Best Stomachs Poems
What goes up must come down.
No colors can define who you are.
You may own a cart or limousine.
We'll still reach the end when it is near.
I may be poor today and eat from trash.
Tomorrow, you can't tell. I'll earn some cash.
The bed where you lie is soft and wide.
I sleep at a sidewalk and the stars are my lamp.
You wake up each morn' with a feast on your table
While we are scavenging to fill stomachs when we're able.
Our destiny isn't written in the stars.
We work for a living to thrive in this life.
Be thankful every morning you witness the sun
And pray tonight that no one lives same as I.
Wheels come in full circle,rolling round and round.
Today you'll be on top,
I am watching from the ground.
Let us bear in our minds that we are better than birds.
Our loving Father ensures each mouth is fed.
Not even the smallest details can pass by His eyes.
So plant a seed of kindness and reap a better life.
sponsor:FRANK H.
name of
contest: SHAKESPEARE
*5th Place winner
Categories:
stomachs, faith, god, imagery, life,
Form:
Blank verse
With the heavy load you suffer
a substance not needed
yet drags you
cushioning your efforts
and deterring your pace, forgetting that
the Train is already moving
with passengers determined
for this journey.
Why get so distracted
by passers-by focused to catch up?
Why are you tossed side to side,
putting you each time,
a step backwards?
Can't you realize that
the Train is already moving
with passengers determined for this journey?
It seems you are the only one left
and this is solely your doing
with no one to blame
and the rest,
definitely have no added advantage over you.
So stop acting weak
cos the Train
is already moving
with passengers determined for this journey.
Wake up oh Africa!
you get your independence
just to become a volunteer slave.
You live in a Mansion
yet have no place to sleep.
Stop acting like a bucket of Crabs
killing each other
just to get out
and copy the ants
united and networking
for a common cause.
You fight for just a coin
underneath the Table.
When on it is a box
full of this same treasure.
Despite knowing how to reach out
to its top,
you neglect such knowledge
and accept conflicts, violence and wars.
Settling for good enough
is worst than being bad
you blow your trumpet
when you make a step
out of a thousand more.
You show unbelievable contentment
to mediocrity and under-achievements,
but remember this!
Half a giant is no giant at all.
You have the breast plate
of protection
and all the arsenals to battle
yet you dine with the helms of poverty
and embrace the ambassadors
of all kinds of infirmities.
You walk around naked
and seem not to bother
oh Africa!
Do you exist to actualize all these negativity?
An expert of imitation
and a professional in copying
no wonder no matter your trys
you end up as number 2 at best.
Because you've neglected
the sweetness of your originality.
You milk your cattle
to nourish the west
you harvest your crops
to feed foreign stomachs
you stand on abundant humus
yet your leaves are yellow and dry.
Exactly what will happen to the ants
if their Queen puts
their fate on the lizards
is what will befall you
not until you wake up oh Africa!
Categories:
stomachs, africa, dark,
Form:
Epic
We swallow boulders:
(lead words, molasses covered prejudice, glass shards of promises long broken)
Mouths open wide and heads tipped back
like Hawaiian fire eaters.
Chipped teeth are bits of porcelain history,
sliding down our throats in rivers of neglect
and acid.
The stones settle,
BOOM...
BOOM...
BOOM...
Our stomachs are filled up, anvil weight
'till we can hardly sit, hardly stand, or walk.
We drag our feet in pain, as the quiet indicator that
we've had rocks for breakfast,
lunch, dinner, for years,
in the hopes that someone will recognize
the broken concrete footprints behind us
and touch us gently on the forearm:
"Honey, are you alright?"
(and isn't it the first sweet trickle of kind words that crumble
the already cracking facade?)
There's no stopping the torrent then,
tsunami tears and a heaving, convulsing
to the point of cathartic vomit-
boulders of every shape and size
tumbling out of our mouths and filling the room;
broken teeth and granite eyes
until we no longer see the floor, the walls...
And then serenity.
The hand has moved to the shoulder,
forming a universal hug.
"I'm here now... and you're ok."
We stand up, together, and leave that room,
a soundless void of yesterday,
to absorb the impermeability of stones,
carrying our gait buoyant, without gravity.
No weight at all now, and barely a second glance,
but to turn out the light - and lock the door behind us...
Categories:
stomachs, hope, introspection, life, peace,
Form:
Free verse
I meet you in Laos
as a seed
just a simple
existence of hard rice
seeded inside Huay Xai’s dirt
until water plains
cradle and nourish your infant body
'till you sprout above water banks
where you tickle yourself
with sunshine
like a child who spends all
day with the wind
when you mature
people pull your roots
carry you in bulk back home
along with your friends
moisten your skin
steam under flames and
boiling water
only a bath where
dirt splashes off
while you try to hold
breaths underwater
your skin does not wrinkle
only softens
to stick with other rice
and sink in perfection
of the basket
where my mother’s hands
shake and shuffle you
into a ball
to roll on a plate
now fully grown ready to
liberate our hunger
with your body
that is how we meet
everyday even now
when I chew you in big bites
you never fail to fill
my head with steam
and make my tummy your
cozy home
sometimes I eat you too fast
you burn my tongue
and mom says
I am crazy for eating too fast
but it don’t matter
when I can cool
squeeze to pebble-size bits
dip you in fish soup
or papaya salad
Kao Niew
my family sits together
on the floor legs folded
or on a dinner table
you cuddle inside our bellies
warm our lips
all
the way
down
our throats
in cold evenings with no heaters
you sacrifice to
fill our stomachs
so we can stick to each other
and swallow
our love whole
Categories:
stomachs, culture, family, food, funny,
Form:
Ode
The words of the Zulu coconut,
a once coveted souvenir
from an indulgent visit
to festive Mardi Gras.
As our hero speaks
two mice nibble
unobserved
at his
coat.
"Beads
were slung;
doubloons cast.
Grasping tourists
seized the trifling throws.
Floats advanced in the queue
krewes tossed their tokens wildly.
Prize gifts are meant to be given.
So I, Zulu, went from hand to hand."
Meanwhile a mischief of mice emerged
to attack Zulu's varnished coat.
As they quickly devour him,
his paint began its work
within their stomachs
to do the same.
Zulu's last
witnessed
speech:
"Far
better
to restock
the soil of earth.
Better to be spent
as nourishment to some.
Better still to end this life
by sprouting as a seed of hope.
Better than this: "paint may be toxic."
Categories:
stomachs, allegory,
Form:
Nonet
The air thick, like a sweet sticky syrup
Sirens wail, polluting the air with chaos
Voices screaming, obscenities, obscure messages
All the while little children play, in pothole streets
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.
Cries in the light of day, bloody hands wave
Freedom, Choices, a single right
Lost trash, food piles, scattered along roadways
Dirty shoes, dangling over power lines
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.
Ever searching, an invisible cape, a quick escape
Smells of rotting food, bloated flies
People who cant stop licking their lips,
twisting their hips, and geeking
Car alarms screaming, like a symphony out of tune
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.
So hungry, empty stomachs, empty hearts, empty minds
Seeking to fill, to satisfy, lapping up milk and honey
Praying for rain, to wash the stench, to hide the sin,
away…
Lost, undone, alone, without love
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.
Writings of love, of peace, scatter in the rain and wind.
An iota, a seed, a shining light, dimly lit in the night
People gather, curious, watching, many hoping
A gentle voice speaks living words, of life, a better way
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes
Categories:
stomachs, angst, life,
Form:
Imagism
When I grow old
My body not yet cold
But the brown of my eyes
Turns to gray
I will wear a large hat
When I patrol through
My garden and keep the
Weeds at bay
I’ll have big pots of this
And of course lots of that
On the stove for when
Company drops in
The food will comfort
The gossip will start
And more time with me they will spend
I won’t have cats
Because ewww they are cats
But be careful to step over the dogs
Their stomachs so full
I’m sure they won’t move
They’ll be passed out
And sleeping like logs
I’ll pretend I can’t hear
And my whispers will be loud
So loud to be heard throughout the room
Then I’ll whisper about people
The arrogant sort
And the ones I believe are bafoons
All the kids will love me
Because of what I keep hidden
To my bedroom they will often stray
Lemon drops and butterscotch will always be there
Hidden quite snuggly away
Oh let me be known as the lady of prayer
And the one that loves her Lord so
A relationship that started moons ago
And turned into
An eternal love affair
I’ll putter and piddle with things I find useful
I may learn to knit if I please
I’ll knit a blue scarf the bluest of blues
So on my motorcycle it will fly in the
b e z
r e ~
e ~ ~
~ ~ ~
~
Categories:
stomachs, funnylove, me,
Form:
Free verse
(These are 2 etheree I put together to form a double etheree.
They were inspired by the marvelous
documentary movie "March of the Penguins.")
In the Empire of the Ice:
“The Plunge” & “When Childhood Ends”
They poke small heads out from underbellies;
feeling chill, retreat; and shivering,
remain a while longer where it’s
safe. Nourished by both parents,
the chicks adapt. One day
they’re left alone, but
Sea soon beckons
them, and . . . they
take the
plunge.
Five
years they
play, chase warm
waters’ flow and grow
with stomachs always full
before black heads emerge from
sea. . . Swollen bellies slide on ice.
Upright, they resolutely waddle
miles home. . . fierce winter storms not prevailing.
Categories:
stomachs, animals
Form:
Etheree
DOING GOOD
“Tired am I”,
You told me the other day my friend,
“for many good deeds have I been doing for so long
but
recognition for my contribution haven’t I received
any, why?”
Here is my reply to you, gentle friend of mine
Written with the tenderness your kind heart has come
So well to know,
Tell me:
Does the sun care to be appreciated for the affection it
Embraces the earth
Or
For the caresses its rays so abundantly dispense to
Each mountaintop?
Does the cloud request a reward for the load it carries
In its bosom
Or
For the drops of rain that so kindly bestows onto the
Arid ground?
Does the earth seek payment from the seed when into
Its soil planted
Or
For the fruits the trees so bigheartedly distribute, rebellious
Stomachs to appease?
Does the bee demand compensated to be for pollinating
The flowers
Or
For producing its divine honey that even the immortals so
Much enjoy?
Does the wind ever insist on any fee when through the
Leaves whispers
Or
For when the murmur of brooks and the melody of singing
Birds transmitting?
Shouldn’t we, my loving friend, inspired by nature’s unselfish
Examples be
And
Share our soul’s wealth, expecting nothing in return, from our
Fellow humans?
And finally
Is there anything we could ever think, nobler and holier to be, than
Lord’s will, we to be doing?
© Demetrios Trifiatis
11 NOVEMBER 2013
Categories:
stomachs, care, love, world,
Form:
Free verse
On the poor side of the city,
there’s an innocent child crying.
The rats and roaches are crawling,
on the bed where he lies dying.
There’s a family of seven,
just trying to scrounge a dollar.
So they can buy a Christmas feast,
made of bread and peanut butter.
Mother has given up all hope,
and her children have no wishes.
The only gift she’s got to share,
are some hugs and Christmas kisses.
But hugs don’t fill empty stomachs,
of the children on Christmas morn.
When the snow blows in through the cracks,
Christmas kisses won’t keep them warm.
The next time you spend a fortune,
on another unwanted toy.
Drop some coins into the kettle,
for those who have no hope or joy.
Categories:
stomachs, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
Through charcoal ash covered sands of time in history September 11th, 2001 we'll never forget
Brave men and women quick to help without thoughts of regret
So many watched on t.v, faces streaming with tears
Some prayed like crazy for loved ones hoping no one would confirm their greatest fears
First tower struck, struck fear in our hearts
Still, communities held together while some worlds felt they were falling apart
Thought to be an accidental fluke was the first 767 that crashed
Approximately 18 minutes later as her twin tower was struck it was clear an attack was being lashed
Foundation of buildings built strong to last
Still couldn't withstand heat from the jet fuel among impact of the blast
Brave men and women worked hard to evacuate and do what they could
Meanwhile, there was trouble at the Pentagon in their neck of the woods
News came that among the World Trade Center the Pentagon was also hit
People collapsed as standing structures did to silently prey where they sit
Yet, another plane crashed in a Pennsylvania field
Passengers aboard didn't make it but died as heroes with their battle with terrorists they didn't stop or yield
Where were you on this devastating day?
Where ever it was I hope you were among others who did pray
The world is still turning
For loved ones lost, some are still yearning
Permanent smokey images sketched of falling debri and structures burning
Lingering thoughts have hearts and stomachs still churning
Nothing could have prepared anyone for the destruction and heartache to come with those four flights
Light a candle for lost innocent brave souls, heroes, and survivors on this night
Categories:
stomachs, tribute,
Form:
Rhyme
If a person has cheated us
It is better we do not curse
God will take the best action
Giving to us fine protection
Let us not feel terribly sorry
And bring to our mind injury
Instead let us try to forget
So that bliss we can get
Of course scars are severe
And memories cause tear
Still, let us somehow manage
And try to get enough courage
That person has badly blundered
A heinous act is cruelly rendered
God will make the needed move
Power of Justice, He will prove
Our tears have flooded heaven
Our stomachs burn like oven
Revenge is not our ultimate aim
Though we had a very bad time
The worst losses we suffered
But, pure kindness we offered
We came across great traitors
But, we are really lawful fighters
Let us keep our mind steady
And offer to all kind remedy
Let us fill our heart with mercy
Being kind must be our policy
By pure love, we are urged
Strongly we have emerged
Let us forget all their fault
Let love occupy heart-vault
Kindness is the best defense
It only proves God's presence
Kindness will pave a safe path
Let it replace meaningless wrath.
Categories:
stomachs, life, wisdom,
Form:
Quatrain
Panes of dirty glass conceal the past
where futures were tied to land and soil.
And pa fingers a hand full of dirt
reflecting on years of pain and toil.
A rusty sun bronzes a foil star
ma hung in the window for good luck.
And a small candle awaits a match
to defend against the dark when struck.
Hunger gnaws at our empty stomachs,
everything we plant is doomed to die.
And yet, ma slips me and pa a smile,
showing us where her loyalties lie.
Looking up to a burnt almond sky,
she searches for clouds other than dust.
And scans for life in neighboring homes
long ago left to decay and rust.
Abandoning a dream lost to time,
ma loses hope and accepts defeat.
And I can see the pain in pa's eyes,
the trickling tears mocking his conceit.
California calls in shades of green,
with lush pastures and clear mountain streams.
And common sense says that we must move
far from this dust bowl of dying dreams.
(Quatrain)
9/23/2017
Categories:
stomachs, angst, anxiety, depression, emotions,
Form:
Quatrain
“LIKE A MADMAN THINKS HE'S GOD, WE THINK WE'RE MORTAL”. Delaland, Speech on Shadows
Transparency is the key to the social harmony. Transparent people pass through each other like light through water. No one blocks out the sunshine, no one bars the way, no one stands in line in front of the other. The content of pockets, stomachs and minds are all in plain view. Mutual permeability, politeness, indifference. The see through popeyed souls, as sleepy as fish in an aquarium, come alive only at the sight of you, poet. You're opaque and therefore dangerous. You're a poet and therefore guilty. Alas, there is nothing more impenetrable than the walls in a transparent prison. But soon, from the height of your scaffold, you will see the world as opaque as you that awaits you on the other side of life.
get him grab his legs
hold him down I'll chop it off…
where'd you go poet
Dedicated to Cincinnatus C., the protagonist of the novel "Invitation to a Beheading" by Vladimir Nabokov
21.11.2019
Opaque Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausin
Categories:
stomachs, death, life, poets,
Form:
Haibun
Fish are named
Lazarus and Carl Jung
they swim in the library, art studio,
that spare room
where I write, paint.
Their eyes are the size
of their stomachs.
They mouth dreams
in silence behind glass.
I stare back, envious
of graceful slow motion angel gills
immersed in a tank of tears
gathered from heaven,
capped by corporations,
lugged home from the Dollar Store
to keep the tank full….
On the other side
a breeze streams
over book shelves,
antique typewriters, canvas and paint.
Lazarus and Carl watch me
write, brush colors
and nap...
turn, twist, snore, dream,
dream more….
surreal, real,
really you? here in the deep?
Oh lovely waves of sleep. So many fish in this sea, oh, oh, yes, yes,
you, you, you …with me.
You, evaporate.
Eyes open empty and starved.
Lips spit at the sunrise
as it blinds, blocks out
infinite oceans of you.
Categories:
stomachs, boy, day, fish, romantic,
Form:
Free verse