A Shepherd's Day by Suzanne Alexander (SA)
Wee, from East then West!
Seen one side then Next.
Feel a beautiful day, start is laid
Sjoe, from sting of Ray.This said,
Baa, from Ewe - distinct face!
Moor from one side at annex she graze,
Aye mi smeel yummy scone buttered.
Lighe nam lips whilst I muttered.
Shoo, splish-splash rain came unforseen
raining stairs of rods clearly seen
soil exposed with heathered bole
the red pigment irks the soul.
Ewe, come, sinn cùm sàbhailte!
to the huge bole hole, wee time, to shed.
Close jist ower the way so near,
baa, from rascal Mule , mi clu from ear.
C' mon ye little mule so blue
Safe its here by bole used as hue.
The noo! Mule. He came then settled.
Jack Snipe seen in marsh nestled.
Far in the distance a thunderclap
Meat today with pap.
With money earned just a little.
and hands brittle.
As the rain drops snipes my face,
Content I am to run , this race
Yet a sadness for unfair wage
But joyful not being in a cage.
Day, from graft then came night
Hame my manor is in sight.
Safe the ewe and mule I put,
aye, that'll dae. Day in tear and joy shut.
London growls under the tread
of diesel driven dreams.
A stork visits,
an attic full of discarded toys.
White mice sleep in pajamas,
made of childish nightmares.
Barges reek still, just as when,
sweat was as common as dirt.
A window in Baker Street,
opens to let pipe smoke out,
it uncoils in the air
like a left-handed genie.
Meat mongers return to their,
gore-soaked cradles
before the dawns leery light.
The city is a fable,
there is fuel oil seeping,
through tunnels and runnels,
where entrenched gutter snipes
lie low and wait.
Denizens' crabwalk
along Regents Street
barking Chinese commands
at oppressed corgis.
Stately towers are pressure washed,
until they shed a dark sunlight
that fractures ferrous raindrops.
Tenements sink under the weight,
of red carpets
until the blood flows
out of them.
London by night,
is a veneer,
a crust
of low expectations.
It is time to get fresh America,
to be plucked wriggling out of that shining sea,
a fresh baked humanity, moon-beam buckled.
Pass no more pay-day-loans
into the purses of the pawn-shopping poor,
give no witness nor evidence
of city shame, and house crud.
America, you can do this.
I am a being from across the world
I am from the ***-end of times,
my transformation, a promise of our mutual destiny,
rampant & manifest, our fate falters
let us be unbridled from
both the prideful and the lackluster,
un-arrested and unmolested
by the land grubbing snipes
or the false-fronted back slappers.
We are better than this blare of ourselves,
and if not
we can make a wooden wagon wheel
from all our legendary days,
It’s not too late, wipe your ass America,
wipe your dirty face. the dusty empire is crumbling
yet our first day is not yet done.
I am ready, ready to soar out of a hundred landfills,
a prismatic dodo embossed upon a tarnished coin
my downy head newly scrubbed of old-time blood.
It’s the land of milk and honey,
you fail to see beneath stars and stripes;
Hard work holds prosperous and free;
The lifestyle seems to come so easy,
lost within stories and stereotypes;
It’s the land of milk and honey;
Just getting by is a catastrophe,
inflation and basic survival snipes;
Hard work holds prosperous and free;
Left coast dreams east coast tyranny,
always seem to be surrounded by hypes;
It’s the land of milk and honey;
Pushing limits is what it was meant to be,
competition gives birth to prototypes;
Hard work holds prosperous and free;
Stay grounded and look carefully,
flooded with media and fancy teletypes;
It’s the land of milk and honey,
hard work holds prosperous and free.
Off to the sea in ships we all go,
Untested, but cock sure, as iron to a forge
Deck apes, snipes and gunners are we,
Salt spray, steam and gun smoke to deal
Up early and turning to ‘til late,
While pilfered horse cock, cards and dice await
Down to the bilges and up to the bridge,
Or off to clean the head each day begins
Gunnery drills and damage control,
A well-oiled fightin’ machine we all have become
Man Overboard! Gunner to the bridge,
Seems ole Oscar has taken a dip
A catnap before we take on fuel,
Heavy seas and darkness again to duel
Heave around lads, hand over hand!
Get the rig on deck the bos’n demands
Finally completed and soaked to the skin,
No rack for me, I’ve got the mid
Reveille! Reveille! Up at first light,
Clampdown awaits then I’ll grab a bite
In port tomorrow and liberty awaits,
But first there’s a washdown and lots to paint
All is secured and the Chief’s in good cheer,
So it’s off to the gut for some titties and beer
Back before sunrise no Shore Patrol required,
A run through the rain locker before liberty expires
Breakfast and quarters a new day begins,
I’ll borrow a $20 so I can do it again
Dead Ass Dumb Ass Sorry Ass Fat Ass
David J Walker
The asinine
claims
On this ass of mine
Remains a
Mystery to me
Though perpetually covered
It’s plain to see
It’s there
Get off yer Dead Ass
He yelled at me
as I was
About to flee with
My dead ass dragging behind
But Noooo
He reminds me to
Get yer ass over here
As if I were free
to send it
Without the rest of me
The gripes and snipes
that my Ass
Was all that was required
So
While
I was up to my ass
In alligators
A magnet Meme on the
Refrigerator reminded me
That Life Is all about Ass
Either
• Kissing or
• Kicking or
• Busting or
• Dragging or
• Getting
• Or Forgetting and or
Or you might be laughing
It off
Or
It can be both
Smart or dumb according to
The tenor of the preacher of
Ass-Lectoring
All at the same time
I’ve learned a few things about Ass
Like
You can smell like
You can Sound like
You can Look like
You can Be like
Or Treat like
Or Bray like
Or Say like
You can Play like
That It’s alright
to put all that on
your sorry ass
Pearly Snipes when they come
your visions climb ladders
pearly snipes they are floating in a river
as thin as gold and tin silver is
cold like a fish wander in its bowl
searching for a soul
floating birds in the thunder roofs pile on
and you walk in your twirling boots
colored with a crayon
a soft pillow is your hair
a place to cry on .
'Tis fascinating to read epitaphs that upon stones are etched;
Some are rather appealing, some are tragic, others a bit far-fetched!
'Neath this stone lie at peace a husband and his wife
She a Republican-He a Democrat-both now free of strife
Here rests Bruno Snipes the founder of our fair city
He slipped on a banana peel and died-Oh what a pity
Lion trainer Dave was brave and famed
'Til he met Leo who refused to be tamed
Uncle Bob died so young and we wondered why
Seems he tried to drink Canada Dry
The plane's controls Pilot Horace failed to recoup
Alas he spun out doing a double outside loop
Cowpoke Hank should've known as a matter of course
That it was futile to borrow a judge's horse
Here sleeps Senator Claghorn the wiliest politico around
He was so crooked they screwed him in the ground
Here lies the prolific Chief Many Papoose
Who with brave's wives played fancy and loose
She met her doom as over the cliff she did traverse
Instead of shifting to drive she shifted to reverse
Cowboy Pete was so bow-legged from riding his horse
That he lies in a double-wide coffin as a matter of course
serpent
slithers secretly
surveys surroundings
sibilates spittle
snake skin shines
she snipes
savours seeds
24th September
When panthers prowl and lions stalk,
the lone wolves howl and parrots talk.
The bee hives hum and wild boars snort;
the grouses drum; the deer cavort.
And as geese cackle, small hares peek.
They see a jackal, squeal and squeak!
Near streams are snipes where hoot owls hoot.
A nightingale pipes sound of flute.
Frogs croak and play as pigeons moan,
and rhinos bray through beetles’ drone.
Snakes hiss, and apes start gibbering;
no beast escapes this daily fling!
In this clatter, swallows twitter,
magpies chatter; every critter
can join in. Hyenas laugh
while in the din, each tall giraffe
begin to bleat. What reverie
of primal beat - this jamboree!
July 2, 2020 for Brian Strand's
Strand Completely New(4)Any Theme Any Form Poetry Contest
I: Sheep
next door to 19 chimneys
and 'the dark satanic mills'
a flock of sheep is grazing
oblivious in the hills.
II: Other Animals
venezuelan poodle moths
sea pigs, star-nosed moles
mata matas, sugar gliders
shoats and water voles.
aye-ayes, dik-diks, wobbegongs
chicken turtles, loons
shoebills, snipes and yeti crabs
and cozumel raccoons.
pink fairy armadillos
bilbys, 52-hertz whales
the red-lipped batfish, panda ants
and emperor helmet snails.
the pleasing fungus beetles, thrips
hellbenders, great potoos
lilac breasted rollers, bongos
glass frogs, kinkajous.
the rare long-wattled umbrellabirds
chubs and munchkin cats
satanic leaf-tailed geckos, shads
gars, nits and fancy rats.
To end a book
On a good look
Should be easy
But I’m smoking
Snipes n such
And it’s too much
Sean Highdale
Sean and four friends went out one night,
To the cinema, ‘cos his mate had just passed,
His driving test, so they hit upon the height,
Of the speed limit, but the car sadly crashed.
Two were killed, one’s still in a coma, Danny,
Sean suffered a brain injury, bones shattered,
Today he says:”I can go and see him, [Danny],
he can't speak…but I can [kiss him]”, captured.
He was set to play for Liverpool, just his stripes,
But the Speke Boulevard tragedy stopped that,
So now he plays football for Great Britain, snipes,
And made his Para debut at Rio, Brazil to bat.
With stretched brows, while sitting in a corner
I look up from my specs just out of love.
As she lays food on table and stoops lower
Snipes me from grace of her body thereof.
With eyes on her I come there as if drugged
Feeling tickling smell of the hot soup.
Now she puts a sheaf of flowers in a jug
And pours in water pressing it in group.
I see how the necks and cups get entwined
With the curls of her hair and points of crest.
See how at each stalk her waist curves defined
Budding, abloom in the shape of her breasts.
Soup and food lay cold and my body warm
As she swirls and whirls her skirt like a storm.
+++
December 15, 2014
Form: Sonnet (Pentameter)
First Place win
Best of 2014 by Carol Eastman
Once a marksman was in the woods to hunt
He met a snipe as he was on his way
Snipe said “don’t hunt my kids if you confront
As they have gone in the forest to play”.
"Alright, But how shall I know they’re your kids?
Tell me something about what they look like?"
"Oh, Marksman, they’re the most beautiful kids!"
Nodding not to shoot them, went on his hike.
On return, a string of young snipes he held
The snipe crying looking at her kids dead.
"Oh, why didn’t you shoot me in my kids’ stead?"
"I’ve shot the ugly I could find instead."
The snipe said “Woe to me, don't you know” fool”
Moms think their children the most beautiful”.
+++
March 12, 2014
Dr.Ram Mehta
Form: Sonnet
Third Place Win
Contest:Hunt for a Sonnet Gems & Seven Stones in the Crown by Debbie Guzzi
PS: I had entered this poem on 3/4/14 but I was giving final once over to the poem, I don't know somewhere I clicked and the whole page went blank. So I have reposted it again
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