Best Soured Poems
The cow took a chance, pirouetted and pranced
to the ancient tune..
Her body sagged and one foot snagged and she
tripped on the tip of the moon..
Farmers found her at the trough.
Dogs danced in circles,
Roosters meowed.
Crows began cawing at quarter to five.
The locals were astounded the cow had survived..
The people now swear she has special powers.
A farmer sells her cottage cheese as most
her milk has soured.
I offer my apologies; if perhaps I may offend;
But I’m burdened by atrocities; that seem to never end.
The odor does precede them; as they approach my way;
It’s the smell of one who meddles; that I’ve often seen each day.
They’re filled with their opinions; that undermining my life;
That gives them false pretensions; that they wield as if a knife.
They are but a minion; that circles in the pond;
And scavenge all those pieces; that are floating all around.
I struggle with my burdens; while they spit straight in my face;
And they hurl their vicious insults; as if offering me a grace.
The paper in their pockets; says in God we trust;
They consider it a warranty; for there decadence and lust.
How many times will they come; come at me this way
And How many miles must I walk; until they go away;
They are doubtlessly a pestilence; attracted by my light;
Wondering what there is to steel; when the sun goes down tonight.
Depart from me you mongrels; it’s you that is the fool
For the master of the life you chose; is a beast that is too cruel.
Things for you will never change; and this life is where you’ll stay;
You’ll stay here till this comes to end; and its then that you will pay.
"Oh/ What Sad/ The Nile Brings!"+++"A Lonesome
Past/ The Tree Loving Birds/ In Their Feathers
Were Clung'd!"+++"Not A Day Would Sorrow
Cease/ Not A Joy Would My Respite
Know!"+++"Drowning In This Heathen Of Despair/
Battered Still' But I Long To Someday Rise!"
and now, colour blots whitewash on blanched wall; yesterday distanced from today’s gale—on the facade, from where, towards the end, faced face down time’s row in anticlockwise retrogression; the beginning from the end ends in the beginning, with each footprint laced—crowned in blue daisies, we giggled out “Oh! My God” as fleets of golden butterflies twinkled in broad daylight... I recall—a cyclone had begun, wafted us aloof
one deadwood
makes no woodland
terracotta shrub
and the struggle continues—like shadows in blank places and distant church bell gongs in the eclipse of our eyes like the moon and sun in a miniature wedding day—an endless abyss submerges the hollow of a burning ring with a gully wind rush through the needle’s eye as we dig deeper into dark secrets of our cardinal sins; apple's taste becomes acrid, putrid strawberry on coiled lips, whiffs of death scented coarse roses, stowed underneath sloshes of salt-waterfalls
wooden chest
bullets from her razor lips
words bank
Mockery and ridicule shut him down completely.
Vowed to never marry again; did this most discreetly
Dated a lovely widow named Mama T. McMeetly.
Who married someone else, but thought of him quite sweetly.