What do I know of dedication, of devotion
I who have not fought on land or over ocean
What can I recount of sacrifice
I who was raised in America, in paradise
What can I tell of bravery, of heroism
I who pen poetry and witticism
And yet I’ve engaged in mortal combat, my dears
~ Been married now for nigh on 50 years
Charming and serious, communications between
the fairy and dragonfly, compete for a child’s attention.
—Poet
A rustic sky, out of bound;
Humans see ethereally.
Teeniest fairy, on sunshine round,
children find touchy-feely.
On warmest bed of optimism,
in her red-pink gown, wings sans sound.
She entertains, charms with witticism.
Steely-dragonfly’s profound.
Supernal what-ifs sifted.
Human children understand, for
the tiniest while, the world’s gifted.
Blue eyes gaze sunflower’s core.
Verdant leaves cocoon, sway in breeze.
Amidst the seeds, mobile lifted,
innocent, before the birds’ and bees’
fluttering lashes shifted.
The greatest teacher I have ever known
never worked in a classroom.
He was an actor and radio announcer of some renown.
A man of many talents, I'd assume.
He directed me once when I was acting in a play,
and he'd let me know - right away! -
if he didn't like the way I'd say
a certain line (sometimes to my dismay!)
He taught me the value of silence and being still.
Economy of movement was an important skill
that I needed to learn
and although he was not shrill in his criticism
he could be very stern,
never the kind to use witticism
to make a point.
Indeed, his best instructions were often unvoiced.
My performance in that comic play
turned out quite successfully,
and to this very day
it is still a fond memory.
In all my years in theatre
he gave to me the greatest education.
Eventually, I'd realize that under
his tutelage I learned much about dedication
to the craft of acting,
reacting and interacting.
I learned that it's all about communication,
and though he is long gone,
I remember him fondly, with great appreciation.
Thank you, Denys.
what she said could be seen as hyperbole
not to come running on broken leg problem
but her wisdom portioned into golden prompts
saving for a rainy day comes up empty
the free market could benefit by her depth
she’s open-handed and supports socialism
however her intentions were never false
like threats of waiting for return of husband
witticism unsurpassed by comic excerpts
Mother is an apotheotic angel
Because it is the archangel hypnotizng
you into losing yourself in that thin treadmill
at the archane center of advanced transurfing
& remember what that demagogue Rex Hemphill
said. This is why it's best to imagine one's skull
as a chamber of fetal hair waiting to sprout
into a fetching pompadour & it is cool
that you readily chased out that tenacious tout;
besides, you still didn't have the gumption to reveal
where did those tomatoes go. did they just now squeal
like an army of rats enjoy an exorcism?
'Wanton warriors witness wondrous witticism'
muttered & uttered the judge & that made you hate
your loathsome self's guts with abandon & fury.
That's why you can't trust a cod who is illiterate;
specially if those bald tomatoes ran away.
Even a Neptunian sarcophagus will know
now. Dear scallawag, where did the tomatoes go?
In the realm of self-interest, a curious soul,
Could not adhere stamps, sans wit owning a role.
His tongue, like a rover in arid terrain,
Lingered on whimsy, a scoffing refrain.
Precision eluded, in blindfolded dance,
Tongue franking an effort, missing each chance.
The stamp, a library of lore unbespoke,
His tongue still meandered, lost in each stroke.
Like giraffes when they strain ~ reaching treetops,
His sealing endeavor was a clumsy hopscotch.
The stamp lay there mocking, a coaxed witticism,
Tongue still missed the mark, a terrible tourism!
Metaphors clung, but not on the letter,
A longing unfilled, his tongue never got wetter.
The envelope sighed, craved wit's lifting brew,
Yet his tongue frolicked, having wandered no clue.
He licked and he slurped, as though miming delight,
A grand postal crime, a federal plight!
Metaphors piled up, unsent missives distressed,
His sense of himself was a bewildering behest.
In the spirit of levity, a story confided,
A stamp unadhered, a metaphor provided.
When engaging with mail, overcome by caprice of,
Just leave the attempt and go buy self-adhesive.
Jimmy Doyle Wright
Born: 7/29/1948 Died: 4/4/2016
By Tom Wright
Jim was a loving husband, father, and brother,
who will be remembered by most for his wit.
Jimmy’s life began like a breeze
whispering through thirsty grass,
and terminated like a wagon wheel
that was two years dry of grease.
Warring with death, he became,
battled hardened as a Bois d’arc tree.
The bloodier his prognosis became,
the more abundant were his sharks.
Not once did his witticism submit to pain,
nor did he lose faith as he battled.
But when time runs out clock hands stop,
all things, too soon, come to an end.
2nd Timothy 4:7
Jim has plowed his field,
and now his harness hangs in the barn.
Tom
None understood his witticism
They resembled horror tales
He couldn't contain criticism
Fumbled with desolate details
Puff! Puff! Puff! Gonna get real buff
Working out like a fool every day
Wait till the girlies get a load of this bod
My gorgeous physique on display
Puff! Puff! Puff! Gonna get real buff
Girlies will want to slurp from my bowl
Trying to get in on some of the action
“Hang on now, show some control!”
Puff! Puff! Puff! Gonna get real buff
They'll all get a piece sooner or later
Surely can understand their excitement
I'll soon be one pumped up operator
Puff! Puff! Puff! Gonna get real buff
Alway knew I had animal magnetism
But I've taken that to a whole new level
Complimenting charm with witticism
Puff! Puff! Puff! Gonna get real buff
Working with the weights, a real jock
Soon be on the cover of “Muscle Power”
Great physique and abs like a rock!
(chuckle)
Amulet graced by gems
clad for stratum prow
tawny glyphs
margin of witticism
& quagmire
extravagant dictum
trivialize shores trails
summer ousted
& waves of wrangles
sundered the ocean
& swapped my spirit
in crimson burst
swirl to scatter
In demolishing ruins
& twilight crumble
slump of man
glittering Phoenix fire trail
scribble a cyan-xantos rhyme.
bore a shallow rostrum
defective soothsayer
haunts dreams?
hilltops & both
oceans & skies
cyclone of emotions
&
lethargic sadness
soul storm mulling.
5TH Place Contest winner
Written: July 19, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
If you spray paint a glass ashtray,
and smash half with a crowbar.
Some tool may pay cash for that,
at your local bazaar.
Only silly witticism,
don't take it to heart.
Though the violins begin,
what does define art?
One little metaphor,
which image will it bring?
When the wood warbler sings,
it's like crickets chirping.
This and many others,
yes, many other things.
One single metaphor,
what image does it bring?
She's a pricy slice of panel,
that lovely smiling Mona.
Into a blasting metallic sand,
enters The Queen singing poses.
With the hands of a master.
chiseled visions grow from stone.
Fast flowing molten bronze.
get cast in wax molds.
A Slipshody Facady,
is quickly exposed.
It's moulin rouge bawdy,
blue ribbon wins the show.
Is it spicy, bold or saucy?
And tickles your nose.
Or icy cold and frothy,
like liquid amber gold?
Yet what defines art,
if I may be so bold?
Well, Does it inspire,
your heart, mind, or soul?
*Image of Daniel in the Lion's Den by Peter Paul Reubens.
The Sixth of Daniel
Walketh I, thy path of righteousness, beheld His glory,
Lifted me upon thy pedestal, godsends didst overflow,
Name I lord overseer to a third of the Medes kingdom,
King Darius favor astir cohorts to envy, concoct ruses,
Deceptive intrigue dupes, prayers to induce him alone,
Ruling ricochets both together King Darius and myself,
Unbeknownst I, exploits hands didst seize my person,
Thy servant wast bound cast down into the lion's den,
Constant pray I, Grace abideth with me, I fear no evil,
Occasion thy beast that they'd hunger naught, assert,
Oh Father, thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven,
Art denied am I thy countenance, 'tis yond lion's den,
Faith I apiece well-sprung eyes, obliged glad tidings,
The hour steadies, a lion's den notably stable, bestill,
My presence overwhelms one joyfully, two confused,
Witticism replaceth tomfoolery as similar fates a pair,
Restoreth bliss as a kingdom praises my deliverance,
Redemption's always confirmed in steadfast prayers,
Tenacious faith that placeth the wealth of me in Him.
2022 February 23
Jimmy Doyle Wright
Born: 7/29/1948 Died: 4/4/2016
Written: by Tom Wright
Jim was a loving, husband, father, and brother;
Who will be remembered by most for his wit.
Jimmy’s life began like a breeze
Whispering through thirsty grass,
And terminated like a wagon wheel
That was two years dry of grease.
Warring with death, he became,
Battle hardened as a Bois d’arc tree;
The bloodier his prognosis became,
The more abundant were his sharks;
Not once, did his witticism submit to pain,
Nor did he lose faith as he battled.
But when time runs out clock hands stop,
All things, too soon, come to an end.
* 2nd Timothy 4:7
Jim has plowed his field
And now his harness hangs in the barn.
Tom
A fetching feminine
With magnificent melanin
A soft skin
With a shiny shin
A captivating cleavage
With syrupy sweat
A gorgeous girlfriend
With gleeful giggles
A warm woman
With humane heart
A mindful mother
With a sweet smile
A darling daughter
With healing hugs
A special sister
With a vigilant vision
A great granny
With invaluable insights
A natural nanny
With wondrous witticism
A habitable home
For a heavy heart
A verified vaccine
For a lonely lad
A pretty pioneer
Of a vibrant village
A success source
For majestic men
A black blossom
For dark dudes
A befitting babe
For any basking blaze
Mesmerizing melanin
Manifests in Melanie
A sent scent
Awakens Benjamin
A genuine jasmine
Flees from her black back
My beautiful black queen
NEVER bother bleaching!
NOVELTIES
by Thomas Campion
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Booksellers laud authors for novel editions
as pimps praise their whores for exotic positions.
Original Latin text:
IN LIBRARIOS
Impressionum plurium librum laudat
Librarius; scortum nec non minus leno.
Keywords/Tags: Campion, Latin, translation, epigram, literature, novels, novelties, books, write, writing, writings, booksellers, publishers, authors, pimps, whores, prostitutes, prostitution, exotic, positions, praise, trade, career, analogy, quote, quotation, saying, witticism, bon mot, words
Sub Categories
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