29 September 2013

...Something Completely Different!

William of Surry
seemed in a hurry,
the Olde Fish Shoppe was fresh out of sturgeon.
He needn't have worried
his angst being harried
was quite out of place for a surgeon

Dr. Wm. took control,
he baited his pole
and from his fish boat he did fish,
four fish was his goal,
perch, halibut and sole
would make the most tasty of dish.

It's the early bird,
so William had heard
that gets all the worms, you see,
He thought that absurd
and quite for the birds
so he woke up at quarter of three.

William of Surry
his eyes somewhat blurry,
mistook a fat worm for his finger,
He hooked it, yes siree
his blood thick as slurry
assuring his pain would linger.

© JPW -2013

dVerse Poets Pub: Poetics– we’re writing to the artwork of Catrin Welz-Stein

26 September 2013


You want to pull up stakes and make
a beeline out of dodge, but the old codger
has a score to settle; he tests your resolve
as your spirits wander. Under watchful eyes
your wish for non-existence is granted
and every man, woman and Zuzu is lesser
for it. Your brother dies, as do the guys
on his ship. You weren't there to save them.
Your mother sees another boarder,
not a son at all. You fall from her grace; losing face.
A bad Martini drives you to drink and  in the Nick of time,
a strange angel gets his wings on your dime!
You think you've wasted your life with so much to give.
This is the place to be, and the people you need to touch.
Is that asking too much of life?

© JPW - 2013

Poets United - Verse First: We Are Interconnected

Farewell to Oz

Standing as three, worn and forlorn,
for at morning’s first light, your flight
will have flown. Had I thought goodbyes
would be this hard, I would have just
sent a card. I won’t get all fuzzy and warm,
that’s the coward’s way. I can’t get
all stiff and cold – no heart of tin,
what can I say? My head’s not in it. I rise,
I fall sleep and dream that this technicolor
existence would persist once we’ve kissed
and waved adieu. But it is you who is going,
your gingham flowing and throwing caution
to the wind, you set adrift. I’ll just make
the jaundiced journey back to where I belong.
The walk will be long without you beside me.
But you’ve hung me out to dry, so to hell
with goodbye! Hit the brick road.
That goes for your little dog, too!
I hate green!

© JPW - 2013

Poetic Asides by Robert Lee Brewer - "On the Road..." Prompt #238

Poets United: Poetry Pantry #169

25 September 2013

Roger Williams Plays

Roger Williams plays
as the days dwindle -
we search for kindling
and Oolong tea brews.
The leaves the hue of a barn fire
take a flyer and are tossed;
drift past the window
Roger Williams plays
trees sway in the breeze
pleased to be rid of molting 
vegetation in celebration.
Falling leaves of red
and gold embossed with
a time stamp to be trampled
and piled, hours wiled away -
kids at play. Roger Williams too.
Summer kisses forgotten,
hands sun-burned and gnarled
you went away, winter's song
plays. I miss you most darling
when Roger Williams plays.

© JPW - 2013

Poetry Jam - October

dVerse: Open Link Night #116

24 September 2013

Leaving For the Fall

Held aloft
for a reason,
                     a season...
  a lifetime becomes shorter
the longer the days d 

Winds adjudicate and extricate the greenery
which litter the scenery with browns and orange,
yellow... so many left to fend 
for in the end
leaves become languid and bitter.

Tossed about in flutters and wafts,
this once upon a greenery...

They litter the scenery.

© JPW – 2013

Ravi Walked Away

"He had become
a purveyor of peace..."

Photo by Manuel Lao - 

Life became the burden that he carried,
over rocky terrain, through the rainstorms,
that ravaged his land. He had been married
until they had buried his true love; in his soul
she lives still, and he has kept her so.
Ravi’s business suffered through his absence;
his existence hardly felt and it served to deal
a blow to his ambition. His heart laden with
more baggage now, ached – not just emotionally.
His children did not understand how a man
could be so devoted to others. For in his mind,
they were sisters and brothers upon his journey.
Life had sharpened its edge on the flinty surface
of Ravi’s despair, until Ravi walked away. And it was
there that he found what men through the ages
have failed to achieve. Peace. True inner peace.
When all else crumbled around him,
he became the foundation; the pillar upon which
to secure everything he had built. He held no anger,
harbored no guilt. He had been possessed by calmness
the likes of which he had never seen outside of himself.
There was no selfishness in his discovery. He had become
a purveyor of peace; an agent to foster togetherness.
And he found it alone in a happy heart.

© JPW - 2013

Margo Roby's Poem Tryouts: Photos as Metaphors

21 September 2013

Painted Lady's Lament - Memories

Her father called her Kat, always with tenderness. From the time she was in the cradle, Catherine was her father’s angel. He doted over her and protected her. When Catherine was three, he had taken her to the county fair; a good ol’ country girl who loved the animals and the simplicity of life. She told stories about how she loved peering into the animal tents to watch them munching on apples and corn. But she also remembered seeing other things, secret things the “carnie” teens did exploring their youth and each other. But she had sent those memories into exile. When her father had died, Catherine’s mother became unhinged. Her spirits plummeted and a tension had built between mother and daughter. This angst clawed at Kat’s heart and left her a ravaged heap of humanity; a pile of confusion – she lost her father and was losing her mother. When she turned eighteen, the memories of those young people in the animal tents haunted her. Catherine made the rash decision to find her comfort elsewhere, in the arms of strangers. She called herself Kit, a bastardization of her father’s love. That’s all everything had become now!

Her loss brought her pain.
Nothing could ease her struggle.
That was her first clue.

© JPW – 2013

20 September 2013

Summer Set For Slumber

The days are getting shorter still,
the summer fades away,
we say goodbye from on the hill
on this late summer's day.

I hold you near and we can hear
autumn waiting in the wings,
the colors warm will soon appear,
with all that autumn brings.

The moments of loves long embrace
sustain me through the night,
and glowing starlight on your face
makes everything so right.

Prepare to dream of Summer sun,
a restful sleep ensues,
with memories of Summer fun;
the ones we'll never lose.

The kiss we shared upon the shore,
the picnic in the park,
the treasures of this life and more
will greet us after dark.

And there my dear, I'll hold you,
and whisper love's entreaty,
as summer sets when day is through
to rest in autumnal beauty.

Go to sleep and have your rest,
I'll wake you in the Spring,
just lay your head upon my chest
to see what this night brings.

© JPW - 2013

dVerse - Poets Pub - Form For All - Ballad

The Grand Illusion

"So if you think your life is complete confusion 
Because you never win the game
Just remember that it's a Grand illusion
And deep inside we're all the same." ~Dennis DeYoung - Styx
For better or worse, we are what we are.
We can delude ourselves that we stand above the rest,
but our chests all hold the same heart;
from our start to the end, if it continues, so do we.
It isn't easy to be something we weren't meant to,
hell bent on superiority, but we all fall in the minority -
the people left behind to struggle to find the true meaning.
Existence with resistance is not living,
it is giving us a false sense of power, and it will
devour our spirit. Not by bread or the thoughts in his head
does man live. It is in giving each other a fair shake
that we take the most from how we live. No intrusion;
no Grand Illusion. Only a "family" conjoined.
A Grand Infusion of life!

© JPW - 2013

Poetic Asides by Robert Lee Brewer - Prompt #237 Illusions 


Your eyes are deceiving you
and your heart believes that you
are seeing what it wants you to!

It is her that you see, a vision
in misty faded wisps. You envision
beauty with beholding eyes, indecision

fills your mind, your pulse races
and your can swear her faces is
hidden in remarkable places.

You blame the lateness of night,
you blame your meal, the light
and try as hard as you might,

you cannot erase her.
You cannot replace her
and God forbid you deface her 

memory. You could swear she is there,
her perfume, the smell of her hair
a gentle hand gracing your shoulder to repair

the loss you feel. It seems so real
and you thought you could deal
with it, but you continue to feel

her presence near.
She is right here,
and you’re not clear

if you want this mirage to stop haunting 
you, the task of waiting till mourning is daunting. 
You reach to touch what is not there, leaving you wanting.

© JPW - 2013

19 September 2013

Outta Whack

“He’s not quite right” she said,
never knowing if her suspicions
were correct, but what did she
expect from  a guy who gave her

the evil eye. Oh sure, he called it flirting
but he was skirting the issue.
And she wasn’t really sure what to make
of his attitude, since her gratitude

was out of character for
a character such as she.
She took what she wanted
and never took any crap.

So this sorry sap had her pegged.
He said, “She’s not quite right”.
A match made in heaven, the future was bright
for Mr. and Mrs. Not Quite Right!

© JPW – 2013

Poets United - Verse First ~ Just Past Center

18 September 2013

Free Falling

Free Falling

Always lost in love
as I stand above
the sea,
waiting for a shove
to fly like a dove.
And me?
I fall to the cove,
and faster I move,
So free!

© JPW – 2013

I'm Not Here

Now you see me.
This sleight of hand demands
that I distract you so you
can’t see what matters,
my patter will lead you;
deceive you! Your focus
on my hocus pocus is key.
But, it’s me who holds the magic
and it is tragic that I can control
your very soul! Watch my hands
and you’ll understand. Now you see
me; now you don’t! My abracadabra
makes me invisible; a great illusion!

© JPW - 2013

17 September 2013

Creative Curmudgeon

An artist is always alone.
His solitude possesses his soul.
In silence, his muse seeps into his bones

with a talent that is borrowed; on loan     
from He who has given control.
An artist is always alone.

He works secluded. No sound, no phone -
his worded madness will take its toll,
in silence, his muse seeps into his bones.

His hidden talents seemed to have grown
to lift him from this creative hole,
an artist is always alone.

Once his hermetic cover is blown
he’ll find his heart is bared to extol.
In silence, his muse seeps into his bones

so it is there he finds his “zone”,
inspired to prompt and cajole.
An artist is always alone.
In silence, his muse seeps into his bones

 © JPW – 2013

Margo Roby’s Wordgathering – Poem Tryouts: It’s Miller Time

dVerse - Poets Pub - OLN #114

Little White Lai

At Poetic Asides by Robert Lee Brewer, Robert offers the poetic form, Lai. About it he writes:

 "This time, we’ll be writing the lai, a nine-line French form that utilizes the following “a” and “b” rhyme scheme: aabaabaab. The “a” rhyme lines have five syllables, the “b” lines offer two."

Poetic Truth

When poets brainstorm
they look for a form
to try.
And just when they’re warm,
they fail to conform
and sigh.
Nine lines are the norm
attempting this form,
no Lai!

 © JPW – 2013

Discontented Winter

He stood by the trees
with snow to his knees
all white.
And the winter breeze
blew and made him freeze,
all night.
When he’d start to sneeze
he gave his disease
a fight!

© JPW – 2013


So, love conquers all?
We’re over the wall,
and win.
We hear the heart call
from way down the hall,
a din!
We waver; we stall,
It’s how hard we fall,
a sin!

 © JPW – 2013


Edward had a dream
but what did it mean?
Who knew?
A part of a scheme
at twilight’s last gleam,
it’s true!
It just didn’t seem
that Edward’s bad dream
was through!

© JPW – 2013