Best Observation Poems
We oft expect of others,
In most given situations,
What we ourselves would do,
For it's our inclination,
To think that we are all the same,
So we think they would do,
The same as we if we should find,
Ourselves in those same shoes;
So when we suspect another,
Of some skullduggery,
Or we look down on someone,
And think debauchery,
Because they made in innocence,
A picturesque remark,
That we perhaps misunderstood,
And decided to embark,
On a mental journey,
To the land of fantasy,
Imagining the things they did,
And we begin romancing,
Evil thoughts within our minds,
That have no ground at all,
except within our fertile mind,
Where Satan has a ball.
It was not that she was the only woman in the group, when mingling precariously beneath the bronze figure of William Booth, or her classic stance, when placing saintly, the newsprint covered bottle to lips willingly breached, but her opulent style, her contrast of attire, and as yet her hair unruffled. Although sparse of jewelry a gold ring dangles on a chain, catching the light as it shines in the noon day sun, a tinge of blood trickles down her neck. Her recently pierce ear lobe, bearing signs of some street wise ritual? Evidence of suave sophistication, exists with movements of grace and elegance, fingers more use to the gentle stem of the crystal goblet, than the demure grasp of the shapeless neck of a bottle of brown ale.
a fork in the lane
no signpost to guide one home
a need or a deed
Her head begins to lift higher and higher with every mouthful of distinct courage, every courteous act. Then! A look of deep despair, as the bottle is released from her reluctant deep red lips, a senseless shake only proved her greatest fear. Suddenly to her aid came a wayward chap, swiftly finishing his own endless gorge. He commences to wipe the neck of his perpetual habit, with a mucus soiled cuffless sleeve, before passing it on to her veracious hand, his eyes eagerly awaiting its return.
a lane to despair
not alone but in the palm
existence or life
After the corrosive day is over, the sun finally at rest, only the motley park bench will be her abode with printed tabloids to cover her chilled exterior, her metabolism accelerating, to become one of so many, a license to enter their dissipation, only then will options for her begin to diminish, external metamorphosis soon to blend with inner corruption, life’s destruction rapid along the highway of completion!
first rays of sunshine
a trial or tribulation
the signpost renewed.
© Harry J Horsman 2018
OBSERVATION
Every town
I mean town or city
Has one
And it aint pretty
There’s this old, red brick building
Nothin on either side
No place for a dealer or his junky to hide
Hell no!
This wreck’s been boarded-up for years
Everything all round’s been torn down
Once in a while some truck’ll bump passed
Along a street what’s seen its last
Pavin when “Toots” Mazzini was gassed
No! This dump is isolated
Few pass by
I’m lookin cause I live in a junk torino nearby
Well, so what?
So. Gottta scratch my head about the damn AD
Freshly painted each year
On side ‘o this pile ‘o old read brick
BAD!
“HAVE A COKE”
Dave Austin
OBSERVATION – 2017
Far from Monet’s garden
with ruptured thought of plain air
the futurist philosophers have tasted
the poison mushroom
and rushed to Bethlehem
As though mere noise will save the day
They wave to heaven
with crazy gyrations
And the Kingdom seems lost in hypocrisy
Will the daisies bloom
be loved once again
The promise be fulfilled? -
Some say yes at hope’s better end -
Or does the soul look out in fear
and distrust this split-in-two world?
Dave Austin
Peace and war
Often lived here over the years
Even though initiated by the few
Tears were created between many
Relaxation and growth was the PS purpose
Yet they in themselves had to be fought for
Still, with time, peace would prevail
Offences are still doled and taken
Until all are free of mistakes so it will be
Perfection is not what brought us here, poetry is
PSing since '06 ;)
Firstly, one has to take into account their scientific peers’ remarks,
As to the likely cause of how an Earthquake starts.
Some forums say it is caused by the shift in tectonic plates,
Others seem to doubt, seem to hesitate.
Some believe a government conspiracy of a machine that causes the devastation,
Their conspiracy being at the cost of the suffering of another nation.
The layman believe, if all the people in China, at the same time jump,
It would cause worldwide earthquakes as their feet come down with a thump.
Nevertheless, to conduct such a feat would be a difficult task
Therefore it has never been tested and is considered a farce
I have read the theories from all these schools of thought,
And collated the facts that backs my theory which is now widely taught.
Take some time to cogitate the facts
Sit back and take the time to chew on the fat
You will see the simplicity in my theory
And say to your self it’s all true how eerie
The Earthquakes are caused by, you guessed it me and you
From the sexual experiences we all go through
Example:
“I felt the Earth move, how was it for you?”
And she would say “I felt it tremble and saw fireworks too”
Or:
I saw Jane today, you know, the one that makes me go weak by the knees
She’s a real knee trembler a real sex tease
Now imagine these experiences on a grand scale,
No think bigger than me misses; I know she’s bigger than a whale
They say there is a couple having naughties every second of the day
That’s many earth moving experiences I have to say
These minor trembles are absorbed by the earths crust from these sensations
That occur in every town, country, and among diverse nations
So when you lie in bed savouring the tasty aftermath
Before you decide to take a bath
When you think how he or she made you feel the earth move
You have contributed to the making of earthquakes and there’s the proof.
Good night
I sat quietly staring out the porthole window
As we were passing over a village in the low hills
A cumulus cloud casting over its ominous shadow
Far below in the silence of the engine’s shrills,
I wondered where those tiny people were going
Beneath the wing nary a songbird nor butterfly
Alone streaking through the frigid air, the Boeing,
Not a face lifted from village below to the sky
Then it was gone, as quickly as I had imagined,
I rummaged through my satchel of ordinaries
Forgetting a whole community of unexamined
Miniatures, no concern for untended cemeteries,
I had long forgotten when the plane descended
My sweet reveries in solitude, my journey ended.
Written June 10, 2022
Submitted to "2022 Marathon Mile 1" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
Fish are named
Lazarus and Carl Jung
they swim in the library, art studio,
that spare room
where I write, paint.
Their eyes are the size
of their stomachs.
They mouth dreams
in silence behind glass.
I stare back, envious
of graceful slow motion angel gills
immersed in a tank of tears
gathered from heaven,
capped by corporations,
lugged home from the Dollar Store
to keep the tank full….
On the other side
a breeze streams
over book shelves,
antique typewriters, canvas and paint.
Lazarus and Carl watch me
write, brush colors
and nap...
turn, twist, snore, dream,
dream more….
surreal, real,
really you? here in the deep?
Oh lovely waves of sleep. So many fish in this sea, oh, oh, yes, yes,
you, you, you …with me.
You, evaporate.
Eyes open empty and starved.
Lips spit at the sunrise
as it blinds, blocks out
infinite oceans of you.
Café Watch
Sitting in a café, watching life pass by.
People rushing into shops; important stuff to buy.
Groups of foreign workers, stopping, shaking hands;
Local people bustling by – can’t interrupt their plans.
Outside, a lonely busker tries hard to make a splash,
But in these post-pandemic days, so few folks carry cash.
Dads and pregnant mums-to-be battle kids and buggies.
Squalling children at their sides; prams piled high with Huggies.
Faces fixed on mobile phones; hand-held gods adored;
Devoted to devices that their owners can’t afford.
Lunatics on bicycles intimidate, unchecked;
Maximum discourtesy, minimum respect.
Fitness freaks in sandwich boards try to drum up trade,
But no-one wants gym membership – don’t want to be delayed.
Pretentious coffee drinkers sip their frappé-choca-mochas,
While obese men in football shirts spout nonsense about soccer.
Invalids and elderly trundle by on scooters.
Workaholics sit at tables, glued to their computers.
Market traders, thin on ground, do their best to trade,
Looking glum and hopeless at the pittances they’ve made.
People come and people go; things go on much the same,
Slipping in and out of sight within a narrow frame.
For casual observers there is so much to descry;
Whilst sitting in a café, watching life pass by.
In the wink the suns rays turn black to silver
In molten precision
He leaps; hopping
A mystic dance around his meal
Cloaked in glistening pitch
The whisper of each immaculate feather
brushing against the others
No more a flawless symphony could nature compose
than the sounds of a raven, being
no 2 people can see the same light photon ~ yet both can’t miss the void
one hundred trillion photons hits our eyes each second ~ don’t be devoid
By
David Kavanagh
I put a man on the moon
… I helped
I carried flame across the sky
… Without a net
I took Heaven’s obsolete virginity
And displayed the taking
On a billion TV screens
For I am God’s child
And what there is, is mine
Mine to take
Mine to hold
Mine to stand by and watch die
I can do no wrong
For I define right
And I deny liability
For the past
The future is mine to expect …
Regardless
Wind circulates, lifting and flattening
an otherwise, benign, breathless world,
relying also on deeper, slowly moving
tectonics, belching foully, scattering
seas...effecting change. Seasons like Sun
rejoice and fold. An occasional comet or
meteor perhaps a compassionate
God-sent, heaven rethinking the dawdling
pace of destiny…. Man a defiant offspring,
rejecting patterns seemingly not of his own
making – good angels know better, dutifully
soothingly serving.
In our souls lie all the seeds,
Waiting patiently to meet our needs.
Soulfully waiting for us to choose,
For us to use or abuse.
We plant our seeds in our garden of life,
The seeds we choose will bring joy and strife.
Many we’ll plant, but all will not flourish,
Much depends on how much we nourish.
Some that are planted will wither away,
Others will grow stronger day after day.
Some that have withered for seemingly no reason,
Were just simply planted in the wrong season.
When planting your garden; Ask what will I see?
If this garden I plant turns out to be me.
Then look all around at others the collective we,
For therein lies a reflection of thee.
What we see in others is the full-grown seeds,
Good and bad, both our wants and our needs.
It’s the characteristics, the best and the least,
That when fully grown show our angel or beast.
We won’t always plant the seeds that are right,
When looking inside we have limited sight.
Our souls attract others to whom we relate,
To help us grow either towards Love or hate.
The good seed in others, the things we admire,
We should soulfully nurture and make our desire.
The bad traits in others can grow also in us,
We must uproot these quickly like greed or lust.
Easier seen in others than seen in me,
Or the things I want or don’t want to be.
As I travel my quest to set my soul free,
I pray that my choices are pleasing to Thee.
Oh, great Creator of all I can see,
Thank you for giving awareness to me.
For selfish and judging I don’t want to be,
But loving and compassionate like unto to Thee.
A Martian spy from the earth fled
and to his superiors said,
“Although no one is near,
they still talk hand to ear.
Too much oxygen’s gone to their head.”
For Carolyn Devnoshire's contest: Out of this world limericks