Best Patrolling Poems
It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents,
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.
Witchery or voodoo’s domain, it is a place of salvation for
Spiritual challenged, listen to the beautiful music they make,
Singing within this their walled cage of brick and mortar, these
Ethereal victims lost.
Here in peace they wait for the light to find them, a waiting chamber,
Of the lords misstep souls, those whom walked off the righteous path,
Yet are not without redemptions wanton of need.
Wanders of limbo’s astral plain, seekers whom roam blindly until
Finding a doorway threshold, then crossing over, into this the house
Of spirits.
A corridors slender passageway, a way stations layover for those tired
And weary travelers to rest until their final journey’s end comes for them,
Sanctuaries power house of the supernatural.
Behind these red doors dare not the mortal flesh clasp the gilded knockers,
For within are things of the unspoken variety, creature protectors waiting at
Bay for the stray intruder to wander forth upon this sacred ground.
Angels kindred brethren whom seek out evil, destroyers patrolling the
Darker shadows for night stalkers whom wish to feast upon the forsaken.
But light’s white power is a mightier force to be reckoned with, and vanquished
Will the devils spawn into the depths from which they came, into the bowels
Of hell shall these demons be thrown into the blackened pit from which they came?
In the twilight’s ethereal hour, a mid-ways breaking point between light and dark,
A shimmering glow strikes this standing watch tower of abandonment’s forgotten,
And heaven’s flood gates are opened unto them, calling these the lost upwards
Towards nirvana and at last know true peace.
It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents.
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.
BY; CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Located in the country town of Ennis, in the Banner County of Clare
Is the ivy clad Old Ground Hotel, and to enter mice wouldn't dare
Because OG is in residence, who wears a fur coat and has green eyes
And the last little mouse to try his luck there, was taken by surprise.
T'was one cold December night, that this mouse decided that he'd raid
And wasn't until he was in the dining room, realised the error that he'd made
He'd heard a loud hiss and seized with terror, ran all the way to Poets Bar
But he was certainly no match for OG's speed, and alas didn't get very far.
OG put out a statement, via the press office at the Old Ground Hotel
To all the mice in Ennis I'm warning you, stay away and all will be well
I move like a bullet at lighting speed and prisoners I will never take
If you come within one mile of here, you'd better organise your wake.
Word quickly spread in the mousey world, the Old Ground is out of bounds
Because faithful OG is forever vigilant, he's always patrolling the grounds
So if you want a mouse free stay, then I recommend the Old Ground Hotel
And for you it will be like paradise and for our mousey friends living hell.
He will welcome you when purring, as if to say "what have you got a for me"?
But don't fall for for his tricks, because he's treated well with caviar and brie
We have adopted him as our mascot for our family reunion in twenty three
And we all can't wait to meet that friendly feline, that cute bundle they call OG.
written on 26th October 2022
SHE-TIGER
She-Tiger patiently watches,
In shadows,
Dark concealing realm,
Green eyes pierce nights,
Blackening shroud.
Ever weary, seeking motions,
Movements,
Beware the bush itself seems,
To come alive,
Beneath moonlights twilight mists,
Heavy foot steps cautiously,
Tread.
Traveling along a carnalistic path,
Deaths servant stalks it's prey.
Revealing raw natures twisted fate,
In her flashing gaze, ageless,
Wisdom lies,
This huntress most majestic.
Sleek jungle mistress, fearlessly,
Striding.
Forgotten trails cutting,
Edges unyielding,
Patrolling vast wilderness.
Drink deeply clear waters purity,
No other creature dares,
Come near thee.
Forests chameleon, hidden,
Amongst bamboo thickets.
Camouflages golden blends,
Are parted,
By divisions striped bands.
Feeding legacies future brood.
Crowns glorious jewels,
Young cubs at play,
Learning life’s lessons to be,
Remembered someday.
Rough dull stones at first,
Finely polished y age,
One day they'll sparkle,
Under sunshine's rays.
Royalties queen, stands tall,
Upon prides rock,
Surveying an evergreen,
Kingdom.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
My friends come home draped in flags
I pause at the edge of the airplane door
Facing a tunnel leading me to a muffled joy
Strangers tell me I am related to them...
I deny a woman with three kids... her kiss
My friends are slipping in trucks with flags
They are loaded and back doors explode shut...
..............................................................
I wake up in a trench of blood and clean pillows
The same woman from the airport next to me
Peacefully breathing...and I thought she was dead...
I think I am finally home, fans are not propellers
Camouflage doesn't bear swing sets in backyards
My friends' helmets, guns and boots line up in my head
Patrolling with weapons made of aluminum foil
-------------------------------------------------
There is too much silence for a dead soldier walking...
I think I FEEL the kiss of the woman with three kids ...
My life was heading into an infernal pit of passion.
I am inebriated, sipping your juices like a fine wine.
Infiltrating your body defenses with my offensive weapon.
My hands take control, scanning every contour.
In need of psychological evaluation.
I am a maniac, a lunatic in need of your drug.
Your body is my shrine, praying to you for all time.
Ignited hype, our passionate tunes,
rhythmically sensual, our movements in unison.
Journeying toward your loins with my imagination roaming.
Sex, not only. Perfection, I'm hexed.
Now, I'm far from lonely.
My name is officer Pickett, your body is my jurisdiction.
Patrolling your perimeter, my every intent to please.
Your beauty manifests and becomes this portrait embedded in my mind.
Like Michael Angelo and Leonardo Divinchi,
your body is art.
Spending a life time critiquing your imperfections.
In sexxtions.......
Jared Pickett
10/29/09
Asavvy1
Who knew a day would dawn
And bring life to a grinding halt!
Busy days are all gone,
Yet we are captive in our vault.
Streets are desolate and dark,
Barring the patrolling police;
Stealthily leaving its mark,
Is a novel viral disease.
As fear of death looms large,
Shut are malls and the rest;
While hospitals, those in-charge
Bravely try their best.
Monday blues are no more,
Work from home is a trend;
A hundred cures, we explore,
Wonder what will put an end!
Few rekindle hobbies lost,
Some are funding a cause;
Cleaner air is here at a cost,
Life is no longer as it was.
Hungry, helpless, the poor weep,
Washing away their smiles;
Peacefully we fall asleep,
While the migrants walk miles!
Set aside religion and race,
Social distancing is the key;
Help curb this menace,
Covidiots let us not be!
Remember this crisis we fought,
In every village, every town;
Cherish the lessons it taught,
For life beyond the lockdown.
“With grandeur and beauty melded into rhyme, poetry is painting
that is felt than seen”
by Poet
From my window I lazily watch,
The phenomenal transition from dusk to night.
The evening’s brilliance giving way to twilight haze,
And the reddened sky turning sallow as a sick patient.
Darkness like downy feathers descending,
Wrapping the Earth in a gray woolen mantle.
Light and darkness embracing in a breathless kiss,
Like shocking colors blended on a wide canvas!
The night has now grown mysterious and enigmatic,
Putting the weary Nature into indolent repose.
Before my eyes, stretches a vast plane,
Whose boundaries have dimmed beyond all trace.
Here and there some monstrous shapes peek out.
I see the dark silhouettes of trees supine,
Brooding sage like, in the thickening gloom.
I watch the wide panorama lying still,
And the clear star-spangled sky above.
The moon has begun her stately round.
In flashing dress, she swaggers past the clouds,
As if patrolling to guard the sleeping Earth.
She has taken the place of the ousted king of the day.
A calming breeze caresses my face and ruffles my hair.
Though darkness envelops all around me,
I hear the whispered promise of a day that shall soon unfold.
As I hear this rhythm of Nature falling in my ears,
In every beat, I hear God’s kind of poetry recited.
Looking at this night, God’s artwork of sheer beauty,
I feel heaven has descended down to Earth.
Never is a moment more glorious than this,
When darkness has accentuated the heavenly lights!
Jan. 23. 2023
~ Placed Second~
Submitted forStrand Premiere. No.1196
. Poetry Contest
2022, Marathon Mile. 25. Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Mark Toney
He came night after night.
I don’t know how long he favored me
in such an appreciative manner, but I
was most pleased when I realized it.
We had moved back into a property
that had been rented out for nearly fifteen years.
The clean-up was one tough job because the backyard
was filled with more than a few of 'this, that, or the other'
that had to be trashed. So, when my neighborly friend
was spotted patrolling my yard one night, I was more
than elated and grateful to see him.
He took the same route each night,
and we did make eye contact. But I purposely refused
to formally meet him, because I did not want to become
close to him. So, I never bothered to offer him food or drink.
For reasons I will never know, he ceased to make his rounds.
During the tenure of that treasured neighbor, the rodents
disappeared. But I’m very disappointed with myself for
keeping a wall between us. He deserved better.
Sometimes I feel sad because comparatively, I gave him so little.
But I must say that I have always been very appreciative of
the kindness he shared with me. I shall never forget the
dedication with which the neighborly cat donated his time
and served me so faithfully.
4thPSCtest061821
You can be anything, but you must try,
So never give up, REACH for the sky.
You can be a sailor or a pirate at sea,
And catch all the fish in the ocean for tea.
You can be an astronaut and shoot into space,
Or a pilot and take people from place to place.
You can be a cleaner making everything shine,
Or work on a vineyard and make lots of wine.
See you can be anything, but you must try,
So never give up, REACH for the sky.
You can be a doctor and look after the sick,
Or a builder building houses, brick after brick.
You can be a dentist and fix a cracked tooth,
Or look after horses, mending sore hoofs.
You can be a singer singing songs to a crowd,
Have everyone screaming your name out aloud.
See you can be anything, but you must try,
So never give up, REACH for the sky.
You can be an actor and dress up all day,
Pretend to be different, whoever you may.
You can be a hairdresser and cut peoples hair,
Cut all sorts of shapes, whatever you dare!
You can be a plasterer and smooth wonky walls,
On ceilings in bedrooms in toilets and halls.
See you can be anything, but you must try,
So never give up, REACH for the sky.
You can be a fireman, and save some ones life,
Putting great big fires out, morning till night
You could be a policeman patrolling the roads,
Keeping the world safe from the bad boys and girls,
You could be a scientist making potions and pills,
Finding new medicines that help mend the ill.
See it really doesn’t matter whatever you choose,
As long as you’re happy you never will lose,
But don’t look at me to decide what you do,
The only one making that choice will be…
YOU!
Shark
Solitary, deadly
Charging, biting, gnashing
Patrolling the deep, breaching the surface
Gliding, greeting, whistling
Social, playful
Dolphin
If seeing is believing
than I believe what I see is
is hell...
Perverse I dwell on negative thoughts
and my eye balls swell..
I need some purell
to sanitize my soul!!!
now a deep,
dark hole..
Can someone please console
this patrolling monster on parole,
a troll,
that grows
with each day that I close!!!
My job has become my foe!!
Jared Pickett
7/5/2011
Asavvy1
In Dickensian time
Upon sunset hour
Overshadowing Thames
Is London Tower
Blackened cobble streets
Shimmer in the rain
Big Ben at Westminster
Chimes an eight bells refrain
At Euston Station
A passenger alights
On Platform 3
And enters the caff
for a nice cup of tea
At the local tavern
Behind steamy windows
The opportunists sit
Gleaning local gossip
Ever watchful to ensnare
Any hapless stranger
come wandering there
Covent Garden
still well lit
As lamplighters
carry out their remit
Striding with ladders
about old London town
With a cheery wave
and a purposeful frown
Patrolling policemen
in forbidding places
Echoing footfalls
as boots make paces
A courting couple shelters
under the arches
Oblivious to passerby's
and dray cart horses
A hackney driver cracks his whip
As high stepping hooves
on cobbles clip
From Westminster
stove pipe hatted M.P.s from
parliament sitting
enter a members club
to continue their
political discourses
unremitting
Mudlark urchins ankle deep
in moonshine glow
watch chugging steam boats
along the Thames flow
Billingsgate Market's
straw boated and
stripe aproned men
are found sluicing
with brooms in hand
the blood drenched ground
Along the West End thoroughfares
Come wealthy patrons
in open carriages with lantern flares
wearing evening attire
Bejewelled ladies in fanciful frocks
And around bare shoulders
Stoles of mink and silver fox
They ascend the red carpeted stairs
And look towards the royal box
A pretty young street seller
of violets and roses
with straw basket on hip
proffers up the scented poses
A peasouper fog blankets from
Thames to chimney tops
As a trader hooks his shutters down
Outside his haberdashery shop
Across London Bridge the East End rabble
Trail homeward to Hackney, Bethnal Green
and Whitechapel
From an open pub door
streams a music hall tune
played on an accordion
in a crowded tap room
Wending amongst the walkers
in the Strand
run beggarly children
with outstretched hand.
And......
Charles Dickens
walks the streets
at night
taking note
of every sight.
Surviving Ourselves
by Odin Roark
Blame game trollops
Cruise our insides
Willing to plant more guilt
Defying accountability
To take a stand
Conscience-bots
Perform recon
Patrolling vulnerabilities
Knowing no man’s land
Between heart and mind
Have always
Will always
Be pregnable passage
Yet
The front lines of the heart
Grasp one’s dug in fortification
Mind’s fortress of strength
Is forever monitoring
Why then
Knowing we create our own reality
Do we need such skirmishes
Such oft times escalated guilt trips
That do nothing
But undermine life’s victory?
Might it be…
We refuse to accept
The “out there” version
That much touted
Societal mirage
Promoting illusion over truth
Perchance
We are stuck
Forever creating
Our trial and error reality
For fear
Of succumbing to elitist delusion
And if we’ve created
Conscience-bots
And blame game trollops
Aren’t we better armed?
Don’t personally created battle fields
Serve to strategize
To outmaneuver those
Who would have us self-destruct
Their way?
Perhaps our self-imposed reality
Doesn’t make the societal mirage any easier
But at least it doesn’t abandon
Growing consciousness for
Surviving ourselves
Alert! Shut down the presses.
Nothing more to report.
The empty hearted clown confesses.
The missions over, no need to abort.
All the painted wagons rolling.
The absence of magic disappeared.
Local police stopped patrolling.
Laws restored, everyone adhered.
Money bought their silence.
The day began at night.
No one knew of violence.
They thought it was alright.
Quaint restrictions down the road.
Preparing sunlit evenings.
Buying what was bought and souled.
Unprepared for the grievings.
Where can you go to find your way?
When no one has directions.
And everyone decides to stay.
The editors last corrections.
Listening to the lapping of the waves
complementing the murmurs of bench folks.
Doves are cooing, pigeons are scurvy knaves
patrolling the sand, clumsy oafish crooks!
Trade winds gentle on your skin, lover's kisses.
Wedding parties come and go, tourists pay
top dollar to eager photo misses.
No one hurries, time ordered to "stay!"
and it seems grudgingly to want to do.
Wind surfers carving initials in air
and surf with abandon, try something new.
All I could wish for without a care.
Reflect on a brief moment in the sun
and how fortunate to have a brief run.