In these parts,
Heavy dews cover fields and lawns;
It's very hot and humid in summer;
There are no breathtaking views,
No snow-covered mountains, no waterfalls;
And the weather changes rather rapidly.
In these parts,
Surrounded by trees, corn, and beans,
The canopy covers me from above.
A paved road separates me from the beans,
And sometimes I'm being held captive, it seems.
In these parts,
Black birds, dears, occasional sightings of doves;
Heavy commerce fuels the passage of trains.
And dark clouds provide plenty of rain.
In these parts,
Silence and bird songs are tonics to keep us sane.
Touches of God help control heartaches and pain,
And alertness is demanded by highways with 2 lanes.
In these parts,
Rural nights of captivating darkness,
Sirens, horns, and roaring traffic
have been arrested by the quietness.
Perhaps it's different where you reside,
And perhaps you like it best where you live.
But that's the way it is in these parts.
H ealth forsakes you
O ver and over magic tonics promise recovery
P otential healing lures promising in the trees, again
E ven Eve knows better than to pick and eat, again
Her world is a paranoid marketplace.
Fear is the zeitgeist and panic her shame.
She’d married her psyche to a dog whistle pimp
Who’d promised her he’d drain the swamp.
And sure enough, he did.
Drained it right into her swimming pool.
Idea thieves, poetry forgers, and high-water prophets
Trouble her intangibles to no end of sadness
With pressed-flower language, and wallpaper promises.
They give her Teflon skillets, microwavable plastic,
Flushable wipes, and jade v*gin* eggs
With which to contemplate the world to come,
While she’s sipping absinthe with Pablo, of course.
Now the dinky engine is on the narrow gauge
Approaching a junction packed with
Fingernail dirt and tactical nukes.
The flood of refugees is on the rise,
Taking the road to more primitive times.
Someone drank all the sanctified church wine.
Now she waits for the suicide drones.
Rosewater tonics won’t offer relief
When the bill for the wedding comes due,
Her field of dreams beneath a mushroom cloud.
The beach ran into the surf
exposing her body, showcasing a creature
heavier than the vogue
yet graceful in the swell and spume,
more adapted and fluent than the leaner
more angularly lank ideal.
Water turned her curves,
curled endearingly over
her aqueous movements.
Later at the Tiki
we drank gin and tonics
everyone else had umbrella cocktails.
A group of loud drinkers giggled
looking her way.
I saw her eyes wince,
the way baby seals eyes may do
looking up at a looming figure,
not really knowing friend
from a club wielding ape.
Tempting balm tonics reposed fantasist,
Panacea liquifies mirage views,
Crafts allusive lofts energies persist,
Twain heart's favor lips a desire to schmooze.
Elixir defines the gist of lovers,
Exposes the length of listed measures,
Hearts and souls, supernatural pleasures,
Cascade gifted juice as meant lips puckers.
Charts a course of innumerable sips,
Bottled refinery impatient lips,
Passion extremes supple to its excess,
Forward sweethearts immortal kiss access.
Tinctured herbs ripen souls remarkably,
Drink-filled lovers strengthen eternally.
2019 October 15
Rhyme scheme; abab, cddc, eeff, gg
howmanysyllables;
14 lines x 10 syllables per = 140 syllables total
Yesterday the birthday girl,
Her rainbow tutu swishing,
Blew out (with brother's help) the candles
Lit for birthday wishing.
From playground, train and parachute,
The 4 year olds were romping
Until the time for pizza came,
With juice and lots of chomping.
Today the celebration was
Just slightly more subdued,
Though with stories told and mem'ries shared
With fun it was imbued.
The birthday girl, at 91,
Enjoyed a home-cooked meal,
Drank gin and tonics then blew out
Her candles with some zeal.
Two birthday bashes back to back
On both ends of life's arc,
Let me have a double helping
Of what such a day can spark.
Digging, digging, digging...
She defeats the dry sand.
Red dust enhances her resistance.
Thanks to the underground cables
and her sweat,
lest our telephones won’t ring.
He’d filled her womb with transient love
and vanished behind the crowd,
but she won’t let herself drown
in loneliness
She’s conscious
never anxious
of swelling love inside
This is a unique pain
like one from the depth of nature.
She withdraws into the seclusion
of the bathroom.
Hearing her shriek,
the local class passengers rush
to the door.
Her baby falls down
through the open toilet pipe
as a train gives birth.
Somebody pulls the chain.
Locomotive lullaby ceases.
Newborn baby lies safe on
the track between the right
and left rows of wheels.
She didn’t make it unnatural
with tonics, tablets and tests.
She didn’t waste thousands
during the last ten months.
First published in my book, "Kanoli Kaleidoscope" (PunksWritePoemsPress, USA)
In this day and age, some ailments are chronic
Sonic screwdrivers are better than expensive tonics
Would I try it, no sweat
Beats incision by bayonet
Much quicker, less painful with speeds supersonic
In this day and age, some ailments are chronic
Sonic screwdrivers are best to expensive tonics
Would I try it, no sweat
Beats incision by bayonet
Much quicker, less painful with speeds supersonic
I say, let’s hit the road,
when it’s nice and cold.
I’m a single woman,
I scream alone in my room,
with no cat, no kid, no hubby;
I don’t sweep much with my broom.
I say let’s hit the road,
when it’s nice and cold.
I ain’t getting any high,
with men hitting on my supply.
I need no gins and tonics,
as I am my own drink,
baby I am naturally high and it’s chronic.
I say,
let’s hit the road,
when it’s nice and cold.
When the sky was trying out dresses,
in various shades ,
I sat on that road,
under the sky.. thinking ,
What the hell?
And then a big car comes,
they stopped aside to take a dump.
I looked at them , they looked at me
as if I was some kind of a skunk.
They came and asked, hey babe waddap ?
I answered..continue your ****, punks !
I said,
let’s hit the road
before my brains get soar !
.
In this day and age, some ailments are chronic
Sonic screwdrivers are superior to expensive tonics
Would I try it, no sweat
Beats incision by bayonet
Much quicker, less painful with speeds supersonic
Inspired by Sir Thomas Cunningham
Curl of light
Dawn sparks;
Birdsong
~~~~~~~~~
Mall crowd
Feisty spree;
Window shopping
~~~~~~~~~
Food court
Hungry agendas;
Appetites dash
~~~~~~~~~
Morning papers
Bad news again;
Apocalyptic surge
~~~~~~~~~
Another typhoon
Wet dreams intrude;
Flooding moments
~~~~~~~~~
Broken hearts
Sadness glimpses;
Mail order tonics
~~~~~~~~~
If you must know
Time does not heal;
Grace inspires
~~~~~~~~~
Neighbour's kids
Noisy birdsong glee;
Sing-song savvy
~~~~~~~~~
Ancient evenings
Here at the gate;
Loneliness lingers
~~~~~~~~~
Dementia declares
Nondescript moves;
Forgetful forget-me-nots
~~~~~~~~~
Laughter echoes
Happy voices tint;
Foreign contradiction
~~~~~~~~~
Savvy somnolence
Easy escapades;
Sleepy limbo
~~~~~~~~~
She says
He sways;
Touch tentative
~~~~~~~~~
Words fail
Thoughts strangled;
Empty excursion
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
20 October 2016
Singapore
Say good morning to the cold bathroom floor-
mouthwash tastes like a reused mojito
vomit erupting from a molten core-
in the sink, fermented blood starts to show
from sacrament taken on Thursday night,
my last supper. Judas, feel what I feel-
whiskey nailed to a cross, my final fight.
No more beer or tonics will make me kneel
genuflected for a porcelain god-
today I will rise steady on two feet,
not carried by a bouncer as he plods
to a dented cab in a smoky side street
My dear friend, you dined silent at my side,
But under your thorns I cannot hide
Bazookas In The Bed
We have a mosquito problem
It’s in our house. It never ends
There’s nothing we can do but shoot them
Then shoot them over and over again
You see…You understand…They’re not our friends
Potions, tonics, sprays all make them happy
It gives them strength to multiply
We’re looking to make their lives less comfy
Less pleasant less satisfied
It’s not from animus or hate
Shells and ammo is the case. It’s simply fate
And to that end
I stay up late at night and wait
7 bazookas by my side and sights are ready
And from my bed in the deepest dark
I fire at will! I fire straight!
The idea is not to simply kill them
Though that would be so very great
But to make them really really dead
With bazooka fire power from my bed
Singapore tryst
Old times bordering;
Restored trade regime
Old Chinatown alleys
Winding streets await;
Takeaway souvenirs
Buzzing bazaars
Colourful wares shout;
Attractions ply
Smith Street
Chinatown circuit;
Oriental stuff
Strange name
Telok Ayer Street?
Meaningful glimpses
This Chinese temple
Tourists assemble;
Photo snapshots
Old men playing
Chinese chess;
Stone table forum
Street vendors
Crafts and wares;
Brisk commotion
Somnolent sunset
After light drizzle;
Swamp of human faces
Lost in the crowd
Two tiny specks
Seeking ***** bargains
Tucked in a corner
This awkward shoppe;
Viagra and company
Loud music blasts
Accompany footsteps;
Curiosity in-transit
Sea of faces
Mini United Nations;
Cosmopolitan nuances
Old shop houses
Clusters of modern comforts;
Brisk eateries
Chinese medical tonics
Healthy equilibrium;
Discerning aphrodisiacs
Feel the pulse
Crowd en passant;
Curious eyes feast
Bumpy movement
Feet gravitate;
Looking and searching
So much to see
Discover again;
That long-lost find!
Leon Enriquez
15 Apr 2014
Singapore
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