Best Supped Poems
Childhood Days
I’d heap spoonfuls of sugar in my tea
I wouldn’t drink it without it you see
That sweet syrupy drink
Wasn’t poured down the sink
Every single drop was supped up by me!
Adulthood
Dad’s diabetes made me think -
Did I need to sweeten my drink
So I cut sugar out
And I don’t have a doubt
I’m slimmer and I’m in the pink
Contest: Two Lenses
Sponsor Sara Kendrick
02~20~16
My eyes were sorely struck when once they perceived
verity in your insightful words. Oh, how they grieved
when you chose to kneel low enough to kiss the ring
of a cunning being, whose unmerited praises you sing
My ignorance would have been a cliched state of bliss
if I'd not stumbled into great depth of a poetic abyss
'Twas with bitter regret that I unveiled your charade
No longer do I doubt the crux of a contrived crusade
With prudence and humble nature, you oft' disclosed
but a false facade was revealed and hubris exposed
As a poet you declared compassion and a meek heart
but sold your feeble soul for the nod of a counterpart
Poet, I hungrily supped at the banquet of your lines
but a person's integrity is one that genuinely defines
human value. From reading you, I refrain and eschew
Aware of your pretexts, I know what motivates you
*You may think I only post something on PS when I have a gripe, and I have when I've felt it was warranted. It's your right to believe what you will. My recent posts prove otherwise, but after very recently reading something that touched my heart in a sadly profound way, I chose to write about it instead of trying to forget that I saw the words. Writing has always been a means of comfort, solace and closure. This write serves as a dissolution for me.
MAUNDY THURSDAY
The Upper Room was hushed that night,
As frightened friends supped their last as one.
Shoving back the morrow
When their leader would be gone.
This is my body—broken for you;
You are my beloved—take my blood, too.
Do this and as oft as you do it,
Do it in remembrance of me.
(A shipman shivered on a night-long watch
The night was warm, but he was not.
“There is a horror in the air breathed he.)
And for you I will go to the tree.
For you, I will give all of me.
(Outside somewhere across the world
A bird stopped singing, dropped its head,
And curled its wings under in a roosting pose.)
Did he know—did he really know
He would rise again and live
He has surely faithed it so!
And with body trembling but heart obedient.
He would go.
(And in the distance a cobbler nailing
Finished his last shoes for the day.)
My soul screams, He silent cries!
By what decree must it be
That I must lie upon a tree and nailed be,
Beaten by the throng—I have done no wrong!
Have You forsaken me—here in my Gethsemane?
(If you can listen, you can hear a
Mother’s lullaby song.)
Father, you chose me for this desperate task
That they may all know Love at last.
Thy will be done.
As We are One.
(The feverish earth turns, dances, sings, sails, nails,
Rocks without eyes – without ears – it spins on.)
Easter is not yet.
MAUNDY THURSDAY
The Upper Room was hushed that night,
As frightened friends supped their last as one.
Shoving back the morrow
When their leader would be gone.
This is my body—broken for you;
You are my beloved—take my blood, too.
Do this and as oft as you do it,
Do it in remembrance of me.
(A shipman shivered on a night-long watch
The night was warm, but he was not.
“There is a horror in the air breathed he.)
And for you I will go to the tree.
For you, I will give all of me.
(Outside somewhere across the world
A bird stopped singing, dropped its head,
And curled its wings in a roosting pose.)
Did he know—did he really know
He would rise again and live
He has surely faithed it so!
And with body trembling but heart obedient.
He would go.
(And in the distance a cobbler nailing
Finished his last shoes for the day.)
My soul screams, He silent cries!
By what decree must it be
That I must lie upon a tree and nailed be,
Beaten by the throng—I have done no wrong!
Have You forsaken me—here in my Gethsemane?
(If you can listen, you can hear a
Mother’s lullaby song.)
Father, you chose me for this desperate task
That they may all know Love at last.
Thy will be done.
As We are One.
(The feverish earth turns, dances, sings, sails, nails,
Rocks without eyes – without ears – it spins on.)
Easter is not yet.
If these four walls could talk they would say..
I'm so sorry that I'm driving you crazy today
there's so much on my chest, I've much to convey
And no one will believe you if you repeat this any way
Leaving is futile, I've locked the door
Stop screaming and crying, don't wanna hear it any more
Help yourself to some popcorn, I promise I won't be a bore
You'll find that recliner to be more comfy than wallowing on the floor
But...as you wish...floor could use a good buffing, but I digress
That's chalk residue beneath you, and it outlined a macabre mess
I've developed 5 more cracks just this morning, I just can't handle the stress
I've...witnessed a murder, and to this I must confess
There is a back story to this, and this room is the center of the tale,
Host to many extravagant galas, known for entertaining on a grand scale
The most extravagant to do, was just for two, Saturday date night, held without fail
They supped sumptuous steaks, sipped bubbly ale, and read each other like braille
But the only thing they read that last night was the riot act
Accusations of infidelities loosely based on fact
Text messages, instant messages, emails hacked
He was tired of the Saturday night charade, and soon his bags would be packed
You're going to regret using me like a pawn she said
Saturday night special aimed at his head
Then she mouthed that pistol, and ingested it's lead
Their last night spent together in this room, laying there dead
That wall over there was painted a darker blue because it had the biggest splatter
Somebody really needs to replace the window in that other wall, the first bullet made it shatter
Gee I feel so much better now, actually looking forward to new owners... So, what's the matter?
Are you still interested in making a bid, or was that just idle chatter?
2/21/16
(Sir Frederick Treves, Victorian surgeon, has the
following claims to our respect: (1) he discovered
and cared for Joseph Merrick, "The Elephant Man":
(2) He followed the route in Italy of the characters
in Browning's "The Ring & the Book", taking
priceless photos: and many more things!)
The Eloquent Man
Sir Frederick Treves enjoys four claims to fame:
the lifelong friend of Thomas Hardy, who
supped with him in the King’s Arms snug: the name
of Joseph Merrick (Robert Browning, too!)
is intimately linked with his: he’s due
a place in heaven for his healing feats:
and yes, he lived here, on the street of streets.
It’s Dorchester, or Casterbridge to some.
And Treves, a native, knew its ways and whims
as well as Hardy did. When he succumbed
to his appendix, genteel pseudonyms
were dropped. Tom Hardy chose the funeral hymns.
He also honored Treves in gentle rhymes,
to mark his passing, in the London Times.
The wretch named Merrick, or the Elephant Man,
could well have lived his loveless life untended,
had Treves not found him. Merrick’s mortal span
was made more bearable, being befriended
by one of London’s foremost. When it ended,
poor Joseph Merrick, long reviled and scorned,
found home in Wimpole Street, where he was mourned.
King Edward feels a grumble in his tripes,
and sends for Surgeon Treves, the kingdom’s best.
“You mustn’t operate,” the sovereign gripes,
“My coronation’s looming.” “Which seems best,”
asks Treves – “a crowning, or cremation?” Pressed
to give an answer, Edward takes the knife –
and Treves the genius saves his monarch’s life.
The poet Browning wrote some novel verse,
or rather, a verse novel: ring and book,
Italian murder tale. Treves was immersed
in it, obsessed with it, completely hooked:
went off to Tuscany, made notes, and took
some photographs, made sketches, thus preserving
the base of fact. The man defines “deserving”!
A brown-winged Lepidoptera alights
My sweaty hand and tentatively flaps
Its delicate wings in morning sunlight.
What seemed to me a long time was perhaps
A moment or two that it lingered there.
It unfurled its proboscis and began
To dab and suck a sweat bead with great care
Unaware that it was the broth of Man.
I watched its skittish profile while it supped:
Its unblinking compound eye, antennae
Feeling the ambient air while lapping up
The last of the bead, turned and looked at me.
I said, hello you little butterfly
It then took flight and I uttered… good-bye!
The palace could be seen in the distance,
Mountains complimenting the azure sunset.
He entered the palace gates,
There she stood at the aged portals.
He had returned the good knight,
Climbed from his steed and embraced her.
You have returned my love,
At last we are together again.
He gazed into her beautiful eyes,
The days without you have been lonely.
She welcomed him into the living-room of the palace,
There stood a very large oak table.
With very statuesque chairs,
The table had been set with delicious foods.
They supped together oblivous of the time,
Shared stories brave and romantic.
Their evening was filled with joy and laughter,
They retreated to their romantic haven.
He promised to stay and never leave again,
They lived a traditionally beautiful life together.
Author: Gwen Meyer-Erlach Schutz
For thirst I went to wet my lips
And knelt down by a stream,
My reflection stared back at me
'Twas like a waking dream.
I looked myself in the eye
As it did the same,
Who was who, which was what
Confusion was the game.
Was I kneeling, looking down
Or was I drowning looking up,
I cupped my hands, broke the spell
And hurriedly I supped.
I gathered myself up to leave
As the ripples coalesced,
My reflection began to reappear
Swiftly then, I left.
Entry for
STRAND SELECT 9 ,any form ,any theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
12/1/2020. Placed=2nd.
The Poetry Contest
I'll tell you a tale, I'm sure you'll agree
It'll interest those who write poetry
A poets contest
To find one who's best
To go down in historic anthology.
For the contest a massive hall was found
Poets arrived in droves from miles around
Some flew in by plane
By boat others came
With great expectations of being crowned.
The first prize was a case of finest wine
Poets revised their work so they'd sound fine
Some went weak and freaked
Others loudly shrieked
All coveting the prize - juice of the vine.
First up was a Scot with the name of McNee
He'd supped too much beer 'cos it was cost free
Then his beer he spilt
Wind blew off his kilt
Thus his ‘endowment' the whole world could see.
Next came Pam, like a glam model she dressed
She breathed deeply and out popped her huge breast
With thunderous roar
Guys yelled out for more
With an eyewink she said 'I am the best'.
28th December 2020
The autumn sky attunes itself to hearts,
a sour grey murky wash where lost eyes tire.
with insubstantial dust it affects so,
that vision blurs and minds retreat to when
those aged weary organs last supped hope;
and still they seek to quaff before it fades.
Mere dregs they hunger as the last joy fades
to quench beyond their volume broken hearts
and rehydrate that desiccated hope,
rejuvenate the goals before lives tire,
that minds may ponder not upon the “When?”
but concentrate on “What next?” and “How so?”
To take uncertain step, and take it so
as not to fear the fall if stair it fades,
would stir adrenalin so’s not to tire
the fragile confidence of tender hearts,
that they might respond quickly, those doves, when
presented opportunity to hope.
This then the grace of God, the wisp that’s hope,
which we in arrogance might dismiss so
upon our slightest whim and if and when:
an employee who on our command fades.
this grace exists beyond the grasp, the hearts:
phenomenon which will not doze nor tire.
See now how eyes do genuinely tire
as surcease emanates from new-found hope,
providing respite for those weary hearts:
hammock of restful sleep delivered so
the love embattled souls may rally when
their combined lumen some dark agent fades.
Thus through harsh winter flare as daylight fades
with fuel of ‘the multiverse’ entire,
the essence of which Lazarus lit when
his sisters had begged balm of Only Hope.
Such embers must be stoked to fierce blaze so
The Darkness may not touch creations’ hearts.
Faith should not tire when allocated hope.
Our God heeds not the ‘when’ of our say-so,
but stokes each heart with love that never fades.
Limerick : Once a Bengal Tigress supped on a Goat
Once a Bengal Tigress supped on a Goat
The horns – pardon – got stuck in her throat
A Dentist pulled one out
The other by a Scout
Now – sad to say – Both made her bloat.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
What manner of man is this, they asked,
Whom even the winds obey?
He speaks and calms the angry seas,
Yet He's humbler far than they.
To hear Him speak come thousands,
This man so meek and mild,
And yet throughout His busy life,
He still had time for a child.
They come to Him from miles around,
The sick, the lame, the blind,
And in one day He makes them whole,
Not even a scar could they find.
You've lived and supped with Me, He said,
Together we have slept;
And lo in spite of all I've done,
You don't know Me yet.
Someone said
97%
Former addicts
Return to addiction
He never felt addiction's hand
Then supped with The Source of redemption
Instead
He sided with ''MORE''
More evil surpasses good
More hands toy with fire
More folks welcome slow death
Not so!
*
Adjusting Appetizing Palates.
I have sampled the variety,
I am the one who has tasted life;
The one who has had a taste of life.
Rarely indulged in the main course-
Seldom a full meal-
I come hungry-
To leave satisfied...
I want more substance.
Sampled the world on wooden toothpicks.
I have had itty bits of everything.
Piecemeal offerings to try entice my loyalty.
Old ladies with new recipes passing
them around on trays in supermarkets of the world.
I come back for more free samples.
The more I have traveled the more
I have sampled life.
Moi-Moi- and peanut butter stew.
I have tasted life with different seasonings and spices -
Tried a variety of cultural dishes - Some bland, some spicy
Tried the soul food of each one's pride as
I swallowed mine.
I have never gained control of my soul.
It wandered with me sampling life on platters.
Now desirous of healing-fish soup.
I wanted more – Traveled;
Partook of more –
Tasting life's offerings from the - rich to the poor.
Drank out of Chrystal as well as tin cups.
I have eaten from Chinaware,
and drank from gourds,
I have supped on
Hors-d'oeuvre and canapes';
Inner-voices led me to hot rocks and tepees—
Sweat camps with medicinal potions.
Tasting life in places where strange
medicine men reside.
I have eaten rice in 2000 languages.
In Asian and Indian tongues.
I swapped collard greens for callaloo;
Then stepped up to taste breadfruit -
Filled up on Ackee and Saltfish a
Exotic palatable dish.
Though never full off of life –
Not gluttony statutes yet, I have done
more than get my “whistle wet"
Still, I am glad:
“Oh, how grateful to be alive”.
Able to sample the tender morsels
of appetizers so fine.
Even though I am a
Connoisseur of fine wine.
…and have enjoyed plenty
tidbits of earth’s great bounty--
In this life.
I have supped in the finest cuisines.
Treated royally as if I were a queen.
I have supped in mansions,
or sat, an ate under exotic trees;
Yet, there is nothing so satisfying-and no one abler.
As to be back in the hood, trying not to go berserk;
Waiting for a slice of Sweet Potato pie for dessert.
After getting my grub on, at Grandmas table.