Best Prattles Poems
Lost -
Through an Eagle's eye
Over Fields of plenty
Where rivers and creeks
Never run dry
But I can't feel it
Mountains rising up
Touching the pink, blue,
And rustic orange skies.
I just don't know why
… I just can't feel it
I am a lost page within the novel
No one knows my inner battles
Entering another day
Of constant trials and prattles
Lost –
Through the ears
Of a Great Horned Owl
Where life's creation falls silent
Scurrying about
But I can't feel it
Forests of trees where an
Acappella choir resounds
Magically starting the day
Reverberating all around.
I just can't feel it
And the sea sprites dance
To a rhythm of time
Reaching out to my soul
Touching my heart
Seeking to free and unbind…
I cry, for I can't feel it
No, I just can't feel it
For morning becomes noon
Noon becomes day
For everything has its place
With a time to work
And a time to play
I give up, for I can't feel it
I will never feel it
I look to the four corners
Seeking answers,
But the wind is motionless
And the world, unfeeling
For such are the plans
I never made
So I turn the page….
perhappenchance
How a dog feels when his neutered
And the vet is undisputed
And the Shiela’s cut you dead
with icy glaze
Coventry uninviting
Really not exciting
Hard eyes are a biting
Should I say
Quick as lightning’s frosty feelings
Inside her head is wheeling
Thoughts of hate now revealing
Petty jealousy
this sunny day
Computer talks and rattles
And the flirting tale a tattles
And it’s not me he prattles
Never never, can I say
I’m only a computer
I’m not the bloody suitor
So switch me off an leave me
Keyboard’s stricken to obey
But time will maybe soften
My sweet comes back to me
As I try to push the misery away
To dodge the loathsome glance
Get a smile perchance
get my sweetie back
Some other bloody way……perhappenchance?
Don Johnson 18-may-11
Cutest prattles of children I adore
Are now the loudest cries I bear
Oh, No! The grieves of these abandoned souls
The worst sounds I have ever heard
Mesmerizing songs of endemic birds I carried
have become a threatening alarm now
Migratory birds missed the way to their hometown
Endemic ones sense no way at all to escape
Minerals accumulated river
is now of blood spilling over
Obnoxious odour it is,
I couldn't carry further...
Daily prayers and chants I hear
have turned into laments with fear
Thrumming thunder drums I bring
turned out to be the horrible skirmishes
Two military factions strictly crafting their plans
Echoing the sounds of huge bombs and gunfires
Reigned over their people by creating boundaries
Unfortunately, this unbiased breeze is same for all
Amidst this tormenting situation, I still try to thrive
to be a solacing breath to the struggling souls out there
If not, I would have become a windstorm
and ruined the entire place certainly
21-Oct -2023
I watch her lipstick mouth; it never stops
its movement as she prattles on and on.
And now another famous name she drops,
her daddy’s latest client, known as John
by only his close friends! She widely grins
while spilling secrets all about that guy.
I swear the Gossip Girls had fewer sins
than Pretty Talker. How she loves to lie!
I catch her telling half-truths all the time,
yet all the kids are mesmerized by her.
To me, her pretty mouth seems filled with grime
each time I hear it spew a racial slur.
She has a straw between white teeth. A Coke
She’s sipping now. Oh, how I wish she’d choke!
Written June 28, 2016 for the Pretty Talker Contest of Skatcenter>
If i could, I’d veil the earth
And keep it far without your view,
I’d wrap its bulk and hide its shape.
But that would be a waste of time.
Your eyes are those that see the depths
Of the deepest bluest seas.
I look around and feel so grieved
By what I see on mother Earth.
Are these the beings you meant to save?
Their steps have left the golden path.
The congregation you so loved,
Has had indeed a twisted turn:
I see an alter, two men then,
And then I see a priest clad in white,
Hands stretched out in your name,
For man and man to live as one:
Blasphemy is their heritage
From Pharisees of long ago.
They’ve sold the rod you gave to them
To guide your sheep to fields of green,
And took instead their fill of gold,
To get themselves more robes and gems.
Are these the ones you left to lead?
Their every deed profanes your name!
The fragile brand you took from man
Prattles much about her place.
They top their men and bring discord.
The rules you gave on modesty,
Are just as right as purple skies.
The sacredness of two as one
Is all around the busy streets,
And everyone can get a piece,
Except, of course, their purse be dry.
Our consciences are in our bags,
We know no boundaries in our minds.
I see a door, I see ten bolts,
That veil landlords like refugees
From those to whom all wealth belongs.
The touch of gold, so smooth and good,
Has bought the consciences of men,
And turned us all into miners,
Miners on the devil’s mine!
Time crawled silently on soft paws.
After years of anxious waiting,
Our little nest became alive,
With childish pranks and prattles
Two adorable boys ran round playfully,
Making our silent nest ring with noise.
Still remember those hectic days,
When my hands were so full
From tidying the house to keeping ready
Their school uniforms washed and ironed.
Helping them with their homework,
Packing tiffin, clearing the mess,
And being off to office for work.
By evening, came back dead tired,
For another round of mechanical cooking,
Queries like “are these the only snacks to eat?”
“Where is my workbook” et al make one truly mad.
Life wasn’t easy, with struggles rife.
During those years, how I longed,
For a little rest and quiet,
But at the same time, frolicking in the beauty
Of dreams built around our kids
Time speeded away so quick.
The boys grew very fast and flew away,
From the shelter of their comfort (?) zone
To far off places for study and later for work.
The house is back to silence once again.
Now how I long for the good old hectic days.
Memories sprout like pale shrubs,
In a famished backyard!
Our life is now immobilized in a coma of stillness.
On lonely evenings sitting in our empty nest,
We wait intent for their phone calls.
Often our hearts are set ablaze,
At the prospect of their coming home.
Parenthood is nothing but loving and losing!
May.7.2023
Empty Nest Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Cooper Etheridge
In the sunken hollow a gray mass
addles
A silhouette of swaying muskets
shadows
Braying horses the silent vigil
rattles
A curdling breeze across feted
expanse prattles
The stilled pageant concludes with
the order, "charge"
From sheltering tree line, a
disheveled mass doth barge
A shrieking, cacophonous chorus
christens the onslaught
Menacing octave wafts;
Union, tidal waves to
distraught
Darkness, darkness everywhere
Like a warm blanket in winter
Like the shell of an oyster
Darkness, white and grey and blue and red
Darkness makes me wildly mad
The old banyan tree has become my friend it so often invites me to chat
I chat freely with it though no response because I am left alone nobody sane
And busy youthful person cares to sit with me spend with me a moment a single moment
I know I talk of the past so many times repeated they mock me though at my back the
Old haggard the useless old man again on his tricks who will have the time to listen to his
Foolish prattles
THE TIME…
The deafening silence everywhere
The old and fragile staff to hold
All the world shuns you there
The deafening silence makes me mad
Thinking of the old days opens up the fountain of tears though weeping openly will make me seem
Insane insane they call me though at my back even my grandchildren avoid me they are busy
In their own world do I remember my long dead wife? She constantly returns
In my dream I stretch my arms towards her she evades laughingly they call me brooding old man
I get angry ANGRY AND SHOUT AT THEM
I shouldn't have reacted thus… oh god
I… I… I go back
To my
Own banyan friend
My staff
One step, two step
oblivion
As sky lazily tints reddish purple bright
She resumes own day at melancholy twilight
Her scarlet lips and luring scent of night,
Dazzling smile wake up lonely hearts at sight
No wonder she's tactful on drunkard's prattles
Humbly strips off pure gentleman's prejudice
Though her soul wanders, physique is generous
Heart never cries for recurring love vanishes
Her vision is not a game it is just a devotion
to be a survival, selling life on negotiation
Illiteracy along penury leads sole destitution
whom should be blamed to push her a lewd relation
Look at her eyes! What they want to you portray
Just an appeal to face for another single day
Listen to her heart! What it may try us to say
No difference of HUNGER what we,you and I say
Swarnapali Liyanage
11/07/2011
This many guys dislike its mention
Including an owner of mansion,
From avowed lover walking away
And next time block his coming their way…
For even the steadfast tax payer
Regular payment not his prayer;
One could swear there’s no Tax Payer Max
Who wouldn’t want the rules to relax!
As often as not tax evasion,
To depletion of wealth aversion...
What makes a citizen a patriot,
Long prattles about it like parrot;
‘Very proud’ the delivering voice
Though doubtful over it would rejoice…
In US a political risk,
Your rival handling the matter brisk
In Nigeria treated like God’s tithe,
Easily, payers like struck snakes writhe…
Tax payment states its own energy
“Mass non-payment nation’s elegy.”
The New Yorker is having a birthday –
It’s made it to one hundred years.
With each story, cartoon, poem or essay,
It’s jump-started many careers.
Despite what it’s called, you can buy it
At newsstands or else go on line
And subscribe – since my brother did try it,
He gets his in the mail before mine!
Colorado is where he is living;
We both read it and then we discuss
All the articles that it keeps giving
To curious people like us.
I have some complaints – sometimes writing
Prattles on many pages too long
And most poems, instead of delighting,
Make no sense and I don’t think I’m wrong.
Yet I’m happy for every arrival,
With a crossword to tackle, as well,
And I hope its continued survival
Will outlast those whom truth would dispel.
Suddenly I came like a wrecking ball
Breaking all the bonds that binds your soul
I’m like the earth, the wind and the rain
Washing away your pains in pain
You couldn’t help the afflicted because you were one of them
Wherever you go to and whatever you do
Anyhow you run your race, there I face
Like a wounded dragon ready to spit fire
Your future died, you didn’t cry, because you know nothing about it
Now you have your life in an egg shell
Ready to go a distance with greasy legs
Hoping I save a place in heaven next time we meet with each other
Because you know I can imagine living in your state of mind
Survival as a factor hates you 'cause it didn’t totally break you
Fate and misfortune embraced you in the life you are living
Because you numbed down from their prattles to be self actualized
I’m glad you want to decide what is important
But you are fighting without knowing how to win
Beloved African girl
Do not conceal disbelief in your fragile mind, for I will recite
the secret of your destiny and drink from the same rum with you
From the debt of my heart
The gods will inspire the sound of the drums
And you will rise to fall no more
Very soon, the entire world will pen down your greatness
For I am Africa, and my blood runs in you…
A Stewart Annie Everestus’s poem © 2019
I blush when I think about the makeup
Of Man. At birth he's weak and insecure
He's helpless, ignorant- a little pup
Has more going for him than this treasure.
And when he matures, mental growth is slight.
He whines and pines and broods o'er picayune
Events: It's too hot! I'm cold! That's too tight!
I hate my job! That cost too much! A tune
That's sung ad infinitum-- Maddening!
There's absolutely no relief from it.
He lies and cheats exaggerates most things.
Befuddles, muddles, meddles, throws a fit.
He battles, tattles, prattles--Stop! Enough
I say, stop the world I want to get off!
Mr. John Kerry is not to blame
As he prattles on about climate change --
"Much more important!" he warns, "than Ukraine"
Thus keeping his woke bona fides unstained --
Forgetting his hat out in the rain
JK contracted water on the brain
We booked on the radio as was the way
And out the station we drove away
The radio prattles its continual banter
As we policed the streets at a slow canter
There were disturbances some loud but not unique
And pub brawls to make the night complete
There were shoppies on day shift
With neighbourly disputes sorting out the grift
Throw in a Coroners at some one’s demise
Taking a report through the rels cries
Until the end of the shift comes round
For a quiet drink and to talk it all down.
© Paul Warren Poetry