Best Signage Poems
Feeling the desolation, of smothering air
Hemmed in by crowds; the obliqueness of fear
Throng of the city and no sight of the sun
Incessant noise and the desire to just run.
And I drive.
Arterial routes clogged by metal and wheels
Schizophrenic drivers living others ideals
Neon and lights sizzling the sides of the streets
Marketing signage, greed’s consumer receipts.
And I drive.
White picket fences, roses, and manicured lawns
Ridiculous box housing, erected for ludicrous pawns
Playgrounds, big supermarkets, cafes and parks
Sprawling suburbia with its pools built by sharks.
And I drive
Warehouses dispensing the needs of the hordes
Industrious factories like cash castles of lords.
Sawmills busily feeding more desecration of land
Refuse collection sites completely sterile and bland.
And I drive.
Ten-acre barons on frivolous bundles of dirt
Escaping urbanity in the unproductive outskirts.
Postage stamp fields supporting ponies and kids
While toffee nose parents sit in ultra posh digs.
And I drive
Paddocks of cattle dispersed through productive farmland
Shiny new tractors with men toughened and tanned
Marshmallow hay bales pimple the face of the ground
Irrigators urinate on earth until drowned.
And I drive.
Magnificent mountains covered in beckoning trees
Clear running streams and whispering breeze
Wild flowers gently waving as robins flit all around
Radiant true colours and smoothing calm sounds.
And yes I am home.
The Haunted House
‘Room to Let’ the signage read,
and though it looked run down,
I’d found no other place to stay
since I was new in town.
When I knocked upon the door,
a voice called out, “Please enter.”
“Hello,” I answered in reply.
“I’d like to be your renter.”
A lovely woman greeted me.
She had a toothy smile.
“It’s nice to have the company.
It’s been dead here for a while.”
Outside a wicked wind blew forth.
The front door slammed with a crash.
Just as quickly every window
fell down in their sash.
“I guess a storm’s a-brewing,” I said,
covered in bone-chilling sweat.
“Let me show you to your room.”
replied the shapely tall brunette.
“Some steps here may be rotten,” she warned.
“I urge you to beware.”
Moaning fell with every step
as we climbed the creaky stairs.
The room she showed me looked quite sparse.
Inside was just one coffin.
“Please excuse the dust,” she said,
“I don’t come in here often.”
She wiped away the cobwebs
once we got inside the room.
“It really is quite cozy here.”
Then pointed out the tomb.
“If you like the chamber,
I suggest we both get started.
No other soul will bother us,
They have all departed.”
I laid inside the casket.
It was a perfect fit.
“I believe I could be comfy here,”
I hastened to admit.
“No one here will vex you,”
She signaled with a wave.
“You will find this haunted house of mine
as silent as the grave.”
“I’ll need a small deposit,” she said.
Then, bent and bit my neck.
As she sipped away I asked,
“Do you take traveler’s checks?”
“I’ll take this as collateral.”
She said after she drank.
“There’s no need for money here,
I have my own blood bank.”
August 17, 2018
Sponsor- Dear Heart
Contest- The Haunted House
Title your poem - The Haunted House
The azure ocean, home to the embedded enormous incomprehensible riches of mysteries and riddles,
More than the Mars, lies unfathomed, underneath the conundrum of oceanic colossal rhythms.
From the The Milky Sea Phenomenon, a sight captured as bioluminescence illusion,
The Purple Orb of the ocean floor of California and the Baltic Sea’s anomalous puzzles,
Like the alien spaceship put foot on the colossal quagmires of oceanic chasm!
When the underwater volcanoes erupt to perplex beyond imagination in huddle,
To probe and discern those gems of oyster shell’s luminous pearls dazzles,
Deep beneath sleeping peacefully in the ocean’s cradle!
The fatal enigma of the unplumbed immensely profound oceanic mysteries will never dwindle.
The more one plunges to pierce in deep muse its vastness engulfs to diddle!
The superficial waves in corrugation, are mere widening its hitherto horizontal hurdles.
The bizarre sounds emanating from beneath are like giant icebergs scraping the oceanic floor in madly rhythm!
The obscure oceanic realms, its myriads mystical appearances remains timeless, fancy of millions!
Eras and eras pass, the mythical mermaid’s riddle are yet to resolve,
As centuries pass, may replete with the witness of numerous human civilizations!
Like the Atlantis of Japan, from time immemorial, the oceans are abodes of colossal confusions.
The voyages disappear in the Mystic Triangle, who knows what lies beneath the mythical abstractions?
The twirling sounds of infinite ocean swirling in the sea shells are quite captivating, attract admirers attractions;
The archipelago one after the other vanished without the trace, as in Marina Trench’s aberrations;
As if the Phantom Islet of Bermeja, in its murky abyssal cradle’s magnetic composition.
The Crop Circles discovered beneath its bosom as if the signage of other world’s manifestations;
The oceanic phenomenon of green flashes meets the red tides, reveals your magnificent disposition.
Wants to plunge, swim like a mermaid in your mystical cerulean temporal lilting motion;
Oh, the oceanic conundrum more we try to fathom, the more we entangle in your cryptic chasm!
© Silpika Kalita
The voluntary gardeners
Placed signs along the fence
Announcing that they’d given up,
Despite their best intents.
“We can’t maintain this lawn because,
Though signage says No Pets,
The owners let their dogs run wild,
Displaying no regrets.”
Perhaps these words have hit the mark
As those in charge have dealt
A reprimand that’s harsh enough
For guilt to have been felt.
For lately, there have not been any
Pets upon that lawn,
Though it may be too late for any
Grass to grow upon.
Those who do not die are known to live beyond the veil
disheveled in the light like a Polaris star
that lusters in the sky with gaseous shine;
Although some stars are known to die very fast and very young,
there are others that remain as constant as the Northern star;
My dream is to arrive one day inside my Father's House
a methuselah star of old light years away from birth;
Oh how I wish to be the signage of His requiem,
the agent of His blaze, the one that makes things visible.
A gleaming star bequeathing light to all who perish in the night
For those of them who live beyond the veil and never die
like the Archangels "12", I do in askance ask,
how long must I live in this heathen town, without His Godly gown.
November 7, 2020
Sponsor: Silent One
Contest Name: There Is A Star With My Name On It
*Methuselah star : Researchers say it can be as old as 14.5 billion years,
but that would make it older than the calculated age of the universe? ...
Never in secluded pools they dwell,
I speak of ornate waterfalls,
they rise and fall majestically,
near docks, wharves and piers,
sparkle, gleam, smooth flow trickle,
eye balm whirl fantastic perk on tap,
stickybeak on podium rapids,
instigator signage when our trek seems dull,
but reflection is a gem warp cataract,
kinetic rebound ocean wave backbeat,
which in fact an upfront blissful target,
hardly ever missing opal bulls-eye,
environmental bubbles that somehow never burst,
indulge outlandish fare Promethean,
spurt on vermillion lanyards pendant sweep,
dream paint sunrise clementine tincture,
daub acrylic spree through pale moon orb,
squeeze tube lambent hue past frail mandala,
eternal sepia a light touch pristine shroud,
that loiters over urban life force ripple,
flaunt your image rich abundant fire
its tin metal somewhat mangled
from a moving van that fetched impairment
twisted signage of thin charm
tinged with seasonal blues
battered by brash snow, ice pellets, sombre rain
below a street lamp that nightly courts white moths
in fluttered fury
lofty sign, a perch for sparrows shaking off dust
above the humming hiss of a street
that throbs in summer heat
above the unfurling laughter of children
skipping rope
above the tangled banter of neighbors
who amble home,
pulled by comfort's zone
script of certainty, location defined
by a battered street sign, it's endless gaze
that knows the rhythm and pitch
of life laboring
below
Written July 25, 2021
Midnight boom town streets have this allure
imagining an uncanny venture
eavesdrop veil surround but dark as coal
how I love my after hours stroll
Secret worlds unfold their impish plot
mesmerised entanglement a tiered whatnot
black crush velvet sky we must extol
how I love my after hours stroll
Gilt fantasies that float across each lane way
fluorescent gremlin from some ghostly parking bay
gust on salt ice pier might buttonhole
how I love my after hours stroll
Snow clad mall whistler gaffe prone
while wandering the ink hue urban zone
a chapter lift and snatch from begging bowl
how I love my after hours stroll
Traffic signals stellar stoic stance
heartbeat of nocturnal moonlight dance
frozen digit signage reeks of twinkling North Pole
how I love my after hours stroll
The first time we met he looked right past me, didn’t notice the breath almost escape my chest. didn’t notice how I was jumping into conversations and laughing shyly at a joke he didn’t even make, but he was shaped like my dreams and looked like my future husband, I am going to make him the one.
so who cares that he didn’t give me a good night call, or how he missed every moment to miss me, I am grown enough to miss myself everytime that feeling of being loved should creep in. the distant glance in his eyes whenever I am around is nothing more than a perfectly crafted concept of “absence makes the heart grow fonder”, besides he resides within the depths of my soul.
Ill feed him with my very pride, strip it off my back lay it bare on a sunday night knocking on his door because a way to a man’s heart is through a women’s low self esteem. My hands shaking at a mere thought of the key turning for attention, I mean I know how he does not like surprises.
My path to happiness reaching a crossroad, his face pasted on the signage that reads Mr wrong, in the distance he sits on a throne, shooting my efforts in his mouth like porcon, a sign that he acknowledges my mere existence. I carve the word “right” with my blood and pour sweat on all my wishes.
Good girls don’t give up and strong woman must endure to one day feel a fraction of the love they deserve, I’ll turn this one to the one no matter how much tears drip from my broken heart.
Subsequent seances of satorizing sanctities signal two fold sinfold shat sightings of nevertheless neverings that all ways
super suggest our innate inadequacies pertinent to socio precious
pontifications post prevalant askings of the revr
irrevelant rationings of a rationedrace resigned to complacent cow a tures politico compliant to the inner igno twinings adjacent to your soul
sellings as they relate to yr inner partisanplasmic potentials. remember yr humble DNA, beginnings as they restorocoordinate
yr predisposed primary plastic parental beginnings as to what is for u as an emo entitiy. As a parent times three of the son persuasion,
I can contrast contemplate the socioprotocals that r supposed sublime to cater to the male powers to be and socio sale the rental rites of
tremors that will swell the estrogenic ebb tides of common bond intelligence. I am at a personal peramater that is awash with the
paritisan status quo and the beliefs that LIE within the scope of their being. Retread the constitution and all that the FF's put into place for
the good of the postulate union as a WHOLE. Persuasion is inconsequential, no matter,
in---adequate as to its modern day relevance explicit. If u can't sociocope and lean really far foreward, and do us a big
FAVOR AND OFF YOURSELF, OR CONVERT, INTELLIGIZE YOURSELF, RE EVAUATE YOUR brAIN RELiaANCE, SEEK STRENGHT FROM YR gone YOUTH, IF U CAN STILL FIND IT, AND GO
INWARD TO LEAP OUTWARD TO HELP ALL OTHERS
REGARDLESS OF RECOGNITION, WEALTH, SENIORITY OR ANY SELFSERVING SIGNAGE OF SELF RIGHTEOUS SIGNFICANCE.
THE BEST HELP IS THAT WHICH IS GIVEN, USED, AND PASSED ON, NO THANKS NEEDED,
PAY IT FORWARD times 3. Give is as Give does in the insignificant web we weave. Careful with who u have for breakfast,lunch, dinner, snack,desert
and night cap. All things being ugly equal r alive and wish u ill. Perverse protocol is protected in a nestled non conveyrance of abbey normal malice. Step right up!
It doesn't look like temporary domestic violence.
Her pearl necklace made of each moment
of disappointment.
Nobody leaves his comfortable trenches
To stuff with the power of city centre,
until her menstruation is gone
When the words are getting immature,
they seem to lead to the organic things
or to the other nonsense.
I feel a pity, operant conditioning
doesn't work as would I like, no one can pretend
This is a win win situation,
however unknown prosecutor could give different verdict.
Just a win win untill the man gets back home
Introductory highlights
Paragraphs and blah-blah-blah;
Final period
~~~~~~~~~
Sad eyes
Staring a straight blank;
Tear tinged mascara
~~~~~~~~~
On this mountain
A scenic panorama;
Valley undertakings
~~~~~~~~~
Warning signage:
Do Not Enter --
Police investigation
~~~~~~~~~
Young couple
Lovely-dovely;
Fleeting distractions
~~~~~~~~~
Sorrow and pain
Etch good paintings;
Come let's create
~~~~~~~~~
All in due time
Echoes shout;
Chaos configures
~~~~~~~~~
Harsh reality
Nothing nice to say;
Live and let live
~~~~~~~~~
Joy in your eyes
Posture of bliss;
Hunger manifests
~~~~~~~~~
Going on a trip
So much to do;
Discard anxiety
~~~~~~~~~
Love speaks
No words needed;
Touch and glimpse
~~~~~~~~~
Joy sings
Sorrow weeps;
Life unfurls magic
~~~~~~~~~
No words
No pictures;
Nothing
~~~~~~~~~
Song for my soul
Words incomplete;
Vibrant music
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
23 April 2015
Singapore
The hope of the living
None would hope, like a destitute, by the roadside to rot,
With their eyes and other vitals, by the vultures pecked out,
Oozing a cocktail of body fluids, unsightly like yellowy snot,
And their putrid stench pervading the air, around and about.
But, most would hope, though with a morbid fear of the end,
That a garland at least, or an array of floral comeliness,
Would from an acquaintance, a relative, or a good friend,
Adorn the dark envelope, of their cold and silent loneliness.
That, dark clouds of grief; torrents of tears, their signage,
Would thicken the air with anguish, as the news is broken,
That their journey had ended, if even with a high mileage,
And threnodies would be sung; words of their good spoken.
That, as the wreath(s), though freshly made, goes withering;
Memories of them, slowly, yet surely, goes into the obscure,
That of their good, even the winds would go on whispering,
As weeping usher their metamorphosis into organic manure.
Yet, most by their lives, do not on any place such a burden,
Or, on the elements, tales of good to convey throughout time.
Positive impacts, as engravings on steel quenched to harden,
We all must first have on people, to justify such hope, as a prime!
Oct. 1, 2017
This sandwich board licence business closely illustrates
what this is really by taking the biscuit
money for signage so much a year
Drawing a unique picture frame from crumbs
in how the slave master operates exploiting powers
then reading about how the capital's council is intending to cut down trees
that are a couple of hundred years old
this to make way for progress building a bus route
They spout green when really their souls are so darned black
rotten devolved politics will soon devour itself internally crooks
corrupted hosts no amount of fiddling or cooking the books hides facts
blindness a lot of people can see through this ugly veil stealing
Where doctored figures never seem to add up
fraud correct me if I am wrong in addressing liars
those destructive bodies that support the me me me culture
backwards peddling is always looking at new ways forward
destroying the nature of truth replacing it with suffering
Wit wears wonder well
Touching tale truth tells
Solemn signage spells
Linger lasting light
Streaming soothing sights
Fling feisty fond flights
Nowhere near nice norms
Dazzle dusty dorm
Freeze-frame fuzzy form
Charm cheers crazy choice
Prune peachy plant poise
Vibrant versions voice
Confront cream crimson
Brave bubbly blossoms
Address aid awesome
See success stable
Treasure time travel
Meet mindset marvel
Sanguine smiles succinct
Defy deeds distinct
Ink intuits instincts
Achieve ample ask
Beliefs branding bask
Troubles temper task
Lovers lusting loft
Sampling stories soft
Fizzle flowing froth
Jester joins just joke
Peeper prompting poke
Crazy custom chokes
Sense stormy seas surge
Piquant poignant purge
Unzip urgent urge
Leon Enriquez
20 January 2015
Singapore