Long Crying wolf Poems
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At crawling stage you learn for good
That floor speck doesn’t taste like food.
The stove is hot, do not touch lest
You dare to put it to the test.
Don't fake big tears as false alarm -
Crying wolf fable brings more harm.
Now son, your real struggle and strive
Starts to go on in adult life.
Do not knock up your date unless
You're on one knee and she says yes.
Grey matter matters, not the size.
Don't drink and drive, no compromise!
When come of age you must consent -
Either move out or pay half rent.
Trust me, age is not a number,
Getting there will more encumber.
Say no to drugs and holly smokes -
Respect your loving, wise old folks!
My twelwth not last advice to you -
Do as I say, not as I do!
February 8, 2023
One of the many things I love about working in a bookstore is how, every now and then, the magic of the store unwraps…Like the other day when a mother sat in our big chair reading a book…with her daughter seated on her lap.
It reminded me of when I was a little boy sitting atop my mother’s knee…and how the world became a magical place…when she would read to me.
I smiled thinking how, like me, this girl is in for a wild ride…just because of the time her mother took…to introduce her to the wonders…inside the pages of a book.
She’ll learn how a mouse can run up and down a clock…she’ll meet a storyteller named Mother Goose…she’ll learn how a cow can jump over the moon…and what to do with three mice on the loose.
She’ll learn about three pigs…their houses…about some scary brothers Grimm…she’ll learn about a boy who kept crying wolf…and all the trouble that followed him.
She’ll learn a monkey can be curious…how our need for heroes will never end…she’ll learn to say good night to the moon…and how a spider and a pig can be friends.
And the day will come when from her mother’s knee…it will be time to say goodbye…The day she’ll take what her mother has taught her…flap her own wings…and fly.
I imagine every time she opens a book…opens to its wonder, its laughter…its mystery…she’ll smile remembering where it all began…atop her mother’s knee.
So on this day and every day remember…its never too late to start reading…
for inside each book a magical world awaits…
and herein lies the beauty of reading a book…
because…it’s also never too late.
Chorus:
There’s crying in the wilderness
There’s crying in the wilderness… again
There’s crying in the wilderness
Is anybody listening?
Verse 1:
A man once had a vision.
Someone’s crazy uncle John
While he dined on locust meat
They pretended nothing’s wrong.
Is anybody, is anybody listening?
A boy was crying “wolf”.
They laughed that boy to shame.
They were sleeping in their beds
When that mad wolf fin’lly came.
Chorus:
Verse 2:
Some people are called prophets.
Some people are called fools.
Those deciding which is which
Aren’t always those who make the rules.
Is anybody, is anybody listening?
So listen for a voice of warning.
It could come from anyone.
Listen closely to your neighbor,
To your daughter and your son.
Chorus:
Verse 3:
You say you’ve been listening.
You say you followed every clue.
You say you’ll make a difference.
I ask, “Whatcha gonna do?”
Is anybody, is anybody listening?
You say you’ve been listening.
You say you followed every clue.
You say you’ll make a difference.
I ask, “Whatcha gonna do?”
Chorus:
There’s crying in the wilderness
There’s crying in the wilderness… again
There’s crying in the wilderness
Is anybody listening?
She quietly told him
you like me :but I
don't like you
I aint shame that's
how I feel about you
play around, you gonna learn
your lesson
people like me
like teaching lessons
that'll learn em
ole folk say
you grin and smile
you know what I'm
tryna say
Just a little
don't get use to me
I'm sometimey
as you can see
stern and bold
Proud and sassy to
don't play with me
I won't game on you
get it right
do it now
do it like this
let me show you how
you had nough time
to impress me
but you didn't
I like you a little
just waitin for
you to quit me
there a surprise
at the end of the
lesson
you aint gonna like me
Baby got any questions
maybe love and togetherness was losted in
some of the translations.
From the story
the "Crying Wolf"
a Native story about a woman ho left her husband
to be with another man. She didn't understand him
he barley spoke spanish and his english
was full of slang.
She was mistress to his friend, who sailed to Brazil
and she became pregnant and said the child was the
other mans. When people in the village lerned of this tale
they rode there horses to where these people were
and dressed in there native clothes and did dances on there lawns.
then they told all the people in the village
of the tale. This made the woman crazy, and she left the village leaving
the children with the man she had not been in love with.
the story ends
with the woman finding the children with the father
in New Hispania
there they were living the life of wealthy people.
they sold there land to tobacco farmers
and had become wealthy.
In sheepish clothing human (kind?) have growled at what they
thought to be a star in the drama of false knowledge
Narcissistic howling for eons
Predators behaving as if the earth is the centre of…what
while the light has thought to be enlightened
It is the moon’s faulty torch
Arms strong and light years afar they conquered
beamed at their glory and hailed their progression
A howler of lunar proportions
At the beginning there was the word and then came radiance
glowing decrial and wild shouts refusing the message
Crying wolf too often horsens in vain
08th July 2018
Written for Julia Ward's contest 'Wolves and the Moon'
("Howling Rock" - 2016, Castle Rocks, Idaho)
Crying Wolf
My phone is set to the tone of a trumpet horn
To signal incoming texts
And every time it sounds
I think of Robin Hood calling out for me.
I think he must have been a disciplined
And discerning fellow long ago
In his Sherwood Forest,
Because otherwise the woods would be filled
With his call
And eventually we Merry Men would grow weary
And confused by the chatter.
And so it is today
As my phone sounds the horn
Again and again,
Like the boy crying wolf
Asking only for some attention
To ease his boring, lonely existence.
This is the modern world after all,
Ruled by comfort and instant gratification,
And an increasingly pervasive sense of isolation;
The insulated world of us all
Now so far removed from the threat of wolves,
Taking it all in, instead
Through sheep’s eyes,
Confident that all is well, as it should be,
And if it isn’t
Then surely, 'it can’t happen here'.
My phone is finally silent
As I compose these words
Giving me time to think
Of all that waits out there beyond my senses
Breaking through not as a horn
But as a distant howl
Growing ever louder
Beyond the boundary of my defenses.
(1/21/24)
My mind wanders off into daydreams quite often.
Or are they just playing scenes I have forgotten?
I spent some time reading from various topics.
Taught musings around concern I have forgotten.
What I loathe and always hate is the crying wolf.
Still young to ponder on what could be forgotten.
Shades of burning amber and red fall to the ground.
Light caressing fresh touch scenes can't be forgotten.
A soundless rustle of leaves; wild inspiration.
How to reveal scenes so they are ne'er forgotten?
When I call to mind a bunny trapped in spotlights,
Hunter who catches broad ones is ne'er forgotten.
Natural muse, tranquility among lush trees.
The calm, swaying trees vowed not to be forgotten.
Oh, to return to my youth for only one night.
It was a scene, maybe ne'er to be forgotten.
3rd place contest winner
Written: January 03, 2023
My Muse Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
Long ago when fairy tales and fables
Defined that period in time
There's a story seldom told
Of a Dyslexic Shepherd boy
Who guarded the town's flock
From a wolf with hungry eyes
The Mayor said to cry Wolf when he attacked
Then townsfolk would run to his aid
never should he raise a false alarm
The Shepherd Boy before him
knew the rule but disobeyed
He played a joke by crying Wolf
when he wasn't around
He thought it so funny
To call out a false alarm
Making everyone to come running from town.
He played his joke a few more times
Soon not a single villager would react
Then came the night when the wolf made his move
And he cried out that the wolf had attacked
Not a soul ran to help him to fight off the wolf
They heard his pleas but they went by ignored
He was alone to face the vicious wolf Without the villagers support
In the morning when they checked on the Shepherd Boy
His outcome was horrifying and grim
It happened that after his many false alarms
The joke was actually on him.
The Dyslexic Shepherd Boy made a promise
He would never call out a false alarm.
As long as he didn't play tricks
He would never come to harm
The night came when the wolf attacked
He screamed for the townsfolk below
they thought it was a trick
because the Dyslexic Shepherd Boy wasn't crying 'WOLF'
He was screaming 'FLOW'
JSB
Judge Santiago Burdon
Stray Dogs and Deuces Wild, Not Real Poetry, Quicksand Highway, Fingers in the Fan, Tequilas Bad Advice, Lords of the Afterglow, Overdose of Destiny, Architect of Havoc .
"A Broken Demo"
In a desperate cry for help
She hires every jeweler
A cheap sheep crying, Wolf!
Using old repeating politic
utilizing lies * manipulation
To cover the Glass Paste on her face
Diamond-like - Stonecold and Crooked!
Her true shape -- unveiled -- predictable
A Thief Among The Mines
In a world where certainties are few---
Promises! Promises!
A shallow cut - with high class
no shape --- no spark, a dark mass
Smashing success when opportunity hits
The worst gem in disguise
The diamonds in her eyes -- gone -- expired
If you look, you will see
A twisted reflection in her evil grin
A sinister smile -- waiting to win
Her Vice - a victim --- her puppet
blind * believing her lies
Cutting light performance -
-Without realizing most see past her history
We the people are more than a cubic step
Lighting the madness of her soul
Just remember, every day she sits on her pedestal
Without a twinkle --- she stares into the night
Knowing nothing she stands for is right
Innovation - incomplete
A man-made she-demon trying to wear white
Like the swan, dying every night
She refused to hear the trumpet play
A new moon soon will open our eyes
EXPOSED --- Diamond CUT
Hillary Will Not Be President
#The Poet Destroyer