Best Oversea Poems
Limericks inspired by Linda Fowler’s Limerick - Hindsight
Pot-poetry
We've had many laughs in PoetrySoup
That lift weary hearts when they start to droop
Laughters a freebie
A sure guarantee
Sup from the soup and enjoy a good whoop.
Laughters infectious, it flows oversea
Different nations writing poetry
Yet all in one pot
The pot holds a lot
Pot-poetry full of variety.
* * *
1st January 2021
Children are leaders of tomorrow
Precious gift from God
First man, Adam was created from dust
Children were made between man and woman
Children are unique in nature
And beautiful in the sigh of their father
My mother didn't know what I will become in future
My father insisted I received a good training
So that in the future I can become somebody
A substance worthy of emulation by others
I can't think about my future
But I can see them in my mother's eyes
I can't think... but I can hear from my father's voice
...these are what I learnt as I grow...
All men were created equal before God
And should be treated equal
No difference in race
We should be one by his grace
No difference in colour
As I see you and me as one by the corridor
Wealth evenly distributed
No jealousy or confectiousness exhibited
If I have a stick of sweet
You should have same too in the street
Love cannot be overlooked
Even though my brother is a crook
Be bothered about me
'Cause tomorrow it might be your turn
This is the tomorrow we should see
even without going oversea
Yes, we are tomorrow's leaders
We stand by our words.
Chocolate Indulgences (20150129)
If I really had no choice but to divulge,
In mountains of chocolate I would indulge.
I'm not just taking about Snickers,
Reese's peanut butter cups, Butterfingers,
Or other grocery store sweeties.
I'm talking about the expensive stuff, most from oversea:
Fruit and nut bars from British Cadbury,
Milk molasses chips from local Mrs. See's,
Fudge Easter Eggs from domestic Helen Grace,
Belgian praline Sea Shells from Leonidas,
Belgian Cote D'Or bouche pralines,
And from Germany's Ritter Sport--EVERYTHING!
Wallowing in glorious chocolate, I'd be so pathetic,
If not for the fact, that I'm a diabetic.
well, woman has been around for a while
hypno-teasing men with her wicked smile
been known by many names starting with Eve
Boadicea, Cleopatra and Genevieve
she can fly-by-night, be out with the bats
purring and prowling with sly slinky cats
never a tame girl, sometimes receptive
with hidden secrets, deep and deceptive
see her in twilight, creature in the dark
flames flickered when she was Joan of Arc
think she has been here for just a few years?
think again, 'them' hills, they flow with her tears
woman has been teacher for aeons of time
wrote most of " Homer ", taught Plato to rhyme
as Archimedes' hand-maid, she had a laugh
when he shouted " Eureka, get me out of the bath! "
around when Adam gave out those spare ribs
her name is on parchment writ with rare nibs
her time here with us, a mere interlude
battles over centuries, a bitter feud
with men from the past and future I'm told
man on her arm, just her latest cuckold
well-rounded dame or seriously slim
cheerful demeanour or chief sister grim
close-quarter woman talking loud and fast
words over-taking like a blast from the past
so hard to keep up, so hard to break in
leave you behind in the wake of her din!
what's this I hear, is she now slowing down
pausing for men, is she wearing a frown?
perhaps she's starting to shuffle the deck
departure dreaming on a very long trek
maybe no point in moving on once more
the greater challenge is here at the door
as men they shout " I am invincible
I've the biggest Archimedes Principle! "
late at night she now walks the floorboards
seeking a new role, a song with new chords
" where and when will I go, who will I be
will I stay in this land or else oversea ? "
men of the future and men of the past
treasure this woman as head of the cast
whenever, wherever, whoever you are
she will always twinkle, shine like a star
bring her some chocolate, bring her some wine
make sure she stays and has a good time
but watch at midnight in case she's outside
all alone by the road hitching a ride
silver moonbeam and finest curb crawler
then down to the port and onto a trawler
far out to sea where she thinks of those days
when Gods fought Neptune for sight of her gaze
For you, I will see,
For you, I would guarantee,
For you, I could be an emcee,
For you, I will pass oversea,
For all of you, I could be esprited...
For you, I will walk,
For you, I won't baulk,
For all of you, we will flock,
For all of you, I won't pock,
For all of you, this won't be a crock...
For you, I will think,
For you, I will blink,
For you, I would interlink,
For all of you, I would sync,
For you, I can break brinks,
For all of you, I might bequeath...
For all of you, I might concede,
For you, I might precede,
For all of you, I might exceed,
For you, I mit accede,
With all of you, I might proceed,
With all of you, I might succeed,
For you, I might bleed,
For all of you, I could be a steed...
From all of you, I might receive,
To all of you, I might give,
For you, I might cry,
For you, I might lead,
For you, I can try,
More I could say,
But for you, I might live,
For all of you, I might die,
I could give my soul, for all of you...
the Medicare, an undeserved fund the patients spend,
which seems extremely excrescent,
must be crushed immediately without any mend.
No coverage serves them right! Be they gravely ill or convalescent.
In his favor, all the rules the Capitol shall bend,
prosecution immunity, business chance----each prerogative coming on end.
His flagrance in abuse of power, plus republicans' acquiescence, plunges to a state perversely putrescent,
in consequence, honest individuals wizened while tower of liar and mar-a-lago mire tumescent.
High as the staff's passions hit, perfectly as their patiences fit, more than half at last have to quit.
What has ground away every panjandrum's wit and grit?
His inopportune blah-blah and twitter tantrum bit after bit,
the latter a globe-mocked target and also, often a globe-shocking tool kit.
Atmosphere of allies only too calm and bland,
against them, with his single hand,
he stirs up trade wars amid the entire world's guffaws.
Prostrate shall be the security of homeland,
prostrate shall be the competence of diplomatic corps,
bolt upright frontier walls shall stand----
but stand only in his brain, which constantly bolts out lunatic lore.
Pants on fire, collars on fire, hard and fast is this refractory liar.
Really a refractory and prolific liar, really a refractory and lifetime liar,
boasting his lying score higher than the steepest steeple's spire,
never plans to retire, until one day he has to expire.
Nonsense the globalization trend, nonsense what the majority attend,
abandoning all oversea interests and renouncing all international duties are the cause he shall defend.
And the itinerary of isolationism, his pilgrimage route.
Endorsed by none, would he be alone? A point nothing moot.
Epiphanic from Roman catacombs, arms open, ecstatic and naked----an epiphany non-faked----
Nero comes up to embrace him grinnily, like a kindred spirit in long pursuit eventually slaked
acting as his soul mate cum his sole friend
and escorting him all along to his final end.
His final end, Nero's end, that's who could brazen out the mass hoot.
His final end, Hell's end, that's where he takes root.
Oh give me a home where there are no drones,
where the Democrats and Republicans play,
where seldom is heard a debate that isn't too absurd,
while they try to keep Wikileaks and e-mails at bay,
Home, home on the range,
where the Democrats and Republicans are basically clay,
where seldom is heard a speech written by a nerd,
while the oligarchy are having a field day,
With too many jobs shipped oversea"s,
the middle class once again have an urgent plea,
not for another speech or a clone,
but to create more manufacturing jobs here at home,
While America goes through yet another phase,
we used to be a Republic back in our heyday,
we definitely need more capitalism it is clear,
so please Mr. President stick to your words and don't switch gears.
11-9-16
The Stars lit up the skies and nothing could I see,
Except these huge Mansions that fly in the sky.
Swirling winds picked me up and carried me high.
Making trails in the clouds it was just me.
It was breathtaking just to be,
Afloat the top of mansions that fly.
The Moon was bright and the Sun a bit dry.
They were huge and magnificent to oversea.
Mansions in the sky that fly above it all.
Mesmerized I went in and found no end.
None were too small.
None occupied, not even by a friend!
Mansions that fly fill a brilliant sky,
All emptied but not by I!
© Copyright: Ann Rich 2006
When the 21st century stepped into its third decade, the major tone of the world sharply switched. Internecine confrontation, cartelism and calumniation snaffled the high pitch, while comprehension, cooperation and cosmopolitanism, like ill-adapting burdens and nuisances, are inexorably pitched out of the era's finickier and finickier register.
The last 4 years, principally accountable for the bend toward such trend, has a clear pattern.
Since the moment that pussy-grabber grabbed the oval office through foreign fix, everything seemed to have been predetermined.
Needless to argue: just as a train steering along its normal route suddenly swerved into an appalling aberration under multiple symptoms of systematic failure, poped up a chain of bizzare behaviors: a row of willful withdrawals from multiple international organizations and treaties, barefaced dunning over allies for protection fees, capricious veer of trade vanes highlighting haphasard jitters of tariff rates toward countries of utterly different natures and qualities, pussyfooting pace toward putin and patronizing pose before pals as well as other unpredictable hitches and glitches in the making and implementation of policies or even nondescript whimsical whistles that had perplexed many politicians, publicists and observers who believe U.S to have relapsed into isolationism, that is, paying more attentions to or becoming exclusively occupied in its own business with less or without interventions or concerns upon external matters. Many uttered criticism over this phlegmatic position, pointing out it was the isolationism that had connived at the fascist aggrandizement and caused the inadequacy of vigilance in the pearl harbor incident before it finally gave way to requisite engagement. But I have to say the wording of isolationism is simply unfitting nowadays. One can prove this by drawing a comparison between the degree of globalization of recent times and that before world war 2. As we take a glimpse back to the period around 1940, we can find that oversea entities and links were relatively meagre and the corresponding influence and leverage upon other countries relatively negligible. At that time, pursuing isolationism was more or less of a certain venial aspect.
A hawk, moments after dawn,
circling.
Somewhere,
somewhere at the edge of near;
a somewhere known to the pessimistic
as far,
as there,
as not,
not
Here.
Not near.
Occasionally, a flashed shadow
over the sun-bleached apricot sky.
Just to the West.
Where the yellower light spills now
over the half-new roof and well-appointed chimney
of farm/field/stone.
Into the valley of clinging green
and the stone wall edge of the Farm
where the trees have one and all
forgot the late date.
They’ve
steadfastly, triumphantly, unarguably
argued for their summer-earned greens.
The moon is so high as to be unknown.
There above the maple.
There above the shred-ragged, yellowing
banana leaves -
the makeshift windvane of wavily oversea kelp.
Unknown
to the crook of neck,
to the poor sleepers,
to the cheap pillow resters.
It is such a slight sliver
that
it gives a cool shiver
to my flesh.
The momentary thought of,
a splinter of wood getting under skin.
The slight sharp sliver of dim silver moon
seems so sharp as to
threaten to deflate the dim blue,
the pale blue
October sky.
DREAMS
My fellow poets;
Can someone imitate me?
Whether dreams are relevant,
Or not?
For I have been to many places,
That I have to been to,
Expect oversea.
Dream,
I idolize you more than vision.
Oh! You novelist,
Are you a dreamer?
For I make my money,
Through dreams.
Dreams,
A place of dialogue and revelation.
Tell the three wise men that,
We need their dreams,
But tell Joseph not to forget,
His dreams
I need dreams,
I need to write and reveal more,
Like John the baptize.
Themes:
1. Relevant,
2. Hindrance,
3. Remembrance,
4. Action.
A Telegram from the Queen
An interview with Maisie Widdop,
On her very special day.
Her telegram from the queen has arrived,
and has something, she wants to say.
Maisie please tell our readers,
This most wonderful story of yours,
When you were but a small child,
A new world, was opening its doors.
"We are going on an adventure,
My Mother would frequently say to me.
A brand new life for all of us,
It will be marvellous, you wait and see.
Travelling in luxury and elegance,
Splendour, Grandeur will know no bounds,
Seven days of fun filled decadence,
Our feet won't touch the ground,
Nothing but the best for us,
Clever Daddy has taken good care.
You and me will want for nothing,
On his life he'd promise and swear.
We are sailing on the Tenth my love,
So we really must look our best,
Just in case the Captain invites us,
To his table, as special guests
I was just a Baby at the time,
My Father was taking us oversea.
A brave new world across the Pond,
He said, that's where work will be.
We were due to leave early April,
But I got a fever and couldn't sail.
Mother told Father "you go on ahead"
and we would follow soon, without fail.
Poor Father never reached New York,
On that fateful sailing ship.
So, we remained forever in England,
Never wanting to make the trip.
A twist of fate and I'm still here,
One hundred years old today.
Mother died back in Eighty-Three,
Ninety-Two when she passed away.
She told me this same heartfelt story,
From my birth, until the day she died.
Third class, sounded grand to her
But she knew; thought of Father and cried"
Beware of politicians whose active manifesto
Is always to speak ill of other candidates and opposition parties.
They are the real problems!
Beware of political goons and rumour-mongers, spinning allegations
Twining civil questions, yakking all day but never about
What they have done or can do. They have no vision!
Beware, my brother, of trillionaire politicians who only remember
The poor during campaigns and invite the press to a snap
Of a picture with a kwashiorkor in the slum. They are hypocrites!
Beware of politicians who make fabulous and illusory promises
Whose speeches are seasoned with oenomel to please and hype
History is a witness to their chronic failures and betrayals!
Beware of politicians who evade critical discourse and the press
At home like a mosquito bite but would run to the Chatham House
To seek an audience. They are no solutions!
Beware of desperate politicos defying every civil structure to rule
Bigots whose ploys for victory are religious and ethnic mantras
Kingmakers who want to have their turn on the throne.
Beware of politicians who make Aso Rock their retirement plan
Hall of fame, cashpoint, birthplace and right, their next career
A doctor or lawyer who could save a life or vindicate rights
Has become the Dionysius of our time.
Beware of politicians whose patriotism pulsates on oversea products
Trips to Harley Street, Burj Khalifa, bikini-infested Miami Beach
Back home, they vow to tighten the laws and expand the cells
To make a great nation.
Beware, you goofs and poltroons taking up the squares for heroes
You moneybags, Kings of the jungle, sacred cows, powerbrokers
Plumed and brocaded with national honours, OON, CON…
Amid the chronic poverty and acute frustration.
Beware of kleptocracy, autocracy, gerontocracy, oligarchy, plutarchy
And amidst the hunger, ignorance, confusion, and frustration
Beware of vote merchants!
I saw an eye in the middle of an ocean
She beacons on me to come and bathe in her oceans
Like an innocent fish
I swam in-between her holes
Showing me the way to d deep
The eye held me so close with her lashes
Blinking her seductive strength into my nature
I became a half man in her strength
She conquered me all the way
Given me the finest pleasure any woman can give
She lives across the blue oceans and seas
She is busy bizzy beaming her search light for her oversea lover
I love my friend she loves me too
We share secret no tongues can utter
Her body is my colour
And my colour her ego
She is an African queen whose breasts filled my mouth
The shape of her body is succulent and soaked with wonders
She smiling at my naughty pen because i promise to be loyal to her and not share her love with anyway
She is an angel and my beautiful baby girl....
Bizzy beautiful
Nature's wonders...
“Only in his hometown and in his own household is a prophet without honor.” Matthew 13:57
Sometimes, when I go shopping, I meet a strange woman.
Barefoot,
dressed only in a garland of dried flowers and an old sheet stained with bird droppings,
with last year’s nest on the head and ecstatic glint in the eyes,
she gets up on the pallet of tinned peas
and makes a speech.
I wonder who she is.
Another one crazy goddess of Walmart?
An older Ophelia the shepherds saved and smuggled oversea to the States?
Or, maybe, she is an anthropomorphic metaphor for the knowledge obscure to mere mortals?
She seems to be upset that people can't figure out a word she says.
I understand your feelings, metaphor:
even a small knowledge seems great to the ignorant;
the great knowledge seems to them madness.
08.11.2019
Last Year's Nests Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish