Best Packs Poems
POTW 1 Oct 2018
Gossip about her
swept the school yard through
“Hey if you’ve got what it takes
There’s this girl named Sue
For a pack of smokes
or a drink or two
She’ll kiss you ~ she’ll please you
like no other girl can do”
Her fuchsia glossed lips
Matched the colour of her hair
Her legs went on forever
She had a self-assured flair
He yearned for those baby blues
to stray his way
How did the cool guys snare girls
come what may?
Dreams on his pillow
a teenage fantasy
Were seconds away from becoming
a manly reality
She promised to meet him
in the park one night
Two packs of Marlboro’s
Under the pale moonlight
A brief kiss on the lips
then as she swiftly turned to go
He yanked her back hard
and as she fell to the floor
A fantasy was shattered
Hopes tossed away ~ abused
Feelings of rejection
Cast aside and confused
He lived in an era
Where double standards
were applauded
Girls were shamed
For going all the way
Boys rewarded
However integrity
doesn’t stoop to lows
no need to impress
Head high as he walked
it was not worth the stress
The journey was his ~ along this untrodden road
Tomorrow ~ todays rejection would be yesterday’s episode
Every step away from her was a gentle elixir
Then came her words on the wind ~ barely a whisper
‘Hey ~ I’m a virgin too ~ and a skank I’m not
They sully my name and my character they blot
The smokes are for my mum it eases her pain
And for my sick Ma I’ll do this again and again’
Continued in 'Tears on her pillow'...
Autumn brushes her hair slowly
Letting the glorious colors
flow gently to the earth below.
Showing off vibrant colors
in contrast to summer's green dress.
Out doing the starkness,
of winter's white coat.
Autumn compares the mutable
shades of spring to her fall
Giving a sigh ,end of another season.
She packs her brush
as frost touches her tips.
Look closely, feel the harmless heat
enveloping black-diamond
petals in the glistening
garden of glossy geraniums.
There, sprouts rosemary dreams
from an untouched silhouette,
eager to be seen beyond
her perfumed pigments.
Her universe was sprinkled
with starry streams
of gleaming rays,
as she swayed to symphonic
serenades filled with hazel dust.
They may gawk with greedy
glares as wide as the night sky,
marking her with lecherous
objects that only please
shameless eyes.
She was never
in need of a sixth sense
to understand iron glances
that travel in nefarious packs,
with sugar-burnt hunger
washing all over her
unblistered flesh,
judging her concealer
as a manipulative facade,
seeking uncalled-for affirmations
that she never solicited,
misconceiving her thin lines
of red-river lipstick.
Her summer physique allowed
no consent for invasive intrusion,
yet carnal cravings become
unwelcome toxic trespassers.
Their immoral thoughts
believe shallow words
give them wanderlust wings,
while sinister stars in their sky
label her a soulless mannequin,
objectifying her
cinnamon-glazed skin,
sun-kissed hair,
and pecan-powdered~
caramelized voluptuous flare,
with their vehement
voracious desires.
Swinging penetrative thin blades
of opinions from miles,
oblivious to the fact that
she is the sanguine strength
that strolls in silver silence
across spiky swards,
suppressing the pain her
bones have endured with
every whiskering
whistle they wolfed.
There, if the mauve moon and
crystalline constellations look closely,
they would find versatile
mirrors of meaning
reflecting the times
she parades a smile too
comfortable to wear,
for they have concluded
her bed to be a shrine
of blenders and
overflowing thickened blades,
cursed by the biological
sins of Adam's ancestors.
I used to like barbells, enjoyed pumping iron,
my Nautilus* gym was one happy environ.
Those posters of 6-packs and marbled biceps
inspired me to start counting carbs, pounds, and reps.
My trainer would coax, "hold as long as you can!"
Doing deadlifts I felt like a WAS a dead man
The kettlebell, medicine ball - hated those,
since dropping 'em both on my poor little toes.
My dad-bod and willpower soon parted ways,
after only 1 set, I was shell-shocked for days
My back hurt, my knees ached, I'd injured my hips,
after grimacing nonstop, I'd sprained both my lips.
Oy! The sharp pain that shoots
through my quads, delts and glutes...
Now my game plan is shifting
no more power lifting.
To planks, it's "no thanks",
I'm expunging all lunging.
I feel stabs in my abs,
there's a hex on my pecs
and my lats shriek like bats.
When I tweak my oblique
I am sore to the core...
and I want it no more.
The rowing machine is no longer my scene
I loathe those squats lots and I hate crunches bunches.
Do sit-ups or push-ups? Do jump-ups or chin-ups?
I'm more inclined now to do lots of "I-give-ups".
My doc tried convincing me I'd be less tired?
I'm questioning how that poor man's brain is wired!
I felt half exhausted just WATCHING staff clean
the ellipticals, treadmills, and stair-climb machine.
Then... I found when I stood on the locker room scale
That my plan to lose weight was a sad epic fail!
I'm done! I have finished my very last burpee -
I just want a hot dog and super-size Slurpee.
What happened to wanting to feel fit and well?
When it came to workouts, I was just a dumbbell.
I've resolved now to walk more, or swim a few laps
maybe jog, ride my bike, play some tennis, take naps.
That's right, getting plenty of rest seems so plain,
it appears the most challenging muscle to train ...
is the brain.
* Nautilus is a brand of gym equipment
written 2 Oct 2022
howling black wolves complain to new moon,
of devastation wrought by creatures!
different from rest in size and shape,
walk on two legs, strange hairless features!
in packs behind rigid barriers,
cunning to modulate world to needs,
the rivers run dark under their feet,
trees have perished to nourish their seeds!
clouds now migrate away to the south,
it thunders and rains where once desert,
vast oceans expand as glaciers melt,
cold death now haunts where once birds would nest.
hunt us down, say are born of devil,
spare not a thought for nature’s reasons,
we hunt when hungry, the weak and lame,
but they kill for game in all seasons!
fire horrors ravage homely woods,
cuckoo laments morning with its lore,
big herds that walked now dress their rooms,
world is wounded, earth is bleeding sore!
Horror! Horror! we cry to the moon,
our laments tear down the dark silence,
ruled by these creatures with hearts of stone,
they are destructive sans repentance!
we fear not ghosts that lurk in the dark,
nor dripping blood from a sharpened steel,
greater horror lurks where these things haunt,
a pestilence that rocks nature’s keel!
Written 3/May/2021
Funom Makama sponsored
Horror poetry contest
9 syllables each line-
lines2 and 4 rhyme in all quatrains!
POTD 05/05/2021
I am turtle
and I roam.
From town to town,
carry my home,
upon my back
and that’s a fact.
A more patient creature
you’ll not see;
my best feature,
is to patient, be.
I take my time
and always arrive.
An world observer,
with great fervor;
I’ll always arrive
when disaster strikes;
with my house on my back
and emergency packs.
Your reptilian friend
until the end.
On land and sea,
I’ll always be.
For Turtle am I
and I always arrive.
Across the Sprawl of wistful Fall
Through capricious Skies of broken Lies
Naive sweets leave tongues of the young
As the last leaf of summer dies
To Escape the Scrape of leather feathers
And Trim the Rim from fallow snows
Tomorrow's Flowers count the Hours
In the Bleak Mystique of departing crows
Where the cold unfolds Tracks of wolf Packs
The remains of rain Returns the Ferns
Despite the Spite of cynic's delight
The wheel of days tenaciously turns
When a green dream Soars through golden Doors
Each Sunset will Reset a pristine dawn
As Tender as April's fragile Splendor
Hope Stands as Grand as a fresh-eyed fawn.
11/15/20
In Rhymes Sublime contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Riding an elephant
Down the narrow trail looking triumphant
Scanning the golden landscape
Like Hannibal with enemies in flight
Sight from a lofty height
King of the jungle moving
With lioness by his side
Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro
Guides by my side with packs on their backs
Some paths steep with rocks
Boots slipping below our tired feet
Beautiful birds in unison flight
Moving with terrestrial light
Stunning sunlight summit on the peak
Praying in an Ethiopian Church
Preserved in rocks built by humans’ hands
Never touched by conquest plans
Protected from the invaders’ footsteps
Queen of Sheba and Solomon’s nest
Touched by Arch of the Covenant
Mary, Joseph, and Jesus once slept
Eating yam, sipping palm wine, and tasting milk
Freshly squeezed by experienced hands
Taste of life in the mosaic grassland
Sustaining and soul refreshing
Cradle of humankind adorning
Invaded for its gold, riches, and human capacity
Birth of life on earth with tenacity
Respecting its living and arduous journey
Essence of life once was and is again to come
Riding a camel across the hot Sahara sand
Once wet now dried, exported gold from Mali…
Treasures from the hearts of once African empires
That which was, is, and shall forever be
Africa the birthing Motherland
We still love and respect thee!
~~~~~~~*******~~~~~~~
Seventh Place Winner
"African's Pride" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Adeleke Adeite
June 30, 2010
~~~~~~~*******~~~~~~~
© Joseph S. Spence, Sr., (Epulaeryu Master) 6/29/2010
All Rights Reserved, Milwaukee, Wisconsin, USA
It begins as a gentle breeze
that rustles the leaves with its touch.
Scurrying through the tops of trees,
it begins as a gentle breeze.
Not enough to discourage bees,
it is barely brisk; it isn't much.
It begins as a gentle breeze
that rustles the leaves with its touch.
It is barely brisk; it isn't much,
until that breeze begins to gust.
Yet birds can still escape its clutch:
it is barely brisk; it isn't much.
It topples garbage cans and such,
gathering up a cloud of dust.
It is barely brisk; it isn't much,
until that breeze begins to gust.
Gathering up a cloud of dust,
a darkness blocks out the Sun's light.
And winds blow, with increasing thrust;
gathering up a cloud of dust.
When the sky turns orangey rust,
tornadoes are a frightful sight.
Gathering up a cloud of dust,
a darkness blocks out the Sun's light.
Tornadoes are a frightful sight,
with debris flying through the air.
Morphing into objects of might,
tornadoes are a frightful sight.
Finding cover, we hang on tight,
for flying shrapnel packs a scare.
Tornadoes are a frightful sight,
with debris flying through the air.
adventure, growing up, hip hop, repetition, word play
A ONE STEP AT A TIME ©
Life is but a hopscotch path
Players vying for placement
Rules to follow aground
Tokens used for good luck
Practice runs lead to safe landings
Over ever-changing terrains
Hop skip and jump!
Land on a crack
You break your Mudder’s back
Marbles fill a bag of loot
Once directed into home holes
Missed turns are your takings
Marbled cat eyes forever coveted!
Crayons come in packs
Pick a colour to your taste
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Black is for rain clouds
Gone is a sun yellow
A is for Apple-
B is for Bunny-
C is for caterwauling
Letters up for a draw
Lettered tongues speak
The bad, good and the ugly
Making mountains out of mole hills!
Name-calling never hurts
Pain hurts from thrown stones
Calling one to take a chance
Towards another hopscotch
With hop skips and jumps
One step, two steps, three steps more!
x You,
the one who hurts me.
x You,
the one who chains me.
x You,
the one who controls me like a puppet.
x You,
the one who has my strings tied to your fingers.
x You're making my choices yours and I've gotten used having no say.
x Weave the webbing you create,
Trap me like a fly.
x Everytime you hurt me,
I manage to pretend that I am blind.
Im clearly not but I lie and tell myself
"She cant be that bad!"
... Can she?
x To me you're like a cigarette,
Im addicted to your love despite it being the thing that's killing me, I don't want to stop but this time I won't let myself answer your calls.
x Instead,
you fill up my head.
Memories,
Cravings,
Feelings.
Withdrawal drowns me.
x I should burn every excuse I made for your abuse,
But I don't.
x Keep promising myself I won't go back to you,
But I've never quit successfully.
x Halfway through another cigarette,
I promised it'd be my last 3 packs ago.
But I knew I'd likely never quit.
I don't even get a buzz anymore,
I feel nothing for them.
x I feel nothing for you.
Pain is fuel for frustration,
Because I don't have a will to quit.
x You lassoed me and pulled me in,
just to tear me and my everything apart.
Thoughts of you flood back any time I leave,
a voice of silk whispering to me.
Claiming one more time won't hurt.
I'm not strong enough to ignore it and it senses my fear.
x I said it was the last time last time. x
x I know the damage even a tiny taste can do.
I swear it's the last hit I'll take of you.
x I don't wanna be alone.
I tell myself your toxic love is like cigarettes or drugs.
Addictive, deadly, and damage can only be seen with the eye of time.
x I need to find a way out of your faux love web,
but I can't see through the fog your kiss leaves.
x You're like a cigarette. I'm desperate to stop but at the same time, I don't wanna quit.
PersephonesPain
Info
Entry #1
Date
Wed. x 00:30-06:10 x 26-1-22
Inspo
Nicotine, P!aTD.
It is the fragrant peel of Florida's fruit that comes in convenient slices.
The savory citrus that packs a punch - to my tongue it simply entices.
It is the sprightly stripe of a clown fish that says, "Look at me," unabashedly (no joke)
To read between the lines it has taught me, and in its splendor I am soaked.
It is the warmth inside a fire though his sister crimson gets all the credit.
It could be the light of your world if your vivacious heart would only let it
envelop you with its curious tone: the love of a rose - the brightness of the sun.
And though we might only think of traffic cones,
and hazard signs - for me - it is the lightness of a pun:
Orange you gonna ask me a question?
About how its wavering pathways on tropical seas
can bring the heaviest heart to ascension?
Or how its marriage of sweet strawberry and sour lemon
has brought to mind our engaging entanglement?
It isn't like the blue that's over our heads,
nor is it like the green that's beneath our feet.
Rather it is the hidden spark inside our hearts:
it isn't showy - but its beauty is discrete. Something to soothe
any gloomy day with gentle subtlety. To tell you the truth
orange is nothing dramatic
(perhaps that's why I like it)
Written March 4th, 2016
For the United Orange Contest hosted by Silent One
Late Summer sun on golden sands
Throws shadows from the cliffs and rocks
And the patiently-waiting donkeys stand
Near the aptly-named Refreshment Box.
Tea and coffee, squash and ice-cream,
Packs of biscuits and home made cake,
Sea salt spray and the seagulls’ scream
And sand castles that children make.
Nothing has changed much over time
Except for the friends no longer seen,
The friends when life was in its prime
Now lost in the years in between.
Hear the sound of Winter's retreat
trickling away beneath your feet.
And gush into a swollen creek;
where surging waters swiftly peak.
Watch cascading waves wash ashore
as time and tide play tug-of-war.
And feel the ice packs crack and break
as they shiver, quiver, and quake.
Smell the sweet scent surrounding Spring,
subtly clinging to everything.
And taste the sweetness of the rain,
easing Winter's cold grip of pain.
Although there are no guarantees,
Hope is hitched to a tepid breeze.
And expectation starts to bloom,
as Sol’s light brightens Winter’s gloom.
Spring Whimsy
winter packs his trunk
full of icy fleece and flakes ~
going south for spring
spring unpacks her bags
rolls out green hills with poppies ~
mustard carpets glens
vernal daylight sighs
sheds a winter overcoat ~
nature somersaults
sassy daffodils
troubadours of the season ~
in the midst of snow
snowdrops and tulips
mingle with playful raindrops ~
hummingbirds return
spring teases tree buds
tickles robins and the wrens ~
jokes in cheeky fun
loons and larks arrive
mistral songs fill flaxen fields ~
forests swing and sway
coy clouds gather in
flirt with flashing thunderbolts ~
birds watch from warm nests
rain tumbles through skies
plays hide and seek with thunder ~
feisty blue bells stand
waxing springtime moon
paints rose petals platinum ~
neon night aglow
impish morning sun
winks at fields of red clover ~
spring born of whimsy
3-30-22
Contest: A Brian Strand Premiere Choice
Sponsor: Brian Strand