Best Participant Poems
Let me
lend a hand
I can’t sit
when you
have to stand
When you
can’t do it all
together we can
It’s not
a woman thing
It’s more than
just gender roles
boy girl lady or man
I can change diapers
and wash that pan
I’m a participant
not a fan
Bit by bit
we can get to it
It will go faster
if I don’t sit
Put this here
that there
when we work share
everything will easily fit
Finishing faster
we both benefit
In the end
on each other
we can depend
Together lifting life’s burdens
our backs bend
There are dishes to do
laundry and socks to mend
Then family functions to attend
Life to be lived
with you
my partner
lover and friend.
True definition of a hood love story,
They called him Felony.
Skin was as smooth as a shot of Hennessey.
He made a lot of other men envy.
His style was particularly different from the rest.
No gold chains around his neck, but a simple rosary lies on his chest.
Underneath his Sunday best was a solid bullet proof vest.
His pockets had a secret treasure chest.
Steepness with infinite thickness,
But every man has a weakness.
She killed him with kindness.
A righteous lioness,
His royal highness: his positive guidance.
She was the offspring of the titans.
Exceptional of importance to his reputation,
She was his foundation freedom from his everyday discrimination.
A safe haven like a wave equation, her name was Money.
Half black and half Puerto Rican,
Skin complexion of an Egyptian he nicknamed her Isis.
Dipped in gold went perfectly with her skin tone.
She was an overgrown precious stone.
Foreknown Money was working with the federal bureau of investigation.
Deeply in love with a convict but yet victorious triumphant.
Stunting on everyone’s judgments Money is Felony movement.
A step ahead of the government,
Never seeing a seal indictment
Money was his antidepressant.
Felony was her significant participant.
Both of them reaping the enjoyment,
Bonded by each other’s fulfillment,
Seal their delinquent intimate commitment.
In love with a codefendant left them with a Bonnie, and Clyde ending.
Love testimony of Felony and Money
A tortured spirit, earth bound wreaths in agony,
trapped within human body, desperate for freedom.
To be able to escape and hide from other's sight,
to escape the whispers that cut like knives.
Always chained, seeing nothing from balanced point of view.
Reading friendly gestures as threats, wanting love and yet,
unable to give back due to fear and lack of trust.
Forever tied by the silken threads of bi-polar.
Looking always with suspicion on friendly gestures
searching them for hidden agenda or betrayals.
Often over loving, smothering the participant
only to suddenly withdraw and push them away.
Talking to one's self often just privately ranting
blaming all but one's self caught up in madness.
Few things seem to relieve this sense of persecution
and so this tortured soul fights on forever trapped.
The Girl with the Brand New Toothbrush
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For the girl with the brand new toothbrush
Waiting on a one night stand
We didn’t have to tell the Truth much
Didn’t make many plans
Got right down to the good stuff
Fulfilled exchanged demands
Till the next day at constant play of bouncing batter ram
For the girl with the Colgate toothbrush
The one I’ll never use again
No one had to introduce us
I never had to meet your friends
Never got ugly and ruthless
Never threw you out again
One time one day wonderful lay
So glad I’ve been your man
#in away at her newness
Working a wiggle in
Willy was well made to do this
willing do it again
Wasn’t constrained by rudeness
wasn’t ever worried bout them
But like a werewolf Willy went wild with the moon just whaling at a womb till ten
This song goes out to the toothbrush
A hard body put in her bin
Only an angel’d do thus
serendipity sin
Rampant replicant, Rembrant
Pant participant now
Insignificant remnant
of magnificent meow
(Well spent sycophant content
“What a wonderful! WOW”
Wham went impotent, wham went
Whamin through that some how)
Dawn sent immigrant intent
Brushing our teeth and chow
Last philanderant indent
On MAGNIFICENT MEeeeeOW
(I couldn't talk about it so I wrote a poem)
Predator
Heartbreak comes in many ways.
The first one will haunt me for all my days.
My every nightmare and dream has your face
to ignite my screams, my heart beat haste.
Time won't heal this shattered trust,
the lies you told of the future “us”.
You used your power and prominence,
used the pulpit as your lance.
You claim God's voice was your own,
“His” words from your lips like honeycomb.
Sweet to the ear, a seductive flow,
still just a child, I didn't know.
Just like a sick soap opera or Lifetime movie, you set your sights, began to groom me.
I feel so foolish and naive looking back …
at seventeen, innocent, easy to attack.
Like the lame and young ones trailing the herd, predators take the straying,easy kill first.
How patient you were, lying in wait.
You took careful steps as if I might escape. Sneaking up on me in plain sight
until your touch, familiar, I didn't fight. Spinning this elaborate fantasy, our destiny. Ordained by God, you made me believe.
Then you struck, like the viper you were,
after years of a patient petting, persistent purr. A velvet vice, an auspicious anchor,
held me captive in false love’s languor.
Then the poisonous venom began its work, you used me in ways that only hurt.
I was a willing, if deceived, participant…
so in love, no evil intent.
Then some wisdom from above,
in the form of family and out of love.
The truth so evident with blinders off,
some won't believe me, will only scoff.
Five years of his amorous attentions,
with promises of forever never failing to mention.
The patina of youth and vicious game of prey, his sick desires for me, began to fade.
You found a limping, more vulnerable gazelle, and knowing this my family tells.
Although I find it hard to trust,
my faith in God is deeper and thus,
He's used this pain to help me find
peace and truth, leaving the past behind.
For my faith is no longer in any man,
and gratefully, never will be again.
Justice on this earth is not guaranteed…
but from his wicked spell I am freed!
Oh what misery!
The heart-
an indigent and feral beast
kept in lock down
in an inner cage
for my own good
What treachery dwells
within that creature!
It's wiles,
it's devious nature
eludes my control
and entices me
to act on
base instincts...
that leave me
in want of spirit,
disillusioned...
My awakening to
sensual pleasures
enraptures me...
I am left smitten
and imprisoned
to desire
So now...I ask
who is the slave
and who is the master?
The yearning for
carnality overwhelms...
my conscience is
frozen solid...
immobile
with nothing to mediate
debauched desires
I spin into
delirium...
wholly lost in
the unholy
oblivion of reality
I consecrate
my mind,
and I submit
to His will...
however,
I tread on
the edge
of a delicate
imbalance-
Obtuse
to the destruction
that
pummels my will
and dedication
me,
now a willing
participant of
egregious sin
I wallow
in self-pity
Oh, what misery!
Sample for my 8 word challenge contest
John Derek Hamilton
August 14,2019
In the blink of an eye the time passes so fast it flies by
Define time
Lives a ***** then you die
Eye of the storm watches over my lifestyles fate
In dire straight bathing as the holy water washes over my tired face
I sate thirst
I taste black words emerge that I wanna say
and they say I'm shot away
First and second take pressing play checking the record again
Third I gotta change
Forth, fifth, sixth day Armageddon
Getting too close to the edges better slow down ya fast progression of mad acts of mankind's expansion of minds
Enhanced heights
Drawing a line's unintelligible in the advancement of time
At the end of our time do we start again?
Running the marathon man labyrinth
Passionate
Partaking in challenges
Participant champion triumphs
No standing on iron shoulders of arrogant giants
I'm the desert rat blazing a trail in my chariot of fire
Call me Pisces Iscariot sia-mese dream
Twin town hide and seek
Me, myself and I feature split minds spitefully
My real self hides inside myself and screams blue murder
From the tomb where my wounds tumor
Terminal doom soon turns gloomier
Duma key frenzied telepath terror streak
reeks havoc and brings sheer panic to every street
Splashing ink on a blank canvas
Painting the future with an exact accurate dooms day
In fact grab a seat at the master piece gallery of art of new fate
As a new day dawns ya fates drawn
Ya destiny's death till then you'll work just to pay for it
I'm sleep walking with one foot in my grave scourging in flames and the pains more moreish than this draw that I crave
Mad thoughts on my brain scattered funny
I'm that ex druggy heard talking to my sex life in a language I actually haven't studied
Which way is up cus this ascension gets me spinning out twisting figure eights into eyes of the thickest clouds
Brainstorm demon outcast from our modern lands
Phantom of the opera mask
Shock horror comic graph-ic novel
Zombie slash monster mash
Rapid action packed chapters
This mad dog's rabid
Scattering the ashes and rise a hundred phoenix
Evoke the cross ghosts demons and summon the spirits of lost souls
I'm like a poltergeist with a cross bow with poisonous bolts
I'll possess any joyous host
Annoy me I'll destroy every toy ya own
I enjoy walking through this void alone
She stood in thrall to the Magyar
As, one hand cupped to a breast,
The other picked careful notes
From the guitar against his chest,
So they made a living figure
Sensuous and statuesque
Yet in in its way
Both comic and grotesque.
His foot tapped the rhythm
As he sang words of passion,
The stroking of his fingers
Near driving her to distraction.
An elegant Corps de Ballet pirouetted,
Here and there across the stage
And the blind percussionist thrashed
A kettle drum in state of frenzied rage.
The watcher watched from his dream
As the spotlight lowered to dim
Then swung slowly around to
Focus its harsh beam on him.
It was almost all too much
For any mortal man to take
So, screaming with despair,
He was rudely thrust awake.
Both woman and Magyar seared
To the very depths of his brain
His heart beating wildly to
Near bursting from the strain.
Images slowly fading
Until no longer there
He slipped back to sleep free
From any trace of his nightmare.
The puppet master eased the strings,
Let his marionettes hang limp and slack
Before packing them away
In their carrier on his back.
It was all a strange happening
In the name and cause of Art
Into which each participant
Unconsciously took his part.
The stage disappeared
The theatre was gone
The World of Abstract Dreams
Slowly shivered and moved on.
To allow no repeat
Of this macabre joke
The mirror resonated wildly
Until, shattering, it broke.
Where, oh where, is God?
When will the man-child stop asking why,
stop searching for the other, the greater, the bigger
the more glorious presence?
This constant need to see other than oneself as the source.
Even with a brain (and we know Frank Baum has told us
only STRAW men don’t have brains) we refuse to see,
refuse like a baby forced to eat mashed peas.
We make our children are we their God’s? Hell no!
We name this Creator (for man is nothing-if not a naming animal).
(The father says Da; the baby says DA! Da says cat, baby says CAT!)
Life cannot exist for man without a naming, a judgment, a categorizing.
We cannot GROK it (as Heinlein's Christ character, Valentine Michael Smith
illustrates for us in Stranger in a Strange Land).
For something, someone, has to have made us, yes? no?
Oh yes, they had to consciously decide to make
something as marvelously special as us, didn’t they/it?
* Please refer back to verse 2 line 5.
Where, oh where, is God? When will the man-child stop,
stop searching for the teat, stop the blame game,
accept the responsibility for fouling His own nest?
Why does God have to look like us?
Does everything we create look like us (the light bulb, the car)?
Does that mean there is NO primogeniture if He/she/it doesn’t look like us?
Wait, wait, all of Creation manifests differently, eco systems need
diversity to maintain homeostasis!
Yet we bawl like babies. WHY are You killing me!
Why must I die? What mutant child have you given me
this spawn of Satan!
This primogeniture, this God, this be all, end all, know all, BEING,
this omnipotent source either is outside of us? or inside of us?
Or are we inside of it? And, if it knows us not—
If like the amoeba, it simply divides to exist, absorbs to exist,
excretes to exist. Why do we insist on worshiping it?
Does It Know us? Does it know all of its creations?
Is it an active participant in its own creations?
Refer to the book of life, the planet earth,
the solar system, the structure of an atom.
Use the brain you were given by God
for YOU are not a Straw Man.
First Published in 2013 Sweet Dreams and Night Terrors
N atural beauty that dazzles the eyes
E nveloped by the Alantic ocean it lies
W inters are long with lots of storms
F og so thick it defies the norms
O ffbeat people who like to have fun
U nusal named towns, ***** is one
N ewfinese slang, a translator you may require
D angerously high winds can sometimes transpire
L oads of tiny islands, over 7000 waiting for you to explore
A bundance of sea food, oil, ice burgs and moose to hunt for
N icknamed 'The Rock', breathtaking mountains and hiking trails to ascend
D are to be 'screeched in' and become an honorary Newf and forever friend
*Screeched in: An initiation ceremony where the person must drink screech rum, kiss a cod and speak some Newfoundland slang.
The participant then becomes on honorary Newfoundlander.
04/30/2014
Team Work
alteration between success and failure
astuteness to win challenges
ability to direct individual accomplishments toward organizational objectives
ability to work together toward a common hallucination
drive that allows common people to attain infrequent results
distinct obligation to a group determination
different commitment to group efforts
to divides the task and double the success
adeptness to work together towards a collective vision
ability to direct individual accomplishments toward organizational objectives
hush-hush that makes common people achieve special outcomes
create the innovations that defines our professions
moving forward together
group of many hands but of one mind
the fulcrum in long term achievement
accomplishments of an organization are the results of the combined effort
gulfs the chore and doubles the success
the power of the team is each single participant
is to lift a shingle with more limbs
T.E.A.M. = Together Everyone Achieves More
I'm sorry for ever calling you a especially when it was usually a argument about something I did & you asked me to switch
I had it confused I didn't know your significance to this Earth now I know you came & come first
I had to walk through the fire & confront my own demons but it was too late when I woke up & realized I was dreaming
You were gone & you took everything good that was in me I was misogynistic but that's all that I knew how to be you were truly the best thing that ever happened to me
Im ashamed of the amount of disrespect I displayed you are the temple that should be on display not only do I want to hold your hand but I want you to see me become a better man I'll lay my life down to protect your crown & as long as I succeed I'll rest in piece in the ground
I really feel like the black woman is my God and savior if I had Mansa Musa gold it wouldn't be enough to pay you I owe you every breath in my body & every beat of my heart I have a lot of repenting to do so today I'll start
I should have never called you out of your name I should have never made you a unwilling participant in my games I should have never projected my insecurities on to you now that I'm wiser I realize that was the coward thing to do I should have never intertwined my soul with another woman and come home to you transferring those spirits is a dangerous thing to do
I'm sure you'll read this & think of the things I left out but I hope when you read it you'll see now what I'm about the disrespect stops here & anyone who continues should feel fear you are my Queen & will be treated as such I am your soldier any insurgents that dare to touch will bow at your feet when I put the in the Cobra clutch I love you so much
#VIEWSFROMTHETRAP
#POEMSROMTHETRAP
Everyone around the world is gathered
at the arena as a sports person,
and an audience;
boxing, swimming, fencing, athletics,
weightlifting, soccer.....all the games
are present for enjoyment,
and for the audience to behold.
Flags of different colors and designs
dance in the wind, as the Olympic
torch burns day and night,
to keep the Spirit of Olympics
alive.
Every participant is ready to shine
for his country;
to shine for his name;
to shine for glory!
A SAILOR WENT TO SEE SEE SEE. . . .
In Vladivostok, that’s a lot colder than Britain,
While my sub was in dock refittin’
After six months of sea-trials unremittin’,
I went to a burlesque show, of sailors befittin’.
In the crowds of fur-clad men sittin’,
I became a participant unwittin’
In a strangely familiar art-form, omittin’
No item of clothing and not quittin’.
She was one communist sex-kitten.
This girl unpeeled right down to her mitten:
Pink flesh was blue because it was frost-bitten -
Gave a new meaning to blue-movies yet unwritten.
All of a sudden I was smitten:
I saw her beauty was real fittin’
And thanks to stage lights she was well-litten.
It was my wife ! - and her image was spittin’ !
The last time I caught her, she promised she was quittin’ !
………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Entered in Andrea's SHOW ME THE FUNNY poetry contest
I know six languages,
The one I write in
The one I speak in,
My mother’s words,
My father's verse,
And those of my brothers.
My mother speaks quickly
In baking terms and 80’s slang
She speaks in sewing materials,
Starbucks orders,
And references to Bon Jovi.
My father speaks with nature,
I just happen to hear him.
He converses with trees,
And pebbles worn smooth by time.
His language is filled with bar chords,
Childhood lullabies,
And culinary jargon.
The words he shapes are crafted by knowledge that I won’t admit I see.
Two years younger than me is an entirely different language,
Though one I understand.
Covered feelings form a language
I used to know quite well
Spoken in anger
Or begrudging hope
He lives in a pixelated world
With his eyes glued to a screen
He speaks in accordance to what is thought,
Usually not his thoughts guiding his actions
Strict participant in social norm,
Too much is said about what he hasn’t done and not enough about what he has
The youngest speaks in an entirely
Too innocent language
One I have come to detest
For the unwelcome flashbacks it brings
I don’t speak his language
Doubt I ever will again.
His quick words are full of legos,
Cartoons,
And Kung Fu Panda.
His actions are a reminder of a song I have forgotten.
I speak in limericks,
Dramatic monologues,
And Iambic Pentameter.
My words are full of colors and grasped by few
For they float by much too quickly
Full of mentions of J. K. Rowling
And pop culture. My wonder is stuck
In the impossible,
For I have yet to believe it is so.
I speak in song lyrics and quotes.
My words are full of grudging resilience,
Quick wit,
And sarcasm.
It does not matter what language we speak,
Or what percent Irish we think we are,
We are alike on what matters,
Like our love for literature,
Our patriotism of Gryffindor,
And our intrest in politics.
The languages we speak tie us together,
They are what make us unique.