Best Wolfe Poems


Premium Member Paris Down Under

Paris Down Under


I heard the thunder
all the kangaroos hid
children screamed in fear
the witch, her brew asunder

I calmed the innocent
peace is within my sphere
I danced with a Wolfe
Birds took a glance at philosophy

A druid mumbles
give peace a chance
I swallowed a lemon
said are crazy Sheilas in sanity?

Life full of questions
answers fly in the wind
just remember these wise words
ignore the ugly echo's

of skeletons in the wind
Categories: wolfe, africa, analogy, halloween, paris,
Form: Free verse

Premium Member At the Rendezvous In Soup Creek

One day in Soup Creek City, 
There was a duel 'tween Cunningham and Watt 
Tom said to John "I hear you're good, 
Let me see, son- what you've got" 

John said to Tom "You're not the only one 
With a gun that fires ink 
Tom looked at John in the eye 
Then he guzzled down his drink 

He said "That may be true, boy 
But I've got the fastest gun in town 
I'll fire out a few limericks
That will spin your head around" 

That's when the sheriff "Koplin" 
Walked in Soup Creek's saloon 
With pistols by his side 
He held a big bright blue balloon 

He said to Tom and John 
Let's take this duel outside 
I'll lock-up the one who shoots the other 
And give the balloon to the one who died 

Right before they walked outside 
Someone shot the balloon big bright and blue 
The fastest lady gun around 
That all the townsmen knew 

Jenna was her name 
She walked in six-inch heels 
She usually rides around Soup Creek 
On her bicycle that has three wheels 

She shot that big bright blue balloon 
As it wobbled through the air 
Then it burst with a bang and zig-zagged 
Till it landed on someone's chair 

The chair belonged to Gershon Wolfe 
The hangman of Soup Creek 
But someone shouted "He's in the out-house... 
He went to fix a leak" 

Milton, Lawless and Mike Gentile 
They were playing "Hold 'em" around the table 
While Andrea, Constance, and Tania 
Was playing "No-Peek" out in the stable 

Alexis, Eve, Heidi, Kim and Belle 
They were singing a country song 
Victor, Arlo, Vijay and Jim Slaughter 
They Joined in to sing along 

Wendy, Paula, Brenda and Jennifer 
Valsa, Sara and "Sunshine" Anne-Lise 
They were drinking shots of whiskey 
Trying to make some peace 

With Sam K, Jo and Brandy 
DebM and Anaya too! 
Because they all had their eyes on Charlie "two-stepping"
Down at the rendezvous
Categories: wolfe, humorous,
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Murder On Rue St Louis

It was a hot humid muggy evening
The festivities were just starting
Inebriated souls, and the smell of Cajun cooking
The moon was sitting idly by, waiting for her role

The smokey flavor of the night’s meal
Sifting scents pleasing,
The mixture of perfume and gourmet
Evil lurking just underneath

The flowers were radiant
Laughter permeates the air
Then the little ones, with beguiled charm
Cut through the social soirée

Blood spurts from body parts
The killing fields of St Louis
As patrons and saints are slaughtered
Like lambs

I feel the callus cut of the knife
As my fingers fall to the ground
I know the evil stench of horrors
Has only begun to spread

Like the roots of sinister wine
Bordereau is the prison of the mind
The lamb is now the Wolfe
Montcalm would never fair well

As limb and leg fall slain
I cry out in horrific pain
For the battle of St Louis
I have been murdered in vain
Categories: wolfe, life, pain, poets, symbolism,
Form: Light Verse

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry


Premium Member Disco Inferno

Heat in the poet’s haiku night
Sexyku is the new alright
Baby baby is a new disco inferno
Burn baby burn
Love needs the heat
Music makes it all so sweet
Taste the bourbon
Taste the life 
You should all be dancing
Life is so alright
Forget the strife, forget what’s not right
Seekers run amok
Fake news is the new preacher’s lot
You should all be dancing
Life is about love
Sharing and caring
Disco inferno with Travoltas’ flair
Let’s get down, let’s boogie, its only fair!
Clear the air
Burn the preachers
It’s a disco inferno
Burn the judges, burn the prophets
Take a dollar out of Jehovahs’ wallet
Buy the drunk a drink
The good lord will know who is who
Who it is who stinks like an old smelly shoe
It’s a disco inferno
Feel the heat
The sheep is in disco disguise
Trust me on Grimms’ verse
Fairy-tales speak in whispers and ring often true
Is the Wolfe who is the nurse
The sheep so white the devils curse
Humanity looks to the sky
As evil doers wonder why
To the judges our masters and our keepers
We shout
We are free

Of Trumps mockery
Categories: wolfe, america, dance, humanity, humor,
Form: Blitz

The Greeter At a Museum

The Greeter at a Museum
I am prepared to perform my mindless task 
when they open the doors at ten am 
and when the visitors enter I recall 
my preamble and it goes like this 
Good morning, folks where are you from
sorry no cokes or food beyond this point 
well hello grandmother, I love your dress 
don’t you look hot I mean that in a flattering way 
unless your not hot that is 
Wow, I remember Kent,  MA 
I used to live at Loggins Way
did you know Marth and Faye, oh Marth is dead 
and Faye ran away with a younger man, 
 a poet you say it doesn’t surprise me
 she always had a yen for younger men
 enjoy the art and if you need anything my name is Barte 
with an e at the end it was my mothers maiden name you see
oh your name is Wolfe with an e at the end 
nice meeting you until then
Hi there, what a handsome child you have
he favors you I'd like to add 
his creviced chin and ruddy cheeks 
add character to this winsome lad
Hi folks, you need a lift ,oh your’e from England
its an elevator here in the USA 
let me direct you to that spot cheerio and all that rot 
Hi can I help you can I help you sir no I can’t
youv’e been here before  well oh well 
I bet you don’t know where the President fell
you were right behind him when he took that spill 
but you didn’t see me on that day 
I was  right behind the exhibit display
to keep an eye on creeps like you 
who don’t know the importance of my job 
so leave me now artistic snob 
oh I love to greet and I love to meet
knowing where the his and her bathrooms are 
I can even tell you where to park your car 
I think I found my niche in life 
as to the who what where and why but
if perchance you know this place when you see me walk on by

*Dedicated to all the art interns at museums
Categories: wolfe, humorous,
Form: Free verse

Silken Planes

"Silken Planes"



Simplicity in silken planes
Silence took a flight of fancy
Sensate entranced me






"Flatlands" / Lannegan & Wolfe
https://youtu.be/pq47_j82iEo













"Flatlands" / Lannegan & Wolfe, Lyrics
https://genius.com/Mark-lanegan-flatlands-lyrics














LUX VITAE

BELIEVE





https://youtu.be/xubCItLvNhE
Categories: wolfe, adventure, fire, romance,
Form: Romanticism


My Son

Come out with me tomorrow
And do the things we said we'd do 
Let me make my words have a little truth 
Empty promises I said I'd keep
And days of waiting past
Let me show you my little son 
The world I think is mad

There's reasons I didn't take you
When I set off from home 
How could I bring a sons corpse back filled with broken bones
War it is a scary thing and my son I pray for you
I hope that in your life time, about war you have no clue
Fire blood and violence 
And natives always die 
But by my own sons graveside I said I'd never lie 
And that's the reason my young boy why you stayed at home
As your pappy and the other men stood next to old Wolfe Tone.
ONE THOUSAND YEARS OF FIGHTING
And still there will come more
This Ireland we all fight for better be worth the war
I've seen families torn apart
And old women cry 
All in the name of freedom
And a clear silent night.
Categories: wolfe, ireland, war,
Form:

Premium Member Pocahontas

Momma was Nonoma, her daddy was Powhatan
Pocahontas married John Wolfe, a union not in fashion
Unheard of back then
Today quite common
Prejudice is defeated, um... well there's still a wee chasm
Categories: wolfe, history,
Form: Limerick

Greeter At a Museum

The Greeter at a Museum
I am prepared to perform my mindless task 
when they open the doors at ten am 
and when the visitors enter I recall 
my preamble and it goes like this 
Good morning, folks where are you from
sorry no cokes or food beyond this point 
well hello grandmother, I love your dress 
don’t you look hot I mean that in a flattering way 
unless your not hot that is 
Wow, I remember Kent,  MA 
I used to live at Loggins Way
did you know Marth and Faye, oh Marth is dead 
and Faye ran away with a younger man, 
 a poet you say it doesn’t surprise me
 she always had a yen for younger men
 enjoy the art and if you need anything my name is Barte 
with an e at the end it was my mothers maiden name you see
oh your name is Wolfe with an e at the end 
nice meeting you until then
Hi there, what a handsome child you have
he favors you Id like to add 
his creviced chin and ruddy cheeks 
add character to this winsome lad
Hi folks, you need a lift ,oh your’e from England
its an elevator here in the USA 
let me direct you to that spot bye the bye and all that rot 
Hi can I help you can I help you sir no I can’t
you’ve been here before  well oh well 
I bet you don’t know where the President fell
you were right behind him when he took that spill 
but you didn’t see me on that day 
I was  right behind the exhibit display
to keep an eye on creeps like you 
who don’t know the importance of my job 
so leave me now artistic snob
 
oh I love to greet and I love to meet
knowing where the his and her bathrooms are 
I can even tell you where to park your car 
I think I found my niche in life 
as to the who what where and why but
 if perchance you know this place when you see me walk on by
*Dedicated to all the art interns at museums

Premier Membership Expiration Contest
Sponsored by IrOnic ZiNk June 16, 2017
Categories: wolfe, satire,
Form: Free verse

The Lost Art of Composition

The Lost Art Of Composition

too often my thoughts and the ability to express them
are taken hostage without a clue to the cause
this is an affliction familiar to many a writer
as if madness wasn't enough
it proves to be immune to every method I've used
to relieve my minds constipation
it enslaves your ideas and duct tapes the mouth of your soul
binds your fingers and hands so you are unable to write

I Whiskeyed and Scotched it self medicated with drugs
the addiction that resulted I thought could be bribed
held a knife at its throat threatened, bullied and beat it
poked and scratched at the eyes
Kicked it in the balls
pleaded and begged even got on my knees and prayed
all my efforts were ineffective
it only pissed it off more and tightened the grip 
around my Muse's neck

I had exhausted my resolve to this disease that consumed me
there was no other option but to surrender
I decided to give up , knuckle under call it quits
not answer the bell for the next round
I disconnected my computer and turned off my cellphone
the typewriter on my desk just for show
I've had since college every once in a while I have at it
so I stashed in the closet with books by Sexton, Wolfe and Burroughs
Cisneros, Bukowski and Gonzo

I turned down the lights and lit some candles
sat at my desk to prepare my suicide note
what happened when the ballpoint touched the papers surface
was the key opening the front door lock to home
an energy manifested that I had known long ago
before Technology had deadened it's nerves
it sparked the transfer of thought into a word 
forming the shape of a sentence
this cosmic electricity flowed into my hand holding the pen
then designed a paragraph the child of chapter
I touched every noun felt each verb envisioned the adjectives description
heard every "ly" in the adverbs reply and ignored the rules of punctuation

I had discovered the remedy  to restore my inspiration
the cure I possessed all along
The lost art of composition was my salvation
my own prescription is what I wrote

the poet is an artist that paints in the darkness
a poems words the colors that create light
a writer is blessed with all of the answers
cursed in the search for what questions to ask






Judge Burdon
Categories: wolfe, creation,
Form: Free verse

Premium Member Breadcrumbs

These words 
Stream-of-consciousness-soup really
Rarely chosen with care
Falling on thirsty ground
A lost soul trying to find
"the great forgotten language" *
For
"the unspeakable and incommunicable prison of this earth." *

Uh-huh, I see you pointing 
To the "lost lane-end into heaven" *
And the shepherd standing there
So, I tried to be a sheep, to babble things I didn't know
I found salving comfort in believing I was right
Protected
And loved--no matter what

But "the great forgotten language" *
Of the forever lost and alone
Drew me again to this place I never left
Where I knew before I nestled in her womb
The "quiet desperation" **
That haunts us all (according to Thoreau) **

So, yeah, these words
I'll keep putting them down in the lost and found
Because somebody might need to know who I am
I do

These breadcrumbs to the deep dark core of my existence
(Not to find me out but to find me in)
No one has to read them
They're uncomfortable and nearly unconscionable
Yet I can't not write them down

Like Thomas Wolfe wrote Look Homeward Angel
Then  You Can't go Home Again
(LOL)
They might not lead to where I want to go
Or anywhere at all 
And that's okay

T.S. Eliot said:
"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time." ***


So, yeah, that's all I want
Makes me feel less lost and alone
So putt'n deez words down Imma gonna keep
(Duh--)



*     From Look Homeward, Angel by Thomas Wolfe
**   From Walden by Henry David Thoreau
*** From Little Gidding by T. S. Eliot
Categories: wolfe, identity, words,
Form: Free verse

The Consequences of Typos

The Consequences of Typos

By Elton Camp

A typo can be far from a minor thing
Discredit and rejection it can bring
See what such errors might have meant
And if these would have gone to print

This book from Papa wouldn’t be
With the title, “Old Man and the See”
Faulkner’s book would we be spying
If it was sent out, “As I lay Lying?”

If typed, “Beast of Eden,” we would expect
Rejection and “Oh heck!” from Steinbeck
“The Little Boxes” would never do
Lillian Hellman the results would rue

If called, “Look Homeward Angle,”
Wolfe, a publisher would never wrangle
If the typo was “Of Lice and Men,”
Steinbeck badly disappointed again

If called “The Ramen” by Edgar Poe
The printing house would’ve said “No”
If  a publisher a writer does need
It pay to very carefully proofread
© Elton Camp  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: wolfe, humor,
Form: Rhyme

Soul-Less

SOUL-LESS
BY:JOHN WOLFE
when i look at my leg i think of you
and how the razor blade made our love true
the razor carved your name in my leg 
and when everyone sees it it;s like its the plague
the plague that eats a everyones soul
is the same plague thats made our love whole
i know that now you may not love me
but i hope that soon together we'll be
© John Wolfe  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: wolfe, depression, faith, happiness, loss,
Form: Rhyme

Love Lost

LOVE LOST
BY: JOHN WOLFE

i'm sitting here with tears in my eyes
but i swear that there is only one reason why 
it is for a girl who my love for is true
but when i think of her my heart feels so blue
i wish that she felt the same love as i 
but since she dont again my heart wonders why
i lye here again all alone here at night
but again for het love im not afraid to fight
my love for her has come at a majoir cost
and it can just be explained as only love lost
© John Wolfe  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: wolfe, dedication, depression, fear, forgiveness,
Form: Rhyme

Lieing Death

LIEING DEATH
BY: JOHN WOLFE

when i go to sleep your the one in my dreams
but when i wake up my soul begins to scream
because i know how bad you were for me
i know that now we'll no longer be
i can not take you back cuz i know that you'll lie
and if you lie to me again then tonight i'll have to die
© John Wolfe  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: wolfe, confusion, dedication, depression, fear,
Form: Rhyme
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