This feels too much like deja vu,
the days and nights of a biblioklept.
It’s what the book-bosomed must do,
taking in every chapter as you slept.
Being such an omnilegent person
it’s hard to run across something fresh.
Reading’s such pure introverted fun,
with each word I want gooseflesh.
I wander to each town bouquiniste
on the lookout for a page turner.
I’m hungry for a clever plot twist,
that story that’s an acid burner.
There is no place I would rather be
then inhaling the scent of this paper.
Serene and content in a lectory
escaping into a wild fictional caper.
I love to go running through my head
inside a space where I have no phobia.
While in reality I am filled with dread
suffering from debilitating abibliophobia.
driving through the wilds
roads carved through granite and spruce
dusk is approaching...
full concentration needed
"Be on the lookout for moose!"
Cupid a.k.a Amor
is considered armed and dangerous
so shield your heart
against his aphrodisiacal ‘dart.’
Wear a bullet proof vest
to protect your chest!
Cupid is a notorious sharpshooter
who can hit his targets
far and wide
so you can't run and hide.
His semi automatic
makes each shot ecstatic.
Cupid is wanted
for assault with a deedly weapon
and for inciting love
so be on the lookout for a cherub with wings
and know that his match making skills
give even introverts the chills.
Just like some to be playing the game
Always on the lookout for fortune and fame
They've said you could never change your name
And that is something you would not explain
The tarot card reader claims to know your fate
Once you thought you could change but now it's too late
Nothing more to do but retaliate
Against all it is to which you can't relate
Sometimes there will be those debts to repay
Yet if one is lucky they will just fade away
And then there will be other games for to play
When all of the rules will come from yesterday
Then, again, you might just return by design
You could say you had simply been given a sign
It had come when all the stars happened to align
But then, maybe, the past was just not your time
A word I hate
Bringing me down
Can't stop the nightmares
Dragging me by the hair
Everything that terrifies me
From trauma still fresh
Ghosts of over two years ago
Haunt me even now
I wish I could forget
Just how bad those 18 years were
Knives stabbing into my heart
Loss I can't even explain
Mother who abandoned
Never to be seen again
On the lookout because of paranoia
Potential threats that are always behind
Questioning everything
Running from the horrors
Still coming for me at all times
They want carnage once again
Underwater I try to breathe
Volumes of water I inhale
X's on my forearms
You can see all my scars
Zealous energy I no longer have
First and foremost
Always be on the lookout for the good
And seek to find the best in everyone
So long as that doesn't come at the expense
Of leaving you blind and unable to spot
The bad as well
Otherwise because they are able to
You will most definitely do for them
And at that point even you will be
Forced into realizing and admitting
Knowing the difference between
Good and bad
And you won't like that side
The beacons of Caribbean ray
Made sunlight spins across this hot day
The heat arrives again between lush trees
Shedding their plump clothes leaves.
With dangling fruits on the branches
Bikes dance fluently around the hills.
Up through little towns and even villages
Part of the parishes looks like dishes.
Summer in jamaica wearing a grin
with flashes of torrential rain falling
Pools of water lay by the roadside
beneath the stream, a mist strode
Humidity blots out my vision
To the crystal crisp breaching ocean
Yellow bird in a cloud of immaculate stature
Swirl on the lookout for higher architecture
My pulse beat like a watch tower
Excitement racing over into the shore
Summer in jamaica raises the temperature
Into the high mosquito ceiling
Oxygen tight and drowning
Ordered some books for my grandson
On the Friday that recently passed,
Expecting a next-day delivery
Since Amazon gets things done fast.
Got a notice the order was processed,
Then a follow-up it would be late,
So instead of the 15th arrival,
I was given a different date.
Told my son to remain on the lookout
For by Sunday or Monday it should
Be deposited on their front doorstep
But I started to doubt if it would.
By this morning, when checking the order,
It said, “Sorry, your books may be lost.
Please reorder or ask for a refund.”
Somehow somebody’s signals got crossed.
I will try once again but I realized
Just how spoiled I’ve gotten to be,
Yet I hope my grandson’s disappointment
Is with Amazon rather than me!
I've never felt love in my life
Yet here I am,with a whole lotta love to give.
I long for you,Aphrodite,to come
Been searching for you since centuries.
In crowded streets,to torrid deserts
And to the deepest depths of the oceans.
Though I have a young fa e,
They say,I'm an old soul inside.
Old and weary,tired of walking
No lights do light up the path ahead.
The little respite,is in my deep sleep
Yet it's plagued with dreams
Sometimes,of the girl chided by me
At times an enchantress in white 'n golden hues.
I long to rest now,in your tender arms
My Aphrodite,I seek to hide in your thick,deep mane.
See...it's like smelling the roses
Without plucking them this time.
Gods conspired,to end a lineage
Of water nymphs and mermaids I used to dream.
You are vibrant,woman of blood,flesh and bones,
Who is on the lookout for a safe house too.
You stay unswayed,even with all the tantrums I throw
This is my lot of love,purging our altar,happiness be thine.
This time,I come uninvited
Hide me in your curls for centuries,
Please then,let me in...
The pink panther is the original dolly cat
He knows who he is and makes no apologies for that.
He used to tickle my grandson, he would laugh until tears
I did not realize then that he might be a dolly cat himself over years.
He is wily and smart, and handsome, a pink dapper devil.
His thinness is almost funny, he is never disheveled.
He is a study in gender, with a keen eye on the lookout.
I love his slinky slick ways, for his individuality I do shout.
The pink panther has the voice of a soft-spoken man.
There is a touch of mystery, as he heads for each garbage can.
He is rather refined, so I cannot see him peeking in alleys for food.
Just seeing his clever fine ways puts me in an extremely good mood.
Yogi bear loved to rob tourists of their lunch,
raiding picnic baskets for brunch.
Always on the lookout for the park ranger,
his antics grew even stranger.
Boo-Boo routinely got caught with pilfered snacks,
being Yogi's friend had drawbacks.
Tagging along on the promise of a treat,
he served the master of deceit.
(Clerihew)
9/05/2021
Cleritoons Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
on-the-lookout words
Mirrors meant to reflect love
the way you want it.
What must it be like to be male? To live with an overclocked metabolic system that’s always on the lookout for brazen and unmistakable propositions - like a smile or a "please pass the salt."
I mean at times we all have those feelings - primitive as oil - but not the constant, fast forward, high density need that males seem to live with.
It must be like wrestling a trapped demon..
.
.
*this piece is supposed to be a slight exaggeration for comic effect - a satire*
I have a curtain twitcher living on my street
Always on the lookout for wandering feet
No secrets are safe when he is around
Watches every movement and hears every sound
I'm sure that he doesn't bother with TV
For our street is far entertaining to he
All the comings and goings at number three
He has so much to hear and so much to see
Some would consider this man a nosey parker
Likes it best just as the daytime turns darker
So heed my advice dear neighbours of mine
This curtain twitcher is spying on the front line
in the twilight hours
when all is deathly quiet
i lay awake
clutching at straws
i watch over you
with all the vigilance
i can muster
holding my breath as if
as if i might protect you
as if i could fight off the ravages
of time and the venom inside you
the cancer that eats away at you
i refuse to close my eyes
so not to hear the thunder
of raging lynchmen
madly riding their horses
through the fog of night
in the twilight hours
when all is deathly quiet
i lay awake
on the lookout
clutching at straws
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on September 13, 2020 for contest CLUTCHING AT STRAWS sponsored by KAI MICHAEL NEUMANN
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