Best Unloaded Poems
We all arrive alone naked and vulnerable,
crying our eyes out, not knowing -
this is the first day of the rest of our life.
I guess the saddest thing in life is we have to grow up.
As children we live in a bubble,
gazing at lost stars - wondering which one is ours.
Not realising the impact of our childhood,
until we are adults and it is too late.
We jump in puddles, laughing at splashing sounds,
some even learn to place their coats over them.
Some swim within shark infested waters,
but only a few learn how to build bridges over them.
I have embraced the power of silence,
but some have succumb to it.
I guess it is all about the quality of it,
especially for those who struggle to listen.
There has been many a rose that has bloomed,
but every single one crumbled into dust.
Even the one whose thorns pierced lacerations
through hearts of stone - yet the heart healed.
Many birds arrived echoing sweet symphonies,
yet there have been those that flew away in silence.
Especially the silent nightingale who sat in solitude,
whose lyrics my heart still yearns to feel.
I've seen many a ship arrive at my shore,
but each one unloaded and sailed away.
It was me who removed their anchor
and smiled as they sailed into the distance.
As tumours poison our existence - I ponder;
will the human race survive earth's demise?
When death arrives we all leave alone empty handed,
not knowing that was the last day of our life.
I recall Freddie Mercury's famous lyrics...
Who wants to live forever.... Anyway.
Silent One
Simple Musings
19 June 2018
Cattle Drive
Roll over a bit in me swag
Get some bones clear of the ground
Dew is on us swag cover is wet
Dingo is howling around
The cattle are camped in the corner
The frogs are croaking, smile creeps
Old horse has the nose bag on
Oats n the chaff for his keep
Fox has his nose in the camp oven
Cattle dog snarls n he freaks
Fox has blurted and gone now
Cattle dog goes back to sleep
At daylight we are catching the horses
Hobbles come off as they squeak
Saddle and mount a grumpy horse
be unloaded, you’re bloody weak :)
Old horse drops his head again smartly
Pigroots around the flat
Stay with him mate it’s only
oats causing springing like that.
Cattle move on down the Stockroute
15 mile a day cross water n creeks
40 mile to the railhead Darby
The Shielas are waiting so sweet.
Don Johnson
Hey Babe
I know the feeling Im a whiz at computers been using since 1990 .
My little laptop has inbuilt webcam i record from.
I was using a usb type video camera ...which worked well.
Do make an effort to put you on you tube ...
there is lots of crappity crap there so you will be welcomed there ..
i have 190 poems n talking too...just good fun its what i do...love
Don
My son, Mark is four years old
With scissors he cuts papers and folds
Till he crafts canoe
And once he is through
He'll tag, “Canoe to be sold"
One day he made one so large and tight
To the pool he rushed in delight
And loaded scissors and rocks
As his cerebrum clocks
The paper craft paddled all right
He was so proud like peacock
And unloaded the scissors and rocks
And tried to paddle
He thought it's possible
But he got drowned like a brick
For P.D's contest:"Rock~Paper~Scissors"
Last July I was going west, looking for my pot of gold. I rode into a sleepy little town, Soup Creek was it's funny name. The dirt street was bare, it was a very hot July day.
I stopped in the saloon to wet my dry throat, when outside gun fire broke out. Sheriff Koplin said, a new hombre just rode into town. He is nothing but trouble, wish he would stay in his neck of the woods.
Mayor Tom said, I will settle this once and for all. As hombre computer drew to take a shot, Mayor Tom whipped out his two guns. You are going down, as the guns filled with ink were unloaded. (bang~bang) Mayor Tom said with a big smile on his face, ink will always win over you hombre computer.
Date Written: 12/21/2022
"Poem of the Day:12/23/2022"
And
1 Place
Who is your best PS poet or poetess Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
Note: The Soup Creek Story Lives On.
Tree Top Dancers
and Circus Clowns
The neighbors moved away.
They said nothing to anyone,
they just left.
New people took the home.
There was a big truck.
It was full of boxes,
and a TV.
It was jam-packed with animals...
and cages and crates,
and statutes of...
Greek women holding water vases,
Greek men with harps.
The truck itself was all blue.
Funny, even the tires.
Odd.
I watched as they unloaded other things;
a giant clock that rang...
from the time they took it from the vehicle,
until it went... inside... (hushed tones).
There was a deep freezer,
the size you could fit six grown men...in.
One on top of another...
a side; by side by side by side, by side, by side.
There was a trunk with a hunchback,
and then a hunchback with a trunk.
What can I say... they were a pair,
I had to stare.
Unfair, I looked away.
Then the mom, and the dad...
came rolling up the drive.
They were in a giant bread truck;
made of cowhide?
A dozen kids on the back,
and even a few on a rack?
A lively crew of gypsies.
Carnies, forced to retire;
from long days,
now gone.
The circus, the show,
the festival of colors;
no more...
Come to a new place,
to put on a new face,
to leave no trace,
of all that was left behind.
Yet how do you start a fresh life,
from a comfortable place you always lived,
upside down, right side up,
cheers all around,
and elephants that danced,
giraffes that sang,
and popcorn was the main course;
at dinner.
Now everyday life,
full of strife,
trying to make things right,
somewhere in the world.
The clowns still make some laugh,
at every funny gaff,
even if...
it is not in a big shoe,
or under a giant tent.
Be happy.
It is a choice.
TO TAME A SHREW
Tunke Tunke Tunke
I dragged her along and into the trunk
Clunk clunk clunk,
I hear some screaming from the Tunke
I drove away, in my brand new Lex
Avoiding both grammar and spelling checks
Safely away, I saved the day
Off I am to the road by the bay
Tunke Tunke Tunke
Her crass verse I too stuffed in the trunk
Drunk drunk drunk
How else does one explain a skunk in the trunk?
So by the bay, I opened me trunk
Someone is gonna be going for a dunk
I unloaded the cargo chapter and verse
At the bottom of the lake let’s see her converse
We bought a cow at the state fair
and loaded her on the truck
to take her home, but halfway there
we had a stroke of good luck.
We hit a rock, and from the crash
she bounced away down the hill,
she mooed and made an awful splash
in the stream beside the mill.
The water was still awful cold,
the cow already freezing…
resisting as we roped and pulled
her breathing turned to sneezing.
My father said this won’t end well,
he couldn’t have been more wrong.
He thought the cow, we ought to sell
but changed his mind before long.
We took her home, our shook up cow,
unloaded her in the barn.
We thought we’d let her sleep for now
then see to her in the morn’.
The next day, just around sunrise,
the cow already awake.
I milked, and to my great surprise,
I got a frozen milkshake!
05/02/15
Although I am raising a tapir,
I don't know since when.
I don't know
where he came from or how I wound up in raising him;
I am raising him only because he is there by my side.
He is neither cute nor of amiable nature.
He doesn't sleep while I am sleeping and
feeds from the crumbs of my dreams that have fallen on the floor.
One day the tapir,
although fed by my dreams
he disappeared from my side.
My sleepless nights began from that day,
they really are an unbearable series of chaotic nights,
I was suffering from night after night of evil dreams.
Because of the countless wakeful nights,
I lost my sense to distinguish night from day; became
unable to tell myself as to real or unreal in the standing-still-time.
Wherefore I began to roam aimlessly
searching for myself just like a sleep-walker.
My ego, unknowingly, while I was lost from myself, left me
and stepped into a wasteland no one seems to have ever stepped in;
astoundingly, however, I found an abandoned gold mine
which swallowed heaps of gold diggers' dream, body
and soul standing before me open-mouthed.
Although a gallery was glowing with golden color
it was darker, deeper and damper then the grave.
And when I stepped in the gallery which seems
so feeble that it may collapse at any moment,
I saw my tapir gazing at me gloomy-eyed.
Whether he was sorry or delighted to see me again,
or maybe hated me for not coming earlier to find him;
I was glad, nonetheless, I saw myself reflecting in his pupils.
I felt I had unloaded all those heavy burdens I was carrying all along,
and because my mind became so at ease that I got into a deep sleep,
lay by his side and beat less my heart ceased.
Note: By old Chinese tale:: a tapir is said to eat man’s nightmares.
A portly old man from Spain,
Let his belt out to relieve the strain,
But his pants button exploded
Like a missile unloaded
So far that it brought down rain.
Gone fishing.
We decided to go fishing,
Granddad Dad and I .
We booked a Bed and Breakfast
up in the Isle of Skye.
We set off Friday morning
with lots of fishing gear,
and Granddad even managed
to sneak aboard some beers.
Up the road we went,
arriving late at night,
and in the early morning
my goodness what a sight.
The mountains stood so purple
and on the Loch a haar.
We were quickly down for breakfast
and then back to the car.
We drove down to the Loch
and hired a lovely boat.
The weather was quite nippy
so we buttoned up our coats.
We settled down to fish.
It was a brilliant day,
and Granddad told me stories
of the ones that got away.
We rowed back to the quay
and unloaded all our fish.
The day was quite successful,
even more than we could wish.
I tied the boat up tight
and walked back to the car.
When someone drew attention,
by shouting from a far.
A man was standing pointing,
back towards the quay,
and there we saw the boat
floating out to sea!
Grandad looked at Father,
then Father looked at me.
"I thought it was secure,
how can this possibly be".
"When it comes to tying rope,
the skills i have not got,
you thought i was a Sailor,
I am a frayed knot"!
Turbulant radient red sky with sheet swirl mashed potato
cloud mush peered lazily through a curious brown
haze of dirty armpit fizz, enlisted somewhere
bewteen a prebeginning solar start dot deposit burst peak
and a futuristic nuclear waste singulsr hand mitten
all in lieu of a sadeyed slowburn glowing tuxedo-still
and looking on with rolled up flannel sleeve gross
passivity. I slurped around the grand gravel
entrance up and down brown round and rocky
pinging and jumping. Wide spaces
grappling with the refuse laden humo motif of
endeless manwomanchildpet pickings. I round the teetering
trough trench like curves unwitnessed to the sight beholding
ever present but none as gigted. Poor mouth
super excrement excuses like duct tape type at the end
of its reality roll---never enough for the final fix.
I watched as multitruck things silently
dispatchingly dispersed and unloaded their
grusome garbage waves on good mother earth.
Battles can leave muscles working as man and time spitspent
slowcuspocus appendages working at top mph
pushing shoving shoveling piling before the light
pace calls it another disgusting dillday.
without the slighest the remorse--my stomach began
to wrenchabit and my eyewells passed be free
me. The gulls some truck lenght away were
spuriously sifting smilingly through the
human wreckings in a last light meal
remedial refrain--as intense as
the dumpers became the dumpees. I angered as
the populace as myself delivered my putrid parlay
and proceded to the mass exit as if it were
OK. The quality of messy mercy stops at the buck. I need not squander the dull likings of my kind
of indifferenleunce on the hapless mis constraints of
a well informed psuedo citizenery. I hope the land rebels
someday and eats us all by the very
seeds we so sow. Garbage is as garbage does
but it's the tidy attitude of human complacency that
wipes my ass so clean---look to the trash cans for---hope.
Comatose To Life
Somewhere on a small island called Penang, historically known as the Pearl Of The Orient…
There is a heartwarming tale of how tender loving care revived a comatose patient…
The patient is a fully qualified Florence Nightingale about to launch her nursing career ..
Full of hopes and dreams, excited about achieving her goals in her chosen career…
But the cruelties of real life was fatefully unloaded on her one unlucky day…
A twisted sense of fate saw a motorcycle accident that cruelly left her for dead..
But her strong will to survive and fight was something no doctors could have forseen…
She being in a vegetative state, those experts think they know enough to proclaim…
There’s no hope of full recovery, poor girl, and it is best to pull the plug on her…
Given her extensive injuries, her vegetative state, it’s best not to prolong her misery..
Her ever loving aunt, her only mother she had known, was resolute in her decision…
Come what may, her favorite niece will have her undivided love, care and attention ….
No one knows the depths of agony and the despair this loving aunt quietly suffered…
The loneliness and the infinite patience, only a mother maternal could have done better…
Through 2 long years of unending love and tenderness, against all negative perceptions..
From the expert doctors to the disbelieving relatives, she tirelessly persevered in her actions..
Today her plucky comatose patient is awakened, though she is far from full recovery…
What matters is she is alive, she has made it through, though there’s need for counselling …
This story is just a beginning for Janice Chuah Chai Ming, it’s the start of a long recovery journey..
This poem is just to document the power and the intensity of love and perseverance extraordinary…
For Chuah Bee Hong, the loving aunt who quit her job to devote full time for Janice’s recovery..
Prayers be with you and your loved ones, good deeds like this deserves only good in life’s glory..
http://www.thestar.com.my/News/Nation/2015/11/13/Nurse-makes-strides-after-waking-from-a-coma-Hit-and-run-accident-robs-Janice-of-bright-future/
Through her window,she could see nothing in the clear blue sky.
Its deep colour was reflected in the calm waters
Of the estuary which spread out in the distance.
Even the normal busy shipping traffic
Seemed to have been lulled to sleep this hot summer afternoon.
There would usually be the sound of ships' horns
Out in the Elbe as they signalled for the lock gates to open.
Water was calm, sky was calm.
It felt to Petra that she was looking at a painting where nothing
Was really alive but only replicated in oilpaint.
The ever-growing buzz in the sky was the only indication that the scene was real.
Others had heard the sound as well.
Like hundreds of bees, but these had a special sting
The temperature was high and it was very dry
There had been no rain for some time. Now there was a rain of bombs.
Petra saw the explosions through her window before she heard them
In the distance as the skyful of B17 s unloaded their cargoes.
Petra and her little sister were terrified, struck immobile in fright.
Their window bellied in like a giant glass balloon suddenly over-inflated,
And jagged, face-ripping shards of glass snarled across the hall
And embedded themselves in the cushions of the sofa.
The woolly innards of the cushions spewed out,
Dangling lifeless from the slash-wounds.
Luckily the girls were not cut.
Suddenly, the whole area became one big fire
With air being sucked in with the force of a storm.
Fires joined together, temperatures rose to melting lead,
Wind speed picked up to hurricane levels,
Trees were hurled into the flames, furniture, cars, even people hurled in.
Fire trucks unable to get through roads blocked by rubble.
Dying by carbon monoxide poisoning
When all the air was drawn out of their basement shelters,
The shelters were filled, but few people were really alive.
And then it was over. As the exploding fireballs gradually died away,
The drone and throb of the buzzing B17s faded off
To the blue sky of the east, to torment some other part of the city.
Walls crashed to the ground, gas lines exploded, people cried and screamed,
The girls shook with terror, but the B17s had gone.
History called it 28 July 1943 - Hamburg firestorm.
Petra always called it Day of the Bees.
.. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Entered in Debbie Guzzi's Contest Hot Time Summer in the City
The weather was just how I liked it
Looking like it would stay dry
The breeze had the sharp tinge of winter
Beneath a low overcast sky
The thick blackthorn hedgerow behind me
Bordered the tangled beech wood
In front was a sowing of Rape seed
The shooting from here should be good
The ditch in which I was standing
Was shallow and recently dried
I put up my camouflage netting
As kind of a temporary hide
I looked across my field of fire
It spread further than buckshot would reach
So I opened my trusty old twelve bore
And slipped two Eley five’s in the breach
I saw something off in the distance
Out on the old bridal trail
I knew straight away it was Reynard
I could see the white tip on his tail
This dog fox was working the hedgerow
Looking for something to eat
In a week or two he won’t be hunting
For vixens will soon be on heat
Then came a sound to my left side
I heard the dry rustle of leaves
I eased off the safety catch gently
And stood still not daring to breathe
Nearby from a patch of dead Teasel
A Pheasant was poking its head
It’s wattles were white as a snowflake
Round it’s eye was a dash of bright red
It’s head and neck seemed to change colour
With a green and blue oil like sheen
It sported a thin clear white collar
The clearest one I’d ever seen
Cautiously into the open
It was only three meters away
I was stunned by it’ breathtaking beauty
This vision is with me today
It looked like a fowl made of copper
Each breast feather tinged with a Pink
And edged with the finest black outline
As if they’d been sketched in with ink
It’s wings were a blend of dark ochre
Mingled with olive brown hue
It’s tail was two thirds of a meter
What was this hunter to do
Quite unaware of it’s danger
It slowly strolled on to the crop
Carefully I raised my shotgun
But something inside me said STOP
No way could I fire at this vision
This beauty by me won’t be shot
I came to an instant decision
Find something else for the pot
I have enjoyed many a pheasant
Washed down with a bottle of red
The countryside here would be poorer
If this lovely creature was dead
The bird by now had become bolder
and had wandered some distance away
With an unloaded gun on my shoulder
I went home having had a good day
I will have bread and cheese for my supper
I am a creator.
Jack of all trades but a master of none.
I am a procrastinator.
Just always want to have fun.
I am a poet, A composer.
With a mouth like an unloaded gun,
A Skateboarder, A poser,
What will they think of my father’s son?
I am 30 but I don’t feel I am,
More like a 14 year old trying to grow a moustache, which I can’t!
Hate social media but has FB and Instagram.
The notebook of my experience and a selfie of me so tanned.
Not too tall or short. Average height from my land.
I am neither an Asian nor Singaporean, I am just a Man.
Believe in a world with no borders as much as I can.
Hoping dreams will come true so I can stop to pretend.
I am in love everyday for this, I only believe is real,
Profess as much as I can to my dearest of how I feel,
Countless mistakes with no regrets are my life’s ordeal,
Although jumping off cliffs are my favourite thrill,
I trust not in politics. My mind shut off and sealed.
Trying to get out of this matrix and all sorts of bills.
I manage for a living in an industry too ill.
Only these words can help me confess and heal.
My passion is thought. Thinking of everything that could be.
In love with the stars and the trees. The Divine Beauty!
Lost in the darkness of night with faint twinkle stars in this bright city.
Living in these moments with highest times. Here, it is never easy.
Contented. Appreciate. My creations are my reality.
Spread Kindness! Our actions are our only legacy.
Mysterious life. Within me a singularity.
I am. No one else in this Universe is like me.
April 8th, 2015
Fariq Yusoff