It is a turquoise lake oval in shape
The blue boat is almost a cylinder
Hills and fountains in the landscape
A white and gold cloud resembles her
I start rowing the boat slowly
Ripples in the water smile at me
The wind turns a little breezy
The cloud sounds a little breathy
I row up to the eastern bank
The orange of the sun fondles my face
I row down to the western flank
The cloud says, the sun I'll replace
Suddenly a lion shaped big figure
With a sparkling knife in its lifted claw
A horrific outcry of yellow anger
A violent pose to overawe
I get hysteric calling my mother
Whose voice descends into the sky
Don't panic I am driving away the monster
I woke up and saw on my hands a giant fly
January 24, 2018
Nightmares - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by : Nayda Ivette Negron
Categories:
overawe, art, boat, conflict, image,
Form: Rhyme
Stevie was a city boy,
He wore an old school tie,
His life was full of sex and booze
And other things you buy.
He occupied a penthouse
That overlooked the Thames
And plastered it with modern art
To overawe his friends.
But one night in a taxi home
When chatting to the cabby
The latter asked our hero
Whether he was really happy.
Now Stevie wasn't prone to
Letting others take the piss,
So he smashed the cabby's lights
And drove his car into a ditch.
But the violence didn't kill
The mem'ry of the thing he'd said;
"Are you really happy?" was
Still buzzing round his head.
So he popped along to Harley Street
With his philosophic woe,
Slipped a doctor fifty quid
And screamed 'I need to know!'
The doctor nodded kindly and
Reached under the desk,
From where he raised a felling axe
And chopped off Stevie's legs.
While tarring up the stumps the
Doctor said 'You might feel crappy,
But you'll have a clearer mind when
Someone asks you if you're happy.'
Categories:
overawe, life, satire,
Form: Rhyme
Often I have dreamt of words..
Embellished with stitches...
Amidst the red ink of madness..
Like an octopus's arms unfolding..
Whilst hearkening to the quivers...
Of voices jade and eager to settle
Mid the overawe grasp of a nettle..
A sleeveless cloak childishly clear...
Cunning apt untouched by tombs..
Sifting 'pon undressed and pure...
Ere the labored throb of passion..
Left to lie 'pon the sleeping tongue..
Only to be sewn and drawn by poise..
Highly-wrought amidst winged dreams..
Awaiting their native strands of soil..
Worth mentioning twixt stage and pen...
Categories:
overawe, write,
Form: Free verse
If I had a week of total ease,
Nothing to do but what I please,
I know that I would have to roam
Far from the confines of my home.
At home is where the work would be,
If I didn’t find it, it would find me.
I would sign into a splendid spa
With blandishments that would overawe.
I’d soak in their floral scented tubs,
With standby masseuses to give me rubs.
When with other guests I’ve interacted,
Eaten food with the calories extracted,
We’ll retire to the den for a game of chess.
I’ll dazzle them all with my finesse.
After it’s over, this week of bliss,
I'd go back to work, which I truly miss.
For Carol Brown's contest Won no. 1 along with many others.
Categories:
overawe, fantasy
Form: Rhyme