By CD Richards
A dream disturbed my sleep last night
while lying in my bed;
The spirit of a calf appeared
and this is what he said:
* * * * * *
I'm just a bit irate, mate,
I hope you've been well fed.
My mother's on your plate, mate,
why not eat dog instead?
Let's set the record straight, mate,
she did nothing to hurt you.
It's too late to debate, mate,
she's floating in your stew.
It's not all down to fate, mate,
we don't exist for man.
Let cruelty abate, mate,
If you try real hard, you can.
It's time to abrogate, mate,
this insane power trip.
You're just another primate, mate;
it's time you got a grip.
* * * * * *
My thoughts went out to this poor calf,
I hoped his hurt would heal;
If losing mom should break his heart,
tomorrow we'll have veal.
By CD Richards
he kills to survive
but even Cecil can't beat
a dick with a gun
By CD Richards
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
| Author Notes |
I don't think there is any sex, language or violence to speak of in this poem, but since there is no "bad taste warning", I flagged it anyway :)
|
By CD Richards
The prompt is "by whom are you smitten?"
I'll join all of those who've been bitten
Here's my confession
(Some might say transgression)
But hearken to what I have written:
now...
Let me go out on a limb
I wouldn't say this on a whim
Her heart is pure gold
Her hands never cold
She's one in a million, dear ______
but...
I think all here would agree that
This girl is a bit of a brat
She gives paws for thought
She's a really good sort
And she goes by the moniker ______
and of course...
In these hallowed halls of Fanstoria
She keeps all the lads in euphoria
She's bright and she's smart
And excels at her art
There's no one else quite like our ______
not forgetting...
There's one to whom all the boys hurtle
More lovely by far than crepe myrtle
When she sets the stage
Her stories engage
Her friends here, they all call her ______
then again...
He really gets into my psyche
His talent is boundless, by crikey
Believe when I say
I don't lean that way
But I really admire our ______
and so...
You wouldn't get more than a nickel
For observing my heart is quite fickle
Understand, I request
That I write this in jest
Or I might just wind up in a pickle
finis...
The moral here is, and I quote:
"My poor heart has not yet been smote"
The right one for me
It's quite plain to see
Is the one who will give me their vote
| Author Notes |
Image: public domain.
How to play: Fill in the blank in each stanza with any name you like. |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes | Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery - or so they say. |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes |
Those few Fanstorians who regularly read my offerings will know this is a departure for me, in more ways than one. Don't look for a humorous twist - there isn't one.
"Lock the gate" is a movement in Australia dedicated to protecting the land, water and communities from unsafe mining. |
By CD Richards
I really love a tale well spun
And Halloween is heaps of fun
But sometimes lacking good advice
We meet with folks that aren't real nice
I pity girls who go on dates
Accompanied by Norman Bates
If your beau should scream out "Mother!"
Perhaps you'd better find another
In truth, I'd pull a tooth with pliers
Before I'd take on Michael Myers
His attitude is beyond rude
That guy is sure one sicko dude
If I heard knocking at my door
I'd check the peephole well before
I turned the knob and gave a grin
And stupidly let Jason in
To politics: If you think Trump
Is nothing but a silly chump
I really feel that I should warn
Do not vote for Damien Thorn
Chianti's nice, and so is liver
But fava beans give me a shiver
Don't share your meal with Hannibal
He's something of a cannibal
If things with hubby should turn bitter
It might be best to hire a sitter
I really would like to advise
Don't leave your kid with Pennywise
You think your boyfriend is a troll?
Have you ever met a living doll?
Best not to, things can get quite yucky
If you wind up with a guy like Chucky
If he wants to take you to a bar
Suggests you get into his car
Even if it looks all spick and clean
Make sure it isn't named Christine
If Cujo is his doggie's name
I'd answer "No thanks, all the same"
There's not much that will help to sweeten
A date where you find you've been eaten
If these are not your type of story
(You find them just a bit too gory)
Just sit and watch some fun TV
With Casper, Scooby Doo and me
By CD Richards
By CD Richards
I doubt that I shall ever see
a poet quite as good as me.
They've all tried hard, with mixed success—
a few quite clearly felt the stress.
To pen a masterpiece ain't easy,
the very thought can make one queasy.
Yet here we have a fine example,
selected from a random sample
of verse which is superior—
its every line is de rigueur.
The use of meter, it is said,
can fill a lesser soul with a little bit of dread.
And rhyme? The others mostly sucked—
to be honest they were really bad.
To succeed we must be serious
and preferably mysterious.
It's hard amongst the rough and tumble
to be so good, and yet so humble.
Remember, when you vote for me
you're fighting mediocrity.
By CD Richards
By CD Richards
| Author Notes | These are not "reworking" of existing ads, but all of the things here have been advertised in one form or another. I hope the entry is in keeping with the spirit of the competition. |
By CD Richards
By CD Richards
Pentameter's fine, but can be constricting—
Our feet get all tangled when meter ain't shifting.
Enjambment is useful, but it may not show
Thoughts clearly—some days, it just hinders the flow.
Rebellion's not sanctioned most of the time,
You'd better fall in, start toeing the line.
Consonance clearly creates consternation;
Oh wait, I'm sorry— that's alliteration.
Neophytes sometimes, it seems, fail to see
Their verse isn't blank, though free it may be.
Enlightened folk don't write in couplets that rhyme;
Shakespeare, though, used them in ways quite sublime.
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily—
Studying masters is not all that silly.
| Author Notes |
The inspiration for this comes from a long-running discussion on the member forum regarding poetic forms and devices. I just thought it would be fun to play around with this a bit.
|
By CD Richards
By CD Richards
| Author Notes |
Quoting from the contest guidelines:
The whole acrostic can be a single flowing sentence, or a combination of multiple sentences and phrases. Each individual letter of the name can have a single line or multiple sentences and phrases. Creativity with the form is encouraged. This is a tribute of sorts to Frost's poem The Road Not Taken, and as such contains some references to it. If you're not familiar with the poem, it is well worth a read, and easily found by typing the title into Google. |
By CD Richards
By CD Richards
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
| Author Notes |
Some days, I'm ashamed to be a member of the human species. I am convinced that collectively, we are the most detestable on the planet.
This is not deep, meaningful, clever or poignant. Sometimes a poem is just saying what you want to say in the way you want to say it. This is probably as close as I can get to that and not be banned from this site. If this poem offends you more than the murder of a beautiful, magnificent creature --a father, partner and leader-- just to give some pathetic dweeb an erection, then you may well be (as they say) part of the problem. Dweeb: acronym - short for "dick with eyebrows". I'm angry (in case you couldn't tell). It will pass. Eventually. |
By CD Richards
| Author Note: | For Jayne |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes | Image source: http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=22088 |
By CD Richards
By CD Richards
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.
By CD Richards
| Author Notes |
This wouldn't stand a snowflake's chance in you-know-where in a contest, but I wanted to post it - just for fun. By a strange quirk of fate, I can see it snowing as I look through my window now.
Photo courtesy of: photos-public-domain.com |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes |
Originally, this was going to be called "A day in the life of a poem", but when I went to enter it I saw that title was taken. So I was forced to change it, but I don't regret the change.
This poem is about how themes, repeated often enough can become cliches. It's a satire. Please don't send the ERT around, I'm fine! Image source: http://www.wallpedes.com/birds-and-butterflies-wallpaper/hd-rainbow-surprises-wallpaper-download-free.html |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes |
genesis:
noun the origin or mode of formation of something. |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes |
A newspaper cutting stuck to the back of the photograph shown above states:
"On a spring morning in 1885, 32 years back, Bob, then a young puppy, was among about 200 other dogs in a sheep van bound from Terowie to the far north, above Quorn, there to be used in exterminating rabbits. The train stopped at Peterborough, and I saw Mr. William Seth Ferry, then foreman porter at Peterborough, exchange another dog for Bob. Bob was taken from the sheep truck and commenced his railway career that minute. Mr Ferry trained him as a puppy to do all sorts of tricks, and later when he was guard on the narrow gauge northern lines, took Bob thousands of miles with him in the guard's van. Occasionally Bob went with enginemen, riding on the coal stacked on the tender. Mr Ferry left the road to become assistant stationmaster at Peterborough. Mr Short, now Railway Commissioner in Western Australia, was then stationmaster at Peterborough and the write goods clerk. Bob, however, loved the engine whistle and the rattle of the trains and took possession of his seat on the coal stacked on the engine tender of any out or homeward bound train. Peterborough was his home. Bob travelled hundreds of thousands miles this way. His cheery bark and wagging tail greeted thousands. Children in particular would exclaim 'There's Bob! Good old Bob', as the trains went by. There was not one permanent way man's kiddie who did not have a wave for Bob at one time or another. He did a steamer trip from Port Augusta to Port Pirie by mistake. A Pirie engine's whistle was enough for Bob. He was on the way to reach it almost before the boat touched the wharf. For many years he wore a collar, placed on him by friendly enginemen, inscribed: 'Stop me not, but let me jog, For I am Bob, the Driver's Dog'. If there is a better home than this planet for dogs, hundreds of railway men who knew and loved Bob will join me in hoping that he reached it. He died many years ago. His skin was stuffed, and for years stood in a glass case in the Exchange Hotel. If in existence now it would be a generous deed to send it to the railwaymen at Peterborough." |
By CD Richards
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
When I feel I've lost my way
and my thoughts begin to stray
from the path described as being "straight and narrow";
to the Good Book I return,
and there it is I learn
with God's help, how to fly straight as an arrow.
Now my second favorite story
that demonstrates God's glory
is found right there in Genesis nineteen.
It's just a simple plot
about a godly man called Lot
and a village full of men that were quite mean.
The men, they took a liking
to Lot's house guests (men quite striking)
and demanded that he give them up for sex;
In a second Lot decided
(and he's not a bit misguided)
the answer wasn't really that complex:
"I have two daughters, they are virgins -
if in doubt consult their surgeons;
I think it best that you rape them instead.
These men are guests within my house -
take my girls, don't be a louse;
I think you'll find they're much more fun in bed."
And God was pleased with Lot
so He moved him off the plot;
with his daughters and his wife, Lot fled the town.
The four received God's pity
and they fled that wicked city
as the fire and the brimstone tumbled down.
But Lot's wife could not resist
for her old life might be missed -
she turned and looked in petulant revolt.
So God, He got quite mad
(now you know this must end bad)
and she turned into a big pillar of salt.
Here might end this tale of mine
were it not for love of wine;
one night the girls went looking for some fun.
Then poor old Lot was sunk -
they got him drunker than a skunk
and had sex with him, their good old granny's son.
Full of bounty is your cup
when your daddy knocks you up.
They had two boys, and here my story ends;
except for me to say
in my flippant kind of way
"Why couldn't they have just remained as friends?"
And so my child, you know
when you're feeling kind of low -
and think that somehow you have lost the plot;
To the Bible you must look -
take your wisdom from that book
and find favor in God's eyes, just like Lot.
| Author Notes |
This is my second favorite Bible story. My first is Noah, but I want to save that for another time.
The NSW State government in Australia, backed by a conservative Christian Prime Minister is sacking hundreds of professionally trained school psychologists and social workers in order to employ religious education "teachers" to teach stories like this one. They have also taken a number of actions in an attempt to dump ethics classes in favor of religious education (currently there is a choice). Is this a good thing? No doubt some would say "yes" - this story is for them. I haven't substantially changed any of the details, simply put it into the form of a poem. If you would like to check for yourself - read Genesis 19. |
By CD Richards
People follow as I go;
Agents, thinking I don't know.
Recording every thing I do;
And sifting through my garbage too.
Neighbours photographing me;
Offload their pictures for a fee.
I'm not unbalanced - no, not that;
Anyone seen my tinfoil hat?
| Author Notes |
A tin foil hat is a hat made from one or more sheets of aluminium foil, or a piece of conventional headgear lined with foil, worn in the belief it shields the brain from threats such as electromagnetic fields, mind control, and mind reading.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tin_foil_hat |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes |
The Shaky Isles - for those not familiar with the term - refers to New Zealand; so named because of the large amount of seismic activity recorded there.
I often tell myself I've had my fill of travel - then I wrote this list, and that subject seems to fill about half of it. Go figure! |
By CD Richards
Today we say goodbye to Spot,
He chewed big holes in my best shoes;
The wife said that she'd rather not,
Today we say goodbye to Spot.
It hurts, but he'll soon be forgot -
A goldfish, we could really use;
Today we say goodbye to Spot,
He chewed big holes in my best shoes.
| Author Notes | Before anyone calls PETA - I have literally dozens of shoe remnants, not to mention hundreds upon hundreds of socks laying around what is now known as "clothing graveyard"; and Bella (not Spot) is, at time of writing, quite healthy and looking for her next victim. |
By CD Richards
One day whilst hiking through a glen
I felt a weariness, and then
Into a clearing my steps led
and on the grass I formed a bed.
I slept beside a sunlit stream
And lying there, I dreamed a dream:
In search of the South Pole I went
(It seemed an ill-prepared event)
Then, far from home, without a map
I couldn't find the polar cap.
I died out there upon the ice
And found myself in Paradise.
The sight I saw there seemed quite odd
There was no sign at all of God;
Nor Peter by the Pearly Gates,
To welcome us, and tell our fates.
The streets were rough, and rather old
They sure as heck weren't paved with gold.
Upon the land, no milk or honey
(But cows and bees, which seemed quite funny)
The Cherubim and Seraphim
If there at all were very dim.
As for the Pope, he wasn't there
But you, my child, must not despair.
I saw a place of meadows green
A wondrous and inviting scene.
Fields of sheep, and goats and cows
Surrounded by the brightest flowers.
All grazing there without a care,
A sight almost too sweet to bear.
They had no fear of knife or gun
No need at all had they to run.
In Paradise, mankind had learned
His place with others must be earned.
All life is sacred, not just man
We must not kill "because we can"
Man and beast, it's plain to see
Is just a false dichotomy.
We all are life, and all have worth
and not by accident of birth.
From mankind's blindness we are led,
But not, it seems, until we're dead.
Amongst the fields, I saw towns too
With people there, like me and you.
And yet, things were not quite the same
for one and all were known by name.
And every one of them took heed
Of every single other's need.
There was no Muslim, Sikh or Jew
No Christian, and no Buddhist too.
When we are dead we have no need
For false divisions based on creed.
There was no crass dogmatic fuss
No "us and them", it was just "us"
I journeyed on at quite a pace,
'Til I felt rain upon my face.
"What's this?" I thought, "In paradise
I'm sure there is no rain, or ice"
And as the fog began to lift
There came a realization, swift:
My travels there had all been dreamed
Oh, how genuine they'd seemed!
I wasn't dead, yet without mirth
I rose, again to walk the Earth.
And stepping by the water's side,
I bowed my head, and softly cried.
By CD Richards
I have no use for faith;
the concept has no meaning.
The assurance of things hoped for -
The conviction of things not seen.
Yet, hope has no meaning in certainty.
And belief without evidence is folly.
What then is this sophistry?
By what trick does doubt become surety?
Do you believe without doubt?
Then, for you... there is no question.
If you are but three-fourths convinced -
Acknowledge your indecision.
Hope, love, trust, belief - these I comprehend.
Compassion and empathy have meaning.
But faith flies planes into buildings,
And makes believers drink death's Kool-aid.
There are no seventy-two virgins, no utopia.
No reward for being naïve.
For faith, hope and love abide,
but one is an illusion.
By CD Richards
The herd:
Why waste time on thinking, when you can be
Like Us?
| Author Notes | Prompted by a media attack on cartoonist Michael Leunig, for daring to express an opinion different from the norm. |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes |
Image: public domain.
Thanks for reading. |
By CD Richards
Behold the moon—our beacon in the sky.
When full, it's claimed the inner beast shall wake.
The pull exerted as it wanders by
does tidal waves, upon this planet, make.
Each man and woman's such a satellite,
our actions guiding others on the way.
If we can conjure daytime from their night,
they feel our loss each time we go away.
And yet, the moon lacks light to call its own;
but harnesses the power of the sun.
Without a greater source, it's all alone—
a sad and lifeless body on the run.
How empty and how dark my world would be
without your warmth and light to comfort me.
| Author Notes | Thanks for reading. |
By CD Richards
You ask me to explain what life's about,
I'll answer you the only way I've got.
Our time to shine is brief, then it's snuffed out—
one minute we are here and then we're not.
But there's some things of which I am quite sure—
our life is no exam, it's not a test;
nor is it a disease which needs a cure.
No prize awaits for those who grovel best.
There is no deep, dark secret we must learn,
if happiness and purpose we would find.
To make the most of life while it's our turn,
just two small words suffice, they are "be kind".
| Author Notes | Two other words spring to mind as well... "snowflake" and "hell". Nevertheless, I welcome the opportunity to offer another perspective on perhaps THE most important question of all. Thanks for reading. |
By CD Richards
He's never had a tourist on his back,
meandering through forest trails of green,
nor won some toff a fortune on the track;
for spur and whip are things he's never seen.
The choice of when to breed is his to make,
in concert with the mare whose eye he's caught.
He drinks, not from a trough, but from a lake;
no trainer's ever forced him to cavort.
He gallops on the slopes and plains by day
and stops to feed on fresh green shoots of grass.
Few humans I have met along the way
have half this stallion's bravery or class.
His hoofbeats make the treetop bellbirds sing—
throughout these parts, the mountain brumby's King.
| Author Notes |
Image: public domain, source http://www.peakpx.com/586423/horses-running-photo Thanks for reading. |
By CD Richards
One-percenters — will they pay the
Piper's fee, come judgement day?
Unrelenting greed's their driver,
Lost, their soul, for one more fiver.
Envy, greed and rank ambition
Never have brought to fruition
Changes mutualism brings—
Enrichment for all living things.
| Author Notes |
Nature demonstrates different types of symbiotic relationships. The two most common are mutualism, where different organisms cooperate to the benefit of both, and parasitism, where one benefits at the expense of the other.
It appears to me that parasitism is increasingly common within our own human species, however it is the aggressors who most frequently choose to label their victims as parasites. I suspect very few have reached "megarich" status without feeding off the misery of others, in one way or another. Wouldn't it be nice if we could make mutualism our preferred method of advancing our own interests? Image by David Wagner, public domain. Thanks for reading. |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes |
Thanks for reading. |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes | Thanks for reading. |
By CD Richards
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
| Author Notes |
Thanks for reading,
Happy Halloween! |
By CD Richards
In dismay,
those ordered to retreat
obey, as they have been trained to do.
Discarded,
yesterday's friends question
what commitment and loyalty mean.
Blood-red sands
proclaim their betrayal
as those they trusted leave them to die.
| Author Notes |
Photo: Kurdish YPG Fighter by KurdishStruggle, hosted on flickr.com. Reproduced unaltered. Licensed under CC 2.0 [https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/legalcode].
Thanks for reading. |
By CD Richards
Dear John, it breaks my heart to see
your face today on News at Three.
I see you've lost your little girl,
the focal point of your whole world.
The gunman must have been insane
to kill a child, that much is plain.
To murder ten is just obscene,
I'm thanking God my hands are clean.
I've fought for years with all my might
and all my strength to see my right
to own a gun is set in stone—
the fault's the murderer's alone.
The answer's out there, plain to see.
To counter this insanity
and rid the world of Satan's sons
the good folk must all have more guns.
And if a thousand loony hacks
should happen to fall through the cracks
and end up armed, prepared to kill...
well, shooting them will be a thrill.
So John, I'm sorry for your strife,
but know, your daughter's right to life
must not outweigh my sacred right
to carry arms each day and night.
And, in your grief, though you feel cursed,
remember this: "Things could be worse."
For, though it seems that no one cares,
you've all you need — my thoughts and prayers.
| Author Notes |
There is a writing prompt open at the moment which requires authors to write a poem about having empathy for another human being.
I'm as certain as night follows day that if I entered this, it would be disqualified for not meeting the criteria. And there is the irony, so I've just posted it as a stand-alone piece. Thanks for reading. |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes | Thanks for reading. |
|
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