To A Fly Of The Land
a personal prayer, an excuse and a warning
On this the land
On which I swat
you steward of the land
On which I squat
Forgive me my trespasses.
I acknowledge my failings:
I swat flies on railings.
Keep out of my way
Don't lose your glasses
Don't give me cause
To go to swat classes.
poem by Douglas Scotney
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To a Fly of the Land (revised)
An apology, an excuse and a hope and a warning.
On this the land
On which I swat
You steward of the land
On which I squat
Forgive me my trespasses.
I acknowledge my failings:
I swat flies on railings.
You think I kill for thrill.
It hurts me more than you.
I pray that I can change my habit,
That you can change yours too:
Vomit on my food, don't do it,
Right after you have dined on poo.
A prayer is a hope that comes with a warning:
Keep out of my way
Don't lose your glasses
Don't give me cause
To go to swat classes.
poem by Douglas Scotney
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The Akond of Swat
Who, or why, or which, or what, Is the Akond of SWAT?
Is he tall or short, or dark or fair?
Does he sit on a stool or a sofa or a chair,
or SQUAT,
The Akond of Swat?
Is he wise or foolish, young or old?
Does he drink his soup and his coffee cold,
or HOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk,
And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk
or TROT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he wear a turban, a fez, or a hat?
Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed, or a mat,
or COT,
The Akond of Swat?
When he writes a copy in round-hand size,
Does he cross his T's and finish his I's
with a DOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Can he write a letter concisely clear
Without a speck or a smudge or smear
or BLOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Do his people like him extremely well?
Or do they, whenever they can, rebel,
or PLOT,
At the Akond of Swat?
If he catches them then, either old or young,
Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung,
or SHOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Do his people prig in the lanes or park?
Or even at times, when days are dark,
GAROTTE,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he study the wants of his own dominion?
Or doesn't he care for public opinion
a JOT,
The Akond of Swat?
To amuse his mind do his people show him
Pictures, or any one's last new poem,
or WHAT,
For the Akond of Swat?
At night if he suddenly screams and wakes,
Do they bring him only a few small cakes,
or a LOT,
For the Akond of Swat?
Does he live on turnips, tea, or tripe?
Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe,
or a DOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he like to lie on his back in a boat
Like the lady who lived in that isle remote,
SHALLOTT,
The Akond of Swat?
Is he quiet, or always making a fuss?
Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or Russ,
or a SCOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does like to sit by the calm blue wave?
Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave,
or a GROTT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he drink small beer from a silver jug?
Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug?
or a POT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe,
When she let the gooseberries grow too ripe,
or ROT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he wear a white tie when he dines with friends,
And tie it neat in a bow with ends,
or a KNOT.
The Akond of Swat?
Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies?
When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes,
or NOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake?
Does he sail about on an inland lake
in a YACHT,
The Akond of Swat?
Some one, or nobody, knows I wot
Who or which or why or what
Is the Akond of Swat?
poem by Edward Lear
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A Bleak Black Picture
Swat teams that come in and swat like flies
Are being used to terrorize.
They look like the Nazis that everyone feared
And are under the impression they should be revered.
Dressed in black with shielded faces,
They use their clubs and disperse their maces.
Set up by law enforcement to enforce the law
Against our own citizens with "shock and awe".
What are we teaching our kids of today?
That this kind of action is justifiably okay?
It's not and it's wrong.
It demonstrates that we're weak,
And not at all strong.
In a free society this does not belong.
What have we become? I can't believe my eyes.
The swat teams are fearsome and we are the flies.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Bewildered
I hear the forthcomming buzz
Mosquitoes in demonic fuzz
Done something should be
Rebel, repel, hit it be
Ah, ready now to coil them all
An electrifying swat to burn them all
'Beware o' insecta-devils
Beware of a shocking batallion
Matted to balm and net and bang you all
Buzzing and fizzing muted thereon
Beware o'venom-vectored devils
Hubby dear ready with an electric bat
And me and the kids and the servant
And whoever comes home will swat
All by a magic of an electric racket
No more of your proboscis fright
And your saliva-welt
Flee away, flee away bloody heart
Frightened of ashed your breeds a lot
poem by Indira Renganathan
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In the depth of night
I swat down a mosquito,
it is still buzzing
haiku by Sumitaku Kenshin, translated by Nakaoka Naomi
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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2 2=5
Are you such a dreamer?
To put the world to rights?
I'll stay home forever
Where two & two always
makes up five
I'll lay down the tracks
Sandbag & hide
January has April's showers
And two & two always
makes up five
IT'S THE DEVIL'S WAY NOW
THERE IS NO WAY OUT
YOU CAN SCREAM
& YOU CAN SHOUT
IT IS TOO LATE NOW
BECAUSE
YOU HAVE NOT BEEN
PAYING ATTENTION
I try to sing along
I get it all wrong
Eezeepeezeeeezeepeeezee
NOT
I swat em like flies but
Like flies the buggers
Keep coming back
NOT
Maybe not
All hail to the thief
But I'm not!
Don't question my
Authority or put me
In the dock
Cozimnot!
Go & tell the king that
The sky is falling in
When it's not
Maybe not.
(ahh diddums.)
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Too Much Truth...
when we arrive here
we carried with us our own lies
we keep them
and we survived
when they come and see us
for the first time
they keep wondering why unlike
them we glow with happiness
we did not tell them the truth as usual
we believe that it is not necessary
from that distant place where we left
we have seen how too much of truth
has killed the land and its natives
how the lies were driven away like flies
they swat what are some of the possibilities
those white ghosts
those black birds that guide us to places
that we never once imagine
what we discover are islets of desires
those that they shy away from
we have masks that protect us from so much brightness
we have boots from mud
we have words
and with their pretensions we have learned the art of
hedonistic euphemisms
the artistry of phrases the promises of incomplete clauses
some periods are angry
but our commas still smile.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Surroundings-15
Winter Here
Cool breeze
Nostrils trickled
Sneezings swat mosquitoes
Dawning melodies yet warm up
Salved morn
poem by Indira Renganathan
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There was a mosquito the other day
That buzzed as he went along the way.
He stung me on a whim.
I jumped and swat at him,
But the mosquito had flown away.
The turtle and the frog
Said the turtle to the frog
'I wish that I could climb that log'
the frog said in his deepest drawl
'at least you know that you won't fall! '
THE FLY
The fly was busy buzzing round'
then quickly landed on the ground
and as I raised my hand to swat
the fly said..'gimme' all you got! '
In doing what the fly just said
I came down hard upon his head
I raised my hand to see the mess
but all I found was one fly-less
There doesn't seem to be much thrill
in swating flies that don't stand still!
poem by Michael Hubbert
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Rear Echelon Combat
Far from high velocity rounds zinging
overhead, rear echelon MFers type
up the morning reports and casualty
lists from Company A on a hot day.
They swat pesky flies and sweat
in air-conditioned pyramid tents
wearing starched BDUs and
shiny jump boots laced just so
No CBIs here! Crossed rifles
are just a far-fetched metaphor
for three hots and a cot
in a combat zone -
no purple hurts here!
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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Farmhouse
Welcome this is a farmhouse
We have cluster flies, alas
And this time of year is bad
We are so very sorry
There is little we can do
But swat them
She didn't beg, oh not enough
She didn't stay when things got tough
I told a lie and she got mad
She wasn't there when things got bad
I never ever saw the Northern Light
I never really heard of cluster flies
I never ever saw the star so bright
In the farmhouse things will be alright
(2x)
Woke this morning to the stinging lash
Every man rise from the ash
Each betrayal begins with trust
Every man returns to dust
I never ever saw the Northern Light
I never really heard of cluster flies
I never ever saw the star so bright
In the farmhouse things will be alright
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thanks!
Thanks for all your appreciation
I value it alot
Normally no-one cares
And they all just call me a swat
Thanks for all your appreciation
It's boosted my confidence
Poems are my passion
And stop me putting up a fence
Thanks for all your appreciation
You helped me see sense
Thank you so much
Because most people are against
Thanks for your appreciation
You're the only ones who care
I now beleive in myself
I really do, I swear
Thanks for your appreciation
It really is appreciated
And once again
Thanks to you all
For being so updated
poem by Becky Ginn
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Fly Trouble
(all lyrics are spoken except 4 the chorus an buzz buzz buzz)
(its spoken but the words are sed with a hint of beatto them, know wut I mean? )
Did you ever sit straight up in bed
With somethin a circlin round ya head
An ya swat at it as it wizzes by
And its just one pesky little fly
You shake ya head an twitch ya nose
And settle down to sweep ya floors
And when ya just about to dose...fly trouble
(chorus)buzz buzz buzz goes that busy little fly
Buzz buzz buzz hes takin off an hide
You roll the paper up nice and tight
And wait around for him to light
But theirs a fly thats a liven right
Buzz buzz buzz
(band plays)
Now the toughest hide grows on a mule
Cause hes a bulky stuborn fool
He likes to look at yu and glare
An never even move a hair
But when his muscles start to twitch
An when his tail begins to swish
That mule aint bothered with an itch...fly trouble
(chorus)buzz buzz buzz goes that busy little pest
Buzz buzz buzz that mule cant get no rest
He shakes his head an bats his eye
An kicks his heels up to the sky
Did you ever see a jass ack cry
Buzz buzz buzz
(band plays)
Now you pick a perfect night in june
When flowers are bloomin beneath the moon
And ya light of love is shinin bright
An you tell ya self tonights the night
Ya brace ya self an ya courage grows
An on ya knees where you would propose
When somethin bights you on the nose...fly trouble
(chorus)buzz buzz buzz goes that busy little thing
Buzz buzz buzz you swat an loose the ring
You fan the air as he goes by
An stick ya finger in your eye
Hit everything except that fly
Buzz buzz buzz
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To The Land
To the land of bribes,
To the land of telephones,
To the land of corruptions,
To the land of trains,
To the land of shops,
To the land of thieves,
To the land of connections,
To the land of drugs,
To the land of trucks,
To the land of cats,
To the land of Banks,
To the land of dogs, To the land of footballers,
To the land of dragons,
To the land of hope,
To the land of ice-cream,
To the land of potatoes,
To the land of chocolates,
To the land of tomatoes,
To the land of apples,
To the land of coffee,
To the land of lights,
To the land of ships,
To the land of birds,
To the land of tigers,
To the land of carpets,
To the land of pillows,
To the land of lions,
TO the land of toys,
To the land of horses,
To the land of beds,
To the land of roses,
To the land of love,
To the land of passion,
To the land of romance;
I never new women do snore until i married one.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Sniper
Because back home in Tennessee
I was a champeen shot,
They made a sniper outa me
An' ninety krouts I got:
I wish to Christ I'd not!
Athinkin' o' them blasted lives
It's kindo' blue I be;
Them lads no doubt had kids an' wives
An' happy home like me:
Them stiffs I still can see.
Aye, ninety men or more my hand
Has hustled down to hell;
They've loaded me with medals and
They tell me I done well:
A hero for a spell.
But Heaven help me to forget
Them fellow men I've slain,
The bubbling flow of blood I've let . . .
I'll never kill again:
To swat flies gives me pain.
Just let me dream when we will see
And end of soldierin';
When flags of famous victory
Will be amoulderin':
An' lethal steel an' battle blast
Be nightmares of the past.
poem by Robert William Service
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The Meaning of Intelligence
To make the distinction between the Person and the Thing,
Discriminate in one's depths 'twixt blind force and the Ring
Of deafening Silence, that bears the fruits of Honesty,
The leaves of Chastity, the flowers of Purity, that hold
The wayward, broken flesh of man's Mortality
In willing, mutual vigour, compassionate Charity;
Is all we have Intelligence granted to us,
To swat illusion, scatter lies, to gather up trust.
poem by David Levitas
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The Butterfly Effect
when you swat a fly
another glacier crumbles
to the bottom of the sea
another cruise ship sinks
when you slap a servant
another economic system in Europe collapses
millions will be jobless
when you abort an innocent fetus
another unknown virus plagues
with no known cure
in China, Africa and India
but if you are kind and compassionate
to the ant carrying a morsel of bread
global warming becomes another myth
there will be sufficient rice and wheat
there will be so much food to eat.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Lines That Mama Recited To Our Housemaid
we just hired a new housemaid
and i like her
because she sings like a
mountain bird
her voice like the wind
passing
by the dainty leaves
of summer
she has the native color
of a fertile
brown soil
her skin glows
like a shiny buri
mat
but then mama
is so old and cranky
and her lines
are dirty:
linda! linda! where's my tea?
linda throw wipe my urine
linda wipe my anus
linda wash my v.gina
linda, i have vomits
all over my bed
linda, clean my room
linda, wash the plates
linda, swat the flies
linda, take my lice
linda, wash my spittle
linda! linda! linda!
stupida! stupida!
stupida! stupida!
since then i have
never heard her sing
since then i have
not seen her smile
but really, i like
her more.......
poem by Antonio Liao
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Sharia Jaziya And Sikhs
Attacked from all corners,
Herd of bearded, skull capped killers,
Bombs, gun wielding fanatic riders,
Only Sharia and Jaziya and death gliders.
Uprooted from their land, no food no water,
Only bombs and bullets freely fire,
Crazy messenger of death and terror,
Heralded death to many dear and near.
Watched with horror by helpless eyes,
No love or help from any sides,
Free loot of Sharia and Jaziya chides,
Sympathy false from secular step brothers,
Where love and help reserved for Sharia followers.
N.B. this sonnet (short poem) was penned down on religious discrimination against Sikhs and non Muslims in Aurkarzai in Swat valley in Pakistan who were forced out from their houses for not paying Jaziya, a communal tax.
FROM:
DR. YOGESH SHARMA
poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma
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