All killer.. not a scintilla of filler.. like the thriller in Manila
Mean baggie green bangers obscene BazBall gall clangers
Head distiller a pillar has such skill.. touch with his silky tiller
Starc’s iron will topped the bill with hefty lefty driller flotilla
No beige or vanilla just fancy dan elan like Faustino Asprilla
The fate of blind date no real surprise surprise can hear Cilla
England Ashes grief, flashes of mischief of late great Keith Miller
"I was crowned with a spike right through my head."
That's what Keith and Mick once said.
I haven't heard one of their songs in a while,
but when I do, I just have to smile.
The voice of death tho a whisper still
If exercised is loud and shrill
A couple of coins & sign the line
May just buy you a little time
Library’s filled with ancient tomes
A lot of stories of the unknown
On going tales of lore
Their to impress the present whore
Two bits to cover the eyes
A few roses to deodorize
A Constant rattle to the soul
can create more havoc than you know
With A few scriptures recited well
Place a dollar bet and you’re out of hell
From our minds the hero’s rise
Revealing how we lived our lives
Speaking in circles nipping our tails
Creating enough wind to billow a sail
The flag of glory is beyond repair
Yet plainly visible to all who dared
This is to Francis& Keith &
The Captains of thrift ANSWERS TO ANXIETY
My favorite poem of the late, great Keith Bickerstaffe, Petal.
************************************************
Petal
Pink and perfect mystery
to which I ply my finger,
she ripens so exquisitely
the longer that I linger
and fluff the modest blossom
with my gentle loving hand,
teasing, ever pleasing
so that now I understand
how beautiful the flower
that yields without duress,
blooming now so fully
in the warmth of my caress.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2006
*****************************************
RIP, Mr. Bickerstaffe. You are missed!
The Uncontest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Anthony Biaanco
Date written: 06/21/2020
Keith Edward Baucum
Keith Edward Baucum
Keith Edward Baucum
Keith Edward Baucum
Keith Edward Baucum
Keith Edward Baucum
Keith Edward Baucum
Written by: Keith Edward Baucum
Sometimes we look at the spread of the open sky
in deep awe and wonder
At times even daring to claim the sky,
like caged birds, we weep and tweet.
We look at the ocean, the screaming of the sea
and the river between dark and bright.
Where the dire silence of the river sits yawning.
In our drizzling doubt we forget we too are rivers and,
oceans that scream, seas that see, streams that scream.
We murder our own dreams at the end of the twilight.
We have, ourselves, killed not only ourselves but other selves.
We weep, yet told, “weep not child.”
Like anteaters that fight using their callouses,
and not their claws and wits.
We shrink and quake fearing evil dreams and nightmares. We ask:
Who will plead with our ancestors to generously pour their wisdom?
So we can know that it is not necessary to sniff the buttocks of a man who has just defecated.
And so we can know that we are the seas,
the streams and rivers that scream,
elsewhere and everywhere.
My son Brian is a special fellow, with just his smile he can turn my darkest days brighter than the brightest yellow.
He sees the good in everyone and will make you feel love down deep in your heart.If I would ever lose him my life would be ripped apart.
Brian has Down's and has struggled most of his life and does things he was told he could never do, so many surgeries and obstacles to go through.
He has proven so many wrong with just being alive and goes through life with a smile on his face and love in his heart, he always welcomes you with a hi.
Brian is my best friend and right hand man. I can never imagine him leaving my side, I swear I will run and hide away from love and everyone around just stay to myself and forever wear a frown.
They met on a Monday
She said her hair was a mess.
Or was it a Tuesday?
She had just come from the gym.
It was the ice cream section
On aisle number 5.
Oh wait, it was aisle 3.
I remember she said the tuna - was buy 1 get one free.
She noticed his hair
Then well, maybe his rump.
It could only be him
Making her heart go thump thump
She quick put on lipstick
And ran her hand through her hair
She was ready for the big hello
But could only stand there and stare
Keith Urban in Publix?
In little ole DeLand
She had to be seeing things
She had left her glasses on the nightstand
She heard him ask
where he could find beer
She quick grabbed his hand to show him
Because she was from here.
They left aisle 3
Past the salmon and soup
They walked hand in hand
Basically making a big loop.
Now back where they started
She said oh silly me
The beer is right here
Right here on Aisle 3
Keith Urban thanked her
And asked her name
She said I’m Barbara C.
But you can call me babe.
This is the untrue story
Of how Keith and Barb met
There no harm in a story
Hey its just between friends.
RIP Police Constable Keith Palmer 2017.
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad author
Who shall we bury today?
Who has been taken away?
Not me yet I’m pleased to say.
So I can write these words today!
As we mourn loved ones lost.
Or friends we knew, in days gone past.
Lost to us but not high above!
Where innocents go to be loved.
Cry not more tears, I beg of you.
Remember me as you should do.
The last time you were full of glee.
Remember that time you spent with me.
We mourn a special man today.
Killed on duty policing I say.
Policing outside our country’s Parliament.
Unarmed on duty in these days of torment.
In heaven, he will surely take his place.
Head held high, with no disgrace.
So when we all pass Saint Peter’s gate.
Don’t be surprised to see his face.
Of course off-duty he will not be.
Saint Peter’s gate is so busy.
Yet all who queue to enter there.
Cause no trouble I do declare.
So when we finally do die.
Shake his hand, will you and I.
For he did not die in vain!
At Saint Peter’s gate he is on duty again.
So farewell Keith Vaz, we don’t really mind
Whether you steered from the front or behind
But the coke was a bit of an epic fail
What’s that, you’re snorting, I didn’t inhale?
So hello Keith Vaz, you’re still knocking about
You can lock up yer closet now yer out
And maybe hang out with Osborne and stuff
Isn’t he a bit of a powder puff?
© Gail Foster 6th September 2016
Kindly
Evolving
Into
True
Happiness
Written by Keith Edward Baucum
aka The Brown Philosopher aka The
Green Poet
Kindly
Evolving
Into
True
Happiness
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka
The Brown Philosopher
Hello my name is Keith Edward Baucum.
I am a black male who was born on the
day of July 10, 1982.
I'm the youngest out of my mother's seven
children.
I am from Laurinburg North Carolina. I
still live in Laurinburg North Carolina.
My interests are education, poetry, African
American studies, African culture,
literature, visual arts.
My favorite poets are Marcus Garvey,
Phillis Wheatley, Tupac Shakur, Langston
Hughes, Maya Angelou, Paul Laurence
Dunbar, and Countee Cullen.
I would like to publish a book of poems,
stories, quoets, and writings.
I am 31years old and as single as one can
be.
I have no children.
The type of music I like are hip-hop, R&B,
rap, soul music, reggae music, and gospel
music.
I'm a Christian and I'm a black
nationalist
My mailing address is po Box 792
Laurinburg North Carolina 28352
Written by Keith Edward Baucum Aka Red
Seven aka The Brown
Philosopher aka The Green Poet
Cradle my body, Deeply into
you, tear me, limb-frm-limb,
Can't deny your pulsing vibes,
380* spins my prime, moving
mountains, amongst, early
dawns, sunlight quake, where
we lost all self-control,
dangerously, Keith Sweats,
song, fornicating, our love....To
another round of sweet
Deveined entwined lyrics,under
bump n' grind, midnights
breaking hour, we co-inside, all
measures of passions love, to
never part...
~CR~
All Rights Reserved
04-18-13
The face like an old sailor hugs the eye
Something deep and erudite there
The white hairs say the man did sigh
But for what does not now appear
Let me tell my own story with it, friend.
Poet of young hearted nature ringing
Whimsical and erudite from beginning
Yours words like Wordsworth still ascend.
O let us keep with our hearts more than men
Two old poets washed up by the tides
Seaweeds telling myth till the time's yarns end
Us, carnal dreamers with stars as brides
Hey, I salute you ... brother in writing, I
Remember we held this friendship long
Ago, but claiming it again fear the song
That death may wreath us with, and you
After me, or I before, alone must rue
How time has harvested us for truth
And stripped us leafless of our youth
May our words win us laurels in the sky.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.