Long Sound off Poems
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Is there anyone who can explain to me
why someone in the Soup community
would gripe about those on the lists,
ranting on with their pen in clenched fist?
How important can the lists possibly be
to set someone's nerves off so repeatedly.
Why dwell upon them with such negativity,
screeching and wailing like a banshee?
I don't know what the fuss is all about,
but I certainly don't see a reason to pout.
If their name is not on the lists, no doubt,
could be they're just jealous as all get out.
I don't care who writes the most poetry.
I don't join contests for people to notice me,
but why do they impugn poets unpleasantly?
Just ignore the lists and drink some Chablis.
If you are guilty of this, take a drink or two
and put an end to your nagging like a shrew.
I'm weary of your protests and hullabaloo,
squawking all around the site like a cuckoo.
Contest themes give poets a place to start
silly limericks, or something from the heart.
You disparage them, tearing them apart,
but a poet's lines are treasured works of art.
What's it to you if poets want to compete?
Are you afraid that you'd go down in defeat?
Instead of bahing like a sheep with each bleat,
turn your sour scorning into something sweet.
You get poem of the day or poem of the week.
How quick you are to label yours with a tweak,
not the mark of one who's humble and meek.
It's a bit hypocritical. That would be my critique.
Entering contests is a poet's choice, not a crime.
If there's a laddered list poets wish to climb,
it's not right for you to sound off or chime.
Why don't you just find some other pastime?
The Witches of Garais or
the Strega opened an area
centered in a bean feild
were they invited men from around the world
to join the Opera Orchastra
The Muses of Men the would
have them to perform as they would rate
there performance and likiblity
based on there trainiblity to the styles they saw fit.
The boiled fatted pork until
it was lard and the renderings became cracklings
and then were made into puffed rines
the seasoned them with spices and sugar
and crunched them as they sipped beer and other
cultural fermeants.
The words didn't matter as long as
the instruments were recognizible and the sound was simulaur to
what the song that played had started.
Thequeeks and quarks and the chinks of strings and
woodwinds were often muffled by the snares and drum rythmic sounds that often were louder than the brasses and electric guitars
a tuba player stood in front of a waiting
group of musicains and asked them
to sound off together
he acted like the conducter and got them to
play a song together
the Witches heard this
and called the auditions off and told the section of sixty nine
they had conveinced them they were best by being able
to come together and do the thing asked of them!
Focus on a plot, may you like a lot,
in this beginning so you introduce-
at it's middle you did deduce-
an end- is what you have, too produce-
Testing this out; you dial out any number,
ask! is Perry - Slap Happy News there with you?
polite voice on that other end said; wrong #
try again, this is Tate, for heaven sake...
a little later; you 'call again' 2nd time
same voice; have you misdialed again-
you laugh, as you sound off; 'Right then!
I'm sorry to have bothered you' again...
'Last dial' to that # same voice, now announce
you had to know-asking, have I mispronounced
I'm Slap Happy News your reporter- I truly be!
hee hee " has any calls come-in for me "
silence- a pause, on his other end, awhile...
then right on! - you did produce - a Smile.
well folks all this is 'a PRANK 'also known as...
conversation, frustration, aggravation
Smokey hillside, offers flavors
of privacy bared open.
Reading like futuristic three,
maybe fourth dimensional sign
that says "open".
The neighbors business blabbed
all around by "Miss social, "the "original", organic-loving and down to earth hippie.
She corrals Betty's stew and wafts it up for my senses to approve.
As I walk the lush and the crunch
of her ravine.
She carries on about what a beautiful day it is-
Showing me the harmony of relationships that the greenery of the Glade has procured out of Barter alone.
Lifting my shirt in a tuft of tantalizing-underhandedness,
to persuade me to agree.
As she sneaks a charming smile
simultaneous in pure corruption to let it go down easy.
A sugarpill for my already cult hypnotized serenity.
Field urchin pick pockets flirt the occasional cameo, with tails in question or exclamation.
To show I'm headed the right way.
Like sports judges, critiquing my
choice of approach or in the approach my body language parlays.
The autumn air has an air to it.
A magic that lies in hibernation
the rest of the year,
letting you think it may never return.
But here it is mixed with stove smoke and creating thin tendriled and adult curved imagery from the chimneys, in snapshot fluidity.
Slow and easy so that I don't
miss a thing.
After a bit I find the birds want me to critique this time.
After getting poll position,
and stuffing their feathers,
they sound off.
With a contrived, but surprisingly,
not at all nauseating display of
look how small I am but!....overacting cutesy.
In a way, it's a bit disgusting.
In it's neediness in competition.
What is this Star Search?
I chose my favorite after long deliberation.
But told no one, so that no feelings
were hurt and next walk will be a
continuation, thawed, right in step
with today.
Spoken warriors, with rhythm words as their sound swords/
A poetry slam where words and body language put the audience in a sweaty heap/
the spectrum of a creative sound off between spoken word poetry rappers and new time jazz hipsters
has the club bustin' to the rafters/ expressive improvised creative pace and volume on the spot word dance/
man, like a spontaneous mind flow composition
of rap talkin' men and women cookin' up a stream of a consciousness groove/ yeah/ like I feel mile high now/
iconic on-stage impulses of slant rhyme life spoken word poetry/ back-n-forth they go/ words in high gear/ pedal to the metal/ on race, racial slurs, sex, who's doin' who, drive Bys, and TV shows/
like words driving' at a hundred MPH/
becoming telephone poles wizin' by/
high voltage sparks fly when spoken word funk meets uptown nu jazz poetry/
African American poets along with Native American spoken word artists come together to duel it out in a Poetry slam/
it helps to feel the natural flow of high energy words in this performance poetry slam jam/
No reading from pages, just memory’s embrace/
save the date bro It's live with no rewind/
this slam is somethin' else man/
you be reelin' in the feelin' when this Poetry jam becomes a fusion of rhythm word speak on struggles, courage, dreams, love, hip hop rap, and using voice beat drum licks in between word spit speak/
a landscape of uninhibited words with body drum chest thumps/ yo, do you see and feel what i'm sayin'
the dynamic instrument of a voice workin the mic to the crowd with MCs shouting back at ya while you be poppin your performance skills on stage/
the interplay between the mind and free spirit WTF thoughts be burnin the house down/
who's gonna wear the slam crown?
they be back flipping' and word trippin' these slam poets/
trying to outdo each other in a face off/
word lyricism with scat rap concepts/
diggin' deep into emceeing the joint/
keepin' the flow and staying on the beat
It's colder than cold but the sun's shining brightly
Which makes a whole lot of difference to me
Must have been born on a bright sunny day
To expect that's how each day should be
Unfortunately, we must take the bad with the good
Helps us to appreciate the good even more
Gotta be happy with the skin that we're in
Cuz I don't know of any trade-in store
What if you were to loose the job that you've had
For years then it suddenly becomes obsolete
Sure a good reason to sound off just a bit
Need security to make life complete
But really no one else can promise you the moon
You determine how your life will work out
The choice that you make is totally yours
And strive to persevere throughout
So the bottom line as I see it is really quite simple
Less complicated is the name of life's game
Don't complicate life more than necessary
Soon be back to from where you came
© Jack Ellison 2014
(malo)
make me blue
to come down to your level
fuss with me
to make me understand
when your right
you say I'm the devil
when your wrong
you beg me to be your man
aint got time to
be second best
don't care if you knew him first
look at what your doing
causin and effectin
the ripples sound off
like pipaa dew
what we doing
whats that all about
where we going
how could you say that out your mouth
aint time for no fussin
let me say this and gone
when i get back
i wanna make love
turn off the t.v.
and unplug the phone
( le Femme)
make me blue
by stating your intentions
let you know
you aint the only one
others see me like you do
that ain't cool
baby that ain't fun
schedule your time to
get with me
know what you can do
when I
let you get
aint got know time thinking
but tomorrow
get it and gone
that's the game I play
I have no desire to hear the worlds words
rather would I the chirping of birds
to hear the clapping of leaves in the breeze
whirring of hummingbirds wings of the bees
Or the babbling sounds of the brook
the rumbling of earth when its being shook
the patter upon my roof of the rain
the sounds of the city care I to abstain
I love the plunging of waves upon rocks
detest the noise of the ticking of clocks
road blare of wheels upon tar and cement
or clamor of crowds who attend an event
The racket of what some people call song
which clashing smashing banging belong
but the voices of wolves howling by moon
or soulful longing in notes of the loon
the rustle and whisper of wind in the wheat
tender the note of a newborn lambs bleat
expressions of nature when its in play
I want to hear what the animals say
The laughter of children learning a game
squawks of chickens and sheep that are tame
the wail of wind through a window crack
splitting of thunder lighting nights black
The chill on the spine from a low growl
so quiet you can hear the drop of a towel
music that lifts the breath of ones soul
the crackle of ice which freezes a pole
the echoes in canyons when you give a call
snapping of trees when in a storm fall
the rustle and flush the dog and the pheasant
their decent upon my ears very pleasant
I want to hear the sounds of Gods garden
when the trial is over I've got a full pardon
the voices of those whose hearts that I love
when I hear these its you I think of
These are the things that to my heart speak
sounds of the ones newborn pats of baby feet
take me away from Babylon's din
the screeching and static created by men
COPYRIGHT © 2011 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
Step side to side
Sway to our song
Your heart is the lyrics
My soul the instrumental
Hold my hand the way Jesus held the nails
Step side to side
Nerves waltz to love
No music is needed
When sacrifice becomes a verb
I'll hold you like the space between us is trying to escape
Step side to side
A crowded ball room that only sees us
Watching movies with the sound off
Empty hands have the fullest hearts
The cup of my rhythmic soul runneth over
And we'll hold one another like crying hearts pressed against the pages of love
p.s. don't forget to kiss me under the waterfall chandeliers...
under this southern sky we all should adore
for this land has never burned with any war.
our life has always been one that is free
free from dictatorship...free from tyranny.
under the southern cross we show our true pride
from the desert plains to beyond the great divide.
under the blazing sun we play, work, sweat and toil
say "she`ll be right" when life spins with great turmoil.
our way is to add O or IE to many shorten words
to outsiders it must sound off beat...so absurd.
our friends we call every bad word under the sun
no offence taken...they know it`s only a bit of fun.
" `ken oath, he`s a drongo" a true blue knows what that means
from Tassie to the Territory...and everywhere in between.
coooee cobber...fair dinkin` your such a galah
we shouted out from our beat up holden car.
whether at a BBQ or down by the sea
it's an ice cold tinny for you...and for me.
our flag is one flown on flag poles oh so high
one we should respect...show our one true pride.
so let's all come together and be as one
in this land...under...the southern sun.
............
*to all the Aussies have a bonza day on Jan 26...and have a coldie for me