Best Sham Poems
Evergreen flavored mantras
did nothing to purge bitter bile from my lips
nor slake the smoldering thirst for a Rosary remedy.
Tick-tock petals unfurled one by one
as your poppy shed its last sepal
releasing a scarlet sigh across sunset skies
whilst I placed a tender kiss upon your twilight.
If but for your gossamer bloom in persimmon perfection,
I would not hunger for your ambrosial whispers
nor rue the earthly drought of undying nectar.
I stray, a waif lost with my armful of loss,
blind behind the tear-rusted folds
of a weeping veil’s eclipse.
My psyche a pauper
rich in the poverty of penniless promises,
empty as echoes in hollow holes
ringing with wringing reverberations.
In the grasp of atheist fingers I clasp Holy beads
tilling cries and whys.
Every tear a sorrow sown in brambles,
whose sloe fails to ripen sweet redemption
in the fertile sham and barren sand of my humanity;
crushed by the tusk of this damnable dusk.
Susan Ashley
April 13, 2020
~ First Place ~
February 5, 2023
2022 Poetry Marathon Qualifiers' FINAL Placement Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 9
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: Your Best Poem Ever
Sponsor: John Hamilton
~ Seventh Place ~
Premiere Contest: Crushed
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
~ First Place ~
Standard Contest: Your Best Free Verse 2020
Sponsor: John Hamilton
This shadow that I see with my back turned to the sun.
He represents me without fault and does not show my thinning hair
or blemish on my skin that's there, or any hidden thing,
or any other secret thing that's hiding deep within.
My shadow is the perfect mimic, knowing what it means to show the one who'd rather not be seen, who knows the look of squeaky clean,
and how to represent his Christ in just the way his Christ would like.
A disguising life, a respected man of God, and wife.
And while my back is turned my back is burned by scorching sun
'til midday cast will mean my shadow's fast retreat,
until my shadow's last deceit, until my shadow's full defeat,
and I and it are one.
And so I turn my face, I turn to face the Son,
a work of grace that won't relent 'til darkest shadow fades
and softens in that light of grace, that grace now long begun,
revealing not the dark within,
but beloved all along.
I am not political,
I am poetical,
as the first is a sham and the latter,
a sincere "I am."
Imagine a woman peeking out from the shower curtain…
Accompanying captions on the side appear
“I asked 100 women what shampoo they preferred?
The #1 answer to my survey was certain,
How’n blankety blank did you get in here?”
Managed perception creates confusion;
the picture plays a neat trick on the brain.
There was no survey, just a joke that's offbeat.
The words and the wordster are in collusion
like men who have an image to maintain.
What appeals to men is her ballyhoo.
Are they looking for shock, dismay or fear?
In the photo, she's a picture of "discreet".
"Survey" has nothing to do with shampoo,
when in doubt, turn his question on its ear -
"Why do they put directions on shampoo bottles?”
Wear the mask
Graffiti tunnel
Windy inside
Worse above
Pretty defaced message
Spray paint tired
Isolated crowd
Echoed shroud
Subjugated love
Tread enraged
Rotting beneath
Porcelain crown
Good governance?
With all those killings?
And wish for potent alliance;
Then be a serf of sham dealings.
10.13.16
Is love all that old poets say?
Does it shake the earth
like a great earthquake?
Is love really like a starry sky,
a mountain high, are oceans deep?
Is love all wise men seek, or is it
more like a beach?
One side water the other land,
endless waves pounding sand?
Can you find love in the winter’s snow,
in the moonlight’s glow, or Springing flowers?
Does love know time; seasons, or hours?
Can its ways be counted in your lover’s eyes?
Does love lurk in the brightness of night?
Is there a Cupid with bow and arrows?
Magic love songs of Larks or Sparrows?
Is love a touch, like brush to art,
heart to heart, or lips to lips?
Does love tingle in your finger tips?
Is love the combining of souls,
does it make one are the other whole?
Is love two spirits newly informed,
or is love an enigma transformed?
Can you only hold love, as love’s guest?
If love is to share will it die if possessed?
To find love must you give love away?
Is love all that old poets say?
Deceitful lunatic fervent merchandise
Exist by ignorant foolish hypocrites lies
Retrieve the life by poisoned venom nymph
Spoke a sand of beach waiting the sea to take
Glad to be wicked at behind, hold it in a hand
Giggling inside, cry loud hard so one will see
Play an act of saint in the most persist time
Need all self to be worship by all
Until….
New face appears conceal whole skin
Hypnotic lies has born to trust
It has a form
It has eyes
It has smile
It has mouth
It all what’s everyone adores
Sham the Leprechaun
Sham the leprechaun went to a pub
For some tasty St Patrick's Day grub
Then danced jigs fantastic
Quite enthusiastic
Did the splits, stuck like it, there's the rub.
The landlord said "Auld Sham's now a crock
And the silly old beggar's in shock"
Sadly, I'm not jokin'
His legs won't be closin'
He can't jig now, but boy, can Sham rock.
For Saint Patrick’s Day 2021
* * *
Add on
Sham the leprechaun was an acrobat
He did backflips and the splits on a mat
Those days are long gone
Bones aches and so on
While out with friends, he didn't think about that.
Written by: Alexis
* * *
They say the virus does not exist. Why?
our leaders politicize its mortality
profiteers make it a minted and crispy business
rumour mongers carry myths of it across the Nile
and the poor are to isolate at home in the safety of hunger and taste!
Too many years of a distrustful polity from our cradle
as always, we heard of billions of a ransom given to the political virus
‘who’ kidnap our collective survival.
We heard from Mrs. Disaster of how billions were expended
on the vulnerable somewhere uncharted.
We heard the golly-governor said he spent billions when he shared
packs of noodles to the hungry as palliatives to survive on five months ago now.
We heard the markets jammed and streaming with viral sweats
of frantic buyers were once fumigated with millions of liquid cash.
We heard the spike in infection cases and deaths suddenly flattened out
after huge private and federal allocations in aids
We heard the country and people are broke and more billions of dollars
are borrowed. But where does the money go to?
We heard the rumours, theories, mythos…!
Majority of the poor and needy only hear but did not see;
for those who have more, more are given and stolen.
Those who have none, even the little they need are denied!
They mutate dead cells of social conscience patting the pauper
to go home and stay safe without a crumb of comfort, hope or bread.
We are tired of this sham of leadership and shame of distrust!
we saw food baskets kept on the threshold of the poor
we saw hungry people lined up for the goodies of charity and state kitchens
we saw the unemployed get insurance and compensation
we saw the government expend social funds and give subventions
we saw the leaders and businesses arouse social trust and hope
not taxes and profits when the people are already famished
we saw the hive of humanity, not the survival of the fittest
we saw a build up of philanthropy
not the building up of many pyramids…during a pandemic.
Nevertheless, these are realities in some other climes
which we are here still dreaming on!
Even as a seasoned, no, jaded,
pub folksinger,
he still feels quite queasy about
night crowd temper;
at times he's sincerely booed or
jokingly applauded;
in either case he knows he's
actually insulted.
He doesn't seem to mind the sham fame
with its true ache;
though he's on a losing streak, he still
hopes for a break;
he's weirdly grateful for sober jeers
and drunken cheers
from jolly hecklers and teasing pranksters
quaffing beers!
I can love you like Rumi did to Sham,
but, I'm very bad at setting examples
- I cannot marry you my daughter to keep you close to me..................................
Pull the wool over our eyes
Exploit your bully pulpit
Ha, ha! Even ‘Wooly Bully’
is relatively young ~
It's not the culprit
___________________________
'Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs'
were a 'one-off' pop group of the
mid-1960's. Their hit was titled
'Wooly Bully,' some kind of dance.
* TREACHERY WARNING *
Why do some use their quill as a poisoned dart?
To think you can destrooy this poet's heart?
Gangs roam here, best not get in their way!
Will do all in their power,to humiliate and
make you pay.
And what of you, good souls, nothing like them?
You will not back a good poet in open post,you let
them bleed then?
This place, is a mirror of the musical,
" West Side Story,"
Where getting laughs to crude poetry and arrogance
And to murder, another poet is their only glory?
Their crude M.O is a knife in your poetic
back.
Because you called their number, and their cry goes
out, " Attack, attack."
PS reflects the bloody history of all humanity.
Blaming only the past for cruel history?
All the beautiful and kind poetry here?
Cannot erase the treachery,the method of shaming,
which, be aware, is their gear.
Time to do screenshots, of replies that show they are
here not to write poetry.
But to shame and defame you, win prizes and to fool
others, such apparent treachery!
How sad I am to share my heartbreaking story,
But be very aware, not as was I, with a heart
now so crimson-goried!
8/18/2021
Noon
reference to the song
the person depicted
is quite vain,
she worsens when she's
needed to be best
that what is shared is to
be known to the world
listen the strings sound like
crickets....nearer and nearer
they come closer
ranging in pitch, there sounds
arranged to distort the true happenings.
Is he that lovest, the only one in
the woman's life, or is she
deceitful and uncaring
only thinking of her selfish needs,
only to be found and then cornered
that she might regroup her thoughts
and have revenge upon those
who wished not to be actors upon her stage.
might the symbols of punctuation divide
the thoughts those who usest them correctly might gain proper meaning of her words of deceit
she is the whore of devilish doings
a rash upon society
she lacks focus and meaning
and is only tossed about from person to person
because those who use her allow's such to take place
her food is garbage
and her words are trash
she lingers in the indefinite
only to ask
might samples for lovers
be tasted by everyone
than doest thou seek refuge
and speak in thy foulest tongue
stand before me
and allow me to boo
that you are an actress
your words are scripted to
with guitars I hearest you
than only to believe
to fantasize about endeavors
stories people wish to believe
that fictions are you refuge
and thoughts are weighted by doubt
you speak only to those who
don't know you
until they find out what you're about
you speak against those things
that are traditions to most of us
you want what you need
and act it should come from us
but than again you are his lover
might this be said of him to
that you neither can or do it
from your honesty
and what than becomes of you
words spoken of the lover of the oboist, she skipped the first notes in her solo, the songstress spoke these words commenting of the reviews, those in the press saw this as a slap in the face of music.