Best Spiels Poems
SOUP SAFARI
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here I am in NYC...packing after a safari –theme night party
with Soup members two nights ago, filled with awed revelry.
shrieks whistling on linked arms during a photo shoot,
as live cheers of Constance and Andrea went “ whoot!”
while Debbie and Michael hosted “Tag, you’re ‘It’ “games
bringing Nikko and Sara to compete in spelling members’ names…
I still remember Robert H. reciting his comic spiels, what a blast!
our jaws locked from clapping at Dr. Ram’s impromptu dance act,
till Kashinath segued into a sitar rap in his flashy jungle attire
prompting Linda to donate PM prizes, much to our hearts’ desire.
on our table, an exciting blend of brew amped repartee’s pitches
amused by Brian fleshing parts of short forms without glitches,
enter wacky Sydney applying geographic values to long verse usage
with footnotes on how worlds expand over time from poetic vantage,
oh, how Gwen sparkled with pleasantries as cups of jokes poured
most memorable of all, the warm personal shares of soupers' world
that drew us closer as real people with scraps here and there
recalling red-cherry days and funny bloopers’ wear and tear…
and as I leave from 8th street hailing a taxi to catch a plane,
notes and album tugged this heart, anticipating next gang’s chain.
copyright
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DEDICATED TO P.D: get well soon and take your daily dose your soup!
*notes: with admiration for soup members included herein... all in the
name of pure fun!
* Gwendolyn Rix, Brian Strand, Sydney Peck, Myself
* For Michael Falotico’s Table for Four/ P.D Soup Contest
* by nette onclaud
Written: October 28, 2023
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Autumn shrubs gracefully fall to the ground.
Crimson love dips; its bright sparkle is around.
Life is struck by the tempo of men's embrace.
Cool tumble weather has settled in with grace.
Colors merge and mingle in a saffron delight.
Cherish and share them with the Moon sight.
Such as the vivid tail of a rare comet.
Simpers strive to be savored and fade with garnet.
Ask for just a few moments of peace at night.
The stars twinkle, and the night sky is bright.
In this faded deceit, where dreams and truth collide,
A picture is such a joy for capturing the vital side.
It's an everlasting enticement as it lays its spell.
And spiels as slender sporadic stems should swell.
The key to happiness may be spotted in silence.
Such times and places remain in defiance.
As the wind gently rustles through the trees,
Nature sings its symphony with a gentle breeze.
Leaves twirl and spin, akin to dancers in the air.
Creating a masterpiece beyond compare
Public opinions that
Undermine the ground on which we walk
Bedeviled only be enticing jeers
Emotions that are vexing are laid-out with a cuss
Ranting & raving "The world is out to get us!"
Taking in sustenance over parental spiels
You've not forgotten how it feels?
“She’s let me down again Clare Cox” the ‘missus’ fumed about her wayward aid.
Now with the job to do upon her own. For other arrangements have been made.
“You’re helping me today” she pointed “And I don’t want any spiels”.
“Fair go” I replied, “I don’t know nothing, about serving meals on wheels”.
Well I soon learnt I tell you, the wife’s anger soon did heal
When I carried in the soups and sweets. She took in the midday meal.
We propped at all the diner’s homes, where the folks would say g’day.
Most were ‘oldies’ that I rarely saw, but I knew them anyway.
The ‘missus’ ‘neath her breath, gave out a groan “Prepare for this old one.
She’s a flamin’ whingeing ‘battle axe’, which can’t be pleased by anyone,
It doesn’t matter what we do, she will grumble and abuse,
If it’s not about the food we bring, it’s dirt upon our shoes”.
“Who’s that?” I heard sarcastically. The ‘missus’ gave an enforced grin.
“Why Aggie he’s my husband”…“Does he know what he’s doing?
He better not be like Clare Cox, that ‘tart’ tried to choke me”.
Aggie put a plate upon the table that held one solitary pea.
“Look at this!” She pointed, to the shrivelled up hard pea.
“How could anyone eat that, it’s like a rock as you can see”.
I picked the pea up off the plate, rolled it ‘round my mouth a mite.
Gripping the pea between my teeth, I found it way too hard to bite.
“You’re right you know” I grinned at Aggie. Still the scowl wore on her face.
I tied to humour her a bit, when I said, “You have a case,
I’ll take it to a lawyer, he’ll sue the council for your pea”…
“Well don’t forget to say,” she said…“It’s already been through me”.
Blond in a corner
Scab-faced - face-chewer
Insidious narcissist
Asseverates feigns for empathy
Pontificates spiels on sobriety
The carpet stained – the smell of sewer
A seventy dollar catalyst
Being passed – contained in glass
The anticipation is also the allure.
Derail – engage – yell
What twisted place is this?
What sick new sons of Belial?
Dismal – Impetus.
Divine justice is impetuous
When rock bottoms surpass
The abysmal depths of hell.
Regret all past professions
Regretting all you avowal
Become a regret, like the blond in the corner.
Come here, I will show you how.
I always like it creamy, and a bit zestful
On the pallet with robusta flavor---
Yet, totally unsweetened for now
When daylight gulps in an ache; my coffee
Becomes bitter, nipping my tongue
Like heated grain of yesterday’s spiels---
Angry mouths percolating in the kitchen
While she, in haste, rushes away.
Contest of nette onclaud
A Poem That Did Not Place and More
New---Coffee/ 6 Sept 2015
Manny Paras
(Inspired by Mathew Atchley of Hot Spot Studio's "The Joker and the Thief" a drawing on the marriage of the Joker and Harley Quinn.)
Lost in memories of padded walls
Mind-numbing pills and
Psycho-babble spiels.
I fell through the cracks
Of manipulation and seduction.
Trying to entice you.
Make a device of you.
Acted like I despised you.
But as I abused you
And seduced you
I broke somewhere between
Reality and insanity.
Now I’ll watch as the fire
Blazes behind your masked eyes.
And we share smiles
Brought by pain
And mutual love of misery.
Our own sadistic victory.
While I burn your name into the city.
Its the simple things in life that turn my wheels
a stroll over the moors, I don't need newsreels
The beauty of the full moon to my heart appeals
sounds of the night, I hear high pitched squeals
No its not money or houses or even posh meals
bored stiff listening to the fools and their spiels
Its the joy, the charm of mother nature appeals
that makes my blood race as I turn cartwheels
Its the simple things in life that turn my wheels
a life of enjoyment, full of love with no ordeals
Written 08/19/2013
contest What Makes You Tick
It is those things such as these-yes... .
Like remaining on mute because your staying in tune with the close
captioning of the news set up in the picture in picture TV on the big screen. Of the
football game from the Bengles', loss, yes again, and yes again ""don't you know it "! As
your two fraternal twins sit there crying pulling at their heart
while one of the years before Super Bowl champs' from the Cowboy's knocks the ball out
from good old boy Chris Collinsworth's hands. As he's running with all that he's got not
but about twenty three yards out from the goal line. While soft tired whimpers can be
heard, pounding their legs and stomachs rocking away in all seriousness saying why, why,
why? And struggling yourself as a Father you teach them to take it all in stride and how
to watch the humorous spiels from the night before, and to never bet truly on anything
from them.
Sometimes sadly... !
Credences' Rolling on the River playing.
And so the many amenities yes the certain perks of benignity are as well I feel spending
the time with close family and the wondrous sounds yes tasty smells of "BAM" rosemary
wilted-spinach, fresh chopped mushrooms
shallots and garlic a splash of white and red wine vinegar a pinch of salt and pepper lots
of bacon and a thousand basil eggs hordes of cinnamon French toast and what every happy
family needs, a bunch of good old sage'd up getta and congealed grit pies sizzling and
popping away furiously in the butter on the stove in the iron skillets.
And though an extra the grits they are placed in purely-and-only as an honor for my family
and Father, of my past who now has passed. A personal favorite I too shared with him after
church on Sundays.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gq1roSoMS84
6/21/22
"Steel Blades"
All these spiels and games
Yet another shady deal made
We do not feel the same
Chop you up with steel blades
Your body left in the field decays
I've no interest in starting to kneel and pray
Too many secrets hidden and sealed away
Regardless does time ever truly heal the pain?
It's happened 9 hundred and 11 times
Eventually I had to sever ties
Because it all started to jeopardize
For the longest time I could never find
The way toward a better life
In darkness the sun would hardly ever shine
Until the second I, recognized
That I was being less than wise
So I switched it up and reenergized
Memorize that goonies never say die
Still searching for where the buried treasure lies
Claiming they're legit with fake papers
People always trying to gain favor
No need for a weight trainer
I got to accumulate paper
Still all the snakes and haters
Don't be such a naysayer
Or wait a day later
I'm breaking through the clay layers
Meanwhile life's always throwing out haymakers
How I handle it is a game changer
When in great danger
Found a way in nature
Within eight acres
Many times for others I became a savior
The coffee pot is on the blink,
one thing I don’t have is time to think.
It snowed last night and I’ve checked my email,
however, sadly, it’s as slow as a snail.
I need to know if the store is open,
closed today, I’m really hope’in.
I’ve spilled my coffee, soaked my tablet;
disarray’s getting to be quite a habit.
The cat’s lost his breakfast and I stepped in it;
life is too challenging, wish I could sit
and in my recliner, sleep the day away;
but, then I wouldn’t get any pay.
My answering machine is filled to the brim;
those political spiels, I sure wish they would trim.
My security camera is now on the fritz;
someone took my wheel covers, and then quickly split.
I can’t even turn them in to the police;
oh god, I forgot to renew my lease!
11-17-19
Disarray Poetry Contest
Nina Parmenter
Unified Theories in Back Yards
Which realm do I write from today,
Which abode in my mind where my thoughts lay,
Which thoughts of mine do I project
To all who read these lines?
I can discuss Einstein’s thoughts
And including his relativity
Or Stephen Hawking’s black hole spiels,
Dark matter and the like.
I guess no matter what I write,
Unified theories will always be sought,
Which lie in atoms own back yards
Starring them in their faces.
W.C.Hull © 2018-28-7-1035
Does What Reveals Appeals
There may be many things this reveals,
When more things to you always appeals;
From Trump receive;
We will never believe;
Sounds like some more of what Trump spiels.
With or without Glackens.
Jim Horn
*Image of Winners of Connecting by Pixabay
Close Encounters of the Best Kind
Anon celebrations plumb us adjusts,
preceding months were more compatible,
familial presence friends superfluous,
plain chat wheedles a bit less fragmental,
pooled consciousness markup valuable,
fruitful homily affect harmony,
ripes present blooms extended courtesy,
besieged turkey banquet crowds Christmas trees,
stanch observance occasions normalcy,
camaraderie and oneness appease.
Tis the choice of annuals hails bonus,
each control themselves appropriately,
contrasts ne'er build or they'd be a Jonas,
dovetail twirls a sensitive filigree,
our kindred tree naught a Genesis tree,
naught muddled rundowns so microscopic,
yarns curled scripts that were kaleidoscopic,
ensnared eyes courteous ears learn the spiels,
showpiece manifest substantive topic,
closing in prayer banks where heaven deals.
2021 November 03
A ruinous filth spills onto the page
Like sap from a trees rotting heart
Hands covered in black
The speaker of my memories
Smooth and razor thin
An emissary of ink
I envy the pen and it’s melan-written spiels
Armored with a voiceless vignette
It is its only way to prove that it’s master is alive
Feverishly pushing its point to a fading death
Is this the fate of all who pick up a pen,
or am I the unlucky who withers among the living
Buried and fossilized beneath a healthy pink tongue
Are my words not memorable ?
Will my efforts be admired?
Have I not earned a meaningful epilogue?