Flavor guzzles an atmosphere
of cinnamon-dusted coffee.
Don’t worry there is plenty here,
a mug for you and one for me.
Sip slow but I will drink quickly
lest it vanish without a taste.
Spicy sticks languish dutifully
as our buzz is expertly laced.
Open is the March's puzzles
Yet, man just don't have mouth guzzles
More than enough but no need for muzzles
Without gaze(s), He knows what is to come
Either one opens his mouth or mind, He is never dumb
He understands every other time demands' plum
Long fixed look
Reading through M's book
See not what His eyes would unhook
With Thy fixed eyes
The wants that arise
Simply obey with how time flies
Your eyes connect closely
Traveling smiles smoking miles grossly
The destination of hearts praying mostly
I set the table; I did not.
The pourer did. The poor did not.
The seats are cold; merlot is warm.
The pourer asks; there are replies,
sips, guzzles, sighs, manners.
I am satisfied as each one’s drunk.
The pourer leaps from spot to spot,
wincing, squinting, craving approval.
I smile; I nod; with each intonation, accent,
sound of a lady and a gentleman.
The table is set quite elaborate; each course,
choice: salad, pork, dessert.
The hour becomes late;
drunkenness from each glass poured.
I am satisfied by the pourer; rich
with the scent of merlot and more.
He’s the only one left of my friends.
The seats are cold; he is warm.
Beyond the relics stance tainted feigned glory,
the achievers had gifted us their puzzles,
speckled based best in their field of theory,
like Baia hot baths, can't stomach its guzzles,
aloft or cavernous, or in a quarry,
like those Pyramid guys fuss up their fuzzles,
as rock piles escape while history depicts,
the bookshelves leave those green stains with those quick picks.
Millenniums, centuries, decades, plus years,
anthropologists helped by benefactors,
busy in their research before disasters,
like Baia downed in Naples Bay, off its shores,
letters for funding by their alma maters,
reach prosperous grads where old money outpours,
and achievers will have their dribblings published,
skilled wins the Nobel Prize as greatly cherished.
Fed but little, I have still written much,
Not bound to some code or a stale cliche.
My poetry springs from organic touch.
How odd - for 'tisn't my usual way.
When I speak, I treasure truth beyond all,
striving for a crystalline clarity.
Proper words, direct, simple, without stall ...
Poems - do you betray sincerity?
Hardly so. We poets produce puzzles
to ensure some time is taken by you.
Truth is wine one sips; not swill one guzzles.
Dance with our minds if it's worth it to you!
Art is a bride that one slowly unveils.
Such beauty! Adored in all her details ...
3 August 2023
Need More Power
Chasing a red light, cutting a corner, speeding like a devil,
does not win races if the engine still guzzles up diesel fuel!
09/24/2022
3:51 A.M
Aboard "Rhapsody of the Seas"
Cruising toward Limassol, Cyprus
Back, back to the joyful wood
where once you played at Robin Hood.
One-time playground, a beauty spot,
is now an Asda parking lot.
Back, back to the school bike shed
behind which you kissed or smoked instead.
You could buy a pack for half a crown.
The school's not there; the shed burned down.
Back, back to your very first catch,
together you were the perfect match.
Wonderful days and nights that were hot.
Now they are married, with children-a lot!
Back back to the car you first drove
that set you free to roam and rove.
Lovely then, but now you're aware
it guzzles gas, pollutes the air.
Back, back to the friends you once had.
They were young, weird, kooky, and mad;
what a gang, you were all wild and crazy.
Now we are all old, fat, and lazy.
Back, back to the old hairstyle,
it was a glorious purple pile.
Your mother and father were both appalled.
Unfortunately, now, you're primarily bald.
Back, back to relive your past,
those times you were having a blast.
Life was fun; it was all about play.
Why did it stop? Can no one say?
Sentimentality Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
Date wrote: 31st May 2022
Doom assails us here;
It consumes our today,
It guzzles our tomorrow
Belching what's left of us
With a rooted arrogance
That elongates the chain
Exchanging pleasure with pain!
Doom digs a malignant knife
Into the heart that holds life!
Heaven hides from our eyes
Woe fills our sighs,
The fearless are filled with tears,
The weaklings are clothed in fears;
No wall so thick,
No conjuror's stick!
The proud yet humble,
We crumble
We fall,
We diminish
We fade
Like a whiff of a morning mirage!
Souls throw their hands
In despair,
Bodies rot
In a gruesome lot
But wait..
In the distance a fading light beckons
A Saviour soon calls in a few seconds!
A love burning bright
A hatred bringing fright
It ends in a blaze
Two hearts trapped in a maze
You loved your puzzles
For the masses to befuddle
Our blood forms quite the puddle
And the monster guzzles
La, la, la, la, la
You were my first
La, la, la, la, la
Watch my heart burst
When you let go I knew
And the reasons left me blue
Fight after fight I sought reasons why
Not to tell you goodbye
You loved your games
And tricks made your day
These would be your greatest shames
Because eventually you had to pay
La, la, la, la, la
Don't speak to me
La, la, la, la, la
Please set my heart free
La, la, la, la, la
Don't
La, la, la, la, la
Speak
La, la, la, la, la
Please
La, la, la, la, la
Don't
La, la, la, la, la
Speak
Please speak...
Cute Tiddles how she loves to play
She chases toy mice ev’ry day
Her furry clockwork mouse
She pats it round the house
If alive there’d be hell to pay!
She guzzles cool milk from her dish
then gobbles up smelly white fish
Puss is growing so fast -
Kitten hood doesn’t last
I delight to watch her flourish
She doesn’t need any invite
To clamber on my lap each night
I can hear her loud purr
As I stroke her gray fur
My Tiddles is such a delight!
FICTION POEM
Cat Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
8/9/18
his drinking obscene
geezer guzzles a gallon —
impure milk cures spouse
7/5/2018
Mick Talbot’s Senryu Contest
Prize primal play
Dance dazzling day
Frame fleeting flings
See senses swing
Grief guzzles grace
Flair finds fond face
Do dreamy dance
Chase curvy chance
Gifts gather grand
Feed feisty friend
Seize sensuous say
Wonder words way
Treasure true times
Calm creates chimes
Niche nearer now
Bright blossoms bow
Leon Enriquez
28 June 2016
Singapore
THE UNCOVERED ....
Blunders draped in bundles
of clandestine regalia
Passing each aurora, simmers
obnoxious guilty flames
Seized are its weapons
Silenced is its voice
Water-tight , to the exterior,
Access denied....
Conscience asphyxiated
Stupor it lay , simmering flame
deep inside......
The glittery outside
Embezzlement fills treasures
Tactfully guzzles glorious peace
Marbles conceal the blood
Glitter tantalizing the inner peace
Constellation of cromulent folk!
Tantamount to a golden knife
Sagacious choices crushed,
pulverised under heels
Brushes of pseudo smiles paint
the phoney pictures!
Remorse has gone to retreat
Armageddon struck...
Raging guilt, rising conscience
War they wage as they dare a battle
Before they fall and fade
Muster all might, they burn
Cellars melt to molten
Huge uproar and war cry
Burning splinters!
Cinders remain .....,
as unmasked truth!
© Anulaxmi Nayak, 2015
Storming through the day with joy and laughter
solitude and bliss
But they are not what I feel when I am alone
When I am Alone the cold rattles and pains my joints
This immobilizes me to my cheap twin spring mattress
Although the sun rips through my window
I see no brightness
Only darkness and gloom
When I am alone my thoughts are as clear as distilled vodka
My mind guzzles and drowns in a sea of insecurity
I think of no hope and no bliss
An ideal husband doesn’t argue,
He never squabbles or swears,
Only about his wife he cares.
He always says kind words,
Doesn’t do anything that hurts.
Doesn’t play cards or guzzles away money,
Days and nights repeats: You are my honey!
Out of the rest he is much wiser,
He is not poor or a miser.
In all he is good and so nice,
Always gives a good advice.
An ideal husband is very strong,
And his wife is never wrong.
Even in bed he is the best,
Every day with him is a fest.
At other women he never looks,
And plus to that he nicely cooks.
He is so handsome and not boring,
And you will never hear him snoring.
His wife is blameless and so gorgeous,
She goes out and he’s not jealous.
In all his wife he loves to assist.
Does such a husband really exist?
It seems he can be found only in dreams.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
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