Best Sprain Poems
A double sonnet in which the great detective and his faithful sidekick, Dr. Watson, alternately deduce the cause of Sherlock’s latest malady…
Part the first
Sherlock could not deduce his source of pain
at first. “Try as I might, I cannot find
the cause – is it contusion, or a sprain?
Perchance a mere psychosis of the mind?
“Yet by deduction, I’ve ruled out the plague,
consumption, smallpox, cholera, and mumps.
My symptoms, although serious, are vague –
this lack of answers has me in the dumps!
“Where’s Watson? He would have a quick prognosis –
I’ve never seen him err in all our years”.
Then! Churn of stomach yields its diagnosis
just as his friend, the good doctor, appears:
“What seems to be the problem, troubled one?”
“It’s alimentary, my dear Watson!”
Part the second
But from the learnéd doctor’s point of view,
there yet were tests and readings still to take.
He’d learnt the ill effects of poor review
and on his friend would not make that mistake.
“Stick out your tongue! Now, turn your head and cough!
Say ‘ah’. Hold this thermometer in place,
and while you’re at it, take your trousers off -
we’d better check your prostate, just in case!"
But Sherlock dashes to the water closet
in dire urgency and grave chagrin
to make a loud and liquidy deposit.
“It’s diarrhea!” Doc yells with a grin.
“How did you know?”, shouts Holmes. “How in tarnation?”
“Why, Holmes, mere process of elimination!”
written 17 Jan 2020
Sloth’s Steaming Sin
Sluggishness slitters solely straightforward
Sedentary survival styles scold, strain
Self-centeredness - sloth’s shinning standard
Squandering silvers… spiritual sprain
July 21,2022 11.31pm
PS Syllable Counter
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10
Total # Syllables: 40
Proverbs 19:15
Slothfulness casts into a deep sleep, and an idle person will suffer hunger.
Sin of Sloth
Contest Judged: 8/2/2022 3:20:00 PM
Sponsored by: Margarita Lillico
Place 1 (one of the 8 first placers)
July 16 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on Isaiah 46-50
Key Verse – Isaiah 47:4 As for our redeemer, the LORD of hosts is his name, the Holy One of Israel.
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY HOLY REDEEMER
Lord God, You are my holy Redeemer midst sinful burden
Thank You for pulling me out against downfalls of pride so sudden
Away from troubles of transgressions’ warden
To bring me to Your salvation-garden.
Lord God, You are my holy Redeemer midst corrupt pollution
Thank You for taking me out against yokes of pleasures’ destruction
Away from wickedness’ perversion
To drive me to Your holiness-function.
Lord God, You are my holy Redeemer midst obstinate stubbornness
Thank You for releasing me out against treacherous deceitfulness
Away from affliction of falsity’s illness
To propel me to Your Word-truthfulness.
Lord God, You are my holy Redeemer midst infirmity’s fatality
Thank You for plucking me out against crises of no prosperity
Away from false teachings’ uncertainty
To lead me to Your direction-stability.
Lord God, You are my holy Redeemer midst vain judgment
Thank You for rescuing me out against despicable entanglement
Away from dark prisons’ encampment
To guide me to Your comfort-settlement.
Lord God, You are my holy Redeemer midst continual wastage
Thank You for preserving me out against secularism’s spoilage
Away from carnality’s hostage
To carry me to Your fellowship-advantage.
Lord God, You are my holy Redeemer midst iniquities’ reign
Thank You for freeing me out against selfishness’ strain
Away from rebelliousness of smiting sprain
To usher me to walk along obedience-terrain.
July 16, 2023
I sat next to an old geezer on a park bench
He looked at me, said "I can see you're a mensch"
Let me tell you what I've learned in the past 80 years.
"Oh no", thought I, but his words flew like spears:
"Who can fathom the deviousness of the heart
To know the mind from the face, there is no art.
Woe unto them that call evil good, take it as a clue
If they can't anchor themselves in the obviously true
Some claim darkness is light, and light dark
If you follow that lighthouse, you'll end up in a shark.
Prepare in advance, no practice leads to error
A peaceful scene then sudden terror
Never underestimate the fury of the wicked
It will come, as the prophet predicted.
You can work too hard, and not work smart
Get your sleep, take a walk, create some art
Your health must survive any deadline
Nothing achieved when a sprint is followed by decline.
The old man paused, took a sip of juice
Maybe this was my chance to break loose
I looked for a polite way to flee
But I was exhausted from my weekly game of Rugby.
"Death and life are in the power of the tongue
Words can cut deep even if sweetly sung.
There is no safety for good men, but to believe the worst of those
who when given two paths, the evil one chose.
Be slow to anger, make sure you understand
Incompetence rather than evil, often rules the land.
If a man comes to kill you, kill him first,
But seek truth and be wise, lest the roles reversed.
Do unto others as you want them to do unto you
Often they want their side heard, their point of view.
Hear out the extreme, the foreign, the new
For in the unexpected, there may be wisdom to pursue.
Hypocrisy is the tribute vice gives to what's good
We can't always live up to what we should
"And last," he said earnestly "I must preach
To think before talking, be concise in speech
Don't give strangers advice, for all our sakes
Especially if like me, you made endless mistakes
Be aware of your own contradictions
Know that reality is stranger than fiction.
"Thanks geezer", I said, "but I gotta go
"In the rugby game of life, you must have been a pro
In my hurry to leave my foot fell into a drain
All that advice, and now I have a sprain.
When they leave,don’t complain
Let them go without constrain
Be thankful for they dint leave a sprain
For like herpes they will always be back with a strain
Yes forever like herpes they will strain to pain
A mere walk in the street with some old memories,
At a mute dawn with lighted bulbs;
Recalling again some old sceneries
Sore retrospect running in my arteries.
Under the bridge I came; to wonder
Heard some drops falling on its top!
Declaring the demise of the silence hereunder
The rooftops began to crack by the thunder.
A forlorn feather struggling to rest on a concrete.
When it found a sleeping puppy,
It slipped on his feet.
Contiguous to him- it took a seat.
I slithered over a perished white paper,
figured out it was a love note!
yearning to reach its friend ,from a weeper,
saying that-without her-he is a forsaken laker.
He also conveyed the conventions they made:
"We can conquer the world together."
"Thou art my harmony and my shade,
"so no farewell is to be bade."
Suddenly! a phantom of a car drew near
And alas, I was in the middle of the road reading the note
I resigned to this feeling of fear.
And soon was a vapid body of a deer.
The last thing I glimpsed, was:
A worn out man on an old bicycle
-tattered though it was, it showed no flaws-
Waving at me; manifesting his sympathy and awes.
I discerned there was no reason to survive
This venom of old grievances
Decided to eat me alive!
And there was no cure to make me thrive..
Struggle-didn't I- to remain
No echoes of merry sounds to listen
No shadows of love, but pain,
Nothing alleviated my heart's sprain.
I left the glass broken
And I seek no returning back.
So many words left unspoken
But the tale is not yet woven:
Because the rain was washing my dust!
It didn't want me to rust.
And the thunder was roaring for me
To look around and realize the glee!
The peacefulness by which the puppy slept
And the shelter offered for the feather to be kept.
The love note that made me believe love still exists,
And old is gold with the bicycle despite its twists
And now I could see the sun on the horizon,
I- with the whole sleeping world-has risen.
When your back it has an itch
and it's oh just out of reach.
And you sprain a muscle reaching.
Laugh out loud.
When you're dressing to the nines,
and your shirt's pressed just so fine.
Then discover buttons missing.
Laugh out loud.
Find the toilet in the dark,
begin to sit before you start.
But the toilet seat is up!
Laugh out loud.
Laugh at yourself each time
that you can't quite find the rhyme.
'Cause life can be a rhyme-less poem.
Laugh out loud.
The louder it can be
the better you will see.
That others join you in the fun, so
Laugh out loud.
Life is hard, tough, rough, like a brilo-pad
Growing up, street smart was all I had
I had no choice but to turn to the hood
It's difficult trying to change for the good
What do you do when there's nowhere to turn?
Before you decide, look back, what did you learn?
Try to survive, I'm gon' do the same
Stuck in this world, heart full of pain
Money cover evil, trying to stay sane
Cash keeps flowing, like blood to the brain
Rappin' ain't like hustling, it's a whole different game
came through a struggle, my ankle got a sprain
Haters don't care, nobody gon' look out
Everybody's grillin', but this ain't a cookout
Bullets keep flyin', that's what the scare's about
Life's rough, like the stuff between tile, grout
The hood's full of hate, what happened to love
Too many little misfits, like a tiny glove
Put haters in dirt, that's what I call gardenin'
My heart's colder than water, when it starts hardenin'
Call me care-free, I ain't got no worries
Life don't always end well, like fairy-tale stories
I know a young lady, her name is Kim
Whenever I see her, she makes my heart grin
They call her a doctor, but to me she's a friend
Whatever my ailment she knows how to mend
With every new visit, my symptoms take flight
She knows how to soothe me, to remedy my plight
After all these decades, finally found a new doc
Who makes me feel comfortable wearing just socks
I'll gladly recommend her to everyone I know
My resistance to doctors I sure did outgrow
So next time I'm fevered or feeling some pain
Even though quite minor like a bump or a sprain
I'll make an appointment and really tout suite
Visiting Doctor Kimberly is surely a treat
She'll fix me up quickly, she'll fix me up fine
Three cheers for Kimberly, this new friend of mine
© Jack Ellison 2015
Irene went for her usual morning walk around six;
the August breeze was dry and fragrantly crisp,
one could tell she was injured as her aching hips
made her miss a step as she bit on her weathered lips.
Not far from her stone cottage, there was a cave never hit by sun rays,
it was hidden from sight by shrubs and weeds that almost
covered her cavity and at nighttime it seemed a ghost;
wasn't it the refuge of persecuted Christians when Celts were pagans?
The streets were very narrow and cracked cobblestones
made her slow down...using caution could have prevented a serious sprain;
an athlete is known for strength and endurance and she fought pain
by looking down and running downhill towards the treeless hills.
Irene had two wonderful kids: one was a gorgeous boy and the other a pretty girl,
and they both had hair as golden wheat and eyes as the wild Irish Sea;
and whispering to herself, " I will miss my walks in the Fall with Kelly and Bill...
and after the baby is born, wouldn't I stare out of the window with melancholy?"
While pondering that thought, she heard a puppy's cry coming out of the dark cave
that gave her goosebumps and searching carefully she saw the pitiless animal
struggling on three legs, but the fourth leg was badly injured or broken by the fall;
rapidly she grabbed the long rope and started her descend as a coffin into a grave.
Helen hit the ground hard and that startled the poor puppy laying on a plate of chrome,
" You are safe with me and because I've found you in this cave, I'm going
to name you Cavy, lucky pooch! This bad accident was a turning point for you!"
And he barked for approval, being happy to have survived and found a new home.
Brain Drain Explained
There's an echo in my ears,
And a heart full of tears,
Going down, going down the drain,
There's a cry on fingertips,
And a why on my lips,
Going up, going up the brain,
There's an ache in my old head,
And a cracked song instead,
Can you feel, can you feel the strain?
There's a voice that won't depart,
And a noise in my heart,
Can you hear, can you hear the pain?
There's a scorn in my sweet blush,
And a thorn in my flesh,
Chugging like, chugging like a train,
There's a dance in my mad feet,
And a chance to retreat,
Tugging that, tugging that refrain,
There's a wetness in my brain,
And redness in my sprain,
Walking in, walking in the rain,
There's a sore in my red cheeks,
And a hole in the creeks,
Washing off, washing off the stain,
There's a jig in my sad soul,
And a big gaping hole,
Crying with, crying with the slain,
There's a madness outside me,
And a sadness in me,
Wailing in, wailing in disdain,
There's a leap in my footsteps,
And a creep in my steps,
Let me now, let me now complain,
Come with me, my dearest friend,
Let us flee till world's end,
Will you not, will you not explain?
Won't you talk with me somehow,
Have a walk with me now?
Strolling through, strolling through the main,
Let us fly and touch the sky,
And pry and be the spy,
Rolling in, rolling in the plain...
04/03/19
~~~~~~~~~~~
A whimsical write
7.6.8 syllables
~~~~~~~~~~~
I have awakened myself rather consciously,
Like a rush or a cry of spirituality…
The focus in my mind set aimlessly…
We need a proposition of morality.
Barely even touched by the decadence,
Striking generations lost in a trance
Fabricated dreams packaged in abundance
Aware yet… unmoved by aberrance!
Immoral behavior launched in a trend,
Infecting the core of our society.
Multifaceted demons to such extend…
The downfall and sprain of our piety.
Pretending to oblige to humans pleasures,
Imposing one’s sight with waves of toxicity.
Showing off its pride without any measures,
Falsifying in style … in full complicity.
Covering up the heart so its eyes can’t see…
Rendering it so numb by anesthesia.
Closing up the channels conducting to Thee…
Deliberately injecting doses of “amnesia”!
Why do the green grass
grow
And fill the fertile field?
Where'er man does not
sow
They tend themselves
and yield.
For when the rain would
pour
And skate beside the hill,
They'd pave the fragile
floor
To let the slope be still.
For when the weary feet
Walk by towards a home,
They'd serve to titillate
To let the sprain be
gone.
For when a child would
jump
To play luksong-tinik
And get a backside
bump,
They'd weave a safety
net.
For when a star would
fall
To grant the wisher's
dream,
The impact would be
small
On land to break its
beam.
They say in the Bedouin camp
The Geanie is really a scamp
Sure, he’ll grant you wishes
Of romance or dishes
As long as you’re rubbing his lamp
When I read this story I knew
That none of the story rang true
For I had an uncle
And he had this furuncle
That he said would grant wishes too
But according to my loving Aunt
The only thing that thing would grant
Was a wrist with a sprain
Then she tried to explain
I’d go on but I really can’t
I sprain my ankle alot
doing things my ankle can't handle,
obviously.
My fondue is simmered by the pain; the flame of new.
Makes me feel alive,
and a bit horny too.
I will survive.