Best Worldly Wise Poems
He meandered lonely
just a senior citizen
trawling the pathways of his computer,
when suddenly one day in a flash
an enchanting name jumped from the screen
into his unadjusted head,
whilst still in a daze
he had cut copied and pasted,
the delete key not an option
when sent to his favourites.
Then like magic, poetry began to appear
every single day a new poem would emerge
all written in a familiar dialect,
to begin with down to earth
raw unadulterated poetry
the kind that attaches itself to one’s mind
bores in to the head, rattles around
then lays awhile
then keeps coming on back, over and over again.
Poetry that penetrates, like an arrow,
pierces the heart, tends to linger
deep in one’s consciousness
disarming the most vehement of thought,
poetry that creates calmness
making one at ease, especially one
old with age and recipient of an endowment of excruciating pain!
Soon the poetry began to blossom
as all creations do
in the springtime of their lives,
the purity of Wild flowers, colours of the rainbow
free to sway within the gentle breeze,
soon each daily dose of verse begins to transpire
into carpets of lavender
upon the woodland stage, cascading Bluebells of joy,
the epitome of beauty unfolding
before one’s very eyes.
Again the poetry continues to consolidate,
poems of form formularized those conceived of
the Peace Lillie so sensuous in shape
so assuring in grace, a hard life the Lillie endures
yet one, only of positivity etched into each stanza
of bold narration for all to peruse!
Then a transformation
to the Rose, the very sense of beauty,
when with words of wrought
thy language comforting long into the night
to ease each day a journey of plight,
yet for you sweet Rose
thy poetry, it is not at an end
when to the Orchid you graciously ascend!
Many are those that come and admire
the wonders of your beauty those words on fire,
yet some desire more
with cunning and subtlety
those to manipulate to control
for one’s own ends.
But the Orchid remains safe
suffers no fool,
nurtured in extreme climates
is strong and worldly wise,
the poetry just keeps on coming,
flowing like tears of joy,
from an eye of one who’s happiness
is assured every single day!
© Harry J Horsman 2012
Late night summons madmen,
madams, bold streetwalkers,
picking pennies from the gutters
as the merchants close their shutters
and the homeless crouch in doorways
in their rags, against the cold.
Black or white, no compromise,
no colours clothe the empty streets,
as Bobbies tread their lonely beats,
the watchmen rub their crusted eyes
and settle into vigilance,
no accident, just circumstance.
Midnight passes.
Leila in her bursting bodice
lingers, guesses who I am
and flaunts her body, all the same
to her, a customer who'll pay
for twenty minutes' satisfaction.
Dressed in taffeta and lace
she'll never even see my face,
night's sweet anonymity,
the very definition of her name.
Later, as the moonbeams shift,
and cloudlines disappear and drift,
come images in stark relief
of twisted metals magnified
that catch the eye, suspend belief.
Abandoned building, hollow-eyed
and squinting in a death mask grip,
skeletal, once filled with pride,
now empty, and for ever tongue-tied,
cadavered, and condemned to drip.
Still later, the street-lamps spot
the cats a'creeping worldly-wise,
and rats along the quayside waiting,
ready for the avalanche
of waste into the yawning dumpsters.
I have seen the children sneaking out
before the dawn comes crawling,
dirty little ragamuffins forced
into leftover clothes,
weepy-eyed and snotty-nosed,
playing with a rotting carcass
or a broken bicycle.
Pre-dawn, and the street-lamp sputters,
merchants come to raise their shutters,
regard the fading moon, and mutter,
'yet another day.'
Begone, O Bride of Midnight!
favour us with not another glance,
put your spells away,
you'll not lead us in our daily dance.
Behold a wrinkled substitute,
a crone who likes to think that she's a queen;
with as much grace as she can muster,
she flusters, fidgets, lonely in her room,
feathered and be-furbelowed
and plays with her decolletage,
she's mutton dressed as lamb.
The smell of stale tobacco
and a whiff of old perfume,
no longer with her entourage
she dances out of rhythm to the tango,
rusty and unconstituted,
wraith-like, a phantom in her tomb.
At twenty past I'm home at last,
the brass plate spells my name;
come inside!
familiar and gratifying,
slippers by my bed still lying,
dressing gown and cap are crying,
here abide!
The sheets are turned and ready.
I leave the night and take a final bow,
grateful for the here and now.
The sun would not forget to shine
Unless I bid it so
And rain would only fall on days
When I’ve nowhere to go
Each Winter is a long weekend
With Christmas in between
And Spring each Monday comes around
To keep the senses keen
The Summer comes each Friday night
And stays till Sunday tea
And Autumn in it’s glory
Every weekday in between
Disease would be a sentence passed
To enemies of peace
And pain prescribed to those for whom
The warring will not cease
The heart would be worn as a hat
For all around to see
All acts of kindness etched in gold
And shining clearly
The war on want would fade to nought
And need would be no more
The men at arms redundant
As there’s nothing to fight for
And riches are now measured
By the twinkles in your eyes
Full honour paid not to the wealthy
But the worldly wise
There would be no more sense in toil
Nor banks to store your wealth
No medicines or hospitals
We’d all have perfect health
This may not be a perfect world
In any single way
But if we want to make a difference
Love will win the day
Nightscapes
...inspired by 'Rhapsody On A Windy Night'
by T.S. Eliot
Late night summons
madmen, madams, bold streetwalkers,
picking pennies from the gutters
as the merchants close their shutters
and the homeless crouch in doorways
in their rags, against the cold.
Black or white, no compromise,
no colours bathe the empty streets,
as Bobbies tread their lonely beats,
the watchmen rub their crusted eyes
and settle into vigilance,
no accident, no happenstance.
Midnight passes.
Leila in her bursting bodice
lingers, guesses who I am
and flaunts her body, all the same
to her, a customer who'll pay
for twenty minutes' satisfaction.
Dressed in taffeta and lace,
she'll never even see my face,
night's sweet anonymity,
the very definition of her name.
Later, as the moonbeams shift,
and cloudlines disappear and drift,
come images in stark relief
of twisted metal, broken things
that catch the eye, suspend belief.
Abandoned buildings, hollow-eyed
and winking in a death mask grip,
skeletal, once filled with pride,
now empty, and for ever tongue-tied,
cadavered, and condemned to drip.
Still later, the street-lamp spots
the cats a'creeping, worldly-wise,
and rats along the quayside waiting,
ready for the avalanche
of waste into the yawning dumpsters.
I have seen the children sneaking out
before the dawn comes crawling,
dirty little ragamuffins forced
into leftover clothes,
weepy-eyed and snotty-nosed,
playing with a rotting carcass
or a broken bicycle.
I believe in freedom
I believe in love
I believe in all things
Sent from up above
I don't believe in hatred
I don't believe in pain
I don't believe that's it's ok
To play a deadly game
Then they get the knives out
And cut you to the core
While all the sadists
Just laugh and beg for more
What can you do
In a world that's lost it's mind
Why does no-one ever say
Let's try being kind.
The answer must surely be
Corruption and deception
It would take a miracle
To free me from rejection.
They stand to make a fortune
From my demise
This is what I've got
For being worldly wise.
The time is coming
They'll be knocking at my door
Then I won't be able
To help you any more.
So I say
May God help you all
Be warned of false prophets
And break down the wall.
“I hold a delightful being and an undesirable being inside of me.
It’s up to you which one you meet”
~~The Poet~~
dismally destructive
yet charmingly creative
unabatedly chaotic
obligatorily perfection
unsophisticatedly naïve
graciously worldly wise
uncouth and ill-mannered
poised etiquette
audaciously rude
enticingly eloquent
unsuitably slovenly
exactingly efficient
decked in Shabby attire
styled with cultured couture
disheveled, dingy
polished, well-groomed
in company of many in ill-repute
thoroughbred acquaintances
robotically draconian
artistically graceful
She dances to his tune
When she does his bidding, he’s over the moon
He acts so cool
Yet he plays her for a fool
This innocent girl has got the hots
But she is so naive he’s calling all the shots
She dangles like a puppet on a string
Can’t see that she’s just his plaything
He’s like so many other cheating lying guys
Using her because she’s not worldly wise
She needs to get wise
Get wise to his lies
He wears a disguise
You can’t see his eyes
Get wise
Get wise
Or does he have you hypnotised?
Wise up before he leaves you for another
Get wise so it won't come as a surprise.
08-07-17
Leather jacket cloaked
upon shoulders worldly wise
together they lay
within the Pacific floor.
New Year gift to keep her dry.
© Harry J Horsman 2013
We are but dreams in the night. Shadows on the land, whose time on earth is only truly measured by God and loved ones alone. we flit through life in an instant, wanting, yearning to make a difference, in a rapidly declining world, with a profound thought, a good intention, a remarkable deedor some worldly wise insight understood by a worldly kinship...those that think as you do. All the time wondering if you are in the minority or the majority. Your only weapon to change that which so desperately requires change, is the impotency of words in a world where the wonder of education has been sorrowfully tainted by the 'educated', through elitism. We must let the children ask the questions, don't stifle the cries of babes. Time has come for a worldwide education, not pockets of religious bigotry. God is not on all our sides..we should therefore be on Gods side. We should all strive to be Godlike inside, for a religion which insists that a war is fought in its name...is not religious nor righteous at all. Ain't this the time for change.....we've been getting it wrong for thousands of years...
A girl's first date; she's sixteen.
The older boy is a prize.
He flutters hearts with green eyes -
so suave and worldly-wise
The young Adonis picks up
Sweet Sixteen; he has a plan -
they go to the county fair.
Thrills are guaranteed!
After a few scary rides,
She trembles with excitement.
Soon in the chill of the night,
he will make his move.
When atop the ferris wheel,
he wraps one arm around her.
As she snuggles into him,
her heart is racing.
For a moment the wheel stops,
and their lips meet in a kiss.
Oh, the thrill of youth's passion!
Nothing else compares.
Written Dec. 8, 2015
Perhaps, I might be blind at anytime,
The present, I know, I'd beaten the time.
Though then, I was down in the dumps
Now, I cocks an ear and eye at the pumps.
Now, I'm not living in cloud cuckoo land,
I behold facts in what is my hand.
Power shouldn't hold onto word-smith,
But should be based on the worldly-wise,
With the think-thank aides and not filth.
That 'll keep cries in check for the rise.
If you can't beat them, convince them
And not to turn your back like Satan.
Set the pace for those at the helm
And don't keep back plans as though isn't your clan.
Is poetry only meant for teaching what is time-honoured
what is authorised
what seeks not to rock the ship of fate
Part Six
Helas! My universally-renowned peerless ancestor!
I’d like to think
You’d be the first to have recognized the always changing world
The first to have accepted the parting of ways
For your intelligence your foresight and hindsight
Your immensely powerful quill
would have sought other remedies
other means to convince
a wayward world
a world far too gone and worldly-wise
to hatch the nuances of your admonishing word
all afresh
N’empêche your name is a comet
hurtling down the ages
©T.Wignesan, December 2001, Paris, France (from the Sequence: "Words for a Lost Sub-Continent", 1999 )
Suck off
Ted’s teaching grandma to suck eggs
“Don’t patronise me lad,” she begs
"It’s a job I can do
SO much better than you
Just scarper on your asses legs!"
Gran whispers words I won’t repeat
Ted’s blushes as red as a beet
She is so worldly wise
And it is no surprise
This jackass won’t usurp her seat!
I can not remember how long ago
You told me your tale of greed
It's stuck in my mind for many a year
That we should take just what we need
But my kin are now wanting more and more
So your tale I tell them to heed
Now we are grown and worldly wise
Your tale has lost its point
My children confusing want with need
Your words I use help anoint
To free little minds from material thoughts
But so far it just disappoints
The moral of the tale you told me back then
Was to keep pure soul and mind
To fight the desire for other's things
Remain envy free and be kind
Consumers grow more demanding though
Industry tempts with new designs
Wants become needs losing concept of greed
Resulting in moral blurred lines
New products galore in everyday life
Making it hard to resist
We all want more and more, then still more
Without them we can't exist
Or so we think nowadays that's the case
Forgetting your tale's gist
But I want to change all of this for my kids
Teaching the value of self
Take just what we need for oneself
Not what we want for our gluttonous ways
Just what we need for good health
Rejecting sundries, respecting our Sundays
Mind and spirit is better than wealth
Your tale's still true but we'd rather queue
For pointless man made creations
We think we must have for fulfilment
Like the Xbox, Nintendo or new PlayStation
So I'll tell your tale, not let it go stale
Of excess and morals we derail
We can fix this consumer obsessed damnation
But I doubt we'll find that elusive elation
I see mystery hidden in the depth of his eyes
In the very soul of this being so worldly wise
With his rugged demeanour, his understandable speech
His winsome smile and his attitude so serene
I look at his whole so meticulously infused
His golden eyes glimmer saddened abuse
Yet this diamond in the rough I understand true
His place in my life is undeniably permanent
Yet a touch me not I know that he is
With his mane so magnificent he stands in front
This lion, this king, this pride of my heart
He is in charge I know, forever this must last