The Alcoholic
Parley poem
Lionel Derbyshire
Dirty dufflecoat wino
Zigzag up the street
Wobble wobble..
Topsy-turvey on the one side
And half past puzzled
His body form
Is out of order
His odour sour
Orphaned at eight
He explained
Never had a chance
Of a lifetime
I am just the formation
Of Adam's forlorn spawn
I the antonym of pleasant
Eat my dinner
On the floor
Without gravy
No one ever
Belled out a
A good word to me
Not even at home
Mine hands were
Cooked on the stove
I was called
The Bastard in the house
And it was painfull
Sensitively he said.
What do you have?
I only have lonely
Never ever heard
I love you
What do you want?
Just cheer from a
Dumb bartender
What do you fear?
The confrontations in
My nightmares
Pardon me..
I am bitter.
Never had a chance
To be a revelant guest
Just a parched alcoholic
Dry in overtime captivity.
I tang of dispair.
I have tiny gravity
But heavy
To hoist..
And a will
Which is lost
This is my lot
He told with
Blue eyes beaming
I am member
Of the human race
And then he laid
Amazing Grace
On my ears.
Your will is what will now, let me be free ...
'Tis be darker times than before, more childless,
This is crazy! Topsy turvey they'd be,
matters of convenience act the mindless,
It is the right of every woman, or,
Is it the right of every woman, so,
Some folks fighting for life inside the core,
others say the fight is more blow-by-blow.
The written trek crossed Egypt and the world,
Rome, Greece, Mesopotamia, and more,
rice patties and bamboo trails that were pearled,
procedures taught too numerous the score.
Be crib death, world plagues, poor, starving, and this,
quest be, will we exist ... 'Tis hit or miss.
~~ Bestill ... lil' maybe!
*Image of The Politics of Abortion by NYT.
AUDIO: from the film O Brother, Where Art Thou? "Go To Sleep Little Baby"
Soma Sonnet: Abortion Trilogy
It is the right of every woman, or,
Is it the right of every woman, so,
Some folks fighting for life inside the core,
Others say the fight is more blow by blow.
~~go to sleep little maybe
The written trek crossed Egypt and the world,
Rome, Greece, Mesopotamia, and more,
Rice patties and bamboo trails that were pearled,
Procedures taught, too numerous the score.
~~go to sleep little maybe
Twas dark times, inbreeding made more childless,
crib death, world plagues, poverty, starved, and this,
matters of convenience act the mindless,
three tales, will we exist, it's hit or miss,
~~go to sleep little maybe
sad, mad, tis all topsy turvey they'd be,
Mom gots' to go, to sleep little maybe
2022 August 17
She is a symmetrical faerie
Weird for a painting of mine.
I like my subjects lopsided.
Upside down or topsy turvey is okay too.
Who drew this one? I ask Pixie.
Pixie is my painting muse.
She is Trixie’s cousin
She has attitude
Pixie puts her hands behind her back
Twists her waist back and forth
She looks like an impish six-year-old.
Like Trixie and I, she can never play poker
Lopsy Dopsy Corn and Barley Kitty wanted to see
What an upside down look at the daisy field would be
Could you please turn me topsy turvey? He asked a tiny bee.
The bee rolled his eyes and said “Stop looking at me!”
Lopsy Dopsy Corn and Barley Kitty was tiny, but smart.
He thought with his brain, his paws, his tail and his heart.
I can probably turn myself upside he thought with a start.
He stared into the field and saw a mouse named Old Art.
Hey Art! Lopsy Dopsy Corn and Barley Kitty yelled pretty big.
How do you turn upside down? Old Art said “I haven’t a fig.”
Who could I ask? Lopsy Dopsy queried. Then he thought of the pig.
Winnie was intelligent, but she was busy, on the dig.
Have you done your work out today? Lopsy’s mother asked.
She began to do cartwheels. Upside down was part of that task.
How could she keep upside down? She saw her opportunity.
She flopped over a fence railing and stuck her tongue out at the bee.
It is snowing in Kansas. Florida has an earthquake.
A tsunami in Texas, global warming gives us a shake.
Weird for all of these countries to depend on a lie.
Global warming has come midseason this fateful July.
Dogs are raining in the Rockies. Cats are swimming in the sea.
The world is upside down, topsy turvey, how crazy can it be?
The ozone layer is almost completely and utterly dead.
Lie down child, close your eyes, rest your tiny little head.
Flowers and grasses are the things of the past.
The last sixteen trees are dying, and I mean rather fast.
The wise ones are on space ships, heading to sky-wonders-gate.
I would have loved to be on the last transport
but we were five minutes too late.
Written: 11-21-2019
Contest: All about the Environment
Sponsor: Richard Lamoureaux
Advice from Kaali Hindu Goddess
Cry for the birds whose babies have fallen out of nests
Cry for the wolves who could not feed their young
Cry for the streams polluted by companies who did not care
Cry for the children who were born into hateful families
Cry for the absolutes who do not welcome any flexibility
Cry for the elephants who are killed for ivory tusks and suffer
Cry for Kaali, Hindu Goddess, which is actually me.
Cry for my path of destruction which incurs devastation
Cry for my meager call for justice,
Cry for the world which has gone topsy turvey
Cry for the nuclear warheads which are karmic disasters
Cry for the angels and holy books which are dead to so many
Cry and cry and cry and cry and cry. That is my advice. Love, Kaali
For those of you who think no one knows, you are wrong.
For those of you who think no one cares, you are wrong.
For those of you who feel things are terribly wrong, you are right.
For those of you who feel the world is topsy-turvey-crazy, here is my email.
I am starting my own cult.
Shhhhhh!
I had a huge notebook full of poems.
They were written on both covers, all around.
Here and there, in corners even,
Some topsy turvey, upside down.
I almost took the purple notebook in
To the station where I relieved myself
Feeling silly, I left it in the truck
When I returned it was gone from its shelf.
I looked at the homeless woman
Who was eating a sandwich out of a bin,
I wanted to go through her satchel,
But I knew to ask would not be a win.
Wishing I had followed instinct to not leave it,
Here I am, every poem gone, my own self to blame.
Just when I thought it could not get worse,
Sunroof would not shut, and it was beginning to rain.
Angel whispers are heard by the chosen
I hear, but ignore, not feeling worthy.
Their persistence bodes well for heaven,
They turn my keen senses topsy turvey.
Pure angel messages resound in my soul,
I am silent, completely humbled and awed.
Angel whispers of joyfulness lambast me whole.
I do not deserve it, I am completely soul-flawed.
Persistence from heaven forces me to listen.
When I close my eyes, I resume resistance.
Barely asleep, angel wings start to glisten.
I am humbled by their chosen insistence.
Totally honored, I meditate on their message,
Why I was chosen is an anomaly to me.
The voice is persistent, keeping me hostage,
Until passing on the message is what I agree.
Written: 8-4-18
Entered:
Sponsor:
The Farmers Wife.
Three sheep in the pig sty
how on earth did they get there?
The cows are in the stables
does anybody care?
The horses are in the top field
well, there's nothing wrong with that.
But the three sheep in the pig sty
were guided by our cat!
Why everything is topsy-turvey.
there's confusion all around.
Where's Shep our sheep dog?
He's nowhere to be found.
The farmers wife has realised
that farmers missing to
so without haste she goes to work
there's just so much to do.
Then just as she had finished
and turned to go to bed
she heard old Shep the sheep dog
Locked with farmer in
the garden shed.
For the very first time in my whole long life
Things are sailing along tickety boo
Don't ever remember a time quite like this
On top of the world cuz of you
You've turned my world all topsey turvey
Loving it, as happy as it gets
Been sailing along on cloud number nine
Haven't quite gotten over it yet
Probably never will and why would I want to
It's the greatest feeling known to man
This tickety boo feeling, this feeling of love
There's nothing to match this élan
If you think that it's some great formula
I'd simply say look in your heart
Everyone possesses this ability to find love
The heart's the best place to start
For the very first time in my whole long life
Things are sailing along tickety boo!
© Jack Ellison 2013
Topsy-turvey and
Not releasing is
This discourse.
Stale, no -
Seeping into a
Cavernous mixture that
Overwhelms the Self.
Sensing immortality.
An impossible reality.
Dragging my feet
into puddles of
deaths lost
and pains remembered.
The still water of the northern swamp
shone like anthracite coal
lending a rainbow hue to the
mirrored reflections of maiden hair fern
and skunk cabbage.
Strangely grotesque maples
rooted wearily beneath in the hidden depths
of blue-blackness.
The summer sky above hang topsey turvey
Its sunlight sparkling
like fireflies upon the still water.
The leaden air caskets the first layer
of rampant growth,
misting moss, masking mushrooms,
where slick green frogs hide
beneath pink pond lilies.
The heat bakes the red clay bank
cracks gape like the toothless open mouth of a baby.
Layers of hot air create mirages of fright
as the swamp seethes in delight.