Best Plumbs Poems
"Streams of Gold, Blazing Andromedas"
Engagement came at a cost
the written word read
and worn like a purple robe
to keep out the cold
stave the hunger off,
feed the soul eveything,
Everything, is what it wants,
silky words like feathers
tickle the closed throat,
the lips open the kisses
like envelopes
eternal sweet plumbs,
like losengers
in a glass swear jar
too many now,
innumerable,
judged and fined,
selected and sucked
unreasonably
for some kind longevity,
the life, for all it's worth,
in treacherous weather,
sometimes flounders,
pauses for a while
looking upwards towards
an empty sky searching
and waiting, for far away lost gods,
then uncomfortably dressed,
the robe, loosened, like a pagan,
the written word read
and worn on the outside
like a purple cross,
the stars glittering in
reflective windows,
the view immeasurable,
the external shell
disgarded and dropped
at the feet of absent minded
causes, the reviews smile
like wolves lost, they're
missing the red hoods,
they're missing
the real treasure,
the deep buried plot
the naked pleasure
of walking away
graces a certain freedom
priceless, like rare diamonds
entwined with diamantes,
who can tell the difference now?
twinkling like blazing andromedas
at the distant edge of their worlds
Engagement locked in at a cost
fresh water pearls
au natural, nothing
false here, the
kintsugi veins glow
lux vitae
in fig leaf stories
a naked life shining,
seen running in
broken streams of gold
the missing Page left opening
marked unopened books,
walks like a lost adventurer
through stories
that arrive on leaves
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
THE SPIRIT OF THE SUN DIAL
I tell the sunny hours throughout the day
From dawn til dusk imparting my fair message
Evoking warmth and love throughout the day
No time for shadows hinting at dark presage
But when the shade of night engulfs my dial
A darkening of spirit, life force scorns
The moon now points the hours of denial
Its gleam bare luminating dismal forms
I see the blackness in the hearts of men
And feel despair that overcomes the soul
My spirit plumbs a dark and secret glen
Til lambent rays tint peaks; at last console
Then blessed dawn brings sun in its ascension
Restores my purpose vital, my redemption
Death By Murder:
Murky water left to drink
floating particles of death.
Erie presence leaves discontent.
As something wicked floats in it.
The bone chilling cold wind doth blow
off Lake Erie with flurry snow.
Late at night off cold dark shores
shadows of a floating barge.
Clouds of soot from steamers clogged
Pollutes the air with killer smog.
When something wicked this way flows
poverty on desperate corners pose.
Perverts prey on angry streets
Homeless children on which they creep.
Desperately at the mercy of,
as something wicked this way comes
Young ones get plucked,like sweet ripe plumbs
As something wicked this way comes
.
Contaminated, where no herbs could purge her
Strictly becomes death by murder.
Others with blood dripping from lips
Every scary thing flung and flipped
No caring soul feels to investigate
As vampires odors fumigate
There's no friend to even extend
a stick to beat the bush or defend
The evil deeds that ignorance brings
desecrates the graves of all good men
We make loud noises and pretend;
While something evil this way spins.
The screams are loud but know one heard her
Ignored are cries upon lake Erie's borders
Spores that spawn.. these deaths by murder.
Have you seen the part time plumber?
He plumbs in winter and a pop-star in summer
During a plumbing job, he will thrust out his spanner
Singing into it “Copacabana”
4 and 20 Pies – No Blackbirds
Oh, spare me the plethora of pies
the thumbs-up plumbs,
the pie in the sky dreams
of the pie lovers,
the onerous moooo
of the piebald cow
being milked
by the pie-eyed farmer
as his pied piper wife
lures the chickens
into a pot pie.
Pie charts to measure
children against nourishment,
who cuts, who chooses,
statistically
who wins, who loses,
“pies the type”
of apples on the floor.
It ain’t that simple, Simon
say the “pietist”
who fear
that if Pi can’t be squared
pies end is drawing near.
John G. Lawless
10/9/2014
submitted to – Sheri Fresonke Harper
Plentitude of Pies – Poetry Contest
The figs on my fig tree are ripe,
Tempting and enticing,
They want you to have them,
To enjoy all you can.
My pear tree is bearing beautiful big pears,
It is almost time to enjoy,
Enjoy what has been provided to you,
They care not who or what you are.
The peach tree has small but oh so tasty peaches,
They tempt you, for they want you to enjoy
To indulge in their lives,
Becoming one with them.
My blackberry bushes have given their fruit,
Now are ready to be cut down,
But is ok with them,
For their roots grow deep,
They will return in the spring.
The plumbs have also come and gone,
Wasn’t so many of them this year,
The clouds must have been so happy,
They did not cry their rain upon them.
It must be getting close to,
“The Dog Days Of Summer”,
For the birds do not sing as often now,
For they are so busy caring for their new families.
The deer have started to partake of the acorns,
It is strange how the oak tree provide for them,
And at the same time,
The deer helps spread the seeds,
So life will go on in the oak family.
The wildebeest has but one main purpose in his short life,
That is to be eaten,
Therefore providing food for those that cannot partake of the vegetables,
Then completing the circle of life.
One helps the other As with all of nature,
Except man, because man is too wrapped up in himself,
Too thoughtless of others around him,
Out for number one, himself.
How can life be so cruel,
As to have man on this planet?
A quest for power is a quest of faith.
The mythology states rank is gave.
An empty mind lacks the ability to form hate.
Insofar, what is the maxima that sake?
The drink of the Greek and Roman gods, nectar
Cause a religious uproar, wretchedness
A Trojan prince and warrior killed by Achilles, Hector
The impression made, etchings
Just paint a tale of two countries.
In mentality, one devises a plan.
War fulfills with strategy and plumbs.
An army cannot campaign with only one man.
So greatness, erected
A Trojan champion, slain
Hector falls, dejected
Mythological stated to be, intimidated
Strategy in war is to dishearten.
To achieve disparage, he was killed.
The Trojan War illustriously removes rank and smarts.
Hector was Trojan prince and the greatest warrior ever lived.
Greek is the mythology.
The Trojans are in battle.
In the Trojan War, Achilles took Hector life and his part.
The significant maxim is righteousness was earned.
______________________________________|
PENNED ON AUGUST 07, 2014!
“fantôme du noir chevalier”
whither doth thee cometh from?
Strange voice that I see
Coldness of ire burns
the skin beneath sheets
paper white guise
black ink heart bleeding within -
stranger the walls do speak here
in the mirror swimming See
the lost reflections of souls
the misguided forlorn
disenchanted do scry
their petulant perplexity
ghosts for the haunting
picked like ripe plumbs
legions illuminating dead dreams
the devil beating his drums
in her spectral bed
the incubus arrives
the succubus hums
once were bold quills tracing
curves cursive passionately clear
near human once attempting sincere
to unlock love with blind faith ne’er fear
I hear your tome calling
fantôme du noir chevalier
erudite Faust waives
ignores lore written before him
I hear your tome calling
fantôme du noir chevalier
Salome is her name
a new dance appears
She will take you
before morning
a promise forewarning
I give this to thee
fantôme du noir chevalier
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
“Here in My Room”/ Incubus
https://youtu.be/0IlPlKBXRHE
Sonnet LXXXVI
You hear, but do not listen,
You know not what has been said,
You have sugar plumbs,
Running through your head,
You are another,
Wishing I were dead.
Whispers in the wind,
Lets begin again.
For you know not,
Nor do you care,
Where I have been.
One life ends,
Another begins.
Why couldn’t we be friends?
Roses are red,
But other colors too.
When you awake,
Find something new.
When you stop learning,
Your life is through.
Don’t just hear,
But listen too.
Then just maybe,
Life will be good to you.
The Devil still plumbs the abysses
But girls know his serpent just hisses
If you really care
Let Eve tell you where
She pisses she misses French kisses!
Re: Thank You to unknown
tom, dick, harry, tam, dame,
or dana from the MHS Class of 77,
though this alum
experiences public education
within lower providence jurisdiction
as a bum
er - minimally partaking advantage
of extra-curricular,
collegiate, inter-mural,
et cetera opportunities,
no not even a figurative crum
well nigh convey an impression of being dumb
bull door, deaf, and blind (with out faith no more),
nor passing love notes from
some anonymous girl, who
(after leaving a teasing message
informed asper getting a smart haircut
in ninth grade civics class
taught by Missus Comly
(do not quote me on my
power fully pointed excel lent spelling,
telling nothing, when out of desperation
I experience primal yelling)
this singular potential fledgling flirtation,
the extent from student,
who appeared morose and rather glum
exposing such vulnerability to be hum
millie hated, and bullied relentlessly,
whereat i wish to be a little boy
comforted by me mum
since that option out of the question,
thus aye didst never meet Miss Mot Toe
(e plumbs e num), perhaps cuz eye whiz numb
body, mind and spirit triage as if inebriated by rum
imagining the fighting spirit within me to thumb
or rather "flip the bird" to those,
this then anxiety prone
metaphorically rolling stone
whose metaphorical diet of worms also included
eating picked over sun bleached
un beak coming road kill crow - how yum
me does that seem, but gnome hatter
how grossly said foul dish
spurred via carrion (an analogy
representing verbal taunting
best left for hitch cocked birds) didst not appeal
not in the least did i give nasty brutes a "what for",
twas fear of getting creamed, fricasseed, irradiated...
He walks by day the northern woods
He seeks by night the skies
He sees in stars a face he knows
And one he knows no more
He plumbs with vague suspicion
The abyss of his soul
And calculates the irony
Of what he does not know
He is at war, he is at peace
He is beyond the pale
A portrait of a modern man
At manhood’s tender age
Who knows of no restrictions
Nor limits understood
Yet knows the truths that must be told
To beggars, and the proud –
Accommodating challenges
Summoned from within
He looks beyond the you and me
For where he wants to be
And walks by day the northern woods
And seeks by night the skies
To find in stars a man he knows
And one he knows no more
when you hear these two
Fritz Kreisler Jascha Heifetz
all others fall short
Piano trio in d minor
Arensky says
Heifetz says
“I love you”
In his playing
There is an edge
Exciting!
Leading!
An edge I’m certain
He is unaware
It sculps the tree
Plumbs the wood depth
Finds the time opened pores
Then speaks from within
(Wimpole Street, in the West End of London,
has been the scene of many interesting events,
from the elopement of Elizabeth Barrett Browning
to The Beatles composing "Help!")
The Long, Unlovely Street
It’s such a straight and long, unlovely street,
not quite the retail zone, not quite the mouth
of Regent’s Park. It plumbs a line north-south,
where Mayfair and more middling London meet.
Come walk with me on Wimpole, feast your eye
on blue ceramic plaques, as thick as leaves
that strew the brooks so loved by Freddie Treves,
where tall town houses shoulder out the sky!
Elopements, easements, songs of yesterday,
bereavements, human elephants and more:
we’ll see enchantment pour from every door,
and find a little help along the way.
Where legal precedent meets Mersey Beat,
come tramp the straight and long, unlovely street.
"We are cute spring chicks with fluffy feathers that keep
us warm; real small, like to run, and we are adorable ! "
Quote by _Constance
On a bright morn spring chicks hatched,
as the first flowers of the season bloomed;
oddly, not a single chick matched,
their fluffy feathers delightful plumbs.
Each was silly, playful and gay,
they would run every which way;
often, they wandered the barn yard going astray.
Those sweet chicks had no fear,
sometimes, suddenly they would just appear;
and to their mother would adhere.
So whimsical and frivolous to watch,
and almost impossible to catch;
I love each fluffy chick's feathery splotch,
and have a favorite that I call Butterscotch.