Shadows drink a wall lamp.
Winter switches the porch light on.
The cat claims its space
beneath curled head and tail.
Earlier,
a kind of daylight
scratched ice into vision,
I rummaged into dark corners -
I forget what for.
Another winter dawn
could ransack or houseclean,
it all depends on how dark
corners can get.
the green dog had the bluest eyes and the ears of orange said Mack.
He had a blue nose, and red scales down his hairy humped over back.
the second he walked in the door, he said “Hello, just call me Jack.”
I was so surprised he spoke English, I nearly fell over said Mack.
Did he come to rob you, to ransack, to home invade or attack?
At first I did not know why he was there at all, said my cousin Mack.
But we had a long chat, and I learned the hard story of dog Jack.
It was so sad, I let him stay with us. His bedroom is down in the back.
We all saw him seize his mum’s shoulder
And smile but in his heart a boulder
I knew you didn’t catch the second;
I happen to have a mind fecund.
What my eyes snatched was a masquerade:
A face vandal might want for a raid
But this he’s not acting on purpose;
Just not here to hear what lips propose:
Mark is a heir planning Dad’s funeral
While, for now, no crate of mineral:
One thousand guests who cherish cold beer;
Why would normal eyes not announce fear?
Yes, not about ideas voicing
Nor over man’s cash gifts rejoicing,
Your hand, too, should ransack the pockets
And watch Mark’s eyes pop out of sockets!
As a parent I drool
To send kids back to school.
Far too much frantic fun
Drains me shallow, no pun.
Rowdy, raucous ransack
Leaves calm space out of whack.
Summer - precious and short -
For adults I’d retort .
Hot spot, wasted away
On young - I dare to say.
Blatant truth to be told -
Schools should shut in the cold.
For all we care or know
Children thrive in the snow.
August 22, 2022
Today I awoke to my moment of truth,
I'm no longer as young as I was in my youth,
And perceived, later on, to my further dismay,
I'm not even as young as I was yesterday.
Oh, how and why was my youth so misspent,
And how can I find when and whither it went?
Was it hung in a closet, or tossed in a drawer,
Is Peter Pan really gone, boon companion no more?
As I woke up this morning, he was with me, I swear.
When I looked in the glass, though, a stranger was there.
Oh, I'll ransack each closet, every cupboard, and drawer,
But I fear I'll not find that sweet boy anywhere.
Now a new thought emerges, one not nearly so bleak:
I'm not yet as old as I will be next week.
So, Peter, adieu, sayonara, and ciao,
Please keep my youth with you, I'm too old for it now.
Oh, dear, golden boy, oh, bright symbol of youth,
We cannot remain young, that's the bittersweet truth.
Yet silver-fringed laughter hide-and-seeks in the hall,
And I smile for my youth hasn't vanished at all.
My mem'ries are young, I invoke them at will,
Like the spirit of Pan that remains with me still.
boxful of Scotland souvenirs at a car boot sale
a life’s possessions
in thirty or so boxes
from the back of a white Transit
knick-knacks from Scotland
a wee man with ginger hair
tam o’shanter
and a corkscrew
a picture of Ben Nevis
with all the red vibrancy
sucked out of it
by years of rising suns
through flat windows
a toilet roll holder
from Edinburgh
cartoon spider and an inscription
taken straight from Robert Bruce
“if at first you don’t succeed,
try, try again”
an empty whisky bottle
shaped like a hand bell
a small bundle of colourised postcards
in brown, green and purple
of the Scottish Highlands
a tea towel with a stubborn brown stain
of the Isle of Skye
a pint glass with a colour scene
lettered Aberd—n
and a dried bunch of heather
bound by a tartan ribbon
from the banks of Loch Ness
that bunch of heather,
forty six years picked
owned from honeymoon to death
thirty or so boxes
of worthless detritus
to rummage and ransack
on a summer Sunday morning
a life lived
in one of thirty boxes.
6.6.2011
revised 6.6.2022 6:45am
It's to demilitarize Ukraine; to de-Nazify,
Did Ukraine dare attack regions of Donetsk and Lugansk?
Said, yet, Putin; he did not, clear-as-crystal, specify,
Did countries of west arm Kyiv against the Russia's ransack...?
What's truth? Jesus did not ask Pontius Piolet in such vein,
Could all that Putin narrates considered the Gospel-truth?
Total truth was lost in ruthlessness - this was Jesus-pain,
Could Zelenskyy be to hold realistic truths to sooth...?
Ukraine influence in Russia be destroyed, Putin said,
Truth alone wins, they say, is it in reality so?
This, Putin said truth, and, cause why he had to go-ahead,
If truth does not win, where will Ukraine for its justice go...?
Truth is yet, not all; truth, once, used to be devoid of chaff,
Truths of nations of war, need not, bid other nations laugh...!
19 march 2022
Is truth the first casualty of war and why is that Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
Luminescent water dweller swirling svelte
Slick slid tranquil cuddles chocolate flanks
Languish in lake's fresh flow cleanses pelt
Inveigled green murk give mammal thanks
Flip of fish bodied bristle face fierce scent
Dispersing air bubble clusters break ranks
Astonished by spine kink accomplishment
Ransack gets snack refuel on sandy banks
Sharp fang archer snares mollusc, eloquent
Velvet lips emit wet grass verdant vibe knell
Frolicking gloss body, domain of free agent
Guarantees relief, feasted minuscule morsel
Rotary manuevres engrave prey unhindered
Dagger mouth rolls marble glassy carouse
Rouge show-off swims to coldest dominion
Flagrant tail track flicks a frigid drop douse
11th February
Behemoth of depths
Feel Good Moments
By: Miracle Man
8/7/2019
As each dawn breaks thoughts I ransack,
In search for substantive things to say.
Often its past history that will spring back,
And sometimes my heart, emotions betray.
I’m sometimes engrossed in a younger time,
Before clock had recorded its mark on me.
Times were peaceful with less organized crime,
With no thoughts of protest by taking a knee.
But most days I rise early and sit pondering,
About those matters holding relevance to me.
Never giving thought to the time I’m squandering,
But time will progress according to God’s decree.
I’ll ransack the caging golden towers,
Slip your hands from the twines of forlorn hours;
Spirit you to fields ‘neath conspiring stars,
Coif your hair with a headdress of flowers.
Woman, don’t you come back
You’ve squeezed out all you’re gonna get
There’s nothing left to ransack
Leave me in peace, and just git!
It wasn’t me that was unfaithful.
It wasn’t me that was untrue.
So if you’re gonna point your finger,
Three fingers point back at you.
All the guilt points back at you!
Woman, don’t stick around.
There’s no reason for you to stay.
So if you see me, turn around;
Like a hound dog, slink away!
(Chorus)
Give me a break, don’t make no fuss.
Ain’t nothing left between us.
Take some other fool for a ride;
‘Cause all good feelings up and died!
I found a love that will be faithful .
I found a love that will be true.
And for this, I’m surely grateful:
I’ve got her instead of you;
And she’s not at all like you!
Woman, never return!
You’re just not welcome here no more
Being near you gives me heartburn.
Stay away for--ever more.
Your lusty kiss launched me flesh high
and my mind passed blank towards bye.
When past love caused my heart to crack
I lived sure no saucy based smack
would land me in a throes-toned sigh.
Dreamy in blue jeans or black tie,
your brazen flirt casts me awry.
Your look swerves my senses off track.
Your lusty kiss
Magic swells each vibe you imply
to tantalize and mystify
all in me your male hands ransack.
With you I feel rushed colors stack
our content in ample supply.
Your lusty kiss
... CayCay Jennings
August 1, 2018
You act like you’re all that -
gaining green when you rap,
but I say lines of utter crap
come from your verbal flap.
You lack and I can back that.
My slapjack, whapping facts
would not be rinsed with tact
since odds are a massive stack
of my fly responses so snap
they’ll waste yours to scrap.
You’ll bleed a need for a map
just to sense our distance gap.
I could secure a win wrap
in the deep sleep of a nap
with word whirls of pure blur
punching, crushing your rap,
maiming your able so unstable
it’s incapable to react transact
any how to track your ego back.
My hit of truth would impact
and sack your rap so abstract
that my heard word redact
would squish lisp yours compact,
then subtract, detract, refract
and ransack precisely exact
the trash you call a talent act.
So, go! Sate-debate my rap trait.
Nick Trim's 8 Mile Style Poetry Contest
March 16, 2018
I ransack my mind…the blurred tale that cries
On hollow tracks scarcely finding life's way
The bleakest moans, the clearest views reprise--
A pounding shrill of angst which reels all day.
Though a prayerful night quietly drains,
Above, a communion with God remains.
From my confined walls, moonlight slowly bleeds
Ghastly this shadow grilling a leaked pen:
And yet, one flint from heaven’s star accedes
Endowing malaise its final amen.
Shall I grow weaker and perhaps forget
How double-edged illness comes with youth's rain?
Oh where I recline, next evening won't set
Dear moments when smiles are lucid again.
Here... tidal bowl with apples soon to fade
As breaths drop, pass through dusk’s advancing shade.
Contest of Craig Cornish:God Knows Where I Am
6/6/2017
That One can't be with us,
Remember the name we've given?
That One has to play the part!
Can't look like us, wear like us;
Whether bought or are gifts,
We should rampage and ransack!
Must look like the picture we painted,
Image circled around by us.
Remove anything that's contrary to
the name we now use!
Can't be Clinical, only undercover,
No one but us must know what sense
Exists or strategies present, though thousands
spent by That One to become Clinical!
How That One LOOKs must suit the new
name,
Tasks performed should be out of character;
Not in keeping with times gone by.
If not crushed by words we spread or pictures
painted,
We'd be asked why do we say such things.
So, lets debase, disgrace, steal all or most
For That One should never again Look like us
or fit in.
Is this hard to ponder on or decipher?
Should the puzzle be ever solved when they do lie?
Who'd believe the meek and lowly below the powers?
Joseph had to be brought low as Potiphar's wife was
Higher,' but was her story really true?
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