Best Wight Poems
Got home awound twee (I was dwunk as a wouse)
Awose pwomptly at six wit' dwy cotton-mouth
I knew wather soon my day was gonna' bwow
When I stwuggled outta' bed and stubbed my wight toe
Fwopped back on the mattwess cwying and twitchin'
Staggoid back up and wimped to the kitchen
Stumbled to the counter to bwew Folger's bwend
Spiwwed it down my Hanes and boint my widdle fwend
Hobbled to the bathwoom to wustle up some Tums
Twipped on my fwip-fwop and bwuised my weft bun
Should not have cawoused wit' owe Bugsey wast night
Now my head hoits and de wight is too bwight
If I had not dwunk gin for my mowale booster
I coulda' swept in trew 'dat wascally wooster
(Don't feel wike wunning dat siwwy wat-wace
Tink I might caw in sick at the Woony-Tune pwace)
among you and I and among us all
remains a feeling of shallow intoxication
that seems to play on and on and on in our respective heads
as everyone important to us has gone on to some beautiful destiny
I sit here amongst the caucasion sleeves of paper on the floor of my chamber
the numbness of the so called "art" on the radio
mommy, I have done it
as the winter approaches, we batten down ourselves for the impending darkness
snow ensconces the dull tundra of all the acres
understandably blundered by the wings of burden and shame
I toil with the literature of my past and the science of my future
I thought I found you at least a dozen times, but you weren't you
daddy, throw another log on the fire
is there mercy in this chaos and this uncertainty?
will I ever retain escape velocity and leave this earth?
I must leave this place and find sanctity elsewhere
no doctor revive me, no professional conversationalists, please.
mommy, daddy, take me home.
the shoreline thunders, with the red clay -- imitating dover
I stare down at the mercurial wash of the crushing tides
special sequins rain down into the fundy sea below
I shall wake the wight inside of me
and destroy the pain inside of thee.
mommy, daddy -- rape the teeth from within my head
to paint a better picture of the son you thought you knew
brother, I miss you and your insolent charm.
but little monster, I think I will stay for you.
'Twas a dark and stormy night on that dark and stormy night!
HMS Blunderbuss plied the billowing seas just off the Isle of Wight!
Able Seaman Steer manned the helm when dead ahead he saw the light!
He woke the snoozing Officer of the Deck to apprise him of their plight!
Captain Ironbottom (who happened to be in the 'head') was duly alerted!
He dashed to the bridge in his drawers to ensure that disaster was averted!
"By jove!" he cried, "Her Majesty's ships turn aside for no one, I say!"
He grabbed the radio, "Ahoy there! Turn east 15 degrees! Out of my way!"
From out of the ozone a voice retorted, "Suggest you turn west 15 degrees!
I'll not change course for anyone, so heed my warning if you please!"
"This is Captain Ironbottom of the HMS Blunderbuss!" he thundered back!
"I know the rules of the road! Turn now or I'll see you hung from the rack!"
Able Seaman Steers' eyes grew as large as saucers knowing not what to do!
Communication between the captain and the mysterious light was turning blue!
As the distance narrowed between them, neither would give a nautical mile!
The white-knuckled Officer of the Deck was turning pale with a sickly smile!
"This is Captain Ironbottom again! Are you challenging Her Majesty's might?"
"Yes sir" was the reply, "You see, this is the light house on the Isle of Wight!"
Today the mighty HMS Blunderbuss rusts upon the Isle of Wight's rocky shoal.
Captain Ironbottom faded into oblivion due to the folly of his last patrol!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Fair Maybelle trode through the morning dew
She peered through the foggy haze
Her blue eyes saw what I tell you is true
For the fog did part and the sun did blaze
And a pure white unicorn met her gaze
Now it may well seem it would run away
Or perhaps she would rather shy
But against her nature she hastened to stay
And an unseen cord drew her nigh
Till Maybelle's feet she laid her by
So sweetly Maybelle stroked her hair
She longed for her touch once more
But Maybelle ceased, and she left her there
For what a *wight could see, that her heart was sore
Till she meet her love on the Highdown *Tor
So Maybelle walked o'er the far and near
And her one-horned friend followed light as a bird
And they travelled on without a sight of fear
With but one care and nary a word
That winsome twosome persevered
At the long last, Maybelle heard a pleasant sound
The sound of a rollicking song
And the butterflies danced in the air all around
Whilst her love held her dearly and long
If it could, could it be that she was the theme of his song?
So the three of them lived in the fairyland *wold
Where the sun slips off to the moonlight's glow
Where the wind blows warm and the streams flow cold
And the daffodils thrive in winter's snow
Now here is the end, as you surely know
* Wight: A person
* Tor: A high pointed hill
* Wold: A wood or forest
Written 4/2/2013
~~~~~ ^-^ *-* ~~~~~
Manoeuvring through purplish cerulean azure
'Til she touched the empyrean Zion
Perching above the whinstone during cockcrow
Possessing allured ala lined with grandiosity
Dressed like a virgin woman from heaven
Divine messenger? A cherub?
" NO! " - An Orphic pixie
Cradling the scintillation with her left mitt
Intent - coveting for self-innovation
Reflection seems so distant from bliss and poise
Apathy, twinges of regrets and pieces of sorrow- ECHOED
Yeah! Mystic frolicsome otherworldly wight
Wishing to be a HUMAN
Human - not a perfect being but ready to CHANGE!
Fairy be a woman...
~~~~~ ^-^ *-* ~~~~~
You don’t have to pitch a tent
Nor build a house to stay
When thousands of us wander desperate
Without a home or place to rest,
You own a house with a magic door,
That opens at will without a key or latch.
Well protected from all wicked wight
Safe from all robbers, rowdies, and rodents
No evil spirits, vampires, or ghouls
Dare to disturb it at any rate
It is stronger than all structures extant
Built-in mortar, bricks, or rocks
You are the monarch of a larger empire.
Land and water are under your sway,
Free to enjoy the treasures of the sea,
And feast on the wonders of the land.
You are a companion to the ravenous shark,
Darting spectres through the azure dark
And also monsters that roam the deep
With their uncouth gambols and abrupt leap
You love strolling along the slimy strands
And dive down along with the laughing waves
You bury your eggs on the sandy shores
And guard your progeny from all snares
You are another name for alertness and caution
You make sure that all around is safe and secure,
Before you come out from your rocky shelter
And shrink back at once when dangers lurk
You carry on your back your home and shelter
Built so compact to guard you from all external threat
Oh! Turtle, we deem you blessed under your carapace
But perhaps you may have a different tale to narrate
For all that we see or seem to see
Aren’t they truths far removed from the truth?
lets meat-
my mary friends for a pot LUCK meal
at my plaice
colleen can you m a k e
your hale mary chilly
patricia please make your suite
bury pi
steve l o o k i n g foreword to the
grate stake you fry
I will
by wight whine and read whine
and brown and wight bred
owe deer dessert !
monica HOW about
pair moose . . .
and sum 1 bring p i c k l e s and beats
our GREEN will be pees
and later we will have tee-
I t h i n k that's write !
wee will meat at the our of ate
on SATURDAY next weak . . .
___________________________
December 2, 2017
Poetry/Free Verse/'u wanna piece of me'
Copyright Protected, ID 17-9680-29-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
My darkest deeds have come to light
As you lie here shivering
They cast long shadows in the night
My darkest deeds have come to light
Your haunting smile, my gentle wight
Your low voice softly quivering
My darkest deeds have come to light
As you lie here shivering
.
I saw her's at the
distance
I tried the whistle
It flew out like
tweety bird's
caught by sylvester
featherz and
all
hern soon
oke
choked
Hitherto
i whistle not
at fine
hers'
her's
lets lips
mine
not
*i ofttimes spill the nouns (the)hers
:>shemales; i meant, females..(did so ')
(the)shes
therefore I explicate and may the poetic astute
accept mine artistic license :) hers: females... 'period'
shes: the feminine plural ;) oh stop ,)
edvard'z lisp and *sensitive feel> (fem~i~nine)
^:uh wight guy ') her's: possessive
* oke^ hern: belongs to her e.g. her's, in the broader sence; 'twuz her decision I.e; the poet, can say "her breast were in mine maws", yet, wus it her decision that her breast were there(the 'terse' poet would need to explicate, cramming hiz lisp with unnecessary werdz)..but, if the poet (i exspecially)exclaimed; "hern" breast were in mine maws", hiz readerz intuitively would know, that 'she gave' her breast up willingly(her decide). If the poet exclaimed; "hern pussie wuz pink"
^('she' lets poet see it's
pink
etc.)
i pray there be shes reserving sum hern for mine
indulge....words...that's what i well i tried to meant ')
Written: October 12, 2023
Cinquain Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Ink Empress
______________________________________________________
Guile gust
I grasp your gasp
goad grafts gently glowing
the gray grove greenery growing
glean grace
Skies Straight
I snared your sight
Schizoid swing of Steward
sewn souls spewing as oxblood stems
stark stance
Wince, wight
I've weaned your whiff
the world-wedged wink was wrapped
while not washing down the wild waft
when whet
Froth flow
your frisk frame flits
follow fall foliage
freshly framed flimsy fruity field
faint flame.
Sand stake
of smog steam sieve
you stride in silence steps
by slamming a skulker-shaped slope
spread string.
If only you could hear me sing
Maybe you’d forget your pain
Sometimes I try to conjure you
An effort that’s always in vain
If only you believed in me
Maybe I’d be fit to fight
Sometimes I only seem to be
A pallid, weak and starving wight
If only words didn’t fail me so
Maybe then you’d know my love
Sometimes when I dream of you
I imagine that’s enough
August 2, 2020
I heard the owl call my name,
like a backbeat in a child's voice,
etched in shadows of a father's grave,
lonely echoes on a frosted night...
at dawn I'll be immortal again,
renewed by a workaday
and the frigid fiscal year,
my soul stays leafless in damp moonlight...
do we end days defibrillating
in hospice and parchment or
under foreign suns twitching and fluid,
while kestrels dive as doves take flight...
why only in the dark hours,
the soul's midnight,
can we see farther, deeper,
nightdreams wander like a restless wight...
experienced or just imagined,
dreamt but never realized,
conceived yet unexecuted,
an inner eye begs keener sight...
as yellow eyed and dark skinned children,
play with tattered banners,
laughing at rusted armor, bleaching bones,
and history cries that might makes right...
as I, stale pilgrim of no progress,
catch faint odors of war,
in the molded root cellar of my mind,
as hope catches wind like a child's kite.
(Revised with new homophone added in. Thanks for the catch, Becca!)
*Wants upon **uh thyme inn uh would, uh vary gneiss prints named Hairy
met inn the missed, hi awn the bow of uh tree- uh ferry named Tarry.
The ferry felt lo, fore he was week, and he was inn knead of sum meet.
He bald, “Whoa is me. Eye cant even stand hear awn my own too feat!
My pour hart is braking, and I’m inn pane. The last thyme that eye eight
was daze ago. Ewe sea, I’m inn uh hays and due naught feel sow grate.
Eye parish and long fore whine and ham. Even bettor wood bee lam!
Butt eye wood settle four uh peace of bred with sum suite bury jam!”
Prints Hairy new he had sum mince, sum Tick Tax that **whir inn the pear
of gnu read genes he war. He took them out and waived them inn the heir.
*“Lickerish to, eye halve write hear!” Prints Hairy tolled the ferry.
“Its naught much, butt pleas dew eat. Later awn, wheel dyne and make marry.”
Prints Hairy placed the ferry Tarry aun his pail ***wight hoarse.
Then aweigh the roil with the ferry hastened aun his homeward coarse.
Awl day long they road and road. ***Wen the ferry started to grown.
Suddenly, from the hoarse, both the man and ferry whir throne.
Hungrily they paste beneath the setting son and threw the knight.
They pressed awn until mourning. Hairy’s residents came inn cite!
Prints Hairy’s wife had supper ready, and she’d maid uh pi.
From udder happiness, the ferry thought that he mite dye!
She *heeded up they’re food four them. They both had groan sew pail!
She listened as the ferry Tarry tolled his tragic tail . . .
of how heed lost his weigh and, four food, had knot won crumb
until her deer spouse rescued hymn. At last, his prints had come!
Written April 10, 2015, using homophones from various lists.
Note: I did not use letters, for example, U for “you” ; they were not on the lists I found.
Neither was “hee” which I was going to use for “he.”
The main list used was The HOMOPHONES LIST of John F Troutman and Joy A Miller
* these are a few more homophones I found on Wikipedia’s list.
** these homophones appear on Homophones.com, perhaps the most comprehensive one.
*** These homophones, perhaps antiquated, are from Suber & Thorpe British English
Words To A Wren
They have not taken thee, thou art too small
To tinge their fancy with a moment's flush;
Thy safely lieth in a ruined wall,
Thy plainsong blendeth with loud water's rush.
In dusky shade thy duskier shadow flits
Beside the pathway; friendly in thy flight;
No wrath of Heaven scares thee from thy wits,-
Thou art a brave and homely little wight.
What man can tell the meaning of the tongue
Thy presence in our memory uttereth?
What say you the thoughts of thee that wind among
Our travels on the ways of life and death?
If our hearts knew that secret we should be
Lords of the legend of our destiny.
Robert J. Lindley
presented , 3-10-2016
Note:
1. Wren- The wrens are mostly small, brownish passerine birds in the mainly New World family Troglodytidae. About 80 species of true wrens in roughly 20 genera are described. Only the Eurasian wren occurs in the Old World, where in Anglophone regions, it is commonly known simply as the "wren", as it is the originator of the name. The name wren has been applied to other, unrelated birds, particularly the New Zealand wrens (Acanthisittidae) and the Australian wrens (Maluridae).
Most wrens are small and rather inconspicuous, except for their loud and often complex songs. Notable exceptions are the relatively large members of the genus Campylorhynchus, which can be quite bold in their behavior. Wrens have short wings that are barred in most species, and they often hold their tails upright. As far as known, wrens are primarily insectivorous, eating insects, spiders, and other small arthropods, but many species also eat vegetable matter and some take small frogs and lizards.[1]
Six minutes to six. I’m ready for tea,
The forecast for shipping – what is in store ?
My chair is a vessel far out on the sea,
Rain, moderate or good, occasion’ly poor.
There’s warning of gales in areas all,
The Low in the Faeroes promises more,
South-easterly, storm force, tending to squall,
Rain, moderate or good, occasion’ly poor.
Home by the fireside no sailor am I,
But share in the ritual, listen in awe,
Watch the storm brewing and see the clouds fly,
Rain, moderate or good, occasion’ly poor.
Fisher, Tyne, Dogger and Forth, German Bight,
Deepening depression and gales by the score
In Plymouth and Portland, Dover and Wight,
Rain, moderate or good, occasion’ly poor.
Not easy to concentrate, riding the swell –
Turn up the volume against the wind’s roar,
The man from the ‘Beeb’ has conjured up hell !
Rain, moderate or good, occasion’ly poor.