Best Spurted Poems
Into a silent valley we walk
Into a golden meadow as the birds talk
Into a wild unknown land
Into the middle of a marching band
Into the air filled with mist
Into a twirl with a twist
Into a bog consumed by mud
Into a battlefield spurted with blood
Into the ocean’s billowing foam
A world where we live forever and forever roam.
Bill prodded his sebaceous cyst
‘Twas massive the size of his fist
It spurted green pus
His wife made a fuss
“Get treatment NOW, I must insist”
Blue lighted to the A & E
Huge spurting cyst medics could see
Bill’s livid butt boil
Made doctor’s recoil
Needs lancing now, they all agree
They bundle Bill onto a table
“Don’t sedate him” said his wife Mable
I will succinctly put
He’s a pain in the butt
I’m leaving him when I am able
The medics gave Bill’s boil a prick
Green gunky pus splurts, it’s so thick
Poor Mable was heaving
She said, “Bill I’m leaving
Because you’re an ignorant dick”
“You wouldn’t seek treatment for years
Your constant moans left me in tears
I’ll file for divorce
I’m leaving of course
I’m going to live in Algiers”!
Bills visage turned ever so pale
His final breath he did exhale
The cad passed away
There’s no more to say
I’ve finished the end of this tale!
“When the pen falls silent that once danced to the muse’s command and when the poet’s heart no longer beats with rhyme, we realize that the poet in us is dead. It is a sad truth difficult to reckon.” ~ By Poet
Far from the din of madding crowd,
And away from the bustle of city streets,
I withdrew into a solitary spot,
To turn my thoughts into dazzling verse.
Shelley and Shakespeare came in view,
Emily and Eliot fell in line,
Their verse ringing loud and clear,
Their energy fanning fire within
I dreamt of putting proper words,
To clothe my thoughts in striking notes,
Longed to pour my loaded heart,
In powerful verse to move the hearts
But as I started scrawling down,
All that I had stored in hoards –
Ebbed out into mere froth and foam,
Leaving bits of broken thoughts
I sallied out for a stunning theme,
And stroked my pen to put it down,
But topics eluded me one by one,
Unable to decide on what to dwell,
I rummaged my memory for apt words,
And dallied round with lofty themes
Yet nothing other than splintered thoughts,
And hackneyed phrases came alive.
I strained hard to give them life,
And labored in vain to make them rhyme,
‘The Blazing Sun’ and ‘the Brilliant Star’,
Both faded out with no trace of glow.
I envisioned before me the Sacred Mount,
To drink from the fountain gushing down,
But hot lava spurted out,
And the wings of fancy burnt outright!
No Muse appeared to enliven me,
Nor my fantasy lingered long,
The words that once flowed like honey
Dried up with no inspiration, coming to nourish.
Staring blank into the scroll in front,
Unable to scribble even a moving thought,
Like a soldier vanquished in war,
I put away my paper and pen.
I greatly lament the death of the poet in me,
And wonder if ever will have a rebirth!
I have walked about as far
as I can go before a weariness
threatens to withdraw the pleasure
of the evening light and the easy
mood of the park. The fountain
that had spurted and splashed
all day has withdrawn back
into its nightlong still
and caught a rising moon
in its mirrored skirt.
I sit and close my eyes
and feel the world withdrawing
into somewhere else
as I let go each sound
into a growing quiet.
It's becoming harder to hold
myself here rather than
to float off where
the sounds go and all things
not anchored to a self
find a place in the night.
It would be good to go there
and see each atom
of who I am settle
a stillness stretched across
time and space and there,
become part of what
mirrors light
even if it's for no more
than the length
of an earthly night.
Discovery
Discovery. It's a creative act
Exploding from a darting intuition
When put in front of a lifelike fact.
Difficult to be transformed into equation
To demonstrate as valid the averment
Spurted as flash with no explanation.
A logic pattern is a more unsure event
Because is asking conditions more strict
Free thought allowing to a much less extent.
With logics as recipes you can well depict
Any cognition you already know
Seldom new knowledge then you may predict.
La scoperta (original version in Italian language)
È la scoperta un atto creativo
Prodotto dal guizzar d’intuizione
Messa di fronte ad un problema vivo.
Si trasforma a fatica in equazione
Per dimostrare valido l’asserto
Visto in un lampo senza spiegazione.
Il ragionare logico è più incerto
Perché richiede condizioni strette
Che lascian poco ad uno spazio aperto.
Con la ragion puoi scrivere ricette
Per divulgare ciò che ti sia noto.
Di aprirsi al nuovo raramente ammette.
Their baby girl turned out exceptional
Their baby girl is very exceptional
Her script perfect
She always had a book in her hand
Reading every spare minute
With a sponge like focus
At craft fairs, for example
She would hide under the table and read
At funeral services and church
She always brought a book
She would always read, read
For her birthday she wanted every episode
Of Criminal Minds, she never wanted toys
A book, or something stimulating her mind
To her was gold
She would also multitask her art
Oils and knitting, all self taught and really good
With her schoolwork
And sports
Swimming, karate and water polo
She was the very best at what she did
All through her schooling
Every single day
Every single day
She never received a grade less than an A
She was class valedictorian
She was phenomenal,
A swan that was always a swan
And recently she completed her first semester
At nursing school with a continued perfect record
Of all A's, all advanced courses
To me this is amazing
If I'm beaming the answer is yes
I spoke with, or should I say joked with the ex
Whose genes did she inherent? Whose?
Because It's neither of us
We laughed, one of the few times we did
I once wrote to my baby girl
Nineteen now, yet she's still my baby
I wrote to her a beautiful poem
About a blossoming rose
Growing to new heights, so elegant and beautiful
Nurtured, loved and cultivated
And she wrote back ... wherever they put me
In life, emphasizing they, I'll blossom that's my promise
I read her response over and over
In my mind, shedding tears
At her conviction, strong
I got to thinking ...
Her being uprooted earlier on in life
Watching her parents divorce, being hurt as a child
Having fears
Spurted her growth, ambition and drive
In my eyes it did
Affecting her in a way that she carried
A chip on her shoulder wanting to be the best
Proving her parents made a mistake in abandoning her
Just this past holidays, I can see a huge transformation in her
It's really noticeable, unrecognizable
She's matured faster than I wanted
Maybe she's dating, dipping her wet feet
But I see something different
I don't know what it is
She's not my baby anymore
connie pachecho
1/10/17
Then Thisbe stole forth as agreed upon
Unobserved her head covered with a veil
Out of city’s bounds edifice well known
Waited for Pyramus near a fountain trail.
In the dim light she descried a lioness
Nearing the fountain with blood reeking jaws
With a recent slaughter to slake her thirst.
She fled dropping her veil out of fright.
After quenching thirst turned back for her cove
Renting the veil in bloody mouth on her retreat
But Venus won’t always befriend true love.
Having delayed Pyramus arrived there
Saw footsteps of the lioness in the sand
And found the veil all bloody over there
Crying picked up the rent veil in his hand.
Thought himself to be the cause of her death
Covering the veil with kiss and with tear
And said, come ye lioness tear with your teeth
Let my blood also shall stain your texture.
He plunged sword into his heart with a shove
Blood spurted tinging the tree with red color
But Venus won’t always befriend true love.
Thisbe stepped out not to disappoint him
She noticed the change in the tree’s color
In the agonies of death she saw him.
A shudder ran as ripple in still water.
She saw her veil and his scabbard empty.
He has slain himself for her sake only.
She said, “I could be brave and follow thee
Death alone couldn’t prevent my joining thee
Love and death join us, one tomb be our grove”
She plunged the sword in her breast near the tree
But Venus won’t always befriend true love.
Envoi
Such tale of the self-less love presented
The two bodies in one tomb were buried
Pyramus-Thisbe tale our hearts do move
Berries serve memorials of their blood
But Venus won’t always befriend true love.
===================================
Rhyme scheme : ababccddede Envoi- ddede
The Joy of Shopping for Death Tools
Oh the shopping spree
what joy what glee
how natures all in harmony
The moon full
Round
the belly swells fertile ground
From the seed spurted within
Dig it up raze it destroy the divisions before they multiple-- unsanctity!
Cherry red ruby cheeked frail pale white. Dotted mottled maudlin girl
Golden glistening scintillating curls-- mocking me with life!
Once twice wrap round the bag
bag goes over the head goes down tie you up
your wrist are bound
tighten the belt crush the chest
Petechia flushing now bursting beauties
Bit by the hair o' the Burke
Snuffin the animate oh what furious work
That furry beast howls within an attractive glimmer in the eye as the eyes unite one soul slips to that unconsciousness black abyss of dreams
condensation obscures ruby cheeked whiteness
Exhilaration thrilling pumping life force
Yeah-- that what its all about...
Host Nation Crass Action
It is downright embarassing to review a viral video clip...
Of a group of black attired chanting in unison to a beat...
Presumably they were out in full force as soccer fans...
Easily overwhelming the rival team and their travelling fans..
In their misbegotten zest to show ardent support to the national team...
They forgot about common courtesy and sportsmanship and behave so ugly...
They were dancing and chanting insulting phrases and unpleasant things...
Reviewing such a video clip and knowing they are fellow Malaysians, I am ashamed..
How much about Singapore do they really know, that they have to show....
Their animalistic bestiality in singing, Singapore Itu Anjing...
So very disappointing to see this, when it is merely a football match...
How could this ever has to come about, how could a host nation's fans be so crass....
Could it be decades of much lauded supremacy in race and religion in this nation...
Plus jealousy and animosity from unbridled misinformation about the Singapore nation....
That brings out this shameful animosity in crowd behaviour from a host nation...
The Singaporean nation has spurted head and shoulders ahead as a prosperous nation..
While the Malaysian nation has descended down the dregs of economy as if in a comedy show...
Whither comes this open hostility to belittle and intimidate the national team from Singapore...
O, Where is the graciousness and sportsmanship befitting of our nation...
Or has the scourge of acceptable corruption blurred the values of this nation????
Update:
https://www.nst.com.my/sports/football/2017/10/297479/fam-cough-us56000-fines-offences-asian-cup-qualifiers-kuala-lumpur
Hohoho...
How it stings, when fans, players, coach and and FAM are punished for misbehaving...
Will this be the lesson to to mind all and sundry the need for sportsmanship...
Unclasped my pearl necklace
and loosened my long, straight hair,
opened the buttons of my dress and let it fall,
took off my lingerie,
tearing the delicate silk,
and left me naked.
After that, with his finger-scalpel,
he sliced into my skin,
as though I were meat.
He put his surgeon hands
into my entrails and
ripped out my guts,
my ordinary cells
and all the primary ones.
All of the healthy blood,
all of the useless blood,
spurted from me.
He tore into what was healthy,
and into what was infected,
every pustule.
With eyes like rays
of laser light,
he pulled away my organs
and boned me.
I lay down
next to my clothes
and to what was taken
with the wisdom
of a firm and sharp lancet.
From my lurid nudity
I begged him to possess me,
moaning into spasms,
and when he broke through my soul,
what a fantastic ******!
Patricia Evans
The flashy words he deftly chose to seduce,
and with practice these became florid.
One word he once inadvertently let loose,
that he had kept for long under the lid.
He did this long after she came in his life,
sailing together in time in a fervent way,
until they were hit by the storm of strife,
and she had started to slowly drift away.
His door was open, she did not return,
the last thread of hope he had lost pained.
A simple word then grew in his heart’s urn,
but he had kept it as a captive chained.
His longing for her did not ever wane,
he disliked to see her get hurt and sore,
but unable to bear long the load of pain,
knew not when the captive’s chain he tore.
For her the injury could not be greater,
as his spite spurted the simple word 'hate'.
It was mea culpa, he ruefully realized later,
but belated, for it had sealed their fate.
______________
March 21, 2023
Contest : A Simple Poetry
Sponsored by : John Lawless
And it happened to be springtime
when I joined the militia
so when we brandished our guns,
there were light breezes overhead,
bird song in the air, flower sprouts,
and happiness that winter was
fled to her hibernation cave was
visible on every civilian's face.
It was not quite as terrible, then, to plug
a body with its fate-bullet when the
face seemed so modestly happy
about something, the weather,
a friend's engagement, iced pomegranate
drink, spring things.
Didn't they all say, “At least I died in spring!”
with their round, lifeless eyes, proud of
surviving another starving winter in the
famine-stricken desert, able to hold the
hands of all the children they began the
cold months with, bellies full enough to
last the scarcity of fuel rations and drought.
Washing out my uniform at night in the
river, I'd imagine the blood specks
that had spurted happily from whatever
orifice had been shot were merely traces
of confetti that had burst forth from the
eager soul's celebratory last moments.
This poem appears online at http://wordsareaneed.blogspot.com/2014/07/fuel-rations.html.
Left Tampa bound for home
And though all caution we exerted,
We've landed in Virginia
Since our flight has been diverted.
La Guardia said no more flights
Could land and so we skirted
The airspace that surrounds it,
All the pilots thus alerted.
Though naturally I'm glad that
Awful weather's been averted,
The passengers, including me,
Are rather disconcerted.
My hope is that the thunderstorms
Will somehow be subverted;
If not, you'll hear some curses
Which my lips will like have spurted.
tears spurted out like arterial blood
tantalising cobwebs on the roof of flood
tearing hearts fed on love delivered
tangentially proverbs choked
halla lameni biscraho barassed
premas bulando keglig pharised
Form:
On the rowdy, raucous, Californian road,
I found his shutterd store, selling guns,
tobacco and more,
and the man came out in a brown
cockroach-coat and said, "can I help you?"
"I need a forty five and shells," I said,
"Well I,ve got a twenty two with mercury tips,"
he replied, "OK," I said, "that'll do I'll try,"
and when I'd loaded it, I pointed it straight
at his eye; and he gasped and told me, "not
the face, it wouldn't be right,"
and he took it thru his brown cockroach-
coat and heaving-breathing lungs; and when
the round came out, with the truth, and spraying
blood and greed; it stopped on the faded
calendar behind; right on today's date;
and I wondered why and I wondered why?
and then the radio sang out;
"my oh my what a wonderful day!"
and I ran out into the black and white
sirened-street, and the police aimed their
guns, and lies at my summer coat, and
Honolulu summer shirt; and as their bullets
spurted thru, and lifted my feet off the
startled-starling lazy street, I quickly sang;
"my oh my what a wonderful day!"