
versus growing seasons gone by,
when draught of ideas forlorn
despite futilely blowing on my flugelhorn
high and dry reap peat head paltry yield,
asper when this strapping chap
a sweaty backed greenhorn
pondering why agrarian laborious life of toil
omitted as part and parcel of "newsworthy"
posterity sagas deeming
shenanigans of highborn
and/or "FAKE" headlines crowd inborn
noble folks,
who grease palms of industrialists,
whose quaking self importance
thwarts aside rural cosseted
krummhorn grounded bumpkin mor'n
how kapellmeister coaches bourgeoisie
helping determine
zero absolute value of newborn
fated to slave away
till body electric outworn,
yet paradigm shift of
(butter late then ever)
jiffy popcorn version
sown by seeds of Jethro Tull,
whose bonhomie with brio didst reborn
agricultural revolution took root,
whence before long some did scorn
and lamented machinations
ordered simple existence ripped and torn,
where antithetical views suppressed
and unto revolutionaries
became legion and well-worn.