Summer swimmers began to depart.
Waves were no longer calm but rumbled with unease.
Kiosks and bar dismantled their wares.
It made me sick to see all gone.
Where was my Cynthia whom I loved so much?
Disappeared without a trace or a good-bye.
She had forsaken me without a reason.
I packed my things and went back home.
Seattle began its blasted drizzle.
Autumn is back with a vengeance.
Leaves changed their greenish hues
into brown, russet, or golden themes,
a kaleidoscope of prismatic colours.
Trees turn bare only slippery grass remained.
I wandered round the wet streets,
I wondered where my Cynthia were.
I entered my favourite coffee shop.
And there she was smiling impishly.
She served me a latte and gave me a kiss.
Leaves flutter slowly to the ground,
a carpet strewn all over the paths
that zigzag through the lonely gardens
or long forgotten forest trails,
whilst fragrant flowers wilt and wither
Yet it was the birth of love.
With the mountains with the stones
Let me invite you Lord (Allah)
At the dawns with the birds
Let me invite you Lord
At the deep of water with the fishes
At the deserts with the roes
As a dervish by your name
Let me invite you Lord
At the sky by Jesus
At the montane by Moses
With the baton at my palm
Let me invite you Lord
In the sorrows by Prophet Job
Drops in eyes by Prophet Jacob
With the Muhammad beloved
Let me invite you Lord
By gratitude by praise
By your attribute indivise
Remembering you always
Let me invite you Lord
I know the world's case
I left the words and wares
Head open and barefoot
Let me invite you Lord
Jonah recites with tongues
With nighingales and doves
By God lover slaves
Let me invite you Lord
Written by Dervish Jonah
Translation Honor Su
Minds stratify in webbed design
In lone life’s strata snares align
Psychic slide patterns ratify
In webbed design minds stratify
Within mind’s wares dark secrets hide
Patterns ratify psychic slide
Deep silence cold mind never shares
Dark secrets hide within mind’s wares
I’m a captive within my fold
Mind never shares deep silence cold
In shell I can’t be adaptive
Within my fold I’m a captive
It’s always me when I excel
I can’t be adaptive in shell
In the pursuit of ecstasy
When I excel it’s always me
The seeds of war are planted
in the soil of greed
within the garden of an unholy trinity.
Children of the poor sent off to war
to weave the satin feathers
of a murder of political crows.
The war machine is a stomping beast
spitting out bones
vomiting over the centuries.
The children of the poor
taking their last ride
to the heart of Uncle Sams
green-eyed pyre.
They'll will never have wives
nor children riding bikes
bells to carry their name
onto an endless summer breeze.
The parents suffering from chronic mind bleed...
War will never end
black rock and lock heed martin
need a war to test the devils' wares
turn a pretty profit.
Politicians fluffing portfolios
blood dripping from satin pockets.
Children of the privileged
will never see battlefields of
broken spirits and open chests.
Parents of the virgin dead
forever patching broken nests.
Latakia, Syria
My ship berthed there when Bashar al-Assad, the vile
When a dictator was in power, I found a peaceful town
Dressed in a European manner, there were many shops
selling all sorts of wares, and the police wore sidearms
not machineguns
Latakia had an atmosphere of peace
Then suddenly, rumor had it that Bashar had jailed thousands
Many people were tortured and killed
The USA turned against him, mainly
because of a Russian base nearby, proof that Assad was
on the wrong side of a conflict that appeared to
be based on lies
In the end, Bashar al-Assad fled to Russia, and Syria was free
One wonders what happened to the thousands of
tortured prisoners, said to be freed
Each month a craft fair,
is held at Pyree Fields in the open air.
All the local crafters are there,
proudly showing off their homemade fare.
Behind each stall, a pair of eyes stares,
hoping you will buy some of their wares,
or better still, admire their works and cares,
in making things, every devoted crafter shares.
Step right up to the craft fair.
Baskets, blankets, knitted ware.
Soaps that smell like orchard rains.
Scarves crocheted from woolen skeins.
Leather belts, and rings of brass.
Goblets and bowls of colored glass.
Jams from berries, wild and tart.
Paintings brushed with love of heart.
Patchwork quilts and scarves of dreams.
Homemade fudge, sweets and ice-creams.
Pottery crockery with glazes that swirl.
Wind-chimes and vanes, ribbons that twirl.
Wooden goblets and bowls, timber-scented schmooze.
Wax candles set, in solemn rows, pining like pews.
All around, the crowds have streamed,
past stalls half-baked and well esteemed.
With every artist standing up so tall,
So sure their work outshines them all.
So let's not disappoint them!
Join in Folks! Cheers!
In the realm of the heart which served as our guide
For vanities sake we cheated and lied
And all of the signs that lighted our way
Now darkened and silent had lead us astray
In our haste to proclaim that all must belong
We abandoned our will to see right from wrong
So we searched to the west, we searched to the east
Yet ever within did we search there the least
Now between every beat in a darkening hush
Each step of retreat in a frightening rush
And doubts every treason reflected in tears
Did overlay reason with maddening fear
Here Death came a stalking, unheeded, unsought
And sold us the wares we had already bought
So we pelted headlong into welcoming arms
Whose offered embrace was enticingly warm
We took all the things Death offered in spades
And with them adorned our newly dug graves
Of the angels that scry and mark every sin
No stroke may belie nor ever forfend
The promise averred yet never attained
In souls so conferred with indelible stain
‘If you prick us, do we not bleed?
If you tickle us, do we not laugh?
If you poison us, do we not die?
And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?’
~ (The Merchant of Venice, Act 3, Scene 1)
'Tis a fair merchant that I claim to be
Lowly seller of wares and grain for seed
An honest man, but if one dares cheat me
Clobbering I shall do, until they bleed
My body is off limits, so hands off
No laughter shall thee hear if I'm tickled
Nay! A frown given to thee and a scoff
With sour brine I'll throw, thee shall be pickled!
Poison me, peasant and If I'm not dead
I shall slip Romeo's drink in your ale
In your pints be wary and live with dread
For in Venice, your body shall float pale
My merchant's wrath shall be deadly, if wronged
I shall prick thee with a fork, double pronged
Written for the contest: Alliteration Nursery rhyme
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Contest Judged: 11/6/2024 12:00:00 AM
Placement: 1st
For friends and folks of foolish forests' frogs!
Darkness deals with your dusty dirty wares,
Shadows shine, shimmering in sheering sears,
Stars twinkle topmost on the tossing trees,
To crisply cuddle the blistering breeze.
Fearless forests friends forbid foolish spies,
Listen long, lively laughter lifts no lies,
Even evenings eager to call you fools,
And shame the sour scents of your playing pools.
Ban any boot of blame from your long legs,
Many mysterious mouths mock your eggs,
Hidden hearts hum horrible haunting hymns,
While their fears for you fret on fragile limbs.
Godly ghosts guests fought fetish friends and folks,
Fresh fears then froze your frantic frenzy croaks,
Marring you from making mendacious cry,
While waiting where the worst will walk you by.
A woman in a shop
She sat in a shop that sells jumpers and scarves
doing some embroidery for a wealthy client who
wanted his name in big red letters to make it clear
his exalted sanding, but also as a person who
bought wares made by hand
When the man who runs a famous site had
gone in a fanfare surrounded by sycophants
she tied on a silk dress of untold value and
we embraced at the foot of hell
the dress was not for the intended bride
The girl, artis with needles and threads, had
green eyes as a bottomless sea impossible to
read in bedroom light or in a shelter waiting
for the bus to take us heavenward in the sin
of greedy sex and thorn lips
Oh, this heavenly day, a haze of dreams
most of them unfulfilled, lacking in the truth
as something partly remembered, a line
a famous poet wrote, but whatever it was
she stung me with her needles
alleyway bandits beat the man till he dropped,
as they were rummaging through his wares —
clad in crimson armor a vigilante appeared,
everywhere — no where like a ghoulish phantom,
one by two till all five lay scattered — splattered,
ripped apart by the golden gauntlets of scarlet,
and then it was gone in the zephyr — like smoke.
a bloody canary singing a lullaby of Roanoke.
sloppy flimflam man
selling inferior wares
hes run out of town
After flaunting her wares and dazzling our eyes
Her energy ebbing ,motivation low
It should come to us as no surprise
That her colours fade to no linger glow
She does now sedately and sombrely dress
Though it still being in her nature to tease
With the whispering wind she conspires to impress
Her onlookers as she strips to please
This seasonally haunting dance of the seven veils
With her fluttering leaves of russet ,brown and gold
Amid the showers of which us she richly hails
Shows that she does not fear being so bold
Autumn even with her loss of lively chirping
Displays a beauty than summer no less gripping
Tomcat Tomcat
Yearns to change his stars
Posing in a photo
For his feline memoirs
Tomcat Teatime
Wants to rise above his station
Makes the most of wares
Whilst the owner’s on vacation
Tomcat Top Cat
A King among kings
With keen anticipation of
What high-life living brings
Tomcat Tomcat
Soon to feel he’s played the clown
When he finally realizes
That his book is upside down!
Synthesis of minerals
dug up from mother earth
Combine with metals rare
that promise to give birth
to headlines seldom seen
for scientific stars…
jaded artists hawk their wares
wistful buyers beware
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