Best Wattage Poems
Soft notes of a clarinet playing
‘You are so beautiful’, stirs memories
of holding hands and making plans
in the dimly lit atmosphere, so close,
the scent of your after shave
left me breathless for a moment.
My long locks softly wrapped themselves
around the scarlet lei you bestowed around
my neck with a tender kiss to each cheek.
Lighting and music melded into magic.
When you cupped my face
in your masculine hands I could feel
the current flowing between us in
unknown wattage that swept through my body
like bolts of lightning as my entire being
tingled in the nearness of your aura.
They say ‘warm hands, cold heart’, but
I found this to be intrinsically untrue.
I will never forget the passion exuding from
your warm heart, with those warm hands!
Our first kiss spoke to me assuredly as
the material world vanished and
we were alone, alone in the darkness,
alone in our world.
© Connie Marcum Wong
I'm sitting here
Admiring the view
Thankful for it's beauty
It's comfort
It's familiarity.
I've been here before
So I can close my eyes
and picture it still
And I know it all.
Deep breath in
Contented smile
Snapshot made
The scene is owned
Then the eyes open
As realisation strikes
- I own nothing
- I know nothing
I don't know
how each hill was formed
the names of the farmers who built the stiles to every field
or the names of those who now own those blankets of land
I cannot begin
to count every blade of grass
to measure the mist
to know the age and history of every tree
The past of the very bench I'm sat on
is a mystery to me
The winding roads have their own heritage
And I can't say who first walked it's length
Or where that plodding bus was built
Or where it's been since it's birth
The cars stuck behind are heading on their own unique journeys
I can't vouch as to where to or where from
Far less state the words and thoughts of those cocooned inside
Or declare the depth of any of the puddles they pass
I can't tell you the wattage of the bulb
Shining through that distant window
Still less how warm the sun will feel in an hour
Or the direction the wind came from, even ten seconds ago
The provenance and future of those clouds
Cannot be told by them
Let alone by me.
Eyes close once more
I know nothing but
the fact that this view
In this moment
Does belong to me
And that maybe, somehow
I'm all the wiser for knowing less
“what inspires you to write
such indiscriminate indiscretions
like that?” he speaks to himself
and thinks
not long
without thinking,
unnaturally he feels,
something, so
he promptly writes
it all down
without a further
doo-diddley-day
there you go
a muse
the muse amused
reads his take on it all
and up her mind goes,
the ride, like a pole
flags, waving
checkered,
black and white,
racing all the way
up and down
down and up
the rollercoaster thrill
of it all
jack was planting seeds
for his bean stalking tour
counting the footsteps
along the imprinting way
she wasn't eating
her curds and whey
you have to be quick
like you know,
nimble
sometimes
she galumphs
naturally
unnaturally
across the page
burlesque,
headlights
turned on, full beam,
delivering the splits
smiling
for laughs,
the laughs,
always splitting the mix
can-can
she thinks,
masked, yet best
in tap dance shoes
nakedly
confronting
fingers tapping
minds pointing
un-a-mused
qué más se puede pedir
Spanish for those untouched
uber tall flaming flamingoes
que puis-je dire
French kissed
all the way
for the les enfants terrible
a - mused
fearlessly venturing
forward
for more
let them go,
the others
waltzing Old Time
away, out the door
'tis better
elemental
she feels
the win-win
can-can
she thinks
and smiles
amused
indiscreetly
not
turning
away
win-win
she smiles
a full-wattage
salute
can-can
She
thinks,
begin
the beguine
indiscreetly
not
turning
away
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Moronika ...
there are whispers a-floating
People say you got a low wattage bulb,
your thoughts be dimly glowing
The ideas you think of
covers a lot of six-year-old territory
Temper tantrums are your cake-and-ice cream first love,
pineapple upside down behavior cherries
Moronika ...
rumors are spreading, spreading around
Tabloid talk of the town,
enquiring minds hear tell you’re a moron
Insult that stings like angry bees,
got you buzzing madder than a wounded Klingon
Bruised pride hurts a lot indeed,
no loyalty serpentine bites from seditious peons
Moronika ...
intelligence suggest three cans missing in your six-pack
Empty top-shelf drawers,
half-pint wit in a ten-gallon size zeppelin wide hat
Living in a mansion of fun house mirrors,
reflections of yourself are so distorted
The blank television picture is getting clearer —
uptight smarty pants fitting over a loose petticoat Id
Moronika ...
got dense popcorn thoughts
that never puffed
Moronika ...
the whispers are a-floating:
the twin air quote balloons you bought
were helium dumb and dumber
How can I poet slam them politrician liars,
let me count the ghetto ways
In the calendar of infinity,
there are how many days?
Forever and a clean smile,
I love doing this dirty job
Putting snake eyes down for the count
gives me spiritual rise ...
make me wanna eagle mount
Politricians ain’t gonna tell you the truth —
why should they,
they get paid by the filthy lucre dime
Farted out serpentine suits and blood splat boots,
cheap designer lies is a moral fashionista crime
Strip away the fancy honorifics,
empty titles that don’t carry no righteous weight
Politricians ain’t nothing but two-faced whores
looking for another voter sin paid date,
to put a five finger pinch on the tax collection plate
How can I poet slam dim politrician liars,
let me count the True Light wattage ways
In the cosmic year of supernova,
the Second Coming is the end of the last demonic days
Down for the count,
the wicked forever unable to rise
Dropped by a straight right cross TKO,
defeated by a crucifixion surprise
"Tyger, tyger burning bright
In the forests of the night…"
Archaic spelling set aside,
And not intending to be snide,
But really, Mr. Blake, I take exception.
While a tiger's luminosity
May pique your curiosity,
What the beastie's wattage is, you've no conception.
But who am I to judge you?
And so I'll not begrudge you
This "poesy" that was your lifelong passion.
But could it be that you were smokin'
A little "weed" the night you spoke in
That weird and kinda highfalutin' fashion?
Oh, we'll debate it, if you want to,
But it will come back to haunt you,
And the tiger, in the end, will defeat ya.
'cause metaphysical or not,
If a tiger's light is hot,
That's a sign he's getting ready, pal,
To eat ya!
Cuz while ya steel got
moxie, don't nix chance if only a dot
before death finds
flesh rotting alot.
A self-actualized fringe benefit
as I racked up
orbitz round sun -
with increased measured,
(albeit neglected) ragged, and
shot thru tattered (turn shroud) -
regarding chronological yardage
brought to my dimming wattage -
sputtering third eye blind, sans
hindsight surveying extensive
emotionally frenzied groveling with
a lifetime penitential wreckage,
whence urgent critical (update)
foisted upon formerly entrenched
hermetically sealed voyage -
sequestered self wrought fallout,
viz long stretches of
time irretrievably gone with the wind
found me averse toward
commingling with village -
peopled within sin king
precincts of Lake Woebegone
joyus kneaded livingsocial
natives, now visa
vis (nee this past
and present atheist)
discovered the healing power
of powder milk biscuits,
when accommodated within Norwegian
bachelor farmer vicarage),
qua pained obligation now
imposed kickstarted mandate
to pay dying wage
clearly written along,
the sub weighted psyche walls
(over time) easily read
across my wrinkled visage,
where former cumulative
years of existence
pitched yours truly
figuratively teetering upon
precipice of abyss gave vantage
written in telltale creases
countenance spelling umbrage,
against me - asper tonnage
schlepping psychological Matthew
Scott Harris "baggage,"
wrought from decades
worth of uncultivated tillage
cuz n'er did I gather rosebuds...
during prime mortal teenage
stretch, thus present
day agonizing suffrage
yawning chasm miserably houses
bleak (Dickensian) testimony,
sans recovered anorexic
(NO...NOT... NEVER
bulimic), but feebly
endured desultory stage
punctuated quasi (moat)
towed riddled rattle trap ship
of state into deadly scrimmage
defies propped up
moxie succombing unrelenting
weathering, unforgiving savage
nasty, brutal and short sabotage,
wherein futile - short
changed growh opportunities
forfeited developmental stage
opportunities introverted
vehemence doth rage.
Two Line Terse Verse
Here it is and be sure not to miss.
Do you know what I like about a small cottage
When in never will require very much wattage.
Jonathan Thesarious Hilarious Horn
i see the city from a high drift
all those shimmering lights
somewhere out in that sea of halogen and high wattage
you exist
i have an idea where
but i'm not certain
the man-made horizon seems to shift
like a lazy breeze
sauntering through it
the mitochondria in my neurons
seem to sway with this motion
malfunctioning just a bit
as i feel your essence
but i am lost
and am but a mere cipher
on my lofty perch
a ghost swirling about in the air
ephemeral wisps caught
in the spines of the cacti
as i
look for hallowed grounds
should i go and excavate
the sidewalks that are traversed by the dead
in search of the occasional light
that shines from the eyes
of a cognate soul
or
should i go home
and lament over all the love lost
twisted over some fantasy of eternal
unquestioning love
the wind pushes
so now i'll just go where the metal box
with an accelerator and a steering wheel
takes me
‘Tis twilight’s tips on dawn made sun errant,
Go forth into time and pay due homage,
And your return to silence be current,
Those with weak goals are made less coherent,
‘Twas a toxic night pace, turns back a page,
‘Tis twilight’s tips on dawn made sun errant,
The shadow of friends faces on crescent,
As the line grows, there will be no shortage,
And your return to silence be current,
Glaring eyes, like those who got a warrant,
Shield them from lights that have simple wattage,
‘Tis twilight’s tips on dawn made sun errant,
Recurring promise and slumber present,
Cherub’s arrow shot a clock to stoppage,
And your return to silence be current,
Indeed this was a lesson so pleasant,
Fingered string to thine heart for storage,
‘Tis twilight’s tips on dawn made sun errant,
And your return to silence be current.
‘Tis twilight’s trips on dawn made sun errant,
Go forth into time and pay due homage,
And your return to silence is current,
Those with weak goals are made less coherent,
‘Twas a toxic night pace turns back a page,
‘Tis twilight’s trips on dawn made sun errant,
The shadow of friends faces on crescent,
As the line grows, there will be no shortage,
And your return to silence is current,
Glaring eyes, like those who got a warrant,
Shield them from lights that have simple wattage,
‘Tis twilight’s trips on dawn made sun errant,
Recurring promise and slumber present,
Cherub’s arrow shot caused, clock to the stoppage,
And your return to silence is current,
Indeed this was a lesson so pleasant,
Fingered string to thine heart for storage,
‘Tis twilight’s trips on dawn made sun errant,
And your return to silence is current.
2019 September 19
There simply isn’t any whey,
conception that a curd to me,
when weak and puny, low on wattage,
(seems often, now I’m in my dotage)
could satisfy quite like some cottage cheese!
The sun blazed hot, no cloud for a respite.
Life was hopeless, wretched and desperate.
The grass a withered brown, and tree leaves sparse.
No shade for the living, summer a farce.
Rockeries were lichen free, the rill dry.
Hopefully, the food caters would pass by.
Sally and I sought rest in our cottage.
The air conditioner used its wattage.
The best thing was that behind was a pool.
Where all our dark ducks could swim and feel cool.
In our gear, we jumped quickly with the ducks
Until the caters came with their big trucks.
Just a scribble
for want of better things.
Facebook flight, a messenger pigeon
Each Pageant shuffles pretty women
Most admired tiara sparkle temporal
Sash off strategic take trick terminal
No need to tweet esteem over media
Stern sensei recites reprimand, sepia
Cyber courier delaying defeat in fury
Gathers fragile artefacts via the jury
Thrown to past season, bent bouquet
Creases curtain backstage, showcase
Effort effected in gloom glows wattage
Wife writes fairytale wedding marriage
Health heralds husband’s regard sole
Seashell static fuzz phases out vitriol
Ocean sunk scroll in bottle, lost title
Cut circuit campaign silences recital
25th January
Objection Overruled
Midsummer vehemence stows heat for later
Solar film ominously watch hot arc
Tilt tracks trajectory, power cater
Stashes post sizzle to supply light dark
Socket slit subservient incubates
Arrow of assurance inserts cable
Voltage their pairing impressive creates
Self derived to electric capable
Autonomy admonished with a switch
Loins bearing in luxury breed evil
Informed about squalid impoverished
Ignore affluent vantage for reprieval
Overloaded homes groan under panels
Tainted rich roads tune rigid channels
16th January
Wealth rotten wattage