Best Pries Poems
When I see those eyes,
They’re filled with lifeless lies.
It’s no wonder his skin is like ice.
He tells me, “Come closer,”
His promise of wealth wins me over,
But then I see the black blood running through his veins.
He says, “Five years, then it’s time for more games.”
It’s now year six,
This monster finds comfort in the pain he inflicts.
The tormenting things I’ve seen,
His toxicity poisoning my dreams.
It leaves me in a cold, wet sweat.
He steals me away because of a forgotten debt,
My pleas and sorrows pave the path to his inferno.
In the distance I see a burrow,
He leads me down the dark, wet cave,
Fires emerge- I find myself wishing for my grave,
They bathe my eyes, I shut them tight,
But he promises that the fires won’t bite.
I gaze into his Hell engulfed in raging flames,
The fires beckon me closer with their playful games.
My muscles tense and my body aches as his evils fill a dense lake,
The bodies swimming give me life.
I begin to see that maybe he’s all right.
I feel my body start to change,
A wave of power surges my derange.
This Hell pries open up my eyes,
It shows me all of his lifeless lies.
It chills me to my very core,
Just one sip from the sea of dead- and then I will be no more.
The new air I breathe,
The new scent I smell,
It’s almost as if the Earth is now Hell.
He fooled me just once, but the reward so sweet,
Prepare for a fight- I can’t be beat.
He thinks I’m grateful, but he shouldn’t hold his breath,
Remember, “You have the black blood, I have the red.”
The fury I have is stronger yet,
He’s about to regret that forgotten debt.
I’m losing control as reality slips,
This boiling being flips the switch.
I see a reflection- surely it can’t be me,
Those must be his lifeless eyes rippling back at me.
My stomach twists and my head spins,
But I’m on a mission that requires a win.
I’m in a dark hole- there’s no turning back,
With one swift whack, I put a knife in his back.
catalyse of chalk
circles sooted box, reveals
the vortex inside
stakes open her eyes
pries into her private life
draws blood with madness
insists a deep cut of ties
a vampire’s bite sucks
glistens under moon-lightning
with darkening of iris
the rectangle shut
and discomforting inside
the satin lining
that swaddles her until when
feeds the lack of blood pressure
buried in the earth
instead of mausoleum
means she is fated
until flood rains dredge her up
bitterly famished and ripe
her tormentor’s plot
enjoying her plight of pangs
and her screaming fangs
that engulf her first victim
she begs a silver bullet
…and who will shoot first
the gun, with no reflection,
or the too-white teeth?
does lover want to join her
or distribute her ashes?
the two quick rounds nail
tormentor, his protogé
bloodthirst vanishes
end of bad day, sky’s crimson
and the hungry are looming.
Jesus replied, “Foxes have holes
and birds of the air have nests,
but the Son of Man has no place
to lay his head.” Matthew 8:20 NIV
PLACE OF RESPITE
Cheek-tinge of pink dawning in the murky skies.
Blandness of deep-earthed bark, stretching,
touched by birdsong…long overdue, it pries
the stirring of tinctures, heart-revival fetching.
The soft cooing of dove-white countenance
behind the adventurous arms of upright praise.
The milky colorant, the soothe of boundlessness,
heaven’s face — the wise eyes of Jesus’ blaze.
Crustose lichen of green, subtle stripes of peel,
signature branch-sketch, by God’s hand, varicose
leans into his every word — his glory-heel
at cross-times past, every blood path, bellicose.
Eureka! I once again, open my ears to golden notes.
Why is chirping so charming? …like an angelic shake,
the bell one or many…the beckon from furry coats,
unseen-existence b’neath the heaven’s silver lake.
The light brightens on the horizon, a New Year shines
through the I’m-glad-I’m-home-steal-my-heart blinds
Familiar bittersweets and blues, buttercup-yellows, signs
that love is close of hand and hearth, most oft’ kind.
1/4/2022
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
First, the hunger~
a blade splitting every leaf,
a mouth with no bottom.
I am all appetite,
a green comma
curled in the wet dark.
Then the ache:
my skin stitches itself too tight.
I spit nails, spin a rumor
of wings~
a shroud of gold and spit,
a hearse made of silk.
Inside, I dissolve.
No prayer, no bone,
just a thick syrup of becoming,
a body unmaking itself
in the blind cathedral
of my own ribs.
One morning, the light
pries me open~
not with kindness,
but like a burglar
kicking down a door.
And I, new and clumsy,
will stumble into the air,
still drunk on the miracle
of my own undoing.
The lightning strikes and all is dark,
the Lock Ness Monster is about to embark
on a journey along the ocean’s shore,
more diligent and courageous than before.
She is strength and beauty combined,
a delicate creature, so hard to find.
Her head crept above the water quiet yet stark.
She strolled through the mounts with might,
ready for the battle of any nightly fight.
No one could mess with the immense Lock Ness,
and I admire her colossal power nonetheless.
She’s redeemable, stupendous and severely tough,
wearing leather skin so resilient and rough.
She’s my favorite mythical creature, I must confess.
Brawn and firm with a head that slithers,
her veins always hydrated, they never wither.
Fading under the moonlight she slides under water,
sleek and stealth like her mother taught her.
Never stops swimming, she’s aquatic that way,
only pries at night, never during the day.
Never once has a great white shark fought her.
Long necked with stamina and vitality,
with an original and intense personality.
Muscular and sturdy with gazing eyes,
a tawdry creature with a slippery disguise.
Potent by nature with energy and force,
always swimming on the righteous course.
She’s got a puissant form, intelligent and wise.
The lightning strikes and all is dark,
her head crept above the water...
quiet yet stark.
Loch Ness Poetry Contest
January 4th, 2017
========================
Through dark rainfalls,
how can I sleep?
A nightmare crawls
through dark rainfalls!
It pries the walls
and tries to seep
through. Dark rain falls...
How can I sleep?
========================
====================
What will the rain say?
It falls the day your father goes to ground
and palls all hope he loved you anyway,
as it recalls the countless flaws he found.
What will the rain say?
That while it stormed your port had served her best
but when again it warmed, love sank away
like long forgotten treasure in her chest?
What will the rain say?
When you must keep it out to stay afloat
but drowning doubt seeps through your saddened bay
and leaks into your solitary boat?
What will the rain say?
When water pries your soaking seams undone,
then tries to rise above your head today?
Will you still cry for one last ray of sun?
And what will the rain say...
====================
I’m put upon to ponder the problem of poetry
& thus, I proudly or, perhaps, perfunctorily,
Ponderously pronounce with a preponderance,
Even a plethora, of p’s:
Poetry is pithy, prankish and perky,
Pertinent and impertinent, too
It’s prophetic, pathetic, pragmatic and proud
Poetry pretends, preaches, points out,
Points to, and down, and under
Poetry’s petals promise purity and peace
Poetry’s pristine, picky and pale
Poetry is practical, prudent, is pregnant,
Gives pause
Poetry’s precise, prayerful, powerful
Poetry’s presence is portentious and playful
Poetry’s a mosaic portrayal, a
Painted portraiture, perfect, profane
Prosaic, it is not,
Preposterous, it is
It is ponderous, political, porous, pontifical
Peripatetic and perennial,
Prescient, pedantic, possessive and puerile
Perfidious, perceptible, perplexing, perfectible
Poetry perseverates, preserves, perseveres
Sometimes perplexing, never perishable,
It pulses it prowls, it probes and it pries
Poetry is a perverse, precocious, pubescent prankster
It prances, and preens periwinkle plumage
In place of deep purple prose
A persuasive, peculiarly pleasant peacock,
Poetry promulgates poems!
Poetry, dear poet, exists
Poetry, dear poet, persists
Poetry, dear poet, persists and preoccupies
Poetry can never desist
Poetry perpetually propagates poems
And that
is the problem
with poetry…
Phew!!!
On a dive to wreck of good ship "Soul"
I noticed a door locked tight.
Over I swam to peer inside a keyhole
Expecting it be blocked up tight.
In shock I pulled eye back in awe.
For I saw an eye in hole
Staring right back at me through door
Eye to eye, delving within, soul to soul.
I looked again; alien eye had move well away.
As I stared the eye returned
On head of blue-ringed octopus it lay.
A human eye on Cephalopod head adorned.
The shock recalled a memory long lost
Of a lover's deeply piercing eyes
Always there poised to engage, accost
With suckered arms through keyhole poised for pries.
She walks with pride,
Maybe she thinks of herself as queen.
It can happen with time,
Her mind plays a wicked game.
But nonetheless, I’m cynical of Polly.
With every click and flash she gives a sly smile,
Doesn’t anyone else notice?
Am I getting a wrong picture?
But then she winks at me.
She makes me mad, I’m cynical of Polly.
As the press pries prudently into Polly,
She rejects their questions with her steely eyes.
Head held so high, she can’t see it,
People cry in despair, doesn’t reach her ear.
She just doesn’t care, oh, I’m cynical of Polly!
All she knows is her precious votes,
Counting them on her fingers “One, two, three….”
Flings her purse, strides down the stairs,
Her heels ready to crush some souls.
She is evil in disguise. Damn right, I’m cynical of Polly.
The rich bow down to her, she has that aura,
I despise her but I envy her.
To have that power, I would go mad too,
Won’t I just do anything to be in her shoes?
She dazzles me yet I’m cynical of Polly.
a black shadow pries...
her earthly music floating
the moonlight dance
as the last petal falls
onto silk sheets
as the candles bloom
with electricity
as she shakes loose
her virginity
and beds her groom
as his blood drains
from his countenance
doomed
to her eyes
her breasts
her hips
time and time
again
as the last petal falls
from her pedestal
pink roses
of her youth
his eyes still melt
his heart beats fast
his smile upticks
until
death consummates
and
pries
the dynamic duo apart
the shadow of roses falling
she’s beyond the pale
in the pink
of blossoms beyond descriptive scent
depth
walking as if on rose water
waiting
seems but a moment for her
seems like forever to him
until forever after again
Come to live in Kent
A lovely place to be.
Close to the continent.
Next the lovely sea.
The garden of England
growing houses fast.
Come to see what's planned,
while the stocks last.
Houses on the down ridge
what a lovely view.
Not for the average,
only for the few.
Live next a reservoir?
Where's the water gone?
But here's our saviour,
bottled waters on.
Travel easy everywhere
on congested roads.
enjoy a slow journey. Beware
those heavy loads.
To the coast, enjoy a swim
in the brown smelly sea.
Only fools would jump right in.
Consequences not foresee.
Woods and fields all gone.
Sanitised in parks.
Streams no longer flow along,
now underground in the dark.
Come visit us before too late.
See our beauteous countryside.
Your senses still it will elate.
Soon downhill we will slide.
Ted Pries August 2022
Sheer magic and miracles of art forms spring:
Passionate whispers of charming surreal sights
Visionary delights that fine finesse flings.
Fantasy art pries hidden realms in clear sight,
Touch of genius in full spectrum strikes a pose:
Crazy encounters of clashing wonder lights!
Vast memorabilia of craft that expose
Vantage views that highlight the vast mystery
Contrast and shades and hues and tints dare impose.
Art imagineers vivid imagery,
Fine creative brush plays with mental collage:
Fantasy confronts crazy reality.
Clear strokes exaggerate with focus enlarged,
Surreal aspects of fantasy revealing
Possibilities of visions that massage.
Experience the brilliance in art expressing,
Indulge all senses in vibrant renderings.
Leon Enriquez
05 Mar 2014
Singapore
What can be said?
About the treachery of the justice system
Filling the jury with haters of the accused
His crimes not specified
But fury radiates from the eyes of the jury
They say his crimes are numerous
But I sit there watching
Fully aware of their deceit
After all I am not part of this sham
Yet I can’t help the guilt that creeps into me
Because I jeer as he is pronounced guilty
Stupid Nazarene I say to myself
And I watch him die
Even though his innocence is clear as crystal
With one last breath I hear him say
“Forgive them”
Forgive who, me… Not possible
I am a righteous man
It is he who is to be forgiven
But as I watch the veil tear in two
The throne room once sacred defiled
My heart stops
Even the earthquake seems distant
I fear for I have heard this prophecy before
Foretold by the prophet of old times
Oh, oh, my life is finished
How could I not see the truth in his words?
And there on a tree is a rejected king
The messiah to be exalted crucified
Now his father will avenge him
In his fury he will spare not one
How can I stand his wrath?
Oh me, a foolish scholar
For I have been trained in his principles
Studied his laws day and night
I know his pries and his histories
But with my very own hand
I have crucified him that came to deliver
I must spend my last days in shame
Shame at my actions, foolishness, treachery
¬master, oh master come¬
Shut up you jester
Do you not see our impending doom?
¬ Master we must rejoice
For the tomb is empty
He has risen
You must come for he welcomes everyone¬
Oh, I must run to him
For he has risen to glory
He had disregarded the order of death
And claimed kingship over life and death
He has handed me the keys
So many years after
It’s today, the day of my salvation
And I remember it like yesterday
Happy Easter