Best Prong Poems
Before the roses withered cancer took her in vain,
after the petals w i l t e d her scent never gone-
For only one thing in his heart could ever remain,
the way she used to sing that special love song,
for he had known it had always been her all along.
When you fall in love you awake to a new dream,
and in loving her he could never go wrong-
When your beloved dies, LOVE CAN NEVER BE REDEEMED.
When they first met he thought he would go insane,
Her eyes so big and brown with amber hair so long-
For passion and romance in his heart were engrained,
And t o g e t h e r in such harmony they both did belong,
For a marriage proposal, he could not prolong.
They bore a child and life became quite extreme,
before they knew it that little girl already foregone-
When your beloved dies, LOVE CAN NEVER BE REDEEMED.
At her grave he lingers hoping closure he’ll gain,
But his head is telling him to try to be headstrong-
For on his broken heart a crimson blood stain,
And the d i s t a n c e seems to be forever farlongue.
Wishing someone to pierce his heart with a prong.
Through all the heartache they made the perfect team,
Oh, once more if only he could hear that ol’ love song-
When your beloved dies, LOVE CAN NEVER BE REDEEMED.
After the petals w i l t e d her scent never gone,
he shall never forget his beautiful wife Doreen-
For he had known it had always been her all along,
when your beloved dies, LOVE CAN NEVER BE REDEEMED.
December 14, 2016
The blade penetrated the flesh
like a prong to a pitted plum
he had played with war
toyed with war
yet the gun
well the gun didn't have balls
Not for him the sterile
three shrouds removed
expunging of visera with a gun
sissy pistols
pansy takers
Stick um good
part the seas of red
wake and feed the hounds of war
plastic pop-guns shatter beneath the heel of Mars
Man UP, raise the staff
and shove the pig sticker into mother's child
Oh man, war, Old Man War
do you visit him each night as you enter
what should be the path to love?
Have a poke little man
just remember, all that was is ...
and will be born again.
Dedicated to a constant friend and inspiration Chris Aechtner
Inspired by his write "kids use toy guns'
It's here now under a converted sky
Where daylight has loss it’s might
Hours before the green hills had sight, with
splattered hints of yellow wild flowers so bright
Now time has casts a different light
It here now where the heavens sings an evening song
With twinkled lights on a moon lit prong
Dancing stars and dreaming of mars
Its here on this transformed spot
I will sit and jot
It is here now as I lay back on this cool grass, and write a story
with the heavens the color of quarry
Of jeweled eyes in the skies
that connected to stories, some disguised
With silver spoons and astrological loons
On dream away, dream on by
to the earths motions and lullabies
It is here now time to take a brake
from life’s work ,and worries and heart ache
Try it yourself remember when, you were a child
when you looked up the night and smiled amen
You know within that you are right!
Your words tear at our guarded flesh.
Canines raging at every bite.
Life's essence weeps after each thresh.
Silence does not mean we agree.
Taking each jab of your blunt prong,
Our eyes fixed on what you don’t see.
I must ask you, "What if you're wrong?"
11/10/17
When traveling among the throng
His thoughts have too often gone wrong
Alluring effects
Of the opposite sex
Have the devil stomping his prong
psyches of all bards and writers
synchronized crowd swimming in waters
yuppies and brave souls unheard by all
chanting audience in an imaginary stall
hearts we hide as words unfold
on paper and scrolls, always young never old
lasting ink or cellphone battery so strong
of thinkers and scribblers of prong
genetics of poetry or honed skill
your poetry in a song that inspires and fill
only the strong survives and remain
filaments of musing, project and pertain
poetic justice is justice for all
or no balance like a bouncing ball
ever and never will an artist to surrender or fall
triumphant in all writings, big or small
remnants of your undying soul
yours is the scepter and crown and tiara
like winner takes all
Fixing our own mistakes can be quite a vexatious trial
Laughing at our errors often brings us a humorous smile
Asking others for assistance is not a sign of weakness
What it shows is a humble nature known as meekness
Because of our human imperfection we get things wrong
That doesn't mean our resolve and patience is not strong
Seek to find the solutions you may have known all along
It just takes some trial and error to go that extra furlong
Procrastination is not the answer, for it will only prolong
finding explanations for problems that gather in a throng
Get to it! It's as simple as stabbing meat on a fork prong
You will be elated with your life and singing a new song
Don't digress. Be determined to dissuade dense denial
Upon a first reflection, no human achieves perfection
Even following direction, we still need some correction
Fixing our own mistakes can be quite a vexatious trial
Word Pairing: Trial and Error
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February 2, 2016
4X4 Master Rhyme Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
Marbles of different colors
Wobble on a board
Striped or solid colors
Numbers all aboard
Carpals, long or short
With a stick, prong or jolt
Balls babble on the spot
Squabble on each dreamed slot
Sides or corners on target
Minds at play don't forget
Which side and in what tune would you like to play for...
Table or tailored floor?
When I get tired of the concrete and tar
there’s a place I can go, and not travel far,
that hasn’t been touched by progress at all;
nature stands still beneath gums growing tall.
And in amongst shadows with sprinkled light,
there’s rippling water and birds taking flight,
a sprinkling of colour amongst shades of green,
there’s burrows and scratching where something has been.
So I give you a picture of Billycan Creek
where flora and fauna are all quite unique,
and nothing is spoilt where I sit on a log
with my video camera and terrier dog.
A single stem orchid stands better than stark
with a deep purple flower that closes at dark,
and a coprosma tree with red berries quite sweet
is a pleasure to find with its bounty a treat.
In mistletoe weeping from a host in disguise
I video drifting jezebel butterflies,
and sitellas who cling to an old stringybark,
then high on a limb…the nest of a mudlark.
So I give you a picture of Billycan Creek
where flora and fauna are all quite unique,
and my camera is ready, with eyes like a hawk
where now with my dog on a casual walk.
Here the undulate water it constantly flows,
diverting ‘round logs and where overhang grows,
a haven’s provided for what could be prey
and in the shallows there’s a freshwater cray.
Some red brow firetails flit down for a drink,
there’s a burrow that’s new with no reason to think,
for a wombat has scratched out a hole and a mound;
but a wombat’s nocturnal who lives underground.
So I give you a picture of Billycan Creek
where flora and fauna are all quite unique,
and I’ve only a second to capture a scene,
so my camera is ready to help me convene.
The scent of boronia hangs heavy and strong,
lances of grass trees are a seed clustered prong,
white ants have covered an old stump with mud,
and Christmas bush bracts are now starting to bud.
On a hazel bush branch a grey fantail sits prone
in a nest made of cobwebs, to a tapering cone,
and a chattering chough tells me that I don’t belong,
now my camera has died so I can’t say it’s wrong…
So my battery is flat and I’m back at the log
with a film full of nature, and my terrier dog,
and you’ve read my picture of Billycan Creek
where flora and fauna are all quite unique.
©2011 Lindsay Laurie
In sentient shades of silence
The heart endures from tyrants
Love lives lachrymosely long
My heart shows its prong.
June.22.2016
PART 2, FULLY BOOKED - Poetry Contest
By nette onclaud
~compose ONE dodoitsu: 7, 7, 7,5 syl count: 4 lines
*The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter ( Carson Mc Culler)
This is PG-13! While googling, I accidentally bumped into something I wrote seven years ago. Only vaguely remember it. No one on the site where I posted it commented. Expect nothing less here. :)
School-Daze Dreaming
From the patio I watched her
Silhouette behind the shade
The allurement of Diana
Quivered in eleventh grade
Through a warm wind I still shivered
From those curves of treachery
While she reveled in my weakness
At her sin's abilities
That she'd beckon one so lonely
Drifting as a single cloud
Her wicked school girl chastity
Like a paragon to proud
As her image was uncovered
When the shades were opened wide
Through my rigidness I pondered
Should libido be my guide
For my own demented ego
Born of promises so pure
Could not wallow any longer
In a place this insecure
So, I harnessed my stiletto
Unrequited for too long
Turned my back on absolution
Let the sheath fulfill the prong
As emotions overwhelmed me
And my hands unleashed her breasts
Squeezing demons from her bosom
Til myself became possessed
And her muzzled screams of horror
Through her separated knees
Where the warm, red blood was oozing
From her now deflowered tease
The tintinnabulation
Signals class is at its end
I awaken from my stupor
With contempt I say, "Dismissed"
Quickly, students flee the doorway
Save one girl of seventeen
And I stare in vexed amazement
At the object of my dream
From her desk, thighs barely parted
First a smile and then a wink
And her steam contorts my vision
To a pedestal of pink
.....
A reluctant sun expresses its last light
As the golden moon becomes a thief once more
Landing on her mound of Venus late that night
Carries us on tides to Aphrodite's shore
On The Range
You are an old cowboy now.
Your bronco riding and rodeo days are over.
You now mostly drive a pick up truck or ATV instead of a riding a horse.
You drink you whiskey straight, and your cowboy style coffee black.
You don't smoke any more, but when you did you rolled your own cigarettes and lit them with wooden matches.
You got your tobacco from a white pouch with a yellow pull string that you kept in your shirt pocket.
You wear blue Levi's and a leather belt with a silver buckle, and white straw Stetson hat with
a woven white, black and turquoise hat band.
You wear cowboy boots with riding heels and a shirt with pearl snap buttons.
You keep a blue bandana in your rear pocket to wipe off sweat and act as a face mask in dust storms.
You have worn chaps, fixed a barbed wire fence, and know about droughts. blizzards and prairie fires.
You still ride a horse, can cut a calf out of a herd, and like your father before you own a Colt six shoot revolver and
a 30-30 Winchester lever action rifle.
You have heard stories of massive Texas Longhorn cattle drives up the Texas-Montana trail in the 1800 hundreds,
and when you do, you wish you were born a hundred and fifty years earlier.
Like you ancestors before you, you make your living raising cattle and enjoy watching the sun come up.
Long ago you learned to appreciate the blue sky and openness of the high plains with its
yellow prairie flowers, purple sage brush and tumble weeds.
You have heard the howl of a prowling coyote, and the harsh caw of a magpie.
You have seen wild prong horned antelope, prairie dogs, cotton wood trees and,
beautiful night skies filled with a million stars.
Patience
Don’t you stick that prong in me!
Who do you think you are?
Step back from the cooker,
Your behaviour is bizarre.
I haven’t finished cooking yet,
You will have to wait.
You’ll ruin my appearance
And get me in a state,
Perfection isn’t easy,
It takes a while you know,
So go and do the ironing
And leave this to the pro’s.
Keep that oven door shut tight,
Let me rise in peace,
If you interfere again
My stature will decrease.
You can dress me when I’m ready,
If you really must.
It won’t take long, it never does,
Stop making such a fuss,
Ok I know that you’re excited,
You’ve every right to be.
There isn’t many birthdays
Have a cake as grand as me!
Stabbed in the neck, hammer to the head,
cracked ribs, broken jaw, left for dead.
Slashes to the face, body in a brace,
dumped in the river missing without a trace.
Bowled by a truck or even a car,
bits of bone and flesh smeared and mangled near and far,
Strangled, poisoned even being shot,
Poking with a cattle prong, Why? Why not.....
Being burnt alive, acid melting your face,
Pinged out on junk, attacked with a wheel brace,
these are just some............ of the ways someone can kill,
why would I make such a list, because they gave me a chill.
Living in the shadows, living in fear,
this is where paranoia can take you, I know because I was there.
Kaptain Kundalini
Those unloved, and void of lust
Stagnantly covered in the dust
Waiting to be wiped with thrust
Smoot veils, they’re on the cusp
Of being just one more swept away, unnoticed
Like ancient texts forgotten too
Gone unseen, closed eyes rue
Held in limbo till he says the que
Halted, cold tangled up in the blue
Til’ you stumble upon the dormant love, inside it
Don’t fear what’s been left alone
The empty fields, no one roams
Better than the infested clones
Fruitful minds, now full of bones
Of those who skipped the dusted roads, to fit in
While those that scoff at others
Hide slick lies under the covers
Yet they call eachother brothers
Are trained to bark, hate hovers
Under a clever guise of misguided love, they created
So if you see a book rife with smut
Years of despair in a constant rut
Beguiled of the dustiness in glut
Though beauty lies inside it’s guts
Withhold judgement till you brush the dirt, from your notions
The pages glow, dust now gone
Has been there waiting all along
Yet took the ever slightest prong
Each word bellows a saintly song
That wakes the sleeping eyes to see, the beauty.