Wham! That music is dainty.
But the bass drum gives it a kick.
Such tympanic contrast.
A tasteful tune with a rap,
such a whack, such a wallop.
Memory can tease, torture,
create that tasteful tune
while dredging up a thought
of something better not called back,
to avoid such a whack, such a wallop.
(29 Dec 2023)
Categories:
wham, abuse, art, music,
Form: Free verse
If I suffer from an affliction
If I stutter
If my grammar is gutteral
If the words I utter
Failed English at School
Sorry I am not cool
Pity me or the fool
Who uses education as tool
To dismiss what I write
Because it is not spelt or gramatically correct
As you supersede the common collective
Consciousness up for discussion
My feeble poem tried to address
Your disregarding says it best
Speaks volumes
Look at me
Mother Superior
Administrator of the Interior
Sub Editor for closed book's
That overlooks
And overseas
Conservative committees
In self righteous sicophantic indignation
No correlation can unearth
Or has no worth
For the meek
Who seek
To interject
Blazers and Ties
Ivy institutions for fear of exclusion
Poison classes wood trenches
Desks protect from xenophobic zeitgeists
That conform to questioning
Categories:
wham, abuse,
Form: Free verse
It really was just like you read it in the poems, a bolt; a shock. One moment I was in a shop, minding my own bees-wax. Next thing I know, some dizzy girl is asking me to break a twenty. Good thing I had the change. Good thing I was ready for a change.
She said thanks, went on her way. I dropped my nose back into my book, lamenting the blown opportunity. She returned and taking the seat across from me she whispered, “You knew I’d be back, right?” She became the gypsy then, a tarot teller, turning my palm upward. Her hand was warm and her smile was sincere.
The next four hours became a blur of sublime madness. When you stare at a situation, trapping it, knowing if you look away it will disappear forever? It was that. No one knew. No one cared. We slipped through the streets, swimming in others’ indifference.
She reads my mind to this day. She will enter the room, tickle my palm and smile.
This was a spontaneous poem, typed in December 2014, inspired by a New York Times illustration. I typed the poem right onto the illustration. You can see the end product here --> http://wrongwaywriteway.com/2014/12/30/and-wham/
~TH~
Categories:
wham, emotions, happiness, love, passion,
Form: Free verse
It was time for the last POET to speak,
Though the competition seemed to be won.
The other team already had their fun,
Claiming the victory that they did seek.
These SPOKEN WORD warriors reached their peaks,
Since each poet had been under the gun.
The judges gave them points, when they were done,
Just to separate the strong from the weak.
The first POET finally took the stage,
Carefully choosing which card he would play.
He was preparing to unleash his rage,
Since, for him, it would be the only way.
The last POET had to write the last page,
And these are the words that he had to say........
Categories:
wham, on writing and words,
Form: Italian Sonnet
Would I be able to write in Slam
To attempt it I would just totally clam
For me it's rhyme
It does me just fine
If I tried, it would end up in a sham
Categories:
wham, on writing and wordsme,
Form: Limerick