"whist" poems
hist whist
little ghostthings
tip-toe
twinkle-toe
little twitchy
witches and tingling
goblins
hob-a-nob hob-a-nob
little hoppy happy
toad in tweeds
tweeds
little itchy mousies
with scuttling
eyes rustle and run and
hidehidehide
whisk
whisk look out for the old woman
with the wart on her nose
what she’ll do to yer
nobody knows
for she knows the devil ooch
the devil ouch
the devil
ach the great
green
dancing
devil
devil
devil
devil
wheeEEE
10.3k
"Whist," is what Mammy said,
As she whisked us off to bed.
Usually we'd go quietly.
But a gypsy woman sat at our table,
Reading tea leaves,
Pouring prophecies.
Guests were few, and she I knew
To be a special one.
She saw dark clouds in a cup.
My sisters, past the tender age,
Stayed up longer to hear her say,
"Tall dark men are on their way."
I pricked my ears from upstairs,
Tried to put both on the vent,
Both of them were forward bent.
Just then my father
Climbed the stairs;
I saw the dark mop of his hair,
He was tall,
He wasn't humming;
No one else foresaw his coming,
But I vanished off to bed.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 9:23 AM UTC
It was silk that handkerchief
that she kept in her slim red velvet sleeve
that windy night whist out riding
she did loose that hanky to the wind wild and free
Holding on to her mighty black beauty
she did let her chief fly with the wind
and as moonlight fell
it did land upon a still pond
A frog still breathing the breath of flies
dead in eyes did adorn himself
making the silk handkerchief his cloak
claiming all the kingdoms of the world
He claimed dark magic for his evil empire
bathed those so foolish to follow his lies
from spore to twenty ages past
he was their glory, for a thousand years to pass
Oh his sick blindness was his ignorance
making baby skinned lamp shades
as death by his hands came so easily
by suicide he'd die in a shallow cowards grave
The lady of the midnight rides
oh she did hear of his wicked deeds
so she made a black clothed thing
a dragonfly, with the heart of fire
It was sent to that time
oh to that dark age with jagged wings
it did put hate in a box
to save fit for another day
That silk handkerchief
oh did he know it's worth
pudding disdain is now the frog
and to our shame, so is this world
By Christos Andreas Kourtos aka NeonSolaris
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 8:05 PM UTC
*i want to wake up in your arms at 3 AM
whist a hurricane is raging within
those turbulent clouds and find my momentum
spiraling in heavy bays and raging gales
rotating around damaging unleashed surges
destructive force that slam'd unto my heart
i want to be your green grass dream catcher
& capture mockingbird lullaby's*
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:
Court’sied when you have, and kiss’d,—
The wild waves whist,—
Foot it featly here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
Hark, hark!
Bow, wow,
The watch-dogs bark:
Bow, wow.
Hark, hark! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow!
2.7k
If I could do anything
I would be controlling clocks
And go right back to that mouldy box
With the broken locks
And the electrics off
Those days when I would sold me socks for cake and drops
Whist cooking rocks
***** this K detox
I feel like a baby fox
Thats I been ***** by all 3 bears and goldilocks
But day by day with my tool box and theese building blocks
I'll build my very own fort knox
Il see the light shine when I stike the fire from my matchbox
Listening to my old jukebox
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 9:27 AM UTC
218
Is it true, dear Sue?
Are there two?
I shouldn’t like to come
For fear of joggling Him!
If I could shut him up
In a Coffee Cup,
Or tie him to a pin
Till I got in—
Or make him fast
To “Toby’s” fist—
Hist! Whist! I’d come!
2k
Perspectives changing mind states
High grades turning doors of sight
Using the daily dose breathing deep
Killing yourself by staying up too late
Its fine you lost track , everyone does
Just remember where communication is at
Does lay in the head , when flame is this best
Way to deal with the dead, rather than the grave
Ashes blowing whist fully to the heavenly gates.
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
All oceans would this navigator discover
seven seas in seven years did he roam
whist sparkling stars in the heavens tried so hard
yet this broken navigator could not get back home
So he bites on solar winds and sails
to a place of many days of doldrums
this place so stagnant and most morose
he had to his sins, has to wait with his kin within
His crew are that hard of salty seafaring kind
with maps written on their faces cracked by sun and salt
they his, had only ****** smells and shells
call them hero's as seven seas they did horridly sea's fought
This was his last voided slipstream event
these mariners by the cut of their gibe
prayed to an Egyptian Hero some call Alligator
for he is the first and last of Navigator
So whist this captain of mapped minds falls
his company will care for his last orders
for they have witnessed in ancient tears
and the breaking of the navigator
Oh fly the flag and be proud
live poetry with passion long and loud
let your heart embrace this creature proud
whist you watch the breaking of the Navigator
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 7:14 AM UTC
When I was a black clad killing machine
no change there then
they called me the mist master
with the feet of a gecko
I used to climb walls by thinking
funny enough I climb walls still
but now it is just stress and dying
on the ceiling with feet of a gecko
Don't turn the light on
it is bad for a reptilians eyes
whist I hang from the ceiling
catching moths and flies
Ok if I can stay really still
waiting for that juicy ****
yes I am a lizard hero
with feet of a gecko
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
Teach me how to fall in love, how to breath across your breath.
My heart he is already old, and ready to spend his last living years with you.
Come closer to my flesh, I want to tell you that tonight my tears,
They won't appear, just because you were the chosen angel to live with me.
I lived my life with lots of hopes, and dreams. Now both of them
I found them buried in the ground, before my physical body will go soon.
Force me to love you, so I can tell you that your tears aren't bitter,
Instead they are mixture of your love with mine, as result sweetest tears ever.
That might turn on the wind inside of me, to shut down the worries,
And fears, that kept me writing of my depression view of the love of today.
Allow my poetry to melt over your whist tonight, I would break all the rules,
To cross the borders of sins, to kiss you as I'm rhyming you from head to toe.
Rhyming your lips, with my powerful kisses,
Rhyming your ******* with my two hands,
Rhyming your **** body, with my pleasure poem.
Trust me, you are the chosen one, the chosen woman, that God create you,
As the most wealthily gift on earth, be proud to be the first to draw a smile on my face.
28/10/2014
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 1:27 PM UTC
i want to be jolly, oh ****** jolly
the happiest man in the whole world
you see i hate yelling on the street
because i see people i know turn off me
you see i am a jolly happy soul, i believe in having fun
i likeb to boot conservos, out on their bums
i want to work in a toy factory, making toys for boys and girls
you see i am a family morals man, chuck your morals in the dunny
i want to help the kids of today, be happy little kids indeed
i am jolly, like santa claus, ** ** ** merry christmas
i am a family person, who loves to do art
i wrote a christmas carol titled silent ****
i wrote summer weather and summer wonderland too
as well stop dreaming of a white christmas
you see people want to fight me, i don’t know why
for i am a nice person, from the earth to the sky
i am not a little kid, i am a cool man, oh yeah
i drink heaps and heaps of soft drink as a replacement for a nice can of beer
i don’t preach to other people, man
so i expect nobody to preach to me
i am a buddhist artist, who is struggling, and i love to party hardy won’t ****** sturdy
i want to work, but i ain’t ready for LEAD yet
because i am a bit upset that 2xx hasn’t called me, for me to read my stories
i am not shy, but i believe i ain’t a hooligan
you see i was a hooligan this afternoon thinking i was teasing the little young dudes
but i don’t want to be a rich arrogant ****
i rang up lifeline today, because i felt my voices were becoming too much
one mate i really liked, was pat because he showed me how to cut loose and party
and i know he ain’t my daddy, but he was a very good friend
so i rang up lifeline, to calm down these voices
i don’t want to get teased by my brother and patrick, you see they will say
what’s that your still getting teased, what’s that your still getting teased
it drives me crazy, AAAAAAAAAH!
cause i am a jolly old should and a jolly old soul am i
i don’t want these schizophrenic voices
because i am smart enough to realise they ain’t true
i am a family person who loves art, and that is whist i do
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 4:31 AM UTC
Come with me to Greenwich
let's dance on the time line
dance with me, on and on
on my weekend of madness
Let's get the clowns to pop their balloons
as the bright green dogs run past
let's make every moment our last
oh happy is my weekend of madness
Let's kiss the frogs in the duck pond
and whist there tickle the fish
get hot-dogs from the maggot stand
On my weekend of madness
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
That a difference exists is remarked upon,
voiced in the peripheral stare
the quizzical arched brow
and so remains unremarkable itself
until given the distinction of breath;
'Poetry is a bit heavy for the morning isn't it?'
The rhetoric is followed without pause by
lines from Spike that rhyme from tongue
as a ***** ballad might punctuate the air between
rounds of Stella. Whist I might despair
at constrained definitions there is a concurrency
of acknowledgement with slight smile
at some appreciation of verse, a remark of difference.
I close a leaf and see the possibilities
of Sycamore and wordpecker.
May 21, 2010
May 21, 2010 at 2:02 PM UTC
They’re watching in the avenues
They’re watching in the rain,
They’re waiting for the animals
To cause our children pain.
They join in condemnation
They point the finger straight
They single out the people
Who dispense biff and hate.
They stand in haunting fog and mist
Those children who are dead,
They stand and watch in legions
And wait with mounting dread.
For somewhere in this fair green land
An adolescent mum
Is thrashing her young children
Until they’re bruised and numb.
A baby crying in the night
A baby much in need
Of nappies and a tender hand
Than punches and a bleed.
The little ones are dying
Broken & obscene
Their little bodies black and blue
From beatings in between
Collections from the dole queue
**** ups in the shed
Cigarettes and hopelessness
“P” your dull mind dead.
The Moaris say its Pakeha
The cops say crime don’t pay,
The politicians shrug and sigh
And look the other way.
The population wrings it’s hands
And gets on with it’s life
Whist violence and brutality
Still cause our kiddies strife.
No one’s owning up to this
No one’s taking blame,
The ******** flows in rivers
And the world has turned insane.
We must find a leader
To take this thing in hand.
Eradicate the baby bashing
From our PC land.
Fling abusers into gaol
And lose the ****** key
Take the kids & farm them out
To families good & free.
We break the cycle hard & fast
And teach the lesson straight
Abuseing kids will see you GONE
Inside..incarcerate!
Where’s the leader, burning bright,
Where is courage in this fight,
Who will lift the banner high
Who will rise up and defy
The apathy , the poisoned sloth
Indifference of the public cloth.
Who will rise and make a stand
Make us proud to love this land
Who will rid us of this thing
WHO WILL MAKE THE GAUNT GHOSTS SING ?
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
12th August 2007
Nov 22, 2009
Nov 22, 2009 at 8:18 PM UTC
Bordered by an old fashioned picture frame
A man, curiously familiar, moustached, astute
With a smiling bride, his eyes aflame
And a brown "The Spy Who Loved Me" suit
This was the first "real" connection with him
Displayed on my grandparents window shelf
Some how I knew I was missing a limb
Some how I knew I wasn't entirely myself
Patches of my memories dwell in clusters
perhaps I am mentally impaired.
I remember going to Ghost Busters
I remember being really scared.
Shaking inside trying to be brave
ashamed to being frightened of ghouls.
But that film soon became a fave
just as did playing snooker and pool.
I am aware that I have not let him know
that whist every time I have nearly drowned.
An island of him has rose from the flow
and let my two feet again find the ground.
Also, that as I have moulded myself into a man
he has been an integral aspect of my design.
Thanks to him I can have an extraordinary tan
I love a pun, good whisky and being on time.
So lets heartily toast the bygone days
now we can laugh about the happy and sad.
And let's swirl a whisky each others way
Because when all said and done, your my Dad.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 1:27 PM UTC
cometh darkness thou waith
thy dance thou dos't do
avialath thou thy cometh
beginst thine fervor
thou blot
thine morrow's mist
ast thou ensue thine ubiety
whist thou educe
thine loveth hence
thine beauty kisseth
thy lambent duskness
cometh darkness thou waith
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 7, 2011 at 6:48 AM UTC
*I let go,
I lost my grip,
I couldn't hold on
any longer,
I felt my disappointed heart
break in two
when it became obvious
that I was no longer
"the strong her."
Whist falling I realised,
as my life flashed before my eyes,
that I regretted
the day that I surrendered my wings,
the very lifesaving things,
I, now, needed,
My soul shattered,
before hitting the ground,
knowing that I would meet my end
defeated.
By Lady R.F (C) 2017*
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 6:28 AM UTC
When do I start this love affair
When do I find someone to care
To hold me tight
In the stillness of night
I hope it might
Be soon.
I’d be over the moon
Will I know it when I see it
Will I feel it, will I be it.
Will I fall at the first hurdle
Will she wear a playtex girdle
Or whalebone and wire a sixteen inch waist.
I do know that I will want to taste
Her breath
Her hair
Her legs
And then the question begs
What’s for dinner
Please forgive me I’m just a sinner.
But I could make her feel like a queen
Do things that she has never seen.
Write love songs about her poetic face
Dress her up in satins and lace
Take her back to my place.
And just in case, I forget
Tell her I love her.
I would make her laugh
Have her in fits, take her out for tea at the Ritz
Teach her to dance and do the twist
Go out on Sundays and play some whist.
And Lord forbid that she should cry
Then I would dry with my lips her tears
Allay her fears
Nibble her ears
When do I start this love affair
When do I find someone to care.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
I need that disaster,
that chaos which runs through my head and the faster it goes the better I like it,the madness of mayhem that flows from my brain stem is all that I need,feed me flights of sheer fantasy,show me the sights of calamity and let me climb down into the tree with Alice.
If I'm Shot through with lunacy like a candy stick I will be,licked into infinity to play with eternity quick games of whist,twist,ludo and who knows the score when one is mad to the core and the maggots of knowledge are eating your brains.
How boring I'd be if I was just me,
but I'm not
I am Napoleon,Leonardo,Joan of Arc and Tristan da cunha..yes, I can be an island, in the crazy of my land it's possible to be,
the Island,the sea,the shore and much more.
There is trickery in the madness of lunacy,to some I'm quite sane,then again so are they,nothing's as grey as the black in the white within the light of a lunatic's day.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 5:47 AM UTC
Weeping willows wail, wondering why winter walked away without wanting to wave goodbye.
Wintry winds and wild whispers weave their wishes in wantoness. While I watch warmth wrap my wrist and well-built waist.
Warm, warm, waveless waters.
Whist, windless wornout weather wins.
Apr 11, 2023
Apr 11, 2023 at 5:33 AM UTC
The morning was blue
And the world was endless,
The moon and skies watched from their fiery oblivion
And I sat on a porch drinking lemonade in the sun
The walls were blue
Claustrophobia and comfort
Tumbling into each other
Blurred and slurred
Forced serenity, forced to reminisce the sky
And fairy lights for stars in the dark
His eyes were blue
Filled with wonderlust and the heart beat of a hummingbirds wing
Ethereal sunlight hiding the smirk
Deception and beauty
Satisfied, spoiled and bored
The song was blue
A hopeful sadness too obscure for me to know
Marking the moment
Gathering the seconds among the staves
Those bluest of halcyon moments
Made up the darkest day
Whist the unsuspected turbulence
Lay offshore
As a storm at sea
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 8:33 PM UTC
The political zombies have no idea they are dead
dead to the world and so dead to me
look at the pathetic liars
watch the swill like pigs
spit out their monotone drivel
little children with big issues
Watch them send us to war
just to cull the shepherds flocks
watch as they rub their hands
whist in their back pockets they sell arms
sell them cheap to the enemy
in double handshakes of disgrace
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 1:14 PM UTC
He leaves for a few days
so ****** poetry I can write
he is a cruel master
yet I worship him and his star ship
So whist my master is away..
The Scent Of Her
The scent of her
her womanhood in sweet sweat
oh what nectar was this Venus
and goddess beneath the sheets
My sustenance did come between her thighs
as she pushed me to her secret place
and I would bathe in her warmth
eyes closed and all other senses alert
Our time was holy
our time was unadulterated
and I gave her all my love
in return she gave me drive
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2012 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC
I watch them on the green
that squirrel and the fox
they play as the morning sun does rise
these two opposites, so now not opposed
I watch them dance and play with joy
and I smile knowing
what beauty I see
in this squirrel and fox
The little feller jumps up
right up onto his back
see the trust they have
if only humans saved such trust
I will not cut the mustard
Jesus was right
most are right ********
whist he bites his nails
So not going that way
that poor forsaken Angel
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC