Long Well nourished Poems
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“Election Day”
by: Eric L. Boddie
By plane, train, bus, car or boat
I’ll travel the Earth to win your vote
I can’t say when I’ll finish, but I know when I’ll start
From this day forward, I’ll be campaigning for your heart
If elected, I’ll serve you well to the best of my ability
I’ll deliver your heart to a state of tranquility
There will be no new taxes on your emotions and things there of
I’ll do everything within my power to erase your deficit of love
I don’t have a foreign policy, you are my only concern
Home always comes first, that’s what the other candidates must learn
And in the event of war, you are mine to defend
For your honor I will fight until the very end
Healthcare will be provided, and your economy is sure to flourish
I’ll work my fingers to the bone to ensure that you are well nourished
Your soul will be educated through love, respect and dedication
I’ll declare everyday a holiday for you to show my appreciation
So when Election Day comes, just who will you choose
I’m the best man for your heart, with me, you can’t lose
The taxi speeds down the highway
zig zagging to miss the potholes.
It slows as a horse and cart crosses,
followed by the owner's dog.
On the other carriageway people wait
hoping someone will give them a lift.
An old Cadillac smokes its way down the road.
In the town, buildings are like well-worn pairs of shoes –
they fit, still function but have seen better days.
But the people are well nourished, clothed and clean.
Smiles of genuine happiness are all around.
This is a country which lives to a different pulse -
Ché its heartbeat,
Fidel its lifeblood.
People are living the revolution where others have failed –
common wellbeing before personal gain,
society’s hallmark is equality and colour-blindness.
Educated and cultured, enjoyment is beyond the material.
Musical rhythms set the daily pace.
There is a determination to live and succeed despite hardship.
But is it only hardship when seen through Western eyes?
The freedom of spirit is to be admired.
But what does the future hold?
The greatest challenge is yet to come –
influx of other peoples from not so far away.
¡Cubana!
If I Ruled The World
Proving souls mettle life elapsed that being in disaccord,
Let us confirm the presence of each other multi-colored,
Give a righteous opportunity for all to justly share,
Equitably, separate terms on a wing and a prayer,
Reinvent a world from disarray also disillusion,
Let all be convinced in a better future, hearts infusion,
Enjoying fashioned comfort together and security,
Truly, rooves o'er heads, bellies well-nourished, lifetime surety,
Laborers lifestyle concludes with an automated new world,
Encountering goodness, nature, others, set in a dreamworld,
Disproving spoils of Earth and that genuine malevolence,
Relieved ills, ensure benevolence, I hope its prevalence.
2020 August 25
*10th Place*
If I Ruled The World
~~Chantelle Anne Cooke
Do you gurgle, grunt, and gripe,
grind the soft bones of thought dry?
You need some orchestration,
some instrumental tuning.
Play with those ad hoc glottalized vibes,
harmonize.
The body, that geomungos collection
of agrarian earth animalcules
which work for themselves alone,
tilling mud, repairing dykes
& ditches,
that biological chain gang
that works on robotically
within a symbiotic conglomerate
others have put a name to,
that commune of the blind
it needs to be honored for its industry.
It is your manikin self – wind it up with
new tunes.
It has to be warbled to,
bill & coo some
as if it were a real child.
it needs lullabies and ballads,
calm it with gentle glissandos.
Be not crotchety.
Even if your own voice
is an amphibian nightmare
that growls off key,
sing soto voce -
be a body whisperer.
You may still
grapple occasionally
with those galumphing
gargoyles of your flesh,
but love will be in you
like a soft pretzel,
you will be tasty and salty,
not sad and sickly.
Your tide will turn,
your shore will be giddy
with the sounding of your songs,
the swirling pipes of your soul.
Your comforted body will purr
upon the lap of sleep
like a well-nourished tabby cat
or squeak not
like well-oiled piano stool.
No mom, not a want such cannibalism religion
but a want to be a human, I don't want religion.
If your blessings mom, if remains mine upon
in my acts and deeds will my religion be goes on.
I will build the nation, the glory the virtues will remain in human
where there will never be abduction the humanity thereon.
I will run in full motion and will break all the barriers of religion
I will break the grip of the disability; I will, I will mom.
On that day humans; humanity will be their reign
where the sky will come down to its land
will not fell the thunder to knock thereon,
well nourished man will worship only to human
all will be same in thought and in religion.
No little baby will cry, nor his poor mom
it will no longer remain the land of slaughterhouse in turn
in softness on the ground beneath the open sky
people will dwell in happiness and with their mourn.
I am the sun, I energize your day.
I speak expressly to the humid air;
'dry up for a day that is bright and fair.'
I command moisture to dry the lush hay
for non-ruminants to be well nourished.
I am ageless, and I am distinguished.
My golden rays have living things enriched,
my yellow rays induce the labourer's sleep,
having toiled so hard for his family's upkeep.
The flower smiles at my usual advances,
and with her fixed gaze, she makes no glances.
My loving rays speak with no utterances.
The day flourishes with my assistance,
as I serve from my celestial distance.
My service to you, none else can replicate.
Without me, life-form will from the earth vacate.
How can SARS lament their injustice in a divided land?
With keen interest of having themselves at heart;
Taking advantage of discharging duties in its right ethics,
Though the right is seeked in such oblivious wrong acts,
For pockets; their pockets to never go dry,
While having no concern a family morns their own mad "Bread Winner"
While seeking to undermine fundamental truths as a winner,
Division of labor employed deceitfully strikes the land;
Disguised as one to suck the boys loyalty in trust so dry,
That the fear of brotherliness, is now the art of heart--
The central tenets to every step and diligent acts,
Which has been graciously added to their work ethics.
With time; over it, the land have mocked the job employment's ethics,
By which the worthwhile watch the preferred become winner,
And while they engage in side hustle for survival-- their moulded acts
In a well nourished mineral blessed land
We all once fought to have to ourselves in pure heart--
The ones many people's blood to the last drop, go dry!
SARS would want to make us agree to their ideology so dry,
Like no one has learnt to know their work's ethics;
The ones school has helped us to learn by heart,
Though, naming each to standing for our rights has never made anyone a winner:
In my own supposed merry father land.
SARS would rather rob to tag it duty's acts.
How we wish to live as one through the simple genuine acts:
A true brother keeper that won't have fun to have others dry,
In a wild guess of believing we all own the land,
For some lives surround law enforcement, while others live with no ethics;
Bribing the day to become the dreadful night's winner,
In acts, for conscience has been blinded to shake up mute heart.
Yet, they claimed our worries live in their merry heart,
But everyday defines it false, advertising their contrary acts;
To keep promoting their wards alone, the future winner!
For our own hope they have wretched dry,
In its subsequent try, buried into the working wonders ethics,
But never cease to address us as joint ownership of this land.
Leave karma to the ethics of grace in Yahoo boys' acts,
Their lives lie in God's grace hand, dry solemn raging heart,
Than thy dreadful laws; a winner, bias made open, placing you above this land.
No. I’m not a rock; and I’m not an island.
I am about 8 feet wide and 20 feet long.
I get plenty of sun light, and I drain well, when it rains.
I have been lying dormant since last summer’s harvest of tomatoes.
That was the first year that my owners grew nothing but tomatoes.
Yes. I am dirt and soil; I am a natural food machine; I am a garden.
My soil has been enriched with all kinds of good nutritious compose.
Over the years my owners have planted many different vegetables;
but due to water shortages over the last four years, they have curtailed
their crops. For example, I have produced corn, white potatoes, squash, mustard greens, and tomatoes. However, this year, they decided to raise tomatoes, onions, and peas.
I tend to always do well with tomatoes, and this year I should
produce a bumper crop of tomatoes because of the winter rain
in Northern California. I will try my best with the peas, but I
make no promises.
There is a young and thriving peach tree whose roots have been growing deep into my soil for the past four years. The first year of production yielded nice peaches of average size. The second year brought my owner peaches about the size of golf balls. Please, do not blame me, because the soil in me was well nourished, except for water. From the garden, eat fresh my friend.
04302016 PS Contest, Poetry
We are commonly predisposed
To lack of common sense - case closed!
We seem to have it all and more and some,
Well nourished and beyond, stern doctors say.
Internet mis/informed by rule of thumb,
Well travelled, read, yet so dumb in a way.
So we still spit against the wind, chagrin!
Try to impart wisdom to callow youth,
Apply sunscreen to sunburned blistered skin,
And prefer sweet lie to a bitter truth.
We grocery shop hungry, total waste,
As chips and cookies trump the shopping list,
Tea mug left on the car roof in a haste,
While car keys left inside, you got the gist.
All through our younger years we binge and splash,
Despite moms’ futile efforts to instil,
By golden age we grasp it in a flash -
A smidge too late but of our own free will.
We analyse too oft what others think,
Dissembling deftly that we barely care -
Just keep your common sense and wit in sync -
The rest will fall into place, fair and square.
Last not least, togetherness is our strength,
The rationale we stridently strive for,
The rallying cry to our common wealth -
Bad peace is by far better than good war.
Humanity’s greatest lack, no offence,
Is of much more and some of common sense.
My Mother Land
The place where I feel my life in every limb
That is my wonderful Mother Land Bengal.
Highest mountain as cap : Ocean washes feet.
That is my spectacular birth place Bengal.
I feel proud to breathe in air of my birth place.
Always prompt to serve my Mother Land Bengal.
Where blooms lovely lotus to purify soul :
That is my beautiful Mother Land Bengal.
Where selflessness always gets priority :
That is my graceful Mother Land Bengal.
Where unique integrity runs all along :
That is my glorious Mother Land Bengal.
Where great personalities guide and inspire :
That is my gorgeous Mother Land Bengal.
Where sacrifice surpasses entertainment :
That is my birth place most respectful Bengal.
Where plain living and high thinking are to follow :
That is my most charming Mother Land Bengal.
Policy of '' My life is mine " gets ignored. :
That is my beloved Mother Land Bengal.
Where none is alone, we are for each other :
That is my most caring Mother Land Bengal.
The place where I have my heavenly haven :
I bow to my peaceful Mother Land Bengal.
I feel fortunate to be born and brought up
in this sacred place renowned as Great Bengal.
I am well nourished by all the resources
of this blessed place ! My Mother Land Bengal.
The land that aims to live in peace and love
I boast to show my reverence to Bengal.