Best Sties Poems
Don't let them see us
tremble! – it is what
they want. Don't let
them drink our tears of
sorrow...it will prompt
them to create more
heartbreak tomorrow. let
them hear, loud and clear,
of our definitive resolve –
we will not be divided
and scattered – these
Marxist, racist scum,
will also pay, here on earth,
long before they reach the
fires of hell....
(Lunatics With Power)
Soros, and his sponsoring
of Marxist, soulless DA's and Judges –
The squad, Pelosi's Luciferic Compatibles –
Time to Exorcise such swine, from their
sties of luxury, and into the pens of
our America Justice system, the very
same pens, they have manically emptied,
spilling criminal content back onto
the streets of our society, to
victimize our Nation's innocence –
Vote them out!
And then, Prosecute!
the season I turned eleven
was the season that I died
there'd been blood betrayal and famine
and I thought I had survived
my neighbor killed my kitten
and for that I could not cry
my mother went to handle it
told me to stay inside
i sat poised in an armchair
trying to calm my mother down
while I could feel nothing
we knew she'd made him drown
the woman was a laundress
washed other people's clothes
didn't like the stink of pig sties
it offended her frail nose
the wash-board on the right side
where the pigs did have their homes
was the one she always gave me
like the left one was her own.
only when a pig was hanging
would she demand to trade
i'd wash next to a hog's corpse
a choice could not be made.
then one day I got angry
and I dared to move her clothes
i moved them to the right side
as the rage inside me rose
the woman tapped my window
and said your cat is dead
it was two days before Christmas
she roused me from my bed
there was display of feeling
tears could not be be shed
gray fades to black
hello sadness my old friend
12/11/06
Tongues loose, tongues in a hangman’s noose
Wag without care to declare nonsense
As wisdom salvaged from the sluice
Where nonsense whacked common sense
Lost in a sea of error whose terror
Harmed victims concealed by protagonists who opted to promote
The cult of nonsense whose defence mirror
Plunged into reverse gears that chose to demote
Common sense when tongue waggers
Congregated in an occult cabal to upgrade gossiping skills
As though grapevine daggers
Staggered upper echelons of wisdom whose quills
Spilled reason in dark corners where tongue waggers shared nonsense seeds
Plus fertilizers of idleness and the icing on cakes of lies
Whose taste on tongues that wagged feeds
Total belief in naked gossip sties
Tied malfeasants together tighter
The better for them to wage war on common sense and desecrate workplace etiquette
Which is anathema to tenets of ultimate gossipers rate lighter
Than curses the wisdom ticket
That caught gossipers red handed munching grapevine beans
While sharing tins and pins of sins
For which gossipers scrambled when grapevine means
Came under close scrutiny when truth queens
Declared grapevines illegal in Wisdom Land
Where any culprit convicted of spreading gossip propaganda
Would be stripped of the royal brand
And punished for the gossip blunder
Committed without shame
To discredit the truth and integrity
In solemn worship of the blame name and claim
Would be sent to Coventry for eternity.
There was a boy named Timi Sties
Who surely was not very wise
Of faults he had lots
And said he saw spots
Coz teach told him to dot his eyes
Ted Weymouth rang me up to see, if I could do a job he had…
‘His trucks broken down’ he said, so I told Ted ‘I’d be glad
to do a favour for a mate’, he said. ‘It’s ‘Grubby’ Alcorn’s place.
A load of posts!’ Lord I’ve been had…‘Grubby’s’ a real hard case.
‘Grubby’ lived out in the ‘back-blocks’, where the roads are bloody rough,
Ted had ‘conned’ this job for me to do, where I heard one trips enough.
It took me bloody hours. I reckon Ted’s enjoying this with mirth.
I broke a spring and so the trip, cost more than the job was worth.
We threw the posts off near a shed, from there ‘twas my desire,
to get to buggery out of here… I asked ‘Grub’ for some fencing wire
to wind ‘round the spring to hold it tight, praying to God it might
hold everything together, until I got home that night.
“Come inside and have a drink”, ‘Grubby’ beckoned ‘cross to me.
I looked him up and down then thought, ‘I don’t like what I see’.
‘Grubby’ looked like he had wallowed, with pigs beside their sties...
When I walked inside I’ve got to say, I got one ‘heck’ of a surprise.
Every dish was washed and packed away. The sink was spotless clean,
each cup hung upon their little hook, glasses sparkled with a sheen.
Flowers ‘Grubby’ picked stood in a vase, on a table-cloth embodied gold.
‘Grubby’ asked me if I wanted tea, or would I like something cold.
I felt much more at ease now, in this clean environment,
it seemed like chalk to cheese, from outside when I had spent
an hour’s work with ‘Grubby’, so I said, “I think you ‘oughta’
pour me out a nice cold drink of lemon cordial and water.”
I took a swig and puckered; the lemon tasted kind of *****.
My drink really wasn’t pleasant, more like a bad home beer.
Must be just my taste buds because the weathers fairly hot,
so I upended quick the ten ounce pot and drank the flamin’ lot.
I said to ‘Grubby’ “That’s average, I’ve not had cordial like that before.
Or could it be your water mate; do you pump it from a bore?”
“Nar” said ‘Grub’ “the water’s fine now, though a week ago was rank.
The taste is getting better since… I dragged the possum from the tank.”
Remonstrations, protestations, recriminations
In the wake of a calamity that strikes below the belt
In communities decimated and disabled by insinuations
Brought to a head when fickle feelings melt
As tempers in embers flare
In scenarios of utter disbelief prompted by dysfunctions
In families with implicit love deficit declare
A truce among gladiators lest functions
Held in high esteem at best
Considered tenuous at worst in the light of evidence
Adduced by a traditional herbalist to test
Depth and strength of balance, cadence, credence
In norms hitherto perceived as golden standard
In matters of natural justice
Scoring above or below zero on a scorecard displayed with prominence on a placard
Denounce the injustice
Shown and grown with no iota of shame to collect and dissect scalps
Carried, harried, buried six feet under
In Utopian Alps
Reeking of the stench of blunder and thunder by a gander who considers gender
A taboo with tattoos of blame
Training, staining, raining participants to a cabal
With the lame name
Ordinarily thought banal
Strut the shame a family feels
At a low point in the life
It purports to live when squealing eels
Swimming in family ponds and puddles of strife
Stick a sharp knife
Into taboos of bamboos it desecrates
As a funeral fife
Consecrates and concentrates cancer crates
To wind up a discourse of the mute
While weeping eyes
Refuse yielding to coercion to recruit
Sties, ties, flies and pies teeming with lugubrious lies.
Always on my mind
Nibbling at the core, fiddling at the soft centre
Quizzing, teasing me to find
Space and time to enter
The pantheon populated by caring
Daring divinities whose flight
Into ether left me wondering
If I got any delight in the sight
With a plethora of pesky plights whose bosom
Disgorges unhappiness on unwitting victims
Fate selects in a setting whose every atom
Reeks of unfairness dispersed and disbursed in teams
That deserve far better outcomes
Caught up in family controversies
In which balms and psalms
Can’t assuage guilt despite ecstasies
Doled on sadists
Who inflict untold misery
On generations of infant artists
Driven to the edge on wedges of despair where usury
In terms of responsibility for offspring
Deserts blinkered eyes
Whose addiction to the matrimonial ring
Glorifies sties of fake highs
Breathed in nostrils blown wide
Off the mark of duty
Sucked up by puny pride
In a fuss bus whose loyalty
Resonates in circles of influence
In which absconding family obligations
Grows and brews nonsense at the confluence
Where negations and fumigations
Score high points
In cultures that praised
Disruptions of joints
In which families children raised
In abject neglect
Shivered in bedrooms without blankets
Their bludgeoned bodies couldn’t delect
Because children could possess neither toys not tenderness trinkets
Much as they hoped from above
Santa Claus would at Xmas
Bestow on concealed children the love
Preached in sanctimonious tones at high mass.
POEM 50 HER HEART
ALL OUR LOVE FOR EACH OTHER COME FROM GOD ABOVE.
WE ARE A PREFECT MATCH MADE FROM GOD ABOVE.
OUR HEART ONE TOGETHER WITH EACH OTHER IN LOVE.
FOR THE LOVE WE HAVE FOR EACH OTHER IN OUR HEARTI S AT THE STARTS.
OETRY POEM OF THIS
MY IS FULL OF LOVE FOR YOU & FOR ME TO MAKE YOU HAPPY. YOU
. JERRY BIG PAPA WELLS
THIS IS THE LAST POEM OF BOOK 13 I WILL BE PUTTING ANOTHER BOOK IN POETRYSOUP EACH ONE OF
MY BOOKS HAS FIFTY POEMS IN IT EACH TIME YOU READ FIFTY POEM ON MY SITES YOU WILL HAVE READ
ONE OF MY BOOKS. I HAVE OVER 150 POEMS ON MY STIES IN POETRY SOUP. NOW I HAVE TO THINK ON WHAT BOOK
NEXT I AM GOING TO PUT ON POETRY SOUUP I HAVE MANY BOOKS
SO KEEP ON READING ON MY SITE . IT IS MORE TO COME IN THE FUTURE
AUTHOR
NOW IT IS MARCH THIS IS MY BEST MONTH OF THE YEAR. I DO MORE WORK IN THE MONTH THAN
ANY OTHER MONTH OF THE YEAR. COME TOME AT [email protected]
POEM 50 HER HEART
ALL OUR LOVE FOR EACH OTHER COME FROM GOD ABOVE.
WE ARE A PREFECT MATCH MADE FROM GOD ABOVE.
OUR HEART ONE TOGETHER WITH EACH OTHER IN LOVE.
FOR THE LOVE WE HAVE FOR EACH OTHER IN OUR HEART S AT THE STARTS.
POETRY POEM OF THIS
MY IS FULL OF LOVE FOR YOU & FOR ME TO MAKE YOU HAPPY. YOU
. JERRY BIG PAPA WELLS
THIS IS THE LAST POEM OF BOOK 13 I WILL BE PUTTING ANOTHER BOOK IN POETRY SOUP HEACH ONE OF MY BOOKS HAS FIFTY POEMS IN IT EACH TIME YOU READ FIFTY POEM ON MY SITES YOU WILL HAVE READ
ONE OF MY BOOKS. I HAVE OVER 150 POEMS ON MY STIES IN POETRY SOUP. NOW I HAVE TO THINK ON WHAT BOOK
NEXT I AM GOING TO PUT ON POETRY SOUP I HAVE MANY BOOKS
SO KEEP ON READING ON MY STIES. IT IS MORE TO COME IN THE FUTURE
AUTHOR
NOW IT IS MARCH THIS IS MY BEST MONTH OF THE YEAR. I DO MORE WORK IN THE MONTH THAN
ANY OTHER MONTH OF THE YEAR. CONTEACS ME AT [email protected]
i was taken by surprise, ive never gotten any sighs, the feelings i disguised, she could see them in my eyes. one thousand real failed tries, trapped in spiders web like flies, it doesnt matter, black bow ties, darkened rainbow, different dyes. no one listens to my cries, i just want love instead of lies, i wont wait until it dries, because my life is made from sties. the day has just begun, when the sun begins to rise, no i dont think that im cool, wearing clothes that arnt my size, i can not wait for all my friends, saying heys hellos and hise, i do not want another girl, because im done with such goodbyes.
Villanelle: Too late too few the tears she sheds on cradle
Too late too few the tears she sheds on cradle
Bosom-fed mouths sing no tame lullabies
Innocence raped in the womb heeds no fable
Each child on its own must its life enable
Who would re-crush the seed ram the egg with lies
Too late too few the tears she sheds on cradle
Bad enough the baby’s plucked through tight stable
Wrapped in a putrid bag stink slime stuck on eyes
Innocence raped in the womb heeds no fable
Animals all trained to rut machos enable
None sneak in on the sly sans broken horn tries
Too late too few the tears she sheds on cradle
No engine smokes to cut lifeblood off cable
Nor let pistons lockstep shunt through torrid sties
Innocence raped in the womb heeds no fable
Monsters all baked in ovens below navel
No use pretending we are the scions of skies
Too late too few the tears she sheds on cradle
Innocence raped in the womb heeds no fable
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Bah! The sound of quelled cries
Tempered timbers tales and ties.
Malevolence, mischievous
Mine heart; mine lives.
Serendipitous meetings
With resounding sighs, of life.
Quaff strange brews
In still stranger sties.
Careful wispers
around still stranger allies.
Lashings! oh, still the burnt
Back bleeds red.
I heard from one and his tale
As an old head had no recourse
To lead mine heart unto dread.
Under fence and over wood,
Through jagged metal teeth,
Across yon' wall, through yon' mall.
Providence with waving arm there stood.
But with every syllable and poetic
Jaunt he did reveal clear enough.
Did I see a mere killer on the tower
A demon in the rough.
Was I to truckle this life long dead?
The thought of purgatory
Weighed heavy my old head.
Remembrances of home, of wife, and bed.
So grabbed I my worldly worth,
My soul should I fall short,
My hilt I furnished from a dinner spoon
And my kills I gave to the Lord.
I ran in night , scratched and did I get bit.
I slammed through jungle and dark of night.
Dark eyes seemed to always be peering,
But many days were the rest of my flight.
Monkey chant and fake fraternity front
Brandished on the grand soccer stage
Rush Russian bear invectives to decant
Insanity and indignity rolled into ribald rage.
Monkey chant and plastic smile politics grow blunter
In post-Soviet soccer stadia. Russian bears under the aegis of cosmopolitanism
Cultivate a bilateral and multilateral blunder
In a soccer show that rings and springs up hollow hooliganism.
Monkey chant voiced in soccer stadia
Embarrasses the beautiful ball with blue eyes
Brown eyes regardless of the putrid propaganda mass media
Propagate to unbind spectators in sub-human sties.
Monkey chant is a shame on humanity’s shoulders
On which human faces united by soccer cry
For opportunities to brush and stash aside blunder boulders
That obstacles and debacles of racism and recidivism multiply.
Break free from the love madness
You claim your heart feels
In the sea of sadness
From which common sense heals
If you give him the chance
He needs to weed you out
Of the love stance
Which beyond a shadow of doubt
If from your tilted and stilted circumstance
You wish to snap
To restore the balance
You wish to inject into the notorious nap
Where headlong
With your blinkered eyes
Although all along
Common sense dares to steer you from the sties of lies
You drink from the demented infatuation
You clink and slink
From a faulty evaluation of the sentimental salutation
To which peace of mind you link
With no shred of evidence
Infatuation an iota for your heart cares
Although on the truth balance you stand a chance
To reap scornful stares and glares
From the balance sorority
To which with precious pride you once belonged
Before the love notoriety
Your sisters in sanity wronged
Without batting the lid
The sorority felt
Infatuation did
Owe them even if the infatuation snow couldn’t melt
Fast enough
To call the bluff
In the infatuation
You claimed too tough
To snap from
With the bare desire
Feelings roam
Into your sanity spire in your penultimate pyre.
FOR HE KNOWS THEIR ABODE--THEIR GOING, THEIR COMING
AND THE DAY THEY'LL BE VISITED IS APPROACHING
APPROACHING LIKE A SUDDEN FLASH OF LIGHTNING:
ALAS FOR THEM, ON THAT DAY AND PLACE!
FOR AS MUCH AS THEY THOUGHT THEY WERE STRONG;
THEY WERE WEAK-LINKS ALL ALONG.
AND FOR AS MUCH AS THEY THOUGHT THEY WERE CLEVER;
THEY WERE NOT EVEN THE LEAST WISER:
ALAS FOR THEM, ON THAT DAY AND PLACE!
THAT DAY AND PLACE, FAR AND BEYOND:
A PLACE IN COMPLETE DARKNESS,
WHERE ONLY FEW ARE FOUND SPOTLESS.
SO SNAP OUT OF YOUR TRANCE;
AND BEWARE OF THE GRIMACE ON THEIR FACES:
THE GRIMACE OF EVIL MENACES;
ZANIES IN STIES,
FOOLS, SEEKING WAYS TO IMPROVISE,
DEVICES TO REVIVE RETIRED SOULS,
MEANT TO REMAIN FOREVER A CLOSED CASE:
ALAS FOR THEM, ON THAT DAY AND PLACE!
THAT DAY AND PLACE, FAR AND BEYOND:
HALF PAST THE SHIMMERING TWILIGHT,
IN THE WEE HOURS, BEFORE DAYLIGHT:
THEY SHALL FALL ON THEIR FACE,
AND RECEIVE A COUP-DE-GRACE;
DISSIPATING LIKE FROST--FROM SOLID TO DROSS;
BRASS, SILVER, TIN, IRON, COPPER AND LEAD:
ALAS FOR THEM, ON THAT DAY AND PLACE!
THAT DAY AND PLACE, YOU MENACE SHALL SUFFER.
GO 'HEAD, KEEP ON WITH YOUR LIE--THINKIN' YOU'RE INFALLIBLE;
RAISE YOUR VOICE AND SCREAM LIKE A TERRIBLE:
SO LONG WHEN TIME RUNS OUT,
AND ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE,
YOU DON'T GO RUNNING LIKE A GOOSE:
RATHER STAND LIKE A MAN;
AND ACKNOWLEDGE IT IS TOO LATE,
'CAUSE THE MASTER'S HERE TO SEAL YOUR FATE!