Best Watchmen Poems
In this castle
Created in my mind
A tree,
This tree
A scar
A jagged one
Still healing
Blood dripping
Forms a path
Two watchmen
Chipping away
Away at it's skin
Creating holes
To suck out blood
Warning others
To follow the path
The path
A constant path
Almost invisible
Leaves an endless highway
That will not be seen
From
Far away
it forms a thin
Long and Knotted trail
Small black dots
On this pathway
Twisting and turning
Around the tree
In this castle
Created in my mind
None have wondered
Where this path goes
They follow the crowd
The sounds
Constant sounds
Almost silent
Leave prints
That will be heard
Far away
Calluses, Sores, and scabs
Created
From the non-stop endless migration
The rhythmic pecks
The perpetual stomps
Of these creatures
in my mind
Forever
Endless
As it seems
When will one
break through it's sea
The truth
An unknown truth
Can be turned into
Lies
The destination unknown
Cannot be reached
As it is
So
Far away
provocatively
johnny jump up danced with wind...
pink tulips blushed red
spring rain wet them all
birds hidden away through fog...
crows' watchmen silent
johnny jump up common name for viola.
Contest: Spring flower, Bird, Butterfly Haiku X2
Sponsor: Tania Kitchens
Date: February 16, 2023
Checked syllables with howmanysyllables.com
Checked in general on here on Grammar Checker
Late night summons madmen,
madams, bold streetwalkers,
picking pennies from the gutters
as the merchants close their shutters
and the homeless crouch in doorways
in their rags, against the cold.
Black or white, no compromise,
no colours clothe the empty streets,
as Bobbies tread their lonely beats,
the watchmen rub their crusted eyes
and settle into vigilance,
no accident, just circumstance.
Midnight passes.
Leila in her bursting bodice
lingers, guesses who I am
and flaunts her body, all the same
to her, a customer who'll pay
for twenty minutes' satisfaction.
Dressed in taffeta and lace
she'll never even see my face,
night's sweet anonymity,
the very definition of her name.
Later, as the moonbeams shift,
and cloudlines disappear and drift,
come images in stark relief
of twisted metals magnified
that catch the eye, suspend belief.
Abandoned building, hollow-eyed
and squinting in a death mask grip,
skeletal, once filled with pride,
now empty, and for ever tongue-tied,
cadavered, and condemned to drip.
Still later, the street-lamps spot
the cats a'creeping worldly-wise,
and rats along the quayside waiting,
ready for the avalanche
of waste into the yawning dumpsters.
I have seen the children sneaking out
before the dawn comes crawling,
dirty little ragamuffins forced
into leftover clothes,
weepy-eyed and snotty-nosed,
playing with a rotting carcass
or a broken bicycle.
Pre-dawn, and the street-lamp sputters,
merchants come to raise their shutters,
regard the fading moon, and mutter,
'yet another day.'
Begone, O Bride of Midnight!
favour us with not another glance,
put your spells away,
you'll not lead us in our daily dance.
Behold a wrinkled substitute,
a crone who likes to think that she's a queen;
with as much grace as she can muster,
she flusters, fidgets, lonely in her room,
feathered and be-furbelowed
and plays with her decolletage,
she's mutton dressed as lamb.
The smell of stale tobacco
and a whiff of old perfume,
no longer with her entourage
she dances out of rhythm to the tango,
rusty and unconstituted,
wraith-like, a phantom in her tomb.
At twenty past I'm home at last,
the brass plate spells my name;
come inside!
familiar and gratifying,
slippers by my bed still lying,
dressing gown and cap are crying,
here abide!
The sheets are turned and ready.
I leave the night and take a final bow,
grateful for the here and now.
Nightscapes
...inspired by 'Rhapsody On A Windy Night'
by T.S. Eliot
Late night summons
madmen, madams, bold streetwalkers,
picking pennies from the gutters
as the merchants close their shutters
and the homeless crouch in doorways
in their rags, against the cold.
Black or white, no compromise,
no colours bathe the empty streets,
as Bobbies tread their lonely beats,
the watchmen rub their crusted eyes
and settle into vigilance,
no accident, no happenstance.
Midnight passes.
Leila in her bursting bodice
lingers, guesses who I am
and flaunts her body, all the same
to her, a customer who'll pay
for twenty minutes' satisfaction.
Dressed in taffeta and lace,
she'll never even see my face,
night's sweet anonymity,
the very definition of her name.
Later, as the moonbeams shift,
and cloudlines disappear and drift,
come images in stark relief
of twisted metal, broken things
that catch the eye, suspend belief.
Abandoned buildings, hollow-eyed
and winking in a death mask grip,
skeletal, once filled with pride,
now empty, and for ever tongue-tied,
cadavered, and condemned to drip.
Still later, the street-lamp spots
the cats a'creeping, worldly-wise,
and rats along the quayside waiting,
ready for the avalanche
of waste into the yawning dumpsters.
I have seen the children sneaking out
before the dawn comes crawling,
dirty little ragamuffins forced
into leftover clothes,
weepy-eyed and snotty-nosed,
playing with a rotting carcass
or a broken bicycle.
Just how much does Jesus love me?
Just how much does Jesus love me?
Just how much does Jesus love me?
Jesus loves me more than all of the fishes
that swim in the darkest and deepest seas.
Jesus loves me more than all of the stars
shining like diamonds in the evening skies.
And always I am asking him why!
Why did Jesus give me the gift of harboring
songs within my heart? Why did Jesus keep
giving me brand new starts each and every day?
Why does Jesus guide me day after day?
Always giving me the right words to
write all of you and say! Jesus Christ
faithfully promises to love even me for
always. Forever and forever more!
Jesus Christ freely redeemed me from
all of my habitual sins. Jesus grants joyful
peace unspeakable deep within my heart.
Daily he comforts my inner soul.
His love for me is more valuable than
diamonds. And much more precious
than either silver or gold. Money can
never buy. All the peace of mind
I have deep inside of me.
Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! Shed his precious
blood for me on Calvary! He gave
his life to set my spirit free from sin.
Someday soon at the rapture
he promises to return for me again.
I am to become one of his watchmen
until then!
Love in Christ Jesus!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
April 27, 2020
3 vignettes in rondelet form
Salvation’s walls
provide unseen security.
Salvation’s walls
appear as God’s own glory falls
on believers like you and me.
Open the gates of faith and see
salvation’s walls.
Salvation’s robe
covers us with God’s righteousness.
Salvation’s robe
worn by staunch servants who like Job
face trials of extreme distress.
With patience bare your battle dress -
salvation’s robe.
Salvation’s lamp
burns bright as we prepare the way.
Salvation’s lamp
held high by watchmen of the camp.
Rejoice, God holds Satan at bay.
Watch! Christ will come in King’s array -
salvation’s lamp
"Strange Conversations"
Fire come walk with me
so I went walking into
the desolate desert
alone, with Him
but not alone,
the desert has
invisible watchmen
we are never entirely alone.
Silence becomes you
and you speaking
in strange tongues
share strange conversations.
What’s gone before
is done. What is "Now",
is some strange freedom.
What is to come,
who knows what hour
what day, that realisation
in communion, so you
write it all down
to establish 3 parts
like musical notes
in the complex
infusion
waiting to be opened
press any key
to continue
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Easter. 2023.
Unquotable quotes (More Cricketing Jargon) – IV
A « wide » is a ball aimed by the bowler at some absent-
minded fielder.
The « silly-point » is the fielding position so close to the
batsman that the captain forces his rival to occupy at
the risk of receiving balls on the head, solar plexus
and balls hit at over 300 m.p.h.
An « inswinger » is a bowled ball which changes course
in mid-air and gets round the batsman to nick the
bails.
An « outswinger » is a bowled ball which the batsman
thought he connected for a six but which merely
nicked his bat to reach the safe first-slip’s hands.
A « run-out » is given when batsmen running between
wickets wish to get back to the pavillion in a hurry.
To get « one’s eyes in » is to see cricket balls the size of
foot-balls.
A « partnership » in batting occurs when one batsman
does all the stroke-playing while the other hurls abuse
and advise on him.
The « night-watchmen » are batsmen sent in with
blankets to keep the pitch warm at the end of the day.
The « opening batsmen » always take their own sweet
time between the pavillion until their crease rituals.
The « one down » is the batsman who makes the ground
look like an empty billiard table.
The « top scorer » is not the cousin of the official scorer.
« Clean bowled » happens when the batsman is looking
at a blonde in the pavillion.
« Hit wicket » usually occurs when tall batsmen choose
long-handle bats for their centuries.
« Leather-hunt » takes place when one ball takes to
visiting all corners of the field in quick succession.
A century or two could very well take just half-a-day
these days.
The « hat-trick » always occurs when the umpire is
dozing after lunch.
« Good shot » means no one has dared put a hand out to
stop the ball.
« Medium-paced bowlers » are fast bowlers who have
been hit once too often out of the ground.
The « leg pull » always catches the leg and mid-field
talking to one another.
The last batsman always takes a wild swing at the first
ball in the hope that it would land on the captain’s
head.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Ten nights abound
With bounties in it
The sincerity of worship
And the submission of a slave
Seeking the mercy of his master.
Ten last nights we crave
Like vigilant watchmen
Yearning for one special night
When the mercy of our Lord
Shall majestically descend on the world.
The last ten nights that abound
The words of our prophet resound
To seek Allah in worship
And seek of Him of His blessings.
The last ten nights of Ramadan
Comes with it a new beginning
And a promise of better days ahead.
Our hearts yearn for this night
In the dark hollows we seek light
And in our silence and pains
We stand firm in obeissance
To our Lord who created man and the Jinns
And the tall mountains looking up at the sky
And the silent seas with fishes
And the wild beasts of the forests.
We shall raise our hands
Testifying to His greatness
We shall come to Him empty
For we know we shall not depart unfilled.
Our Lord His merciful
And to Him is our return.
As the last ten nights abound
Let's seek the night of majesty
To rekindle the flames of worship
And bring to Him our burden loads
And our heavy hearts
Hoping that success shall come our paths
For our resting place
Shall be filled with His grace
In company of the prophet
And of those who strived with him.
The last ten Nights
We pray sleep depart our sights
As we yearn for the booties
To carry on our worldly duties
Sentinel Quatrain Form - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Crashing quivers of ripples beyond the beacon light,
a watchtower flooding with a million waves,
water blown about like shadows in the night,
clouds cause combustion as the oxygen it saves.
Sign post hidden behind the main surges,
streams of unguarded safety like a typhoon,
the cyclone warps and bends as it merges,
with the tempest curving into a monsoon.
The watchmen scatter with apprehension,
the sentinel remains an unsafe compartment,
the seamark propels and turns causing trepidation,
a billow of nature smashing the marine department.
~Date Written: April 6, 2016~
If you ever heard of this story
If you ever felt the presence of a stranger
If his words were soft and kind
And you could see him smiling in his eyes
Lookout and be careful
The eyes are not the window of the soul
Nor are words as innocent
As you may take them
By crafty words men will deceive you
And for the lack of knowledge you will perish
Yes men will try to outfox you
Because it takes a fox to catch a fox
Men watch for me
Lookout I am coming
Just wait a minute
I’ll be right there
No wait maybe tomorrow
If I ain’t too busy
I’m sorry I had a lot to do today
Please be patient
Don’t worry my word is good
I’m not like those who speak with a double tongue
Think about the missions we’ve been through together
I have always treated you with mercy
Have I not?
Ethics
Taught accurately to account
for each reward an exact amount
a Kantian conscience reprehends
a stray Romantic dividend.
Publicly our just deserts
are measured by our type of work.
For what surgeons are forgiven
clerks and watchmen go to prison.
Few are ushered through the streets
in black sedans by the police
to carpeted chambers where the great
decide the future of the State.
Love, Genius, Power are for the elect.
Underpaid and oversexed
most lives are lived where intersect
the ragged lines of job and sex.
So if future preference won't assuage
your trussed Byronic middle-age,
think of all the lions who
are languishing in Christian zoos.
Sometimes, I wander outside in the hours of midnight.
And boy,every time I'm welcomed with a strange sight.
There is this ominous silence, no mewling babies and howling banshees.
And the moon looks like a shining, white pearl of the dull, black seas.
The god Hypnos lulls the stray dogs and even the watchmen to sleep.
There is hardly any soul to notice me loitering around like a creep.
All shutters are down and the one hue that you see is black.
A few brats lay on the pavement after an overdose of smack.
Only a few cars are to be seen; the street lights have also turned dim.
When the clock strikes twelve, this night vibe is both amusing and grim.
Finally after a few hours of dawdling, I see the rising sun giving out its radiant light,
And I realize that I actually found more solace when the city slept in the midnight!
https://m.soundcloud.com/user-921599710/rebuilding-the-walls-of-jerusalem
To be rebuilt, to be restored, to re-establish broken walls
Of former gates now rising up, to them that will rejoice
On assignment from the palace
Nehemiah of noble rank
With zest and zealous zeal
A great work to begin, relinquish finding fault
Continue the consigned course, even if by force
A purposeful quest, yet enemies seek to oppress
Chosen people of Jerusalem
Their aim to hinder
To turn our plans to cinders, of ruin again
Aside from jeers and jokes, we evoke the passion inside
From such a purpose as this
For Nehemiah here to rebuild, not to rebel
To hear of enemies plans, such work began
Armed hands of spears and swords
Guarding watchmen day and night, to then distract, a covert act
To call him away, an unprincipled trip, good intentions not
Yet passing times, forward seasons
Gave no reason, for continued up-rise
No scheme or lies, could dissolve desire
Nor cause delay
Gathered rules, with listening intent
Help the people, re-join and restore customs, not law
Promising years, place heathen aside, do not idolise
A Saviour will return
The writings of Malachi
A faithful prophet, of faithful words
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
Build up thy WALL,
repairer of the breach.
The enemy of thy soul is searching,
a gap within reach.
Watchmen upon the tower,
sound the call.
Keep your CITY from burning,
lest your city fall.
Enter through the old GATE,
the Lord's day is close at hand.
Guard your heart and mind from malice,
become a mighty warrior, make your stand.
O America the beautiful,
cornerstone strong.
A HOUSE made of straw,
will soon implode and fall.