In the hierarchy of All Things
If everything is everything
And love is love
Then food is food
Which is good news
To the fine young cannibals
Who live down the block
I can smell their barbecue
Grilling sweet meats all afternoon
What is it I ask,
Long pig they reply
Clearly it is not my job to judge
But I will politely decline
Their smiling potluck invites
(8/28/26)
His name is Lou, he’s a frog who reads in bed
His parents live down in the old Swamp homestead
They have taken his books and burned them too
But he keeps finding books, this enterprising Lou
Something is wrong with him, his parents lamented
He should be focused on flies, loopy and fermented
Books is for people, he needs no education at all
His only true calling is to lap gnats and bugs from a wall
And what is love then?
can you tell me my friend?
is it something I can find?
is it some sort of spell?
has it be seen by anyone?
does it live anywhere?
is it only for the chosen ones?
or for any mongrel on earth?
And what is love then?
I'm feeling a little bit lost
nobody can really explain
the meaning of that word
is it something to achieve?
is it something we can score?
is it some sort of mystery
that I need to solve?
And what is love then?
does it even exist?
or is is just a ghost
crying on the street
dragging heavy chains
calling for its kids
regretting every decision made
begging for mercy?
And what is love then?
come on give me a hand
is it a name carved on a tree
or a heart drawn on the sand?
is it what I feel for my kid?
is it what I felt for man?
or is it only a sweet mirage
and the biggest cruelest scam?
And what is love then?
I really want to know
does it live up high?
does it live down low?
did I drop it by accident?
and it's covered with snow?
do you really know about it?
or just like me... you're not sure at all?
Jessica
High atop our chimney breast,
Lives Steve Seagull upon his nest.
He’s a highly trained, bombing master,
Atop my rooftop, his name spells disaster.
If you’re like me, and live down by the sea,
You’d better hide quick, and find the nearest tree.
He thinks the seaside sky’s his domain,
And his mission is to cause both misery and pain.
Steve seagull, he dominates his space,
As you take leave of your house, of your place.
He swoops down low, he targets your head,
And ‘bombs away’ he just misses you instead.
That was his warning shot, next time you won’t be so lucky,
Next time will hit you, and you’ll be feeling all mucky.
You’ll have to return home, and you’ll then need a shower,
And Steve Seagull triumphantly returns atop of his tower.
He don't live down your way.
He dwells in another day
he will never let you into.
His face is white
but not bright - yellow age
has mildewed his smile.
The house on the hill
is not his,
but he won't let you visit.
Jailhouse rock
will keep you dancing
behind be-wilderness bars.
He forgets to like you,
he thinks you're cotton
to be picked.
Children run from his knees',
kids know that the cotton man
has a secret plan
and it don't include us.
In the forrest of metal trees
Tribes they sleep beneath the leaves
In the shadows of forgotten ways
They forage throughout the days
~~~
Wearing armor made of cloth
They race to find what they've lost
In search of memories from the past
Days gone by they can never get back
~~~
Some in search of fortune and fame
For others though its not the same
In the forrest, is where they'll remain
Until death comes and makes her claim
~~~
Some succeed in their wayward journey
Others get lost, burnt, and buried
~~~
Seeking shelter from the cold
In huts not made from rock or stone
But still the warriors struggle on
To live here though the days have gone
~~~
Yes in the forrest of metal trees
Their is a tribe beneath the leaves
Some are young and some are old
Some will make it, Some will go,
Some will fake it, still it shows
The struggle is real for those
Who live down below.
R.K.H
They no longer sneak into my soul in the middle of the night
Whispering mean things about me, hurting my feelings.
Because that is no longer satisfying
Now they laugh as I clench my teeth in the day time
So hard that my tongue gets cut on the sharp edges
My tongue cannot leave the edges alone
Any more than the demons can leave me alone.
They slap me upside the head and make fun of my whines.
You know nothing! You are nothing! As worthless as they come.
It is difficult to ignore them and they are getting
LOUDER.
I sit here among others, pretending I am good.
Bright, cultured, not refined, but at least normal.
There is no normal about me.
The demons are gut-punching me.
One is pinching the back of my neck hard.
They want me to live down to the negativity they have brought
I am swimming in the middle of Devil River, but I do not let on.
Wanting to fit in.
wondering
if
any
of
the
others
have
demons
He had a perpetual angry sneer
A lip that curled and an attitude that said
Back off
Expressed dissatisfaction with you
before you reached his eye level
you could feel his disgust
He expected the worst in everyone
Substandard treatment, racism, sexism,
and all the other isms
He had been taught by the best
that the world is horrible and
people are con-artists
it served him well in his quest
to live down to the failure
his mother always said he would be
His grandmother tried to build him up
and love him, but she died when he
was a mere babe
So he lived down the the expectations
of a mother who had always expected the
worst, seeing racism and sexism in everyone
Until she was old, then she say
ageism and spoke to him in even worst ways
treating him like the dog she had always told him
he was
It was despicable to see.
His angels were horrified
But they could not undo the damage
of a sad and angry mother
who never wanted a child in the first place.
Here are some people I'd like you to meet,
Various characters who live down our street.
First there's old Alf, the gardener supreme
I've never seen a lawn so lush or so green.
Then there is Elsie, how she likes to chatter
Any subject you like, she'll have a natter.
There's secretive Steve, he peeps through his blinds
I often wonder what lurks in his mind.
Now on to Sarah, the voluptuous vamp
Quite a contradiction, for her husband's quite camp.
John on the corner is fixing his car,
He works on it daily, but it doesn't get far.
Old Margaret bless her, has a house full of cats
And a collection, of the world's weirdest hats.
Desmond the cyclist you just have to see,
All rigged out in lycra, he's seventy three!
Thomas our giant, six foot ten it's said
A rumour went round there was snow his head.
Then there is me, an observer am I
I just love to watch, as life passes by.
Entry for
STANDARD CONTEST 163,any form,any,theme,
Up to a max of 20 lines Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand.
18/1/19. Placed =1st.
Nautica --By David Lustrup 2012
The moon kisses the sea
With a million points of light
Galaxies in motion
On your surface shine tonight
Your salty water,
An elixir of dreams,
Fluid flowing ether,
Through starlight's glowing beams
Delirium drops and hallucinations,
This gathering of fish, and the crabs, and crustaceans
And all of the beings that live down below,
Enchanted they sway to your ebb and your flow
Gracefully they dance in this briny masquerade
As phosphorescent shrimp light the seaweed promenade
Their gowns flow slowly like serpentine sails
As they dance in moonlight to the song of the whales
Unaided and jaded within a world I have created,
isolated and left alone I see my light travelling has faded.
I walked and ran to sit then stand and in my mind’s eye,
I figured my plan should be grand and decided to fly.
Lonesome in my shadow I free myself for my dignity,
although I live down below I see my darkened solitary.
Philosophical and redeeming I sense a tempting wonder,
catastrophic, dull and streaming I condense my infinite ponder.
A light travel in the distance can string along imagination,
while my sight loses resistance, and brings a wrong destination.
Couplet with internal rhyme
Travel Light Contest
Kai Michael Neumann
January 15, 2017
I don't desire to dwell in beautiful temples
made by your hands
I desire to dwell in every room of your heart
I don't desire the blood of sacrificed animals
or the good works of man
I desire obedience to my commands
I don't desire your empty religious practices
I desire a heart that is on fire with love for God
I don't desire to be visited only on Holy days
I desire to fellowship with you every day
This is why I laid my live down for you
Silent Songs: written by Stephen J. Vattimo
August 15, 1996
My search for the perfect last line
can be hellish or something quite divine.
I never end a work of genius with something less,
for if I did I'd never live down the shame, I must confess.
I sometimes shake my head in disbelief
at the dysfunction of my brain when in grief
and consternation. I am besieged by a muddled mind.
And still I search for the elusive ending. The one I cannot find.
And when I believe I have found the solution
I am given a critique by one who gives me absolution.
Be Silent, moron, if your foolish words are merely to placate!
Be gone with your false chatter. There is nothing more that I hate.
An unfinished work of art is a terrible bane,
and the fact is, that thought in not entirely profane.
I've been known to scream phrases of irreverent profanity
while plagued without resolution. I am cursed with near insanity.
All the wrong words keep echoing in my head.
An unfinished poem is by far the worse thing I dread.
I will not sign my name to poetry unless I consider it clever.
I get frustrated while searching for a final line, but give up? Never!
One simple sound always reminds me of summer.
Sitting on the porch , the air heavy with the fragrance
of the lilac at the corner of the house..the sound of crickets
a backdrop for summer dreaming.
Nothing pressing to do, nowhere special to go.
content to just sit and watch the moon..
and listen to the cricket chorus. Sometimes the chirping
is almost drowned out by the sound of the frogs
that live down by the well..but the crickets are
persistent and proud of their voice.
Time is nothing; now is all and tomorrow seems far, far away.
We are the neighbors
Who live down your street
We are the ones
Who your kids love to hate
We are the ones who actually sit outside
Watching our children while they are at play
Making sure all of the children
On the street are behaved
To many drive-bys by gangs
Over drugs and money and loot
Never caring before firing
They just load up their guns and they shoot
Sexual offenders on every block
Hiding behind their closed doors
They're watching and waiting
For their next victim to lure
They say it takes a village to raise a child
That's why we must all protect every one
Despite of our color, religions, or political views
We must come together, stop looking for an excuse
I watch after your children while you are away
I'm hoping as a parent for me you'd do the same
We'll never always see eye to eye it's the truth
But the protection of the children should always be first
So when your kids run to you saying I was mean
Just know they were up to trouble hoping it unseen
I spotted it and stopped it before a disaster could strike
Because as a parent, I'd save any child's life
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