Glorious God that grips and grabs the heart of great grandees
Who wangled on the walk-way of war and wastage
They truly troubled me and I trembled tremendously
But HE breaks their backbones bits by bits without blinking
Salute shrew sire for saving me from shackles of slavery
Darkness dig deep distracting and dragging me to death
Praise the potter who put past pest problems to rest
Father of faith fraternized freedom for fraudulent friends
Covering and cleansing concise minds; cutting corrupt cabals
Made me mode my life much more than male mugger ..
8-28-2020
Keeping magic wands of happiness in hands
Why are we pleading for happiness outside?
We are the masters of our own happiness
And if mastered, will master the world in ease.
Bereft of courage there lived a poor soldier
Like a dear tiger living in a cow shed
Will he ever taste the tang of happiness?
Bereft of it why, for what he lived and died?
Without a bit of kindness lived a priest
Uttering the sermons like a fruitless tree
Piercing the ears of his faithful followers
Will, ever enter their empty holy hearts?
Bereft of any knowledge a teacher taught
Like a wolf who disguised as a pretty dog
He bridled his howls in extreme pain and shame
Never the chalice of pleasure touched his lips.
Peace and joy are not wangled for a price
They are the basis of your wonderful life
Never ever disguise yourself as someone
And ne'er live your life in misery and cries.
Honorable Mention in STRAND no 680,any form,any theme Poetry Contestsponsored by Brian Strand
Divorce Court
He doted on phishing, that viral, newfangled
invasion, though most of his handshakes got tangled.
He fumbled his Trojans, cunningly dangled
in front of my mouse so that I would be wangled
to click on the bait. My nerve ends were jangled.
And next came the item that put me in shock.
He wrote an apology titled, “Dot Doc.”
I needed a password with which to unlock
those few paltry bytes. They were all poppycock.
I guess I went into a meltdown, it’s true.
I said, “Keep your floppy and upload it, too,
but as for as this notional marriage, we’re through.”
I wouldn’t have minded so much, I suppose,
but he gave me an Apple instead of a rose.
I went to my room and I cried for a week.
Do I wish him well? No. I hope he is strangled.
Are you ready to guess who he is? Knock, Knock.
Who’s there? Sad to say, my ex-husband is Who,
the cyberpunk man I unwittingly chose.
Instead of a lover, I married a geek.
02/16/2018
Minuanetta
chremamorphism
Felonious and Harminious
Bible toe me a book has become
More than equal to each some
Put together and compounded
By God it had been founded.
(Our first founding Father.)
Sometimes things are like two dancers
With feet on floor searching for answers
Ability to dance they both did hide
Though their desire still remains inside.
Maybe with her deal can be wangled
Does look like our feet up are tangled
Not only that we appear to be inept
When dancing were used wrong step.
(You know like box and waltz, two step.)
Instead of an attack or attempt felonious
Would be best if we became harmonious
Dance contest are always sure to win
If with both feet on floor we did begin.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Eyes pierce;
words penetrate;
countenance corrodes…
pity those tough hearts
of rough masculinity
genuflecting
tender muliebrity.
Just think of poor God
…He dares once in a while
out of Maya-muffle
to eavesdrop His devotees’ troubles.
Got encapsulated in Her
enchanting shell, spell
…the God became a helpless manikin
caught within Her tall
woo-prison walls.
What to say
of frail mortal man;
truly gullible
to sirens’ smirks,
swings, snits and whiffs!
O’ man, O’ man…always gets tangled, wangled
and ‘woman’gled
like a fish in an angler’s net.
DESCENT OF THE GEESE
defying levitation,
they wangled wings in unison-
breaking over the cresting waves
as sundown beckoned loneliness
war, starvation, hypocrisy,
nothing of man mattered,
only encumbered rest was real
no expectation, no disappointments
secure together, rest, assured
I'm a genie and Batman wangled
a one-wish, real deal from me;
he said graveyard shift duties
have been driving him real nuts lately;
he was bored flapping nocturnal,
chasing this and that criminal.
He wanted to be Spiderman,
that celebrity on teevee;
I said yes, but identical identities
I couldn't guarantee;
for crimes of impersonation he shouldn't
look at me, I was merely his genie.
On his wish he would insist;
I granted it with a minor twist:
the spider silk wouldn't zip out
from his fingers or from his wrist,
but through his shoes or the crotch
of his pants, whichever opened first.
So, if the guy swooshes by upright,
that's the Spiderman alright;
if he dangles upside down by his butt
that's the man who's a bat;
if that's unsightly, don't blame me,
that's arachnid anatomy!
Batman wangled a one-wish deal from a genie fair and real,
ruing that his graveyard shift duty had been driving him nutty,
this flapping around nocturnal, chasing this and that criminal.
He wanted to be Spiderman, that glitzy celebrity on teevee,
and genie said yes, but would not guarantee identical identity,
and that impersonation or trademark law Batman ought to know.
Batman insisted on his wish, genie granted it with a minor twist:
the spider silken cord wouldn't zip out straight from his wrist,
but through holes of his shoes or pants, whichever opened first.
So, folks, if a guy swishes by upright, that's the real Spiderman alright,
but if he dangles upside down by his butt, then that's him, the man-bat,
and if that's unsightly, that's arachnid anatomy, don't blame the genie!