Eke out, O my living?
On what grounds do ye speak?
Based on our thanksgiving?
O turkey, through creek creak!
Wind atop the atoll low?
Steady, then first blow.
Ogre, ochre. Fast or slow?
Gold, give off thy glow...
Tyrant of the ocean deep;
Through dark chasm leap?
Horror, do ye find life cheap?
Challengers to creep...
Thought-light, gloss over the spark?
Fire, light up the dark?
Covenant? Communion, ark?
Hone, upon the bark...
Fill in, O ravine? Unseen.
Trail lead through the green.
Emptiness, fill each machine?
Will it work, I deen...?
Dismay, spring from dynamite?
Nuclear, gone white?
Pinholes, curtains, nine knives, night!
Rampage on the right!
Queen of civilized world, wait?
Hie across the strait!
O for those who prattle, prate!
Rage at higher rate!
Barbarians, gather?
Oppose such as this?
Well, we wouldn't rather.
Sail on, black abyss...
Foremost apex bird leading the flock flight
United to run the race and fight the fight
Apache, Comanche, Samurai, knight
Choosing to keep victory in mind and sight
Tearing through the darkness till we behold light
March by day, sojourn by night
And because we solely rest upon God’s might
Only being head and not tail feels right
Bracing the weather, weathering the storm
We give and take as we take form
Change is our preserve as we preserve righteous norm
Moment’s heat in a cold world somehow feels warm
As happenings and deeds feed how our deeds perform
In life’s seesaw arena we sow to see what will blossom
From middles and ends, we claim the whole portion by portion
We mark and eke out our ideals and a nation
Advancing, withstanding and wearing off resistance
With passion, conviction and insistence
Feeding on virtue and denying sin any dalliance
Overcoming evil with good and rebellion with reverence
Fruitfulness ousts empty occupation and nonchalance
And so we emerge from the dull trenches with a radiance
With a baffling lustre, poise and stance
Affording a gaze where we couldn’t beg a glance
K. Muitherero
One stifling hot day an empty sky tries to eke - out - tears, but can – not
all of a sudden
gray clouds gather and thicken . . .
a downpour explodes
As if for gladness heaven weeps.
One lone frog through a puddle leaps.
Small creatures take it all in stride;
beneath large bushes many hide.
Think back, way back
to days of yore
The simplest things today
were such demanding chores
Bake bread from scratch
Slaughter a chicken
Salt it and drain the blood
Fetch the well-water
Trudge through rain and mud
Sew and knit all your clothes
Cut the firewood and keep it lit
Wash and press laundry by hand
Eke out a living from stubborn land
We often say that life was less complex back then
~ Though we can't tell a chicken from a hen
~ Papa ~
Dawn broke uneasy o'er damp, dreary lane
Fish markets open, the merchant a-bustle
Hawking his fresh catch to eke out a gain
Daily routine, one of stressed, ceaseless hustle
Perils of prepping each fish for display
Callouses, cuts and old scars that he'd hide
Leathery skin soaked in brine and dismay
Profits already had started to slide...
Meanwhile at home wife and children slept sound
Knowing that Papa was busy at work
Earning a living straight up, pound by pound
Back-breaking labor which he would not shirk
Papa Giovanni, a man oh-so-proud
His praises be sung in the fish market loud
August 15, 2020
Strand Completely New (#25) Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
DPAA Hymn for Fallen Soldiers
by Michael R. Burch
Sound the awesome cannons.
Pin medals to each breast.
Attention, honor guard!
Give them a hero’s rest.
Recite their names to the heavens
Till the stars acknowledge their kin.
Then let the land they defended
Gather them in again.
When I learned there’s an American military organization, the DPAA (Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency), that is still finding and bringing home the bodies of soldiers who died serving their country in World War II, after blubbering like a baby, I managed to eke out this poem.
A flea market called the outhouse market
is located just outside of York Town.
And an arrow sign nailed to an old tree
points you to the best flea market around.
Cause it's hidden behind some outhouses
folks need to look for it, it's hard to find.
And yet, it has quite a reputation
as the place ... to find those one of a kind.
You'd think that its unsavory locale
would mean business would be non existent.
And to eke out any kind of living
you'd have to be pretty darn persistent.
But the irony is... profits doubled
since the vendors moved their businesses there.
For it seems that people think it’s kinky
and therefore, it’s always a crowded affair.
(Quatrain)
Mar.16, 2018
A Hidden Market - Poetry Contest
Julia Ward
I ask why I live in a flask
To hide my pride
To chide and deride every task
Better to stem my indifference tide.
I ask why I feed on crumbs
To lead a life lost in poverty
To bite and fight my own thumbs
When in style I can bask in novelty.
I ask why I love in secret
To osculate in dark corners
To communicate like an egret
To conceal my amity antennas.
I ask why I earn peanuts
To eke out a meagre living
To metamorphose friends into butts
Of my banter when I need forgiving.
Silence morphs the call of falling dusk
Gathering under fiery skies,
Stilled leaves in somber silence hang
Moping at the darkness that plies.
Dusty paths the home-bound cattle plod
Syrupy chirping of birds in flight,
Smoke from the earthen ovens pause
Wistfully staring at twilight.
Frenzied bats eke out their weary awls
Urging the evening star to wait,
To let moon lord overnight,
And muse over their morbid fate.
Wind over the placid river brings
Low tidings for cicadas to cry,
Fathom the fragrant moonflower will
Need endeavour to pacify.
When vigil of stark skeletal boughs
Stand mournful over the hooting owl,
And the mist like a wimple veils
The nocturnal creatures that prowl.
Those who lie in cemeteries stark
Berate the mausoleums old,
Affording them scant room to move
Adding to their ordeals untold.
Crimson dawn will pale the darkened sky
For light to lug another day,
Darkness would need wait again
For dusk to come upon its way.
***********
There you go again, you “Cyber Brat”!
There is “no such website”? What is that?
First you lead me through a wild web maze;
I Google, then succumb to your craze.
What happens if I hit “delete”?
Will my work vanish, incomplete?
Or do you wish to cast me aside?
I’ll tap “escape” and wash out high tide!
Your camera is like a stalker;
I cuss it like an inane squawker.
If I press “shift,” will the Earth’s poles move?
Your choice of labels you could improve.
So I’ll “insert” myself into your brain,
In a quest to make you more humane.
The poor page tires of your “up” and “down”
Now the court jester can wear your crown!
No more “errors” or lost connections,
And I’ll rid those viral infections.
Take me back to the old typewriter,
Days when the world’s load seemed far lighter.
I promise I’ll never eke out a "tweet"
When I replace “Word” with a paper sheet.
The old “White Out” is still in my desk
And it’s never looked more statuesque!
*Written April 1, 2015, for Carol's contest.
Wandering And Loafing thither-stunned I knew,
Scorching sweat-and a grim creature view,
Aye troubled and loaded vista of misery,
Swirling with abjectness seeming weary,
Nor they stand upright neither they sit calm,
Where they where ,never in placid nay in ominous realm,
Prepare for prepare on this abominable flame of war,
They freaked out through futile power,
Hence ‘tis a royal road through eke’ out but volatile,
Ye- grudgingly yet’ a way but vile,
What he must –must he be, but far and away,
Gibbet solemnly- but utter mere no word-to say,
Confined yea bind ah! Archaic men-at-arms,
You’d be among these, with no charm and warms,
Maunder surreal-y even in the day-and night watch,
Discern–castles in air while-lying on a patch,
Fair a mere simpleton creature, when dies,
Forgot at-once posthumously with no suspiration and sighs,
No well being and vivification where he dwelt and grew,
Aye beneath the troubled shallow’y spring under the yoke of fo,
Regime demand integrity, excelence and professionalism,
They say trinquality, solace, and humanism,
Tongue introverted, knees knocked, head stood,
Muster out as OAP, at hoar,man-made-wood.
Nature Is Stubborn
See where its siblings are abundantly born
You will concede Nature is wisely stubborn;
On a parched desert that gives no reward
Cactus’s juicy, naked legs shoot upward.
Temperamental grass, like tresses or locks
Eke out a living breaking into hard rocks.
Corals quarrelling with coldness of brine,
Sprout under water flowers of dazzling design!
Nature breaks every manmade barrier-
Would man heat and thaw Iceland glacier?
Scientists to genes’ inclination they follow...
They alter organs, yet to hormones kowtow!
We can easily alter every corporal activity
We cannot successfully tinker with gravity!
JM
09th January 2014
She wakes up before dawn. Mounts
her cardbox cubicle on the pavement
at a street corner. It is chilly and windy.
Without delay she pours cooking oil
into the aluminum container perched
on a three-legged stand under which
there are popping flames of fire.
In the yellow bowl she stirs the flour
with vigour . The fire is warming her up.
With her hands she squeezes the flour
into fist-sized lumps and drowns
them into the blistering oil .
Over a short space of time the blazing
oil turns the floury swellings into brown
round buns commonly known as magwinyas.
With her fork she pierces each baked brown
roll and shrugs it off into another vessel.
She yawns. The heat is soothing. It is coaxing.
She has to sell these chignons to eke out a living.
A single parent with four dependents. Like a thief
something sweeps her away. Siesta says sister let us go…
Her mouth is agape, there is a cascade of saliva
going down her chin , down where lies her vessel. The
sun’s rays are peeping. Her customers of school children
and factory workers halt and scream, “wow!”…and proceed.
As we aspire a new day
We believe we are all like you all
And as you experince another day
The consequence will demand a teacher in you all.
As we move on with the time
We retrieve we were once like you all
And as you live every moment
The foregone days will esteem the helm in you all.
As we bask under a bright day
We bawl out on your acts like clowns and buffoons
And you acquit with your innocence
The defiance will mentor the deity in you all.
As we versed the life, you ought to see
We still eke out where we dreaded once
And you address us withal obedience
The honor will armor to face the battle with valiance.
As we read on, we see we are just like you all
We are no teachers, we are also the students
What you experince from each day
Will praise the students a teacher in you all.
MISTY RAIN
Rain washes my mind and my memory;
Pain and heartache remain - but dilute.
Stain removal forever is impossible;
Reign of tears is over, but my soul is mute.
Eke out memories that still exist, though meek :
Cheek feathered by her soothing breath so missed,
Speak her name, imagine a shower of her kisses as
Weak end of downpour yields to mist.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written for Rick Parise's Contest LENTO POETRY
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