Best Revellers Poems
clad in rags, he wanders on Wall Street
he is invisible to hustling stock brokers
he is a man with no money, no property
a hapless struggler of excessive loan burdens
bitter winter winds blow across Broadway
he is invisible to affluent theatre-goers wearing warm winter coats
he is a man who watches them scurry past the cardboard box that is his bed
like a rain-dog, huddling in the shadows of alleys and doorways
he hears deafening explosions of New Year fireworks
he is invisible to the revellers
he is a man who cowers, recalling gunfire of a war he fought
echoing through his mind in restless nights
the incessant thumping of traumatic stress
he is invisible...a victim of post-Vietnam, Afghanistan and Iraq
who once bore a uniform and served his country with pride
he is invisible suffering alone, paying the price
through severe disabilities and permanent scars
with sadness, he watches voters going to the polls
he is invisible, a veteran with no voice in elections
he is a man who cannot vote without an “address”
a placard on a pavement might catch the eye
unemployed, homeless, unseen
but most of all forgotten
he is a man who seems invisible
but he is still a man
-------------------------------------------------------------
This is co-written by Paul Callus & Carolyn Devonshire
in remembrance of our war veterans.
[Published @ Muse to Move (A.P.F. Publisher UK 2017]
The yellow lambent moon
sent its rays across the shimmering sea.
A balmy breeze moved the waves
in a rolling fashion towards the beach.
Crabs hurried and dived into the foam.
Distant horns sounded as they passed
A mighty lighthouse, that sent its warning.
It was a peaceful night, as I sat alone
On the clean sand of the long beach.
From afar, I could hear revellers drinking,
And some even ventured to sing some sea songs.
I felt at peace, alone, on the vast beach.
No emotions resonated into heartbreak,
For I knew my dear wife was safe at home.
She’d worry about this world full of evil,
But there are things that could not be helped.
Time for me to go home and relax,
But for a moment I sat still in the warm breeze,
And watch the waves rolling creating foam.
I stood up and turned resolutely home,
To enjoy my love of love in peace.
October sun how it catches my eye
as it casts a gold glow each morning
It rises in the autumnal sky so high
I cherish each day the sun’s dawning
October sun how it catches my eye
it resembles an enormous pumpkin
Halloween revellers will soon pass by
wanting gifts from this country bumpkin
October sun how it catches my eye
As it scintillates in the bare trees
How quickly the seasons pass us by
soon will come winter’s harsh freeze
October Sun Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
N/A in Contest but awarded POTD 10/31/19
10/29/19
The carcasses of rockets litter grass
dark hours advanced since midnight bells have chimed
and revellers stood watching seconds pass
to cheer and kiss to strains of 'Auld Lang Syne'.
Outside, from morbid black to pleasing blue
the day pulls off the sheets, the low sun yawns,
the same as yesterday but somehow new
as from last year the final page is torn.
We, too, like this new day must follow suit
rise from our east and shine in hopes afresh
as dreams and aspirations now take root
and words in resolutions become flesh.
New year, blank page, fresh start with open mind
look forward, onwards, up, but not behind.
Standing on this sun-soaked beach without you,
sea splashes mix with salty tears
that the gentle wind brushes from my cheek.
My toes curl into the soft white sand
as they did whenever you caressed me.
Is it a mistake to return so soon,
whence the last strands of happiness lie?
I blight this place which you once graced,
laying lithe and golden on its shore,
out dazzling the sun with your luster.
Laughter from unknowing revellers offends me
and I fix my gaze to past horizons,
where my passion knew no end,
before this shroud of misery enveloped me,
In an echo of your pall.
Crisp white sheets filled with fragrant breezes
Glide the distant yachts to quiet harbours
Safe from storms they’ll rest peacefully, like you.
Whilst I remain, marooned in turmoil.
At sea.
At loss.
Alone.
Note-Barlinnie Prison-is meant to be one of Britains toughest prisons.However,times
are changing and many impoverished criminals see it as a roof over their head with
no need to worry about where the next meal is coming from.
It's Christmas at Barlinnie but Jimmys free now on the streets.
He's homeless and bedraggled and ignored by friends he meets.
Its Christmas at Barlinnie,all the cons are getting fed.
Three course lunch,tea and mints,full breakfast and fried bread.
Jimmys in and out of jail,a life full of crime and sin.
Less money in his pocket now recession is kicking in.
With no aspirations,a convict, thief and liar.
His family have dis-owned him, all their dreams now lie in tatters.
As mollycoddled prisoners,tuck into their Christmas treats.
Jimmy's bones begin to freeze,it's minus fiveteen on the street.
As mollycoddled prisoners,feast on a turkey steak.
Jimmy's bellies empty,there is no food there on his plate.
Distant moon in observation,Jimmy sleeps in cardboard box.
Drunken revellers,slamming shutters,smell of hot-dogs,hungry fox.
Fearful moon now glaring,as the night turns into day.
Jimmy's dreaming of Barlinnie,who says that crime doesn't pay.
The final seconds of the passing year
rang out in frosty echoes through the night.
Disturbed from slumber, tiny snowflakes stirred
and showered in the moon’s blue-silver light.
With distant sound of revellers in song
befell a mood of melancholy heart,
where roads to nowhere rolled out dark and long
and neither moon nor stars could light impart.
Beyond the stroke of midnight, silent mist
in fingers twirled and beckoned right then left,
to travel forth toward an unknown tryst,
or walk the journey back to life bereft.
Unhappiness entwined with pain and tears
now fraternized with hope upon the breeze.
29th Jan 2010
An early Christmas message for you all...
******
Fir trees droop and brightly glisten,
street lamps cast their glow, and listen!
sounds of singing drifting lightly
o'er the air, as children sprightly
fashion snowmen, fat and jolly,
wrapped in scarves and sprigs of holly;
horse-drawn coaches softly clip-clop
down the road and past the grog shop,
revellers in gay abandon,
merry-making to distraction.
Wind-bussed faces pressed to windows,
Christmas gifts in festive red bows
all regale this night of wonder,
misery is cast asunder!
Day dawns.
Dark clouds gather on the skyline
Looming over the roofs of traffic
Passing on the bridge.
Houseboats lay moored silently
On the still waters of the Thames,
Surrounded by stark buildings;
Houses once so grand,
Inhabited by the select,
Now fallen from grace.
The air is crisp and cool,
Typically October,
Everywhere touched
By the golden hand of autumn
Scattering her dress wantonly;
Leaves skip and dance
Along the pavement,
Swirl around the feet of passers-by
And scurry into the road
Playing catch-me-if-you-can
With the passing cars.
Streets bustle and teem with city folk
Going to and from their destination
Mingling among them
Visitors taking in the sights,
Every now and then stopping
To capture a moment in time....
Dusk creeps down.
The roads now packed
With the hum of angry motorists
Trying to flee from the insanity
Of noise and confusion,
Comforted only by thoughts of
Cosy warmth,
Glowing fires
And the welcoming smell of hot food.
Night falls;
With an expectant buzz,
The city preparing for revellers
Drawn to its bright lights-
Seeking desires of the flesh
(And maybe wants of the heart)
So they eat,drink and be merry,
Then stagger out
Into the darkness
Filled with the nights memories,
Some with tinges of regret.
Eventually a hush descends,
The city sleeps
Comfortable and warm
In Its beds
Fitfully resting
In readiness for morning......
Except for those tucked away;
In some forgotten corner,
Who as winter nights draw in
Face a certainty of struggling
Against biting winds
With just the protection
Of cardboard and paper,
And only the promise of maybe
For the coming tomorrow.
I think the truth is always right.
Duel, measuredly I do count my steps.
Tired eyes, yes, the night was sleepless.
I hope the God will not leave me in the wrong.
My opponent, accepted the challenge, did not blink.
Bustling I always respect the bravest.
Yesterday's evening among the tipsy revellers,
May come up today with fresh blood pouring out.
Helen,please forgive me, later you will understand,
The hot breath only the bullet can cool up.
The day begins, my time has come...
But the coming up evening, I hope, will be starry ....
Will you burn the earth`s skin to glass?.
Yet, right there , in Harmony of `69
I bent in adoration
before the dusky pearl of your forehead
the soft slopes of your never-ending body
shifting under a sea of blankets
Oh! treasure of treasures !
sparkling
to life
love
in the inner-sanctum of the
tent-temple of my emerald heart,
filling it with that attar fragrance ,
that compassionate smile,
that yearning voice,
quieting my storm
urging me
to swim your sultry sea.
How could the world ever be the same again ?
Outside,
rooted like stark brood of the Black stone ,
rocks parried thuddingly the capricious charge of waves
and subdued the swell and swirl of a dark ,disturbed sea.
The summer night was short
and I
cleaved to you like a calf to its mother.
Your dark-eyed nipples breasted the blanket ,
occulting the coarseness of Harmony .
We rocked to cradle the peace in the galaxy,
with love milking the way
to the morning star .
Winking over the mount,
Venus caught us intertwined ,
drooling like babes,
sated
I, summer cloud paramour of
you Landie ,
altar of my sensuous sacrifice
sweet naos forever
Yolande
briefly
undraping your
compassionate cosmic essence
for a gallant stripling
starving for affirmation.
Awed,
i nested in mouths
harmonizing
now enchanting,
now strident symphonies,
keen enough to split
chaos
into mutual opposites
that grappled , grinded and finally clashed ,
giving birth to a higher union.
I tattoo your name , Landie, on the stretched skin of the earth.
I pullulate the waves in your name
sackbutting the syllables
till tremolo breaks it breathlessly to foam
on the glistening beach of your belly
Wrinkles I didgeridoo into the dark blanket of our night,
stringing out your diadem of stars
I spiral you stately across my deep.
Breaking away
reluctantly
from the tug of your knees
i trolled our anchor through love`s flow
girding it close to my wound-up heart.
"Go now love….spare me a thought "
Your voice and a gentle seabreeze wafted me out.
Diving at dawn with a whale of love
between waking dunes
capped by sourfigs , bleary-eyed revellers,
the blue-blue sky warbled
“one and one and one is three
One thing you got know ,is you got to be free
Come together, right now , over me.”
.
Saturday's Pub garden,
littered with a thousand twisted cigarette butts,
the scattered smouldering tombstones of last night's drunken dreams.
Here birthed the Friday madness wild,
thirsting gin soaked mind of child,
like infant nourishment craved consumed,
the gun within was there exhumed,
a firing squad of gin bemused,
revellers revelling, devillers devilling,
swirling whirling plastic smiles,
pavers quivering raindrop tiles,
summer rain seeping in vain,
from neon roofed city's inane,
to wander country lanes insane,
a blind walk of the drinker's train,
speeding locomotive taught,
relearning burning ethanol thought,
tearing selfless selfish death,
the last epiphany with one last breath,
before the darkness deep draws down,
the flickering light beneath the frown,
where the suicidal businessman drowns,
his sorrows borrowed from newspaper dreams,
that filled the once fragile mind with screams,
in descending begging please,
release him from social unease,
moments lived but to appease,
a fathomless confusion clear smoke screen,
that flashes with the cursor black,
it's wires snigger behind your back,
while slack jawed starring swearing you,
convinced you are one of the few,
who knew but never said a word,
beguiled you smiled, brush muse away,
the stroke left blood for them to play and pay and stray inside your mind,
soul secrets there in stealth to find,
and all forgotten rotten,
men in white wheel you away,
they say poor soul's gone round the loop,
and there you sit in a rocking suit,
pinstripe straight jacket just for you,
and all that's left after their scoop;
is the popular poisoned and once bitten fruit..
By David Nickle Read
All Rights Reserved By The Author
Re-Released 21/11/2017
Original Release 3/6/2017
the scene is set, the banqueting hall is not looking so shoddy
plenty of wild flowers to hide the smell of unwashed bodies
the ladies in their finery drink gin with gusto ......they presume
the fancy looking men will drink whatever they can consume
then the trumpets sounded,
heralding that food was being brought in ..... in silver dishes
knaves in all their glory carried platters of meat, chicken, fishes.
this was snatched by the revellers, who rammed into their mouths great chunks of meat.
around the table on the floor were bones by the score
which the eaters had thrown at their feet dogs waited, salivating, to pounce on the floor
suddenly another fanfare sounded ....another platter was carried In
this one was covered with a domed lid, what was so intriguing within?
with aplomb the lord made a speech with a drunken slur
was ranting on about stalkers, how unpleasant they were
with artistic flair he removed the lid
all went quiet ....even the dog's slunk away and hid
sitting on a bed of cabbage was a severed head
this Stalker will stalk no more he said
penned 23/08/2016
Riotous revellers' laughter drifts up from their apricot lit late night haunts, four cafes are notoriously avoided venues for overindulgent consumption of alcohol.
Across the street, from my thirtieth floor apartment window, remote portrait of bodies bent enthralled over their beers,
toads on stools at mushroom stem tables.
Flicker of forbidden recognition crosses my cortex,
- I'm a resident of Broadwater Tower now.
Unstated policy prohibits proximity with riff raff.
Our bar ensures we wear careful attire,
floor gleams mirror marble.
Chrome and cracked leather oud absorbs expensive scents.
Ladies laughter upscale conflicts the low fading mens' vocal.
Tipsy sensation enhanced by deck docked
rolling prestigious flagpole chiming yachts.
Over the road, neolithic neon signs post grotesque cafe names,
Salivate, Green Grotto among them.
Customers come from squat squashed suburbs,
five minute drive away.
Dive bar dark sparks alcoholic amphibians unremarkable bravado.
January holiday season sees sardines huddled heartily under awnings, abandoning next morning necessity.
24th February 2023
151 words
Written for Contest: Four Cafes
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Flesh was falling from the bone,
clumps of flyblown steak,
rippling the glass surface below
its reflection fragmented in the lake
bloods oily residue hanging in long tendrils,
leaving a stringy mucus in its wake,
coagulated, and black, it stained the decayed clothes
of the phantom, as it moved across the lake.
Campers unbeknownst, they tarried by the fire,
laughing and enjoying their night,
the firelight a homing beacon for the spectre
moving towards the light
as nature calls one left the circle
and entered into the woods
the wraith shifting its focus
deviating - an end; all likelihood
it found its target and extended its fingers
inserting them at the base of the neck
blood curdling screams were released
as the pain disseminated - oh heck!
it lifted the man off his feet by his skull
and flicked it with an echoing snap
and tore the man apart
from his shoulders to his lap
The revellers around the fire
did question the ear shattering cry
and stood to call out to their friend
who was "supposedly" nearby
Not a sound was uttered,
no response came to their ear
as the spectre was engorging on
the flesh, its lips a red smear.
Tearing the meat from the bones,
and sucking them clean
the discarded pile of the friend rising
as it drinks the man's spleen
The eye balls, the brain,
the sweet breads came last
like a delicate treat, he savoured these
tasting the lymphoblast
and licking his fingers
he sighed in delight -
for the entree was satisfying -
but dinner was by the fire light.