Best Ponce Poems
Myself, Armed Only With A Dying Flame
Dark travels in such a long life
early days of hungering strife
A child born to fight for it
tasting ton of salt in every spit
Lost on pathways that breathe my aches
Prod me restless as I sever the chase
Between day and night and promises I made
To myself, armed only with a dying flame
Days sinking past like a slow tide
no softness, that one could abide
As years sent life into a dark spin
easy came toughness, pain and sin
I have seen more than I ever could
Branches of bitterness carved deeply in wood
Wandering eyes dismissed them as facades of a man
Who fell victim to the ride as the years fell down
Is there saving grace if I stop at none
I may have foreseen it all but I doubted I’d come
To terms with myself and make me turn around
From the edge of this cliff and fade away void of sound
Then came love trying its very best
softness, weakness in every test
Blade drawn to parry each thrust
to live on never daring to trust
Swiftly gone like a bygone air
I may be nothing more than despair’s heir
Constricted by premises that haunt every corner
Shutting my eyes will mean absolute surrender
A weak moment, hell bore on down
life melted, each day a new frown
Love had been accepted with grace
she left without a path to trace
Sad night , the fight no great cause
clocks stopped, universe hit pause
Time yielded no forgiving reprieve
love lost, nothing , nothing to retrieve
I was again left to remain
I have but myself to blame
When the rain comes to ease the pain
I know I’ll be whispering your name
12-3-2014
Collaboration write, Robert Lindley and my very talented friend, Jake Ponce.
Here is hoping that you may enjoy this humble team effort .
Has been my great honor to write with my friend Jake!
Heckle and Jeckle, jellyroll jam,
Ponce de Leon’s Fountain of Youth.
Little kids like to eat green eggs and ham;
So do you – now tell me the truth!
One fish, two fish, red, white and blue fish,
Old glory is waving on high;
A moss-covered, three-handled family cradunza
Might suddenly take to the sky.
Tiddly-winkle little starfish,
In a show starring Bullwinkle Moose;
Rocky the Squirrel shares raspberry jam
With Old Mother Hubbardy Goose.
Goosey Lucy and old Turkey Lurkey
Hiding out in the Wise-acre Wood;
Lambchop takes tea with his jellyroll jam,
While jammin’ with Johnny B. Good.
Humpty Dumpty, coddleston pie,
Three little Pigletty pooh;
Jam up jelly tight hot cross buns,
Magpies eat jellybeans, too.
Once again mankind hopes and gathers
Looking towards sunlight after the worse of days
But now released mankind laughs and sings
The young dance
The old with crinkling wrinkles smile
Yet sleep does not come easily
For the old have seen during the years
Uncertainty created by unstable minds
They have seen the craving of evil men
How they stay quiet and wait ready
To ponce during the dancing days
Living for the bitter coldness of gold
The people who care, hope and love
Those with joy, and hear the future calling
Exalt children, the earth, the expansion of life
They are watching resting quietly
Their funds kept safe as they sit on the sidelines
Check their computers and the news
Watching while the young celebrate
Learn, dream, love, and grow
For they know that evil always survives
And hides in the alleys during the quiet dark
Jealous of joy, resentful of our reveling
Ready to cause pain and deception
And though we may rest, we are ready to
Open our eyes cry out beware and battle again
M-orn
A-fter
E-venfall
A-bates
N-atural
N-ight
P-leasantly
O-pening
N-ew
C-ool
E-nvironment
Topic: Birthday of Mae Ann Ponce (December 06)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Don Coto's..
face smiles no more
Only in memory
Paving the way for others
with dreams and aspirations
Arriving at these shores
To prosper achieving those dreams
And hopes that our forefather set
So many years ago while the moon
Looked on :-) tides rolling in and out
like clock work fish dancing to the
Florescent harmony of the stillness
The trip took many months
With many risks,so coming to this point
This time this place..I think about
Don Coto's flag ship la 'Cocora'
Now a memory lingering on and on
She was sold for scrap years before
We now go sailing on planes with wings
Like the beautiful birds seen flying high
Driving Upwards by the warm thermals
Sailing past Ponce Deleon and old San Juan
Reminiscing through my past,leaving behind
Our companions never to be seen again
The fisherman of el Farro and Playa Santa
Putting our noses against the window
Of This flying machine
To see this brand-new world in its grandeur
I Dios mio,oh my god
a Cold blustery morning it was
We left the balmy Tradewinds in morning
As we exit the this flying Machine
And enter a new world
White flakes racing from out of nowhere
Hearing my uncle Pedro ,watch your step
Watch your step stopping every every few feet
Allowing the fluffs of white to enter my mouth
Flicking my tongue like el Coqui
In between chattering teeth
but a thought comes to mind
A sadness,accentuated by a harsh reality
A new way of life A new language
A brand new shiny culture
Our old home left behind and now a new land
Called Los Estados Unidos
The United States
mi Nuevo Mundo
Our new world
bless us all...
It's like the same ordinary day,
When pen and thoughts unite.
Muse and views haunt my mind.
This is a day I celebrate and write.
One year of expressing love,
One year of creating rhymes.
One year of friendship on line.
Counting more happiness to find.
November last year when I took a path,
towards serenity and blissful life.
The only site cradled me in storm.
Oh Poetrysoup ,my finest home.
Remembering the sweet comments one by one.
Numerous name came in and out then say goodbye.
But the memories remain here inside my heart.
And keep visiting pages of my dear ones.
A year of struggles and defeat,
A year I love to celebrate.
Thank you for the opportunities.
I learn to write and express my self.
Happy 1st Anniversary in Poetrysoup ...
One year and still counting.....
THANK YOU FOR THE VISIT. Til more poems to share with you dear friends.
Thank you Nette Onclaud, Anne Lise , Deb, Andrea , Vie , Aileen Ghali, Olive, Giorgio, Chuck, Richard, Dr. Mehta ,Sara Kendrick, Dr. Sharma , Verlena, Inner Whispers , Jake Ponce, and to all the Souper Poets who supported my poems .
The honor is mine to have you and to be part of Poetry Soup.
PEE WEE HERMAN
Thought cops wouldn’t determine,
he put himself in that popcorn box.
Maybe he should have used his socks.
HOWARD HUGHES
A world famous recluse.
Millions for planes, women and cars,
treasured most his urine in jars.
CATHERINE THE GREAT
A czarina whose needs couldn’t wait.
Rumored to have a private stable,
with horses…. if her Cossacks weren’t able.
AESOP
May his fables never stop,
true treasures among many Greek joys.
Whereas Socrates, Plato, chose educating boys.
GEORGE WASHINGTON
Add to the amazing things he’s done,
was never caught chewing a mint wreath,
while mixing politics and funky breath from wood teeth.
PONCE de LEON
I hate to tell you son,
you searched Florida for the fountain of youth.
AARP there first, how’d you miss the booth.
MARILYN MONROE
There’s a girl I wanted to know.
It could’ve worked out fine,
if Bobby and Jack didn’t head the line
I was my hands of it all, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Je m’en lave les mains by T. Wignesan
And what could we have done in his place
Who in this century would dare to judge him
he belongs to you and you are me-myself
A tiny cogwheel
An average individual
Someone responsible neither for evil nor for good
Who merely transmits
For others to execute
I am not to blame
Even if these things are not the makings of anyone in particular
they just happen
When such things happen I’m never around
It always takes place elsewhere
It’s not my fault I’m just a soldier
They’ll tell me Yes you’re not to blame
A command is a command
I am a soldier I obey orders I‘m given
I merely pass them down the ranks
It’s not my duty to be concerned I wash my hands of it all
All this then just drains through my fingers
There are other hands to own up to all this
Replete with a hangman who’s one of them
More cowardly than Ponce-Pilate
Who at least kept saying I wield power
Who did everything thought he could really do anything
Excepting the impossible and hence did nothing
To save him
And Jesus said You wouldn’t have had this authority
if it weren’t handed down from up on high
Everyone of us is a grain out of the stock
Each is stymied by all
One’s implacable spineless There’s nothing I can do, I’m helpless
This’s the unending wail rising from humanity
He who alone agrees to bear the burden
Of all the others which none can bear alone
Is capable of the impossible
(from Piere Emmanuel’s “Les Jours de la Passion”, July 2011)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, October 10, 2014
In my bonce when to nonce Just another sense but I never ponce
Aye, Spanish Needles, far from native shore
We the Diaspora exult to meet
Though our station, not what we dreamt of yore
Is battered by grimy dust and slimed sleet
Aye, Spanish Needles, still unbowed you stand
A dazzling prince in a far foreign land.
Dreaming gold reposed on ivory stars
Where evening's chill draws near the weary night
Shining still despite dusty mannered cars
Aloof in their suburban hedge from blight
I see you huddled in mass fore my eyes
Aching through El Dorado's balmy sighs
Extreme doubt supposed in old poet's tale
Of woodland springs and love's certain patience
Your hardy forms admit a desert gale
Thrashing grim your tropic resilience,
Beside beaten edges, and brackish yards
Still hold time's beauty against fate's crude cards.
Aye, Spanish Needles, resident aliens
From another shore, what long age brought you
From the ocean's salt milk, and fresh grievance
To stake your claim to Conquistadors' clue
This Florida had breast to fountain new youth?
Will you now tell islands this empty truth?
Juan Ponce De Leon took back nothing too
Except the joy of the great river here
But I have seen gold softened by silk dew
On regal petals protesting time's wear
And I have kept better company than
Ribault, Jackson, or the old Cowford clan.
Aye, Spanish Needles, brother of the earth
With me, dare my heart now its hope to green
Like you from this rustic place telling mirth
In golden gold and whitest white yet seen
Something in your character is changed here
Something common is now a beauty rare.
It is the mettle of our birth for each pain
To mirth, and wear love's beauty like the stars
Singing redemption songs with tears for rain
And count for medals our battles bright scars
Aye, Spanish Needles, bright golden and white
My heart like a ship rejoice you hold the light.
Beside the beaten edge in full abandon
There prolific in your numbers, a car
Of rubbery resilience, in my
Just a snake in the grass is me
As I ponce forth to maybe see
Duck, boomerang nearly got me.
Whatever
Summer arrives and the Brooklyn Cyclones are
in first place
Saw them the other day and they won in twelve(!)
Just spoke to a friend
who wants to see the Staten Island Yankees play
Another A - Division team
Some fans won't go to see a minor league game
I think they are missing out
When in Puerto Rice I saw the San Juan Senators
play the Ponce Lions
A band in the stands and liquor being served as well
Didn't need any intoxicants - the green field, the cheerleaders
and the frozen ices and hotdogs along with the battle
were enough to sustain me during the hot New York City summer
Each day's dawn is a miracle, grateful I am
To discover the sun even rose,
Thank the Lord that I still have a tent
For so few college grads have a job.
Before taking your meds (prices rising each day)
Better check all your fingers and toes.
Maybe stay out of kitchen if you can't take heat,
But a bully won't listen to what people say!
Our new president's words mostly spam,
As he twitters his nonsense, that's hateful at best;
Grossly fat; can he tie the dress shoes on his feet?
He's "The Ponce of the US," (1) a Soviet tool,
And the world knows that he is a fool.
Loves His pussy, who cares what hits fan,
Voters care who he shoots in the street?
Simple buffoon to those who can flatter.
But his life seems to me growing cancer,
Nepotistic, appointments don't matter,
Loves to fire any "Engine That Can," (2)
For real competence makes him look bad,
Shows the world that he's naked, unclad!
Like a leech, he sucks blood from the poor.
Plain to see empathy is not window or door,
You can't sell it, clear proof it's no answer!
So thank God that you're still here this morning,
And then pray each new day is his last,
For the longer he stays the more danger we're in,
Though the devil's no pushover, "DTs" (3) might win!
Hang your head if his face shows a smirk,
If there's stroke, we thank God for the gift!
He exploits the future, can't fathom the past,
But coming or going the "Ponce" is a jerk!
Long Tooth
July 21, 2017
Poet's Notes:
(1) POTUS is a new acronym.
(2) A reference to a children's tale called "The Little Engine That Could!" which it seems clear Trump never read or perhaps it was (and still is) over his head!
(3) Delirium Tremens - a psychotic condition!
Ponce DeLeon
kept pressing on
for the waters that made time stand still.
But he found no flow
and for all we know,
that fountain flows under a landfill.
Don’t see it lady May….
Dark demon from the nether world,
From into-outer space was hurled,
And came by Dumbo jet,
He came to prey on lady May,
An older shiela, ninety say,
Who liked dem toy boys just a bit,
But lost her glasses in a fit,
While Counting her blessings hey,
Aint love grand? Ooray,
Devonshire had seen his like,
While poncing through the mist, all night,
A second son, down under come,
The bastard son of the prince of fun,
Got sent down-under, right? {australia}
That he was just a parasite,
Her head it entered, never might,
In passionate decay, sweet delight,
Procrastination day,
Would never come her way,
So Blinded by the light,
Ecstatically so blocked with blight,
Sweetie pie ON her parasite
Her prince she had to pay,
Tad grumpy sometimes may,
2 Some poetry recite,
Sir Rhupert of the browning twist,
Bad Poetry, he sort-of missed,
But he was a tad ok,
FOR A POMMY BERK, I say, {prisoner of mother england}
An never past, dis-may,
Dem pommys talk this way,
The point I’ve poorly mist?
As for the pontificating fits,
Rabbiting on, subtle mindless gits,
Galahs and sand-goanna nongs,
In Japanese phallic ding ding thongs,
Who had the mango ****ttts, {manure}
Playing chess for sanity say?
Be careful boy you’ll slippp,
Will madness win the day,
And tremors start to hit,
Ok,
The parasite spoke up with scorn,
Like royalty I’m so high born,
Bow down to me sweet little worm,
Us Parasites hold sway,
And so I seemed to say?
“Begone thou foulest dip-stick twit,
The misel-toe does shon-kily sit, {con man part}
On a healthy tree today “ :}
But do we really have to pay?
4 Attention’s, draught a bit? :}
Don
a ponce was a pimp for the ladies of the night ,
and if you were poncing about like a pimp it was orright,
suspected pimps were poncy too right
to get my poncifocation trite...
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