Neglects Poems

She

Whenever she steps out-Hundred creepy eyes,
staring -hovering side to side,
she neglects, nowhere she can hide.
what can she do? gropers make an excuse,
she's open to the same stories of abuse.
They weep for the beauty,while nurturing a devil,
wearing human skin,but truly an evil.
how would his mother,sister and wife feels?
when his poisoned mind revealed.
She is still,what else can she do?
will she fight millions? it's not just one or few.
suffocating phase of an awkward stares in the air sways,
All it does stings a little,with time it passes away.
Is it? or she buries them deep, neglecting it into a bad dream.

Song of The Golden Shower No 2: ABBA

Nature goes on living with the ... neglects,
sprung the lands that I would say, Namaste,
stretched from lands that were Siam to Malay,
Golden Shower Tree spreads out its respects.
Stately endurance breadth branches outward,
it's somewhat outstanding ornamental,
from the tropics to the subtropical,
nicknamed the pudding piped purging showered.
Early part of the year sprays will flower,
and carpenter bees are pollinators.
People eat flowers, livestock leaf-eaters,
green leaves that yellow flowers will cover.
Medicinal and herbal properties,
Opulent indulgence amenities.

Song of The Silversword No 1: ABAB

A mountain of some measure aligned slopes,
Silversword's statuesque uncommonness,
bikers and skiers, youth urban slang, 'dopes,'
pics of height's flowering tower upness.
Centuries of swordplay, The Word, acclaimed,
plowshares and the sorts treats its new version.
Purplish flowers are structurally framed,
like a cross handle, silver hairs orphan.
Majestic still today, handle to point,
Jehovah's watchtower, grand edifice
leans to age and weather. Volcano joint
Maui's 'House of the Sun' sole home exists.
Another species bides the intellects,
nature goes on living with the ... neglects.

African Child

African child
Born into a struggle
From the young age 
He recognises trouble in his community
Growing up into a man 
Realising how isolation
Can make him different from 
Some people 
The colour of his skin
Sometimes create an enemies
He never wish to fight 
Home and abroad 
He faces challenges that makes
Him either stronger or weaker
Alot of the African child are under pressure
Underrated deprived and forsaken
Yet you can't talk about 
The children of the world
With out talking about the
African child 



African child 
We are rising 
Despite the challenges we face 
We are getting better 
Despite the isolation
We are the future of the world 
Despite the neglects we face 
We bring happiness and sing
To the world 
Despite the hard life we suffer 
We refuse to die in pain 
Despite the aggression of the world 
The human symbol of survival is an 
African child

What Groups Cannot Do Without

What could they be all about?
I'd tell you: For what we'd scout,
When our passions for them shout.
What groups cannot do without;
Once one neglects each a flout...

Cash crop farms say fertile lands,
The Builder Mason Good Sands,
Marching-to-War Soldiers: bands,
The Ring Fighter: two hands,
All Seasoned Smokers: their brands,
Newspaper Vendors: news-stands.

Book of Records: What is grand,
South Africa, now: The Rand.

Time

Time

Time, the most precious to human
all over the world.
The moment passed
 never return back to us.

Memories remain 
 in the pages of history.

The person, understands the value of time
He becomes  successful in every sphere of  life,
Everyone respects him even after death.


The person who neglects time,
Time also neglects him.
All of his work remains unfinished,
He kills his desire in the mind.
Eventually no one remember 
him in the  society.

So understand the value of  time,
Time will pay for you.
Respect the value of  time,
Time will respect you.
Utilized every moment of  time
Time will make you famous.
The End

Eyes

Eyes that are bigger than the brain 
Eyes that only see and do not comprehend 
Eyes that penetrate the deep and dim 
But brain as empty as the wind 

Eyes that intrude the life of others 
But brain that neglects its own self
Eyes that only want to intrude the life of others 
But brain that neglects its own problem 

Eyes that only see the flaws in others 
But brain that does not see its own flaws 
Eyes that only want to see the flaws in others 
But brain that neglects its own flaws 

Be not like eyes that are bigger than the brain 
For you have your own life to fix 
Better yet use your brain to solve your own problem 
Than to use your eyes to judge others 


September 23, 2022

Behind the Curtain

My grandpa treats me well
He loves me
He treats me with kindness
He is kind to me 
He is happy 
I am happy, I love my grandpa


My grandpa treats me horrible 
He “loves” me 
He neglects me 
He is scary to me
He is always angry 
I am scared, I hate my grandpa

His Property Taxes Him

Petals have now fallen from the final rose
His forsythia bush is ready for pruning
Weeds are taking over where his lilac grows
And, fall bulbs not taken up are ruining.

His backyard fencing is beginning to sag
And the roof on his house needs replacing
In fact, he has nothing about which to brag
I shall not complain, for I am self-effacing.

Since I enjoy working in my own backyard
It is beautifully trimmed and neat as can be
He watches me spending hours working hard
While he neglects his property assiduously.

My neighbor constantly bemoans of his plot
While I listen, I ride my mower like crazy
I have long since wearied of his pitiful lot,
Neither a shower nor a grower, … he is lazy!

written July 16, 2021

Watch Claudine Play the Hohner

A desert lake is a perfect 
mirror of the bluest sky
that everyone has ever seen,
it wants to trade place and expect
to be a part of Heaven
without the pretty 
daisies and lilies:
it will have plenty of clouds
that will shine on breezy August noons...
as folks let loose their colorful balloons!

Watch little Claudine play the Hohner,
often times she borrows her dad's guitar... 
while Aunt Jane puts on her straw hat
and shades to resemble a movie star;
that's not a beach, but she looks hot!
What's missing besides a songster?

A desert lake is a perfect mirror
of the bluest sky in Oklahoma...
where no sea is seen only big mountains,
Uncle Jesse slowly sips his chilled beer;
if it'll rain, he'll play the harmonica
making her niece mad with furrowed brows!   

Watch little Claudine play the Hohner
getting claps from pops and grannies,
nobody notices when her song is out of tune;
Jack tries to warn her, but she neglects him with a smirk:
let him dance, let him sing music can change his quirk!
Funny how it delights the frantic puppies
that join the fun thinking it's opportune
to surround and upset Jack the crooner!

Wise Ant Fable

Returning home a wise ant
stopped to talk to a grasshopper bent
on singing all day and playing with girls:
as winter approaches and snow unfurls
covering and hardening all food to ice
gather and shelter or you’ll pay the price

For not preparing by thinking ahead
from cold and hunger you’ll be dead
being positive won’t change a thing
singing in winter doesn’t make spring
her words of wisdom grasshopper didn’t heed
from hunger and cold died indeed.

The ant in her home protected well
from wintry ice and snow as it fell
with food and milk from aphids’ paid rent
with family and friends her winter well spent
in peace and comfort because prepared ahead.
Today's regrets are yesterday's neglects.

Ninth Place Winner: Fire Bird-Short Story Poem-11/22/24
Honorable Mention-Crystol Woods-Allegory Fable-3/24/25

The Artist

Leonardo, Monet and Picasso
dazzle in their gilded frames -
even van Gogh with bandaged ear 
wears coat and hat,
but he walks in with rumpled shirt 
and Van de Graaff hair, 
salted down to broad shoulders.
He has invited us to celebrate 
the opening of the show,
trusting the jury and judge in us 
will give way 
to a different point of view.

There is no judgment of us 
who, for want of happiness, 
fill life with work 
and miles on the road.
His art is an invitation
to fill our work with life,
to seize the view
to which it points.

Beneath that cloak of Sisyphus
he has caught a glimpse, a flash
of god like brilliance. 
The urge to create lurks,
locked, looking for a handle,
a door, a way out.  He is grateful
for a window in.

He talks about the baseball legend 
whose life he framed in a moment,
now displayed under lights 
and penetrating eyes.
Another photo of his 
hangs hidden in a hall,
but he neglects to herald 
the moment there, though no less 
wondrous in expression
of that elusive passion 
burning in us all
and waiting 
to be captured
on a wall.

Staring Up At My Popcorn Ceiling

I Wonder

No matter how hard I try, my popcorn
Ceiling always turns into an image.
Either a mystifying horse with a rippled horn
Or a devil demolishing a soul like chocolate fudge.
Everything in between.

The ripples in the ceiling create
A scene that negates the effects
Of drugs so much that the fudge that the red monster ate
Loses it’s rich flavor and neglects 
Any sort of satisfaction.

My imagination grows feral,
My train of thought goes off its track.
Into a mindset filled with peril,
I want my head back.
But the ceiling is so mesmerizing.

A mischievous rollercoaster takes me
Over all of the hills and valleys,
Over all the tiny crevices. A key
That opens a door into many wondering alleys
That trace back to my sleep deprived mind.

Bay Area Nigh December

Bay Area Nigh December

A tryst on a San Francisco trolley
that exhibits penchant amidst a glance,
for 'tis wintry time launch all, too jolly
save two turtledoves, culled cooed romance
left in steep devotion, neglects folly.

Atone solemn occasions ere chapel
doors left open, soul worshippers pass stained
glass multicolored figurines, dapple
its windows amidst Christmasy lights, trained
eyes in wonder, gulp an adam's apple.

Snowflakes patterned distinctly, blankets bare
grounds painstakingly, changing verdant green
to an achromatic dressed whitewash wear,
rotating perspective picturesque scene
consistent seasons shift that we now fare.

The Golden Gate bridge, waning its glit of
citrus rising, squirting into blind eyes
forced to shades, now visibly shone 'twas love
delicate trace of your countenance guise
as it chalks a blackboard wrote from above.

2020 November 14
*8th Place*
Quintain-Sicilian
~~Emile Pinet

The Brightest One

At water’s edge, this rocky chasm shore.
I am Belisama, numen of lakes and rivers,
or sometimes Brigit of mystic phasm lore.  
I am the brightest one, the fiery one who delivers.
To the Romans I am Minerva of wisdom and poetry.
The Christians rebrand me Saint Brigit Kildare.
But it’s my magic Celtic roots that make me visionary.
In each sheeny silver sliver of being, I am there.
Like the Prince of Peace, I am invoked for war.
Warriors gain strength from me on the battlefield. 
But my origins betray the bellicose fervor, 
my mindful still water core is always unsealed.

The modern multitask brain neglects the lyrical,
but hippocampus allusion recalls the metaphysical.

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