FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY
Who cometh these shores
On dusk's dark tide
Tis Hope I know
With Faith she rides
Along Charity's blame
The unfortunate poor
A coin with her name
And a promise of more
On whip bitten flesh
Bridal and bit
Their equine mounts
Silent and swift
Muzzles sheen wet
Steam pistons pour
Muscles bleed sweat
These engines of war
My candles are lit
Prayers offered
Take flight
My back to the door
My door to the night
The doubt
Which I spilled
Now it has dried
Words how I wish
I never did write
Sympathy scorned
Love's ember bright
My ink
So I poured
On God's given rite
A blasphemous sin
Committed at whim
I painted their names
Their nearest of kin
Innocent all
All had their price
A bounty of gold
And silver paid twice
Open is the March's puzzles
Yet, man just don't have mouth guzzles
More than enough but no need for muzzles
Without gaze(s), He knows what is to come
Either one opens his mouth or mind, He is never dumb
He understands every other time demands' plum
Long fixed look
Reading through M's book
See not what His eyes would unhook
With Thy fixed eyes
The wants that arise
Simply obey with how time flies
Your eyes connect closely
Traveling smiles smoking miles grossly
The destination of hearts praying mostly
Tasks, by their very nature
are often painful to perform.
Polysyllabic pedantry exacerbates undertakings unnecessarily.
Strict contest-runners rate your
adherence to the stipulated norm.
Would Robert Frost perform feats
of wordplay? Or leave forsaken
such boring chores? I airily
dare opine this, for Keats,
is the road not taken.
Like rednecks have their gun,
and German shepherds have muzzles,
one posits, all too warily,
that poets need their fun:
like doing harmless crossword puzzles.
The unstoppable force keeps coming through
no matter the time with disregard
for place or weather
A matador of barbs grabs horns of bulls
even when they mudsling in
herds together
It's coming together slowly piece by piece
as it does take time to
build a puzzle
The horn will keep blowing like trees in storms
even if it moves in silence
like loosened muzzles
The world is troubled because its people are
& everyone is lost within
broken selves
We need more people that are of use to others
instead of those that hate
& project themselves
Leave that part of you at home on empty shelves
as there's no room for it in this
house of glass
You shouldnt throw rocks as you may hit a neighbor
& that reflection of you
is all you have
Take a look in the mirror before you cock & cast
as you never know what image
you might just shatter
Instead of pointing the finger try giving a hand
to be a solution in
troublesome matters
Hedgehog, O hedgehog
dear spiny, meek and mousy poppet.
In England
where the tickly grass grows
greener
we galumph in our rubber boots
up to your little
Hobbit nests
beneath the thorny bushes
were you rests.
We the ever scampy
nippers
fill tin cups with wriggly worms
leave then there
by your dinky
mossy dells.
All the pricky hogs
come from near and nearer,
to snuff and gobble
by the brittle briery
and eat their wormy mush.
Our mucky paws clap
in gay and giggly glee
to see that munchy feast,
their piddly
licky
muzzles
chomping -
quite charming.
Adults say, 'we will catch a flea'
from their pin pointy pelts.
yet we shrug
our never minds, and
our don't cares,
even bring
one tiddly tyke home,
smuggling it up the stairs
to coddle
while we playtime
with some jolly good
fun....
Who are the people we meet in our dreams?
And see countries and places where we have never been,
People who recognise us and converse,
And we answer them,
I find that perverse.
We see our loved ones,
Who are dead
Is that their way of showing us
That death has nothing to dread.
Strange objects and pictures,
Make us wake up in fright,
Causing fear and anxiety
And sleepless nights
Bright lights and shadows
Are another part of this puzzle
That makes us aggro
Fierce dogs without muzzles.
Mythical people and comical clowns
Tramps and paupers,
Kings and queens wearing crowns.
Dreams involve us. We have no choice,
We may say the words from our lips,
But it isn't our voice.
Why do we dream?
Why is it so?
Will we ever understand dreams,
The answer is, No!
Previously submitted 2022
Who are the people we meet in our dreams?
And see countries and places where we have never been,
People who recognise us and converse,
And we answer them,
I find that perverse.
We see our loved ones,
Who are dead,
Is that their way of showing us
That death has nothing to dread.
Strange objects and pictures,
Make us wake up in fright,
Causing fear and anxiety
And sleepless nights
Bright lights and shadows
Are another part of this puzzle
That makes us aggro
Fierce dogs without muzzles.
Mythical people and comical clowns
Tramps and paupers,
Kings and queens wearing crowns.
Dreams involve us. We have no choice,
We may say the words from our lips,
But it isn't our voice.
Why do we dream?
Why is it so?
Will we ever understand dreams,
The answer is, NO!
Just one election cycle ago
Those without masks were scorned
Bullied out of churches and stores
Now it's the other way around,
(sneetches with stars-sneetches without)
They've really got the masses scrambling
dividing us by
skin tone
a bug
chromosomes
a wall of fear,
Division is becoming a chasm
deep and wide
no climbing out
except on the broken neck of Christ.
My- my, how easy it was to control the masses
without firing a shot,
With a blood-red flag and yellow stars
pocked with microscopic bugs,
Nights of broken glass and burning books all over again.
Those with stars, those without.
In case you haven't noticed, our division is their strength.
Our chains are their liberation.
We, the sheep, have surrounded ourselves with ourselves.
The red wolf is picking us off one by one.
Our blood on their plutonium muzzles.
Maybe the antidote IS a semi-automatic
brimming with a hollow-tipped Christ.
Freedom was never for free
Those with stars-those without.
0
Shadow’s fingers
shred the cloak of midnight:
starry security for my fragile temple.
Shadow’s nails
incise the white porcelain of my neck
with deepened lines of red.
Shadow’s palm
suffocates my breath
and muzzles the wailing cry.
Shadow’s eyes
bore holes into my secrecies
and widen them for ill use.
I’m acquitted only by the sun’s rays.
The fierce irony: handsome night betrays.
A plow horse woman without ribbons or accolades
outworking the glittering high-stepping
show horse parade.
She'll never get promotion; she doesn't play their game,
She just puts in an honest forty- eight
lays another callus on the day.
You'll never see cherries on her knees.
From climbing slippery corporate ladders.
There's no aces up her tattered sleeve.
Her conscience is free from clutter and clatter.
Year after year she mans the boats and rows.
Making "the man"-another pot of gold.
Her sparkling soul is made of blood and sweat.
Not from stabbing flanks or tossing stones.
In the fading season when all crops are in.
She's earned that dapple of golden shade.
The show horses are parading plastic ribbons.
While wiping her blood from their muzzles
without a bit of guilt or a hint of shame.
When they sensed that it was time for a walk
Mera showed her happiness with some cheerful barks
Her energy indicated gratitude in anticipation of fulfillment of such a simple task
Although very eager, Reva was standing silent showing her big sisterly protocols
Start of the walk was exciting as usual
Both were prepared with their leashes and collars
Tails were wagging with joy and enthusiasm
Muzzles were ready to snuffle and relish outdoors
Roads were looking vibrant with autumn colors
Fallen leaves had spread carpet of jingles
Overjoyed Mera couldn’t get enough
Kept sniffing shrubberies in every corner
Reva kept herself busy marking her terrain
Drawing satisfaction from leaving traces in the domain
Mera’s creativeness was brought out by wet grassy scent
To justify her elation she had to take quite a few circular steps
The duo walked forward to another neighborhood
Smelling more sidewalks and bushes in passionate moods
A pale green round thing was spotted by Reva’s eyes
Her happiness increased when she got hold of that device
The walk concluded with delightful admiration
Both returned home with minds full of appreciation
I know it may seem silly,
Just a pointless little task,
But I've noticed it so often,
That I felt I HAD to ask ...
I wonder, with typed emojis,
Just where the lil' dash goes?
Cuz faces just aren't faces ...
Without a lil' dash NOSE! ;-)
Autumn commute here
Straight face sans lost cheer
Autumn in wet rain
Wanders with earth's pain
Autumn air swallows
Grace feels so mellow
Autumn in full swing
Prepares for sleeping
Autumn flair coldly
Devours bold fancy
Autumn in pure surge
Last sun to frame urge
Autumn wears a face
As yellow tints trace
Autumn in brisk May
Surprise on the way
Autumn cottage feel
Cold draft muzzles will
Leon Enriquez
16 May 2018
Hamlet Place, ACT
RECON
We push noisily through the brush
and then hear the challenging voices;
two grenades should pave our way
to make a charge while firing rifles.
Dusk preludes and we see the strobe
flashing of far too many muzzles;
Nguyen takes his hard slapping hit
I trip and fall weapon beneath me.
With no other choice the team retreats,
when too small to fight we tend to flee,
eight rifles won’t give much voice;
with these odds running is healthy.
Voices roam as NVA begin their search
chatting as they hunt for our bodies;
so very tense I try not to breathe
feeling their footsteps brush by me.
Poor Nguyen’s body they quickly find,
but they will need to search for more,
two grenades means more bodies;
with darkness their search turns futile.
Footsteps surround as I slip along
sliding silently on my stomach;
all through the night this is my flight
as I avoid becoming another statistic.
A bad walk like this in Vietnam
means I most likely would vanish;
unless I continued to strive and slide
suppress fear and commit to survive.
Ask the whimsical bard:
Why then make easy hard?
Paradox gripes the bard,
Yes we know that life's hard.
We craft fine riddles here:
Prize puzzle that muzzles;
Paradox dangles clear,
Quirky jigsaw puzzle.
Can sorrow find deep sleep?
Joy watches as we weep;
Grief clusters ever deep,
Zoom into final sleep.
Zest knows fest brews fine jest:
Seek to live your fond fit;
Adjust your vocal quest,
Match paradox with wit.
Know that which you now know:
Mad and bad, sad and glad;
All in due time will show,
Glad and sad, bad and mad.
Feel the windy breeze sneeze:
Why this fickle fancy?
Dance dizzy dreamy squeeze,
Sketch paradox easy.
Leon Enriquez
05 October 2017
Singapore
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.