Best Signalled Poems
Old John's birthday was fast approaching, he'd be seventy-two
And his family asked him nicely what he would like to do
"Do you fancy a nice picnic or sightseeing on a train?"
"No thanks" said Old John "I'd like to wing walk on a plane ".
His family thought he was joking, in fun they all did mock
They said "It will be freezing, and you might die of shock"
He said" I have no fear, and everything will be just fine
I found it on a website, and I've booked it on the line".
His family they were mortified and thought that he was joking
But one week from today Old John he'll be high flying
A week later at the airfield Old John was quite ecstatic
His family on the other hand were all starting to panic.
He had his safety briefing and then put on all his gear
Now he was raring to go, Old John he showed no fear
He climbed up onto the wing and then he got strapped in
The pilot gave him the thumbs up and soon they were flying.
Up into the air now, they banked to the left and right
His family they all agreed it was one awesome sight
The pilot signalled to Old John, it was the grand finale
This is what Old John had wanted all his family to see.
The plane it dived then looped the loop, it was incredible to see
Old John was already thinking of what his next stunt could be
The plane then landed safely his family they were all so proud
Old Johns ears were still ringing; the wind had been so loud.
He'd felt the cold biting wind pressing hard against his face
Jokingly he asked his family if it was still in one place
His wife she then kissed him and asked, "How do you feel"?
Old John said, "I'm starving now, I'm ready for a big meal".
His son then asked him, what his next bold venture would be
Old John laughed out loudly and said "A shark cage in the sea
My life I see as a book with pages that are not written yet
I always confront my fears or there will be blank pages of regret".
Categories:
signalled, age, birthday, flying, funny,
Form:
Narrative
Whom the horse is looking for
Every day in the scarlet breeze
It comes and taps at the door
Have you forgotten your blue cheese
Is it the one I dream of
Accompanied by the charged shiver
Especially when I am burnt out
Like the lean exhausted river
The last time I saw it
In blue light it stood
The pink link it signalled me
I was in a restless wood
I tried to recall
Where had I seen it
The tempest and the thunder squall
Then the ocean of the mist
But how come I am morose
I have got nothing to do
With this equine inquiry
Then what for the blues overdose
But the residual pink remains
I have seen it somewhere
Beside the blue Euphrates?
My another mind inquired
A Freudian explained me
Your horse misses you
Your bosom friend of the boyhood
Longs for a hue or two
He reached me a magazine
Inside I came across the faces
Of lovely blonde and black women
In very skimpy dresses
I couldn't remove my eyes
Was in a reverie
What is it, the analyst asked
Is it the equine spree?
Was the horse now inside me?
Something I felt scary
Does Mathew still hold good
Was it the visual adultery?
From above
Dropped a dew
Are you living still
In the age of Mathew
Was it the horse
Yes, said he
Goading you
Into harmless glee
And my thoughts
Went astray
Last night in Paul's house
How charmingly in the sofa she lay
The tremor in the cup of tea
Now the horse again for the infidelity
I knew it for sure
It was the mental adultery
Now Mathew not alone
Beside him glared Mark
I was in a blind cone
This crimson sky how to shirk
Tush tush
Smiled the analyst
Without the child
You can't exist
You are living in the light speed life
It is the child that slows you down
Makes you smile amidst your strife
In the mirror you wear a crown
February 12, 2018
Loss of an Innocent Mind - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Categories:
signalled, childhood, color, innocence, psychological,
Form:
Rhyme
I dream dreams in rhymes and verses,
A poet's blessing in curses,
Vague images pop up in sleep,
Words in jumbles assault me deep;
I dream dreams in rhythmic fragments,
Thoughts quiver without enjambments,
Prompts come in syllables broken,
Illusions signalled unspoken;
I dream dreams that shake me awake,
Midnight muse greets drowsy daybreak,
Ideas cross o'er slumberland,
Muddled whims in poetic strand;
I dream dreams in staccato beat,
Contemplating meter and feet,
Nodding to nightly notions new,
Creative fancy's fleeting view;
I dream dreams that direct my pen,
Grasping glimpses beyond my ken,
Composing fading melodies,
Breathing life into memories.
Categories:
signalled, dream, poetry, writing,
Form:
Quatrain
The spiral staircase made her high heels sing, the metal tips on her heels dinged on the metal steps.
The sound reminded John of bullets ricocheting on a tin roof he had heard two weeks before.
She reached the stage and joined the other dancers and then one of the girls sang Brahms lullaby.
John was enjoying a day’s leave at the hotel, last week it was full of German soldiers, Paris was now liberated and the look of joy on the Parisians was evident on their faces.
Tomorrow his regiment was being deployed, to where he did not know, it was just after midnight when they got back to their camp; a couple of miles from the hotel.
At the briefing the next morning the orders were given to assist US forces at a town called St Louise, It was 04.00 as they drove up a steep hill and from here the city churches pierced the mist.
They arrived at the town and he could hear sporadic bursts of machine gun fire, an American captain signalled Johns regiment to keep their heads down.
He soon found out why as the whistling of artillery shells hit their target at the far edge of town.
Silence now, and then they began a sweep and search operation going from house to house.
Then he heard music, cautiously he entered and at the far end was a young girl of about ten
John approached her and she smiled, he picked her up and she was still clutching the music box.
He went outside and in case of snipers he closed it and now smiling crossed the square.
There was a field ambulance by the fountain and John handed her over to the medics there.
He started back to join his patrol and then the girl opened the music box which started playing, yes of course he had heard it before, the unmistakable sound of Brahms lullaby.
Written on Wednesday 6th June 2018
For one nine and sixteen poetry contest sponsored by Viv Wigley
Categories:
signalled, conflict, music, soldier, war,
Form:
Free verse
She helped him lift his case out of the boot
a veil of sadness crept across her face,
her arms wrapped round his waist, he followed suit
a lingering kiss topped off their long embrace.
Reluctantly she came down from tiptoe,
her fake smile betrayed by honest eyes,
his one step back signalled it's time to go,
the nod she gave the simplest of replies.
Their parting haunted me all through the day,
her sorrow mixed with an intense desire
the fierceness in them as they hugged that way
for this was more than love, this was like fire.
Something occurred to me since there I sat
I think I can remember love like that
(* Note- The boot of a car in England is known as the 'Trunk' in other countries)
Categories:
signalled, farewell,
Form:
Sonnet
My beloved wife
It was the crows calling that gave the final warning on this mid October morning.
Just as the mist began falling upon the hills in a strange manner that was almost unnerving.
This morn shall be my final calling as my soul begins souring high above the clouds on this mid October morning.
Signalled by the single rose placed upon my coffin.
Not a healthy rose but one that's wilting, It's red petals fading and it's leaves browning.
It was placed upon my coffin by a loan woman who stands morning on this bitter October morning.
She turns towards home and begins walking, towards my old manor house that now stands rotting.
She passes the spot in the garden where she hid the knife the other morning, just before the police came calling.
Alerted by the chamber maid screaming upon discovering by body laying bleeding.
Murder was the diagnosis, probably by a burglar was the prognosis.
The window was broken and my jewellery was stolen.
They didn't bother to ask about the missing kitchen knife, it was all falling into place for my dearly beloved wife.
As she approached she questions what she saw, large boards placed upon the entrance door.
Upon the door a sign held by a single rusty nail, it read this property is now for sale.
Due to deceased occupants an auction will now take place, in gods grace she calls out from behind her veil of lace.
This can't be true, I felt the morning dew seep through into my newly bought shoe, she pauses for breath as she begins to think things through.
Now the truth begins dawning that it was her soul and not her body that left the hill this morning.
We are now two souls exploring, one up and one down on this bitter October morning.
Categories:
signalled, funeral, grave, halloween, horror,
Form:
Narrative
The solar perigree is all too brief,
departure signalled by the falling leaf,
bright colours in their duller Autumn hue
can glisten in the early morning dew.
November mists obscure the rising dawn
as coldness primed with frost welcomes the morn,
and sometime lingers into early night
with damp, translucent, eerie demi-light.
Some random days remind of Summer's call
to warm the country lane and urban sprawl,
their brevity prologues advancing cold,
already settling in, the Winter mould.
The visusl beauty drifts as shifting sand,
inexorably, just as Nature planned.
Categories:
signalled, autumn,
Form:
Sonnet
The siren shattered the silence of night
This signalled someone in distress
So out of bed I got and rapidly did dress
I rode down to the shore line
My comrades to meet
The wind was blowing strong
But out at sea a yachtsman
Was in jeopardy
Rapidly our boat was launched
Down the ramp to splash into the sea
The engine was roaring ,driving hard
The water picked by the wind into foaming waves
No time to consider the dangers that we faced
As toward the yachtsman forward we raced.
Our search light probing like a finger of light
Tried to pierce the darkness of the night.
Finally we saw the boat
Its mast broken, hanging limply in the raging sea
We called the yachtsman on the radio to tell of our intent
To fire a rocket, rope attached which he should secure,
We would then tow him from the rocks on the leeward shore
The rocket fired and rope secured we towed the boat,
To a harbour nearby, a tragedy averted, another grateful man.
We returned more slowly to where all this began
Categories:
signalled, adventure, appreciation, blessing, boat,
Form:
Blank verse
Through her window,she could see nothing in the clear blue sky.
Its deep colour was reflected in the calm waters
Of the estuary which spread out in the distance.
Even the normal busy shipping traffic
Seemed to have been lulled to sleep this hot summer afternoon.
There would usually be the sound of ships' horns
Out in the Elbe as they signalled for the lock gates to open.
Water was calm, sky was calm.
It felt to Petra that she was looking at a painting where nothing
Was really alive but only replicated in oilpaint.
The ever-growing buzz in the sky was the only indication that the scene was real.
Others had heard the sound as well.
Like hundreds of bees, but these had a special sting
The temperature was high and it was very dry
There had been no rain for some time. Now there was a rain of bombs.
Petra saw the explosions through her window before she heard them
In the distance as the skyful of B17 s unloaded their cargoes.
Petra and her little sister were terrified, struck immobile in fright.
Their window bellied in like a giant glass balloon suddenly over-inflated,
And jagged, face-ripping shards of glass snarled across the hall
And embedded themselves in the cushions of the sofa.
The woolly innards of the cushions spewed out,
Dangling lifeless from the slash-wounds.
Luckily the girls were not cut.
Suddenly, the whole area became one big fire
With air being sucked in with the force of a storm.
Fires joined together, temperatures rose to melting lead,
Wind speed picked up to hurricane levels,
Trees were hurled into the flames, furniture, cars, even people hurled in.
Fire trucks unable to get through roads blocked by rubble.
Dying by carbon monoxide poisoning
When all the air was drawn out of their basement shelters,
The shelters were filled, but few people were really alive.
And then it was over. As the exploding fireballs gradually died away,
The drone and throb of the buzzing B17s faded off
To the blue sky of the east, to torment some other part of the city.
Walls crashed to the ground, gas lines exploded, people cried and screamed,
The girls shook with terror, but the B17s had gone.
History called it 28 July 1943 - Hamburg firestorm.
Petra always called it Day of the Bees.
.. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Entered in Debbie Guzzi's Contest Hot Time Summer in the City
Categories:
signalled, war, people, rain, sound,
Form:
Free verse
Nelson paced the deck of the Victory
In waters off the coast of Gibraltar
Signalled to his fleet to do their duty
Before the battle known as Trafalgar.
~
Off the Spanish coast man o' wars engaged
In battle paid for in lives at great cost
Loud booms of cannon as the fighting raged
At the battles end three thousand lives lost.
~
England outnumbered had the lesser fleet
Twenty seven ships against thirty three
Admiral Villeneuve suffererd defeat
Against a brave and determined navy.
~
A French sniper shot Nelson fatally
On his death bed was told of victory.
~
3rd April 2019
Poetry Marathon Final Placement
Sponsor Mark Toney.
Revised 16th March 2019.
Categories:
signalled, england, french, sea, spanish,
Form:
Sonnet
Journey's End by Shane Cogan (September 2013)
Silently we stood tall
The sun’s dawn chill on our backs
We gathered our last few belongings
The grey skies swirled over us
Onwards and upwards we walked
Little to do, we merely talked
Oh, the endless array of colours
Oh, the senseless decay of society
The autumn countryside air fed us
Fresh golden crisp sounds under our feet, our hooting horn
Azure skies shone now, the greyness vanished
Reaching up high, seeking solace…we moved on
Teaching us it was, freaking us out…we moved on
But there is no escape ever for a nomad
A wanderer: she pondered…and I squandered
Oh, there it was again
Oh, the planet we sought
I breathed in the warm dusk air
She breathed in the moonlit sky
Ravens swarmed over us, creating one dark cloud
Bats vibrated, as feeding time commenced
Harvest gatherers signalled night time
A lonely police siren echoed sleep time
Then we both felt its glaze upon our faces
It stole our smile
It sapped our energy
Oh, we could not move
Oh, yet only approve
Resting, we had no choice but too stargaze
We shifted our tired bodies
We emptied our final belongings
The crystal full moon had hypnotised us
The sun’s distant tale had teased us
The endless blanket of stars now warmed us
An epic sky tale of foe and friend had begun
We gazed. We starred. We dreamed
Nothing could have prepared us
Nothing had been written about its glory
Indigo colours encircled its core
Hazy lights acted as a sky highway
Interlinked, interconnected, intergalactic
First our planet, then their planet
We gave way, we gave in
Our journey at an end
A new one to begin
We had found our planet
Our people
Our nature
We smiled
We blinked
We spoke
We said: Welcome home
For the EPIC (OLD/NEW) Poem contest
Categories:
signalled, adventure, autumn, color, hope,
Form:
Lyric
The evening dark and foggy as the children in their guises
with Mums and Dads in tow; collecting trick or treat surprises.
My porch, festooned with spiders, ghosts and ugly-looking gore,
signalled that I’d welcome them if they knocked at my door.
I watched them move along my street, in groups of two’s and threes,
their lanterns lighting up the darkened branches of the trees.
Barking dogs and screeching cats, bemused at all the noise,
continued to berate these oddly scary girls and boys.
Stooping down to check that I had my supply of sweets,
I shivered as a gust of wind blew right along my street.
Catching me off guard, the bowl of sweeties overturned
and knocked a candle over, whereupon my hands were burned.
Not thinking of the consequences, I let out a yell -
just as a mini monster raised his hand to ring my bell.
And though not known for swearing, nonetheless I hurled a curse,
tearing clear throughout the sky - and mini monster dropped his purse.
The raucous discord, mini-monster, me, the dogs, the cats,
did not quite wake the dead ( but several witches lost their hats )
The flaming contents of my porch was tossed into the air,
but the children saw this only as a vain attempt to scare.
The parents, standing some way back, delighting at this sight,
could not see through the fog that my front porch was well alight.
As the monsters and the witches threw their arms up to the stars,
the Mums and Dads just clapped and chirped up with their ‘Oohs’ and ‘Aahs’
I grabbed a blanket, managing to kill the growing flames,
but the smoke cloud brought a new dimension to their creepy games.
My face now blackened, arms aloft and clearly in pain,
I must have looked horrendous - as the parents clapped again.
The kids, unfazed, picked up the smouldering treats and bagged them all
and through their plastic teeth declared: I was the scariest of all!
Categories:
signalled, funny, halloween,
Form:
Couplet
I slip in unobtrusively
and take a seat in back,
the orchestra is tuning up,
I open up my pack
and take a rolled up magazine
with which to play along,
conducting is a passion
I have had since I was young.
The brass, the woodwinds and the strings,
the tympani and all,
play scattered notes and splattered tones
until the maestro's call.
The program is Stravinsky's 'Rite,'
an overture by Brahms,
and there am I gesticulating
wildly with my arms!
A cello player noticed me
and signalled to the Man,
"Come, make music! Step on down
and join this merry band!"
the maestro cried in strident tones,
then summoned me on stage,
with great excitement I obeyed,
as he turned back the page.
"From the beginning!" he enjoined,
and handed me the stick,
I tapped the podium and stared,
I started feeling sick!
But then the downbeat... hell broke loose!
the orchestra responded,
Damn! I guess I nailed the Brahms,
how glorious it sounded!
It was then that I awoke,
my closet was a tip,
I stood in my tuxedo
with a poker in my grip!
The famed Chicago Symphony
with Solti in the lead,
how graciously he'd chosen me,
what better dream indeed!
Categories:
signalled, music, tribute,
Form:
Verse
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake: Part Thirty-Six
Hardly had the CS drawn tight the net round the mosque and lake
The red phone on his desk at the Préfecture signalled a break
Through at the Orly Airport end: “Guests from the Near East: ARRIVED!”
Protocol required their being transported for Prophet’s sake!
The Foreign Office rushed to proffer red carpet treatment with gloves
But the Princes refused to board the suburban trains in droves
Roads stood blocked choc-a-block so helicopter commutes were proposed:
A landing pad at Carrefour de Pompadour if the Lord approves!
And so it came to pass but the Princes stopped at junction sign-posts:
“What’s this?” Prince addressed his French Agent: “Hôtel des Postes-
Banque de France, Hôtel de Police, Hôtel de Ville, Préfecture Hôtel du Département?
Why haven’t you bought these hotels as well? The billions we pay in costs!”
“Your Highness! If you’ll kindly pardon me, these hôtels aren’t for sale!”
“Well, never mind Hôtel des Postes! Buy me Banque de France sans fail!”
“I’ll see what I can do but it might take a pretty penny or two!”
“That’s no sweat! For fifty years or so we’ll pay in gas and oil!”
“As for the last entertainment consignment my retinue still complains!
They got stitched and patched up fifteen-year-olds for their pains!”
“Your Highness, that’s the age limit down here since laissez-faire!
We’d be hard put to find a virgin over ten in these terrains!”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
signalled, allegory,
Form:
Rubaiyat
A Change Is A Com'n
Though this baby boomer,
(who didst roam man
upon this Earth
since the year
mcmLix) does not
coon sitter himself
a political activist his wear
re: some ness, particularly
with chronic setbacks
inaugurated by President
Donald Trump, an in volunteer
re: response, (asper just
the faintest hint
of a smile) veer
really played itself across
my countenance un bear
ably impossible to depress, repress,
and/or suppress, upon
gleaning America Online
cover headline indicating
Representative Beto O’Rourke,
a (Texas Democrat) care
fully, sir up tush hiss lee,
reportedly, and quietly
considering a 2020 grab
for White House
commander in Chief chair
met with Barack Obama dare
ring political polls
to hedge intimation,
though true motives unclear
that said progressive
former named person
(from Lone Star State)
might be seriously sincere
conjoining what promises
to be a dynamically
hearty, lucky, and plucky
solution to uptear,
the present woebegone crisis
of dreadlock, gridlock, and
padlock stasis, the political
ship of state (Leviathan
countenanced by Thomas Hobbes
circa 1651) pitching
United States government
upon reprehensible threshold
inching the Doomsday Clock
closer than ever to thermonuclear
global mortal kombat triggering
unset of unstoppable subnuclear
barrage in record time (mere
minutes transforming the
world wide web into
many a schmear
compromising most all life
into a bajillion bits
of pulverized powder,
guaranteeing the demise,
sans *****sapiens,
and thus no
Santa Claus to steer
the motley crue
of feisty reindeer,
this above mentioned dissolution,
would sadly, unfortunately,
wretchedly remove *****
as well the straight
sexually oriented persons matter,
would become reconstituted
into surprise show stopping premiere
of some alternate lifeform,
no doubt signalled
with at least one outlier
or maybe even a noncareer mutineer!
Categories:
signalled, anxiety, class, environment, grief,
Form:
Dramatic Verse