Best Portly Poems
I am the environmentalist in love with wine,
my shoulders carry and reside in the cutting edge side of life,
the establishment craves to be the human race
while I stroll the memories of “Sailor fields”
amongst ancient Jurassic stone.
Is this! The only way for me?
My saline tears run freely now a days,
it’s time that governs one’s sentiment,
no doubt the plague of waiting relates to this.
What! Of the future,
hey , i want to forget about futuristic wars,
may be the media are in gross error of judgment?
I’m told I’m only a little man, at last now I know why I’m the
one that society chastises every day,
Why this mortal flame in constant combat becomes
life’s tomb stone around my neck.
To feel freedom, another swig so my lacklustre eyes again become stimulated
as the view overcomes my immobility and bids farewell, to the great lady
that glides portly on the outgoing tide.
Curse this elemental wind
that curls in from the east,
“Mother” i cry
“Is this the clarity of our beginning.” the start of all this crap,
as astringent thoughts flow through my urban bucolic mind,
seeing or feeling nothing of the moment, only a repeat of the actions of many insensitive men,
those that flourish, those that sentiment cannot stain those that walk tallest amongst men;
because they were hungry for appurtenance.
I remember well , in the far off lea of my mind,
down on the farm thousands of miles away across the Pacific,
where enamel clashed against concrete
there , where foolhardy dreams were dashed,.
when the heart pursued
the warm flesh , she that gave her
reflection to the swan song
of an innocence.
Alas should one be compelled to expire
as one would, a chardonnay basking in the hot sunshine?
Should one fall foul of a politically correct society
that , outside of one’s comfort zone,
because one feels , want , in choleric veins?
Even the sullen white cross, dotted upon the highways
become burning embers, a constant reminiscence,
an emotional monument to many inhibited memories.
Yet I beg this deportment shows me a realization,
that death is imminent,
so why this perpetual waiting, this constant urge,
for this vein dependency to be infringed upon ???
© Harry J Horsman 2012
A Grisly Tapeworm
In Anger and in Hatred, a Tapeworm I see
Unless internally hosted, its Life will not be.
From egg it starts Life, ‘fore an adult worm
Fed on Host’s blood, it gains a portly form.
While finer or fatter, greedy Worm gnaws,
The wretched Host, pale and thin he grows.
Then the anaemic Host, too ill to live a day
Falls in the dark pit, where there’s no ray!
*
The same story is true of a Man with Hate
Hate soon embraced, is an iniquitous mate.
So, I avidly learned , my temper to narrow
Perspective being that it eats man’s marrow.
To nurture it in Heart, Hate will grow so big
And wiggle one’s Dignity; like a tail of a pig!
For, Anger grows so fat that Man is in sorrow
By eating all his vim to leave a man hollow!
*
To internalise Hate is to eat a sharp blade
That curves from inside while fast you fade.
It spins some mortal blow in its incisive poise
That fates and finishes by its hushed noise:
The structure curves in, trusses cut and gone
He falls on the floor with not a single bone!
*
Hearken ye therefore, Hate begets dearth
Piety Mad Haters who know no inner mirth!
For, to lavish in Love, denigrating foolish Hate
Bestows inner Peace or sense of pure sate.
Gimme not filthy wealth, gimme not lucre
I’m a happy man giving Love and Succour!!
JM
31st Oct’ 2013
He was small and portly but their leader
didn't want anyone in the club being a cheater
with everyones full attention while seated
he reiterated his drastic thoughts and feelings,
Explaining to his buddies to steer clear
of the feminine gender some held dear
saying they were just a pain in the neck
so just to ignore them he told them was best,
The meeting was adjourned and Spanky closed the door
straightening his "Women Haters Club" sign once more
with Alfalfa feeling confident he wouldn't cave in
till Darla started flirting with him once again….
5-16-17
I love you rain
Come at me
With your sparkling
Diamond splashing
Water baguettes
Diamondize me
Lick me with your
Splishering diamond joys
I love you rain
Come at me
With your portly portable pumping poetry
Flitter pitter patter buoying boosty banter
Pouring snoring, roaring soaring, jumping jets
Splitting swishing swashbuckling glitzy gorgeous glitterama
Blinging blanging clanging gluey golden glory
Air cleansing wooing wooshing wooting wind friend story
I love you rain
Come at me
With your dancing
Deftly dangling diamonds
Unfurl glowing skies
Flights of soothing cries
Your micro thunder
Kiss parade bluster
Skywide rosary seeds
Natures prayer leads
Meditation chi gong traffic
Micro hugs of time's fabric
I love you rain
Come at me
With your awe inspiring
Diamond light cracking crackling kisses
That sharpen, brighten, spin, shower, empower
The kaleidoscopic bright lips of faceted light!
Nurture us all, fill us all, with your connected inside out love!
Load us up with your resilient diamond fiber winks & glows
Quiet slinging sure serene silent super strength that guides the cosmos
I love you rain
Come at me
By Davieo, David Rothchild
Zone A is a flightless bee turning a corner on a wheel. A glowing wheel. Wow such atomic prowess of stripes. But entering under the ocean and travelling at speed is a submerged undetected mobile monster whose instruction is to annihilate an entire side of a country. Wave not at this. The sea life is very confused at the disturbance in the waters. It is not the fault of a fault line. It is merely the beginning of an eradication. This is no underwater pretty specie. It is a journeying destroyer. All trees know. They feel the vibrational frequency through their wise roots. No signal boxes in an underwater roadway. Preplanned movement of murmurs. Akin to an epic blockbuster multiplied by several million. Safety safer still stating staying survives? And a dish of frozen ice cream is never eaten in a grey shrapnel cloud. Take a very large multicoloured multifunctional tent into the centrepiece of a land mass. Reaching residences. No ha no x nothing. Perhaps later. Maybe not. Message mingling minding mince. And a dove flying at over 80000099 feet above sea level. Not good. Not wow. Deviant not a design. Pickled worm. And a fat portly man with a pumpkin face. Darkness's of fortresses with smoked food. And an oceanographic soup boiling. Sap sale spit. And a dog in a stripey square hat laughing. No telephone wire in an earthly clump then. Ornithological 57*90*1
A portly man with manner, droll,
approached an egg out on a stroll,
kindly offering him a ride,
and soon that egg was fried.
Now I don’t know if I really learned about love
Or if I got to explore what it’s made of
Is it a warm feeling when you hold hands?
And kiss and laugh at each other’s stance
Are there the troubles that seem to last forever?
Because if it works out, you get to live together?
Get married and have babies while still in your teens
You have the rest of the world to explore your means
Is it pain, is it awful? Is it something you want to end?
You’d do it yourself but you don’t want to lose another friend?
Why does it eat at you inside, why it makes you hate yourself?
Why does it make you think there’s something wrong with you?
Why would it make you want to kill yourself?
Is it that sad, is it really that true?
Why do some people say it’s happy times and some say it’s just ****
Why do some people think it’s who they are, and some say it doesn't exist?
Tell me about betty, what was it about Betty?
You said she was smart and slick but really really pretty
You never got to know her but you said she was the perfect girl
Until you saw her with Army, it changed your view of the world
Doing something illegal I think (Wink wink)
But if you brought it up, she’d say you weren’t her shrink
Was that not love though you said it was alright?
You could let her ago until another night
When you saw her again with an older guy
Well why? She didn’t love him either so why try?
So it wasn’t right and you didn’t win, but what about your fling with Jocelyn?
She likes track and field and feels the burn
And when she got wet you saw through her shirt
But that wasn’t sure, ‘cause you didn’t like sports
So love was a no go until Cindy Snow
Wasn’t as fine, maybe a little portly
But sweet as heck and had a nice little Courtney
She was interested and you played with it
But then she said she was a Santanist
You may not have been the holy man
But you couldn’t have that hanging over your head
You wanted to find someone instead
Now when you found it’s over
Had to find one more with Lola
Was a family friend but still real cool
But it was like incest with bended rules
And that was not something to do
So that couldn’t work but it was okay
Because she said she didn’t feel that way anyway
Death Penalty
Sonny Johnson’s home was on the street
Sharing space with rats who nibbled at his feet
Until he moved his blanket to the county jail
‘Cause someone said he stabbed a white female
He faced the court without a scrap of money
So no lawyer of renown defended Sonny
A jury found him guilty in two hours
And no one wondered if the fault was his or ours
No delays or stays of execution
How sweet they are, revenge and retribution
A pork chop and beans sat cooling in a bowl
While a portly priest sanctified Sonny’s soul
They strapped him to a gurney hard and fast
Two witnesses looked away, eyes downcast
Beads of sweat on Sonny’s forehead glistened
“Ain’t done the deed; how come y’all don’t listen?”
Sonny shuddered once before his heart stopped beating
Nary a soul mourned his tragic life so fleeting
With other poor men, they put him in the ground
And no stone marker graced his burial mound
Sonny’s fate isn’t hard to justify
The Holy Book supports an eye for an eye
Does anyone care how many men are taken
With the chilling chance that we may be mistaken?
A portly old man from Spain,
Let his belt out to relieve the strain,
But his pants button exploded
Like a missile unloaded
So far that it brought down rain.
dusty was the scale, under the bathroom sink
all it needed to work, were two bare feet
and it would tell the tale
and tell the tale true
a bit portly, bending over just to see
TALKING TO ME
Do you ever get the feeling that inanimate objects are talking to you?
Sometimes I do, not often, but sometimes.
Like trees that seem to be murmuring in an unknown language
somehow suggesting a meaning to me.
And clouds when billowed tell me of some distant place I haven't visited.
They display portly faces that look strangely familiar and seem to mouth
broken words.
Once I heard running water in a stream ripple in nomadic sounds, it told me
the secrets of how to go with the flow.
Flowers often, when in full bloom gossip and say "look at me, aren't I beautiful?"
But when dying cry out say "I was younger then, but now I'm old and frail!"
It seems when picking out socks to wear, I imagine them vying for my attention.
Pick me.. no pick me. And when I do, feel a little guilty that I didn't pick the other.
Once I took out and put back pliers from my tool holder on the wall. One cried out to me saying that I shouldn't put it so close to the other one (considered far inferior). And of course, the screwdrivers made it known that Phillips do not belong with Flatheads.
Should it be, do I have to endure these insults to my sensibilities?
As I said, sometimes.
The dark, drenched forest
was tinkling with tuis and bellbirds,
blind to the ledger book,
the bill of lading,
the glint in the eye of the ax.
Pious settlers wired the land for religion
and switched on the lights.
The natives were dazzled,
but loved the portly man in the red suit
who gave them everything they wanted.
On the Historical Society outing,
we struggle for footholds
in whirlpools of organized ennui,
clutch at the slack rope
that cordons off irrelevant ancestries.
‘The end is not nigh,’
the Dom-Post tells its readers.
Doors are bolted against the wind,
the tick, tick of the electric fence
around eroded pastures.
First published in Southern Ocean Review
Sardines on the Sand
Two Sardines danced hand in hand
At their wedding upon the sand
As a Herring played the violin.
A portly porpoise clothed in grey
Greeted guests from far away.
A pair of Cod beheld the scene,
The bride was dressed in seaweed green
And an Octopus sang a gliforal song
As the assembly wept into oyster shells,
While an elderly Crab played whale bone bells.
A gumley Anchovy bore the ring
As the Vicar asked the choir to sing.
Then a choir of Kipper sang on the strand,
And throngs of Mullet from far and wide
Danced by that strong mantigious tide.
Then there came a flumifinous roar
As the tide surged upon that shore
And all the party were swept away.
All on that bright framtitious day.
19/08/16
For the contest 'In the Style of my Favourite Poet.
Sponsored by The Seeker
I feel like a portly and bearded
Hemingway
in a bulky fisherman's sweater
after a bullfight when
I ingest barbecued pork.
A bona fide man
clutches the ribs
with his creased
and hard-working hands,
sinks his incisors deep
into the roasted flesh,
and with a quick
forty-five degree
snap of his head,
shreds the dead
animal’s brawn
from its bone.
And like the full-bellied lion
who rests in the verdant shade
with gazelle blood
dripping from his lips,
the man leans back in his chair,
rub his enlarged stomach,
while not realizing
that he’s wearing
a moustache of
barbecue sauce.
A dish issue is whether the verb forms a series of events containing two or three ingredients. Ingredients are often officially interesting when placed. And material such as Velcro is very very useful when balancing on a widespread bed of crockery. Well cook then. Worldy worldwide without waste. And a hare is never a problem when hopping through an abyss. Calibres of officialdom. Wow. No problem at a beach house and home and away for the weekend is fine but the other side of the United Methodist Church is the name of the first place of worship. Oh dare one meet a jackdaw in a cardboard car. Or a ministerial monkey. Holidaying hopping hippies have havens. And bend not over a crevasse as dangers stem from rock. And blades spawn from spacial secrets. Secretary then. A portly lady humming. Hahahaha and now a salty dew. Hahahaha and an additional android arguing. Hahahaha dare to swim with the dog. *** multiplication z