Trump says, Consequential Prez gets shot at,
Might e’en say, beauties ‘lone molested get!
Checked, if he felt all fine,
Found, bitter than quinine--
A kind who e’en when clean-bowled, yells ‘how’s that’.
_____________________________
Happenings |23.09.2024| humour, USA, Political
Poet’s note: There was a second unsuccessful attempt to assassinate Trump. Luckily safe, he was quick to turn the incident unto some kind of bragging points in his favour. Yet perhaps only an inconsequential man loves to project him as consequential.
TONIC
Gin, with its memory of juniper
That imbues a certain sweet tang
But needs a slightly bitter contrast
To be well-rounded on the tongue
Relieved to deliver its full promise
Tonic water, innocently sparkling
Knowing its partnering role so well
Offering quinine as a prophylactic
Originally for Malaria in the Empire
A complement to balance the heat
Ice, as cubes dropped into the glass
Their mission, ever eagerly accepted
A cool aperitif then turned into cold
With just a thin twist of lemon or lime
That clink, somehow a reinforcement
Why do these guys quit before seventy?
After achievements Life on Earth empty!
There was to be a Macgregor Laird:
Before sixty-one years to rest laid...
For my avid interest in History,
I could not but alight on his story
With its private message from Greatness
"No, Mystery, no Magic: Eagerness!"
What had he shrewdly done: John Beecroft?
In their Britain left behind a voice soft
To in far-off lands hold her goals aloft
While him Portugal, Spain and, sure, France scoffed;
In West Africa's Fernando Po
Seeing that The Non British did lines toe:
In Nigeria's captured Bight of Benin
Ensuring that his men got their Quinine;
I reckon in the close Bight of Biafra
Giving out British bags not of raffia!
I could have for John Beecroft my hat doffed,
Just that when I last tried a patriot coughed.
Vitamin D for you for me
Sunlight and air; both still free
Quinine in tonic water clear
Filters blood in hearts so dear
To exercise in many ways
Four good steps to enrich your days.
©Joe Maverick 7-2-2023
I killed a killer this morning!
I gorged his eyes out with my naked hands
Counted his teeth one by one
Like pebbles on a plastic platter;
Belched after I drunk his cold blood
In a home-made cheap mug;
Used a rusty pen knife
To separate his throat
From his now-pulp body;
Then tore his heart from its place
And replaced it with a rough piece of dry log!
I then threw what remained of him
In a gutter where street beggars
Empty the pains of their dirty bladders;
It was the most rewarding experience.
The after-taste lingered on my conscience
Like quinine on tongue.
But there was more relief than grief
More Mother Theresa than Hitler.
For then it all came to me
Like beer coming to a dry throat
How they must feel when they
Kill us
I confess that I felt dope
When I killed a killer!
Palm fronds clatter
in a Santa Ana wind
and I am bitter as quinine.
Leaves furl
as the dead hands of summer
and I am bitter as wormwood.
The sun could burst in my anger,
leaves its flame in my ears
instead of forgotten promises.
If to give up is to hear truth
I wish I were deaf,
not to hear the sham
of words and music
and to steel in silence
rather than my heart bleed.
Tell me nothing but facts:
that sky is blue, but not cerulean.
Say sun is hot,
not warm as love's breath.
Teach me not to wait
for lies to blossom like ranunculus
in my heart's winter.
Speed blindness
and I will lie in the dark,
not to wait for day's break.
5th Place
Mid Summer Premier Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
7/21/17
The enemy at close range
Loyalty sold for a piece of meat, a coin or a good dose of gossip
The enemy at close range
A friend with evil intentions
Searching for loopholes
The enemy at close range
Embraces you with a smile
Helps you clean your gun
But pulls the trigger when you turn your back
The enemy at close range
Disguised as a sheep but as sly as a fox
Laughs with you at your table
But as soon as it’s dusk
He runs into the shadows to break bread with your mockers
The enemy at close range
Knows your every move
Hears your every word
Spills all your secrets
The enemy at close range
Breaks your heart without a warning
And gives you quinine in place of honey
The enemy at close range
Is a friend with evil intentions
By Sylvia Chika
[email protected]
http://sylviachika.blogspot.com/
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Twitter:@sylviaoz
© 2017 Sylvia Chika
Obscurity's trenchant
sorrows blotting
tissue paper cuts,
tears aptly smeared
in hidden fears of
first dashed allusions,
darkly flippant metaphors
sans passionate accolades
left to gingerly decay,
grandiloquently speaking,
'Happily Ever After' is
hardly a verbose nuance
throughout a quinine
poet's collection
My mindly nib
Traverses maps
Marking paths
Some beaten
Others unbeaten
Soles truge
Pebbles & mud
Dust & grime
Amidst serenity
Between dawn and dusk
With hope & humbleness
With aim & ambition
With simplicity & sacradness
My mindly nib
Traverses for me
Quinine stained papyrus
Sweating pathways
The road winding
The task uphill
On the ground below
Lies the unfolded
Plans of happiness
In my mind
Unfolds paths
To the world ahead
My mindly nib
Traverses maps
Marking pathways..
it will not stop for a day,
My heart beating for you,
Even when it fails, i will hit the sense into it
And into your head for making it fail.
i just have to be in your arms,
You could be the most annoying white lair, yes!
Of course i know, chill, cos i'll write them pink,
Your laughter could be the sweetest tune in my ears,
It doesn't stop it from being the quinine in scwcheps,
ha ha! you never seem to amaze me,
When those tiny voice of yours would say " i miss you oh"
oh! so i am now Mississippi?
surely the day i'll write out your next moves is come,
Don't anchor to Your e books okay? run errand for the stars,
When i'll catch them, i'll make them shine brighter on you,
What’s even wrong with me?
Sending you this sweet little piece,
Nah! sent to the wrong printer, love you.
lichen heart,
of mossy bones,
kerosene humors in burning veins;
this anxiety in the night;
like walking wounded,
needle toe,
jumping at the squeal;
ink well vertigo,
dark in the blacklight;
random is a thought,
careless is the impulse,
closet full of negligent whim,
soul on the rim of a colder pool;
shroud stains on old linen,
warmed by a dying sun;
alluvial void,
rancid with a forgotten carcass,
standfast in heavy air,
chained in the lowest gaol;
stepping flatfooted in a strangler's garden,
held parchment crumbles as old leather,
words words words,
flowing freely,
associated with nothing,
powdered creation,
mad quinine for malaise,
tonic for a weirding way;
brief midnight interlude,
for a panic stricken insomniac,
howling at the sally port,
a last kiss goodnight,
as Morpheus turns away.
trapped in the space on a bard’s nib we slept,
Hibernated, slumbered and under the quinine stains we wept,
Yearned we did to spill ourselves on paper,
Bard he caged his thoughts and emotions for later.
Later, we heard them thoughts say as years went by,
Afraid we were for the burden on his heart was high,
Ever we knew that a lip curved in pain,
Can be kissed into a smile again.
Our neighbor, more sorrowing words, them lay folded,
Some on the table & most weeping in his heart, pounding his head all loaded.
A cry afar a sob we at times faintly hear,
A smile, an eruption we sense at times from his dear.
A breeze is blowing nice and strong,
We hope to be on a page, to read that all would throng.
The languid wings of air still carry the scent,
Of my sweetheart long after she went………………………
26/2/2012
By Sashi Prabhu (zeauoxian)
Contest: treasure trove
Austerely laid my eyes firmly on my garden far side
Tattered page piles, from my attic treasure trove, littered outside.
I picked up a dog eared page of the days of sitting together,
In this garden, cuddling and smooching in cold weather.
On such a glorious winter day, I scribbled on this page love notes,
A long time ago, by the way, in double quotes
Nostalgic now the dismal, Melancholy tenors that fill in,
Memories of “au revoir”, replete my poignant heart to its brim.
A wind now blows this dog eared page & it flies by the old gum tree
Dully chase it with some rage &as I see the page, begin to read all about me……………..
For the last two lines, the paper is vacant void & bare,
Heart’s healed wounds to open with quinine drenched text I would not dare.
That tender sweet kiss,when our lips first touched
frozen in time forever
never be repeated.
That first touch of your lips was like Quinine
still carrying bitterness
wish you never touched me.
===========================================
Placement:5th (Jan 2012)
* A collab with David Williams for Tracie's
'Opposite' contest.
We went for Love/Hate relationship
Mine is the 2nd part.
Slept and slumbered under the quinine stains we wept,
On a poignant bard’s weary nib we slept.
Yearned we to spill on to paper,
Him caged sore thoughts for later.
Weeping words we lay folded,
On table, heart moulded.
Sorrowed dirge lament,We repent,..................dissent
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