Long Winch Poems
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William walks the Thameside path
to skirt the Whitecross public house
beside the bankside boats
some covered by their winter canvas coats
and strewn with planks and dollies
some sitting on their two-wheel trolleys
waiting for the spring to feel
Thames warmer water on their keel.
Facing winter's waining sun,
eyes shielded to the glory of this scene:
the river's mirror-flow
reflecting all this stream of light
from noon's fast fading glow
soon yielding to the cold-moon night,
William's eyes cast low.
He stoops beside a rowing shell
within an upright skiff
both scattered with a jumbled mess
of river planks and sundry bits of winch
and empty cans, discarded bits of litter
from a passer's office lunch,
all thrown and messed within the hull.
Reaching down to rummage litter in this boat
all damp and drowned within its rain-filled sump,
William spies a bottle, which, lifted to the sun
before his squinting eyes, reveals a drop or two
of amber dregs, like gold from silty river beds
made sun-bright treasure to his eyes
soon tucked beneath his coat.
In shame he takes his find
and makes the lesser path behind
the arch where shadows grant his hope
of drawing this to thirsty throat
and drowning out his troubled mind.
With bottle held in trembling grip
Will tilts this nectar to his lips,
with care to spill none to the ground
til no more drops are found
and then he slings this empty vessel
to make an echoed river splash
beneath the bridge's shadowed arch
to sink and meet more river trash.
And never more was glory marred
than by man's hopeless misery,
Nor all God's good so greatly barred
as by Will's shamed iniquity.
Shiver me timbers
What's going on
I was dressed as a pirate
When I woke up this morn
I looked in the mirror
And let out an Arrrr....
I came equipped an eye patch
And a swash buckling Scar
I felt the strong urge
For grog, meat, and cheese
Went into the kitchen
Told the winch who lives with me
It's my new pirate attitude
That I have to thank
For the look that I got
And why I'm now walking the plank
When I arrived at the office
It wasn't the ship I'd hoped for
And security at the front desk
Barred me from bringing my saber to work
With all these modern day regulations
How's a pirate to get a break
When the only body of water nearby
Is a drainage ditch and man made lake
And the only pirate booty
That I'd hoped to see
Is right now swabbing the kitchen deck
While talking mutiny
Still the days barnacle adventures
Had a lot going on
As my head hits the pillow
I wonder what I'll wake up as tomorrow morn
They lean upon their shovels
smoke a Marlborough,
keep away from the mourners,
always shovel ready.
Even the utility hut is hidden yet ready,
it’s back where the graves peter out into headless mounds.
Theirs’s not the burden of loss, nor are they tasked by grief
as the undertaker crew are.
Swift, and professional,
they resist swapping vulgarities until the work is done;
just fill in the coffin-plugged hole,
hum the ‘grave-digging’ song:
“So long you’re almost done.
Ours the winch and lowering straps.
Ours the pork chops for dinner,
Ours this pleasant labor.
Ours the cold beer.
Yours the slow fuse of corruption.
So long,
shovels need cleaning,
the boss is watching
so long,
so long,
so long.”
To the window
Eyes travel for an arrow
In speed of effective allegro
Decorating attention's bravado
Remember me
Don't forget thy company I keep
To have you such night glee
When lonely you in sleep so deep
To the wall
Body lays to install
And rest in its stall
Sleeping muse drawl
Remember me
Don't forget thy company I keep
To have you such night glee
When lonely you in sleep so deep
To my comfy bed
Mind ease its dead
Blanket goes widespread
Hunting cold figurehead
Remember me
Don't forget thy company I keep
To have you such night glee
When lonely you in sleep so deep
Home alone, I crawl
Heart fuels the muse
In doubt, mind bawl
Searching quality cue
Remember me
Don't forget thy company I keep
To have you such night glee
When lonely you in sleep so deep
Down this big, long hall
I sleep, sleep, sleep
Till thoughts no longer ball
But run into dreams so deep
Remember me
Don't forget thy company I keep
To have you such night glee
When lonely you in sleep so deep
Many of you like doing this
With nothing much to account
All which flop trying to reminisce
The beautiful films night surmounts
I wish I could
Remember each and every inch
Of moments we spent in the wood
Which got my spirit winch
(Any resemblance between said title,
as told tummy by ya finch,
and commander in chief,...
not accidental, nor a cinch
buttock hum posed on behalf
of these bottom ming out
fifty states, plus Puerto Rico inch
ching, donning, and clamoring
desperately for fluffin snuff pinch)
hitter to aright "FAKE"
government even a cameo by David Lynch,
would pilot ship of state with nary a flinch
bucking creative enterprise winch
cha ya know
as writ by this average Joe
brainstorms offbeat ideas
caw king like a black crow
boot probably relegated
to same fate as dodo
bird long extinct,
asper could also be woe
full destiny of this poe
whit (wannabe), plus aspirant
aiming, mulling, vying,
et cetera tubby
next presidential bozo
and thwart further ruses to hoodwink
by subterfuge, treachery, unethical...brink
man ship, Capital One citizen bankers
to re: captcha how to MAGA,
and avoid pitching country
slipping into behavioral sink,
which White House bumstead "FAKE"
golden blond dee antics even entice pink
panther to coon sitter entering 2020 elections
amidst what promises tubby hang nail biting,
knuckle cracking, hair pulling - each kink
Putin on brakes against
collusion, sans frightful - link
king voter bribery, disenfranchisement, fraud...
calling joint efforts of Captain Nemo,
Captain Kangaroo, Captain America...ink
kin, a pact (minus any imp) potent fink
power hungry, money grubbing, apprenticed
tan hatt man spinning wheel of misfortune
beady barren eyes that never blink
immodest, impertinent, impudent,
et cetera hyperlink
to flesh eating, debauchery,
bacchanalian web pages
kickstarting naked lunch high jink.
I should've learned french before going to a restaurant.
What I ordered there was food that I sure didn't want.
I made the mistake of ordering cerveau and escargot.
When I learned that it was brains and snails, I said that it had to go.
When I refused to eat it, the chef threw me out a window and I got a shard of it in my ass.
I went to a proctologist and he asked me five hundred bucks to remove that piece of glass.
I refused to pay it and I got thrown through a window again.
Now I have two shards of glass in my butt, I can never win.
I can no longer sit down, I have to be suspended by a winch.
If you decide to eat at that restaurant, you'd better learn french.
(This is a fictional poem.)
Why, does existing have to be
a visit of time then leaves me.
Threads of my life are still unsaid.
Silently I wipe away tears
of lapsing thoughts, sorrow and fears;
throwing off spider webs of thread.
I stand by the window and gaze
at white ships depart a blue maze
they have sought to borrow ahead.
Everyday another Sunday.
Every day is silent and grey;
prison of aches and pain I dread.
Why, does existing have to be
burdensome. My mortal thoughts flee
like rain drumming at my window,
then trickles releasing a dam
leaving me brittle to exam
my own conscious; what do I know.
Surpassing life hopes as I winch
loneliness devours inch by inch.
My lips quake and swell at my low
detaching my dying cinder.
I can't take another winter
confronted with the ebb and flow,
not being able to foresee
mental skills decline as I grow
old and suppose to comfort me.
6/13/2018
I am so enthralled by a verse
an impressive and virile style conquered
quenching one’s thirst seems hardly emerge
however; all songs, stories and ideas being shared
are gems and have secrets unparalleled when compared
some of the lines titillate the many of my senses
some are like music being played in syncopated rhythm
words paints the images either in abstruse or in complex pieces
undulating emotions rock most of my system
torch of learning is a winch to my fervid will power’s stem
dazzled by highly metaphorical words as if vitreous rocks radiate
like tales of unprecedented events trying to amuse me under the rain
viewing it with fire of ceaseless aims through words that substantiate
analyzing processes be done like sifting and winnowing of grains
a triumph of a glorious scene, a clear topography reigns
Written: March 13, 2013
By Leonora Galinta
(for occlusion contest)
Second Place
Contest: Occlusion
Judged: 3/18/2013
Sponsor: Poet Joe Maverick
Shiver me timbers
What's going on
I was dressed as a pirate
When I woke up this morn
I looked in the mirror
And let out an Arrrr....
I came equipped an eye patch
And a swash buckling scar
I felt the strong urge
For grog, meat, and cheese
Went into the kitchen
Told the winch who lives with me
It's my new pirate attitude
That I have to thank
For the look that I got
And why I'm now walking the plank
When I arrived at the office
It wasn't the ship I'd hoped for
And security at the front desk
Barred me from bringing my saber to work
With all these modern day regulations
How's a pirate to get a break
When the only body of water nearby
Is a drainage ditch and man made lake
And the only pirate booty
That I'd hoped to see
Is right now swapping the kitchen deck
While talking mutiny
Still the days barnacle adventures
Had a lot going on
As my head hits the pillow
I wonder what I'll wake up as tomorrow morn
Dame Judy Dench
Loves to fish for Tench
When she fixes her motor
She uses a wrench
If she’s feeling tired she sits down on a bench,
DJD is polylingual;
Her favourite language is French,
When she has a pooh in the morning
It causes a stench
DJD is a strong woman,
When Germans talk about her they call her ‘mensch’,
If she gets excited
Her buttocks they clench
When DJD gets dehydrated
Her thirst she will quench,
She is a fine looking woman,
But never call her a wench,
DJD did military service
She learnt to dig a slit trench,
She's into prehistory
And loves to visit Stonehenge,
DJD don't take no -
If she is dissed she'll get her revenge
She is super organised
When she does her filing she uses a big hole punch
If she gets hungry mid morning
She pauses for brunch,
If Helen Mirren calls round they go out for lunch,
DJD is very intuitive
and likes to follow a hunch,
Her off shore investments
Protected her from the credit crunch,
She's a feisty lady -
A reporter asked if 'she had a carer'
Well he got a bunch
Of fives from this diva
But to her friends she is staunch,
Even Harvey Weinstein - DJD protected his paunch,
Said she had a tat of his name on her bum
Cos her career he relaunched
With Victoria and Albert -
She never gives an inch
If Bond is stuck in a ditch
She pulls him out with a winch,
She takes on all the bad guys,
You never see her flinch,
When delivering a soliloquy
She makes it look like a cinch
She should be world president,
Donald J Trump would be the first one she would lynch!