Best Postured Poems
Mastered Puppets
Of the voices thrown and never shown their cries travel well
A starving sewn with a bitter bone of their life a quiet quell
With larval lips that are losing grips where echoes only dwell
Their smile drips as they use their fingertips in a yielding yell
Left alone with a grunting groan their silence slaved to seal
Ruling the hunger zone a thirst on throne with a musty meal
Voices held captive and anguish adaptive with souls of steal
Their reality refractive with dreams inactive they still congeal
Mastered and strung with a tangled tongue they begin to pray
A heart hung and death unsung, wounded words they convey
With tears they wash as the sorrows squash their moral display
The sounds that swash in their postured posh soon fade away.
June.18.2018
Ventriloquist Poetry
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
Dedicated to My Son, The Bedtime Kissy-Keeper Giver
Like a virgin to stressed messes surging,
I struggled with bridges on parental ridges
when I wore both mom and work britches.
Young years adhered pleasure steered twitches
but grown changes sewed pressure stitches.
I changed to a day and night striving
female getter-doner; an energizer twit-nit
who conquered to-do lists into done bits.
I became every weekday employee,
pay postured towards green seen garnered.
I was more a get-byer than I was a
future green funds keen accumulator.
Nightly, I morphed into dinner’s meal cooker
still dressed in work time's pantyhose stress.
I dreamed of a pajama seamed frame
before next becoming a kitchen mess cleaner,
homework tutor, tub time clean scrubber and
loving night-nighttime book reader.
I found no awakes take was sweeter
than my child’s beddy-bye kissy keepers
and prayed my son’s most precious styled love
would counter the stresses that I was made of.
I.
In the orange land,
the sidewalks race wild with them,
postured like statues of royal gardens
the marble lions
amongst hibiscus limbs.
II.
I like the smell of them,
earth warmed dirt
and fallen honeysuckle
baked
beneath the Florida sun.
III.
I poke with
one tanned fingertip
where the flesh
cocoons around their
soft belly,
it is like
the open sesame
for lizards.
IV.
The open mouth of a lizard
has no bias
it dangles on ear lobes
like Coco Chanel
classic in style.
V.
When separated
the tail becomes an asp
wrestling with the truth
of it's loss.
The sun, drab green
The moon too quiet
Earth's cities wept
Looting and riots
Mayors postured, spoke
Their message 'woke'
The sun raced away
Moon's light gone gray
Dark is the soul of a man who was crazy
to let a pure love pass on by,
his fear of commitment, his immature ways
brought regret, and a tear to his eye.
She was the perfect one, destined to flavour
his days with a grace rarely seen,
they were as soul mates with nothing but sunshine
to savour, and dreams to convene.
A lifetime of fantasies, nothing was real
for this man disinclined to know love,
he postured and played, he pretended, he posed,
he was scared of this gift from above.
The lesson he thought he had mastered so well
came to nothing, it went up in smoke,
he courted her, loved it when he made her laugh,
yet this man was the butt of the joke.
Now he's lonely again and he thinks he'll be fine,
but he's stuck with the same old despair,
will he ever be worthy of this woman's love,
will he find the prescription to care?
He still remembers her beautiful voice
and the way she made light of his woes,
he hopes she'll forgive him, tell him he's a fool,
another chance? only she knows.
© bickerstaffe - all rights reserved
Author Notes
...yet another autobiographical insight.
although a group of people sustain their lives beautifying
everything surrounding them
insisting that everything is good
because they are God’s creation
while another group of people
though they also are humans
swallow and spit out loathsome language
go tottering intoxicated from a foul-smelling-contaminated-air
fuming from the languages they spat out
after there came an erect postured bipedal primate
which was a trifle creature fed by dust wiggling on the earth
for thousands of thousands of long years
eventually they started to share their thoughts
looking in each others’ eyes
cultivating, refining words and phrases for better communication
among those words
were beautifully polished and preserved phrases
thru generation after generations of studies and development
they were exclusively used by a specific class of people who enjoy showing off
and thereby wanted to separate themselves from ordinary people, however, now, the beautiful words and phrases became coarse;
is it because the words were abused by them or
their sleazy tongues stiffened the phrases?
they lost interest in finding the reasonable reasons
because there was no yard-stick to establish a standard;
zombies stalk on the street in bright daylight
the fake brand-name luxurious articles overrun the street
DNA twisted weirdly
all children are born mutated and therefore have evolved
to an overly obdurate species, strange world
there are no family features of daughters like their mother
or sons who resemble their fathers anymore
but only a line of families
like a poorly shaped mosaic landscape made with puzzle pieces
picked-up from alleys and forcefully placed to make a picture
they are never satisfied with what they have
and that’s why if you applaud them they demand more,
if their request is rejected they yell and scream at you
with newly invented swear words
rather, like a dead person
no matter how much you extolled him, doesn’t ask more;
even stamped on to humiliate him, won’t cry or say a word
that’s why God may have kept
everything beautiful beyond men’s reach
that’s why men who live on this side of the world
shout and scream
making everything uglier than it should-be
hanging on to the things they can easily put their hands on
Oh fallen star of Bethlehem, your established moment shines,
upon canvas of harsh intent, descendent of heavenly design?
A mighty angel’s leading light to those befallen, pleasure-bent?
Are gleaming eyes masking spites or, our demands, aspiring content?
Looking toward skies o’er Bethlehem, as prides of mortal men delight;
bearing gifts; coffered obedience, marking paths, Magi alight.
When losing sight of stellar sign, in Jerusalem they did quick inquire,
at palace great, to a king divined; hoped route, from Herod, to acquire.
II
We saw a star (when in the east) and have come to render our obeisance,
said light has left us briefly, too the wakes of our continuance.
While in the kingdom his star was seen, glancing eyes into glass orbs stared.
Expectant sighs at skies portending, bejeweled fingers into cauldrons stirred.
A caravan of mystics then gathering, consigned to cross harsh lands at night.
Postured gifts, too much appeasing, a source of imminences, expelling light.
Great Herod stirred with agitation, “Summon to me, scribes and priest,”
and they spoke to him of Bethlehem, from whence shall come a Jewish King.
Elsewhere God’s swift messenger, arrives with tidings of glad news:
Rejoice! Rejoice for the Lamb’s shepherd! Blessed are borne Jacob’s sons to truth.
That one drawing light from the light’s giver, firstborn of heaven’s womb.
He has taken breath that men be delivered, fear no more, door’s enclosing tombs.
III
One question, in cautious need; discerns plucked from common threads.
What purposed such judicious leads, as that star’s light to Jesus led?
What cause that such symbol did cease, perhaps a plan most devious shed?
To turn also eyes of Herod east, these, jealous guards of scriptures read.
Oh bright stars over Christendom, look! Your beam’s a turning compass,
your ray, as flames with many tongues, scouring Earth in hopes of bliss.
Misleading truths, mounting traditions, swallowed lies drunk from waters shallow.
The wise one is made fool again, if needs a lamp, above a Christ we can follow.
With signs, divinities are misconstrued, as such, a star; still you teach our youth?
As light into the night deludes, beware, convincing knees to bending truths.
Once when I was just a kid my mom thought t'would be nice,
If I'd invite some friends to play and we could swing outside.
I had a swing set in the yard where I would play for hours.
My daddy built it just for me away from Mommy's flowers.
It stood beneath a large Oak tree and even had a sand box.
We played and swung and had a ball, got sand in clothes and socks.
Our neighbors had a big red dog, a loyal, patient friend.
Prince often came to play with us, he wagged his tail and grinned.
Another dog came on the scene and Prince was not amused.
They postured and they sniffed each other, a dog fight soon ensued.
We screamed and cried and climbed the set as Prince and dog fought on.
Smokey heard our frantic cries and raced onto the lawn.
Prince was huge with big white teeth and muscles big and stocky;
But Smokey feared him not and leaped and rode him like a jockey.
Smokey sank his claws in deep with teeth he grabbed his neck.
The big dog took off down the street with Smokey firmly set,
Upon his back, he rode him well, they soon were out of sight.
We worried that he might get hurt in yet another fight;
But he came strolling home real soon the hero of the day.
"Don't worry kids', he seemed to say, 'he won't be back today."
Vanessa throws the shot put, track,
In the F34 classification, wheelchairs,
And is a wheelchair racing coach,
For English Athletics, also an activist.
Whilst doing the job she received a call,
From Alison O’Riordan a throwing coach,
Just after she’d survived a breakdown,
And having deteriorated considerably.
Vanessa suffers from the condition,
Described as Ehlers Danlos Syndrome,
And also abnormally postured Dystonia,
Such that she’s now in a wheelchair.
But Alison’s text was bold yet friendly,
“When are you coming out to have
a throw Nessa?” because Alison here,
Believed she could teach Vanessa all.
Vanessa had only joined the club,
Of Haringey Wheelers to get fitter,
And also so to improve her health,
But not to land feet down in Rio city!
Born on June 20th in the year 1977,
Vanessa now studies hard at university,
At the University of East London, UEL,
Examining sport and exercise science.
She hopes to follow on with a masters,
Or maybe even a longer PhD, loves talk,
Which she didn’t have the chance to do,
When she was younger, a young adult.
Gaia had deemed insects as king of beasts
After the last humans departed in spaceship 'Stephen Hawkings'.
'Planet Water' was in ruins, polluted, wrecked by
Runaway climate change and raging storms.
Ants has arisen as king and insect rulers
With superior organisation and pervasive presence
They evolved and grew as big as cattle
Subduing all other animals and beasts.
Yet, the terror of the Tyrannosaurus Mantis
Made all beasts tremble, when the quivering
Shadows of looming praying mantis spread over ground
Like that of Tyrannosaurus rex once terrorized past life.
Triangular head with huge bulging eyes, and vicious jaws
Could swivel around all angles, front, side and behind,
So nothing could escape its silent pervasion,
As it pranced, poised, stalked and postured on ground and in trees.
Huge forelegs, covered in spines, held coiled-up like arms in position of prayer,
Showed no mercy when they sprung out and grabbed innocent prey
Dragging bodies back, twitching and writhing in recoiled spiny forearms
To be munched alive in vicious sharp jaws, mounted acutely on triangular head.
Tyrannosaurus Mantis evolved with the ants to beasts as big as rhinos.
The ants as rulers, tried various ways to control them, kill them off for good.
But so far, no pathway to extinction for praying mantis had been found,
As some ancient god, mantis worshiped in prayer, seemed to protect them.
WORDS DECRIBED THIS
THEY DID NOTHING TO
DETAIL, WHAT THE EYE
REALLY SEE'S
I POSTURED MYSELF TO REDEFINE
EXPERIENCE
I POSTURED MYSELF TO DESCRIBE
WHAT WAS BEFORE ME
IT MAKES EVERYTHING BEFORE IT'S CREATION
INFERIOR
IT'S ARROWS POINT TO ALL DIRECTION
AND THIS ENCOURAGES ALL TO WANT
WISH AND DISCOVER
FOR THE SAKE OF CREATION
IT FILLS CAVITY'S
AND TRENCHES DRY SPACES
IT STANDS STILL
AND GOES PLACES
IT IS TIMELESS
AND EVER GOING
RELENTLESS
AND AWE SHOWING
IT'S AMPLIFIED AND WHISPERED
DIFFERENT AND STRANGE
IT'S RIGHT IN WRONG PLACES
IT WHY THINGS MAKE A CHANGE
IT'S HOW WE WILL DEAL WITH TOMORROW
IT WAS THOUGHT OF YESTERDAY
FROM NOW ON IT SHALL BE SPOKE OF
AS IT WAS HERE ALWAYS
I awoke in the morning to a different world
From the world I'd left, they'd find it absurd
To alls past acclaim, on Calvary Hill
It was not he who bled, but a woman's spill
She, the daughter, of a long loved king
To him now lost, what does his tomorrow bring
Naked to bare, cast amongst others
Was it so bad that she now smothers
Crowned of thorns, sorrow postured be
Never should ones icons, be as we see
In any world that this event was undertaken
No matter the cause, believed, now forsaken
Yet nothing was indifferent it was the same old nails
That held her to post, yet the same people wailed
Days turned to decades, centuries now having past
Then I awoke the next day, not even aghast
.
SMOKEY AND THE GOLDEN RETRIEVER
Once when I was just a kid,
My mom thought 'twould be nice,
If I'd invite some friends to play,
And we could swing outside.
I had a swing set in the yard,
Where I would play for hours.
My daddy built it just for me,
Away from Mommy's flowers.
It stood beneath a large Oak tree,
And even had a sand box.
We played and swung and had a ball,
Got sand in clothes and socks.
Our neighbors had a big red dog,
A loyal, patient friend,
Prince often came to play with us,
He wagged his tale and grinned.
Another dog came on the scene,
And Prince was not amused,
They postured and they sniffed each other,
A dog fight soon ensued.
We screamed and cried and climbed the set,
As Prince and dog fought on,
Smokey heard our frantic cries,
And raced across the lawn.
Prince was huge with big white teeth,
And muscles big and stocky,
But Smokey feared him not and leaped,
And rode him like a jockey.
Smokey sank his claws in deep,
With teeth he grabbed his neck,
The big dog took off down the street,
With Smokey firmly set,
Upon his back, he rode him well,
They soon were out of sight,
We worried that he might get hurt,
In yet another fight;
But he came strolling home real soon,
The hero of the day.
"Don't worry kids', he seemed to say,
He won't be back today."
Judy Ball
For Fraqncine Roberts Pick A Pet Contest - July4,2011
Dark is the soul of a man who was crazy
to let a pure love pass on by,
his fear of commitment, his immature ways
brought regret, and a tear to his eye.
She was the perfect one, destined to flavour
his days with a grace rarely seen,
they were as soul mates with nothing but sunshine
to savour, and dreams to convene.
A lifetime of fantasies, nothing was real
for this man disinclined to know love,
he postured and played, he pretended, he posed,
he was scared of this gift from above.
The lesson he thought he had mastered so well
came to nothing, it went up in smoke,
he courted her, loved it when he made her laugh,
yet this man was the butt of the joke.
Now he's lonely again and he thinks he'll be fine,
but he's stuck with the same old despair,
will he ever be worthy of this woman's love,
will he find the prescription to care?
He still remembers her beautiful voice
and the way she made light of his woes,
he hopes she'll forgive him, tell him he's a fool,
another chance? only she knows.
Amidst scented Glens
Afore me in postured pose
Breathtakingly she
Allures this Highlanders eyes
Her beauty personified
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-16.php