Afternoon autumn
Our neighborhood goes crazy
Like living in a dentist’s office
Drilling sucking blowing
Whining wincing scraping
Gurgle
My head tilted back
With a book on my chest
Mouth wide open
Staring into the glare of the final high sun.
My name should be Lucille.
I am that squeaky wheel.
If some things wrong I'll weigh it.
I'm not afraid to say it.
Some may not want to know her.
She's been a whistle blower.
I'm not a quiet bird.
My voice is always heard.
I'll never give you peace, so
just give me that grease.
While on tree became a grower;
Seemed to be slower and slower,
And a big pain;
Constant strain;
In middle found a whistle blower.
Do remember when on me dawned,
Trump appeared to be far beyond,
We believe;
Pity receive;
All our thoughts he did abscond.
So all of my poems how is this?
And object of them you did miss;
Stuck up far;
Obscure scar;
Thought I had been a big priss.
How ironic had been our intent;
Many ways may mind be bent;
Then in town;
Upside down;
So this stupid poem we sent.
An Inupiat "slow-grower"
Believed he could sink no lower
When an icicle rose
On the tip of his nose
He won "Number 1 Snow Blower"
* * * *
A cold polar bear did stutter
And folk thought he was a nutter
But God loved him a bunch
And dropped off his lunch
With buckets of peanut butter.
The Trumpet Blower
The seat pushed higher never lower
Always trying to trump
Swaying the gloating rump
July 27, 2018
CLERIHEW CONTEST Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: The Name Forsakes Me
serendipity
of poet
blizzard of fa ll e n leaves
11/28/2017
A profound page in simple poise:
Wise up to truth when conscience pumps,
Heed centre stage the trust you voice;
In-sync with proof that foul now dumps,
Sense in the hurl of just pitch here;
Travel the road where healing comes,
Lest corrupt swirls slash cause for cheer;
Eject the load where burdens sum.
Be one with light to ease sad plight,
Lift and set free the code you know;
Oblige clear sight with what is right,
Work choice you see that truth may show;
Expose most plain the ugly stains,
Reach not in vain to ease the pain.
Leon Enriquez
09 September 2015
Singapore
MIND BLOWER –
JOURNAL XIII
Dreams can be weird
crazy. True.
But a totally
senseless dream can
disorient you,
Befuddle your first
waking minutes.
Like, this wildness
has lasted so long
into sleep
As to literally
infect the waking
awareness.
One must now
examine, carefully,
one’s daily
routine to
regain sanity.
Brushing teeth – you
are an artist
painter
cleaning The
Waling Wall.
Putting on your
clothes – you
imagine you’re
laying on
skin.
You step into the
kitchen gingerly –
you might
be atop a high
precipice.
Fortunately the
first cup of coffee
brings you
back – it
looks muddy, but
tastes o.k.
In the last few I
determine to pinch
myself
awake.
Sanity is very dear.
Alzheimer’s could be
near.
There is thick cloud of gloom all around
With no gleam of hope anywhere found
Things are not what they outwardly seem
Loose not faith; be a whistle-blower bold.
The situation surely seems insurmountable
Scaring away a few good people; sensible
The evil in the society is absolutely horrible
Loose not hope; be a whistle-blower bold.
There is no advantage in running away
This strengthens the corrupt and greedy
The time has arrived to face it squarely
Loose not courage; be a whistle-blower bold.
Those who ought to set right the things
Are themselves neck deep in shady deals
A few bold are resisting it by raising voices
Join their chorus; be a whistle-blower bold.
It is never too late to end vice and corruption
And wash the dirt from the society’s linen
To make ours a very sound and fit nation
Be firm in resolve; be a whistle-blower bold.
Glaze the glass and blow
liquid luster, lava flow
Twirl the oven, hallucinate
Clink the cooling 'till it breaks
Make it cobalt, gold flecked muse
Shallow breath to counter fuse
Hollow bubble on sweating metal
Sting of lungs by the great glass nettle
The end is a bauble to be bought by the buyer
Born from the heat from the un-ending fire.