Best Victuals Poems
This booth i'm in , you call a body
apparent problems , wiring shoddy
can't get thru all the busy signals
rush of the race , eluding victuals
can't get thru with simple affection
are they harnessed wrong , disconnection
is comprehension a distant voyage
where i'm now speaking a foreign language
is the dark pit of self so deeply entrenched
where thirst for knowledge will never be quenched
long distance calls from this booth i'm in
dialing the right number is where to begin
as long as i remain on the right frequency
at least avoid world's subsequent delinquency.....
Food for thought , all for naught
line is open , if it's sought.........
Categories:
victuals, life, loss, social,
Form:
Free verse
What if..
What if; it wasn't a lockdown forenoon
Mommies whisking to kitchenette
Daddy's out with newspaper headlines
Little cubs denned in their late quilt and wishing no schooling today
Rest world racing themselves to indulge in work deadlines
What if; it wasn't a lockdown noon
Chefs busy preparing victuals to serve in eateries
Office canteens loaded with lunch boxes and gossips
Some heading for evening tales
What if; it wasn't a lockdown evening
Coffee shops buzzing with bud pairs, roasted coffee beans and whiffs of smoke
Peeps roaming and returning their abodes before the dark was deep
Little cubs falling asleep in their study and no Surf, no Netflix
What if; it wasn't a lockdown night
Dinner table would filled with traffic and homework folklore
Bedtime would doubly the fairy's list-
Children wishing for no school tomorrow,
Men for hike up his business,
Women emancipation from irons of household chores and society norms
What if; it wasn't a lockdown
Contemporary would have been so lost in it's own bloods and veins
June month would have brought us fruity summer of 2020
And I would have written a poetry of love and lust
Categories:
victuals, 12th grade, beauty, conflict,
Form:
Epigram
The sky is blue with music beats
The stars are smiling in the east
The moon is tangoing with me
And the trees are waving their leaves
The lilies are swaying in the wind
The birds are flapping their wings
The sun is standing still
For the birth of a unique Prince
The duck is cooing a coo
The drum is booming with boom
The bell is jingling melody tunes
For the dancing shoe in jolly mood
Every teeth is stable, dappled with babble
To dandle and staple the victuals rounding the table
No squabbles to dabble or dangle
This fable is not a parable to scrabble
The world is now at ease
In my mother’s little arm with peace,
That is crooning a lullaby
For her newborn baby
Now that a diamond is in the sky
My mother is no longer shy
She could join the laughter of the night
For the birth of a new life
I’m a newborn baby today
Starting life afresh, again
The smiles on a baby’s face anyway
Is an anthem, enough for a happy birthday.
HURRAY!
Categories:
victuals, anniversary, devotion, happiness, inspirational,
Form:
Personification
The working navvy did dig deep
He followed Brindly’s new laid plan
A transport system to complete
A salvation for the labouring man
As the furrow cut with sweat and maul
With breaking backs and torn sinew
Each man in turn to heave and haul
Sustenance for starving kin renew
Tracts of land transform through spade and pick
Veins enriching the countryside
Bringing new life, each shovel, each brick
Levelling earth, raising national pride
A true revelation this arterial plan
Almost lost through modernisation
Abandoned, grown dense, dispirit man
As steam and diesel grew within the nation
Each lock assiduously built
Before first steam engine’s whistle blew
Weeds strangle, progressive man’s new guilt
The canals ebb, debris as seeds strew
More beauteous now than ever been
Our arterial chart of the waterway
Each torn muscle, victuals did glean
Bed and nourishment for one more day
The navvy’s ghosts look down, heads held high
Their gnarled hands rest in heavenly peace
Majestic waterways dug in sweat with sigh
A once industrial, now beautiful masterpiece.
© 16/11/2013 GG Inspired by Harry J Horsmans'
free verse 'The Cut' which is a colloquial name for a canal
Categories:
victuals, beauty,
Form:
Quatrain
Hear the clip-clop of iambic beats
Sounds like Shelley with a side of Keats
Is that the scritchity-scratch of a goose quill flickin’
Or just the tippity-tap of some mouse you clickin’..?
So you a prophet poet, regular Marley meets Dylan
Writin’ about oppression and unjust killin’
Shootin' the Sheriff with a Reggae song
Inspirin' your generation with a sing along
A shot of tequila with a wedge of lime
Saddle up and bide your time
Every line don’t need to rhyme
I can give you a million examples
You don't seem like the lyrical type
Kickin' cold turkey with oranges ripe
That's the fruit that rhymes with nothin’
Fresh squeezed it's good for somethin’
Citric flashback, Tang for the brain
Hyperspace wormholes one cannot explain
Sun dippin' below the rim of a rhymeless plateau
Cow skull and cactus, a timeless tableau
In the twilight gloom, a weather-beaten sign
Free Verse Ranch is the place to dine
Gorge on rhyme-free wordplay victuals
Linguistic linguini and cage-free visuals
Specialty of the house: lemon chicken couplet
With a side of mashed onomatopotatoes--plop!
Gravy sloppin’ down slopes like molten lava
Washed down with mugs of fresh-brewed java
Buzzards circlin' the sky in a lazy ellipse
Moon moseyin' in for a total eclipse
Flee in the dark, take a steed for a ride
Jump the split rail fence to the other side
Leap back in time to a buzzin' hive
Looks like the vortex, circa 1995
Can barely think amid the din
Perfect time for the ‘shrooms to kick in
Tie-dyed girl where I left her spinnin' in place
Band still playin' a trippy Drums n Space
But how strange that I cannot feel my face
How did twenty years vanish without a trace?
Tumbleweed twirlin' down the rutted street
Empty rocking chair swayin' skee-reet skee-reet
'Taters still steamin' like a mini-volcano
Room reeks of whiskey stronger than Drano
Spilled orange juice tricklin' a fly-food slurry
Someone cleared outta Free Verse Ranch in a helluva hurry
The clip-clop of iambic beats, Sheriff on my tail
He wouldn't shoot an unrhymed man, would he?
Categories:
victuals, adventure, poetry, word play,
Form:
Rhyme
When morning breezes bring on the shivers,
and the thermometer is in the teens.
Your head stays buried under the kivers
while the farmer pulls on overall jeans.
When wafts from the kitchen wake your pleasure
with fond smells of bacon and egg victuals;
reflect on what great degree you treasure
a busy farmer's early rituals.
Categories:
victuals, 11th grade, appreciation, farm,
Form:
Quatrain
I’m sure I was dreaming.
I could never afford to travel
To the most beautiful island
The world could provide.
Yet there I was swimming
In warm clear aquamarine seas.
Out on the sand the view was stunning.
Houses built on the sea itself,
An aroma of shellfish and chicken
Filled the pure air. I was hungry.
But I had no money, dressed in a bathing suit.
Someone called me and I was offered
A plate of aromatic food.
I ate it slowly, savoring delicious victuals.
Then my newfound friend took me for a walk.
I saw purple crabs scuttling sideways
Whilst at the edge of a forest
So lovely and tender, some mousedeer
Were pasturing quietly in the shade.
Then I realised how hot the midday sun was.
And I woke on my bed, sweating.
It was bliss to linger under a shower.
Categories:
victuals, food, sea,
Form:
Free verse
Polyphagia on board is forbidden and not welcome ---------- when
Everybody knows that should we ran out of food ---------- crickets
Probably will not feed us anyhow and most of us will ---------- cry
Pensive about victuals whilst starving madly. No ---------- seamen
Ever should go through famine. That's why we must ---------- stop
Relapsing into gluttony in this ship. I approve of ---------- yodeling.
Pepper spray is going to be one of the ---------- calamities
Any glutton will endure as a punishment. Thus, ---------- every
Real seafarer will chant these words now: ---------- "Bearded
Captain wants no fressing within his ship! Yes, ---------- captain!
Every single gob will ration the food. Frugality is a ---------- must!
Lashes and pepper spray those who fail shall ---------- undergo!"
Categories:
victuals, adventure, food, journey, ocean,
Form:
Acrostic
Morning... the child awakes,
steps lightly 'cross the threshold of his front yard.
Windows of the mansion o'er the glen ablaze
with sparkling brilliance draw his gaze.
Suited for all-comers, with sturdy
leggings for his Big Adventure,
he takes on the day, as brave as good
King Arthur on a mission for the Grail.
Striding forth, his heart is beating
like a drum as he tarries by the river
to bathe his feet in icy water, wolfing down
the victuals made ready by his mum.
Trudging up the hillside, harder than
the journey down, wearying now his steps
are measured. He longs to claim his dream
though his eyes now see dull sockets where
the shining should have been.
Depressed, he sits exhausted to weigh
the reason why. As he turns, hungry for home,
his heart is leaping, for basking in the radiance
of the slowly dying sunset is his own lowly residence,
its windows glittering like burnished gold!
Categories:
victuals, adventure, children,
Form:
Prose
My opinions are changed,
My heart lacks fervour,
For you lunched the war,
Purposeless,
To liberate who are already free,
To enrich who are already rich,
To make the fierce, more ferocious.
When will the time intrude you,
Make you see the brilliant aspect of the affair,
And humanity will sing the song of peace?
When will you peep into your inner-self
To see the reflected image of you own?
When will you obey the divine commands
And make out them that God forbids pollution
Smog and fumes of turmoil wrapping His fair Earth?
Now open your eyes
The shores are red;
The lands are coated with blood,
The skulls are scattered like stones,
For the sake of oil or the reserves of gold,
Be aware a single drop of human blood
Possesses more worth than all treasures
That the earth contains.
Now stop killing; enough, enough,
You neither surrender, nor do deprive others
Of the rights which the divine commands allow,
Go through the lanes with moderate bearing.
Live like a benefactor among the nations,
Share with them your victuals,
Stock of knowledge and skills,
And snatch them not of their own.
Return fathers to the orphans,
Husbands to the widows,
Brothers to the waiting damsels,
And sons to the aged mothers,
If not then compensate them all,
For the broken hearts, shattered dreams.
Hatred against you thrives,
Magma against you grows,
Let the volcano sleep,
Beneath the layers deep,
And only once apply,
The strategy of the weapon of love
Discarding the old devices of uranium.
The amount you spent on the arsenal
Would have been enough to feed the world
Though ten times bigger;
If you had ruled the hearts,
The world might have been a different place
Of love, peace and harmony.
Through force your aims will never be gained,
So amend the ways and stroll on the route
That enhances you in respect and esteem;
Review and revise the modes of actions,
Follow not the path that leads the world
To the chaos, and on the point of no return,
For there will be a dark dungeon of curse,
O! America, for the sake of humanity reverse.
Categories:
victuals, confusion, depression, passion, political,
Form:
Prose Poetry
He was a serial lover.
Like no other.
His words flowed like smooth swoon song.
Led you away, took you along.
Feelings spun, you lost control.
Dressed to kill, he knew his role.
Wandering across the night,
He moved and prowled without fright.
Youth’s passing moonwalk phase,
Did no end make his craze.
He was a little man,
Not by girth but wisdom’s span.
With his belly full of oats and fire,
He chased the flames of love’s desire.
His music touched most every heart,
Even those not prone to start,
Sweaty hot lightening trysts,
Whose sorry dawn would end in mists.
In the morning folly was blamed,
On fire even the shrewd are tamed.
Shaking off the heat of lust,
His women did what women must:
Left and right they looked in vain,
Only finding a superlative stain.
The tiger was gone, off and far,
A winking door left ajar.
Evening’s delicate victuals taken,
Most satisfied and now awaken,
He conjured yet another plan,
Oh this beast, this brute, this little man!
Seasons passed, years went by,
His naughty charms refused to die.
With a skip and bounce,
His paws did announce,
“I got you, got you my little prey,
Stay and play just today”
Reckoning’s day came pretty slow,
His magic began to lose its glow.
The girly ladies who made his fame,
Conspired all to stop the shame,
Seated by a blazing fire,
Chants were sung to stop the liar.
Spirits conjured to slow him down,
A watchman posted in every town,
His limbs by spells began to shrink,
Especially one that could not think,
Of a life devout lived in chaste,
Or the fire gone beneath his waist.
With speed did rumors make it known,
Just to leave the fox alone,
On every door a note was posted,
Never again was the tiger hosted.
Nights now spent in aimless drift,
Every move evoked short shrift.
Alone he wandered, alone he sailed,
All his pleas always failed.
Eons it took for reality to dawn:
His presence hardly nary’d a yawn
By the babes once at his feet,
They now stood grinning at his defeat!
How his heart bled in memory’s lane,
For the lovely birds his ways had slain!
Thinking of all the dames,
He failed to remember their cuddly names.
He once was a serial lover,
With a story like no other.
Categories:
victuals, adventure, funny, humor, lust,
Form:
Light Verse
COPLA 92 INVOCATION : This Bad Guy World
Is authority an entity
On its own or individual
Spiritual
Or is it en bloc bound by duty
A super individual
With no equal
Or composed of individuals
With their own fates and destinies
Tearing apart
All fed by powered victuals
Serving no higher Almighties :
Ships without port
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
victuals, conflict, creation, god, men,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
CHANGE by Ian Munywe
upon his visage boasts sweat,industry an upheld virtue.
firm stature is exhibited,hard labour an accepted custom.
a time for toil yearns,wheat and other victuals for the future.
every stride to strive in burning heat,a quest out of perpetual penury.
feelings of disillusionment eminent,in the brink of a huge fall.
life such a baffling puzzle,everyday hustle inevitably knows no end.
a new dawn presents opportunity,quite in a rush for elevation.
an orison heard audibly,benedictions befalling a mortal.
reverted in such haste such distaste,it were best in prior times.
a new sense of belonging looming,adaptation of wanting predisposition.
amidst all the experience,hardly a thought in modesty lines.
amnesia having set in,pristine of new life in no time.
integrity eroded ferociously,candidacy annihilated in totality.
how mankind does change, indeed swiftly we tend to forget.
RISE by Ian Munywe
two sides of a divide collide inside,audibly voicing their thoughts.
optimism reverberates severely,realism ricochets as quite a formidable term.
resounding trials too eminent,life manifested in a perplexity of events.
too many fish upon this vicinity,evidently not enough room to fry.
by all means he shall triumph,by any means necessary.
hard gravel swept over by dust,feet shuffle upon tough earth.
mallets bash into rigid steel, potrait of his new born remains sole solace.
all efforts to reap this here season,barren yield begets unknown anguish.
a sojourner already on course,in vehement search for a new start.
by all means he shall triumph,by any means necessary.
wary he tranforms worn he conforms,glimpse of the past vision of the future.
feet now trod upon all rugged earth,all adorned in strapped sandals.
steel once too rigid little too hard,antiques and ornaments an eventuality.
henceforth sight of new territory such insight,cite so picturesque a gaze in awe.
by all means he shall triumph,by any means necessary.
Categories:
victuals, analogy, anniversary, betrayal, family,
Form:
Elegy
...for the Rev. Eric Shirvell-Price
Morning; the child awakes,
steps lightly across the threshold
to the courtyard.
The wndows of the mansion
over the glen ablaze with sparkling
brilliance draw his gaze and
peak his curiosity.
Suited for all-comers with sturdy
leggings for his Big Adventure,
he takes on the day, as brave as good
King Arthur on a mission for the Grail.
Striding forth, his heart is beating
like a drum as he tarries by the river
to bathe his feet in icy water, wolfing down
the victuals prepared by a Queen.
Trudging up the hillside harder than
the journey down, wearying now his steps
are measured. He needs to claim his dream
though his eyes now see dull sockets where
the blazing should have been.
Depressed, he sits exhausted to weigh
the reason why. As he turns, hungry for home,
his heart is leaping, for basking in the radiance
of the slowly dying sunset is his own bright shining
dwelling, windows glittering like burnished gold!
Categories:
victuals, childhood,
Form:
Verse
Eagle
Dalliance up above in the stratosphere,
Sailing stead in the smooth creamy cloud
Like the Almighty Angelic machine in Azure,
Like the beastly Griffin running missive among
stars.
Here is welcome to paradise!
Right through your phantom ushering
To a lounge that’s closest
To your favourite armchair in mind,
By some Damsels courtiers who truly have you in
hearts
And with courtesy courteously pamper you like
urchin.
Relax on board is the lullaby of the Nightingale,
Feel the elevating excitement like an arrow
Right through a warrior’s grip,
Throw over cumulus, air borne
Settle in and view over our victuals,
Mouth watering delicacy will find
Your appetite, not to mention the inducing
Aperitif,
We are on a journey to Bell Air,
The destination is to Xanadu,
We will arrive in Utopia
With connecting flight to Los Atlantis,
We trip the galaxies, but not the way to abyss,
Fly, fly,and fly into your widest dream
Fly aloft like an Aeronaut
Dream of an expedition to the moon
Discover shinning gold and crystal diamond
And when you have gathered a fortune
Land in ambience, accomplishing comfort,
Then taxi home
The experience is like you are just,
Right out of a bathtub.
Categories:
victuals, traveldream, dream, , Lullaby,
Form:
Free verse