Long Lily livered Poems
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Little brother, you're new to trick or treat and Halloween.
Mom says I must introduce you, so I'll describe the scene.
It's a scary night, and little children often wind up dead.
The danger is so great, even the sun hides his fiery head,
but just before he disappears in lily-livered fright,
long shadows announce, "soon begins the long and gory night".
Like I told you, power saws turn trees into gnarled stumps.
Dark outlines turn hunchback dwarves into giants with big humps.
Silhouettes lengthen, and they hideously portend
the gruesome ways in which young lives prematurely end.
Why would our mother want to send us out on All Hallow's Eve?
She would like to get rid of us, I can only believe.
In a week or two, she will forget both of our names.
She'll sell our baseball cards, remove our pictures from their frames,
and take a holiday in the islands of Tahiti.
'Twas ironic how she said, "have a good time, sweetie".
Your only concern is to hang on dearly to your life,
and avoid vampires, zombies and Jack the Ripper's knife.
When the goblins discover that you are on the loose,
they'll surely try to catch you and hang you with a noose.
Big brother, if by chance, they kill you, not me, on this stroll,
do you mind if I eat your candy corn and tootsie roll?
Alliteration always awesome
Ballad beyond barnyard basics
Crystalline calls careful consonants,
Diamante delivers deeply
Enthusiasm excites eager ears,
Fanciful frolicking faerie
Generously gives grateful glee
Hyping haiku to heavenly heights,
Imagery and imagination
Jubilantly jumping joyfully,
Kimo kindles king-sized kingpin,
Lamenting the lily-livered lunacy
Momentous muse modulates melody,
Necromancer normalizes Neverland,
Opulent Opalescent orchestras opt
To pollute poetry previously pristine.
Quixotic quorum of questioners
Respond and recover rhymes rapidly
Serendipitous sentimentality
Turns timely tanka traitorously toward
Unmistakably understated Uranus,
Vindicating verses vilifying Vashti.
Whacking wannish warblers west,
‘Xaggerating ‘Xtemperaneous X’tra special poems
Yet yielding a yeomanly yearning toward
A zealous zany zingaroo of zest.
HOCUS BOGUS, BOGUS POCUS!
A hex on the dryers of you who owe us
A pox on your socks never to be found
Unwound and pulled down underground
I voodoo better than you do, and you'll rue
The day you walked my way because I knew
If I'm toil and trouble, you're definitely double
So bubble bubble grow no more than stubble
It might seem weird as something feared
But I know you've always wanted a beard!
You think I'm too lily livered to deliver?
Just wait until I conjure... A WOODEN SLIVER
Didn't think this is something you'd fear?
You'll think twice when near tweezers disappear!
Such sorcery the likes you've never seen
An enchantress so mean there's never been
My final vengeance enclosed in this vile
You cry and I smile, I fly while you're in a pile
A potion with eye of storm and tongue of twist
And whatever else is on my list, with a flick of the wrist
I cast a spell you cannot quell that’s straight from hell
You’ll swell as you yell in pain as you fell
Unable to imagine such a fate is more than fable
As your pinky toe catches the corner of a coffee table!
MWA HA HA HA HA HA !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
There’s beauty in imagining great things;
It lights our dark future with hope-filled dreams ~
Visions of peasants ordained to be kings,
And plebeians crowned as queens, so it seems.
It charts dream paths lit by elegant beams.
Imagination hears each scarecrow's groans;
It squeezes water from dry desert stones.
It carves deep oceans in hot desert sand,
Lifting us from known realms to worlds unknown,
Where minds may wander due to no command.
Imagination lends us its safe wings,
So we can soar toward futures we choose,
To fill our life with hopes and precious things;
Though striking gold is never a mere cruise,
Nor are the lily-livered crowned as kings.
Sweat would streak our face and our skin would bruise,
Our legs may throb and swell with insects' stings;
It's for our future that we pay the dues —
We'll patch our hurts with plasters, cloth, and slings,
On great hopes, our imagination clings.
It’s real hopes that imagination brings,
With peace of mind when reason reigns supreme,
With thoughts that glide without the need for wings—
Yet sometimes birth false hopes no truth redeems.
And dreams may fade like echoes in a stream.
With a hearty laugh, and scallywag's glee
I've acquired their riches, and conquered the sea!
Like a timid lass... they will turn, and flee
showing their backsides, to the likes of me!
Lily livered, they're fearin' my brand!
Shiverin' they be, till they're walking on land!
Arrgg!! shouts first mate, calling out to the crew,
"Tally-ho!" fills me ears, as the chance now ensues
Setting sail in a race, up high on the waves
I spy with my glass, wily cowards to chase
'Tis we, mighty foes, that will ransom the sea!
Mighty bold is me, with me old pirate's creed!
Alas! there he is, what a fool is he!!
To rush into battle with the likes of me!!
Sailin' the waves on the blimey sea
Stung by a sword, the scallywag flees!
How swift he sails, along in the blue..
Yo ho ho! Thar' he be!
He'll be countin' his days, and soon on his knees
A sorry tale, will allot him, his sword just a broom
Me' cross=bone skull is flying wild
and waves a mighty doom!!
I am Blackbeard the Pirate....remember my name!
You will fill up your froth of my flowing fame
You will guzzle ye' grog, or a bit of ye' rum
Yea' ... call me the devil, with a bit of a scum!
Girdled with face of a hundred scars
Fear of me' wrath, either by sun or by stars
It gladdens the heart of a scoundrel like me
You'll best not forget ....tis' a Blackbeard ye' fear!!
What activates my reflex arc
And causes me to shiver?
Which stimuli come into play
To set my nerves aquiver?
At home alone at dead of night
A creak will make me skittish.
My lower lip begins to drop
In fashion quite un-British! *
And should I inadvertently
Whilst in the garden walking,
Be tickled by a spider's web
The shock will leave me balking.
Don't mention snakes and darting bats
Obnoxious smells and vermin,
Or scraping sound as chalk meets board,
For all will leave me squirming.
In other matters I am bold;
No lily-livered chicken.
But when sheer instinct rules the roost
It leaves my senses stricken.
* in contrast to the traditional British 'stiff upper lip'
08.06.19
'What makes you flinch poetry contest'
Sponsored by Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
In slumbering slope they lay,
their gaiety snores in rhythmic peaks of cadences,
The lily livered japes
Kings from central castings,
Heroes of one hour,
jostling for President with mere words
Resigned to bed now, save one.
Cowards, afraid of prison walls
seeking fame by fraud.
Oh Fame, how Disinterested
oh time, how revealing
motives concealed but not to all,
they were boys all along
impressing us by publicity
with drama for the surface
But the sternest stood alone
though jeered and calumniated, yet undeterred
taunted by the guns of the oppressors
marooned in their prison
confined to Abuja
denied of dignity
Yet his passion soars with coruscation of brilliancy
The quest for freedom stems from the heart
the cause for which he dared a tyrant
who sought a cause by a fraudulent jurist
to make him bend or make him bow.
unlike the cowards he never stooped,
he stirred the oppressed from their slumber,
and made some men by delayed revolution.
where are all the orators who came to bury Caesar by campaign?
They snore in the bedroom unaffected by the groaning of the people
some seeking publicity by suing twitter,
others purloining at the tables of business felons.
In the struggle for emancipation,
the boys are separated from the men.
Dedicated to Omoyele Sowore
The Nigerian Born Activist
who stood alone when other younger candidates resigned to fate after the fraudulent election that imposed Buhari
Date written: 26th July, 2025
Contest: Three Options in I Poetry
Sponsor: Constance La France
The man who has no imagination has no wings.
— Muhammad Ali
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Imagination lends me its safe wings,
So I can soar toward futures I choose,
To fill my life with hopes and precious things;
Though striking gold is never a mere cruise,
Neither are lily-livered crowned as kings.
Sweat would streak my face and my skin would bruise,
My legs may throb and swell with insects' stings,
It's for my future that I pay the dues —
I'll patch my hurts with plasters and with slings,
On great hopes, my imagination clings.
Goliath was a big threat to Israel
A giant with intimidating records
Of military prowess which turned Israelite soldiers
To a bunch of faithless cowards
And to an army of lily livered derelicts
As they capitulated in fear
And let the sleeping dog lie
While Goliath had his fill
Threatening God’s own army
But it took a lively faith and just a stone
To bring the mountain of a giant
Crashing to a disgraceful end
As David used faith as heavenly currency
To purchase heavenly grace
And brought the boastful philistine
To a dismal end
Are you faced with any life’s challenges?
Look back with faith on God’s track record in your life
And be filled with amazing strength and power
To overcome all Goliaths threatening your very existence
With peals of laughter rushing from
The basement of my writing soul,
I penned that letter.
With the warmth of early August, I summoned
The joy to welcome restless fingers that write,
That scribble —oh, that empowering flame of youth
That rages within us young tendrils who hide
In fragile, lily-livered shades
From the scorching heat of reality!
Hmm!
I wrote all day and all seasons, cramming words
Extirpated from the gardens of the four seasons together
Into the walls of serrated sheets of paper, just to prove a point.
And I had begun with the word Dear, like all
Who had written before me, including Shakespeare —observing all
Protocols under the spell of the eavesdropping sun.
But the letter got astray in the post.
Vanished in the naked air, with the enormous weight of its
Titillating message.
Hiding between pillar and post, and with
A postage stamp licked with spittle of expensive love,
It strayed forever and ever.
Gone.
The post office swears allegiance to its innocence
Posts run free when callused hands rough-handle them,
Leaking swarming, pillaging sweats underneath.
“But this is serious. Seriously different,” the postman insists
“It’s lost indeed. But have you searched your soul?
Did the words ever leave the confines of your soul?”
I battle the scrimmage within me —of people and letters —
Scattered and rearranged . . .
Written or unwritten, did the letters form one imaginary line
Like the Equator, which divides the writer and the receiver,
North and South?
Or did I write in haste and afterwards posted through the anus of
A hurricane?
Not every Christmas card arrives during the Yuletide;
Some arise and shine through the line of birth of the New Year,
Equal to the crowned-initiation of a reformed destiny.
I console myself.
But how long shall I wait for the response from a missing letter —
In my case, a lost letter?
Missing within me.
Lost in the vaults of my consciousness.