Best Oil Poems
SNAKE OIL SUNRISE
coiled lies an oily snake
circling the rim of the cup
eschewing the softness of milk
the sweetness of sugar.
A black hole – waiting – beckoning
the bleary-eyed robot
leaving a scent trail
harsh, uncivilized,
unadulterated,
psyche popping
caffeine.
11/30/2016
submitted to WAKE UP WITH COFFEE OR TEA CONTEST – Poetry Contest
In a covered wagon he travelled west
For every ailment he had a cure
His miracle oil he claimed was the best
People he conned were the sick and the poor.
In remote towns he would set up his scam
Helped by two' friends' in the crowd for his trick
Who' volunteered' but were part of the sham
Arthur the cripple and poor sighted Mick.
But they were fed up of his trickery
And exposed him to the crowd in the town
The conman shouted" Mick what can you see"?
Mick said "nothing, I heard Arthur fall down"
Snake oilman was speechless and he went pale
The townsfolk seized him and threw him in jail.
Written on 30th December 2018
The nurse ordered her to push, push, push
in her best proper voice
and linen balled in red fists knotted
and sweat falls from red face knotted
while Billy, head first, tugged and yanked by nurse's proper hands,
emerges, gently laid upon the blood soaked sand
motionless in the sulfur haze, almost well-behaved
amongst the rifle clatter and bewildered screams -
get down! get down! get down!
while Billy breathes slowly, undisturbed,
his eyes closed with new mom
gently caressing matted, cark curls,
her fingers, no longer knotted, extended,
Billy's tiny hands and infant fingers
grip the plastic ribbing
around the rifle barrel smeared in stickiness that flows out
from below Billy and onto sand, puddling, his lips chapped and parted,
suckling as new mom exhausted weeps
in relief of two arms and two legs and everything okay
as she holds him, hurting for him,
everything that might happen,
everything that will happen,
and she drifts off to slumber,
mother and child peacefully spent
in soft pretty colors
and the soft murmur of the television as the sedan
with government plates at the curb
and a Marine in dress blues (Oh, God) stands plastic in the doorway
and uses his best proper voice (Oh God, not Billy, Oh God)
to regretfully tell her,
and uses surprised hands to catch her when her legs
regretfully cannot hold her
and she sobs on the floor like a mother who outlived her son,
exhausted as the day Billy was born.
Screw this war.
I wrote this poem back in 2004, as the U.S. could not find any weapon of mass destruction in Iraq.
The Oil The Call
The Oil The Thirst
Blood Runs First
Oil For Goal
The Oil The Gush
The Oil The Light
Blood Runs Bright
Oil For Us
The Oily Church Claims
In Juice we Trust
And Oil Is Our New Mantra
Bring Grief To Them
Iraq we'll Crush
And Oil Bless America
Rating to be advised
Coming soon at a gas station near you
J=Juniper berry oil for hair,
U=Urinary health wellness care.
N=Natural detoxifier if I dare,
I=Improving circulation with a prayer.
P=Promoting healthy aging is what I need,
E=Evergreen small shrub I will plant and feed.
R=Reducing skin irritation so I do not bleed.
kind heart ~ ruby slipper red ~ framed for the emerald green tinman
4/2/2018
sky cracked
hunchback
moon spreads
her bed
window
soft glow
staging
chasing
nighttime
lifetime
coming
going
sleep tears
sleep fears
brim full
hollow
Its beak is just above the black mud,
head resting on the thick sludge.
One black eye looks at us.
There is no accusation in that gaze,
no recriminatory stare
not even a plea for rescue.
Only that dimming lens,
that looks now,
at a clean patch of sky
as if it were God.
The lollipop lady and laborer,
Driving to work we can see who it is.
In bright fluoro orange and yellow
Retro reflective people wearing high vis.
There’s vests and jackets and singlets and bibs,
Worn by these people like a fashion design.
Drivers of forklifts, bulldozers and utes,
For safety all day and night time.
Every worksite embraced this vogue of a trend
Begun years ago by a single fire fighter.
Years ago when people just wore normal stuff
But now we all appear brighter.
Call me old fashioned, I like normal work gear
Denim jeans, overalls or blue tops.
Covered in grease or mud you could see
They look good in the mechanic workshops.
But alas we live in an age where we’re blind
To what’s aesthetic, beautiful and nice.
Replaced with high intensive colors of vivid,
We evolved to walking flash lights.
I've lived life hard, I've lived life full,
I wasn't the type that stood around and shot the bull.
Every lesson I learned, I learned complete,
Life was good but it wasn't always sweet.
Rigging up drilling rigs and tearing them down,
Moving from county to county and from town to town.
Turning that drill pipe around and round,
Sending that pipe deeper and deeper into that old ground.
Searching for oil, searching for gas,
It was a way of life that is hard to surpass.
The work was dirty the work was hard,
And if you made it in one piece from payday to payday you could thank the Lord.
It's hard to explain but it gets in your blood,
Maybe we just swallowed too much of that nasty old drilling mud.
Only certain types of people can ever relate,
A place where you go to test your fate.
I'm a mighty lucky man and I've got the scars to prove it all,
The life I led, I wouldn't trade for the world, but it took some gall.
Although I wouldn't recommend it to anyone else, I personally miss those days,
Some of us born down here in Texas are a little mental, but it's just our ways.
Everybody told me it would do wonder
so I applied it without further delay,
little did I realize that it was a blunder,
no hair on head now, no bad hair day!
====================
Placement:10th ;(June 2011)
Contest:My Funniest Poem ON the Soup
Sponsor:Poet Destroyer
By:kashinath karmakar(11th January 2011)
Conglomeration of fragmented oil
Angry spirits burst forth
grotesque faces as on an
oil painting exploding all hopes
The angry beasts of yesteryears
Carelessness cease to care for
the incredible burden as
hopes fade away and life dies
Anger seeps into the millenium
crawl spaces of yesteryear and
holes of tomorrow to stare
irresponsibility in the face of bp
Oil spilled out in brains
And as a new light shines on trauma
for the holes of humanity.......
"Save the last of the last after the blast!"
And the Ocean cries out to cleanse itself
and rid itself of the anguish of the human
made fringe experience...out of the norm
of normal as America only truly is!
"Let's spread the word of the Lord!" they exclaimed
"Knocking on doors - surely none could be blamed!"
It's simply a matter of time
Up the walls we will climb
Our inevitable ire will thus be inflamed
. F.T.W.
F.ree T.he W.aves
f.REE t.HE w.AVES
F.ree T.he W.aves!!!
Is what they say,,
Got my self some true tales
About the world today.
Oil job site fails.
Poor Sea World has to pay.
I found many black sea shells
Oil got in their way.
I wanna claw my nails.
On B.P.for turning our sand to clay
I can sit and give details
How they ruin our ocean bay
Instead I'm sending mean E-MAIL's
Expressing anger for their oily display.
How their stupidities drop our sales.
I hope they choke while eating a sea buffet
I hope someone feeds them sting-ray tails
As they drink coffee at there sea side cafe.
Everything sooner or later prevails
And ocean life will once again find a way.
God send them rain hit them with heavy hail
It's to late for B.P.to pray..
2 months of a black grave trail
((LOL)), B.P.you angered the US.A.
Getting off easy with no jail
That does not make things okay.
I will not wish you all to go to hell
After making the ocean a bigger body of dead prey
Your clean up time is slower than a sea snail
Many uncalled dead seagulls are found in your oily decay
Funny how the president takes the heat of your bail.
You screwed our blue ocean water to a stream of black and grey.
An oil site ran by a higher percent of males
Oh well what can you expect and say.
With the world in the way of oil spills.
Is like B.P.oil's is saying F.T.W.anyway.
While we the protesters say, F.ree T.he W.hales!!!
F.T.W.=free the whales!!!!!
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