Best Prototype Poems
There was no finer detective than Inspector Thaddeus Tweede of Scotland Yard!
He was most astute in solving crimes and could quickly detect a fake canard!
He joined the force as a 'bobby' working himself to the peak of his profession.
You daren't pull the wool over his eyes when he was seeking a confession!
Ah! He could have been cast in a movie since he was a detective's prototype,
In his tweed suit, tweed cape, tweed deerstalker's cap and ever-present pipe!
When investigating crime scenes he'd mull the facts with his chin in his hand,
Puffing his pipe making copious notes should he be called to the witness stand!
The highlight of his career was solving the case of Prime Minister Percival Hoar,
Who was found by his maid one dark and stormy night sprawled upon the floor!
There was no evidence of forceful entry or anyone breaking through the door,
Nor was there any sign of a struggle, bullet holes or oozing, bloody gore!
Who could have done this dastardly deed that brought the minister to his doom?
He took prints, photos and noted a strange odor as he moved about the room.
Thaddeus called on all his experience and training to solve this mysterious case,
Muttering to himself and doing a lot of 'hmming' as to and fro he did pace!
Eureka! He noted a bulge in the prime minister's jacket he hadn't noticed before!
Gingerly lifting a bottle from the pocket he deduced he needn't search anymore.
It wasn't a gun, the butler, jilted lover, political enemy or an envious friend
That did the terrible deed - 'twas demon rum that brought the minister to his end!
Staring, vapor locked, at my Hammond B-3 console organ, which dominates my
kitchen. Surely a symbol of my madness. I can't help, but think, if the keys were
the days of my life, and the black ones represented the bad days, are there
enough black keys?? Fighting petulance, self-pity...losing...
Wondering if I can stand another minute alone. Atop my organ, music books,
and the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe, another mad poet.
Plagued by physical agonies that merely complete a perfect circle of anguish
and distress. Even to worrying of misspelling a word again. Pure lunacy.
Remembrance of my 1863 death at Missionary Ridge, something I became
aware of as a young child before I'd ever heard of reincarnation. Or just an early
sign of the madness to come??
I am lost in a befouling miasma of deep despair. My life's hopes down to 2
desires; one last music band, and taking my son to Disneyworld. Money is
meaningless to me.
I am well aware that death is as natural as life. And I would venture to guess
that the loss of my father, my young cousin Billy, my dear friend Mark Trotiner, and
too many others, are "Business As Usual" in this universe. But not for me.
Being terminally ill myself is something I have long since come to terms with.
And what a reunion it will be!! But I must continue to go on surviving as though I
cherish this long and barren life.
My writing, especially my poetry, my poet friends, my music, my musician
friends, and a few relatives and others; these are the meds that work for me; not
the 30 or so pills I must deal with everyday. So thank you all.
And now an addendum, one which brightened my day:
Mark Trotiner long maintained that he gave Mark Knoffler (Dire Straights) the
idea for his hit song "Money For Nothing", when Mark Knoffler came into the
appliance chain store he worked in way back then, where he bought, and drove
off with several T.V.s, singing the prototype words he'd gotten from Mark Trotiner.
Over the years, I tested him repeatedly, looking for the tale-tell deviation in the
story one finds in a false tale. He never faltered, he never failed.
Continued.....
Neutron binary star collision
Drifting in the ether, most of my adult life
Drawn toward a magnetar, she's a prototype
Exotic matter unimaginable, powerless to repress
Mercurial wondrous, one time star has turned goddess
Imploded onto my scene, light weeks ago
Contains only neutrons, emits an ovulating glow
Trapped in her energy, I've become a willing feeder
Stripping off my outer layers, every orbit I come nearer
Accretion disc envelopes me, she siphons off my matter
Relentlessly devouring, inexorably I'm growing flatter
An inverted death embrace, drains the life from me
Oozing radioactive plasma, overcome by gravity
Nothing left to give our marriage, togetherness remain
Resting on her surface, satisfying each others pain
Pulsating forever, orgasming every few seconds
Lovers radiate jets, ejaculation going errant
Originally written 08/30/21
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 10 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
07/27/22
Shelley
(The Birth of Science Fiction)
I.
Young Shelley at Eton imbibed the mystique
Of science romanticized into extremes:
He gave his poor tutor a shock and a shriek—
Electric jolt!—eliciting screams.
II.
Explosives and fire-balloons were his joy,
Chemicals tainting his fingers and arms,
Steam engine blew-up—(another mere toy).
Mad Shelley continually causing alarms
III.
His tutor named Walker is wholly forgot—
Blueprint for someone whose name we’ve all read—
Frankenstein’s prototype, likely as not,
Mixed up with Shelley in wife Mary’s head.
Continued from Pt 1
In the living room I could hear my parrot. I reached in the refrigerator to grab a
carrot. In the living room I found momma's sewing kit. I grabbed lots of buttons for Mr.
Snowmans outfit.
Back outside I looked at your snowman. "Something is missing for you." I made a face
and I knew. Back inside I grabbed my Yankee's hat - it will have to do. I walked over to
grandpa's chair, "A pipe for him too!"
I returned to Mr. Snowman. He was beginning to look cool as a fan. My Yankee's hat
on his head would be his only clothes. A carrot for his nose. It would be uncivilized if I did
not have two buttons for his eyes. Too bad I did not have a wig for some kind of hairstyle.
So I added several buttons to make him smile. He was beginning to look his best. I placed
the remaining buttons down his chest. He was the perfect snowman prototype. I finally
added his pipe!
I snapped lots of pictures playing in the snow; So you would know how much fun it is
from my personal view. As if on cue, I pressed send. Hoping these pic's would convince you
to visit me for a weekend.
You receive text messages from Jimmy Matthew, and you see several cute pic's of me
in snowshoes. You notice my lips are cold and blue. Finally you see several pic's of a
snowman for you!!!
Note: Here's Pt 2 of your snowman poem Charma:)
Who am I
but a prototype of my Creator
He breathed His life
into my being
Listen to the breath
in my voice
It will tell you who I am
a finished product of my Creator
There sat in opulent xanadu, the
demagogue of empirical hedonism,
his granary once fuelled regal reign of epicureanism:
gregarious, restive, much-awaited successor of imperial dominion,
neurotic, obstinate, was the cynosure of cynicism.
The eldest child of Duke and Dutchess of York, erstwhile Prince of Wales,
the proclaimed young heir, stood far from the course of sceptical euphemism;
The heir apparent had a historical encounter with Wallis Warfield Simpson by fatalism,
by wooing Wallis, the royal blood encountered, clangorous cynical criticism.
The resultant mayhem broke, the blue- blood became the bottleneck of idealism;
sagacious, was brooding strategies to be the prototype of unprecedented heroism.
The proclaimed marriage faced vehement oppositions:
encompassing : religious, political, legal and moral objections.
The outright denial to accept Wallis as the king's consort, broke the anticipated rebellion,
Edward's refusal to give her up, led to his final abdication.
When was quite apparent, he could not marry his beloved Simpson,
finally settled to rebuke the throne from etched imperialism as emancipation.
The man of the hour was then entitled "the Duke of Windsor", a transformation stunned the world and wrote an unprecedented statement in chronicle after abdication.
Edward VIII, once epitome of monarchism, became an ideal icon of asceticism.
A sybarite, turned commoner by deserting the successive chair of the british kingdom to wed his ladylove;
a tale of unprecedented impeccable loyalism.
The abdicator's epitaph on Royal Burial Ground, Frogmore,
is still bearing in indelible transcription,
the testimony of an uncustomary love saga of renunciation.
An epoch making transformation, decades have ever witnessed from iconic monarchism to transcendental loyalism:
through unprecedented renouncement
of the bequeathed throne
to array chronicle's unrivalled iconoclasm.
All Rights Reserved © SILPIKA KALITA
A- You measured me by my appearance and preconceived perceptions wondering if I fit the mold of black stereotypes;
B- Your gaze holds a gesture of tired impatience and wonder of if I self-hate because my color of skin don’t fit the American way of life or the prototype of what you think im worth because I am a different shade when I stand next to you in the light so I couldn’t possibly suffice how am I a blueprint that came with my own set of trademarks and copyrights;
C- We broke chains of submission and no longer are we bound with shackles by our feet the hold now resonates in minds;
D- Screams from ancestors that were heard across plantations as they got whipped from behind as the hunger for us to bow down before you fed appetites; now you ask why we got our hands up in name of black lives
A- You measure me by my appearance and preconceived perceptions wondering if I fit the mold of black stereotypes;
B- Your gaze hold a gesture of tired impatience and wonder of if I come from a broken home and if my mother’s a single parent struggling to survive and if the government pays for my home in which she tried provide, if the men in my family were part of murders and homicides;
C- Segregated for years because the pigment of our skin showed the difference in which we hoped many would accept; as buses filled and we set in the back further proving that we probably shouldn’t expect to be respected unless we lowered ourselves for your acceptance;
D- As I look at you staring back at me you wonder if I would slight you push you to fear and make you grab your gun in safety because that’s what unties you with others like you I shouldn’t possibly cause a plight it’s what ignites you; all in which coincides from a stereotype
Written by Lesha Trachelle
La capinera's wintering pieces of tropic tunes
The garden warbler's echoes of dark melodies
Post-colonial poets return by summering fortunes
Learnt by rote as sacred Oxbridge duties
Note
The French "pantoum" may be modeled on the Malay pantun,
or at least it may aspire to, but it does not adhere to its
fundamental compositional criteria. For the original prototype,
cf. T. Wignesan, "The Poietics of the Pantun" in Journal of the
Institute of Asian studies, Vol. XII, n° 2 (Chennai), March 1995,
pp. 1-15; reproduced with corrections in T. Wignesan. Sporadic
Striving amid Echoed Voices, Mirrored Images and Stereotypic
Posturing in Malaysian-Singaporean Literatures. Allahabad:
Cyberwit.net, 2008, pp. 49-67.
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2012
Positive mind – Zamreen Zarook
Minds are of various type,
Most are solely stereotype,
Positive once are always phenotype,
But being neutral also not a prototype.
Mind become as the main role player,
It is our biggest annoyer,
No doubt, it’s our great betrayer,
Understanding this makes an extra ordinary player.
Wrong assumptions inculcate due to this sight,
People don't know its height and weight,
Misunderstandings and crushes are as light,
Our negative eye was our sky light.
A boy goes to wine store,
Controlling the mind out of deplore,
Make our mind say “He went for a cash change” and it was his core,
It’s our time to change our folk lore.
You are the prototype
Of the authentic beauty of Africa
Your twinkling eyes
Are a genuine reflection
Of the real lovely African girl.
The glimmering of your sunny face
Is the true symbol
Of that radiant African girl
Your slim and soft body
Is the finest example
Of that Exquisite African lady.
Your traditional chitenje wearing
Is the real picture
Of a gorgeous African girl
Your fashionable walking style
Is what makes you fit
Into a model dazzling African lady
Now pick apart
My S E X U A L I T Y
and tell me these traits
That must define me.
From my heads to my tippy toes
Am I more man or Mo?
Dont hesitate
While you emasculate
They must call you Webster
Because you act like now.
Is it because-
I dye my hair to ignite these eyes
Or I skip to the beat
And step in time?
I dont wear clothes that pop
My pants sag NOT snap
I dont death at the drop
But Ill always clapback.
I pee standing up
But cry standing down,
More wit in this sass
To asassinate a clown.
I flick my wrist-
sideways
But have hair on my chest,
I dont pluck my brows -
For days
I choose ladies over men
To spill the tea
But I can outrun a sportsman
If someone is chasing me.
I got Fem tropes.
I pull man ropes.
I dont vape, I smoke
Im riddled with jokes.
Got a snaggle tooth
That bite will your truth,
Im not GQ clean
But I on the cover if you know what I mean.
Liza, Judy, Gaga, Babs
Parade my phone
with disney pics and washboard abs.
Denzel, Deniro, Statham
Are the dudes I roll
I dont spit whiskey
But ill drink vodka from the bowl.
I believe in truth and the American way
I pray to God,
YES I was born this way.
So paint my sterotype
With your sheltered PC hype,
I am just a ruggedly handsome prototype-
Now continue to archetype me
As I drop this Mic.
I am Black, Am Proud,
Not slack, but Smart,
As intelligent as Any Caucasian,
Africa gave life to other continents,
Let’s say She is the Cradle of Civilization.
You can’t underrate me, calling me a backlog for I
Know that I am an Absolute Specimen,
Maybe you don’t know the African physique is the unique
Prototype of God’s first creations.
Am proudly African,
Am No Racist,
A Humble Gent who Believe in Racial Equality,
But the Love for My Fatherland is all Encompassing,
So Natural...Landscapes with unique scenery,
Human Resources Intelligent and Hardworking,
Mother to the world.
Summoning the face in the Mirror the man calls
“Mirror, mirror on my tasteless bedroom wall,
Am I the only righteous dude who’s got it all?
I’m a Twitter tweeter in everyone’s face, no jest
A god-like prototype ascendant above all the rest
No one can finagle, lie, cheat, and steal
Like me, the master architect of a shady deal
Mirror, mirror, am I not the sovereign Top Dog
A business guru and vastly envied pedagogue
Give me your answer as you usually do
I await your reply ever predictable and true.”
Speaking, the Mirror says objectively and with candor
(In a monotone absent alarm or apparent rancor)
“Attempts to equal or best everything you represent
Were absent any skill and lacked the power to prevent
Lying, cheating, scheming and copious immorality
Of the traits you epitomize in your relentless duplicity
Bright green dollar signs were tattooed on your rear
And as a 14-karat schlemiel no one was your peer
But today your lofty roost has toppled it would appear
To a superior arrival a compassionate and powerful rival
Usurping your reign and promising you a bleak survival
For Honor, Humanity, Ethics, Quality and Morality
Bonded as one and effectively challenged your inability
To behave as a human or exhibit any values or maturity
They had the muscle and perseverance to permanently uproot
Your corrupted regimé that is für immer (forever) kaput
You will never again be hailed as a preferred persona
You will dwell with your ilk as persona non grata
Even if Hell should freeze over (an unheard of phenomena)".
Carol Zic
An 81-year old woman, widow, and U.S. Navy WAVES veteran
January 15, 2017
"Husk"
3 decades sucked out the marrow
Swallowed yesterdays
Spits out a Queen from the crumbling Tower
Ten of swords
High Priestess
Tarot
Husk arisen
Papillon Lefevre will be killed and bitten
Princess supersedes Queen to conquer Life
Through 'true' Love this is written
So mote it be
To Queen G, Che Guevara freedom given
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
gvlm/llb
““Hard things are put in our way, not to stop us, but to call out our courage and strength.”
“Aerodynamically the bumblebee shouldn’t be able to fly, but the bumblebee doesn’t know that so it goes on flying anyway.”
Courage, sacrifice, determination, commitment, toughness, heart, talent, guts. That’s what little girls are made of; the heck with sugar and spice.”
"I need you to remember this: There are days, maybe even weeks and months, when it feels like you are never going to move forward. When you doubt yourself because you can't see any progress. But the truth is, if you are waking up every day and doing the hard, beautiful, necessary work of living and learning you are growing. It's impossible not to. So keep going."
https://youtu.be/jA8inmHhx8c
Viktoria Modesta - Prototype
1.Disability/Health
2.Independence
3.Papillon Lefevre Syndrome
High Priestess
https://www.biddytarot.com/tarot-card-meanings/major-arcana/high-priestess/
The Chariot
https://www.biddytarot.com/tarot-card-meanings/major-arcana/chariot/
Strength
https://www.biddytarot.com/tarot-card-meanings/major-arcana/strength/