Hovels Poems | Examples

Sonnets Before Surrender and The Building That Follows

The war refuses the head, below wasting in dead
Rearing the front as storms fell the timbers rot
Upheavals breast, shorn and filled in neglect
Lay useless she had cried, allow dimple and deny

Tis only folly we are joined from, seasons blurry
Contemptuous fury, theatrical brevity, lifeless
Burning misery, hasn’t all gone and come
Just so fiddle and spun, as garnish and lathe
Without soured breads fortune, and curled ears late

Forever they attend, a hearts creative bend
And rule they must, alas at lose in unbreakable crust
He in hand created this land, in tales of ferried rows
Gentled slave we musn’t hate, crucible’s labors as knave

In there buildings, craving and fighting, loud and obscene
Fruitful as flies, multiplying night skies
Crying babes of violence, unruly and brutal
Off again we should shout as they, steam filled hovels in suet

Day Ends In Shanty Town

day ends in a shanty town

When crossing the bridge to the shanty town
The day was almost over, blank and tired
and due to pollution, the light on the bridge had a hue of aureate 
The huts in the township were utterly miserable
consisted of bricks, stones, plywood and corrugated iron
were the roof of all the shacks
a roof that keeps out the rain but bursts your eardrums 
In small spaces in the back of hovels, women were preparing the evening meals
How can people live here, washing on a line said it was possible
Children ran around playing cowboys& Indians 
for them, poverty was a word that did not exist as long as they got fed.
The night came suddenly to the tune of music from a transistor radio
the night belonged to yellow cures and rats

Poverty

“An imbalance between rich and poor is the oldest and most fatal ailment
 of all republics.”              ~Plutarch, Greek Philosopher and historian.

Poor people living on the fringes of society
Obscure existence, day to day struggle
Verily, abandoned by the mainstream
Eking out a meager and hapless livelihood
Reared in the roadside shanty hovels
Tortured by their fate, ignored by their gods, 
Yes, poverty is the scourge of our times.


~03/27/23
~Contest: Writing Challenge 'P' words
~sponsor: Constance La France.

Gaias Dreams

Beneath a white blanket, Gaia sleeps;
in crystalline slumber, dreams cascade,
like the thawing waters of a river.
Her children are nestled deep,
among the roots of the trees
and hovels dug beneath her skin;
it's the dying of the old ways,
in preparation for new beginnings,
that rolls across her Dream-Screen
in tones of floral blush and
newborn leaves popping from woodland nodes.

Waterway arteries pump their fluids,
up above and beneath; her body lean,
of moist skins and drying ancestral bones.
Rocky sentinels share their air with
evergreen children of her soul;
lending contrast to stark whites,
are verdigris and sepia hues
intermingling with the song of rambling
water sprites, unseen by human eyes.
Just a kiss of nature's soul,
is a dream conversion into
the flora of springtime's passion.

The Visit

It went wrong,
two days to visit my former life
as a Londoner.

Old men in East End pubs
knew my past
but the tour bus
did not pass that way.

Trips around Buckingham Palace,
the Tower of London,
no time to visit the grey hovels
of a hobbled childhood.

London forgot to be me.
My childhood buried too deep
to find word of itself.

After the sight-seeing
we drove to the high moors
and green hills,
places where my footprints
could still be traced on local maps.

Clerihew Ostade

Adriaen van Ostade
peasants&hovels were his special fad
His brother Isaak followed the same path
their amusing art still produces a laugh*

*https://www.wikiart.org/en/adriaen-van-ostade

Ava Aka Anas Anatidae

AN AYLESBURY DUCK https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aylesbury_duck

There's a duck 
    of high renown
bred &reared
    in my county town
with orange 
feet &plumage light
      of culinary fame
        this bird of snowy-white
neck so fine 
& feathered crown
        kept in cottages 
now tumble down
         reared in hovels & shack
a deep breasted duck
          with ample back

an early layer
      ready for spring
plucking feathers so tiring
     boxed in flats on 
London-bound carts
each 
Saturday as clockwork
       did depart

A  Victorian food luxury
       the main product of rural 
Aylesbury 
                           a duck 
     of worldwide renown
a noted product 
      of my home town

Year Posted 2007

The Topology of Eden

if adams and eves be
hovels for souls
- and -

their bodies of some 
thirty trillion cells
- then -

they average genes about
thirty five percent human
- meaning -

the adams and eves be as
two thirds earth eden garden
- soil -

mirroring all other life forms
seen in the earth eden mirror
- so that -

in caring for their own health
they be guard'ning the survival
- of earths -



stans sand

Grandma's House

From every side rise 
forlorn cries, hovels ghastly
plunged in darkness deep...
The winding way to grandma's house
s a secret he'll long keep

Do You Want a Stick of Rock

I want to write words in the thickness
of a single sheet of paper
Words that imprint themselves
in reality
like a stick of rock
that sits upon
a salted hovels shelves
bringing nightmare recollections
of drowned holidays
and fragments of broken families
that build sea shell razor beaches
Wish you were here
is always somewhere else
And frozen seas of froth and plastic bags
that took away the child
seem to whisper please stay
please

Of Dreamers and Doers

Sometimes we dream
  Sometimes we do
Which one's for you?

President Jimmy Carter
  Made speech after speech
Do you recall one word he said?
  Just who did he reach?

Then he left office
  Picked up a shovel
Built homes for the poor
  Replaced huts and hovels

Jimmy Carter made speeches
  Mere promises, 'preaches'
Then he built homes for the poor
  Changed folks' lives; that's for sure

Sometimes we dream
  Sometimes we do
Which one's for you?

Electric Genies

Spring poems are always blooming with hope
daisy splashed fields, bluebird songs are afloat.

Lovers sprawled atop blankets in plaided dreams
Ms. lilly awakens in the silver foyer of her stream.

Powdered bumble bees flashing bits of blackened gold
Mr.Winter sheds the blushing and his white satin robe.

The humble arise with earthy smiles from their hovels
into the shadows go the mittens, sea salt and shovels.

Empty playground swings, mimicking the violins of spring
children rubbing electric genies that grant them everything.

Three Wishes

If I were granted three wishes for the world, I'd wish first for
Truth -- an end to Lies and Deception -- Integrity at its core
Starting with each individual, in every home, on every block
In every city, every region, every country -- Truth as society's bedrock

Next I'd wish for Peace -- permanent, everlasting and real
More than just the absence of War, Peace with Truth as its seal
Peace between family members in every single home
Peace in villages, towns, metropolis' -- wherever our species may roam

Then I'd wish for Love, joyous, pure and unconditional
Love for the other as for oneself, completely non-judgmental
Love between family members in all our hovels and our homes
Love the whole world over, embedded in our genes and chromosomes

        October 15, 2018 

 Entry in "Three Wishes" Poetry Contest
       Sponsored by: Kevin Shaw

If Ever I Had a Country : Xv and Xvi

IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY : XV & XVI

                               XV

IF ever I had a country
And if ever I were the Treasury Secretary
I'd outlaw all big-time " companies " who beg for money
Especially those who beg in the name of the Almighty
I'd write virulent circulars on how to cajole Him through litany
To wheedle trillions of dollars euros yuans rupees throughout Eternity
That is, if ever I were the Treasury Secretary
And even if I never ever had no country

                            XVI

IF ever I had a country
And if ever I were the Minister of Finance 
I'd make every charitable organization head dance
On a tight rope stretched from here to comeuppance
For wasting nearly all what we give them on bribes penthouse mags and stamps
And take them on a tour of the streets and hovels littered with hungry children and tramps
That is, if ever I were the Minister of Finance
And even if I never ever had no country

© T. Wignesan - Paris, July 5, 2018

Cyta

The call of the muezzin, drifting over the wall,
mixes with the odors 
of diesel, cooking oil, and humanity,
as I watch a lone kite flying above low houses, 
a smear of red across dun colored hovels,
crouched against barren mountains, 
jagged like broken molars,
and imagined it to be a sun spotted apparition,
the mazy soul of the city,
tethered, wind whipped, straining, 
and I long to sever the string,
turn it aloft to jetstreamed freedom,
high cried, 
tear dried,
childhood... 
denied,
and only barely notice,
the kite, 
torn, landfallen,
twisted on a high wire like a kestrel pinioned,
and the sun sets.

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