dark weekend nights
the time of fancy dinners
supercars parked
the sound of v12’s fill the air
behind there’s a Bugatti
in front a Lamborghini
as midnight creeps around
everyone starts to leave
for them it’s just another night
for me it’s a dream
- inspired my my little brother :)
In the dark of the night, on an All Hallows' Eve,
as I lay down my head and got snugged in the bed,
'twas a shadow that bloomed, caused all senses to leave,
as a huge hairy spider crawled, eyes gleaming red!
Out in front, a large sack that she shuffled along,
so I watched as she loped with that load full of gore,
like the beat from a dirge or a horrid old song,
da-duh-DUM, da-duh-DUM, as she moved 'cross the floor.
Shaking hard, to the edge of the bed, silent crept;
There she was, hairy legs, abdomen bulging fat.
Sweaty palms, frazzled nerves, in the darkness I lept,
closed my eyes, held my breath, threw my slipper - Kersplat!
and as she scuttled off, protecting precious eggs,
I wondered how she'd sound with two more dangling legs.
---------------
for the All Hallows' Evening Poetry Contest
sponsored by Craig Cornish
written on 10/19/22
using anapestic tetrameter for the first 12 lines
and iambic hexameter for the last 2 for effect
(howmanysyllables.com incorrectly reports line 3 as 11 syllables due to the ')
Some days, psychosis can be a fun secret.
Even during those times where the pain was direct.
Sometimes, those memories track me down.
My reality shifts, and so does the sound.
But what I could make out from the static-
Turns me starlit and erratic.
Is that cold front a new clue?
Is the weatherman’s voice trying to imbue?
Nonsense translates into the hope I seek.
I wonder if this is a wakeful peak.
I wish to share the magic from the void.
But they say this psychosis I should avoid!
I’ve been around to the other side more than I ever wanted
Standing in front a crazed mind screaming
All the winds blow
my force field full
Feeling-hearing nothing anymore
Lifeless beings I’ve seen on the other side
Heartless
Climbing in my ship now
Visor down - not looking back
Back to the other side
Free falling from the stars
Burning in
Fast and fearless
Splashing down in my own sea of tears
To discover things are nowhere near what they appear
Strange new worlds to explore
Someday one to call her home
I fell in trance
Light poke my eyes
Darkness is the brightness I see
Behind my back
A restless crowd chokes,
Building hopes on gloom
In front, a few with cake,
Having to eat with blunt smile
Their eyes blindly open to see
Up and down named heaven and earth
What place does hell have?
Still she dominates the universe
My Covid hat had a mask on the side.
A mask in the front, a mask in the back.
Each mask had a message. Something sassy.
Something that said Goodbye 2020.
Something to say glad you’ve died 2020.
My Covid hat had a syringe on the top.
It was loaded with vaccine and a tiny tear drop.
The tear drop for Cindy, Harry, Elk Boy and Bean.
Four friends I used to have, who will no longer be seen.
I have aluminum foil rabbit ears on the top and side.
It has a bit of fur, and a headstone for my neighbor Clyde.
My Covid hat has a video of six or eight missed games.
And another video of a child who calls all his friends names.
They do not know, for they have not seen him in weeks.
This Covid hat is smirking at me. It has a smell that reeks.
A smell of death, medicine, wet contagious droplets in the air.
I wear it proudly, but go nowhere, so no one doth care.
Then he was born
To the poorest of the world
Alone in a ragged torn
All as the summer's cold
He grew up
With the down dawn in down
His hand was crazed broken sup
In the little corner of town
Schools were free of him
Churches were free of him
His life, the light was dim
And trashes where he dip
In his front, a park was laid
Loving birds were there, and then
Though he tried all left vain
He was there, longing pain
Pain of hunger, he was aged
Life in thunder, a bird who caged
Searched for a ditch, hoping bread
Then was bewitched, where he dead.
THE BEST OF FRIENDS
The best of friends never been the best,
up front a beautiful rose flower backstabber in the chest,
stability goes east maturity takes the west,
Another vulture story away from good scent,
the best of friends literally like the rest,
The best of friends in a city of gold,
black and white another story to be told,
victims major in the riddle complex to unfold,
never did it matter besides now getting old,
January on the match December headlines been sold.
Humpty Dumpty through a pass
Back and forth he broke like glass
I’m at the finish I watch him crumble
inch away dam I stumble
Cinderella called me out
Her curves so hot
Out on the spot
Asked her to dance
She came back no chance
Alice booed me from the crowd
Standing tall she was so loud
An itsey bitsey spider got in my jock
I started to shake rattle and roll
I looked insane
Like I lost my brain
The crowd just knew I thru this game
Humpty Dumpty Cinderella Alice booed
Shook her umbrella
4 th quarter must escape
The crowd will trap me at the gate
Mary poppins floating high
Above my head I grabbed her feet
Her shoes are laced there in my face
Ride me Mary thru this place
Outside in front a pirate ship
Captain Hook yelled this way mate
I jumped aboard than seen the plank
In my face a thousand swords
I jumped ship landed in a spout
Met old mobey he looked so old
When I wake I’m on an island
No one around
No humpty no Alice no Cinderella
Escaped from hook lost the crowd
Mobey checked out
I road his spout
No rhyme no reason
Just football season
As sun goes down on this November day,
and evening chill of autumn makes its way,
a frost now settles over quaint chalet,
as couple seeks their warmth in love’s portray.
As in the fireplace crackling flame ablaze,
and on the floor in front a fur rug lays;
upon the rug into their eyes they gaze
as lovers seek their passions now to raise.
Across their flesh the shadows from flames dance;
their tangled torsos seemingly in trance
and tightly clinging while they share romance,
as hearts are beating faster flames enhance.
With heavy breathing bodies seek to sow;
they quake together reaching love’s plateau.
Then clinging tightly stemming now the flow
there on the rug in autumn’s afterglow.
November 16,2018
she looked at me
a pot on the head
a baby on the back
another in the womb
in front, a toddler
on shoulder, firewood
“Good morning Madam”,
I greeted, but no answer
Mistaken, poor me!
A sculpture she was
an African woman!
Alas alas the time has passed
The world she knew was gone
She wandered here, she wandered there
For she knew of no one
Why could she not remember how she came into this world?
A ma? A pa? A brother dear?
Her voice she must make heard
So on and on she carolled from one stranger to the next
And as she went, her mind she bent and became so perplexed
None would stop to answer her, no, not one soul
Of who, and what, and why she was now stranded in this world
Do you know me?
Do you know me?
She watched as strangers passed
Do you know me?
Do you know me?
She stood in front a glass
Do you know me?
Do you know….
She stopped dead in her tracks
For what she saw, or couldn’t see
No one was looking back
Keep joy in sight with heart that knows,
Note that true eye that sees all things;
Opt to find light with love that shows,
Work to feel high in all time flings.
Be one with soul that lives true zest,
Etch deep a cause that springs to life;
Yield mind made whole by poise of fest,
One with the force that strings all strife;
Niche poise that sums a wonder dear,
Dance happy feel as charm now stakes.
Sense what must come to purge all fear,
Hurts now reveal the cast not fake;
Observe the place where change works reach,
Words front a face most strange to each.
Leon Enriquez
07 August 2016
Singapore
The black earth just below the moss.
It's headiness held down.
On top a carpet green and soft
The comfort of a crown.
To walk is just a hop of heart
A bounce a joy away.
To feel it is to just relax
A comfort I'm to play.
A passing look, a fervent scene.
A tree-line standing tall.
Upon a hill; a mound of earth
A feeling that I call.
The Northern Star above the frost
to guide my lazy eye.
Where home is found and I am part
of never ending sky.
A walk between a ledge of trees
My compass fresh Pine air.
To come out in a swamp of dew
Reflections that I care.
My home a little cabin further.
Walls of racked up logs.
Out front a hound dog tied to feed
an appetite of hogs.
A smoke puff from a chimney top
A signal someone's home.
A maiden in an evening gown
A wife if not a poem.
My life in Northern Canada
has brand me with it's scent.
For those above it's parallel
No time's been better spent.
The South End Poetry Group
wrote, shared, critiqued,
then self-published in a book.
Not content to hold and
admire our work, we set
about to give others a look.
We put up a special booth
during the fall festival
honoring our home town.
We raised our tent, to
block the sun, secured
with stakes in the ground.
To catch their attention
we used bright balloons, in
colors of red, white and blue.
We tied them securely
on each side of the tent
in case the wind came thru.
On the tables, we placed
covers in our school's colors.
In front, a large banner
telling who we were and why
we were there, then displayed
wares in an orderly manner.
But the wind had no care
for all our effort, and
spurned our colorful array;
came in with a mighty
whoosh, like a giant broom,
and swept it all away.
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