Best Syrups Poems
Unrealities and realities
grind together in mortar’s mouth,
spilling, pulverizing, volatile perfumes—
succumbing scents of citrus, crushed copper,
musks of bruised lightning,
threshing thunderous throbs.
Instability incarnate sings her reveling wails,
fragrances of something
Beyond Name.
I guide existences into black curve,
severing them against sharp, obsidian walls,
letting them rupture—letting them bleed
—syrups and statics—
messy marrows of forgotten equations.
Their shapelessness mutable,
pliant pages to pulp in the plunge
of the merciless pestle.
How many combinations will one
blend and crucify—
to crush, to coax, into coherence?
Rasps of bone bend against sanguine salts,
sheens of opulent oil merge with ember embryo—
iron filings licked into life by tempests reigned.
Anything of matter becomes
moisture—mass—mold—
hunger pooling at my basin’s heart,
seething for impending strike,
for sudden and unforgiving
birth.
As the autumn and winter seasons inexorably unfold,
You can bet that I'm destined to catch my annual cold!
I've tried every remedy from the local pharmacist's shelf,
Includin' syrups, lozenges, even toddies to cure myself!
My nothe ith all thopped up an' I can hardly respthire.
My lungths are congesthed - they feel like they're afire!
My eyeths are red an' thwollen an' I can barely thee.
Every bone an' muthel in my body acheths - woe ith me!
I called the docther's offith for relief only to be told,
That he wath home in bed nursin' a nasthy cold!
He would've told me to take an athpirin an' go to bed.
I reckon I'll juth have to thuffer through it here inthead!
'Cold' ith a mithnomer for thith afflicthion anyhow.
"Why ith it called a cold?", I muse, throkin' my fevered brow,
An' quaffin' noxthious concothions to relieve my burnin' throat.
The meds can't quash my mithery, as the pharmathy ads promote!
Man hath thent rockeths soarin' through the boundleth univerth,
So why can't they find a cure for thith worrithome curth!
There musth be some college kid who thomeday will find a cure.
She'd be more than eligible for Nobel estheem I'm quite sure!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rightths Resethered
The visitation of that unpleasant side of life is here
comes with a series of pain is this compulsory treasure hunt
issues grow fat and fetch more corn meal from our distresses
the skin is seared but patience never stops rolling
surrendering to be the devil’s toothsome victim
for struggles to eat the soul to complete discomfort
fire is inhaled, dense smoke, exhaled
as the mind desperately finds cover under the liver
the only options are bitter flavours or sour syrups
then more problems on existing ones superpose
redemption looks, shakes its head and ignores flatly
the mind goes casual for each thorn to drop
but challenges end on those who are permanently frozen
so holding onto the strongest pole is the only way out
suffering’s surveillance gradually blocked and debugged
this phase ends as character is healed from rickets
The visitation of that unpleasant side of life is here
comes with a series of pain is this compulsory treasure hunt
issues grow fat and fetch more corn meal from our distresses
the skin is seared but patience never stops rolling
surrendering to be the devil’s toothsome victim
for struggles to eat the soul to complete discomfort
fire is inhaled; dense smoke, exhaled
as the mind desperately finds cover under the liver
the only options are bitter flavours or sour syrups
then more problems on existing ones superpose
redemption looks, shakes its head and ignores flatly
the mind goes casual for each thorn to drop
but challenges end on those who are permanently frozen
so holding onto the strongest pole is the only way out
suffering’s surveillance gradually blocked and debugged
this phase ends as character is healed from its rickets.
Up high in the Moon and the Mars
You'll see hovercrafts and flying cars,
Domed cities and bustling settlement
Palatial homes and rooms for rent.
Down deep into the oceans
Without the sun and the rains,
Before long you will see
People enjoying their evening tea.
A way of life eminently new,
People on land you will find few,
With marauders running amok
The earth will just be a place of work.
As the threat of overall pollution sets in
We’ll carry masks around to breathe in,
We will live only on syrups and pills
for our diet supplements and all the ills.
Only the fittest of us will survive,
A struggle it will be to be just alive,
Turned into a concentration camps
The earth will be a place only for tramps!
~Subject MARS contest by Joe Maverick
Gnirps, Syrups and Turnips
Guess what Gnirps are or is?
Two gnus had meet two gnirps
Had burps and tried many syrups
By time problem was final solved;
Eat no more gnirps they resolved;
Found success after eating turnips.
Jim Horn
Gnarrs and gnarls came up
for gnirps. Have you figured
out gnirps are yet?
Stories, tales...More truth!
More cozy boots; Its winter: super cold
Doctor prescribed me with meds: syrups too popping pills and no love potions, learned the hard way that life leans on you when everything seems hazy!
Falling down and hurting myself:
Muscles spasms and headaches to pain killers and ointments for head injuries:
Applying white bandages all around my head; it never helped cause depression caved in every time i looked out...!
To feeling dread and my head locked
So i eased on with plants, planing...
I Know that earth and fire creates
And water provides; Releasing air as I exhale,
subconscious to the conscious mind,
My mind Exiled: casted from the abyss
To the physical plane too all the way back!
Hence why I'm always at the back,
Dark shades and bandanas!
Seeing everything as a dream,
I was clouded by a flock of birds:
Hallucinations on level 10;
Like it only costed a decade of my soul,
So cheap in pennies but not in years!
Days went by too weeks, and probably three lines of work, and finally found love
At least what i thought at the time:
White, A beautiful Caucasian woman loved to powder her self!
The heights as her love excited me
Like ecstasy... Oh the memories:
The highs and lows,
Reminiscing.... Rehabilitation...
What would you do,
If you had me tied up,
What would you do,
If we involved food,
What would you really do,
If you could hold me down,
Would you enjoy the pleasure,
Would you want me on top,
Maybe add syrups,
Just to top it off,
What would you do,
If you used your tongue,
Maybe go from head to toe,
Maybe keep yourself concentrated in and on,
If you go down below,
Their is a saying,
If it smells like fish,
You have a good dish,
If it smells like cologne,
Leave it alone,
So tell me,
What would you do,
A quick omance,
Then it the sack,
Maybe some four play,
And think that is that,
Making love is very special,
To have and to hold on stormy cold nights,
To hold each other tight,
What would you do,
If you were naked,
Make me break a sweat,
Or just take it,
I'm more then just a slab of meat
I have a heart as well,
Don't take somebody for what you want,
For it will come back,
And bite you on the butt,
What would you do,
If I chose to use you,
It would always be blue,
It really does hurt everytime,
Someone plays you back,
So you should ask yourself,
What would I do,
If I had to be the one,
To become hurt,
To walk in your shoes,
No sympathy to give to me,
Because I am a strong female,
And have learned from my mistakes......
At this second of clarity. I am doing some serious concentrated repacking.
Earth humans are only allowed two chests on the outer space rocket ship.
I have said good-bye to my three favorite pets. They will stay here.
Several friends and neighbors have professed to love them.
I hope they are not fooling. I adore my cobra, tarantula and muskrat.
I left video good-byes for relatives to feet kick over after I have gone.
I have studied the six prevalent languages spoken on Planet X-73Z4.
Tapes of their customs, niceties and hair styles are already packed.
My green chest has a coffee maker and many non-nutritious snacks.
Snickers bars, potato chips, and syrups for my snow cone machine.
Soft Clock Foray #1
He serves her armadillo heart
to four knaves under glass,
and tones her angst with creams of slight.
He pours himself a generous sea
from under her Ouroborean eyes,
to slate his endless urn of thirst,
and milks her breasts for sweet blue
syrups.
He rides the pulse of her loudly sleep
to meld a silent crash
that oozes verse from myriad wells
which seal themselves with stones of light,
and brilliant are his tongues for her.
She knows this all and yields to him
circles of small vanities.
For days and days the Professor would stay at Bingo Mountain. He meet people who brainwashed him into evil.ell respected, he'd lead the cause against tainted honey: now he make a batch of Carmel to add to the corny sweet syrups to fool a public into thinking they had purchase the best. Not only that he had developed a hideous habit. Eating the larvae and wasp and honey bees that he
had cultivated for study and breeding. It's said that he asked a chef to mix a fruity cocktail of nectar and wasps that he might devour them. A scientist there was world renewed, he had developed a potion that could change a moral man into a Hercules type person. They developed the Nectar of the Jupiter !
He had only to completely change his diet and had his blood filtered by a machine that recreated him into asuper human. Vile and wicked he became. One day The Shadowy Demon who had purchased his soul told
him he would be leaving never to be seen again. He gave him paper that made The Professor the ceo of Bingo Mountain and all his business ventures. Pollen Grafting machines and Pollen collectors would make him a richer person.Then he stood before the Professor and said " Never believe you ever met me:I am as strange to you as the day we met!" than he vanished into thin air!
Cultivating habits that promote personal growth, well being and an overall quality of life.
" Ripples in stream, where the moss covered slippery rocks are the only things beneath your feet!" " in I love the new me:such an affirmation cements the bonification of my need to love: I do love me so much!" Then he spoke to his new position: "sacred I stand ilmortal ,me among the Muses,Mnemosyne, the ancients shall remember me through there Muses until they bend there knees in submission!" "I am the solvent to all questions of art and science< I am the then< the now and future of both a model to stand through the ages!" He stood there
laughing: his evil laugh!
From Inspiration of a Hero
writtem by:Stem and Kirsch Fortissimo
for Bold and Powerful Sound Inc.
Story Music/ Drama-Animation
Doctor Wolfgang Sinister
the animated series
Jean Jinglers
and platform Shoes
Manslaughter, murder and massacre is one
But a visit to the dentist is another
The eerie smiles hidden behind the masks
The twinkly eyes filled with plots
To offer they have lots and lots
Oh… those dentists I wish I had never met…!
Rubbery gloves and broken headlights
Red sinks of blood
The dirty water or is it mud?
Disgusting pastes and painful syrups
Tweezers, hammers, and drills
Certain of our deaths!
Oh… those dentists I wish I had never met…!
Every visit every time
Oh.. the noble hearts..
put on their smiles and say
-“it is just another month or two!
Have a Good Day”!
Oh… those dentists I wish I had never met…!
Red pill, blue pill, old pill, new pill,
Each tablet has music you can whistle.
Side effects and brand ones—we all have a shot,
Vitamins and sunspots are our health dots.
From headaches to heartburn, we seek relief.
Medicine melodies, the rhythm of our belief
Pills, syrups, and creams—a symphony of care,
Our bodies are the orchestra—with each note, we repair.
Some are sour; others sweet or hard to swallow.
But each one has a chance for a better tomorrow.
A chorus of healing, a choir of health,
Medicine melodies—our hardship is their wealth
So let us sing along with each dose we take.
A melody of gratitude for each pill we make.
Without them, we'd suffer in pain and strife.
But with pills melodies, we can live a vibrant life.
Two streaks mark my week,
Claw at my lungs, skies look bleak,
Cast me down a viral inferno!
Fahrenheit 105 but without the yellow
Fever and dilemmas poison my bones
Echoes of madness within their hollows
I hit the hay early and the sun rays burn weak
My eyes sting with nakedness until it’s time to eat
Two days for two streaks, I shall sacrifice
Misery and slumber, and as if they don’t suffice,
Pending decisions tap their feet along the corridors
They tighten my chest more than a virus could afford
The two days pass but the two streaks remain
I say I feel normal but the rotting’s to stay
Behind locked doors, four walls caked with life,
They seem to get closer as each day passes by
My corridors still await some certainty,
Prayers could never agree or disagree,
Hemingway and Vandermeer, no matter how well read,
Fail to resolve, not even sitting well in my head
Even as the ticking rings in my ear,
Behind the hour hand, my patience disappears,
They say to chug it all down, wipe my tears,
There is phlegm even cough syrups couldn’t clear
Two streaks refuse to leave
They wish to behold a tragedy
One that begins with ambition,
And ends with a fallacy
So for a year so uncertain,
I brewed a cauldron of posies,
Raised a goblet to my fate,
And the plague my mind embodies