Best Thirty Five Poems
IN THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES
The angels are rushing and running left to right,
they are careful as wounded-soldier eyes plead
as thirty-five minutes ago...
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Earth-quaking are the sounds. On the dance floor
is a number of halcyon Romeo and Juliet swaying smooth
under an umbrella of blinking lights: red and green.
Clinks! Clinks from tossed liquor filled glasses
with loud chats and laughter crowd the air when---
tenacious shakes strike and slip their ground.
Spiky trembles trip on spines, pounds grip hearts
as the mad shaking earth beneath brawls and growls.
They wanted to jet fly but they are tight trapped
to a web of disaster. Satanic is this villain.
Outside, sleeping pipes spurt! Shocked current wires fire!
Anxious buildings cracked! Worried bridge fell apart!
Disturbed waves began their tidal rolls, higher and higher
as they land the shore. Thunder and lighting rule the skies,
sad helpless clouds cry and cry flooding everywhere...
Passed the thirty-five minutes, stinky is the breeze
ragged dirty doll-like bodies are strewn all around...
_________________________________________________
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi
Contest Name Death and Dying
++Placed 3rd++
O.E. Guillermo
9:27 pm, June 28, 2015
Thirty-five years in a fifty year old building where I repair all.
Having that many years of changes within, each one I have saw.
I answer calls each day to fix everything, either big or very small.
Reality is and this is not vainness, they expect me never to fall.
Truth is I listen to every word that is said, though it might be tall.
Years of paying attention watching closely to every bouncing ball.
Facilities maintenance is one title that my job holds so dear.
I just call myself a maintenance man, and no job do I fear.
Victory is mine if I can repair and keep it running so clear.
Eventually though all things must be replaced some year.
Years spent in one place can take a toll on anyone’s heart and mind.
Every soul needs a change once in awhile, so peace they can find.
Another twelve years is what spirit will endure, before I unwind.
Retirement is not what I seek, for I have always worked in a grind.
Service to others is more than a job to me, my life, existence refined.
Thirty Five
At thirty five I am starting hear,
That old age will soon be here.
The wolf whistles,stares and male conversation,
Are now friendly comments and admiration.
"Don't you look good for someone your age!"
This compliment is all the rage.
Comments of beauty,intelligence and fine figure,
Have been replaced with "How's the kids?" and "Lovely weather."
In younger years,when all dressed up looking smart,
My husband would drool and nice compliments would start.
How proud he was to show me off to his mates,
But now no comment except "Hurry up we will be late."
The mirror shows signs of the years going by,
The wrinkles,blemishes and crows feet don't lie.
At thirty seven,my husband is now going bald,
"Distuinguished looking,"he says it is called.
In the companyy of attractive women my husband will flirt,
If only he knew how much it does hurt.
No more does he buy me presents or take me out on a date,
Instead on a Friday its down to the pub with his mates.
If I feel like this now at the age of thirty five,
What hope is there left,how will i survive.
As a mother,a Registered Nurse and a wife,
This combination has me speeding through life.
So how do I slow down the course of time?
Or learn to age gracefully,one day at a time.
The meaning of life is a question we all ask,
And everyone's here to complete some sort of task.
As depressed as I feel about growing old,
Stay healthy and active is the advice I've been told.
Take each day as it comes and try your best,
Advancing through life is the ultimate test.
A lesson to be learnt that is comparitively small,
Is if you can't say anything nice,say nothing at all.
Despite all the negative comments about appearance and age,
Each day is another chapter so just turn the page.
One day a handsome prince will come and take me away,
So I will sit here drinking coffee and begin to pray.
One hopes he will come and rescue me sometime soon,
Before the wrinkles set in and i resemble a prune!
.
Count not months spent in
leg casts while living each hour
in my timeless love
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake : Part Thirty-Five
Chief of Staff commandeered the Lake Restaurant and Sailing Club
Setting up mass long-term cuisine facilities for Robo-Cop
Turned Swimming Pool amenities into canteen facilities
Took over the now vacant Lycée class-rooms as rest-room club
As someone said within ear-shot: “He has bouclé la boucle!”
Added Galapago Rani: “He sure runs a tight ship schedule!”
Chief Executive called him up: “I can come for seven hours.”
“Sir, best to stay put: Never know what’s between now and next poll!”
The drones and sound-barrier blasts of fighter plane practice runs
Have died down in the distant swan-song red-eyed horizons
And Maghreb prayer for the Faithful was drawing to a close
When the now less-than boom-voiced Commandant edged by entrances
Seeking to confront the Holy Mullah with the Writ’s purpose
Black-beaked Bernache geese stretched sleek clarinet necks to hoot opus:
The Lake’s sacred even-song anthem bidding one and all adieu
As the wintered Sun still majestic drew woollen curtain cloak close
CS ordered check-points to be set up at short intervals
In the Robo-Cop five-strong ring round the Mosque’s exit portals
Lest the “Miscreant Poet” sneak out in chador black by night:
Dainty Robo-Cops were rushed in to frisk chador-clad mortals!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
If we continue to redefine
What a president can be
will we have as our president some day
a monkey whose total experience
is he or she can swing from a tree
or swing a big golf club
and hit a small ball from a tee
towards some numbered holes?
Repetition gives you the ability to notice when things are
out of place, when something isn't how it used to be, you
can see with eyes shut that something is missing, you can
feel it with your body language and with the way
someone talks you don't feel the spark you used to, and
it's like the conversation aren't tailored to suit you. Who
do you run to when your the one everyone else runs to
about the problems and issues, who's there to hug you or
hand you that box of tissues and say life is gonna be
alright. Who do you talk to when you have those lonely
nights where you wish someone's day was way more
exciting than yours, what do you do when you can't shake
the feeling something isn't right but you question if you
really wanna open that door...
You got thirty-five minutes to cry
As this bus rides by houses you see.
You got thirty-five minutes to dry
Your eyes, as you silently cry…
They say don’t do things
in a fit of blinding rage;
I beg to differ, go create.