crazy critters crusting and cresting
daring darling Darla Doppleganger
effortlessly energizes eleven eager eaglets
frenzied frantic flock, flippantly flying and filming
gathering geese and ganders in gardenia gardens
happily harboring handy hardy herd of hysterical herrings
amidst a jungle
sloths snuggle ten tree's apart
hung stared glance awry
scout darts afar off
an army of red herrings
plots a lure or lore
after a rainstorm
a hover of trouts stood still
gawks at a rainbow
a finicky cat
a finny of goldfishes
fish bowl or ocean
cave fully loaded
no more bats for the caldron
next up to bat out
they're all gathered there
congregation of egrets
sweet bird earned her wings
longtime without pope
college of cardinals hopes
vows to change its looks
"This poem has not been entered in any previous contest."
Did I just see
a pig fly by,
it must be time
to question why
time flies,
but a watched pot
never boils,
why I'm a day late
and a dollar short,
while your fat-fingered friends
have money to spend,
and all the others
are herding cats
and throwing
red herrings.
Just keep talking
about the elephant
in the room,
and don't get bent
out of shape,
or go on a wild
goose chase
when I choose a metaphor
that calls into question
your political schemes
and agendas!
SILVER LIGHT
I once knew a man
who thought he was free
then looked in the screen
to see he was me
existing within a
square cage of silver light
watching ones and zeros
form black herrings on white
making instant choices
from what is seen in there
for goods and services
or victims begging care
watching vague images
upon a cave wall screen
real on the outside
unreal when inside seen
experiencing a life
whenever now or past
algorithm programmed
from the beginning to last
revising for myself
life-long identity
with beautiful people
appearing to be me
seeking virtual truth
from the assured appeal
of accepting all seen
as being really real.
The poems I never wrote are small fish -
sardines that roam the ocean of my mind.
Swift thoughts are they, and like a fleeting wish,
each flits away, and never can I find
those lines that had intrigued me as they passed
beneath my consciousness into my dreams.
How many poems would I have amassed
if I had caught them all? Alas, it seems
a few matured, for herrings I have seen
in poetry that isn’t even mine,
and from that one phenomenon, I glean
that thoughts among us poets intertwine,
so poems I never wrote might well be
in other poets’ minds of shining sea.
October 8, 2022 - NA
Submitted Oct. 17, 2022
for A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Suspense is a thing worth not knowing
Dying for the knowledge of the mystery
From novice to brainiac ever flowing,
Slipping into the dark annals of history.
Shudders at the noise of victims’ crying
Suspense is a thing worth not knowing,
Keeping chilblains on the skin denying
Revealing information ne’er extolling.
Red herrings by the hundreds growing
In long heralded stories not so mastered
Suspense is a thing worth not knowing,
Fabled tales of untamed roguish bastards.
Best sellers from all leather anthologies
With black ravens and murderous crowing,
Translated to filmdom with no apologies
Suspense is a thing worth not knowing.
Written June 1, 2022
Slyly introduce your plot with a clever narrative hook,
Assuming optimistically, you'll successfully market your book.
Darkly hint at omens with flashback and foreshadowing
To shrewdly draw the reader down a pathway ever narrowing.
Cleverly hide the subtle red herrings you've brilliantly sewn in the seams.
Break the fourth wall clearly, but sparingly, and consistently play to your theme.
Slowly build up the tension describing the scene of the crime.
Lean heavily on ironies made perfectly clear over time.
Draw conclusions starkly, deliciously savor the feel
Of quietly leading the reader to joyfully find the reveal.
Now see a fine display in market hall
Where fishmonger's stalls sell the freshest catch.
A world of wet white tiles and melting ice.
Seafood displayed, arranged in rank and file.
One Scottish salmon commands centre stage
Stretched out upon its own tray of crushed ice
And next to a few Icelandic haddock
Along with cod trawled from the Dogger Bank.
To one side are some plaice all flopped and flat.
Seems they are staring up with fixed focus.
A side display of small fry, placed parallel
And herrings heaped up in sad slump of grey.
Some calamari, tasteless rubbery squid
Are off stage with other seldom sold bits.
In the corner there's offal bin with heads,
Guts, skeletons and several layers of skin.
Take for your cat. Put pence in charity box.
A fine display we see in market hall.
The reality in the movie "Twister"
Of the frightening storms sound
Was the noise of a camels moan
That had been greatly slowed down
The idea of painting fingernails
We all have the Chinese to thank
Where the color of someones nails
Would indicate their social rank
James Madison the fourth president
For the U.S., was great all around
Although he Stood only five feet four
And weighed less than one hundred pounds
The canning process for herring
Developed by Sardinia teams
Might explain why canned herrings
are better known as Sardines
Focus, the master key that unlocks
Stoutly locked doors to your future
Feeds on discipline that blocks
Distractions and fractious fractions in your culture.
Focus, the gismo that breaks
Deadlocks and tames dreadlocks
In your environment where reckless wrecks
Catalyse red herrings teeming with simplistic spokes.
Focus, the catalysis that fires up your determination
To soldier on in spite of red herrings
Threatening to derail your momentous mission
As your momentum disentangles itself from surrender strings.
Focus, the factory that fabricates strategies
Techniques and methods to realise your potential
As you embark full throttle on your mission despite elegies
Composed and crooned in celebrations detractors deem essential.
hey you
i'm not me
because
... because
there was never a puppy
wagging a tail
instead
there were fishes
slippery red ones
herrings
i think you know
that you kept feeding me
till i was sickened
on my darkest days
... that hurt
being played on
like i was your spin toy
when all i wanted
is nothing from you now
it hurts being
the ferris wheel of all
next to your merry-go-round
connie pachecho
2/7/2017
HACKED
In deepest, darkest Web net space,
with spirits that they Tor;
building rootkits to hide in place,
like wolves behind the door.
Downloads are baked with cyber psy's,
and mere matrix cooking;
serving up the Rasberry Pi's,
not a soul was looking.
Bugged our way with lightening speed,
with every User glitched;
then coded what they said they need,
while every human bitched.
Flawed machines reflect our error,
imperfect just like us;
poor design can levy terror,
and throw us under bus.
A tantalizing lock to lube,
and Chips fall where they may;
unlock the cyber Rubix Cube,
and hacks are not for play.
A new despair is in the air,
hacking in dissension;
the o's and ones rest in their lair,
hatching more dimension.
Then where is Waldo in disguise,
for Users unaware;
and losers all, they will despise,
to not protect or care.
One foot on earth and cyber space,
kinda lost our bearings;
know the truth, in either place, and
backspace all red herrings.
-Edlynn Nau
© September 21, 2017
(Four verses with eight lines each; Syllable pattern: alternating 8 and 6 syllables per line. Rhyme pattern: ABAB CDCD)
The jumping jellies in wellies are singing like la la la
Space suited shells are quite adept at leaning through cubby holes and travelling for a long time. A long time is a lengthy length leaning. But not leaking for leaking is akin to leering and leering belong to lecherous old whales in suits sat on many benches in rows. Rows reaching raiding retching rumps. And rump steaks are mashed to a pulp by a size six hundred shoe having a hop down a stairway. Never mind the beeswax ear drums and kettle fish dance for ot is merely a movie shown here on a screen. A flat screen is often displayed on a suitcase isn't it? Wow how often the occurring jam configured jar invites the ham to a sandwich party. Quite often. But a table top clap is a riot of absolutism that abolishes apple pips. Eradication eating eggplants. Oooh mystic moo tune. Great. Dance then. Hahaha the sponges are riding the paperbacks. Hahah swan dip in the cup. Xxxxx colonisation z z z z at nineteen herrings hearing harpsichordists' to fourteen financially dynamic dynamited digital dogs. Z so why wobble wobble with curd then z z z z z z zbhvq at platform five six seven. Z
when i think of you
i think of your needs
or is it my needs?
... if you are alone or fulfilled
or is it my fulfillment i'm after?
your river of life,
turbulent ... as they are
yet waterfalls
of hope and promise
yet with banks of hardness
knots to unravel
mysteries to uncover
but are challenges
not suppose to be fun?
can i have fun?
tributaries with red herrings
little white lies
benign
yet swimming waves of beguile
besmirching the surface, veil
yet what can i do ... but smile, too
can i swim with you?
its the other tributary i yearn
you should see me ...
yet...
its your depository that snakes the river
or is it me wanting to make a deposit?
this is all alien to me
the irony here i roll my eyes ...
not the two peas in the pod
connie pachecho
3/24/17
I am at the end of the road with you
my lonesome dear,
get to the nuts and bolts
stop playing with yourself in the rain
the seeds you plant,
the red herrings you emit,
all chaff
your misery
all hatches in your head
your future
again, all hatches in your head
somebody needs to give birth
to a better outlook
as much as you read me
I read you as a book, too
you do see?
we're just like
two little graying doves
sitting in separate trees
that's fine
but you need to stop looking at me
stop talking about me
writing fairy tale happy endings
and then bemoaning your fate
honey, you had your oyster, pearl
you had your prime rib
right at your fingertips
within your grasp
you turned a blind's eye
a funny eye
you couldn't stand prosperity
instead you wanted to be miserable
that's fine
but not with me
so for all I care, honey,
go play with yourself in the rain
wish for nuts and bolts
whatever,
I'm exhausted with you
I am at the end of the road with you
... for good
... this time
connie pachecho
1/6/17
non contest entry
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