Best Poke At Poems
March is a time of transition
winter and spring commence their struggle
between moments of ice and mud
a robin appears heralding the inevitable
life stumbling from its slumber
it was in such a period of change in 1905
that the House of Physics
would see its Newtonian axioms
of an ordered universe collapse
into a new frontier
where the divisions of time and space
matter and energy
were to blend as rain and wind
in a storm that broke loose
within the mind of Albert Einstein
where Brownian motion danced
seen and unseen, a random walk
that became his papers marching through science
reshaping the very fabric of the universe
we have come to know
we all share a common ancestor
a star long lost in the eons of memory
and yet in that commonality
nature demands a permutation
a perchance genetic roll of the dice
which births a new vision
lifting us temporarily from the mystery
exposing some of the roots of our existence
only to raise a plethora of more questions
as did the papers of Einstein in 1905
SAN DIEGO 9/05 Philosophy of Science Portal
Tim Ray Poet Colleague
i was working as a "Stringer" for the above blog searching the Internet for articles on physics and philosophy and was asked to write this as part of a celebration of the 100-year mark of Einstein's papers. i do not do requests but i conceded for reasons. my claim to fame herein is a poke at Einstein's statement that God does not play with dice, however, was not he a permutation in the scheme of things? and lest we forget he objected to the Big Bang theory holding onto the Steady State with other scientists because it was too much like Genesis. and lost to Bohr over Quantum Entanglement, settled by John Stewart Bell...but who is counting? and these peccadillos stand in little shadows of those papers in 1905.
You shouldn't poke at monkeys
unless you're a dummkopf
Who gets precisely what's deserved --
your fingers bitten off.
I think I’ve written some doggone good stuff
Hey, I am sorry if, for you, it wasn’t enough,
Submitting it was sometimes an afterthought
Because my skin is thick, your N/A was for naught,
I write my poems for me, and I can happily say
I’ve already had my joy long before your “nay!”
I am nonplussed when your choices seem biased
But then, who am I to second-guess your highest?
I admit, when your winner does miss the mark
I wonder why my entry apparently did not spark,
I am taken aback by a lack of judging credentials
Your seeming ignor-ance of absolute essentials,
Realizing entering is seeking only one person’s nod
Please do not think your opinion is the ultimate god,
And be as fair as you can be when selecting who
Writes the best piece and deserves a Woo-Hoo!
In closing, let me say I thoroughly enjoy contests
But love them most when my poem is the best!
Written July 23, 2022
[A fun poke at our contest sponsors!]
Bigger than bodacious,
higher TCH than contagious-
I poke at the smoke and make a cause to estrange this,
…toodle-to-do in my space ship!
I love how much I can remake this,
and bank the right to go out on a limb,
spill on the film,
make the gas on the ground increase its bliss,
run through the breeze and accept your diss,
though it is time to resist-
and look back at your breast...
Ask mother to draw me up a sign-
because like it or not you are on my line,
and my best friends,
and my bosses,
your eye’s doing crosses,
your cops pulling over bloggers!
Wait,
stop!
I said stop on a dime!
Pick one up and help pay for the blind!
We adore dances as long as they make man-shifts,
make shift-
endanger wigs,
throw out chicken strips,
and hopeless trips!
Play out banquettes, with not enough men to spank it!
Even though they're all over it,
callin' all out smurf!
And say **** anybody with my tip!
It's high in the mountain range-
and it see's you as strange!
Blame blame blame!
And then do it all again!
Go to the gym later and explain!
Ask why do young men have names?...
I haven't given them my change,
I am still alive,
I deserve to be played!
I am in turn to say hey, go away,
you little brother,
stayin' for a long time and then bein' like...mine!
They stood poised to rise like sons
A collective of kindred spirits to wars
From this squadron pose they chose
They rose to face their foes
Arise like thorns from bulbs arose
Thrust their blades into their souls
Of war cries and the songs of idols
Their fears worn like sculls on spears
Prayers like a kite to the heavens
Courage like feathers to the winds
Crows poke at their startled eyes
Disappear with their gaze like a haze
Fake alliances and poor strategies froze
In this battle defeat is reward for the skeletons
To dowse forever their ignited fuse
Refuse their mummies escape from the killing fields
To amaze the masses arrested in the maze
Kaizer shooting instructions like fireballs
The enemy retaliates by clipping our feathers
The Glamour boys simply regroup their wings
Glass shattered-
the bottles melting
that green-eyed feeling overcoming-
but the cause of it was you.
You're wandering eyes neglect me
while you pretend to look away
but I see right through those pretty brown eyes
and you definitely don't want to stay
I'm that safety net-
to a person who's my world
and while you
poke at my eyes
laugh at my fits
I know your real girl
and she's not the person you've been with
for a year now coming up
instead i'm just a distraction
trying to become better than you've had
but you can't even see that
I'm psycho- that's all there is to it
but remember when i'm gone
and realize my worth
that you were really nothing-
but a lesson gone wrong
a lesson that was supposed to relieve the grief
a lesson of love gone wrong
Deep pain bores into scalp as eyelids struggle to open;
Glaring sun menaces eyes as they face the sky boldly.
First thought dawns on me like elixir; I'm alive!
The vast blue sky seems to smile upon my spirit holy.
Hands try to grasp hot sand as I wade to turn on stomach.
Pitiless grains escape between my fingers, mockingly.
In tremendous effort, I crawl to nearest patch of shade.
My heart pumps heavily while sweat oozes out profusely.
Images flash; I'm pushed off yacht by lover unfaithful.
Mock inability to swim; I acted it wisely.
His satisfied grin is all I could see before diving.
Skills of past champion revived, I swam courageously.
This virgin island, is haven to me now;
Life's strong in me! Branches I shove away, decisively.
Cautious exploration; Travelers trees welcome me.
With stick sharp I poke at it, water flows abundantly!
I do drink to my content and refresh myself while hares
jump around; I whisper to them and one stops daringly.
"Angel" I mumble as I follow it; on water melon I stumble.
Food! Hit with stone; humid sweet red flesh to wolf greedily.
Twigs, I gather and "SOS" I draw on the white expanse.
Angel from hole, under branched tree, beckons me temptingly.
A red bird hovers; branches dry and green, some Ravenala leaves,
enough to give me most desired tree lodge, marvelously.
"Now, some thorough exploration." Angel nods approval.
Disgust filled heart softens and I long to hug her fondly.
On other side of island, I land in a rocky area.
Good heaven! Rainwater is trapped in a pond; so lovely.
The sun sets the direction and I venture inland.
Swarm of mosquitoes invade my burnt skin, voraciously.
I run like a mad to land among wild peppermint.
No mosquito here…repellent herbs! I deduce quickly.
Handfuls I pluck, to rub on my body at night.
My watermelon shell, now dry, serves me efficiently.
Pipik, my red bird and Angel watch "friends, how to light this tinder nest?"
Eureka! here, my heart shaped glass pendant gleams suddenly.
Settled nearly for a week now, hope never leaves me.. I'm to live!
2/02/17
2nd and 4th line of each quatrain has 14 syllable.
(checked on howmanysyllable.com)
Placed 4th on 6 winners (judged 7/02/17) Tropical Island by Shadow Hamilton
I don't know about Archbishop Justin Timberlake,
He’s jazzing up the church,
Making Jesus controversial,
Leaving life in the lurch.
It’s fine to have excitement,
About any religious thing or assumption,
But when you poke at liberal creeds,
You’re with the discontentment presumption.
The liturgy does not gel with Sankey hymns,
Which parishioners should not be made to sing;
Fundamentalism is on the way out,
Of Christianity’s credibility wing.
It is emotionally abusive,
To atheistic in-house kids who want to aspire,
To tell of the insanities,
Such tunnel vision requires.
Although I am glad of his enthronement -
It lets evangelicalism out the bag,
I hope to return to a more liberal clergyman,
For the future church ‘mag’.
Fundamentalists won’t admit to the speeches,
Given to their kids who are silent prey;
It’s not fair to live in a society,
Which allows only the understood to convey.
Pluralism is the glasses by which we all see,
Humanism, atheism, religion, and irreligion too,
And the Archbishop is therefore acceptable,
As a beacon of what fundamentalists do.
Freedom of speech and expression,
For some, will only come when we know such acts,
Societal change comes simply from people,
Who’s concepts and ideas become assumed facts.
He was not that successful at decking Wonga,
Anglicans can't quite compete,
With open market transactions,
Which have seemed to withstand the heat.
I don't validate high-interest lenders,
But the church should stick to God,
It should be more into caring,
For the elderly, all on their tod.
About the Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby, UK
Sold Out Lilies.
They are angels and goddesses well betrayed
Their protégés so diverted by other matters ,
Their hearts led astray by the naivety of minds,
And their hands moving rampant in their constant
Confusion contained continuously in assured future
Suffering ,and without respite or restraint or remorse .
They are in millions and ubiquitous bearing their mystery,
Taking their giant strides with their tiny feet unguarded ,
Wobbling without strength or stamina and skill to sway
Tomorrow lights toward the destiny bosom as their
Predestination continually poke at calamity's abode -
Unknowingly tugging at the white grisly bear's paws.
And many of the called leaders continue to practise
Modern sorcery, jingoism and higher sophistry with
Shocking impunity, with no slightest interest in that
Little girl hawking water on that dangerous highways ;
The teenage girl that died from abortion was just thirteen
Has been raped by trust long before that four thugs will
Defile her that lonely evening at the glare of guidance.
A nation that delights in messing about with its children
Enjoy holding its young ransom for whatever reason,
Is devoid of wisdom, honour and decorum; an enemy
Of that tomorrow and of nationhood for this duo's fate
Hangs firmly on the vibrant and the purposeful young;
But will tomorrow wait for the moment to congeal for direction.
HALLOWEEN
Frightening things
Bats
Just at twilight
Flying
Darting
Low
O’er the churchyard green
At night
Also frightening
The Baptist Church
ITSELF!
Eerie windows
Barely lit
An organ playing
Halloween music
I hate it!
Always Halloween music
Troutman’s cat
Swishes her tail
Around the bullet tree
The deaf woman calls
Sandy voice
“Tabby! Tabby!”
The narrow way
Between the houses
Up down
The alley
Vacant lots
With rotting
Hollyhocks
Instead of “Handouts!”
Big Bill Pritchard
Without a word
Lets the loudest
Contra-bass
Utterly disgusting
BELCH!
You’ve ever heard
Barren trees
Finger
The sky
Poke at clouds
Have eyes
Moon
With rings
Eyes
Other black things
Wind
An old kite
Caught in a tree
Flaps its tail
Looks down
At ME!
Run!
Feet hit
Like shots
Against the wind!
Chimneys
Roofs
With goblins!
Laughing!
Crawling!
AH!
Friends!
The least
Appalling masks
With familiar voices
Behind
Run!
Laugh!
Shout!
“HANDOUTS!!!”
the scotch pine looks white
herbage seem to poke at him ---
snow nostalgia
08 December 2022
Winter Nature Themed Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
nature's way of saying
I love what you do with your tongue
mom used to lick her hanky
to clean my face I want to kill her
aided by my only allies
the hobo armies of doom
resulted in a sweet tooth with no answers
for the impenetrable slits of her eyes
the crowd was aghast
so I knew we hit the glass jaw
now back to the scheduled program
our man Swigheart Backhoe
reports from Flat, Nebraska
on the next Heads of Kings exhibit
down at the Crusader camp
I'm trying to figure out why sperm motility
hasn't created a master race yet
The best of millions fighting upstream like
Steelers' running back Don Quixote
over a million years and we still end up with
politicians with red putty noses that go honk
and readers of the Weekly World News
who renew their state of alarm by the minute
we're not one step closer to kingdom come for it
sperm motility then is as effective an indicator
of Darwinian uber selection
as a chicken on a rotisserie spit
is an indicator of barnyard vitality
you are alive right give yourself a pinch
let's use sperm science to give the 2nd raters
and mediocrities a chance at the brass ova
the modern science of magnification
can certainly arrange for a
shiftless layabout sperm
to take a poke at the moon
enough with this Mother Nature swill
put the couch potato, the hysteric
the derelict pants pissing wino sperm
up the beanpole and see who salutes
Mother Nature eats her young
and writes checks for the
Eugenics Foundation of Savannah, Africa
does God have someone
telling him what to think
so go for it you little tadpoles
get in there you little champions
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.site11.com/
I’ve climbed up a thorn tree
In my rush, my escape to be free
There’s no haven up here
Only pain and torment surrounding me
I’ll bleed on these branches
Only my tears will escape these dry leaves
Crushing on the rocks below the tranches
Falling down to my meaningless sorrow
The lies I told poke at my paradise
I left a life worth enduring, crash landing
There’s a gaping hole in my existence
Dying to rejoin the world of the living
Trying to hold on, bearing no fruit
I’m up here, but I’m really down
Arms across my aching heart
I’m falling apart, but I'm not done
"Loneliness has never earned a day's pay.
What I've learned, first of all, is that loneliness chooses it's own weapons. It
hasno distinguishing marks, and comes in no colors at all. Sometimes, it will
creep up on you, and at other times, it will take a poke at you and stalk off. In
either case, you're left by yourself, holding your stomach, winding itself into
corkscrews.
If happiness is circular, as some people claim, then loneliness is trapezoidal.
With those two parallel lines that never meet and are permanently boxed in. Only
the lonely could identify with the quixotic quadrilateral.
One more thing; loneliness is sexless and ageless. It affects everyone. Like
the panhandler said; "People are crazy. They won't even listen to me. They just
walk away." So I gave him a quarter, and he added it to his handful of change.
Change, but no change. Everything remains the same when you're alone. As
you're standing in someone else's pouring rain, it will hit you: the elemental
distraction at the base of your life is yourself......" written when I was twenty years
old
There are some things that I was taught
when I was just a lad
Some by father’s knowing words
and some by being bad
Never, ever hit a girl
no matter what she’s done
The sting of belt or Dad’s firm hand
was never any fun
Never play with matches
You could burn the whole house down
Never sass your elders
the response will be a frown
Never place your hand
upon a red hot stove
Never spit into the wind
or wetness you will know
Never stick your tongue
near any freezing metal pole
For the laughter of your friends
will be a hefty toll
Never poke at bee’s nests
their sting will cause you pain
Never pick on bigger kids
If you don’t want to end up lame
These are just a few of the things
that each of us should know
Oh Yeah, I almost forgot!
Never ever eat the pretty yellow snow!!!