Best Packets Poems
land of lost shadows
and unweathered skies
five urban colours
through unflinching eyes
tall distant chimneys
and schoolyards at play
smoke drifting sideways
in stillness each day
sketches on packets
of stained cigarettes
strange brooding faces
and marionettes
people bent walking
with heads looking down
- if lowry was living
he'd have painted my town.
I’m excited, I got a job
I now work for Bob Bob’s Gob Shop
They asked me to stand outside and sell
These white packets, of what I cannot tell
But I was shifting the goods a hundred an hour
I felt alive excited and empowered
Mothers and fathers were buying off me
And giving their kids, who named the stuff LSD
I didn’t hear it clearly at first,
Until I was arrested and that’s when I feared the worst
The police took me to their van
God only knows I tried to run and then… Man,
I got the tasered,
And did a twenty-five second bad imitation of Bob Marley crossed with Jo Fraser
They called me a dope peddler
An addict enforcing meddler
The cops tasered me again and beat me up
Then left me laying in a pile, yelping like a helpless pup
Then took me to a room with a table that had a pile of white powder,
And three inch black sticks they called hash, my mouth went sour.
They questioned me further demanding who was my supplier
As they kept me dancing at the end of the taser wire
I screamed Bob and Bob of the Gob Shop
They stopped and said this must be their under cover job
Just then the chief of police walked in
He looked at me with that we gotcha grin
He took a bit of the white powder and put it on the tip of his tongue
Then with s surprised look as if he got stung
The chief of police quickly picked me up dusted me off and apologised
He said “Don’t worry sir, I’ll punish these guys”
One policemen said “But sir his a drug dealler, selling LSD?”
“How could you be willing to set him free”
The Chief shouted “YES THIS IS LSD, NOW READ MY LIPS”
“LIQUORICE SHERBET DIPS”
Well as a consolation, I got a house and a car out of them,
Never went back to that job again.
In the beginning there was a lonely word but soon after
there was no room at the meagre hostel for the saviour
Sanguine hopes flash-flooded the sanctuary of hearts
sacrificial blood of Christ awaited to be spilt in vain
Spelt out the message of rusty nails corroding on cross
bones mounted the flesh ready for vanishing memories
Lest we forget Christmas it amounts to summits of wrappers
luxurious gifts opulent indigestion after a vainglorious feast
Reindeer and global delivery services occlude the notion that
taking stock is not about counting presents but reducing the cost
Jesus flashes from i-pads I this and I that please give me more
extra goods additional abundance mince pies and stuffing
Belching and flatulent Tim reaches for his heartburn medication
tastes uppers and downers sniffs white powder on bank cards
His wife smears the makeup she grabbed from under the tree
her new perfume a bountiful offering of disguised scented myrrh
No sense for frank frankinsence as she sniffs expensive fragrances
from benefaction bottle’s decadence and reduces benediction to myth
Gift wrap explodes from the fireplace in the mix of unopened packets
just after Father Christmas has made a lucky escape from the scene
Arson of gluttony self-inflicted suffering self-immolation of sorts
sorts out this unholy communion followed by smouldering mourning
The insurance company refuses to pay as they insist that the couple
had backed the wrong course of action in vile contempt of true faith
They however donate a beautiful bible of careful calligraphy
with gilded ornamentation bound in leather and lather of time
There are no walls standing for wailing when Tim and his spouse
and it remains to be seen whether they might find a mangled manger
To resume business as usual or take refuge in meaning and truth
when the word in the beginning had become a sorry blank canvas
18th November 2018
Contest Christmas Mourning
Sponsor P.S. AWTRY
Husbands, raise your hands
Keep them up if you love your wife
Keep them up if you colour your wifes hair
Okay, this is for the three of us that are left....
I did my wife a favour
As I do, because I can
I help her when I'm able
Not just because I am a man
I kill bugs when requested
I do the laundry like I should
I clean the bathroom when it's dirty
And by doing so , feel good
Every few weeks I will help her
Hide the grey that she can see
I don't volunteer to do it
But it's cheap to hire me
A salon visit is expensive
Doing hair, and waiting hours
I just slip on my latex hand wear
And I have a bag full of super powers
Yes, I help my wife get couloured
I take the time and do her hair
I also, get it on the tiles
Up the wall and on two chairs
The dog gets covered just a little
The rug, a window and the bed
But, we always buy two packets
So, there's enough to do her head
I have a jacket slightly mottled
It's got a few brown spots, some red
I don't know exactly how it happened
I even got some on our bed
Just call me Mr. Kenneth
In my jumpsuit doing hair
I get it where I think she needs it
And I spray it everywhere
She comes out looking gorgeous
She's always happy with the result
She always looks a little different
Like someone who believes in the occult
If you're a husband who likes money
Save it, colour your wife's hair
Your part only takes ten minutes
You need ten towels, one mask, one chair
It brings us both closer together
My arms look like a leopard skin
All my shirts are slightly spotted
But all those spots, make me look thin
I've got to go now and get cleaned up
The carpets ruined, so's the wood
But, she's happy and we all know that
If the wife is happy....all is good!
Rattling like Skittle packets in my hand,
seeds so miniscule will become so grand.
Bull's Blood Beets and Brandywine Tomato
begin the extensive garden rainbow.
Scarlet Nantes Carrots hide in the earth,
while Cronus Pumpkins expand showy girth.
Honeygold Corn boasts a barbecue treat.
Sweet Banana Peppers reach for the heat.
Green abounds in salad varieties
and fresh-off-the-vine, crisp Sugar Snap Peas.
Blue Vantage Cabbage leaves will soon enfold.
Borage attracts bees, periwinkle bold.
Purple Queen Bush Beans will lean together
while eggplant shines in dry August weather.
Like candy dreams, my mouth starts to water
with consumption hopes when days get hotter.
5-1-2021
Rhyming Couplets Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Janice Canerdy
CRY PLANET CRY
Every country is guilty of polluting planet earth,
All the way down its length and across its girth,
We all will ultimately pay the deserved price,
Who will be first, it’s like rolling the dice,
To mention a few, Moscow, to London to Perth!
We throw plastic bottles, packets of take away food,
From car windows, from high buildings, so crude,
Rubbish mounts up horribly in suburbs and cities,
We are committing suicide, was it this bad in the fifties
People then could plan for tomorrow, no longer dude!
Factories, trucks and old cars emit carbon dioxide,
We walk and drive through rubbish, have we no pride,
Do we not sorrow for the future, even the morrow?
We might as well go freeze at the top of Kilimanjaro,
I see a planet mourning, hopeless tears will be cried!
We must practice dialogue intellect and compassion,
Is all this now out of fashion, where is our passion,
Presidents, prime ministers, all rulers look ahead,
For quite plainly if you don’t we are all dead,
No malignant plans please, and no more dispassion!
Daylight slips in and out
of yellowing curtains,
as the sun blinks.
At such times
her thoughts
appear and disappear
The old lady has planted
her mind in closets
where dreams wither,
in kitchen cupboards
where herbs and spices dust the dark.
She will leave what she can;
small packets once gardened
when she cared to cook.
It is coming -
a change of occupancy.
She senses strange feet
and slamming doors,
young laughter runs in and out
of her breathing space.
Until then, she is here
in her last chair
in a memory-seeded apartment,
listening to the history
of her tucked-away life.
Scribe Under Fire
The wall had been there for an eternity
closing gaps of time and sacred places
field stones memories and gentle caress
Hans could not write any longer any
shorter it was too loud and far too quiet
the truth did not escape the lonely
fortress of sheltered dreams’ betrayal
He had lost a touch of his mind and a hand
already in previous senseless exchanges
luckily he was born tough and left handed
before right became wrong and left was a crime
When the trenches had become thicker
with blood bodies sticky bayonets guts
gore debatable glory and forlorn medals
Hans wrote from the depth of soul and despair
Hell bombs grenades shrapnel and agony
enacted a torrid cacophony of fire and noise
his nostrils became scorched while his ears
refused to hear and to listen any much longer
Scribbling poetry on the back of cigarette packets
his molten fountain pen fused with his mind
and he fought for his life his sanity and one
terminal act of kindness morale and advice
Hans could not release even one more shot from the
gun dangling from overburdened shoulders but
the sergeant shouted ‘attack you wretched coward
for King and for country for honour and sweet victory’
It had been a modern war and someone must have
known about shell shock or post traumatic disorder
but when they executed him with clean merciless shots
from a nameless firing squad because it was not for refusal
But for spreading fake news about the beauty of war for
sabotaging innocent minds of future generations for
soldiering with a mighty pen and not with a glittering
sword so he was shot at the wall for writing and not fighting
September 2018
"Snapdragons and Dandy Lions - Part 2"
The day was cooling down
pressing itself close into
the amythest and musk pink early eve
as the eggshell pale blue sky rolled over into
Astor Purple to get ready for sleep.
The Ostrich Ferns rustled,
We’d frightened the Blue Tongue, he’d run back to his lair.
Coming in from the Ocean now
there came a light breeze.
I was looking for four leaf clovers
and Skink eggs but they were to be found nowhere
while she knelt in her rock garden planting
Agapanthas, Gladiolus, Calla Lillies,
Daffodils, Fresias and Pansies -
there were loose bulbs everywhere
and packets of Tulip
and Blue-Eyed Susan seeds.
Sooty, the Black cat sat
and watched with knowing sly eyes
twitched his whiskers, licked a paw on ‘his’ Window Sill,
he looked very wise.
We’d been making Daisy Chains,
she’d placed on our hair like Crowns.
Of course,
3’s always a bad number, it's never neat,
there’d been fights in between – still,
we were her adoring subjects, her princesses and
SHE our beautiful and kind QUEEN.
“Do you know why I love Snapdragons the best?” the QUEEN declared,
“They’re the knights of this garden –
they get a bad rap because of their name.
Look at their faces though,
they’re ferocious not frightened of anything,
great courage they always stand firm.
It’s the blasted Dandy Lions,
well they scare easy,
blow away every time
there’s a storm
and they leave a damned mess”.
She looked at us, and said,
“You’re like those Snapdragons my beautiful girls.
Always stand together.
Always stand firm”.
(Lovejoy-Burton/2017 Dec)
(1)
"Under the Ivy"/Kate Bush
https://youtu.be/NvKNzyO4wk0
(2)
"Datura"/Tori Amos
https://youtu.be/WX_dwuF-6oY
I want to pull my hair out and scream
why does school have to be so mean...
Packets upon packets thrown in my face
I wish my mother would get off my case.
It doesn't matter if there's A's or B's
Those aren't as important as my non-existent degree!
Why must I have so much to do,
I wish I could sue!
I'm running around everywhere and cramming
My throat and mind are clamming.
I was always so prepared in the past
But now I feel like I'm dead last!
My mind is blank and can't process a thing
It's almost as slow as my laptop ping!
Wish me luck
Because this is going to suck.
Winter finally moves his lumpen sluggish weight,
Spring is like a shy dryad shivering in his arms
Wind's whippets droop to trifling whine
Sullen rain hisses to a grizzle.
tiny fruit buds swell enough to moisten lips.
First daffodil maidens preen, bright faces so fair!
Chattering swallows check granite grey mortared mansion.
Duck naps snug, beak a chest --- gull floats overhead.
Longer days mean I must leave my snuggly, sleepy daze,
slightly more light; work energies reappear
poetry is laid aside in favour of trimming trees
seething solar heating sound, signals dimly smiling sun.
seed packets eagerly spread out – What to plant this season?
Suddenly, more bees aflight – our crops will be alright!
Another cycle begins!
1) Anthropomorphism 2) Simile 3) Metaphor 4) onomatopoeia
5)Synaesthesia 6) Personification 7) Sensory Imagery
8) Ellipsis 9) Homophone 10) Caesura 11) Pun
12) Alliteration 13) Rhetorical Question 14)Internal Rhyme
15) Truism
Written 20th August for Line Gautier Contest - A Litany of Poetic Devices
The Hacker
Vodka
Used Dells and HP notebooks
Routers and switches
Gateways and sniffers
Kvm boxes and multi real-time data shows
My booty is plenty
No one knows the white mask of mist
They only know some monies are amiss
Bots and trojans and loggers too
Tools of the trade
As the cash is readily piled and made
2 million bit coins
400 million Yuan
786 billion rubles, there goes Putin’s new dawn
From Monaco to Luxembourg to Timbuktu
I have all the cash
Stolen from even mighty criminals too
Now I partake in my biggest heist
The crown jewels you can all keep and gaze
My prize is of more value, I shall hack all the days
I trace ip’s, and wires and protocols
Searching for patterns and rhythms and single heart beats
I shall not ever accept any defeat
I sit in my chair, monitors a plenty
Scanning and routing, probing and poking
Kilobytes and packets of data my way
Slowly, I shall hack into the device I wish to sway
Bingo, I got it, I think I am in
Pacemaker number 24-25-poet-of-things
I now control the beat of her heart
As I reprogram her love from here to the start
Pumping away, verses that sway
I shall now control her hearts desires of spring love in May
Captured her heart
Now I hold it in prisons enclave
To ancient romances and poetic rhymes
I know I am guilty of loves worst crime
However now I know her heart is all mine
I shall make it beat for eternity
So that the kiss I shall give on her sweet lips
Will be smiles held forever and a day
I hacked her heart
And I like it this way!
A nearly full bag of fries in a trash bin
is a little tempting to one not having eaten all day!
Somewhere is a single mom scrubbing floors
so her kids can eat a PB sandwich
smeared with a little jelly,
or maybe
she will leave them with generic macaroni,
a Kraft substitute easy for kids to fix alone -
but no big juicy red apples because
those would cost twice as much
as packaged macaroni for several kids.
At least cheese in little packets is calcium for bones.
Or is it?
When it’s the season to be jolly,
potatoes are rather cheap and versatile.
You can boil, fry, bake or microwave them.
You can buy them flaked
for cafeteria style mashed potatoes.
But there is something special about salted French fries
put into red containers bought at McDonald’s although
they get tossed out barely eaten with half-drunk cokes
in the same way that people throw money out the door
almost any time they go out to eat.
Eating out! That is such a luxury for someone who is poor.
I’m ok; my belly has its fair share of fat.
Folks like me can always last till we get home.
But tonight while it is cold and dark,
I hope someone will find those fries I spy
sitting at the top of this garbage heap.
I know they’d be a treat for someone truly starving,
and they’d appreciate them more than he
who was eating them when they were nice and hot.
Even better, of course, I hope all those in need
can find a way to feed their families and always have
a place to lay their head down for the night.
For the Garbage Poetry Contest of Anthony Slausen
“CAROUSELS AND CANDYFLOSS’
Childhood memories cherished and remote recollections
Emerging in magnified clarity encourage renewed perceptions
Open air big screen films referred to as “Drive-Ins”
A regular Saturday night treat -- family car, excitement within
After eating our packed picnic snack
Permission asked to play—promises to come back
Our greatest thrill sat under the huge white screen
Amusement ride—galloping flying horses-- enchanting scene
Carousel rotating- fairground organ—a musical ride
Merry-go-round- gilded Horse ballet dancing with pride
Some high on poles, interspersed benches—
These were placed for the less adventurous
Waiting patiently the ride slows down
Small minds choosing horses to call their own
Rushing to mount our fantasy up high
Small feet in stirrups, as wooden horses fly
The candy-floss man stands on the side
Inflated packets-- pale pink, blue and white divide
Cotton- wool sugary treats entice as we wait
Melt in the mouth moments to keep us awake
Kim van Breda—February 2013
Spring festival
Auspicious colours
Painting town red
Reunion dinner
Grand celebration
Hearts aligned
Homeward bound
To gather again
Good times come around
Joy sings
Spring chorus;
Familiar red packets
Laughing faces
Jolly feasting:
Memory subscribes