Best Watt Poems
Birth begins the tragedy in us. Life's
First sound is a blank scream
Against sorrow's hidden portends of strifes
All we know are mirages and dream.
Mother took the news staring at the sky
She must have cried inside
For I have no evidence else. There's no why
For it ... how my rage defied
Her callous front ... he was her first boy
The only hero she spoke well
Of, his name was the formula for joy
In our house: anecdotes tell
Of his escapades ... youth defying fate
He had a cat's tenacity for life
And from evil wills found a golden gate
Of scholarship and exotic wife.
I remember when the years pulled him back
All he came with was a bag
Of books, and a couple suits in novel sack
His eyes time warped, a lag
Of missing years and loneliness enfolding him
But he was handsome still
And my soul cartwheeled at joy's fresh brim
Those moments that he filled
When eyes first contact spelled pride to claim
This aristocrat like a medal
I could wear. So young he was, her true flame
The son of love's sweet recital!
And many days sitting in his shadow, I heard
Him dream big things like stars
Far away, warm things like a fluttering bird
Things made bright to cover scars
In the sore of memory. His mind was his cliff
A risky place in the high winds
And closer to the edge for the Grail he'd drift
O how the giddy world spins!
He died in Kingston: William came and went
And my mother looked at the sky
But until she died, about his memory was silent
And I forever wonder why.
I loved him, you know, he was the first best thing
A poor child had to claim or show
The world ... with him I was no more common. A king
He made me in his gold of glow
Something that I looked forward to meet in me. I,
Like mother, been silence since
But sometimes my heart just heave and would cry
For time this love cannot rinse
And I that moment cannot comprehend, that death
Gave no notice to his lauded day
And like common dust on a wild wind's balmy breath
My brother was swiftly swept away.
Into my silent world, stepped in a little girl
I chanced to meet her in my usual haunt.
As I sat away from the crowd on a park bench,
Saw her feeding some pigeons right in front.
It must be her usual habit, I guessed.
From her awkward movements, I knew,
She was blind and had difficulty in moving around.
But the birds circled round, as some grains she threw.
Though she couldn’t see the wonders of life,
A radiant smile lingered on her sentient face.
As a bird flew down and landed on her right hand,
She smiled a 1000 Watts smile with an innocent grace.
Jokes he delivers us on Fun Monoku Mondays.
”October Skies,” he wrote just when starting college -
His gift to loving grandparents which garnered him much praise.
Noble is John’s soul, and his mind is filled with knowledge.
With Knock-Knock jokes – don’t reply “John Who?”
Ask instead “John What?”
To which the answer sounds the same as his name: “John Watt?”
Thanks too to John’s short name, with this poem I now am through!
Jan 9, 2021
For Margarita Lillico's Capture The Essence Poetry Contest
Her heart's crater
is overflowing with smiles
laughter and kisses,
without filter.
We are one human race.
Equality - not sorting.
She is unique,
and much loved
Born with Down syndrome.
He made us see the world in a different way,
His smile just opened up each day,
Every sight around created a radiant smile,
He worked with a smile all the while,
The warmth you feel with a baby's first grins,
That's what you feel when his smile begins,
Your child scores; that rush is the feeling he brings
When he greets you, you hear violins.
His look on life is so simple and free,
It enters your heart, everyone would agree,
He meets our gaze and makes it clear,
You’re seen, you matter, you are here.
Percy would stand up and sidestep and tap dance while the bullets bounced around him....
Percy laughed at death
and the Grim Reapers sickle missed him..
http://www.scullywag.com/kokoda1942stoush/
PERCY WATT.
Percy he was as thin as wire there was none as game as he...
In Syria where hot lead did fly, bullets zipping round him like a Bee. ... (1941)
Percy walked across the open ground, as we watched him from the trench...
I'd call 'Jesus, Perc get down', as he'd dodge the bullets, French....
For he never was a moment still always shifting changing place....
He'd taunt the Vichy French to kill, they just couldn't hit this Ace....
He was a great morale booster, this lean boy we did admire....
Game as a young red bantam rooster drew the Foreign Legions fire.....(French Foreign Legion)
And then in New Guinea green, when sudden death was all around.......(1942)
Bullets bounced where Perc. was seen while the others hugged the ground.....
I'd yell 'Get down young Percy mate those Jap's will surely kill you!'
He`d laugh and say 'They can`t shoot straight, they're so bung eyed that it`s true! '.....
No they couldn`t hit young Percy Watt yet he lived where others died....
Came home alive it was his lot,...
Though the bung eyed Nip's they tried.....(my father worried about a 17
year old)
Don Johnson....Percy is in the Toowoomba cemetry :( old age got him.....
Percy was a young ex sunday school teacher about 17 year old in Syria. He was convinced he
couldn't be shot in war and never was hit by the many bullets fired at him .
In close quarter fighting he was deadly with the bayonet parry and butt slap on the Jap.
He worked in the Toowoomba foundry after the war.
If John (or Jane), a spouse (or bike) can bring butt pain
and some fools in pursuit of mere bliss think both tools.
Most fighters win rounds (one or two). But do they fight to win (for you)?
Some might say I’m a blighter. Still, new bikes are lighter!
There are good wines that age, but the best wine IS vintage.
If courtesy’s a subtle art, integrity’s its dearest part!
Life (flat out) can mean bugs in your eye, though you fly!
Ride uphill grants a clearer view; this world’s not you!
Krakatoa Kritic #007
My poem is more a humorous comment on the human tendency toward
revisionism (I hope) than a criticism of John’s sly original poem with its twist.
This light-hearted free verse rates a ‘10!’ I enjoyed it, John, though I prefer rhymes!
See ‘Together for the Long Ride,’ a poem by John Watt on PoetrySoup.com.
William, I in your scholars footsteps went
Across the seas of the white continent
To seek the demon that your bright soul bent
Away from self, harbor of home, government
Of mind. I saw the citadels, abroad
Their light, and the mesmerized world flowing
Like pilgrims starved, yet all searches outward
They clustered history, gently bowing.
What would a boy who danced the streets for dimes
Seek here? What would a child made penitent
To arbitrary laws claim from discontent
With native shore, in matter's logic climes?
Too hard the cathedral floor, I wouldn't kneel
Too cold the shrine here for a tropic faith
Dust clogged my eyes, I needed just to feel
Something that from your shoulders moved some weight.
This shrine lengthend your name with letters, and spelled
Your dreams downward, excavating past things
And the science of fire, you needed wings
To flee the cauldron of desire. I yelled
Against the emptiness, the barren white
I yelled in loneliness, too soon you left
My soul alone to voyage the cold night
Too soon my mother hums with the bereft
From Harvard to Delhi, and Cambridge back
How clean the wind sweeps the sand, Sweden too
Already has forgotten, fled like dew
Your presence now, and the desolate track
Feign innocense of the foul deed, my tears
Fall again, William, my brother, brave
I tried, but not climb wisdom's broken stairs
My love is haunted by your silent grave.
Disturbed enough
To dream of
Peace of mind
The rat race glitches
-You to grasp
And me to find-
Inhale, Gasp
You’re swallowing the rasp
Of this universal glide
Survive
It’s something in your clutch
Hued and less imbued
With or without
Rust
Growing in your clasp,
Threatening the mold
Dis s o l v e
When you think you have a hold
Frail, untangling vines
Soar, just in your mind
Where there’s never nothing more
Than this
7/8/2021
Writing Prompt - Grasp - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
We gathered as a family this evening remembered you
Interesting how your name came up,
Long after you were gone, those who came
Listening to old conversations of love
Inspired in themselves a longing to meet you
Asking questions delicately about your demise
Memory mentioned the poignant details
Willingly, what was wrapped away unwrapped me
All these years of anxious alternatives provoked
Timelessly never settled the score of your loss to me
Tenure me brotherless; O pian, in your silence, recline!
Instill again my motivation to exceed the hollow ones
Mother made us her diamonds out of the rough
Infused us with her piety and strength of soul
Sufficed with sparse scraps of bread, yet we flourished
Sojourning in studies that enoble man to obtain
You came back polished beyond nuances of meaning
Over excited, I too late comprehended you were bleeding
Unstopably the transfusion of all our love away.
with doser in hand
walking the land
scape waiting
for a sign
that my
rod may tug
like a fishing
line letting
the bobber
sign
what i've tried
to find i've
found
under
this
mound that
is damp to
touch and
smells of
musk
surely the
search of
what i
came
to
find is now
within my
grasp or
at least
a lick
fluid flowing
as my tongue
digs deeper
into what
this is
i simply
end with
a french
kiss
Dad came to see me play a game.
I hit a homerun first time he came -
must've flew a mile -
million dollar smile.
Dad and I didn't stop
till we reached the mountain top
where we could see ten miles -
million dollar smiles.
Converting dollars to kilowatt hour,
given my dad's special power,
smiles were a billion watts -
and, I'd say, that's lots!
watt are you
we know
what
are
us
i
am
me's now
go take
a nap
not
or
i
am
kilo
watt
are you
?
Love is the mater of heart
hidden in the power of it
Unforeseen it is, everyone knows it
Heart of Mega watt bears much more
Starts as the pencil Cells do
But with huge strength needs no clue
'BOUT SAYS IT ALL..AND HE NEVER EVEN
WORKED TO EARN THE TITLE..Watt another
TWOT..' And don't say you were not warned.'