Best Snatches Poems
Anyday and Sundays,
breathless with the word,
anticipation - he will show up.
It is the shout of Jericho,
as we walk out seven days…
the trumpet plays.
Good news for the narrow way!
The broad way is struck as if with lightning.
God is fearsome and frightening
when you push him away, reject him, and
press the ejection button.
But O, how elated to be in his presence
when he knows your name.
O my…he knows my name!
My knees weak as if in the presence of a lover,
easily bent…arms can’t be subdued.
When you know him intimately can’t help but smile.
His fiery passion, planted and groomed,
from heart to heart.
It’s the talk show where the host
surely will not make you weep,
but unexpectedly the Holy Spirit
snatches that emotion right out of you.
Suddenly your bonded to a sister
you never knew
shared your heartache.
You cling, with tears and tissues,
the issue dangling in front of everybody’s business.
No judgment here, just adulation at the brink
of healing — a rake, a plow, seeds planted now.
Raindrops falling, soul boiling - ready to reap
a whole lot of reckless love -
the kind that will change the world.
When he knows your name,
O my…he knows my name!
11/18/2021
Variations on the Malay Pantun : The Old Man and the Short Story (Continued)
for Georges VOISSET, the "Master Keeper-Nurturer" of the Malay Pantun
Check out: www.stateless.mysite.com/Pantouns-20-Aout-2017.pdf
(The pantun line varies between 8 and 12 syllables and is most commonly found in the anonymous quatrain form. Cf " Poietics of the Pantun ", pp. 49-67 in T. Wignesan. Sporadic Striving amid Echoed Voices, Mirrored Images and Stereotypic Posturing in Malaysian-Singaporean Literatures. Allahabad : Cyberwit, 2008, xix-244p.)
IV
During the intervals of the play the actors
Spy on older folk queueing outside the lone loo
The Wench in the hall twists and turns on spectators
Not so the Youngster his pen stiff in the igloo
V
Middle-aged couples in the audience flick through
The programme not reading even the title page
Long years since they thumbed dog-ear-ed novels stuck in glue
Not so the Youngster who jumps high from page to page
VI
Old Men trundle back to their seats trailing wet patches
Not regretting over-coat flirts with hat-check Wench
Old people read novels in bed but in snatches
Not so the Youngster who throws into works his wrench
© T. Wignesan - Paris, November 10, 2018
I bent my mind around her ideas
became engrossed by playful words
Yet the thoughts were so horrific
my tears flowed and eyes were blurred
Sandbox baby playing
laughter and childish sounds
the weight of pain enormous
as a parent's joy turned into frowns
Sandbox baby oh so precious
is society to blame
The blur of pretty pictures
on dumb-phones adults play games
But the boogie man he's a watching
invisible to mommies sight
no one really expects him
When skies are shining bright
He snatches away her precious
a day that was filled with smiles
In the matter of just a few moments
Her sandbox baby is far from her eyes
Sobs of her desperation
as the rest hold their babies tight
thank God it wasn't them
still not a one will rest this night
The playground now seems broken
the sandcastles have turned to dust
The swings in the wind are swinging
we watch as metal turns to rust
The ghost of sand box baby
A nightmare birthed destroyed her dream
Laughter that once had been gifted
makes way for an endless scream!
When the taker is so cruel
try not to judge the ones we see
Know that it could easily happen
pray to God not you or me
Everyone has their distractions
pain of regret they didn't save
Watch for the distracted watchers
help sandbox baby avoid the grave!
Inspired by Casarah Nance's poem titled "Sandbox Baby" please read her outstanding piece!!
Do not judge bird with black coloured wing,
“ugly looking thief that cannot sing!”
“snatches from others so it can feed!”
A bird linked to death, darkness and greed!
How prejudice clouds our timid mind?
Is it fear of darkness, makes us blind?
we fail to see the beauty inside,
dark the countenance,black the hide!
Many there in Corvid family,
Crow, Raven, Rook all look same to me,
But one I write about is our Crow,
we love him dearly, his heart we know!
Our deep bond is of unmeasured years,
For destiny links us through our tears,
Pain of loss brings the hearts together,
body with skin or one of feather!
As family grieved good old granny,
Of her love, humour, virtues many,
Amongst the sobs and tears in the group,
You heard a crow who let his voice droop!
Our memories linked us, as events do,
are no limits to love, if it be true,
as family, he shared our sorrow to cry,
A black feathered kin who could fly!
He was not caged in a love prison,
that deny freedom, rob life’s mission,
set his own limits of existence,
Sky and earth with God’s benevolence!
Homely crow was not given a name,
to tether label would be such shame,
In arrogance we do humanise,
Gauge others by what we think is nice!
Crow is amongst intelligent birds,
on a measuring scale, rest are nerds,
He knows best when new spring begins,
Against his caw no weatherman wins!
He is in garden whatever springs,
Hunting down the rodents on swift wings,
He waits some days by busy roadside,
Using cars to get to flesh inside!
Condemn him not for the way he kills,
Nature in wisdom gave him his skills,
To use modern tools, he is clever,
a measure of our crow’s brain power!
If you accept crow and black image,
In wisdom’s book you have turned a page,
Should you come to our house, see a crow,
don’t ring the bell, he will let us know!
Date written 11/07/2020
4th placement
Bird poetry contest
Sponsor Constance La France
reentered for Chantelle Anne Cooke’s
The Colour Black contest
It’s the fourth - fireworks; the fizzle of stars.
The colorful display of power of the people —
waving of the red, white and blue; freedom
rings, slowly, building to a crescendo
to include all the melting pot called the USA.
Resilience and fortitude; weathered the wilderness
where an unlearned cabin-patch man snatches
every book his hands can capture, then captures
our hearts, tall, even taller with his top hat —
a silk black band added after his beloved son
Willie dies. Lincoln, a man who united us
in the favor of freedom, freedom that frees the pandemic
of slavery, the dark history of whips and chains. And
furthermore we ask, “Why oh why…”
when headway is made do men continue to suffer
and hang from trees, crosses burned.
And all good men suffer with them, the agony of evil —
it was to be stamped out, and the white hoods snatched
off crazytown. If one truly believes in God, then he loves,
not hates, his fellowman and each wants the best for him —
of education, family, boundless freedom and desires
to hold hands — building a chain, not of rust, but of
trust. And we sing out, “God bless America.”
I visited the WWII museum in New Orleans. A flat map
showed the takeover of the world by forces of evil. Almost
the entire world of East and West lit up — it took my breath
away. What power quenched the burning furnaces, the
torture of peoples? When America stood up, under
the banner of “In God We Trust,” the hellfires, not
easily squelched, the brave, the spirit of the wilderness
gave all, they fought to set the captives free. Men, in general,
are not perfect but the fight for freedom is a worthy cause
and the sanity of a sound mind, a candlelight vigil of veracity
is one to be stoked. Do we continue
to fight each other, dividing, drawing lines, or pull
each other into big sloppy hugs and love’s kisses.
God bless this union called America; God’s mercy
invites us to sing with one voice; freedom’s choice.
It’s the fourth - fireworks; the fizzle of stars.
The colorful display of power of the people —
waving of the red, white and blue; freedom
rings, slowly, building to a crescendo
to include all the melting pot called the USA.
7/4/2020
As I sit awhile at my kitchen window
And float weightless in the pond yonder
What if you and I were those geese?
My unmoored thoughts always wander.
Basking in the sprawling lap of nature
Soaking in curative warm sun’s rays
Waiting and looking out for each other
Turning our necks with easy natural grace
Me,following keenly your step and wade
Wanting nothing but your presence
Enamored with the haven of your gaze
Pure love-my life’s sole essence
On water, land or the limitless air
We could float away on our whim
And when furry goslings came along
We could teach them how to swim
Adrift,away in my mystical island
“Beep!” ,beckons broccoli in the oven rack
Naked cold of granite bites me hard
And once again reality snatches me back.
Written 05/19/2016 for Nayda Ivette Negron's contest "Reality"
Crumpled Thoughts
They wait – in hues of vibrating silence -
Like leftover orts of rumpled paper wimples
On creased clandestine journal pages –
Bent scraps of wrinkled inspiration
Smudged moments held in their one moment of time
Musings fading to illegible
Lost chords in treasured memories of radiance,
Sunspots of incomplete illumination,
Or crumpled creativity on paper wings
Snapshots of raw moments in tormented terror
Footprint creased signatures of incensed avenging angels
For abandoned ragged beggars in pencil
Of partial tidings
Wearing incomplete tatters of disturbed serenity
Waiting – lined up – for their turn to speak –
Vying for resuscitation
As actors reading their scripts –
Players auditioning for ideas
Of ice castles throwing off anonymity
Whistling like nonchalant sentimental journeys
In phases of the moon begging for words
Libretti confronting notes wandering in obscurity
Impatient plans in fits of tantrum’s flight
Residue of fantasies for
Gypsy fortuneteller’s phantasmal globes
Rescued by ruminations tender muse
With the gift of time to take them from her
Nurturing womb into full life and maturity –
Blinking in the brightness of real time
Bits and snatches adjust sight from consecrated darkness
To lumens brightness of looming footlights
Now taking bows in postmarks of epilogues -
Snatched from wondrous oblivion -
Profiles sketched in hope’s penumbra.
1-11-21
Contest: Crimpled Thoughts
Sponsor: John Lawless
The tray comes out
I choose my first
I lift the shell to my mouth
Splash! A foamy spray of brine smashes against the rocks, sending arcs of water far onto the shore. I chew a few times, and swallow with the juice. The tide recedes back again.
I wait a moment
Sip my root beer
Eying the plate,
choosing another
I grab the shell
pause with my lips
To the edge of the
Ocean.
Whoosh! A sea bird dives into the surf, scanning for the glints of fish. As it glides beneath the surface, the twisting torrent of waves above pulls it back up. At the last moment it snatches up a stray perch. The salty lump slides down smooth.
Again, I wait.
Another sip.
Two is enough, I think.
Two, unadulterated
tastes of the sea
I cant say I like them
But im glad I tried
Maybe its an acquired taste
Nothing seems to erase the pain
Of losing someone you love
Memories return now and again
Come; bring your hurts to God above
Losing someone hurts; now that's true
Death snatches him from your hands
Circumstances separate her from you
Come; place your pain in Jesus's hands
'Could I have prevented that loss?'
'If only I could turn back time...'
Come; lay your regrets at the cross
God unfolds His plans in His time
Grief leads our eyes to God's mercy
In brokenness, He comforts us
In loneliness, He keeps us company
No one knows grief better than Jesus
His disciples abandoned Him
When His enemies took Him away
The Father turned His face from Him
As He bore our sins on that Day
Cling to Christ, our loving Saviour
Though you can make no sense of grief
When you're unsure and filled with fear
Fix your gaze on Him and find relief
Peepers
Majestic queen
Mightily snatches prey
Aloof, haughty, and crazy quick
We are honored to serve her needs
Spoiled Cat
Written 7/23/2018 Entered Cat Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Written: September 09, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In the abyss of night, I'm held captive tight.
Addiction to idioms fuels my Phoebus fight.
I abide, vouching sporadically to escape,
From the clutches of zeal, I can't reshape.
But my quill rebels; it won't be subdued.
It dances on my fingertips, its blaze renewed.
Beleaguered by a kindle of syllables, they persist,
Won't charter me to chime, profess, and insist.
Oh, the maudlin whispers of writing passion,
Entice me; draw me into a bathetic attraction.
I whirl to abscond, to relish some release,
But the chains of my quill hold me in peace.
The words flow through me as a river so fierce,
With every pen stroke, my soul finds its release.
I'm a jailbird of this art, an enthused devotee,
In a realm of words, I rapture my sanctuary.
My heart stumbles, as leaves in the fall breeze,
But the quill snatches them away with grace and ease.
It weaves them into verses, a kernel of emotion,
An effusive love, and life's endless commotion.
I am bound to this pen, this captive quill,
Forever entwined in its enchanting thrill.
Despite my huge wack, I cannot escape.
Inevitably, it leads me back to my true shape.
So I embrace this addiction, this passionate fire.
Within its depths, my spirit soars higher.
I surrender to the rhythm and melody of words.
As they dance upon pages as fluttering birds.
In the act of writing, I find my true self.
Ink flows freely, such as a river of wealth.
I may be a captive to this quill; it's true,
But in its captivity, I am set free too.
Addiction to writing is a powerful force.
It guides me, shapes me, and charts my course.
I may be a captive, but I am not alone.
With every word written, a connection is sown.
This has been done or this is to be done
This has been half-done or not to be done
He seldom minds, whether it is done
He will take you and you are done.
The acts of tomorrow, do it today
And those of afternoon, in forenoon
He never waits, to see you finish
He will take you and you are done.
Like a tiger bearing away
A sleeping deer, he snatches
Before plucking the flowers of your deeds
He will take you and you are done.
In prime age or in minor age
In old age or in young age
He never ever tarries for none
He will take you and you are done.
Whether you are weak, or you are strong
Whether you are brave, or you are timid
Whether you are idiotic, or learned
He will take you and you are done.
Every nights take you closer
The days will also do the same
Then he comes without notice
He will take you and you are done.
Nothing resist the messengers of death,
Except truth which devours untruth,
Live the life in truth and virtue
Achieve truth and fail the death.
Won first place in STRAND SPECIAL 11 ,any form ,any theme Poetry Contest sponsored by Brian Strand
In the Shadow of Sunlight
It is one of those glaringly bright days that
make your eyes water painfully.
You can't see everything at once but in short glimpses and peeks. Between blinks, half an image forms, blurry around the edges.
You raise your hand as a shield, squint, lean back and tuck your chin, grimacing.
You thought you heard her say your name.
Searching in stuttering snatches,
Looking in limping lunges…
like a slow motion film in staccato strobes.
She begins far away but ends close, so close that her form blocks you from the light and you see her as the shadow of sunlight. She is glowing around the edges like a phantom.
She is smiling into your eyes for a moment.
The relief of sight, of cool darkness, and then gone in a flash of brilliance once again. Balking, you ask her to wait! Wait just a second! Why do your ears depend so much on your eyes? She speaks but without seeing her mouth forming words you're unsure of what she's said…dissipating as she goes anyway until only a whisper.
“I love you darling…”
And that's when I wake up and remember she is gone. Gone for just over 20 years now. An ache in my stomach and tears prick my sleep swollen eyes. I turn to my side and tuck my hand under the pillow…try to get back to my dream.
Sometimes it is the light that blinds us to the truth and darkness that soothes the burn.
Tiny black crabs climb
Up and down my arms and waist
As I drink the humid air
And taste of the salt
That the heron also knows
When she snatches at the clams
That lay at my feet,
Reflect color of my face
In shades of black, red and white
~True Story Of Abuse~
Marrying her at an immature age, older by 30 years,
arranged marriage by her father.
Abuse started from day one.
Raped fiercely that night, screamed for hours unable
to move, she dozed off.
Ordering her to get his tray of breakfast, in bed,
once in with the tray, he glared at her,
with ferocious eyes, snatched it, smashed it on her head,
the boiling coffee burning her face, the glass hit her head
strongly, a mortal blow, she lost conscious.
He held her by her hair opened a dark small room
threw her inside, and closed the door. Not knowing
what to do, her face hurting from the burns,
the head bleeding from the glass, so tortured
she dozed off.
A bang the door opens he snatches her from her hair again
take her to the dirty old bed, and begins raping her like
a wild animal. She lost conscious, and woke up again in
the same dark room, dirty, aching, hungry, helpless,
not knowing when someone anyone would come
to her rescue.
After a few nights the same procedure, she started
fainting out of weakness. One dark night he carried
her far in his car, she felt being thrown out,
lost conscious.
Awake in the hospital completely blind screamed?
where am I? mother please dad, her mum held her
caressed her, told her what is wrong with her,
due to the abuse of days and nights.
Sorry my child, you will be blind, disfigured, pregnant
but please don't worry, we will take care of you and
your child.
Apologizing and crying. They took her home that
day, to her room.They left the room, she never saw
them again, she committed suicide later a knife
right into her heart. Bled to death.
Her true story as an abused newly wed.
age 16.
8/5/2013
Therese Bacha.