Best Prop Up Poems
A mystery for us mere human being to unravel;
B elief and logic fight over our world, all in confusion.
C ome stealthily, it does, while as busy beavers we wander.
D riven to sudden halt; surprise, shock and suffering grip tight.
E ssentials prop up from some dormant sector of the mind to
F ace strain and stress, in some old robotic approach once instilled.
G ot to hold upon, got to stand, got to function, as needed.
H earing and understanding are postponed until opportune.
I rony of life or mockery of fate; its own will to
J eer at our needs, feelings, state of being and expectation.
K indness, generosity and support shower from around
L ike lightness filtering in very long dark and gloomy night.
M esmerised we are of a display of crowding humane touch
N ever anticipated and evaluated in our
O rganisation selfish, to conquer,to build and to rise.
P artly wrecked, partly saved, we wade hard to breathe and to sustain.
Q uestions are many and answers less; in our everyday, they
R ecur, growing in number and torturing us with chagrin.
S omebody, luckily has to be here to listen, to share,
T o give some answers; family or friends, for us to pick up.
U nderstanding and accepting, all we are left with, to fill
V oid that keeps growing larger and larger while self confidence
W avers often; diversion from normal path of ours, repeats.
X enacious we are with willpower strong to rebuild upon.
Y ears of engineering; alas, some habits have to be dropped.
Z eal to live God's given life has to be gathered to move on!
25/06/2017
15 syllables per line.
It’s noisy in here
The engines don’t shut down till midnight
That’s when the sweating begins
The deep human subsystem checks in for the morning
Orange lights permeate the dust that rains down
And people move like ghosts in the fray
No one talks they just move in slow motion
Like a bad Tarantino film
It’s shift change in the data mines
The operation folks wait for the elevator up from hell
Chet Baker streams out bits and bytes of the blues from his trumpet
While the next shift downs their power drinks and coffee.
Drones and ants.
Moving from server to server to application to application
When does it end?
Where did it begin?
Taking it off boss
Need a drink of water boss
Yeah get some water there boy
Internets down.
Corporate is screaming they can’t get their dose of unimportant email.
Get a ladder and prop up the Exchange server.
AC is down in the data center.
Call Buildings and Grounds they’ll know what to do.
Google it Bob.
Google it now.
There’s water on the floor
The whole damn town is about to blow
Where’s the Calvary? At the Alamo?
Texas girl born and raised,
Try our BBQ and ya'll will be amazed,
I'll tell ya somethin' about livin' in the south,
Ya'll will hear, " down yonder," comin' out my mouth,
Back to the BBQ 'cuz it's finger lickin' good,
Pull up dem trucks and prop up on the hoods,
" Hope you fellars brought dem beers witcha,"
"Or I'll swing this switch where the sun doesn't hit ya!"
Heard my daddy say, " I'm hairin' this cat,"
" Ya''ll better mind those manners and learn how to act!"
Them there 'squitters are big this year!
If I call you Darlin' just know it's sincere,
I'm from Texas and maybe our slang is funny,
No where I'd rather be and you can bet that, Honey!
Ya'll come visit, unless, you're scared!
Eat some BBQ and drink them cold beers.
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY : LXXIV
IF ever I had a country proud of its sacred Soul Patrie
And if ever by a long shot I was nominated - not spuriously elected - Chef Ministre d'Etat
Plenipotentiary
The first thing I'd do is to give the Minister of Justice the sack in a hurry
I'll then take over his post and issue a long awaited (you'll agree) and needed decree
That henceforth any razor-sharp lawyer and his erudite team appointed by a client for a
very very high fee
To defend protect and facilitate the " escape " of any known criminal whose ill-gotten
gains burst bank-vaults to a brain-numbing degree
That the lawyer and his team be given the DOUBLE of the sentence meted out to the
criminal and be put away minus their licences to practise LAW in an Alcatraz-like
penitentiary
And this even if I never ever had no country to call my own with or without any patrimony
(The late eminent Vietnamese-French lawyer, Maître JACQUES VERGES, renowned for among other feats the defence of KLAUS BARBIE, the NAZI " chief " under the French Vichy regime, was also the Secrétaire de la Conférence des Avocats/Examiner for those wishing to practise law in France. And yet, in a case where I was concerned with revolting Master's and Doctoral students at the Sorbonne-Nouvelle University, he subtly had my case scuttled to prop up mainly Muslim and African-origin students - openly backed by JAMES BALDWIN - who objected vehemently to being taught, besides numerous other Commonwealth authors, V. S. NAIPAUL's The Guerillas, together with Eva Peron and The Killings in Trinidad, students who also took exception to any comparison, by way of structural influence, of WOLE SOYINKA's The Road, with Greek tragedies.)
© T. Wignesan - Paris, March 8, 2019
When my chores are all done, and it’s night,
and the everyday world’s out of sight,
with my paper and pen
I retire once again
to the room where I most love to write.
With soft pillows to prop up my head,
I sit comfortably on my bed.
Though I might seem at rest,
there’s a creative test
of real work going on in my head!
I can write anywhere, but I’m wed
to my poetry; thus, I am led
where I’m free to take time
making love to the rhyme,
and what’s better for that - than in bed?
For 'A BRIAN STRAND FORMAL' Poetry Contest
You Caught My Eye
When I espied a pretty lady
to love who was so ready
I searched for words of choice
to prop up my husky voice.
*
You thought me too blind
or, that Writers have no mind?
You opined that I'm too royal
to beauty not quite loyal?
*
Nay, an eye by beauty caught
is an eye perfectly wrought
For, to cherish and to love
is a free Gift from Above!!
Dedication to the Great Poet; Sextus Propertius.
27th September 2013
she became a new york city
street corner fixture
acted like its the only place to be
acted like its the place for the persecutor to begin
after all all men are guilty
none are forgiven
so she painted false hearted judges
to prop up her proposition
to subvert the natural truth
she lied when it came down to the last hours
but i was unsurprised i had seen her coming
the deception was the rationalization
means to the end
just because you can lie means you should
integrity means so much more when
there is no shame in the game
so once again i ask
just because you can lie means you should
isn't it about change
or was that just part of the lie
i walked away
on a north bronx street corner never to return
no regrets
she had sold herself at every chance
for two bits silver
for a lies chance to shine
but i will not be there to suffer the consequences
just because you can lie means you should
isn't it about change
or was that just part of the lie
Pumpkin
. I’m
A
melon
From which pies are made.
Have a fright? I used to cure snakebite!
And I removed speckles from people with freckles.
90% water, oh, so delicious. There’s more. I’m nutritious.
Eat me. What, can I say? You’ll get potassium and vitamin A.
That’s why I’ve been used in soups and stews. And not just in pies,
Surprise! Surprise!!! Here’s a fact that’s incredible. My flowers are edible.
Earliest ancestors’ seeds were N-a-t-i-v-e to the A-m-e-r-i-c-a-s. Believe!!!
Did you know? My h-e-r-e-d-i-t-y dates back to 5,000 years. Long, long ago!
That’s not all. Native Americans, with honey in vats, used me to weave their mats.
Here are some facts to make your mind glisten. Early settlers used to- now listen!
Make C_R_U_S_T_S!!! That’s right, I was used in piecrust and NOT poured inside.
That seems in some ways eerily chilling! A pumpkin piecrust with cherry pie filling
Oh, what’s all the fuss about pumpkin piecrust? Minced meat? Or a peachy treat!
Welcome. Come in. Join the fun. Prop up your feet, in the shade, not the sun.
Squash. Cucumbers. We’re all kin. Can you guess what family we’re in?
Cucurbita. I’ll say it again and again. Our family name is Cucurbita.
Cucurbita! Cucurbita! Cucurbita! Cucurbita! Cucurbita!
We're not just jack-o-lanterns. See!!!
*** Pumpkins posess history ***
Said Jonson, vulgar rhyme a petty crime
Swindling paupers begging fleeting stime
Opined syllabic compress from simple mimes
Which o'er lazy, temporal lobes did climb
Simple, jingoistic rhythms to prime
A crutch to prop up ailing metric time
Yet, Nature's species exist in kind
Mutated limbs rarely another tract find
Elliptical, redundant patterns planets bind
To their orderly, repetitive cadence resigned
Weather systems to each season assigned
Subsistence and providence congruently aligned
Catchy rhymes are not mongrel flem
Syllabic stress each base line does hem
Its melodic sound caresses the requiem
The ballast that holds each leaf to stem
Glossy makeup that bastes face so prim
Crown jewel of every verse, syntactical diadem
Author Note: Anapestic tetrameter: two unstressed syllables followed by a
stressed syllable.
So I queried some poets who dance 'cross our pages,
With such lightness and patterns and passion-filled phrases.
"When your guidance is sought by one earnest and wide-eyed,
Do you deign to reply just to prop up your self-pride?
Do you tell her, 'It's simple, just read all you can
About me and my writing, how fluid I am.'"
Or perhaps you're a mentor by nature and offer,
To pry open the portals and share like an author,
Who reveals all his notes although mental they be,
And takes pride in the craft of his new devotee.
Yes, 'mong even the great ones (we've heard of a few)
Magnanimity faded as rivalries grew.
So our resolute neophyte meets with the names,
Those whose art she reads daily, and counsel she claims.
With the confidence born of a spirit secure
Many veteran artists opine to be sure.
Some are eager to share of their passion for rhyme,
And the metrical rhythm and pacing they find
so essential to verse in traditional form
With the internal metronome setting the norm.
"Yes, but what about consonance, diction and sound,
And the imagery seen in a free verse unbound
By the strictures and structures of metrical scheme?
Non-traditional verse deserves no less esteem."
In the end all agree that emotion's the key.
And the soul of the poet must yearn to be free
To give access to mystery, tragedy, joy,
Be the uncensored voice that will sometimes annoy.
Let your passion be sovereign, your unrivaled guide,
You are artist at canvass, palette at your side.
Author note: In the last line, "palette" is here pronounced with the accent on the
second syllable, as in French. Thanks for reading.
Privately educated, privileged backgrounds .……no problem per se …….…but ......we're led by these plum in mouth toffs by the troughful.…... their snouts in the pockets of the electorate, creaming the real workers of cash for taxes .…....so long as they're okay with backhanded deals and offshore accounts, their empathy remains as real as a cuboid moon.
Distrustful dinosaurs with prehistoric rhetoric....... and arrogance beyond belief .......they give the people grief. Arguably their role is to be unpopular..... no reflection of the real people, no microcosm, no cross section, no true representation of us compounds their ability to irritate.
This is politics in full swing, full of stuck up d*cks and silly twerps in tailored shirts telling us how to vote. When can this change to a real democracy? ........Real parties talking real issues with real solutions with real taxes spent on real things. The equilibrium is unbalanced, the donkey jacket came and went ......now we're left with just the donkeys, more mules to carry the weight of their own egos.
We have the right to vote.....we pride ourselves on this democratic right...but this is looking through the rose tints.….I only have the ability to vote for different shades of beige....unless I want to become a part of an extremist, sensationalist mob.….I don't.... I just want a real choice of real people..….so for now my ballot card will remain a useful piece of cardboard.... to fold and prop up the wonky leg on my dining room table.
A decade of growth and decadent boom
People didn't mention the debt elephant in the room
It was the charge of the bull
Many pockets were full
The search for a higher return was the motivational pull.
But whilst stocks and shares rocked and flared
Investors held their breath in shock and fear
They seemed to forget that markets go up and markets go down
Because as long as uncertainty shows up, the cycle goes round
But to be fair the times were good, and returns seemed sure
The earnings of many corporations, continued to soar
The zeitgeist was the age of prosperity, profit and greed
It wasn't the time to question sustainability or question the need
Many financial advisers advised that it was the right way to go
"You should take advantage now, while all these rates of interest are low"
So many consumers took out mortgages, that they just couldn't afford
Including the 'sub prime', with bad credit, and of course the poor
But let's not forget, that the consumer went along, and played ball
Creatures of habit responding to the mating call, that beckoned us all
Deposits levels came down, loan-to-value went up
House prices bubbled and brimmed and we all drank from the cup.
Now the banks merged all of these mortgages together in lumps
Sold them as safe bets to investors, who were taken for chumps
Then the US housing market crashed
Now comes the the consequences
Unsurprisingly mortgage repayments started to slump
So called safe investments soon became worthless as junk
Families who had homes repossessed now facing the funk
Securitisation of mortgages now seemed so dumb
Regulators appeared powerless, dozing and numb
Lehman Brothers collapsed. America sneezed
The world became infected. Financial markets siezed
Governments and Central Banks now stepped into the fray
To prop up a system, that should have been reconfigured that day
Many banks were bailed; too big to fail.
The bankers who were at the wheel, too big to jail.
The humble tax payer was forced to post the cash
And many years later many banks still owe this cash
So the world was saved but here's the 'but'
The pubic purse was utilised, to escape the rut
Now all society must pay the price; take a hit to the gut
And suffer the pain, of historic public services cuts.
Mike Concise © 2015
www.mikeconcise.com
Pumpkin
. I’m
A
melon
From which pies are made.
Have a fright? I used to cure snakebite!
And I removed speckles from people with freckles.
90% water, oh, so delicious. There’s more. I’m nutritious.
Eat me. What, can I say? You’ll get potassium and vitamin A.
That’s why I’ve been used in soups and stews. And not just in pies,
Surprise! Surprise!!! Here’s a fact that’s incredible. My flowers are edible.
Earliest ancestors’ seeds were N-a-t-i-v-e to the A-m-e-r-i-c-a-s. Believe!!!
Did you know? My h-e-r-e-d-i-t-y dates back to 5,000 years. Long, long ago!
That’s not all. Native Americans, with honey in vats, used me to weave their mats.
Here are some facts to make your mind glisten. Early settlers used to- now listen!
Make C_R_U_S_T_S!!! That’s right, I was used in piecrust and NOT poured inside.
That seems in some ways eerily chilling! A pumpkin piecrust with cherry pie filling
Oh, what’s all the fuss about pumpkin piecrust? Minced meat? Or a peachy treat!
Welcome. Come in. Join the fun. Prop up your feet, in the shade, not the sun.
Squash. Cucumbers. We’re all kin. Can you guess what family we’re in?
Cucurbita. I’ll say it again and again. Our family name is Cucurbita.
Cucurbita! Cucurbita! Cucurbita! Cucurbita! Cucurbita!
We're not just jack-o-lanterns. See!!!
*** Pumpkins posess history ***
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
August 27, 2009
The long hard journey through
past to progress
These day's has far few many stops to make along it's tried and tested daily route to commute
As cutting costs has so many
uneconomic station laid bare
in it's path
Deemed unsustainable via
accounting computer program
ledgers with countless bites
of memory to spare
Once filled with dumpster full
of coal and shoals of eadible
fish pulse and grain
To steel the masses for another
working day to breathe new life
into industry
To service the never ending
escalating intresest on banking
loans that prop-up wall street share
prices
In order to finance and build a new
Mall , Factory , Hotel or Flats
On the grave of our past long
before they have even been
pronounced dead
It happened to the cowboys
It happened to the miners
It happened to the fishermen
It happened to the farmer's
What paradise for a car park
And job security for my family
And an honest day's work for pay
And human value self worth
And yet and though it is with our
blistered hand toil sweat and
tears it takes to build your tower's
It will be enough or shall it enable
us to afford us to live reside inside
your castles wall's
As for us we are merely entrusted
and expected to garner you with
security
Guard your carparks
Guard your gate's
Guard your monetary wealth
Good enough to raise your children
Place them firmly in our custody
Pick them up from Ivy Schools
When one is busy out shopping
taking lunch , partying or upwardly
socializing
And all of this for the measly price
of knowing one's place and one
mistake could cost you and your
family
It's one and only breadwinner
who put and set aside his pride
to hide it deep inside a box
That signals the future is the station
boarded up you just past
He said
my people come from a place
where the dung beetle reigns
I heard those profane utterances
and remained composed,
though he word assassinated my ethnic character
Once upon an ancient time ago,
my people dwelled in the land of Ham,
(it’s called Africa today)
the place where Moses met God —
I Am That I Am
Then we were sardine shipped
to America land
But the funny thing is ...
(yet, I’m not laughing)
after my people were stolen away,
his people took up residence there for a long time
Instituting European rule
for a mighty long time
His people sat on that colonialism chair,
squatting there for a real long time
When his carpetbagging relatives lived there,
that wretched place smelled sweet then
Getting them diamonds, ivory and precious jewels
made that a beautiful place
to prop up that Caucasian overlord footstool
I wonder what was the fragrance flowing thru the land,
when his ancestors
were resting upon their plantation veranda porches
What did the rich, dark land smell like back then?
How foul was the air,
when his people were living there?
Now today, historical amnesia has set in,
as he boast about the color of his alabaster skin
He has a downright wicked cavalier attitude ...
for people of color, he don’t much care
Haughty venom spitting on Africa like that,
but they once lived there
His people took everything of value that was there,
anything of worth got sea fared
The vestiges of colonialism is the foul odor
which he now smells
that still lingers long in the African night air
His people sat on that colonialism outhouse chair,
taking a squat there for a real long time
But when they lived there,
the smell didn’t bother them one bit
That stinky dung of oppression
got piled up sky high in a heaping pit
Now I’m just waiting on
the methane fumes of judgment to get lit