Best Spearing Poems
Holier than thou,
sacred as a cow
anointed with margarine spread;
a Sunday to rest,
some socks and a vest
and a penchant for laying in bed.
Sicker than sick
and thicker than thick,
drugged with a heroin chic,
bright light beams down
through a crack in the crown,
spearing a spoon-bending freak.
Speak unto thee,
the voice of a tree,
afire with gelignite balm;
whacky and wild,
abused and defiled,
born to succumb unto harm.
Lysergic the feast,
the mark of the beast,
halogen burned to emboss
symbols on skin
as forever begins
ripping infinite Christ from the cross.
So many voices, some pulling, others pushing, one spearing.
I feel the spear, and know she will not stop until I acknowledge her
What is it?
What do you want?
She gives me some directives knowing I will rebel
and rebuke them.
She never gets her way.
She wants me to do things she knows I will not do.
I hate medicines! I tell her. They do not affect me like others.
Leave me alone! But still she persists. Two are pulling, one is pushing.
She is screaming, shrieking, wailing, keening in my ear.
I take a couple of blues and a pink,
to try and fool her.
She knows what I am about.
For she is in my mind’s folds and recesses.
Another personality shows up.
A new one.
What the hell.
I thought I knew them all.
Crap! Crap! Crap! Crap! Crap!
My hands are shaky.
If she is another spearing one,
I give up.
I cannot do this any more.
I have tried too long already.
I am Sherenna, she says, seductively.
Hell no. I already got rid of Dixie, my other nymphomaniac.
I close my eyes, trying to drown them all out.
SPEEDING ROCKET
Standing huge and massive on the launch pad, so many tons of power
wait to be primed, one way ticket to the stars, waiting to be launched.
It will circle the planet and then land safely, but it wants to go so much further.
This will be the ride of our lives for not many people will do this.
Now as we launch the hot fire pushes us skyward; further we go every second,
the sky goes blue, fading to purple, then black. We can see the stars and the
curve of the earth before us as we fly into space, majestically.
We are as free now as we will ever be on our speeding rocket, spearing through
the heavens, freedom.
Another New Year
By
Kevin L Fairbrother
2014 done and dusted
I’ve welcomed in 2015
With a beer and a crayfish
Round a campfire with some friends
…
New resolutions, not for me old mate
Cause I won’t keep what I promised
So I’ll just open up the gate… and
Let fate decide what’s in store for 2015
…
Like the man in the barbed wire canoe
Spearing tadpoles with a crow bar
You can bet my year won’t be great
But I’ll tough it out and see it through
…
I’ll do a bit of travel in me Ute and Van
Probably round Australia and free camp
When I can
Catch up with some mates along the way
Have a chin wag and a beer or two
…
I don’t really give a rat’s ****
What goes on in this world of turmoil
As long as they pay me pension
I’ll just live my life as free as a bird
…
But I will say this old mate
That’s it’s your family and friends
That will get you through the gate
Should a little trouble strike
…
So enjoy your life one and all
Leave your troubles behind the gate
Love your family, friends and mates
Be kind to your heart, it has only so many beats
…
WELCOME 2015
Imperfect world, purposeless person.
I retired to pursue perfection
learn jazz tunes, woody and herbaceous plants,
read every inch of English literature,
Scientific American and Foreign Affairs,
have an affair with an American.
Oh, and by the way, before you ask, I'm from Mars.
Orbiting your planet, admiring the girls.
Paraphrasing prayers by George Herbert to share
with Jesus believers on talk radio shows
where we try to bring your lives into expressible states
before it’s too late and climate change inundates you.
Reversed thunder, savior-side-piercing spear,
one day you’re feeling fine, the next not.
We’re pretty matter of fact, clear about
the fact of death. Once you’re gone most of us forget
your face and previous accomplishments. The place
you lived is repopulated with the next generation (of aliens)
and that ought to be a comfort, a sort of restful
certainty all is well, nothing special need be done.
Bluebirds are back, crows are mating on the sky
and chasing hawks away from their nests. Juncos
and sparrows glean together. I hear pileated woodpeckers
jackhammering and barred owls hooting soothingly.
Herons smoothing feathers and spearing fish.
Everything is as one would wish.
Numberless are the world's wonders
but none more wonderful than aliens.
"Spring Rain" she was named by her father Chief Many Horses.
Through her veins the hot blood of the majestic Comanche courses!
The young maiden crushed the hearts of many dashing braves,
But to be free to chase the vagabond winds is all she ever craves!
Her father willed her a handsome colt when she was but a little girl.
She named him "Big Thunder" - his coat was akin to that of a pearl!
Her raven hair streamed behind her as she clasped "Big Thunder's" mane!
Ah! Sweet communion with Mother Earth as they raced across the plain!
She preferred the buffalo hunt or spearing fish from tranquil shores,
To tanning hides, preparing pemmican and other such mundane chores!
Her father tutored the budding princess to assume the role of Chief.
She ever looked beyond the horizon to bring her people needed relief!
She fought in many battles and counted coup much to the Chief's chagrin.
She could be heard shouting the "Comanche Yell" above the battles' din!
Her battle cry was ever, "Great White Father, leave my people be!
It is our land the Great Spirit has given us! We just want to live free"
Alas, Chief Many Horses was killed in battle and she assumed his role.
To smoke the peace pipe and make a better life for the tribe was her goal.
Sadly, the Comanche won many battles but eventually lost the war,
But Spring Rain, the only female Chief, will be remembered forever more!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 5 inConstance's "Rain, The Story" Contest - January 2011
Budgeri
The good budgery fella with a bottle of rum,
Pretty good bird is the budgery-gar one,
Arthur eyeshades came a walking by,
One eye one ear one rissole,
Looking for the budgery fella, why?
A little nip was good as gold,
Where are you budgery fella,
Ole Yarraman the horse he was,
And Milinbri was cattle,
If the boss see me a spearing one?
cos, good meat yer brain might addle?
so duck ya head sidestep away,
go into a Magpie smother,
flail ya arms like a loonatic hey,
don’t go and tell yer mother,
Budgeri fella was right here,
On his horse he rode away,
Sucking on a bottle of rum, ya hear,
The pigrooter threw him hey?
Don Johnson
Brutust Iulius Trois Page 07
Brutus called his captains into conference
we are done with creeping along the shorelines
prepare now to sail out across the Aegean
the winds are with us and Troy awaits!
Imogen seeing Hesione, ceased weeping
Hesione, were you happy with your lot?
was Telamon a better fate than Neptune's dragon.
So you are returned home having reclaimed your veil
So Priam is again Podarces and the serpentine Cetus awaits.
With the dawn the Trojan fleet finally sailed out.
Guardian dolphins leaping alongside in sunrise
Sped on by Aeolus, the windy son of Neptune
For Neptune had been placated by Brutus
by his offerings and by his vows
happy to be headed homeward the Trojans sang
composing happy ballads about Brutus
his triumphal return of the Trojans to Troy
of the golden lives he was leading them to
so the sunny days of the crossing passed
The fleet of Brutus sailed past the foggy isle of Tenedos in the last hours of night.
gliding over Neptunes's golden palace, the Aegean glowing with Salacia's lights
raced they toward the ness, the headlands of the Helespont
Suddenly from the fog came, Alarms, cries, clamor, the clash of iron
Sol's opening eyes revealed a Thracian pirate attacking a Phoencian
Tossing bodies overboard feeding the lesser cetus the sharks of the sea.
With his own battle cry Brutus took what was to hand and threw it.
as Nauta the helmsman steered into the fight
Tossed like a weapon Hesoine's amphora burst upon the Thracians
spearing them with shards as her black ashes coated the sea
clogging the gills of the lesser cetus who dived deep
deep and away from all of the disturbance.
As the ships came together the Trojans boarded the Thracian trireme
swords slashing stabbing slicing as they bloodily slayed the pirates
Imogen left behind looked away looked down upon the water
only she saw Hesoine's ashes transform into a sea dog
a great grey seal that swam to the beach of Cynossema
finding shelter beneath the shadow of Hecuba's empty tomb.
I strolled appease through the tall underbrush
admiring the tall lush green trees and
the tranquil mingling sounds of the seen and unseen creatures
I glance up into the heavens and admire
the tall green spearing pines as it rebinds
into a canvas painted ocean of blue,
scattered downy white clouds
and the sun radiating from behind
with birds in a V-formation flying in place with grace
The wondrous mountain range with the tall timber embrace
We meet under the rock shelter behind a beautiful waterfall
hidden under the fallen timber and pine branches
The sounds of the roaring crashing waterfall
descending and plunging down into a blue plungpool
forming white foam and rainbow vapors
I rush to his waiting arms
Wet and shivering from the water mist of the waterfall
I look at him with a flirtatious seductive tease
and arouses his blustery Sasquatch fury
We embrace till our heart melts into each other as one
in the concealment of the hidden shelter
behind the sounds of the waterfall
and melt into love
© Eve Roper 4/24/2015
Yellowed moonbeams flooded slantingly through the forest,
Crisscrossingly spearing and slicing the night,
Whilst throwing the foliage alight,
As I work to finish my task, brimming with fright.
Though familiar with the sight I behold
The moon ray-lit woods looked fresh and anew,
Whilst continuing to do as I’m told
And allowing my spade to strike true.
What of this spot, this hollow
If my body tires? Becomes spent?
Wanting to defy and not follow,
Ever knowing of his intent.
No choice but to labor to the bottom, the end
To bare my last, shaky breath.
For his gun will be quick to extend,
Making me give up the ghost and take death.
Nearing the last few spades of cold, forest ground,
Wondering if I’ll ever be found
Under a large soil mound,
Whilst tears trace down my face awaiting his guns resounding sound.
I step up
the open door awaits
sights appear in front
canvassed blue is what I see..
Into it .. I jump..
and drop
spearing
spiraling
careering
head first
into the unknown
trekking down
at blistering speeds
Where I wake up..
and spread my arms,
birthing wings
with sturdy legs
as my quest begins
and I am full of wonder..
for the moment comes,
the clock ticks,
and like a bird,
I begin to fly.
Touch the rising mist of cherry smiles
Herald cries of joyous miracles aflight,
Echo brisk allure of God’s spearing light
Cry in the bosom of Abraham’s seed
Refrain the ways of fame and greed;
Yield to peace though hate overrules
Intimidate the wicked with warm arms
Negate adversarial luck and vain charm,
Glorify the brooks flowing quietly still
Rise early...saturate thy heart with prayer
Inquire of strangers who hunger and thirst,
Verily your works of love shall surely rise first
Entertain the need of God’s angels unaware
Rejoice in eternity from life’s pain and tear.
Synthemesc candelabras ache hyacinth desire till woven floors
macabre phoenix grown on veiled crucible vines, dragonflies now
inhabit counter-clocks I've forgotten seer dust ponders hewn salamandrine fire
as a wish to eradicate all a wish denies, You've lost your chance
well I've lost it in the mirror.
I slipped you a talking pill
spearing sun vistas’ translucent din hails those darkest clotted wings
in Babel’s way, so get out of my way, into the waste or into the waves?
Night’s volcanic window-sill maze flattens—castaways untowards sine-greaves’ Latin.
I am Electricity—I laugh at thunder
bellowing at my helm, unaware
that electricity is a sound I share
my unseen body, your shadow, our mezzanine Jericho
shattering in the mirror, drear-dreaming diadem go ahead I’ve lost it,
edelweiss that reads my mind the crimson oars shall never find
nor color’s death: a smiling, stilled lake.
I slip on an unwritten will.
The symphony begins before daylight.
Night herons blink tired eyes at music’s quake.
Some tiny fish splash in the silent night.
With spearing beak her breakfast she does take.
Beneath the mangrove roots she saw that sight.
The gift of life the living must partake.
A hunter comes with camouflage and brawn.
In quiet awe his hunger waits for dawn.
As day approaches, tree frogs sing out strong.
Green damsel flies dart quickly in the sun.
Mosquito hawks and love bugs join the throng.
Then, crackling leaves caution, a skulking one.
The coral snake has no intent of wrong.
She lives within the web of life God spun.
And man, like beast must find the way through life.
Surviving in a world with deadly strife –
Serenity surrounds the spawning world.
Though birth and death embrace each break of day,
Beneath the cotton clouds joys are unfurled.
The heavens rinse the earth with living spray.
Beneath the treetops winds are sometimes whirled.
And thus it is upon life’s earthly stay.
As grasses grow and flowers bloom below,
Our Father watches with his heart aglow.
Copyright February 27, 2015
Inspired by Rober Butler painting Wild Symphony
LINK http://floridaffaalumni.org/earn/shop-online/butler/
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Florida Nature
Sponsor Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
Hi biscuit, you’re mighty and cute
So acute in hearing that I’m spearing fruit
Perhaps you didn’t know, I’ve lived in the South…too.
Entertained a name in the halls of high school
I thought it was cool, even back then
We were Rebels
Trivial this trivia of mine
Confuses many versed in sublime
My Confucius IS confusing
As are my rhymes butt
So what if they are
They’re just in my mind
Xposing me in a Leonine wind
(out of the skillet and into the…?)
bhindi, also know as a gem
... we banter in Bantu, know?... KinGumbo?
Layers of players in a game of purr suits
and sLayer the Dragon thought I said suite
So he booked a room and waited for treats
meanwhile…
Derelicts were there as centurion scribes
Bricks they made while recording tribes
Bows they carried low and to the side
... On a long coarse
I watched the hoarse-men ride.
Primus asked and the filly said hey…
Ask again in the proper way
Cute doesn’t cut it, the Cupid had to say.
Especially, if the gravy is grey.
”...oh look Vincent, it’s your lobe dear…” ;)
.
this is written in reply, to someone's reply.
it might not make sense but I hope you enjoy :) x