Best Wizardly Poems
Trying to hide in conspicuous places
a night on the town in their false, plastic faces.
Sweetly they sweep through magnificent halls,
top-dollar galas and masquerade balls --
where always the wine is more bitter than sweet,
each girl wishing for love in her ruby-clad feet.
Perhaps scarecrows are thoughtful, and lions are brave,
and the tin-men know passion, such a boisterous parade
of hopeful young suitors, each waiting his chance
to find a young lady and win her last dance.
All tied up as prisoners with satin-silk chains
they listlessly dance as the hope from them drains.
A piano-man plinks only on the black keys:
pentatonic winds on a pentatonic breeze,
still not enough blowing to carry balloons
or to start raining houses from cyclic typhoons.
The evening draws on -- long beyond the moon’s rising,
a faint glinting of green from the city’s disguising
the envious looks in the eyes of the witches
and harsh threatening gales of the wind as it switches.
And no one is happy, none are finding their prize --
no one knows what they want, nor removes their disguise.
So the dancing is pointless, bravado is hollow
no wizardly magic can fix what will follow.
Shallow connections that lead nowhere, and quickly
the ballroom grows quiet, the witches grow prickly
the lions go fleeing, the scarecrows are clueless,
the tin-men don’t care, and that makes them the cruelest
For out in the public, among all the noise
some girls have gone missing -- and so have some boys
and in the dark shadows, all knew what occurred
but they whisper and gossip, and spread what they heard:
that it must have been mutual, it must be alright
they’re both grown adults, let’s not be so uptight.
And thus they all hide, in conspicuous places
enabling the culprits with false, plastic faces.
9/4/16
Hallelujah, born again
chapels scheming, mankind reeling
in holy water's baptism of wizardly elixir
postulating an all consuming reverence,
rejuvenated myths of deiform fears
as reinvented nature flows in
lickety split's Latin discombobulation
Aggrandizement randomly written
in santuary's intensly scripted blather
increasing histrionics' translations,
'pon bled origins' of original sin
Amen's passed the poison apple mid shrines'
overflowing baskets of coined redemption
Tilt, you go to that fantasy in the sky
Hallelujah, born again
wherefrom archangels' herald lightworks,
otherwise Beelzebub will gladly impose
his heated grasp in welcoming you warmly
to a dark side of the fried fray,
difference in ashes' revival supposedly
are prayer & the almighty dollar,
naught to do with compassion & good will towards men,
ailing old frail women nor starving children,
falling prey to greener hard currency's salivating salvation
priestly entitled behaviors' disconcertingly repugnance,
who knew...gospel's chapter & functional verse
could be so dastardly rendered in man's
higher power of accommodated perversions
Once upon a time
Just to enlighten my mind
I crawled in to a book
To take a closer look
Right there between the pages
A story for all ages
Scrambling over each word
Hoping imagination would stir
I came to the word "market"
Fell in on a magic carpet
Went flying up and down
He told me he was book bound
We flew through every leaf
With pauses somewhat brief
Buzzed right through every chapter
Until the happ'ly ever after
It seems there once was a wizard
Who had a fire breathing lizard
They were the best of friends
Lived in a bear cave den
One day they met a squire
Who wanted to acquire
An imprisoned captive princess
Surrounded by walls and fences
But hunters were trying to kill
The lizard who wouldn't chill
They would all help each other
Until the plot was discovered
This is where my story ends
The carpet and I parted friends
I promised never to reveal
This magical plot concealed
The last thing I have to say
Is go find a book display
If there's a wizardly dragon lover
Read it from cover to cover
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
The kind heart ***** cook saved me, “Pitch all your sweet meats over-board and turn upon the hearty salt beef and ship bread . . .you’ll be as
hearty as any of ‘em afore you are up to the horn.”
They called the cook “Doctor”, and you should want to be in his favor,
Should you need to dry your stockings, lite your pipe or get a little extra scouse on your tin. The doctor taught me superstitions of the sea. Of stories and dreams and the unusual behavior of men before death. Plaguy and vexatious things and event that were bothersome to him. He had special affection for “Old Bess” the ships pig.He felt that Finnish sailors were wizards with power of wind and storm. There was no reasoning with him for he had experience on his side and was not to be moved. He called on elders to back his story, and they did regaling their own wizardly tales of Finnish ghost ships and the like.
“Dar,” said the cook, “what you tink o’ dat?”
He was a free man this simple-hearted old African.
An Atlas slugged hanging from his foot by a noose of his own makings protocols of destruction these consider themselves elders faking copper smiths of there own design over their head in the swelling ford just because they consider themselves little gods does not make them Lord their report from iron mountain a disneying witch mountain enticed they lay in wait for the own blood a broken stagnant fountain War was a part of the economy the people expendable ammo reasons stand if you tell a lie long enough it is still a lie bravo extraterrestrial the devil and demons cast out of heaven waiting ever thousand years for there batman wedden dark eleventh knight their superman universal grey ghost what ever to hide the truth from the majority of the host by peace the anti-christ will destroy many policy twenty-one they are unhinged four atop in eight different languages but accord one look at their Georgia Guide stones their end justifies their means heaped behind curtains of oz down under their wizardly machine with their false commandments ten of their sorite cities where all motors stopped but they cant get off stuck in their throat a voodoo doll drinking tainted blood of a Moravian dynasty of a Tiburtine Sibyl reruns of a Orwellian Blavatsky’s snuff books of hidden uncivil they talk to their Seth's try to be gods without God oldest lie there is methodius of a pseudo Mithra's as Jezebel the false prophetess trampled of horse and rider ate by the dogs an unrecognizable burial vault cast in the field of iniquity like white dung a pillar of salt unknowingly predicts her own death not at the hands of her false gods stabbed but by the True and Living God And thou shalt smite the house of Ahab thy master,that I may avenge the blood of my servants the prophets, and the blood of all the servants of the LORD, at the hand of Jezebel.
The fey were excited and they had a big brass band.
They were speaking of green mole house in autumn land.
But what is it? I asked, as I took my feet out of wet sand.
It is where delicacies and jellies are pickled and canned.
There is a mole there named Wizardly Dastardly Dan.
He will help you put up produce in jars as fast as you can.
Oh yes! Yelled a brownie and an elf. “Dan is the man!”
I watched them serenade each other with a wink and a fan.
Wait a second! What else does Wizardly Dastardly Dan do?
He is a cobbler and a miner. He can fix your left shoe.
I looked at my shoe whose heel was off. It was torn too.
I think I should go there now. Yes, this is what I will do!
Well-established wonder-stricken wayfarers will work with wizards,
who worry worm-eating warblers will wander by with Wyandottes.
Witchdoctors wallowing with Weiss beer will widen willowy wonky
widow’s walks. Who? What? When? Why? Why not?
Wonderful wearisome woolly Willies whose wrinkly wiggly whatchamacallits will weigh whizzing wingfish whipped wildly within Widow Williams’s whirlybird’s window wells. Who? What? When? Why? Why not?
Why wayfarers? Witches? Wizards, Wolverines? Witchdoctors? Well, woks, workbenches, wobbly wickiups, were wildly wanting whiffle ball’s wishful wildcats, which is why we were willing to wind up wolves, women, and worst-case woodcocks into worthy wayfarer’s winter wineglass widgets within wonderful, wise-cracking
woodland’s wee-folk who reside within wizardly wigwams.
Who? What? When? Where? Why? Why not?
Warm whoopee wayfarers welcome willing witchdoctor's whizzing whatchamcallits on Wednesdays with wonderfulness.
Smiling In The Dawn
Haiku - Tanka
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
tis natures rhythm
heart beating in seasons
climate change cofounds
robins singing out of tune
winter sun confusing all
winter retreating
sunny spring has arrived
natures telling lies
should we give up no
spring will emerge believe
daffodils dancing
we all wait for spring
the doors to summertime joy
flowering meadows buzz
pm dusk still dark
with a wizardly spell
each time I blink
dusk smiles a smile of lightness
concedes smiling in the dawn
sunshine a promise
a northwesterly wind denies
cold—birds all puffed up
crocus all in bloom
nature I will not be denied
snowdrops dancing too
cuckoo’s don’t make spring
first swallows not a summer
fledglings—life anew
true love so precious
nature singing out aloud
forever it pleads
The puppet theater was enchanted, we all knew it too.
Weird bleating goats and dancing sheep knew what to do.
Yodeling chickens and roosters danced in a fancy chorus line.
We could watch these antics at any time, and it was fine!
The puppet theater had been created by a magical man.
He had wizardly ways. I think his name was Devilish Dan.
He parked this enchanted theater up high on a meadow’s hill.
Soulful laughing and singing can be heard from this theater still.
Folie à deux
("shared madness," or "madness for two").
I suffer in silence, though not alone
kvetching old curmudgeon (me)
(once upon a time, a promising
long haired pencil necked geek)
buzzfeeding off life's miniseries
of unedited miseries in tandem
with ideal counterpart ofttimes
easily mistaken for a clone
Matthew Scott Harris
unable to function without her
(zee wife), he doth espouse as integral
to calculus of his existence
plus attributes wizardly
powers within (yours truly)
derived, highfived, and thrived courtesy
(think symbiotic), quietly riotously quintessentially,
nevertheless beloved hen pecking crone,
we carrion and cavort
(our respective wings
beating at speed of sound)
generating humming drone
beehive ving amorously
exhibiting unchoreographed tableaux
long practiced routine
equilibrium intermittently punctuated
with dynamic pantomime tour de force
communion words superfluous
since telepathic communication
predominates the unspoken wavelength
long established modus operandi
since... before pledging our troth,
while each ourselves in utero
womb during fait accompli
vis a vis gamely matched
think arranged embryonic marriage,
thus marital covenant
essentially linkedin since conception
both of us coaxed when livingsocial
no longer being tethered to umbilical cord
as lifelong playmates
forging compatible association,
now a gratuitous nod to our long since
dearly departed mothers
unbeknownst to them
how like firmly attached barnacles
each handily, snugly, and warmly fit
(esse mitten hand over fist gal love)
vicariously experienced reciprocal
trials and tribulations
whatever fate visited head of the other
permanently anchoring
nsync out rolling - rock of Gibraltar
across metaphorical stormy seas
trying against all odds
to weather strongest
emotional/psychological tempests
wallowing, née drowning in despair
at aging body, fading senses,
and thinning hair
which last named
akin to Samson
bolsters mein kampf
since... infancy, whose
counterpart betraying me like Delilah
wishing and threatening
(albeit jestingly) to lop off golden locks
each hair reed stranded longfellow
woolworth more'n fine spun gold!
Toadstool wizard with a heart of loveliness brilliant as a star
Headed toward the field where the roses and the corn stalks are.
We heard him coming, and we cleared out of the way.
He is the one we know will be excited, merry and gay.
Toadstool wizard with a soul of possibilities and a light manner,
Is always welcomed by the whole village, even the mayor, Tanner.
We cheer when we see him climb out of his Wizardly car.
He is a marvel, so magical, he shines like a magnificent star.
on the beach word ponds
so yon scorpion wallows
stinking sturgeon wizardly
wade watered watching
fountains of King Scorpions
watching the goldfish
5/11/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2020
Wizardly magic
Potent truly not needed
Loosen up the roots
Sun and rain and pixie dust
Can relieve an unloved plant
When dragons ruled the atmosphere
gliding here, and then flying there.
No battle waged on kingdoms where
the magical beasts made their lair.
The wind blew strong beneath their wings,
whispering wise, wizardly things.
As though angelic chorus sings,
their smoky song of solace brings.
Calling for calm against the wrongs
that other beings flung in throngs.
Let us live and sing soothing songs!
This land to everyone belongs!
"Peace!" They implored throughout the sky.
In formation, they flew close by
signaling in soft lullaby
that fearful others heed their cry.
Though they flew throughout darkened set
of sun and rise of moon – not yet!
Scathing hate spewed from whom they met.
Unwilling hearts to live and let!
happy new year to one all all
may the new year bring peace happiness and more
thank you
"the yellow brick road"
some say the yellow brick road is a state of mind
others say it is a place to be and follow
I say the yellow brick road is both well defined
all who seek home a brain a heart or courage
know this path towards light and victory unveil
kept safely within munchkinland's magical storage
strength and beauty soar beyond color or care
imaginative rainbow shades shine and guide
those of munchkinland are committed to share
some say the yellow brick road starts at the beginning
others say it ends when the wizardly journey concludes
I say the yellow brick road forever lies within breathing
SkyWatcher
12-31-22