Best Tonics Poems
Badabee bada boom
Cabaala vroom vroom
Up in the sky
I fly on my broom
Valleys and vales
Over dry hay bales
On wispy clouds
My twitchy broom sails
By the moonlight dim
Those sighting Grimm
I search far and wide
They’re my next victim
Dissecting their hearts
Burying other parts
Potions I make
For my dark arts
Green red golden & blue
Tonics in every hue
Sparks fly while I invent
Myriad concoctions anew
Turning mice to owl
& Hounds to fowl
Transformations galore
All of them in my bowl
Powders that enchant
Varied pills for penchant
Chinkaara hula hoo hoo
Incantations I chant
Yes I am a Sorceress
Conjuring spells and curses
Necromancy, black magic and voodoo
Excel in all, with me don’t mess
Form:
Yesterday the birthday girl,
Her rainbow tutu swishing,
Blew out (with brother's help) the candles
Lit for birthday wishing.
From playground, train and parachute,
The 4 year olds were romping
Until the time for pizza came,
With juice and lots of chomping.
Today the celebration was
Just slightly more subdued,
Though with stories told and mem'ries shared
With fun it was imbued.
The birthday girl, at 91,
Enjoyed a home-cooked meal,
Drank gin and tonics then blew out
Her candles with some zeal.
Two birthday bashes back to back
On both ends of life's arc,
Let me have a double helping
Of what such a day can spark.
When I was just a nipper
My Dad used to take me to the barbers
The Barber would put a board across the chair
so I was higher
and he could cut my hair.
It struck me
how the barber was as bold as a coot
shuffling around in his brown smock
barbers suit.
It was known as the army barbers
everything was painted army green
and adorning the walls
there was pictures of soldiers and tanks
displayed to be seen.
And a picture of a man with greasy hair
the advert read 'Brylcream'.
The smell of brylcream and tobacco smoke
filled the air
emanating from an old man in a flat cap
in the corner smoking a pipe
sitting in his chair.
The clink clink of the scissors
I didn't like how the barber would
push my head here and there
without a care.
I was fascinated by the array of bottles and potions
and various hair tonics and lotions
Then the barber took a brush
removed the towel
and brushed the hairs off my neck
and from behind my ears
It used to tickle like heck.
Then I'd be lifted off the chair
and the board was put away
ready for another little boy
wanting a haircut to come his way.
I'd walk out of the barbers shop
feeling really strange like I was naked
uncomfortable and really funny
A traumatic experience for a mere nipper
I'd been sheared like a sheep
chocked from the smoke
and he had the cheek
to take our money.
Peter Dome.copyright.2015..
_________________
Say good morning to the cold bathroom floor-
mouthwash tastes like a reused mojito
vomit erupting from a molten core-
in the sink, fermented blood starts to show
from sacrament taken on Thursday night,
my last supper. Judas, feel what I feel-
whiskey nailed to a cross, my final fight.
No more beer or tonics will make me kneel
genuflected for a porcelain god-
today I will rise steady on two feet,
not carried by a bouncer as he plods
to a dented cab in a smoky side street
My dear friend, you dined silent at my side,
But under your thorns I cannot hide
New York, New York, the road in the fork
of the events, the places and folks who've buttered the pork
Like Rockefeller, Moynihan and Andrew Cuomo
Frank Sinatra, Louie Armstrong, John Lenon and Yoko Ono
Lenny Bernstein and Lenny Bruce
Cookie Monster, Rocky and Bullwinkle Moose
There's Radio City, Central Park and Carnegie Hall
Coney Island, Yankee Stadium -- Let's Play Ball!
The Brooklyn Bridge on the Hudson River
Lower East Side and the Village, for swingin' livers
Babe Ruth, Mickey Mantle and White Ford
Don't forget Casey Stengel and Yogi Berra -- Oh, my Lord!
Marilyn Monroe, Madonna and Phyllis Diller in curlers
Archie Bunker, the Meathead, Anne Meara and Jerry Stiller
Stooge-mania, West Side Story and Annie Hall
Kramden, Norton and the Honeymooners
You've seen or heard of 'em all
There's Madison Square Garden and the NY Philharmonic
The Times and Wall Street Journal -- news junkies tonics
Malcolm X, Dr. King, and Abe Saperstein
Julius Erving / Dr. J with a case of Afro-sheen
Baldies like Kojac and Yul Brynner, the King of Siam
Sam I Am, Son of Sam, Green Eggs and Ham
Harlem Globetrotters, the Apollo, Kareem Abdul Jabbar
Jay Leno, Ed McMahon and Johnny Carson, the great Jack Paar
There's Broadway, Times Square, Soho and Fifth Avenue
Isaac Stern, Pavoratti, Willie Nelson and Ray Charles singin' the blues ...
Make a list from the Statue of Liberty all the way up to Mars
~ You still might leave out a legacy of constellations and stars!
My head feels like it has a lava lamp inside
The skull has a long crack going across the front
I think it’s time to rotate the winter Mucha
Slide up the spring beauty with her berries and birds
Tis the season for old fashioned double features
Killer girls and flesh eating zombies rule this year
Sucking the crystal geyser for all it is worth
The pole humping, lap dancing nemesis at play
Think I’ll drop some winter pounds and grow a new tan
Feed my birdies and then the melodies will come
Make my life sound thrilling with my ukulele
While I pour down those Beefeater gin and tonics
I’ll collect pie birds and light incense each day
While praying for a zoftig desperate housewife
Change my religion back to innocent pagan
Shed all this Christian guilt like a well worn condom
I’ll hang Wiccan twig men in the lush green forest
And read about the Peloponnesian war years
Polish my ceramic frogs for the porch display
Then ship my old video tapes to my momma
Install some buckhorns on the hog for back relief
And turn fifty with a big four twenty bong hit
I’ll drop in just to ask question and make one think
Then listen to baseball while hammering fine nails
Grow some fat tomatoes in hanging flower pots
Number my candles with secret hieroglyphics
Yes, my head will crack open like a rotten egg
Then the healing will begin, and the world will turn
'Tis a twisted, tawdry tale !!
Poor Tom the Turkey is in a tizzy !!!
Tom's tongue is in a tangle, too terrified to talk !
Taunts and threats taking a toll
Tormented by a tip from tattle-tale townfolk
That Tom's in trouble! Tom's time is ticking !!
Tom the Turkey so terribly tramautized !!
Trapped in terror....
Teary Tom is taking tranquilizers,
Tablespoons of tonics....
Trying to tame the tension and trepidation !
Tiptoeing through tall timber...
Trapezing through treetops !
Tongue-tied and tearfully trembling..
Taking tactics, trying not to tempt...
Those tyranical terriorists who torture and
Trace Tom's tracks...
Tom the turkey in a tailspin
Told he's targeted for termination !!...
Tagged to be Thanksgiving treats and tidbits...
A tasty trophy topping Thanksgiving tables !!
This tale, this traversty, truely terrible !!
TRAGIC !!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! P
!!!!!!!!!!! L
!!!! E
^^ H
0 <<<
xx xx
______________________________________________
Revised for Donna Golden's "Turkey Tribute Contest
Live with honesty and truth
In everything you hope to do.
If good things are to come your way
Right living paves the way for you
Laughter is the best of tonics
Applied to all of life's small woes
Until they simply fade away.
Good riddance to the last of those.
Love to live and live to love,
On your face a smile at morning's start.
Value your good life every day.
And keep love flowing from your heart.
For Live, Laugh, Love, contest
Tempting balm tonics reposed fantasist,
Panacea liquifies mirage views,
Crafts allusive lofts energies persist,
Twain heart's favor lips a desire to schmooze.
Elixir defines the gist of lovers,
Exposes the length of listed measures,
Hearts and souls, supernatural pleasures,
Cascade gifted juice as meant lips puckers.
Charts a course of innumerable sips,
Bottled refinery impatient lips,
Passion extremes supple to its excess,
Forward sweethearts immortal kiss access.
Tinctured herbs ripen souls remarkably,
Drink-filled lovers strengthen eternally.
2019 October 15
Rhyme scheme; abab, cddc, eeff, gg
howmanysyllables;
14 lines x 10 syllables per = 140 syllables total
I say, let’s hit the road,
when it’s nice and cold.
I’m a single woman,
I scream alone in my room,
with no cat, no kid, no hubby;
I don’t sweep much with my broom.
I say let’s hit the road,
when it’s nice and cold.
I ain’t getting any high,
with men hitting on my supply.
I need no gins and tonics,
as I am my own drink,
baby I am naturally high and it’s chronic.
I say,
let’s hit the road,
when it’s nice and cold.
When the sky was trying out dresses,
in various shades ,
I sat on that road,
under the sky.. thinking ,
What the hell?
And then a big car comes,
they stopped aside to take a dump.
I looked at them , they looked at me
as if I was some kind of a skunk.
They came and asked, hey babe waddap ?
I answered..continue your ****, punks !
I said,
let’s hit the road
before my brains get soar !
.
Bazookas In The Bed
We have a mosquito problem
It’s in our house. It never ends
There’s nothing we can do but shoot them
Then shoot them over and over again
You see…You understand…They’re not our friends
Potions, tonics, sprays all make them happy
It gives them strength to multiply
We’re looking to make their lives less comfy
Less pleasant less satisfied
It’s not from animus or hate
Shells and ammo is the case. It’s simply fate
And to that end
I stay up late at night and wait
7 bazookas by my side and sights are ready
And from my bed in the deepest dark
I fire at will! I fire straight!
The idea is not to simply kill them
Though that would be so very great
But to make them really really dead
With bazooka fire power from my bed
tonight
cold rain fell as heavy snow
flakes fat with polar dew
roads turned to sideshows
skies black as crows
but the java tastes off
(beans must've turned south)
as I haunt crowded coffee bars
full of latte frothed mouths
and hip addictions
the melt-water from my boots
pools below me
an old lady slips on the floorboard
so I grab her arm
and feel what a fresh half caff
feels like splashed on bare skin
I grimace and take the penance
for interacting with the world
(my daily hair shirt)
I need to kill the self
to save the self
break the walls
to climb the walls
out of a mood that matches
the monochromatic day
napkin, scrap
notebook scribble
full of
hasty rhymes
feckless words
such heady tonics
(like stolen whiskey)
the more I drink
the more I thirst
the scratch of the pencil
like the tap of the needle
geography doesn't matter
if you
curse the goddamn candle
or
call to midnight
or
rage at dawnlight
so
in a crowd, alone
I sing silent songs
in the dark cellar of my heart
and wait
as reflected faces move
across frosted glass, murmuring
low conversations around me
while salt trucks pass
(like rumbling oliphants)
and melt it all away....
Chains, hay forks, knives, and a hollow whisper,
become more true and sinister.
Halt in the middle of the moon light,
and a waver image soon is no delight.
Voices run a muck in the head,
so not calming you wish you were dead.
Gushing blood through the eye
not an image that you would rely.
Nails stuck on your neck with such pain
so your paralyze just little life sustain.
Hoodlums terrorizing people running a muck
did not really know they are in luck.
More dangerous beings are out their
to commit such act and with sinister stare.
Laughing with haunting echo's through
is an aspect of fear can imbue.
The wind changes direction to smother
the echoing sound of laughter.
The panicking state that you are in
soon drives a knife within.
Blood rushing out of your vain
a crucial part of your life dropping like rain.
Running without a destination
you will never reach anyone of your relation.
Sliding your body on a wall
keeping your fall in a stall.
Red eyes you can see it at night
is soon devouring you with little bite.
Changing your belief with tonics of relief
and it is to late to turn a new leaf.
Ears start to deceive the animals sound
eating limbs are chewing around.
Slowly your red eyes steadily getting heavy
is starting to take your life with a levy.
Dropping down with no attitude
and your life force slowly loses altitude.
Breathing comes not so easy
smelling flesh seems so beastly.
The change comes a desire
with frightening red eyes of fire.
Comes more lethal than the hoodlums
your heart beating like drums.
Your hand becomes all fury
claws come out and your howl with furry.
Trance your in with no one to blame
a rage thats hundreds of centuries of flame.
Rising from a slumber of long lust
a animal instinct that you can trust.
Tearing things apart with no meaning
is a trait that is so deceiving.
Red eyes at night you see in a window
like a poisonous black widow.
Keeps you in attack mode of insanity
that takes all your vanity.
Ferocious emotions eating away
the soul that you had once betray.
The echoing sounds of loud thunder
breaks away the armor with sunder.
You fall once again to torturous agony
the feeling of one self is so lonely.
Shaking in the corner you are found
with blood soaked skin you drowned.
The night becomes day cruel in some way
your memories go in disarray.
The hunters with torches and sinister look
had parted way their hands shook.
Curl of light
Dawn sparks;
Birdsong
~~~~~~~~~
Mall crowd
Feisty spree;
Window shopping
~~~~~~~~~
Food court
Hungry agendas;
Appetites dash
~~~~~~~~~
Morning papers
Bad news again;
Apocalyptic surge
~~~~~~~~~
Another typhoon
Wet dreams intrude;
Flooding moments
~~~~~~~~~
Broken hearts
Sadness glimpses;
Mail order tonics
~~~~~~~~~
If you must know
Time does not heal;
Grace inspires
~~~~~~~~~
Neighbour's kids
Noisy birdsong glee;
Sing-song savvy
~~~~~~~~~
Ancient evenings
Here at the gate;
Loneliness lingers
~~~~~~~~~
Dementia declares
Nondescript moves;
Forgetful forget-me-nots
~~~~~~~~~
Laughter echoes
Happy voices tint;
Foreign contradiction
~~~~~~~~~
Savvy somnolence
Easy escapades;
Sleepy limbo
~~~~~~~~~
She says
He sways;
Touch tentative
~~~~~~~~~
Words fail
Thoughts strangled;
Empty excursion
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
20 October 2016
Singapore
Her world is a paranoid marketplace.
Fear is the zeitgeist and panic her shame.
She’d married her psyche to a dog whistle pimp
Who’d promised her he’d drain the swamp.
And sure enough, he did.
Drained it right into her swimming pool.
Idea thieves, poetry forgers, and high-water prophets
Trouble her intangibles to no end of sadness
With pressed-flower language, and wallpaper promises.
They give her Teflon skillets, microwavable plastic,
Flushable wipes, and jade v*gin* eggs
With which to contemplate the world to come,
While she’s sipping absinthe with Pablo, of course.
Now the dinky engine is on the narrow gauge
Approaching a junction packed with
Fingernail dirt and tactical nukes.
The flood of refugees is on the rise,
Taking the road to more primitive times.
Someone drank all the sanctified church wine.
Now she waits for the suicide drones.
Rosewater tonics won’t offer relief
When the bill for the wedding comes due,
Her field of dreams beneath a mushroom cloud.