Best Plied Poems
We met in Valletta city on a fine November day
Introductions...hugs and kisses; we got talking straight away.
All agreed to go sight-seeing – architecture , harbour view
Made a stop to buy an ice-cream where there is a constant queue .
We strolled on and at Cordina’s chose al fresco to sit down
Next to regal Queen Victoria, a stone lady with a crown.
Drinks were ordered and pastizzi, which were followed by some cakes
Freshly baked and appetizing, all adorned with chocolate flakes.
We were served by cherub Fabio busy running out and in
Second time the badge said Mario, then we found that he’s his twin.
Jan and hubby soaked the sunshine, the Calluses hugged the shade
Those around spoke multilingual, a musician plied his trade.
We stayed there and spoke for ages, watched the tourists walking by.
Valentina took our photos; she is young and sweet as pie.
Jan and Bob will be returning in two years on Malta’s shore
Although Maurice has predicted it will be a year before!
They will then be celebrating married bliss with silver ware
All on Soup will be invited; this occasion is to share.
That’s a promise made for keeping – friends will meet for sure once more
We shall have some cake and snickers; sweet surprises lie in store!
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Fun poem ~ co-written by Paul-Jan-Valentina on 2/11/2014
SHE’s COMING AGAIN!
There’s a chill in the air
There’s a word on the street
Be afraid have a care
Put the children to sleep
She was gone, bells were tolled
But the body’s not cold
For she’s coming again
Yes she’s coming again
It was safe to suppose
She was due to be crowned
Then a young wizard rose
Had them all spellbound
With a look really cool
Like a kid from high school
But she came back again
Yes she came back again
Then she’d surely reside
In a white stately home
She’d the right, qualified
With two X chromosomes
She’d be in with a song
What could ever go wrong
She was coming again
She was coming again
But an old wizard now
With a strange style of hair
Took the stage took a bow
And with her almost there
She was pipped at the post
Cross the states, coast to coast
She was numbing again
And succumbing again
Without power came the crash
Sans connections she’d plied
Then the flow of the cash
Disappeared, nearly dried
So she needs to dispense
With some new influence
So she’s coming again
Yes she’s coming again
Feel the chill in the air
Hear the word on the street
Be afraid have a care
Put the children to sleep
So you thought she’d depart
With a stake through the heart
No she’s coming again
Yes she’s coming again
6 August 2018
The mellow western sky darkened,
The sea was calm that night,
Yachts tacking across the bay
Towards their appointed piers.
Luminous moon rays shimmer
Over wavelets that bathed
The coloured pebbles
Strewn all over the long shore.
As night slowly fell
I began my walk along the promenade.
A soft breeze was a welcome to all
Especially to the sailors that plied the bay
In their sleek sailing boats
Now tinged in red by the dying sun.
Along the promenade, I met with friends
A few words of salutation
But I hurried on toward an ancient tower
That once stood guard against pirates
That invades the surroundings.
Plundering and taking slaves with them.
The Tower was now a restaurant,
And there sat my love waiting for me.
The breeze-blown brightness of her hair
Seem to invite me to our destined tryst.
She stood up and we embraced,
A soft kiss on her wet lips.
It was a promising beginning
Of our night of love.
Mom caught her boob in the washer’s wringer
Rotor made Mom an opera singer
Tit for tat, she got redder
Pop struggled with the lever
I pulled the plug, was able to spring ‘er
Wow! Mum is the word on this awful day
We don’t refer to this deed of foul play
“Hah! Your Dad’s a dud," she cried
As with pain pills she was plied
Now under the radar Pop stays away
*Entry for David William’s Palindrome Mad Contest
By Carolyn Devonshire
Palindrome Words:
Mom, boob, rotor, tit, tat, redder, Pop, Wow, Mum, refer, deed, Hah!, Dad, dud, radar
Strolling the beach one day, a magnificent shell I happened to see.
I picked it up and held it to my ear - just out of curiosity -
To see if the old wives tale was true that it could speak to me!
Behold! 'Tis true! What fantastic tales it spewed forth from the sea!
I heard waves lapping gently against a sailboat as through the sea it tore,
And the mighty roar of breakers crashing upon a distant shore!
I eavesdropped on a pod of gossiping whales cruising at their leisure,
And I could swear I heard phantom pirates arguing o'er lost treasure!
I heard the battles' roar of mighty armadas in their quest for victory,
And the screams of heroic men slipping 'neath the waves to spend eternity!
I heard the groan of majestic ships breaking apart plunging to the deep.
I even heard the final SOS of the Titanic before it took its tragic leap!
I heard the chanting of old sea dogs as they plied the bounding main,
And their pleas for God's mercy as they sailed his treacherous domain!
I heard the wind shrieking through the rigging of the dashing Cutty Sark,
As she sped through the Roaring Forties, those straits so very startk!
I was startled to hear sergeant major fish count cadence as if on parade,
And the amorous beckoning coo of a charming, yet illusive mermaid!
Could it be that these mysterious things I heard were just an aberration?
Perhaps, but what a change from my boring cell phone communication!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I came across a Jumpher
A jumphin’ up at me.
It wasn’t very springy
As far as i could see.
It tried to do someothersault,
Impressing like a tree,
But landed with a thumping thud
And hurt his only knee.
‘How come you like to ravel so?’
I bellied like a navel,
While on the other hand i plied
Some custard on a table.
‘I’m only giving all I’ve got-
A hundred miles an hour.
But if you take it at a trot
It soaks you with a shower.
‘I see,’ i said, came out my head,
And nodding fully clothed,
I asked if he’d seen Ninnynook?
A nose that knows no prose.
‘I likes to smell his gravy soup.’
He jumphered like a sweater,
Then driving like a five wheeled horse
Left home wrapped in a letter.
‘Good luck, you leaphing lunging loon.’
I mouthed in Granny’s gums
Then smiling like a holiday
I went to see my chums.
'Twas a dark and stormy night on that dark and stormy night!
HMS Blunderbuss plied the billowing seas just off the Isle of Wight!
Able Seaman Steer manned the helm when dead ahead he saw the light!
He woke the snoozing Officer of the Deck to apprise him of their plight!
Captain Ironbottom (who happened to be in the 'head') was duly alerted!
He dashed to the bridge in his drawers to ensure that disaster was averted!
"By jove!" he cried, "Her Majesty's ships turn aside for no one, I say!"
He grabbed the radio, "Ahoy there! Turn east 15 degrees! Out of my way!"
From out of the ozone a voice retorted, "Suggest you turn west 15 degrees!
I'll not change course for anyone, so heed my warning if you please!"
"This is Captain Ironbottom of the HMS Blunderbuss!" he thundered back!
"I know the rules of the road! Turn now or I'll see you hung from the rack!"
Able Seaman Steers' eyes grew as large as saucers knowing not what to do!
Communication between the captain and the mysterious light was turning blue!
As the distance narrowed between them, neither would give a nautical mile!
The white-knuckled Officer of the Deck was turning pale with a sickly smile!
"This is Captain Ironbottom again! Are you challenging Her Majesty's might?"
"Yes sir" was the reply, "You see, this is the light house on the Isle of Wight!"
Today the mighty HMS Blunderbuss rusts upon the Isle of Wight's rocky shoal.
Captain Ironbottom faded into oblivion due to the folly of his last patrol!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I saw an old wagon wheel in the antique store the other day.
What type of vehicle it must have conveyed, I couldn't really say,
But I let my imagination roam as I studied the old wheel,
And pondered its odyssey and what secrets it might reveal.
Its iron tire was pitted and rusted due to age.
The wooden spokes were intact but their age was hard to gauge.
Its diameter was about five feet and its tread six inches wide.
Ah, if it could only speak to me, its mysteries to confide!
Could it have carried a pioneer family in a Conestoga wagon west,
With the anticipation of a new beginning in their relentless quest!
It with other wagon wheels rutted well-worn trails along the way,
And traces of those treacherous routes are seen to this very day!
Could it have graced an army lorry drawn by cantankerous mules,
Driven by a pugnacious trooper to deliver hay, grub and tools?
The wear and tear was evident due to many military campaigns,
Crossing perilous rivers, mountain heights and endless arid plains.
Or could it have borne a farmer's wagon as he plied his trade,
Hauling crops of wheat, corn and oats once the harvest was made?
Oh, the many miles it endured through the mud, dust and snow!
I left the store still musing about its odyssey of so very long ago.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
“The sacred lake also called Ganga Talao represents the mighty Ganges river of India.” Mauritiusinsideout.com>grand-bassin-mauritius
A Sacred Lake
In the midst of a tropical forest
The mouth of a long extinct volcano
Surrounded by hills not so high
Bordered by lush trees and bushes
Is the seat of sparkling waters
That undulate in little waves
In direction of the prevailing winds,
Reflect the azure blue of the clear sky
The bright rays of the sun during the day
And white shines of stars and the moon at night.
Before men had set their eyes on the lake
Angels danced on the shore of the waters
To the tunes of the breeze on moonlight nights;
When a dream revealed the sight to a soul
And slim pathways were threaded to the lake
Angels no more plied to the sacred site,
But thousands of men flocked to the spot for prayers
And on the eve of Maha Shivratri
Hundreds of thousands of pilgrims tread to the lake
To source sacred water to pour on Lord Shiva.
All year round, tourists converge to the lake
To stroll around this sacred site
Charm their eyes with its unique tapestry
And snap shots of its picturesque beauty
To relish as memento of their trip
And cherish as a divine work of art
Legated to this tropical island
By the graceful divinity
Who dropped a piece of paradise
In midst of the Indian Ocean.
hard, cold ...
with weight to crush
impervious to all, save the elemental
burdenous, and dense with unfeeling matter
oh, it shines in its own way
it is indeed a rare gem
fit for only the most hospitable of environments
and it pulses with an extraordinary energy, innate and lasting
though it betrays not, its bearing
how I have labored to penetrate its unyielding exterior
how I have plied and chiseled and hewn
striving with all I am and know
to create a masterpiece from corporeity
to mold warmth from its raw and ridged form
and bring forth the bounty from within
oh, the moisture of my brow!
oh, the stinging weep of my eyes!
spent in vain for the sake of its ingress
countless, the moments wasted on its rigid margin
but I shant break the unbreakable
much as even THAT would be a success
and a reckoning ... though twisted.
I. Am. Done.
no more will I bring my spirit to bear ...
no more will I shed sweat OR tear for its regard
and should it one day shatter and split -
whether by its own course or another -
I will no longer care or consider
but I will also NOT pleasure in its undoing
for I loved it more than life
oh, yes, even that much
this exquisite object ...
this one stone ...
your HEART.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Two Word Challenge" Poetry Contest, John Lawless, Judge & Sponsor.
I sat upon a fallen tree
In the forest deep,
As I sat there watching,
Autumn fell about my feet.
Sunlight pierced the canopy,
And danced among the trees.
Dappling all, it fell on boughs
And lit the falling leaves.
A staccato burst rent the air,
The woodpecker plied his trade.
Then from on high, startled crows
Began their own tirade.
Sitting there in silence,
I heard the forest speak.
Such enchantment did I find,
From my woodland seat.
The light was now fading,
But I was loathe to leave.
For I had found contentment,
My idyll, amongst the trees.
(Dedication: For Michael Zachary, my son)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sense this knowing: can the blind see?
Homer still sings fond tragedy.
Troy was a thought where siege was laid,
A war well fought as heroes paid.
Love and hate doomed to mortal rage,
Ten years once groomed that fatal stage.
Such fine faces like Archilles,
Hector traces with Odysseus.
Proud Agamemnon did hoard the sands,
Trojans beyond the high walls grand.
King Priam spied Greeks' battle scream,
Aegean waves plied the battle scene.
The rise and fall of heroes there,
The bitter gall of curse and swear.
Both sides pitted to furious fights,
Even witted, no end in sight.
Clever tactics at Troy did sway,
Loss most drastic for each did stay.
So many years the battle raged,
Proud lives and tears on either page.
Weary battles and bloody mess,
Souls now brittle with sure duress.
So many dead in bloodied sand,
The feud most great in defiant stand.
Now crafty thought brought idea grand,
Odysseus's plot to win war's end.
A hollow horse as token gift,
A rousing toss for Troy's uplift.
Greek ships slipped round to hide away,
Vanished fleet found with deceit's play.
This cunning ruse worked with sure craft,
Troy seemed amused with hoarding draft.
Dragged the wood crypt within the walls,
Stupor and script tell of Troy's fall.
In dead of night when sleep wrought themes,
Greeks murdered fight in Trojan dreams.
Homer the blind brought us grand sights,
For here we find our saving light.
Now we can see the fight go on,
Harsh as can be here and beyond.
Wars and battles reveal who's slain,
Man's not gentle who lives harsh gain.
We think and speak to weave fashion,
Give in to streaks of ambition.
The hunter hunts the chase until,
The victim grunts to turn and kill.
Troy and her days remind us still,
Live truce that pays in wise goodwill.
What of Helen who is part myth?
Fond beauty turns a timely drift.
A lovely tale of human gore,
To now assail that love lives more.
Thus all the world remembers well:
Dear heroes swirl just where we dwell!
Leon Enriquez
19 November 2014
Singapore
walls crawling
inside out
Escher etching
fingernail grout
staring at stares
plaid throughout
plied and played
guts splayed out
wailing away
in bars in stout
I
Anchored on a sun filtered shore
Upon rocks which lay the days of yore
In swirling pristine aquas of alluring calm
Let it serenade heal my bruised palm
To chronicle tales of my hearts longings
And memoirs of my gradual bondings
To enthral my thoughts in the expanse of time
Parading on the lowly impasse of my prime
To write poetry ,prose or mystery fiction
Titled love on a mission to submission
For winds of change will unravel the future
And the dust of defeat will cover the past
II
Invulnerable In dens of sublime realms
where embers of hope forever gleams
Sparked moments that never fade nor flicker
Down the coconut groves lining the ocean Vast
Departing the depths of calamity chosen
To savour the dews of my late night hours
And devour not the memorable endeavours
For beauty was with me in those moments
One Inevitably engulfed in avid desires
An adherent of the much awaited messiah
With amalgam of glee and humility
And simple life of truth and sincerity
III
Traversing the blissful cavalcade holds
I contemplate in dissonant folds
Harrowing scenes from the sunset vives
I linger in my skimming crimson skies
Seemingly, my life plied on out worn roads
Embalmed by these hands in worded codes
In tongues of my fore fathers decent
I will lounge in their culture with no lament
Like those who came before me
Who fought oppressors from over the sea
and their legends enshrined in echoing songs
Of "murmurs of pleasures, pains, and wrongs"
IV
Whereon mindful of the lot i ought to do
Arrayed within scenes from over the hue
Gradually with hasty steps into depths unexplored
And withdraws, into chambers of happiness and scenes adored
To let the crest of my turning tossing mind detach from fearful odds
And my blessed struggling kind flee from the twilight of the earthly gods
So my heart and soul finally infuse with the fluidity of my course
Down the avenues of my maturity
Down the patterns of my progress
Down the depths of my humility
Down the tangled maze of my life I confess...
..In swirling moon beams of alluring calm
A faith in doubt amid a battering qualm
Under clouds which housed the days of yore
On this shell and plastic littered shore.
An Empty Realm – Part 3
The startled crowd his side did rush
As slow upon the ground he fell
Seeping blood, a worried hush
“Your Majesty” a voice did yell
Shoving bodies, pushing through
A sentry wrought of silver chain
“Find the healer” his command
Echoed of this loud exclaim
He helped the king to stand his feet
An arm in offered steady sure
A glance about, he’d not repeat
Uncertain moments to endure
Towards the castle, cobbled pace
Another came, assistance felt
And then appeared the healer’s face
Before his king, he fell and knelt
A weaker state with eyes now glass
Consciousness began to seep
“Bring him to the castle quick,
the wound received near fatal deep”
Once within the lighted glare
Upon a bed of feathered fill
The king was laid, comforted care
With prayers of strength and endless will
Breath now weak, pulsing slow
The healer plied his knowledge true
Pressure to the wounded flow
Hoping best for what to do
When then of listless tethered word
Through thoughts of love and soft confide
The king he spoke, these words were heard
Summons my queen to here my side