Several semis have jack-knifed
The blizzard has made the air fog-like
Highway patrol has closed the interstate down
Electric cars cannot run in this weather
There is treacherous black ice
Many pile ups of cars, some injured, eight dead
Frostbite is waiting around the corner to set in
Tell me again why we live in the Midwest?
The kerfuffle began
when the K&K's concocted
a plan to be special
beyond breakfast.
To be silent, written,
but never heard
was simply absurd.
Penned in by N's
K's lovely voice
was kybosched
knifed,
knuckle-dusted
knocked, kneed
when kneeling prone.
Denied any
free expression speech
from the grassy knoll.
Why must this be so?
K's are sick and tired of being
bullied by N's!
To forever have to remain silent whenever followed
by an 'N' at the start of the word.
It's not right for knight, knot, knowledge and knob
to know they must have a hidden silent
bed-fellow at the bedhead,
The boss neutered to mere
nothingness and meaningless no-less.
It's not right to be demanded in Scrabble and rambling
scribbles, dabble and scrawls,
but muted silent in the babble of spoken recalls
of verse spoken aloud or recited in the reader's head.
Let there be a voice for Special K's.
That's what we say!
A flirty young lady who went by the name Jane,
Every day a new beau, was insanely addicted, couldn’t abstain
On dating sites, she would spend her day,
Hoping to meet Mr Right, come what may,
Instead, knifed seven times police said, she suffered inhumane pain.
First motion is practiced at sunrise
With devout courage and humble strength,
Unobserved, unguided, and alone.
First motion glides over the accent.
Some say swan dive, some jack-knifed tractor trailer,
Balanced graceful as a feather on the sharp edge of a sword.
First motion goes down with a karma chaser.
Repeat until you leave with empty pockets.
First motion isn’t drunk, just happy-go-lucky.
First motion is taken as given,
Today, and the day after today, and tomorrow.
Having so prepared, one is ever poised to face battle.
As Prince Arjuna knows, this world is no place for pussies.
Maybe the wind blows to search for lost clouds
Maybe the stars shine to hunt for the sun
Maybe we laugh to gasp in some air
To let our soul dance blissful and bare
Maybe the waves come looking for lost fish
Maybe smoke rises to search for the wood
Maybe we cry to let out our plight
To heal our souls scathed, scarred and knifed
Maybe the grass sways to wave at the grasshoppers
Maybe the spider weaves to show off its skills
Maybe we kiss to say that we'll miss
To let them know we always want them near
mud creatures with knifed talon fingers
squirm and rip
Tearing from my heart
a formless creature with no end or beginning
heads become tails that wrap and entwine
tortured stems of petrified trees
that twist and devour
spread and stagnate
held in stasis
by a lying smile
and morphing mask
that never shows beneath
The brainwashing of non believers has begun
backwards peddling parties on the streets
taking away all basic rights under a family structure
imposing ridiculous arguments hell bent within such destruction
This new age occult removes freedom of speech
where good values have become imprisoned facts
impaired visions caught inside the dark web
Judged by those promoting sinful acts woe behold
educational standards fall dramatically backwards
liars sit on the seats of the state's offices thieving clowns
spreading corrupt pagan literature this vulgarity shape shifts
The truth runs a red light and turns it green
fornicators stealing every humane virtue drunken louts
pushing a strange lifestyle foreign to the majority
tolerance has just jack knifed away from love
Equality has lost all foundations killing the innocent's word
when the temple of our Lord Most High Spirit
is shunned and burdened by man's awful silence
and complete disobedience each one afraid to condemn
what's wrong will never be right
yet they will never stand for what is right and just
instruct the ignorant has now become the policy under clouds
Knifed through with tales of lost unknowing
Is a frost-thorned wilderness
Where memories are cold winds blowing
Their song, a writ of ice-scarred shards
Jagged, the times they reflect
Of shattered dreams, and hopes, and scenes
Once strong, now pale shells, derelict.
Here men of snow with tongues of glass
Quench their thirst with my bitter tears
And mock me with voice of wind and waste
Bind me with ropes of lightning fear
And scour my mind with eldritch tales
Till naught but emptiness prevails.
I thought you were mirage, then
Till you cradled my reborning mind
Showed me how to begin again
How I could leave the past behind.
Your river laughter gladdened me,
Made me deaf to the cruel wind's calling
And your soft arms encircled me
Took from me my fear of falling.
I would journey on with you
I know you will help me see
The path away from all that's been,
Your company, my victory.
Should you choose to leave me now,
With you would go my mind's new sun
Its light shows me what I have been
But not yet what I might become.
Christopher Burke.
Unexpressed emotions never die
It seems that they attain eternal life!
We give a wanton wince, a wistful sigh
But might such hidden feelings lie?
As does a husband to a questioning wife.
Give no reason but a truthful cry
On emotions hiding, wonder why.
Will they cause an everlasting strife?
We give a quantum wince, transcendent sigh
As we grow older, feelings multiply
And fearing laughter, in the back they’re knifed
Unexpressed emotions cannot die
And gazing ever closer, magnified
We divide each one into unequalled halves
We give unnoticed winces to blind eyes
So what is left, what will of us survive?
All the feeling unexpressed in life!
Unexpressed emotions never die
Take care of what may be your endless lies.
The friendly enemy,
or enemy friend
What matters the difference,
or need to pretend
Either stabbed in the front,
or knifed in the back
The wound just as fatal,
in either attack
Blood given freely,
or blood taken dark
Veins running empty,
leading back to the heart
To face it undaunted,
or preyed from the rear
Deaths twins will approach,
—on the tip of one spear
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)
Sorrow tumbled into words, an antidote
When sobs choked; venom in the throat.
I hear in wrath, again, his disgusting gloat.
Follows, her muffled groans upon each smote.
In a while, she whimpers in an awesome note.
Probably, in pain, bearing his lusty frote.
I lay jack-knifed, as ever, a vain mote.
Tears overflow in such relations of fraught.
An unwanted witness I’ve been, still zygote.
Begetter that blessed me with love drought!
Who cares? My soul long for draught.
No more! I’m tired of being the scapegoat.
I pray to thee, free us of this cutthroat.
In time please, send us thy lifeboat!
Date:17/06/16
Placed 10 for contest Desperate Housewife by Poet Destroyer A (2/07/16)
Placed 2 for contest Sadness by Silent One (11/02/17)
I am a poet without honor
when will I ever learn?
I saw people yesterday that
were more than worth a line.
There were matters of importance,
grist for a real poet's mill.
There were deep emotions
waiting for a poet's caring note.
I passed through images and scenes,
there should have been a poem.
I knifed through that day
like warm butter
with not a word, retold.
Always putting off the writing,
I never capture the heat.
Even these lines were better
when they were a first conceit.
I am a poet without honor
and really deserve to burn.
S)cars Are What They Are.
C)uts are deep.
A)nger dwells inside
R)age becomes you
S)ilence is the end.
A)ctions make wounds
R)ibs are broken
E)yes stay swollen
W)rist's are bruised
H)ate engulfs you
A)buse is from you
T)humb's are sliced
T)oes are blue
H)ead has gashes
E)lbow's have rashes
Y)elling will not go unpunished
A)rm's are knifed up to the bone
R)eality here is death that awaits
E)ngulfed in horror is my life.
I am a gleaming aubergine
in an oval dish
My purple skin is polished
Like BBC English.
I await my fate for I am ripe
My seeds fulfil my wish
Soon,soon the knife will cut me up
As corn in fields is threshed.
I’d rather lie in Egypt’s soil
By birds and insects bit
But here I am in England
Where irony is wit.
After cutting comes the salt
As in a bowl I sit
For I am moist like lady’s parts
As poets have much writ.
Moussaka is my destiny
And as you bite and chew
I shall be what Jesus was
And give my grace to you
I am fried in olive oil
To give me flavour ripe.
Dried in cloth and placed in pot
Atop the meat I ride.
My colour brings all eyes to me
As I lie in a heap.
Some like carrot heads so bright
Royal purple is my state.
So better than a lamb I am
For a sacrifice.
I am proud and gleam like gold
As Caesar-like I’m knifed.
My seeds through sewers deep shall pass
And somewhere come to grief.
I shall grow again and be
Portrayed by a leaf.
The Nefarios Scream
Camping in isolated lands of parks and creeks
Untold experiences of adventurous beauty
Nefarious acts eclipse joys of freedom
Blowing up cars to bar any escape
Tents knifed through in the darkness of the night
Wakening frightened sleepy eyed tourists
Throats slit of those who rebel and abuse
Serial killer chases the gutsy that escaped
Muffle the defiant eye to jab out screams
Clanging chains, barrelled guns, hammers et al
Adorn his barricaded blood stained dungeons
Adventures in foreign land turn uglier than nightmares
Destinations of destined stumbled into zones horrific
Families and lovers pine with unrequited inquiries
Investigators baffled over the ambiguous maniac
Who finger by finger tortured the life out of tourists
Exulting over his power of creating a world of zombies
A bomb he carried to blow up the next tourist van
Helpless travellers plea's rippled his blood
Slow and steady steps he came closer to van
An unseen rattler uncoiled rattling his next step
Hissing his breath away in the loudest scream
Balveen Cheema
September 20, 2015
Contest: The Dark and Twisted
Sponsor: Nathan D
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