Best Weans Poems
When i grow old i will be glad
of the five braw weans im blessed to have
Gordon my oldest wise for his years
Kelly shes bolder but inside theres tears
Ashly my nightmare but i love her to bits
Sean has a laugh that has me in fits
Natasha the baby the wee cuty pie
I hope when she's older she gets a good guy
they are all so good looking no one can deny
and their all the apple of this mothers eye
An open window frames a scene
Compelled obsession’s wistful sway
A metaphor imbues my dream
Entranced a moth, in porch lights gleam
Around it flits, a cruel ballet
An open window frames a scene
With you at night, the same routine
Your heart within a glass display
A metaphor imbues my dream
Unaware the faux flame's scheme
A driven urge the moth replays
An open window frames a scene
With fettered will and pull extreme
Your gravity of soul persuades
A metaphor imbues my dream
The glass I stroke as slumber weans
In crushing heat I fall away
An open window frames a scene
A metaphor imbues my dream
Mindless the mission with visions unseen;
Open to wonder that transcends the pure;
Rest beyond tension the friction that weans;
Embrace the thunder that creates allure.
Time after time we hurl unsure wild complaints;
Reach within a whole that stumbles to show;
Urge ferments bold twirl in funny restrain;
Entice playful soul to dance swirling free flow.
Give zest sure blooming in growing grooming;
Rise to tact's venture that conspires within;
Invoke calm knowing in showing feeling;
Touch flavours texture as act puzzles win.
Bring your fond loving to lively motives;
Empower sure living with timely festive.
Leon Enriquez
24 Apr 2014
Singapore
(Note: This poem is an Acrostic Sonnet.)
6 a.m
It is time to wake-
After being bludgeoned by sleep.
A quick brush
And a quick wash
Off to the bus-stop in a quick rush.
It’s another day
To work for a pay
Loose soap lather-
Sticking senselessly by the tip of the ear
And white Vaseline still to sink in the hair.
This life is a rush
Get late and get fired
No one cares if you are tired
Or couldn’t spare the time for a notch.
Brown suit,
Black trouser
Loosened zipper
Man! You are a walking sleeper.
We all filed-up
Looking like men heading for the concentration camp,
Yawning helplessly from an unfinished sleep.
This city life,
Is just a life of strife.
We hop on the bus,
So eager to seek solace in its confines.
Heads hanging loosely,
Snoring trumpets at its crescendo.
11 p.m
Free from the day’s toil
But held captive by Lagos traffic.
Sweating and panting from heat,
Squeezed like a crumpled note at the back seat.
Dinner on third-mainland Bridge,
A stick of gala and Asala*
With a bottle of water to quench the hunger.
It’s business time for the street urchins
From Iyana-oworo to the bridge that links Alapere,
They disguise as beggars-
Or hide in the shade of dark like scavengers
Watching out for victims to prey on.
The day weans itself away;
Broken down vehicles,
Long tankers stealing the lanes,
Pedestrians ignoring the bridge,
Hawkers shouting their wares,
Tanker horns blaring like hooting train.
Six to Eleven of our lives
Stolen by the struggle to survive.
Office pressure and less leisure,
Street madness and no cure.
Traffic Thieves,
Problematic Passengers,
Howling Hawkers,
And Lazy-ing LASMA**
All add to this insanity.
* A Yoruba dialect for Walnut
** LASMA reference to Traffic Officials of Lagos State
© Ayinla Muyideen Adeleke
Am a lass fae Govan
There a wiz born n breid
When a wiz wee a wiz playing tig on the dykes
N a split ma poor wee heid
Fae Glesga to Fife
Wiz where we went
To a flat in Methil
That ma maw goat fur rent
To skool a went like
A scaredey cat, didny know wit ti expect
2nd year it the high skool
Wiz a bit eh a pain in the neck
Home eckie wiz the class
A wanted it to be fun
Skool went well n a started wurk
Tull a wiz cooking a bun
Am a mammy eh 3 noo
Bit wit kin a say?
A replaced the telly
Nae mare tumbles in the hay
Ma weans are getting big fast
Aw gawn ti skool their self
But if a dont shake ma **** now
A might get left oan the shelf
Life sucks.
Plucks you from your mother's belly
Weans, silks your skin,
Fondly toys with you
and grows you.
Life sucks.
Slyly beguiles you
To mate, create,
Spit out your genes.
In moments of sin or folly.
Life sucks.
Soon, too soon, it pounces.
And plays a while,
Scratches out your eyes,
Crumples your bones.
Life Sucks.
Finally tiring of you
Life licks out your soul
With greedy slurps,
Smacks its lips, then burps!
Meandering river,
Just passing us by,
Looking so blue,
While reflecting the sky.
Gently the flowing,
The trickle sounds small,
Louder the crashing,
Of the waterfall.
The sun on it glistens,
As it weans it’s way,
Creating the background,
For this sunny day.
Stones to be skimmed,
Many times will it bounce?
Just for fun really,
No win to announce.
Meandering on,
On its journey to sea,
The beautiful river,
That’s always set free.
Sometimes there’s boats,
On the river To view,
But just passing by’s,
For the water to do.
Meandering river,
I stare and I sigh,
You’re fresh and relaxing,
Meandering by.
So if the worlds mad,
Nothing quite in its place,
Just sit by the river,
A smile on your face.
Just stare at the river,
While sat on its banks,
Meandering river,
Just want to say thanks!
Surge swallows stress
Plunder proud press
Gripe glimpses guess
Feel foolish fuss
Bear blooming buzz
Pick pretty plus
Choice charms crafty
Poise pays plenty
Voice veils vainly
Veer vaulted vice
Shrewd sexy spice
Nymph naughty nice
Frenzy frames fool
Crazy comes cool
Plenty proofs pool
Lovely lines loom
Bright brilliance booms
Ripe rapture rooms
Crazy comes clean
Loud laughter leans
Wise wonder weans
Moist moments meet
Speak savvy street
Glamour grooms greet
Touch thrilling trade
Mind movements made
Grope grouchy grade
Live limpid laugh
Bring bumpy bluff
Sound simple stuff
Crazy cool comes
Set stuffy sums
Niche notions numb
Leon Enriquez
31 March 2016
Singapore
When i was a wean we got everything free.from first bras to high heel shoes. ma mammy
thought she had the cream of the crop, five braw weans what a jaw drop. dad wasn't
working, money was tight, out came the sewing machine, she peddled all night.we awoke in
the morning new togs to put on, no designer labels but she was dead on. we would fly up the
stairs to try out our gear,kick our brother out the way,and give him a thick ear. Back we
would come, twirl for ma mammy,our pals would say yous'e are really jammy.they pulled at
our clothes looking for a tag,but our clothes you wouldn't find in no mag.
Yes I know love, I know her well
For I'm a hunter who excels
Who knows his prey by sound and smell
And signs that tell, and signs that tell.
I've hunted love so long it seems
I'd know her even in my dreams
I've seen her victims she demeans
And those she weans, and those she weans.
My trophy mounts stare tauntingly
Their cold dead eyes laugh mockingly
"Yes, you got us but where is she?"
They laugh at me, they laugh at me.
I hear them now inside my head
They're daring me to push ahead
To have her fur spread o'er my bed
Her arms widespread, her arms widespread.
Yes I know love, that is you see
I've tracked her now relentlessly
But like the unicorn that flees
She runs from me, she runs from me.
Timothy I. Brumley
“Gaun an bile yer heid” he bawled oot,
As he stood in the middle o the cobbled street.
Tae nae yin in particular.
Did he vent his anger.
Fu as a whaulk he staggered and swayed
Wan pin rooted tae the graun,
Ither yin moved like a dervish,
Gaun naewhaur fast.
He should of been hame
Wi his wifie and weans
But naw he insisted
Wi a wee refreshment wi his pals.
Jist a hauf an a hauf an a wee blether
Pittin the world tae rights.
But man the craik was brill that nicht
Whit a pity it ended in a fecht.
Nothing though like the fecht
He wid huv when at home.
His wifie stood livid at the door
Tears a dripping ontae the floor
Weans moaning and bawling
Nae dinner again old mans supping fu.
Setterday nicht in Glasga toon
Lying sprawled an fu unner the moon,
©Andrew P McIntyre 2015-05-28.
Life floats, a hazy shadow;
Weans on a morning rainbow
That glitters, nothing in store,
But hopes that make the heart sore.
Soon, the haze drifts asunder,
Leaving the one to ponder.
Often full of dreams, somber,
Life crawls, a flagging ember.
Shortly, the curtain shall fall
And shoves hopes into a pall.
Set your eye on the sunset;
Begin the day, a starlet.
Soft gurgle of flowing stream,
Our days roll by, a swift dream.
Life anchored in God alone,
Brings eternity, full blown.
So set your eyes on the Life;
The days flow while peace is rife.
© 2016
I'm happy when....Christy is feeling Hardy....when Heidie buys something she
enjoys...when Jack reeds all the good comments on his work...when Ruby's Mets
win...when Patricia laughs at the movie "The Addams family Tree"...when Sandra
cruises the Hudson in her beautiful new sail boat she bought after winning the
lottery...when everybody's favorite, Sharon, "weans" her children of meaningless
goals, and they go on to great success..when Rhoda can relax with a gallon of
Galgiano liquour..when Carol's holiday turkey is roasted to the "perfect"
Brown...when Karen is no longer O'leary of any fool bothering her...when Vince
clinches a sweet Proctor and Gamble laundry suds deal...when John says Heck!
to whoever he wants...(I know,!!,...he already does!! Power to him!) when
Teressa Harrs her Pena Colada is ready...and to all my other Soup Budddies, if I
missed anyone, I am so sorry...but you aren't forgotten....and I'll make it up to you
ASAP. And I'm happy any day I produce a smile or two....
Hunger sends cold fire round
Through my veins
Desperation baths me with hot sweat
Of despair
Anxiety weans out of my face
A fine shape of destitution
with a sharp blade of eroding-axe
I was not born into this
My grandmothers did not raise me so
Let me, let me fly on wings of
soaring books
Is it then that I brazen my heart
To dare the pangs of hunger
Is it then that I pad my shoulders
To shoulder my fate past despair,
past fear
Is it then that I hold my face in my hands
And look destitution squarely in the face
With courage, rock-intense courage
Courage of the crouching leopard
Mentality keen as of soaring eagle
Afopina that seeks the secret of the
Razing flame knows too late
The plight of losing flight
Make me not thus you Cosmic Hosts
But let me, as I take the pains
Of the stinging bee,
Enjoy infinite taste of its honeyed sap.
Afopina — nocturnal insects of the habit to crowd and fly around (naked) fire and therefore have their wings burnt consequently losing their ability to fly.
Survivor
In nature some are the survivors,
The weak don’t make it along,
Death weans out, the not to revivors,
No pan lickers make it, no nongs,
In order to be a survivor,
There’s only the weak n the strong,
The strong go on Mc’Gyver ,
And the weak go down,
Where the bastards belong,
So if ya brain starts twitching and yapping,
Slap it under the bloody left ear,
be strong no weak willie sapping,
your spirit is strong with no fear,
if you can’t control your yapping brain,
it will slip a cog you know,
mental torture, its all in vain,
forgive forget, let it go!
who is master you or it,
the weak willed will say its just him,
take control of yeself just a little bit,
strong-fella, hard faced and so grim…?
Don Johnson