Lizards are lazing here and there.
Kids enjoy the water sprayer.
Crows're hopping 'round
across burning ground.
Please soon end this summer affair!
Among the boulders that gaze on with proud regard
When times are rigorous, having patience is hard
Water gently brushes the riverbanks over time
Blue river flowing slowly, crickets chirping in rhyme
The river's peace is disrupted, though, by the rain
Our babies are sobbing louder, battering our brains
As it evolves, it surpasses every hurdle in its path
Of ravenous sadness or the grasp of wrath?
In such instances, I find myself tearing up at the core
However, I struggled and failed to locate any doors
Clock hands are in motion, moving at a rapid pace
In slow motion, creep through the daily, hectic race
Appear weary as they watch the clock tick down
The bull broke his knees, and the farmer lost the crown
As I delete memories, I am reminded of the past
I had believed that all my history was cast
Knowing what adds delight and delivers pleasure
Will let the hectic, noisy swarm steal their treasure
Let me feel it in the punctured vein of pure essence
And practice a fire sprayer to indicate our presence
I contemplate until I'm numb if pain once raged
I yearned for the river as I aged.
Written: June 02, 2023
Star Sprayer
Twinkler
Sprinkler
Cleaning Freak
Hyper
Wiper
Flautist Pickpocket
Piper
Swiper
Complaining Hitman
Griper
Sniper
Test for Savant Autism
Rain Man
Brain Scan
Not Heard in France
Thank 'ee
Yankee
Capitalist Jerk
Wanker
Banker
Oct. 21, 2022
For A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Elephant caparisons none,
their enormous bodies cast black shadows.
Trunks stretch out
to pulling and plucking pleasures.
A grizzled tusker thrusts
its tusks into the mud wall of a rural shrine;
devotees drop
vacuous chants, vamoose.
People are in panic,
dash along dissimilar byways.
A young terrorist is trapped
in the tangle of mammoth legs, and trampled;
not brain, but some cruel seeds
with Afghan patent lie scattered around his skull.
An old
bulwark is bulldozed.
A coconut leaf
is flung at electric wires; fear sparks.
The herd of havoc
uproot a banana farmer’s dream’s corms.
They
forage in the toxic farms.
A rusted pesticide sprayer
is flattened under the gigantic foot.
Trumpet
splinters sleep.
*Kumkis and crackers
drive the elephants away.
They will come back,
for villages grow into woods.
Inhabitants rise
as they lose habitats.
*Kumkis are used for capturing, calming and herding wild elephants or to lead wild elephants away in conflict situations.
First published in The Literary Hatchet
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Date: March 5, 2018
Contest Title: Advertisement: Sell Something, Make Us Want It
Sponsor: Lewis Raynes
A sweeping truck came down my street today;
its brooms and brushes whirling on the ground.
Wetting the pavement and making thin mud.
Gathering stones, dirt, lost buttons and leaves.
Up and down the street blocks and along the roads.
Gathering sand from the winter and from people who litter.
And every mile or two it will empty its bin,
then whirl back to life and continue again.
A squat little truck with a person inside.
Driving real slow and pirouetting around cars.
I saw it stop at a hydrant while the man got out,
to lock on a hose so that the sprayer filled up.
Who created these things that comes 'round once a year?
Broom Bear and Elgin. Mobil and Johnson.
Their genius at making parts all work together
so the street can look nicer and neighbors feel better.
i havent written anything in ages,i sit inspirationless pen hovering above blank pages
my creative juices have evaporated,i'm mentally constipated, thoughts stagnated trapped in a room thats locked and gated.My minds a black hole in which ideas evolve
but getting them out's an enigma stephen hawking could'nt solve.i'll hire an imaginary crop sprayer and take off on a sortee i'll spray my brain with laxative and wd40.But it could be too much and i'll realise my fears my brain will be crushed under a deluge of ideas,i'll go to the doctor and ask for a lotion ''sure rub some of this on your head son,it's called thousand notion potion''.my brain is like a boiler thats about to blow'i need a tiny plumber,with a tiny wrench to release it very slow,but if it breaks off too quickly,no refuge can be sought he can ski to safety on an avalanche of ideas a thinking mans olympic sport.If all my efforts fail at cerebral extrusion,then sad as it is i'm left with only one conclusion,i'll hang up my quill and pay the tiny plumbers extortionate bill.As sure as a boxer who loses his arms is no longer a fighter a poet who does not use his pen is no longer a writer
those little drips of word and water
that spill over but shouldn't oughter
gaffs and chaffs and blurbs that spot
sayer or sprayer marked insensitive clod
clothes spotted damp, pride marked too
antagonizing other camp, unable to redo
even royalty’s spoken without utmost decor
found themselves cast as party's gauche boar
try to interact without accidentally hurting
spoken acid sprayed by thoughtlessly blurting
the only thing to do to mend that situation
a heartfelt apology for unintended aberration
"please excuse my lapse of good propriety"
"I unfavorably spoke, not to seek notoriety"
"merely because I'm human and make mistakes"
"I ask for your pardon, whatever it takes"
"to seek your forgiveness for my intrusion"
"and say I'm truly sorry, in conclusion"
"yet you reader can't see these anomalies"
"...oops...I rest my case...My apologies"
© Goode Guy 2011-09-29
Lily, jasmine and roses
Tulips, carnations and daffodils
He adores and chooses
Cosmos, zinnia and daisies
His hands paintbrush of nature
His eyes tasters of beauty
He turns seeds in flower
His caring hands have power
Flowers are his babies
He nurtures and nurses
Liatris, orchids and quinces
Just like Prince and Princes
Springs come to treat him
The clouds stay to greet him
The breeze blows to meet him
None other to compete him
Sight of a withering larkspur
Anguish cuts him deeper
Seeing a lisianthus blowing
A profound delight bestowing
He places the Divine paintings
In splendid frame of garden
To meet the earth’s yearnings
His prolific hands are chosen
A Celestial color sprayer
The job he does is a prayer
Quatrains
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