Best Scotching Poems
85TH BIRTHDAY –
Journal IX
Nostalgia figures no
time span
An event of many,
many years seems no
more
than a few
Looking out on the
world with the same
eyes
Memory is tricked
Ah yes that, but
wishfulness too
Events colors
take on a magical
gleam
The mind-body
frolics with actions
of a child,
Hop scotching,
kicking the can
Long lost sounds
ghostly renew
All pain is
forgotten
In favor of some
drowsy awareness
One is surprised
that memory has, for
the
moment, erased
that pain
Periods of nostalgia
increase
The slipping away is
frightening –
What is death but
A complete slipping
away –
In these last few I
shall covet reality
RESTR
Categories:
scotching, introspection,
Form:
Lyric
The pieces of peace were handpicked
Picked in the heart of the night
Shredded for an aspiration
To clutch the lone torch contained by the dark
A glimpse for some unusual rank
Then comes the arrival of time
With the angst that grow by day
Comes the fast ticking of time
Hastening all; unnerved in the bay
At this moment
Love was censure by lust
In the euphoria of the game
Featured by despair and shame
The eventful spar between the dogs and the baboons
And then comes the contest of blood
The Spartans, the spectators all flood
Melancholy yet to befall
Then it begins
Passing through the span of day
Scotching rage of the sun
Little rain, little dry, little sounds of gun
But the dogs and the baboons
Tailback in fear; scowl
And little by little
Comes casting and counting
And after a little while
Anger was unshackled
Accompanied by lament
Yet, not enough raison d'être to toss away the tot and the bathing water
Then comes the voice of command
We were deprived!
It is our time!
Kill them anywhere you find them!
Rigging, rigging, rigging!
Peace was shattered
Broken into pieces
Like a bowl that fail out of safe
And pandemonium overtook all
After a little calm
Scores of guiltless essences met their Waterloo
Mostly in the cities they ad-hoc
Like those trapped for a catch
And their figures continue counting
Some unassumingly lost to the swampy woods
Searched by trained dogs and their masters
Into the depth of the swampy woods
Bled; death; covered in mud.
Categories:
scotching, political,
Form:
Light Verse
Temple may be far from my place,
Let me bring smile, to someone’s face.
Life began with a sweet charm,
enjoying till extreme, no matter what harm.
Childhood was beautiful as could be,
Without exasperation and necessitate, eternally free.
It was then I took a new dive,
Adorn in a uniform, I entered school life.
Confined boundaries saw the emergence of new faces,
Flatten my life and left without traces.
Some, embarked their facsimile in my mind,
Contemplative about them I was in cloud number nine.
Feelings were saturated with love and emotions,
Everything tempting, beyond any fascinations.
Third phase was phase of certitude,
My contumelious nature made me crude.
Parents and family took a back seat,
To the tunes of my friends, I was a dancing fleet.
Afternoons became sleepy, active were the nights,
Bikes, brawls, convulsion were common sights.
Inconsiderate, careless about my future,
Forgot almost everything taught by my teacher.
Standing on a crossroad, with a question mark,
I was 25 and my future seemed dark
Friends, who use to say never will they leave,
Smiling with others they went, hard to believe.
Wasted opportunities to guide my life,
All I could do now was compromise.
Standing alone in the scotching sun,
Some hands covered me so that skin does not burn.
Turned back to see whose hands were they,
My parents like an answered prayer
Mother removed pebbles from the road;
Father advanced his hand so that I could hold.
They guided me to my destination,
Brace me, without any hesitation.
In no time took me out of my blues,
Parents like you are very few.
You were always there, right from the start,
I thank you from the core of my heart.
Categories:
scotching, family,
Form:
Acrostic
Live lovely looks
Bright blessings book
Craze consigns crook
Oomph orders ooze
Beer bottle booze
Senile sense snooze
Go gather good
Mix motive mood
Fashion fine food
Leapfrog lame lines
Flavours frame fine
Muse mellows mine
Do design deed
Free fragrant feed
Waste wallows weed
Live lazy light
See sparkling sights
Blooms blossom bright
Rush rescues run
Play prunes pure pun
Sight scotching sun
Seed spacious start
Hurl healing heart
Pleasure primes part
Clever clowns croon
Night nurtures noon
Belief bears boon
Real rustic room
Blessings burst bloom
Glimpse gracious gloom
Meet moments meek
Special sign seek
Prime pleasure peeks
Leon Enriquez
28 Feb 2014
Singapore
Categories:
scotching, desire,
Form:
Alliteration
Birdsong serenade
Sun beams streaming;
Abrupt illumination
~~~~~~~~~
Food mall gallery
Tempting flavours;
Sensational buzz
~~~~~~~~~
Busy feet scatter
Muddy puddles;
Rain water gushing
~~~~~~~~~
Humid weather burns
Dehydrated faces;
Scotching heatwave
~~~~~~~~~
Severe flu bout
Head dizzy drowsy;
Coughing frustration
~~~~~~~~~
By this bench
Watch busy people;
Pursuing taut agendas
~~~~~~~~~
City fringe footpath
Workday buzz zigzags;
Toils and pursuits
~~~~~~~~~
Old couple walking
Stop to review signposts;
Figuring the way home
~~~~~~~~~
Old man sits here
Watching each day;
No one for company
~~~~~~~~~
Curious brown squirrel
Searching up and down;
Ancient tree trunk
~~~~~~~~~
Movie glimpses
Home entertainment;
Siesta comes quick
~~~~~~~~~
Walking meditation
Silent mantra chant;
Focus frames feelings
~~~~~~~~~
Bumper to bumper
City traffic moves;
Slower than snails
~~~~~~~~~
Drama flings
Melodrama curves;
Afternoon matinee
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
04 May 2016
Singapore
Categories:
scotching, change,
Form:
Haiku
‘When only the satellites are spared in the distance
And the mother ship has lost her spin around the axis
When our last personal effects are launched in a capsule,
And we’re all gone, is there proof that we had a soul?’
My wings span Armageddon’s aftermath
Feet far removed from the scotching earth
Fluffed pillows suffocate my insomnia
I levitate on a bed of euphoria
‘I’m a warrior
I’m a survivor’
Gifted tongues for fangs
We bridge turbulent waters
Gifted hands instead of claws
We reap what we sow
I stencil my thoughts on the fabric of time
And flap my wings to all forms of freedom
I know my presence is a gift
And to deny others of me is theft
My palms bare blisters from the grasping of endless doors
They bleed from the endless digging of granite floors
I stare high at the bar of unrealised dreams within
And summon the valour to face (my worst nightmares) the griffin
Gifted talents instead of talons
We sore to greater heights
Gifted honour instead of bloodlust
We embrace all that is new and different
Gifted vision instead of eagle eyes
We envisage a brighter ever after
Wing tips tingling in the winds of change
I fly beyond to define a new age (a new world)
I fall to the warm embrace of novelty
Newton never invented gravity
Gifted hope instead of ropes
We are the emancipated hope(s)
Gifted longevity instead of nine lives
We appreciate what we’ve been gifted evermore
'May the soul never die'
Categories:
scotching, courage, earth, voyage,
Form:
Epic
Crossing thresholds of blooms and dewdrops of glorious spring,
Toward autumn proudly walks season-bride with golden ring;
Her costumes, robes of ballet dancers, as per scenes, changes,
Facets of nature alter her charm to cosmic ranges...!
Scotching sun transforms mossy leaves, to golden-churns,
Clement breeze, once exited the stage, into storm-gust, returns;
Painful to bid goodbye to beloved trees, leaves linger,
Yet, get shaken off by now-twig-turning, dry-tree-finger...!
Constellation composes puzzled riddled strange stories,
Church-bells jingle mingling mysteries and histories;
Et-tu-Brute - one could hear Julius Caesar cry loud,
Senators encircle him, as though, for their goals, they're proud...!
Traces of moon gets gut-split; glowworm-stars glitter around,
Clouds, Indian widows in wild white, move, no safe paths found;
Master Craftsman pursues and persists painting scenes serene,
Brushes, disobliging, spill paints-mixes gaudy and sheen...!
Flocks of tribal nomads grazing on moss-grassland valleys,
Resemble ides-sheep of Jupiter; relishing rallies;
Peacock butterflies float, like goddess Anna in rose-hill,
In marriages of myths and truths, moods merrily chill and thrill...!
Harmonious chorus of sky and seas brings pertinence,
Parameters of perfection pave paths of permanence,
Paradoxes of joys, angst... it possesses plethora,
Ides-of-March! Not time! Not season! It's eternal era...!
28 March 2022
This or That, Vol 11 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Categories:
scotching, march,
Form:
Rhyme
pioneer esprit de corps front tier brisk.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Open arms and clenched raised fists raise
masquerade diametrically opposed to rodomontade sways
spewing threatening sacred constitution
expounding vaunted values déclassé 1968 degreed phase
Wharton alumni now on warpath to raze
via his bull dozing wreaks havoc on coven daze
ruining complex edifice
usurped storied super power craze
thru humiliation, liquidation of dredging bays
* * * * * * * * * * * *
and justification (viewed thru his warped vision)
scotching inalienable rights reducing to rubble bedrock division
with remainder of flinty stones,
and unlovely bones a wasteland fission
absent without a trace any evidence of Halcyon days,
which abomination, decimation, and gangrenous lesion
joie de vivre, when martial law decree deep incision
heil come rolled up (frightfully with egregious decision.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
the venomous, tenebrous, and rancorous white house
Head honcho viz prez) inside checkered hookahs lighting
one end per slow burn as hoary smoke emanates
in shape of Taj Mahal, then harmless as Mickey mouse
he iz well singed, seared, and scalded like a cook grouse
(yet of course still alive) sent to further douse
him into initiation righting tis basic human coup laid louse.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Acid test whereby he will be sold to Vladimir Putin for bunk
her hilled feather bedding rubles on the dollar, where clunk
key interim held up by cadre of well comb pence dunk
key Kong sated marionettes, which will carry fleshy lunk
dirty deeds done dirt cheap of this unmentionable monk
key villainous uber trumpeter, scabrous, recalcitrant querulous punk!
* * * * * * * * * * * *
keep your finger and toes crossed for the next four years
aware that such laughable ruse and superstitious scares
not one impish bot of fate, but more so gives false cheers.
Categories:
scotching, betrayal, dark, heartbroken, house,
Form:
headland harbored primitive biota abut
mint for exotic sole terrain sustaining
sole terrain sustaining seeds, spores, spermatozoa, ova
seeds, spores, spermatozoa, ova , et cetera gut
preserved within mine follicular pores, sans
I secured per woof and meow wing warp organic matter
heir in to fore shielded from elements akin to thatched hut
aware wrenching kamikaze eradication
of countless critters from many Godaddy longlegs;
creepy crawlers, hops scotching,
shimmying with schmaltz, moon walks, et cetera
lost when germ warfare obliterated vast majority
since advent of civilization ordained Proletariat and Plebeian Primate
(cherishing, fostering, insulating bon mot infinitesimal dot re: future mutt)
dogs and also cats off limits
asper demise of other creatures decimated – tut tut
atop thine noggin housed (within thimble size nut)
rare and near extinct flora and fauna, what
species of plants and animals, whose preserve comprised
equivalent of indigenous village people huddling within microscopic yut.
Thus, this bipedal simian angst riddled at experiences
forced at figurative crossroad
when itching scalping a dead giveaway clue
to lather up hirsute growing via bald faced code
at further expense invisible life forms such action would erode
fast dwindled diversity, hegemony, longevity
i.e. population except *****Sapiens who didst goad
forefingers needed to massage and scrub thine scalp
as like a field getting hoed
sometimes applying solely cold water knob to un load
a healthy plethora, where gushing shower head would send them
down the drain perhaps displacing their meal times,
or feasting on louse see pie ala mode
aware that survival odds regarding
getting thru water treatment plant, premonition aye node
and greater chance to avert total mortal kombat avoided
if I trekked to Antarctic anti pode
so...similar to other occasions necessitating me
to lather 50 shades of gray –
as if subjected to being snowed
quite aware many people would avoid me like the plague
(which reaction eagerly embraced) if knotty,
oily, straggly natural headresss
hence, this outlier surrendered and got gently toad
value of hygience – and lost as if playing tictactoe x/oed.
Categories:
scotching, anxiety, confusion, fun, funny,
Form:
Narrative
DUSK
In the famine ravaged lands
The atmosphere is pregnant with uncertainty
Of what tomorrow brings forth
A herdsman leads his malnourished goats
Into their pens with their fable cries barely
Audible as hunger pangs strike ferociously
Carcasses of starved animals carpet the roadside
As the aura of starvation fills the air
Leaving a trail of destruction and hopelessness
The scotching sun hits the already dried up
River beds as a sand storm prepares to hit
Disolence is that is left in this once promising land
The old men sit in groups under
A partially dried acacia tree
Murmuring in low tones
The hot humid wind hits their faces
As their wrinkle filled faces
Betray their empty stomachs and the
Ambiguity of the future
As dusk settles in the women
Stream back with empty pots
After miles under the merciless sun
They have nothing to show off their
Hard day’s work but empty containers and
Dejected hearts
As night falls no children can be heard
Playing out but they scramble for
One en’goi to quench thirst in their
Sour throats oblivious of the danger they are under
But the level of desperation knows no bounds
As hunger pangs tear through their scrawny pot bellies
The babies suck their mother’s empty breasts
Their hunger cries pierce through the silent night
From the corner of the mothers eye
A tear drops as the intensity of baby’s cry elevates
But the determination and the will to live super cedes
The pangs in her acid filled stomach and with
A weak barely audible voice she says
It shall be well my child
As streams of tears roll down their conspicuous cheekbones
BY
HOMIT
Categories:
scotching, africa, earth day,
Form:
ABC
Must Savour the First Rain
Like love, it comes after a long pining
The smell of the first meeting
Of the falling water and the fine soil
Reminiscent of my first lick of love
Disarming my otherwise guarded heart
Lost defenses to the soothing art
Of the complementarity of the scotching soil
And the cold and freely falling rain
Tip-tapping at the back of my shoulder
As I search for broken asbestos pieces
To play my ‘padda’
The cleaned up air breathe
Spurs my insides as an infant’s first suckle
Of her mother’s breast
The pat-pat of the rain on my roof lullaby me
Into unremembered sleep
Must savour the first rain
Categories:
scotching, freedom, happy, , Lullaby,
Form:
Lay
I want to be a dire criminal
against the Dark powers of my times
if corruption knocks at my office door
I shall shoot it with arrows of my heart
Let cheating woo me with her luring eyes
bravely I shall assault her with sharp mouth
immoral stars, lies, slander destructive gossip
in the tombs of rejection I’ll bury them alive
When desire for revenge visits me at night
I’ll throw him in the blast furnace of sorrow
sectarian angel with her persuasive smiles
hot scotching water I will pour on her head
Let Dark powers arrest and persecute me
A criminal to Darkness but free before God
Categories:
scotching, irony, political, , cute,
Form:
Sonnet
I listened
The sound of the gushing waters on the rocks
Soft sounds soothing to this troubled heart
Soothing and mending
I listened
My soul is yet at peace longing for more
Why is it so demanding so wearing?
Why is it so exhausting? Heavily I breathe seeking to catch a breath
Why so many questions? Is it worth my time………my peace
The peace so freely given……….
I listened
The soothing sound is becoming louder as I search these empty walls
Isolation had brought no joy but sorrow
Slowly I manoeuvred towards the sound………followed the small streak of light
Sunlight stroking this lifeless skin of mine almost scotching but yet warm………
Slowly I walk towards the light…….toward the sound
I listened
There is an open window……….the sound is coming from the outside…it is now more audible
These walls have become a safe abode for me………should I go outside……out where the music plays? Out where the sun shines?
I look for a way out and cannot find it………..panic! as I seek my way out my mood soon quickly changing into anxiety…….
Gently……..swiftly the sound of the water calms me down and I follow the sound yet again to find my way to a door……….there is a way out……..
I listened
First my feet on this foreign ground……….My feet bare on the meadow
It is a new feeling…..barefoot I gently walk towards the sound of these gushing waters
The sound drawing………mending…….it is a beautiful sound……music to my ears
Healing to my soul……….Healing to my heart
The warmth of the sun on my skin………soft sound of the birds chirping from the trees up high……..
The wind softly brushing my soft skin……..I am drawn to the sound of gushing waters
I listened
Categories:
scotching, beautiful,
Form:
Ballad
Short Snort of Scotch
We will be going on trip week from tomorrow
And a bright idea I recently tried to borrow
Must be careful making sure I don't botch
By forgetting to bring along a bottle of Scotch.
Finally the ship so sleekly away had sailed
Everyone had to pass test after they exhaled
To see if any Scotch on their breath had been
And later would they want to drink more again.
Top of ship deck was marked for hop-scotching
Which is where we would always enjoy watching
After too much Scotch all over were jumping
With much anxiety their hearts were pumping.
After hopping and hoping were over and done
Each hopper and drinker became the only one
Who ended up without any secrets to hid
Now are members of crew and there they abide.
Ship hasn't sailed since in straight line anymore
Soon as it finally could near complacent shore
Had one more Scotch which was a short snort
And looks like they landed in the wrong port.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
Categories:
scotching, encouraging, funny, humorous,
Form:
Couplet
Scotching heat, burning sand
Curse this never ending land
Though we walk, we walk in vain
Thirst of life bringing us pain
We search for life's great oasis
But nothing in sight, no relief found
Just the sight of skeletons that once bore faces
And dreams buried into the sand
Dreams large and small
They've given up on them all
Overcome by the burden they fall
And become buried into the sand
Those who leave their dreams
Realize life is no longer what it seems
so they lay beside the dreams
And become buried into the sand
Shuffling feet and howling wind
The deserts beat in the mind
Hopeful to see, but they are blind
And become buried into the sand
The challenges of the desert we face
Challenges that none can brace
And those beside me fall without a trace
And become buried into the sand
And now I trudge on alone
With the company of bones
Giving up no longer, can I condone
But I cannot become buried into the sand
Bones become sparse, and the end I can see
Which end, both ends, for all left can see
No longer do I thirst, the end so near
No longer do I fear
I drink the sweet water of life
A dream come true
I have persevered life's strife
I have done what many have tried to do
I feel my thirst quenched
My goal is done my mission complete
I lay down, my life complete
and become buried into the sand
Categories:
scotching, character, desire, dream, life,
Form:
Rhyme