Best Purloin Poems
Aster 'Blue Autumn,' summer wanes.
The shining sky of dusk is drenched in splendor.
Tremulously, I watch shadows that arrive
all to soon-to purloin sun's last rays.
Aster 'Blue Autumn,' Virgo aches,
and you're re-birthed from star dust that she cries-
to bloom beneath blue skies until the fatal time
when breath is snatched . . . Pensively I wait.
Inspired by the Aster flower named Blue Autumn
Next item up for bid, a rare coin of mine
Is one 1894 s silver Liberty dime
Only 24 of these coins were minted that year
That is, in San Francisco, let me be clear
In case anyone here has a thought to purloin
We have guards and cameras on this valuable coin
It's merely speculation why so few were minted
The fact is, that's all, they permitted
The superintendent gave most to banker friends
But three were given to his daughter to spend
She spent one on ice cream, the other two she saved
After that,there whereabouts weren't written on page
The chances of you seeing another one like this
Couldn't be calculated on one hundred abacuses
This perfect coin is the best ever seen
And the last one that sold went for two million green
If you've deep pockets, want to impress your friends
My rare silver dime must surely make you grin
For two million I'd say, "Going once" at that price
But now 2.5 million I'd say, "Going twice"
Anything over that I would gladly let it go
Pay three million right now and I'll holler, "SOLD"
By Daniel Turner
I have picked up a scent, something's been killed
And I can hear my feline foes growling still
I trot off to the scene with bloodthirsty zeal
Hoping to purloin a fresh meal
At the scene, four lionesses are having a feast
On the flesh of a hapless wildebeest
Others from my clan are gathering now
Laughing like crazy and ready to chow
The felines are not ready to give up their kill
A battle ensues and more blood is spilled
The lionesses have no choice but to flee
My laughter is chilling and filled with glee
Then I settle down to enjoy the feast
Having no concerns in the least
But two lions are charging in to settle the score
My bones rattle at the sound of their roar!
7-1-19
Pick a Title, Volume 6, Personification Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title Chose: The Hyena
A drunkard, a thief and a con man,
Who was known by the name Greedy Jack,
Lived a life so vile Satan watched him awhile,
Said, "Of sin in his life there's no lack."
He decided to pay Jack a visit.
Thought with this man he'd have some fun.
Said, "Jack, you're an ass. You ain't got no class.
You're coming with me, Man you're done."
Jack asked him for one final favor.
One last night of drinks on the town.
Satan agreed, Jack really could plead,
And Satan and Jack made the rounds.
When at last the night's drinking was done,
Jack said, "I've no money. You pay.
Turn yourself into coin and the drinks we'll purloin.
We'll slip out the door free and gay.
The devil agreed to the trickery,
And turned into some coin on the sly.
But while he was coin Jack made sure he was joined,
In his pocket with crosses, Belied.
Jack said he would free him if he,
Would grant him ten years to be free.
The devil agreed and he'd have all he'd need,
But in ten years he must pay the fee.
In ten years the devil was back,
And Jack knew he had to think fast.
He asked for an apple for he wanted to sample,
The sweet apple tree they'd just passed.
The devil once more agreed.
He even got him to climb up and pick it.
But while he climbed the tree Jack whipped out three,
Silver crosses to lay there beneath it.
Jack told him that he'd let him down,
But first he must grant one last boon.
He'd not pay for his crimes to the end of all time,
And the devil agreed as he fumed.
Jack thought that he'd won the match,
But time passed and he grew old and sick.
He knew he must die and he let out a cry,
"God forgive me I'm all out of tricks.
But God would not let him in,
And Satan said a deal is a deal.
You must wander the earth, this now is your berth.
You're stuck Man. Now how does it feel.
Satan gave him an ember of coal,
To light his dark path as he left.
He carved out a tuber, he felt in a stupor.
He'd use this for a lantern he guessed.
So he now walks the earth a lost soul.
Not wanted in Heaven or Hell.
With a coal in a pumpkin at least he has somethin',
To light his dark path 'cross the fell.
Were I to swim to the edge of the sea,
what splendid scene should await for me?
Would I behold the legendary town
with glittering brick roads and king’s famed crown?
Could I uncover the truth in the seed,
win a place in the king’s absolute creed?
Anoint my body, in sticky sap drown,
paddle to Guatavita and dive down.
Arise from the waters clean as a bead,
to the fest of El Dorado I’d lead.
No other exists so gilded, hands down,
an existence of gold — building and gown.
I’d join with the Muiscan folk, indeed
take up residence and full life proceed
to build again a foundation so sound
that none could purloin the gold around.
World befallen by avarice and greed,
best forgotten I hardily accede.
To such golden place without up or down
I’d ever exist in paradise found.
Beyond the distant saddened sight,
inside this lonely broken place,
I see the light that slowly fades,
the flame that burns like love's gaze
into this empty soundless space,
the void of mind and thought and name,
where all has gone and naught remains
but,
as time dreams past in impassioned reverie
will the darkness possess my night
and end my sleep in incarnadine terror.
Can the warm flame illuminate the shadows
that purloin my silent illusions,
or is the light but a trick of the eye
hiding the raven that waits to take flight.
and,
does the flame feel the darkness,
does it sense the cold.
Can it imagine its own loneliness.
Will the cold's embrace in icy indifference
sooth the pain with veiled deception.
When its warmth begins to diminish
will the dark caress its waning glow,
or,
is it yearning that drives the emptiness.
Is it drawn to the flame
sharing its light in warmth and comfort,
to feel for the briefest of moments,
desired, wanted, needed,
beyond the ceaseless unseen tears
that fall from its ebon unseeing eyes,
then,
flicker flame for soon you will leave,
but memories of you shall linger on
like morsels, so sweet, of pastel dawn
and end of day shall come again
with fear of pending evening's gloom.
Fear not as shade engulfs the flame
for I may search for love too,
so,
embrace me, for I am the dark.
12/11/2019
Aster of September, summer wanes.
The shining sky of dusk is drenched in splendor.
Tremulously, I watch shadows that arrive.
Too soon, they purloin sun’s last rays.
Aster of September, Virgo aches.
You bloom till your breath is snatched away.
There be
the goats afloat
of devil’s purloin ditch
of mix of fact, the faker spoils
“the child!”
~~~~~~
There be
the child revived
adults of quickened souls
a Ga pe, Masters souls of love,
“the saints!”
======
Note: 'American, Double Cinquain(Didactic)
The feeling of getting rocked for the first time is
like losing your virginity. How I rise from the producers
decides if I like going down or hate getting up.
Yeah, they saw it. Eyes on me. The ubiquitous
air is still hear. My ascetic body
still functions on this field of men.
Fighting for friends, flying around full speed.
Go! Go! Go! Epitomizes our support.
The brain yells stop, but the heart whispers fight.
Hard work minus teamwork equals intact pants.
Hard work plus teamwork squared equals a smile.
Perspiration in the eye, never felt better.
The weakest link of our chain better power up
because he who pays the piper will call this tune.
Turns out, I couldn’t cry over spilt milk, if it didn’t spill.
As celebratory we were, we endeavor to looked opportunity
in the eye and purloin her work clothes,
before she is out of sight and out of mind
Could one learn what romantic fever is?
All I knew was my miserly uncle
With whom we were living,
Fell suddenly in love.
Still he held on tight riches.
Ah, but Juliana, oh wonderful Juliana,
Never missing a hiccup of grace,
Somehow managed to purloin from him
Lovely presents that delighted
Her scheming and wanton heart.
But then who cared or bothered?
We were all madly in love with her,
Those turbid humid days.
Juliana took us all to picnics
Much to our youth's delight.
Yes we all were in favor of our uncle,
That he begot a wife,
Juliana mesmerized us.
For did she not make us happy,
With all those gifts she gave us
Behind my uncle's back?
To her we were just baby dragonflies
Captured in fancy colored bottles,
To be indulged in and left astray,
Maybe picked up some later time
As if a schedule had evolved
In her gracious mind.
I often wondered what was best
If not to tell my uncle all she spent.
I had a sneaking feeling
His heart was leaking fine.
Would he have a heart attack
And have Juliana all for us?
Who could tell?
He might turn us out into the barn.
His heart strong and full of fortitude,
Would not I be killing the golden goose?
So I held my tongue.
And we all suffered from hay fever
As we trudged in secluded fields
Frolicking in the new cut hay
Or tumbling on the grass in meadows gay,
That pleasant spring when
My miserly uncle married away.
10 October 2021
Placed 1
''R'' Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Slinking silently through the night
on tiny tipped toes, claws withdrawn.
He mustn’t sleep until daylight’s dawn,
prudently prowls, avoiding light.
Clever, cunning crones craft a spell
to purloin his priceless powers,
control them in Eve’s evil hours,
condemn powerless prey to Hell.
Hither, fine ferocious feline.
Soulfully sing your sacred song.
Whiskers hoary, lavishly long
subtle signs of ancient bloodline.
He will not succumb to witches
who wish to control, to command.
Here he makes a substantive stand
to thwart wicked witches’ wishes.
Cruel claws render stinging slashes
slitting through wrinkled, withered skin.
They shrilly shriek their dying din,
melting ghoulish, gray-green ashes.
P
E
N
D
U
L
U
M
S
Pause
To protest, paradigms of
Patterned positions, pathways
Pegged precise. Postpone the push
And pull of passion prostrate, to push
And pull in planned pulses... in preset
Partial pirouettes,purloin the progress of
Premeditated peace. Pressing, pacing,
Perspiring,to purchase a panacea
Of prisoners… The present
Passes-Past.
.
Their tools are quick fingers and sharpness of mind
They must keep well alert or they will soon find
That their collar is felt and their future is dire
As they might well get caught for the way they acquire
Their cheek is astounding, I haven’t the gall
To purloin in their fashion as they cruise the Mall
They will shoplift to order, Just name your request
And they’ll be back in five minutes if not under arrest
A Laptop or X-Box with the latest games too
Just agree on how many and a price that suits you
You’ll save lots of money if you shelve your regrets
As you hand over your cash for those cheap cigarettes
Sometimes it goes wrong when they pinch from a store
And then they end up in the hands of the law
It’s a risky profession with high prospect to fail
As sooner or later they will end up in Jail
If You’ve spent your cash on what ‘Fell of a lorry’
It’s no good you crying or saying you’re sorry
To the Judge as he reads out your sentence in court
For buying bent goods from the shoplifting sort
Bright Lotus of the lily pad
Let it be known who fears the fall
You who all would uphold in slumber
Blind to a gaze refrained or stalled.
Amongst this lonely block of figures and sand
And thick, heated lines
You glide across water in whispers;
The divine scope of earthly kind.
You I had watched from this embankment
For days on end without question or hope
Enskied before me as light azure
Cool dream where pond turns to rivers slow.
Bright Lotus of the lily pad
Let it be known who fears the fall,
For at once you grip to the shadow’s hand
And draw through paths by the tone of his call.
He who is half in love with easeful death
Holds you like an ancient coin,
And raises glass above your breath
When markets make themselves purloin.
Bright Lotus of the lily pad
I cry for you cannot see the same,
Gaily look upon the water still
At once your face would seem to change.
And I cry out bright Lotus
Let it be known that you fear the fall,
For you run from reason and hide away
Clinging to the shadow’s pall.
Across the River, West 'tis that
at the cliffs & clefts of Victoria above
blackish waters slick as Legislation, of Verrazzano
& not-so-merried ferries, the promontory sits of
visage, resplendented of red deer & red bear &
white Eagles' scat from Lady Liberty!
Why, in the glare of where, opossum
& red squirrel, vied in-passioned
imposters of small virtue in deed
sought, wrought of purloin
for some vertu & bijouterie
for Manhattan!
(The Chief Islander) - so the Mythic goes!
But hey!, it's up-on the BigScreen, now
playin' @ The Bijou, & in the dutri-plexes
& plexes of plexiglasse &
MegaPlexes of Tribeca, in the Tri-boros+2...
Avaunt! Above Verrazzano visage
tramontane, there! the Filth & Flair
of City fare, miasma which got us into
insouciant Dutch!