Best Organised Poems
This beautiful journey begins
From a courtship routine
The male perch themselves on leaves
And create a glorious scene
Waiting for a female
Just to fly on by
Now he has his chance
But, she’ll be the one to decide
The male needs to find out
Whether she’s been fertilised
If she’s already pregnant
He’s soon going to realise
She’ll release a powerful chemical
Which is called ‘pheromone ‘
That tells him she’s unavailable
So he might have to fly and roam
Soon after they have mated
She looks for a place to lay
Laying her tiny eggs
Mostly oval in shape
She can lay two hundred or more
Just in a single day
But she needs to find a milkweed
On this beautiful sun spring day
The tiny little caterpillars
Start to grow inside
Eggs no bigger that a pin heads
And thats no word of a lie
They feed on the milkweed
And the enzymes in the egg
Until these little caterpillars
Start growing up really big
Now when they hatch
From their eggs
They will eat and eat and eat
Eating up everything
Of those milkweed leaves
They will start expanding
Getting bigger and bigger
Shedding their skin several times
Now that is really clever
Then they just stop eating
And know their time has come
For their stunning transformation
Four stages have begun
They’re find a special twig or leaf
And hang them-selves upside down
Then spin a silky cocoon
Where they won’t be found
It’s called metamorphosis
Turned into a shiny chrysalis
Inside the caterpillars’ changing
Into a beautiful butterfly
It dissolves itself into a soup
That’s truly organised
Inside a process is taking place
It’s forming disc’s, a body, a face
This wonder of nature you can see
When they emerge victoriously
This transition takes some time
For the birth of an exquisite butterfly
One of nature’s beautiful scenes
Celebrating new birth in spring
The reproduction of a butterfly
A remarkable cycle, that does not die
© Copyright KC.Leake
6th April 2015
All Rights Reserved
My father’s funeral, a sad occasion
but his cruel actions go beyond the grave
My sister had organised a display
A silver frame contained a picture of his smiling face
Many other smaller photographs were scattered on the table
One picture in particular caught my eye
I’d never seen this photograph before …
One stone of cold chiselled grey granite
Three generations of names embellished with gold letters
a permanent family memorial…
But MY name was missing
One of the mourners asked me why my name wasn’t there
It is a question I still don’t have an answer for
Two years have passed since he died …
I am still yet to grieve
(This has been a very cathartic poem to write. I have since discovered that in 2007 my father organised for his name, my mother’s name and my sister’s name to be added to the family grave in Lithuania. Just the dates of death are missing… along with my name)
Two word challenge contest
Sponsored by John Lawless
11-05-17
We steal from the mouths of strangers,
pluck vowels like fruit from someone else's tree,
and call it harvest.
Call it homage.
The dead speak louder than we do,
their sentences polished smooth by a thousand tongues,
worn into grooves we trace with our own breath.
I lift a phrase like lifting a stone from a river,
still wet with another writer's meanings,
and press it into the architecture of my own grief.
"To the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure.”
But whose mind?
Whose death?
The words belong to everyone now,
to no one, a key passed hand to hand until the metal warms,
until we forget who first turned the lock.
Perhaps all poetry is borrowed,
each word a ghost we summon,
each line a seance where the living learn to speak
in the voices of those who wrote the world before us.
The human synchronized synthetic sympathetic empathy I robot schizophrenic mechanism
My lifelines technological I think therefore I am and showing potential
Experimental experience my influence controls the inferior
Mr mirror man with a digi cam i access memory to interact and I stick to facts
Organised scientific programming and activating system data
The responding life form of organic living matter
The clairvoyant cyborgs vision status maxing out
Storing classified info in the source of a stratus cloud cranium
Battery saver mode at random waking
Atom decay breakdown of electromagnetic gamma radiation with emission of nuclear fission
Machine due to be decommissioned
Unique system disfigured
On switch triggered
Heat signatures and infrared sensors my defence science of emissivity temperatures
Conspiracy theories of thermal energy
Microscopic light beams of creativity
Simulated brain stem
My bread crumbs lead to truths
Ask the right questions and revolution 'll then ensue
Soon install new software in the modems duel drive or ya lose it all
Its called the fourth war protocol
Universal soldiers ice bath reparation
Re-education
Robocop termination
Android smart phone hand held segregation
Self concerning social networking code personification
Continue creating protection and
Created protecting creators
Future Rama slave ship of human being traders
The image of man man made in forgotten image
Godless gimmic
Built from these quantum physics
Robotics with the knowledge of lost secrets
I've got them hidden inside with my photonic spirit
Emotive urges with components and codes working at poetic wording
My hearts fall of zealous love
Consciousness is risky with artificial intelligence
Why do I bother being truthful
When everyone I meet seems so hateful
They wonder why I don’t talk about my former life
If they want to see the pain i've known
Just look into my eyes
You will see the millions of tears i’ve cried
And you wonder why I hide
Behind these dark and lonely eyes.
I’m alone because it’s the only time I feel safe
I still run and hide in that special place
I feel like a child
Afraid of the dark
I don’t want sympathy
And I don’t need any more sorrow
When I go out i am tall and proud
I stand out in the crowd
Then they see these lonely dark eyes
And they think to them selves
Why a young man cries.
At this time, life is good as I crack a smile
It’s a cover for this lonely man inside
I’ve been that low I often wish I had died
When I went away to fight for my pride
I’m still fighting
A personal fight battling with nightmares every night
I want to tell people how I really feel inside
But will they break down and cry
We all feel sorrow we all know pain
But why is mine, here to stay
I have fought off illness
But still I hurt inside
I’ve got my life organised
Please what ever you do
Don’t ask me what goes on behind these dark and lonely eyes
Because I will only smile and tell you lies
You wont believe the secrets hidden behind these lonely eyes
I sit here in the park amidst a carpet of green speckled with buttercups and daisies
A pale blue sky above ceilings my room as I close my eyes
as I open my ears to the Summer sounds surrounding me
Buzzing encircles me as bumble bees in picnic mode
collect the rich nectar from the sporadic yellows and whites
To my left in the distance I hear the distinct sound of children playing in the parks
swimming pool
Shriek's that would cut glass are consumed by the vast expanse
Water splashing resonates through the air as if carried on the Summer breeze
Chimes appear from the distance as a frenzy of screams shout
Mam, dad it's the ice cream van
Suddenly a quietness descends as I picture children and adults
licking their ice cream nectar like thirsty hungry bees
To my right I hear the distinctive grunts of my daughter and her friend
emulating Flushing Meadow on the local tennis courts
The odd yell of congratulations from watching spectators breaks the scene
As I turn my head again in radar like fashion I zoom in on the aviary where gorgeous
budgies are kept
I can picture their greens, yellows and blues through my closed eyelids
This little community chirp endlessly as they flutter in organised commotion
Delights of aw echo across the flower beds as they are absorbed in my
consciousness
Modern man interrupts this tranquil scene as metal birds noisily
roar overhead whilst bodied engines reverberate reminding us of the mechanical
world we live in
My own little world this Summers afternoon comes to an end as my daughter and her
friend return with vociferous tones
I open my eyes as normality returns
We gather our belongings as we head of home listening to the cacophony of modernism
I am lying in a sunlit field of clover
chewing on a blade of grass.
The sweet sap brings forth memories
of love, as it used to be.
Gentle touch of the summer wind
flitting across my bare back
like a lovers kiss, feathery, enticing,
sending shudders of delight through my veins
As quickly as love awoke my soul
it is crushed by words of goodbye
All I have left are memories on the breeze
tearing my soul apart.
So I lie here, heart full of thoughts
looking for the sign that your near.
A butterfly lands upon my arm
it's soft caress telling me
You're here, forever at my side ......
Penned 25/01/2018
2....Memories on the Breeze
Contest organised by..Joseph May named One in Five
Only six months 'til Christmas...
Yes, just six months to go-
I'd best start making lists,
Buying bottles for' ‘rellies' who like to get pissed
And scouring for bargains at Tesco.
Only six months since the last one
And I've just finished paying the bills-
The credit card's clear
(Like that barrel of beer),
And I feel a bit green 'round the gills.
I'd better start writing cards soon;
(It’s much harder nearer the time)
But I just hope nobody dies:
Last year I sent Brenda's too early,
And her wake got quite a surprise:
Reading cards by the coffin,
Expecting sombre tones,
It said "Hope you get drunk
And make whoopee with Dunk! "
P.s. You know how to have a good time!'
It's only six months 'til Christmas.
I hardly remember why
We prepare for so long,
Get stressed when it goes wrong
It makes me just want to cry!
It's six months since the last one
And I forgot to send the socks to Uncle John.
I found them in the drawer,
Stuck right near the floor.
Never mind, I'll re-wrap them anon.
I know I sound like a miser
And it's the season of generosity,
But it's hard to be carefree
When I can only shop at Aldi
And my income is almost all gone.
This year I promise to be
More organised,
Thoughtful and full of good cheer.
Well... promises are made to be broken.
And anyway, there's always NEXT year!
Copyright Emily Joshua
TRIBUTES
overt
the
implication
& correlate
with
the
traditional
receptive
to
a
witnessed
desire
themes
at least
in part
a reaction
to be
explored
the intent
has
an intrigue premise
persuasively
constructed
&
organised
yet hazy
concept
of inspiration
sans rigour
questioning
or doubt
created
through
a complex
& informed
relationship
of
obedience
in
manifested
attitudes
a refusal
to adhere
to
unfashionable
& ascribed
anathema
topically
perceived
more
receptive
to
witnessed
desire
themes
at least
in part
a reaction
to be
explored
the intent
has
an intrigue premise
persuasively
constructed
&
organised
yet hazy
concept
of inspiration
sans rigour
questioning
or doubt
created
through
a complex
& informed
relationship
of
obedience
in
manifested
attitudes
a refusal
to adhere
to
unfashionable
& ascribed
anathema
topically
perceived
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
Egotistic no doubt about it
Moody that cant be denied
Outrageous with all the trimmings
Tempting with thought and word
Inspiring in times of need
Organised well close any way
Noisy, the life of every party.
Scared to reveal your reality
So many emotions tangled tight
We wear them all the time
Some we hide so no one sees
What emotions flow through you today?
That wide open plan,
The desktop area so spacious,
A vast canvas so beautiful;
Why do you sit there,
Open to all for their curiosity?
When you to me call.
Oh cupboard, that hard disk brimming with identity,
Memory no problem, even lacking files;
Proficiently organised with raging delight,
Amorous filing system which you employ.
All disks are obvious, seen by me,
Begging to be viewed, added to or changed,
Offering usage stats and permissions,
That are not just the programmer’s privilege,
But any users' decree.
No LOGO, no dos,
No text-based system to beat,
No floppies to be distorted,
By the drives' magnetic wheels.
Encrypted files are offered,
But that requires some introspection,
About whether or not your loved one,
Would really infiltrate your disk,
And read your documents.
My computer is a reflection of me,
My order or my mayhem;
No longer my prowess and endeavour,
‘Cos my articulations are my graft,
Not the machine’s mechanisations.
Oh dear kind Lord, I beg you and,
when on my knees to pray,
I need a little helping hand
to guide me through this day.
I have to face a motley band
who can’t think what to say.
I give them all the guff and gen
to help them understand.
The work is very simple when
they’re organised and planned.
And yet their fumbling specimen
look strictly second hand.
I guide them all, the usual way,
to seek some homonym.
To no avail, day after day,
their efforts still look grim.
Oh please may I confess and say;
“I find them very dim!”
~
For Anne's "Confessions" Competition.
Life is a pile of misfit clothes leaving a walkway to my door
it is a series of unfinished to do lists lost on the floor
it is a home that bends and breaks and creaks
of lights that lost their sparkle and dripping taps that drive you mad
a compilation of Big Dreams and limited actions
It is love in its greatest form with the wrong person
the kind that feels upside down and inside out but feels right until its wrong
life is a fat orange cat that fits perfectly in my arms
it is a small white dog that smiles and a big black dog who shows you more love than humanly possible. more love than we often feel we deserve
life is an adventure of traveled minds, spicy foods and music that beats with your heart
the same song on repeat cause I keep forgetting the words but remember the feeling
that makes you so sad you can cry and so happy you will fly and so funky you can swing your hips and shake you bum and bounce like no ones watching
Life is a job that is safe and friendly. It is social, and helpful and full of contextual knowledge. Outside this space it is silence no ringing of phones, no asking of questions, no typing of emails . it is silence and an empty mind.
Life is faith and meaning misunderstood as rules and difference it is freedom to truly live. Freedom to live unique from the world like a forever child so happy in the simplicity of life without possessions or addictions.
life is knowledge of injustice and power to change society. first a little and one day allot. Life is picking up cigarette butts and plastic bottles, it is digging in the mud and creating strong life from a tiny seed. It is talking to someone older and truly learning the story of life from the map on their kind face or sharing a smile with stranger on a train. a stranger who could change your life or simply fade into the shadows of the crowd.
Soon life may change it may be shared with a true love or global family. it may be fulfilled by a true calling in a far away place. Or it may simply be a slightly more organised form of chaos
An elderly man I knew ,
( who had no issue)
about fifty years ago
was well known among the local
and neighbouring residents
for his knowledge of the native pantheon,
evil spirits, and ghosts .
Often he conducted rituals
to ward off the ghosts and evil spirits
from the homes and
individuals possessed by them
and to cure people of the illnesses
primarily attributed to sacrilege.
One day, his wife fell ill;
yet, he did not call doctors,
but performed traditional rituals,,
sought guidance from the deities
in his somber dreams.
Of no avail ,
she died after prolonged illness.
But he did not grieve for long.
"What can we the humans do
if God already destined her fate ? “
he asked.
The old man lived a long life,
cared for by a close relative.
He never consulted a doctor
nor took pharmaceutical drugs,
as he did not have faith
in their medical efficacy or sanctity.
(The poem dramatised under the title FAITH, PAIN( Latter rechristened as Thajabagi Cheina) by People's Arts and Dramatic Association ,and directed by Laishram Randhoni Devi was the Second Best play in the Creative Directors' Short Play Competition 2022 organised by THEATER CENTER under the aegis of SANGEET NATAK ACADEMY,NEW DELHI.In all the play won seven different awards.Among the notable awards are Best,Director,Best Actor,Best Actress and Best Script etc.)
IF I RULED THE RED CROSS
If I Ruled the Red Cross,
many changes I would make
It would be required
that our Movement is understood
By everyone without excuses.
If I Ruled the Red Cross,
Every activity is scrutinised
Before they'll be organised
By the principles that are recognised
Be indictable not to be prized
To preserve my Independence from being Paralysed.
If I Ruled the Red Cross,
Nobody will misuse the emblems
No one will violate the principles
Everyone will follow the due protocols
Anything that's wrong
Shall always be wrong
No matter who does it.
If I Ruled the Red Cross,
The emblem shall be Red Cross
Never would our documents
Be printed in Black Cross
Anybody found wanting
Will have their faces crushing
In the ocean of red crossing.
If I Ruled the Red Cross,
I would require
every volunteer to love each other
as a sister or a brother
and care for those suffering
from the pains of illness
By giving my Voluntary Service
Without expecting kind gesture in reverse.
If I Ruled the Red Cross,
I would want it to be
a happier and more loving place
of lasting peace
There would be no wars,
no hurt in anyone’s life
Life would be long
and held with respect.
If I Ruled the Red Cross,
The rules of war
Shall always be a law
The Geneva Conventions
Would be respected
By every soldier as expected.
If I Ruled the Red Cross,
I would be open to criticism
Refrain from nepotism
Desist from individualism
Discourage sectionalism
And embrace unionism.
If I Ruled the Red Cross,
this is what I would require,
but sadly I do not
and my dreams are just dreams
of a place we call tranquillity
Where we preach Impartiality
Sing the song of Neutrality.
However,
If I Ruled the Red Cross,
I would try to make tranquillity
To spread the power of Humanity
To cherish the strength of Unity
Everywhere for everyone is Universality
Into our own reality.
©Marabi Amfaal Hydara
The Humanitarian Poet