Best Tales Poems
Dead Men Do Tell Tales
I saw, the rot of sad, deep selfish desires,
burning endlessly in clever fires
Piles of cash a tall mountain high
stolen by those that cleverly steal and lie
six lying days every week ,
while they race into church pretending
to be ever so mild and meek
The preacher crying all to give so much more
while he lives in a mansion with a golden door
drunks living with no other life
have sacrificed family and wife
naked women on the the street,
selling their pride and body like meat
hustlers getting rich selling poisonous dope
as they hang themselves with an evil rope
I looked for solace and found there was none
just endless cowards crying on the run
A world teaching wrong is so damn right
blind monkeys never seeing the light
dancing in fruitless trees,
tree-rats eating with relish their rotting cheese
Looking for Spring to bring life anew
I too am blind and without a damn clue
a fool holding onto a false hope
on a tight leash and even shorter rope
Where is the miracle we each think can come
we see it shining there for some
A treasure glaring in the glimmering Sun
gifted not stolen by guile and a gun
So I finally turned to family for relief
ease my Soul, winter in my long lost belief
that Life must give us all a saving line
other than more food when we sit to dine
R.J. Lindley
Nov 9th, 1984
Campfire And Tall Tails
Friends and sons come walking into the campsite all dress in camo
from their long day’s hunt. Around the crackling campfire, they all gather
and sat to warm their much-needed cold wet bodies. Keeping warm
with a bottle of Jack Daniels or Black Velvet, and a can of Mountain Dew
being passed around.
Adding more wood to the campfire so it would last through the night.
The sons poke sticks into the embers and watching the flame spark, pop,
and dance in their sight, while others roast marshmallows
at the end of their sticks.
The men are fixing their evening meal for all to feast on.
They all gather around the campfire and sit, teasing and telling stories
of their day’s adventure out in the woods, of a long, exhausting hike
around the mountain with a vision of elk with a large crown of horns.
The stories are told big and small, of the one they saw and had in their cross- hairs, but a calf with its mother who walked in front spoiling their shot. Or a bee that stung their hand when they were ready to pull the trigger.
When they‘re all done, they crawl into their sleeping bags so, they can do it all over again the next day, watching the campfire, teasing and telling their stories.
10/29/2014
. Alive...
. the sea ..
. skins the globes
. ever beating heart
. To depth untold…as of old Alive...
. fissures open, part and part the sea ...
Infinite the brash bold wave, whose ever beating
origin defeats the convoluted skull caste mind
all rationale retreats. Liquid, luminous, laughter’s lee Alive...
the hidden hearts source pounding sea. Alive, alive, fresh free…. the sea ....
Return, depart, with missives free…of dangerrrrr, darknessss, and deep
where sailors linger e tern allyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy...............
What would we do without Cuddles
They help us to get out of muddles
When we're feelin' down, they replace a frown
And they fill us so full of Love Bubbles
Beethoven, Sparkles and Lulu
Far greater than anything Tragic
Eeyore, T-T-Tigger and Pooh
In Dreams that are filled full of Magic
Angels are made for believin'
Even if we've never seen them
They mind us at night, when we shut our eyes tight
And they help the Dream Fairies to Weave them
Tales of Reconciliation
When the moodybirds alight in the silence of the night;
When all is within reason shadow calling unknown mysteries
hidden by the turning of the seasons.
Within that spectrum shines the light of the sparks,
tightly wrapped within, smoldering converse remarks,
engagements of woeful tales of onerous tribulations,
locked in hurried excitations of irksome frustrations.
Will we then be able to compile a history
filed and gently stored away in discreet spaces
remembered in memories or perceptions
of exquisite imaginations?
The intermission of time soon sings its song.
There are no more choices.
CAK 12-21-2018
When I woke, Mom, I saw a parade
right before me! I wish it had stayed.
There were drummers and clowns,
lots of colors and sounds,
but in minutes, it started to fade!
Oh my! I just saw a big bear.
He was out in the woods, I swear.
He was so big and black.
Mom, I’m not going back
not EVEN on a double dare!
A toucan was just on the phone wire.
I saw it take off, flying higher
than our parakeet!
Mom, isn’t that neat?
So why does Dad call me a liar?
Written May 8, 2016
For the Tall Tales In Short Form Poetry Contest of Casarah Nance
The west winds of springtime
Brought forth April showers
That rained on the pavements
Of Southwick for hours.
It was standing room only
And full to the brim
As people sought shelter
At the old Tabard Inn.
A man with a top hat
Sat staring in space.
There was illness and sadness
Etched deep in his face.
A man with a fob watch
Was seen swapping gold
For a bottle of whisky
Before facing the cold.
A woman sighed deeply
Then laughed with a guest
While sipping tap water
And winning at chess.
There was no chef so no food
Since that dark violent day
When the innkeeper watched him
Being stretchered away.
So the sailor (being followed)
Missed having his tea,
And drank five pints of real ale
Before leaving for sea.
Out of the ether once came a small child
who hoped to one day fly thru the air.
Diligently applying herself, learning a style,
performing higher leaps, tapping the rare.
She performed somersaults, all in her stride,
with greater and more intelligent ease.
Winning honors and gold medals worldwide,
winning hearts with technical expertise
She became the world's new daring upstart
"sensational, uncanny, never fails,"
They didn't care that she led with her heart
and began to believe all of the tales.
As heroes may do, she took a misstep
and stumbled as the world was looking on.
the fault came not because she was inept,
the world on her shoulders became too strong.
A lesson to be learned: tho brave they are
some athletes just barely more than a child.
We expect all heroes to be bright stars
so we can foster their dreams for a while.
We forget they're human, just as we are
with mightier longings and goals, perhaps.
We must forgive occasional dimmed stars,
help them stand if they sometimes collapse.
I took a casual stroll through the local cemetery the other day,
Looking for interesting epitaphs and to pay my respects along the way.
Many stones were simply etched with names and dates of death and birth.
Others contained tales of sad demise, yet others of perky mirth.
"Here lies Clyde now expired,
Another man's wife Clyde desired.
The man pierced Clyde's ticker with a knife,
Thereby making a widow of Clyde's wife!"
"I now own this little plot of land,
And as such I make this firm demand:
As nigh my hallowed grave you pass,
Please keep off the cotton pickin' grass!"
"Scuba diver Marty came to grief,
As he was tooling 'round a Bermuda reef.
He was having himself a carefree lark,
'Til he encountered a ravenous shark!"
"Here sleeps Sergeant Major Cooper,
A brave Fifth Cavalry trooper.
It was just his bad luck,
That when arrows flew he failed to duck!"
"Herein lies trucker Don who failed to swerve,
Speeding 'round a mountain curve.
His semi sailed o'er the precipitous edge,
Landing at the foot of a thousand foot ledge!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Her senses melded with the tapestry,
coming alive,
as if the images woven
stripped her spirit bare.
Each image bearing the tale
of the ancients;
Forbearers of a forgotten world
stitched in new world colors.
Interwoven remembered glory
mingling with horrors, gory.
Interlaced, now, in a threaded story
merging the old,
with those of the new,
as if each needle threaded
pricked her living soul.
© Debra Squyres
02-01-15
Great are his exploits
honour and rank
he's celebrated
he's immortalized
He's fondly recalled
Back to memory
The great legends of Old..
Great Chief Waiyaki wa Hinga..
Aged nine he killed a lion
with his bare hands...
When the imperialist came.. Waiyaki..
Raised a huge Army armed with bows and arrows
Testing the might of the staff which spat fire
Fore told by the great seer Mugo Wa Kibiru..
..see people dressed like butterflies
they come from the sea of the hawk
and move on an iron caterpillar to the
lake of the eagle.. they carry a walking staff
which spits fire killing instantly... your weapons
will be useless when faced with this magical staff..
The great seer advised the people to learn
The pale skinned colonizers magic..
At right time armed with the right knowledge
The land of the slopes of Kerenyaga..
Will be liberated by its sons
The mountain of splendor and mysteries
Where people since ages ago have offered prayers
To the Supreme Deity Ngai Murungu..
Who is all loving and of good virtual
The supreme deity's Prophet Mugo wa Kibiru...
Is office of the chief seer..
Water Tabernacle the resting place of - Managi
The greatest Holy relic and the Box that is the relic
I recap they say Great Chief Waiyaki
Was betrayed by the pale colored..
foe he had called blood brother..
Angry Waiyaki took out his favorite club..
Mathiokore.. it was nicknamed..
Within minutes brains of the Great captain
were scattered on our rich soils
The invaders captured Waiyaki..
Our great Chief and opened his skull
Waiyaki died not.. they buried him alive
Head facing downwards.. Great Chief..
You should have heeded the Great seers
prophecy..
...don't allow the butterflies to enter your homesteads...
Buried alive..
Immortal Warrior king fate
The annual pilgrimage around
Kereenyaga - the abode of Ngai
Goes on each year.. pilgrims
Make seven stops as they
Circumbulate the Holy Mountain..
Of stories and more stories from the land
Where gods.. immortals.. and mortals
Rub shoulders looking each other..
Eye to eye... tales of KENYA
code 254
LEWIS NYAGA
Out from the shallow waters
far beyond the sandy shore,
lives a wondrous creature
curious eyes are searching for
None can really say exactly
just where she does dwell,
maybe hiding down there deep
at the bottom where treasure fell
And with nothing but all honesty
the old fishermen will swear,
telling any good folks around
that they have seen her there
They speak of her flowing tail
smoothly scaled in shimmering green,
her hair a cascade of golden waves
the prettiest they had ever seen
No proof can ever be captured
for mermaids are elusive and shy,
baited hooks reel in nothing
but a glimpse caught in their eye
Then gone again beneath the blue
into the depths she does swiftly flee,
leaving the surface behind her now
miles away in the mysterious sea.
Along a pier, on a bench,
An old man sits all day.
Passers by not lending time,
To what he has to say.
They'll never know the loves he had,
Or ocean blues he sailed.
If they had just a moment,
Oh the tales that he could tell.
A gent with fishing rod in tow,
The "big one" but a dream.
The old man pleads with aching hands,
Would you come sit with me?
A flashing glance, a fleeting wave,
No time for you old man.
Then you'll not know my secrets,
How sure giant ones to land.
Not sailfish fought for hours on end,
Bursting through the sky.
Nor great whites conquered, whales harpooned,
Nor where the mermaids hide.
A lass sashaying, book in hand,
Of romance she does read.
His crooked finger motions her,
Would you come listen please?
With rolling eyes, a turned up nose,
His answer once again.
Then you'll miss the most daring ventures,
Ever known to man.
Expanding near a century,
Ore exotic lands and seas.
My passions, loves and tragedies,
Would bring Shakespeare to his knees.
So when you see an old man,
Sitting there alone.
Most all desires that you have dreamed,
He has lived and known.
He can fill you with adventures,
A knew world to you unveil.
If you'll just take a moment,
Oh the tales that he could tell.
Telling Tales
Very telling
truth buried in lies
hate disguised as love
weeds strangling flowers
corrupt gardeners
singing the devils last song
virgins bloom all white
raped by old men
an old ways
Tiddles didn’t really like the new cat food
Fussy
Pussy
The result of the new cat food
Tiddles
Piddles
BUT THEN ….
Squitty
Kitty
Tiddles returns from a long walk in the rain
Soggy
Moggy
Contented Cat when towel dried
Purry
Furry
Any theme two liner – March 2017 Standard Contest
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