THE HIJACKER WHO WAS HIJACKED
The mission is the pursuit of Caicedo,
the race has been on since the January set-go,
keepin' the paparazzis tongue in closed bridle.
Call Liverpool Big Jax of the Jungle,
and Chelsea, Richie, with cash in bundle.
Hijacking isn't alien in the round leather game,
though the salty feeling of the victim isn't the same,
the aftermath stain is what the media will frame.
Swung-in to hijack 3 month labour of Chelsea,
the American Clearlake tycoons 're never at sea
as they hijacked Liverpool’s hijack attempt for Caicedo,
and Lavia to punish 'em & their transfer window.
Served hot by Chelsea, that makes it two hijacks,
breaking the heart of Liverpool the Big Jax.
The hijacked ends-up as the hijacker in a twinkler
as Chelsea hijacked the hijack of the hijacker.
VICK MANUEL POETRY
{VMP}
Form: Quatern/Rhymes
Copyright ©? August 14th, 2023.
I will never know why, a baby of four months,
I was left abandoned, trampled in dirt.
At the mercy of adoption.
To fill the void of ache of a childless couple.
Clueless of the abysmal despair of my mother
I still track my genes....
Did you rock me back and forth...
before I fell asleep.... in doorstep of that police station?
I crave for that last helpless kiss you gave me.
Love.. is it really stronger than blood...?
Then why a sting slaps me every moment of my life?
Why ridicule of rejection boils in cauldron of my mind?
This vast house is full of strangers.
I fantasy you, my mom, in empty pictures hanging in air....
Your eyes must be brown like mine,
the same looks.. someone.. somewhere lies obscured.
my father? elder brother? little sister.?..
My identity hijacked....Who got the ransom?
Only a lonely tattoo mocks me.......
I have to be grateful for a love that forever hurts.
Date Written : 13th February 2019
Submitted to John Hamilton's Best Free Verse contest
Placed First in Brian Strand's Feb wk 3 contest
Placed 5th in best new poem of the month in blog
Placed 6th in Marc Tony Marathon mile 19 contest
Limerick crochetés: Once Mid-East refugee hi-jacked plane
Once Mid-East refugee hijacked plane
At Heathrow Airport without much pain
Set course for Florida
Down Gulf Stream danced salsa
O’er Bermuda Triangle lost brain
Raised head in parallel universe
Where everybody spoke only in verse
Shakespeare just a mere page
At beck and call of Sage
Who rode on a flying-trapeze hearse
Walt Whitman why whipped hard ten times tight
For turning fine-tuned verse e’er so slight
Beat poets all sweat caned
Their howls and growls un-maned
Ginsberg last seen dropping out of sight
Harriet Monroe drowned in P-Soup
To lay P-Foundation nin.com poop
Rhyme and dine for a dime
At Multi-Verse win prime
Refugees now cross Atlantic in sloop
At P-Soup Port they re-fuel with port
Learn how to parse clichés sans rapport
Great poems like Hardy’s
Drivel from their panties
“America” refugees sing out!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2018
Planes
flying low in the sky.
Drifting,
like paper,
CRASH
All's over now.
My heart's ripped open.
Take your bow.
I sought to write verse tried and true,
But jester scuttled my muse making me blue.
I responded with childhood rhymes I once knew,
Yet that clown pilfered all and then withdrew.
Rebounding, I sought rhythm's cadence to renew,
Alas, he scrambled my patterns and my timing did screw.
Regaling remaining wit, many riddles did I queue.
Frustratingly, that spinster unraveled every clue.
Revitalizing the inner spirit, a few puns did I brew.
Revolting, that huckster for shallow laughter did sue.
Forlorn, I tried with other's quotes to imbue;
He called me a charlatan and my lack of honor did rue.