Write a poem about Halloween.
The night to be seen.
Maybe a Halloween delight.
A poem with a lot of fright!
Write about ghosts and the basement.
Where the memories went.
Memories of the lost and found.
A twitchy sound.
Feeling like eating pumpkin pie?
Maybe I can feed it to my eye.
Why not, when my face is unglued?
And vines start to protrude.
Write a poem about Halloween.
Hope that it will be seen.
A ghost will haunt me.
I feel like a dead tree.
I feel like a tree stump.
Like a little bump.
Like a pimple on a nose.
Could pop at any time don’t you suppose?
Write a poem about Halloween.
With memories unseen.
Darkness unfurls everywhere.
Halloween is like a stray hair.
Like a stray hair.
Without a care.
A poem about Halloween is weird.
But strange things are much revered.
Write a poem about Halloween.
I did as if I was a living being.
I might be a skeleton but who really knows?
But I wrote a nice poem, I suppose.
Why can't my blind spot see?
it’s shadowing me in the eye's periphery
edgily creeping sideways like a crab,
watching me, it’s stalking me,
deceiving me with popped eyes
propped up on stilts, curling away when I look.
You live within my every gaze, yet evade my searching blaze.
Why my dear spot do you hide and blind me in so many ways?
Is your evasive spot futile, furtive, or a fugitive in the clear?
Are you black, white, brindle or transparently clear.
Do you suck, poke, protrude, grind
or cut, with a laser sear to blind.
Why can't I see you,
my blind spot hole?
I know you’re there
unseen on the edge!
I’ll shut my eyes now
and hope that you’ll
will be gone when
I awake and stare
to see you clearly there with me,
scene sharing two-eyed
In binocular vision.
‘tis not this scape judgy?
‘lo, prey on the defenseless
short of a chirp, quite rationalized
facets of your twisted facade
the soul degrading you?
despises, despises theeself
thy insecurities shall protrude
thy good and their wrong spotlighted
i won’t get ready for this world
it will get ready for me
let their hearts pound in their chest
cause I’m fighting for those who can’t fight
it’s going the hell down
FLY HIGH! No one but you has lived a second of your life
FLY HIGH! The useless always negatively lie
FLY HIGH! We’ll prove our existence to those who reject it
TO THE SKY! F I G H T !
Prominent Pleiadian pyramids.
Poised, pronounced perfection.
Perplexing, preserved peaks.
Panoramic, picturesque pinnacles.
Prophetic programming purposes,
Protecting prisoner proteges.
Spire insight of silence
Swotch and bind, conspiracy of mind
Conspire and self-protrude
Mindless matter of maddened hatter
Borne gall of uncongruent bladder
Reign wettened confections'n faux pas
Pram embedded bedding of public propaganda
And poised for prose 'dulted diaper thrown an' broiled'n a gutter
Homely homelessness in wake of deft arms
Freshened refreshener and wetted choke
Chugged and driven doomed deliverance
Cut of word 'cross and lost'n devious drivings of work
Ticking tenor left fear to render
These haps to fall through ungloved metal and measly meak meal, and
Coarse feel along rift ridged riverbays
Swept upon eons of words spurred affray
Sully gusts, and worry t'encrust
And collect the lost worker from astray.
Great surfing you may not have guessed
can be found in the upper northwest.
In a full rubber suit
the great whites think looks cute,
the dawn patrol shreds the gnar best.
Seems the beaches were starting to groan;
the supports underneath were all blown.
But now that Ozempic
has come to Olympic,
it appears they will stand on their own.
Once fleshy, vivacious, with curves,
Bone Beach is now lacking in verve.
When whales get reported,
the lifeguards who sort it
have nothing but sinews and nerves.
How I long to see Baywatch again,
and the slow motion bounce for the win!
Although healthy is wise,
put some meat on those thighs
or those bones will protrude through your skin.
His once smooth, light, tender hands
Now callused, rough and worn.
The veins that once were hidden now
Protrude as purple strands.
Baby skin, now savage wounds
Display how much they’ve aged
And scars with skin worn thin
Leave no beauty left to swoon.
Oh, the stories in his hands
Through years of serving show
How toil, work and suffering
Are engraved in wrinkled spans.
They are the final testament
Where blood once flowed
Whence seed was sown
And piercing oh so evident.
Beyond the seen are other scenes
Unseen by broken hands.
Hands that healed the ones he loved
At his expense, repaid all liens.
Born acquainted with grief and loss
He willingly gave his all.
Driven by love for all mankind
Left His hands upon a cross.
Written: January 05, 2023
___________________________________________
As a river beckons
and brittle stripes
of soaring reeds swell,
with a faint breeze
and a sturdy hedge,
the ebb and flow
of a loving swarm,
who humbly trickle
on an emerald ledge,
my spirit quivers
at sight of your hasty
adrift in vehemence,
full of enthusiasm,
fledgling, foolish scent.
aerial zephyrs are said,
to breathe a divine dream
upon receiving,
award of merit.
Can you pinpoint
every detail in
a seamless swerve
swaying stygian splits
in crystalline water
convey radiance
or a wispy, hazy veil
wrapped in gnomes
rhythm,
dance and chant
as twigs protrude
from swaying rims,
suave souls supplied
a haven while time invades
wrests wonted words
as sapphire scrap.
epitome of sighs.
It's time for seraphic zeal
in gauzy garments
and lunar anguish,
beseeching you with
a supple, soft cuddle
to bestow her boon,
pureness excites her.
to the brink of rapture,
leading lips to quiver
she merely dodges it,
as her grasp seeks to yield
a tender kiss, and
a loving curl of her lips.
5th place contest winner
A mighty monarch had a dream,
the kind that makes men stir and scream.
In mid-earth grew a large, strong tree,
It was so tall that all could see.
A holy one gave the decree,
to cut down and destroy the tree,
but leave the large stump in the ground,
with bronze and iron fetters bound.
The mighty monarch was the tree,
to whom his subjects bowed the knee.
His Majesty was very great,
But his arrogance sealed his fate.
God had decreed he’d lose his throne,
and live in nature all alone.
His hair like one unkempt will grow,
and nails protrude like those of a crow.
A chastened monarch he would be,
until his folly, he would see.
Like a man who has lost his mind,
he will live like the beastly kind.
The purpose of the harsh decree
was that all on earth may agree,
that God rules the affairs of men,
and decides where men rule, and when.
At the end of his harsh ordeal
the chastened king proclaimed with zeal,
the Most High God exists for real,
Let all on earth before him kneel.
Listen you haughty men and proud,
Who mock this God with voices loud.
One day you too will face His wrath,
because you chose the foolish path.
Fancies be, beauty is real
Its seductive power to feel
And unfading hearts of glee
Protrude amazing love to see.
Your comeliness happy life speaks
And in darkness sparks light.
Song sung in the heavens
In which other angels delight.
Your beauty other sights controls
The goddess of all beauties.
Your frame fluid baths the earth
Your eyes serve like Venus' stars
Your smooth hair's golden template
Your undiluted form of colour
Sweet fragrance, your striking odour:
All's wonderful form of Aphrodite.
The enchantment of your countenance
Deceives not in every case
Lo, you are an angel!
But earth's
Unmatched with any angel unknown
Hence, the angel I know is more beautiful
Than the angel I know not.
A sideways grin,
With spots up to your chin.
Fuzzy horns adorns
Your Velvet eyelashes,
And your eyes from within.
So friendly you seem,
With a smile that beams.
Your chin whiskers protrude,
Giving you a sassy attitude.
The joy is flowing through your veins
The blood speaks life in your breathing it explains
The life flowing through you living energy
Spirit truths first then it's physical identity
Energies essence flow you are more than just flesh human-meat
Your soul spirit compasses you relapse your heartbeats
So sweet for the eyes that look from the heart
So sweet is the voice that beats from the heart
So sweet are the hands and arms that protrude out of the heart
The mouth of the heart speaks life sweet
Blessings always so sweet the spiritual heart
Everso sweet the spiritual heart beats
6/29/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2023
"From anthology "a Love Song"
my poems might be best
for writing they will arrest
too hard to digest
saw poems on my lap
which may create a mishap
must fill in the gap
to show poems trying
many of them are supplying
you could be crying
poems are exquisite
read them when paper visit
or might have missed it
need an exhibit
newspaper will prohibit
write them have to quit
to this will allude
at convention can be crude
tongues exude and protrude
after taking pause
there will be a Santa Klaus
which we read in clause
A long armed Groot at the root of this fruit/
The strong alarmed the wrong loot and followed through against the coup/
Flipped script is ridiculous as I re-jiggle this penned mess/
Stripped it’s ludicrous how crude I kiss and caress this sent injustice/
Picked up this food for our crust to protrude and fizz it does just this/
Slicked pup as my hood busts who’s suave and sends scoffs sideways/
Songs sung to scarlets of Joe’s hands spun off Scarlett Johansson/
Strung out lawns by harlots with no land sum/
A lung tout to spawn a poet’s lot for ransom/
That air brung stout gruel to sew it’s spot and some
Along through I tote a lance to hum and be hung/
Strong brute while hope’s a branch slung/
A long armed groot flips style and gropes leafs to inch along/
The linguistic sower to sword through heaps and hues of sorrow/
The wing’s wish stick is sore from the word brews arrow/
Cut that stings wick as it's more phlegm for the fruits aglow.
In the frame of grim dusk the shapes curved of wolf bark,
Out of the iron gate a man tall in grey cloak
appears still on the hill looming large in the dark,
he comes down as the grips of the night firmly choke.
Thin arms stretched, in the air he’s afloat like a bird,
as the moon rises high in slow pace in the sky,
when he drifts, he’s the Count, thus all old people heard,
as he stands at my door, to be bold, so I try.
Eerie night’s blue haze thick covers long ashen face,
red eyes glare, all the fangs protrude through bloody lip.
I do fail to escape, see myself in chill brace,
I hear him whisper cold, “your hot blood I will sip”.
I then freeze to the core when descends Hallows’ dusk,
fearsome scene irks me still by fun fright, man in mask.
________________
November 15, 2022
Syllable count checked at HMS
Contest : All Hallows' Evening
Sponsored by : Craig Cornish
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