Introducing: Nate & Linda
The smile on my lips
is forced and coerced
I pretend to pay attention
give the best possible advice
everyone praises me
I'm so kind, polite and nice
It's all just automation
I rarely actually listen
certainly don't care
all I'm doing
is playing human
I'm so perfectly hidden
you'll never even
see a curtain,
from where I stand
Majoring in social events
Put on a pedestal
for computing with you
I'm so perfectly hidden
smiling from time to time
with all sincerity
Passing along an appeal
continuing to fit in
Is it just me or
am I the perfect human?
~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A
No one wants to be left on the shelf for years
Guess you could say I’ve popped my cork
Now I’m fully mature with a rich full body
I could be described as a little fruity with a hint of spice
Please don’t keep me bottled up
Just give me time to breathe
Contest :- A wine Connoisseur
Sponsor: Chase Trevi
Copyright © JAN ALLISON
LOOSELY BASED ON THE MICHAEL JACKSON SONG SHE’S OUT OF MY LIFE
He’s out of my life
Because he’s got a wife
And I don’t know whether to laugh or cry
If I see him now I’d whack him in the eye
But if I had a knife
I’d pass it on to his wife
He would hold my hands
We’d make love on the sands
To think for two years he was here
He had the best of both worlds now he lives in fear
So I better not expand
Or I’ll soon be on remand!
So I’ve learned that I’m not his possession
And I’ve learned that this guy I hate
Now he’s gone and I’ve got depression
But I’ve learned too late
He's out of my life
Gone back to his wife
Guess I loved him but found out he lied
If I get my hands on him I’ll end up inside
And it cuts like a knife
But the rat is out of my life
10th August 2014
Copyright © JAN ALLISON
Dot Blogs she was a buxom lass and hefty heifer too
who married Bobby Eugene Blows when she was twenty- two.
They lived upon a dairy farm alongside Boggy Creek
and milked a hundred fresian cows … yes seven days a week.
Now Dotty took to motherhood and had some eighteen kids
and Bobby too was very fond of all his billy lids.
Though life was using hand me downs from hats to underwear,
it taught them old world values; like the gift of how to share.
Dot seldom ventured from the place and trips to town were rare
as she’d become content with life and simple country fare.
But Bob, in a romantic mood, applied his boyish charm
and thought he’d hit the city and get Dotty off the farm.
Their anniversary was due and Bob now thought it time
to hit the big smoke for a change were they could wine and dine.
Well Dot had dressed up to the nines and looked a proper treat,
but how to fit her in the ute had poor Rob kind of beat.
Poor Dot was three axe handles when one measured ’cross her rump
and putting things politely she was rather flamin’ plump.
But Dot she was a country girl and just jumped in the back
and soon both her and husband Rob were heading down the track.
The cities razzle dazzle blew both Dot and Rob away
and headed for the classy place where they were gonna stay.
But when Dot hit the doorway well she then ran out of luck,
as she was jammed there tightly and evidently stuck.
The chaps behind the service desk and three bell boys as well
they tried to push poor Dotty free but Robby knew darn well
that Dottie’s hefty hips were simply wedged in there too tight
and going out to wine and dine was now in doubt that night.
Just then a bell boy cried out loud, “I have a plan for sure.
I’ll grab the local rugby team that’s dining right next door.”
The forwards packed behind poor Dot and gave it all they had,
but all they did was stir her up and she was getting mad.
Then Rob remembered once back home how Bert the bull was jammed
real tight inside the race they had and how they fin’lly planned
to rub his hips with lots of grease and on the count of three
they’d hit him with a jigger and you’re right … he busted free.
The Motel staff then whipped around and searched each patron’s bag
and grabbed all sorts of greasy stuff their little hands could snag.
Rob rubbed old Dottie’s hips all down and laid it on real thick,
then grabbed the night guards stun gun; it was sure to do the trick.
Poor Dot she kicked and bellowed when the voltage hit her hide
and man she cut some capers and she went all goggle eyed.
She snorted and she struggled like some poor wild frightened beast,
but just like Bert, Rob did admit, she busted free at least.
Now Dot is back at Boggy Creek and though poor Rob tries hard
she won’t budge from the Dairy farm; she just won’t budge a yard.
Poor Rob now does the shopping and the thing he finds bizarre
Is rubbing Dot down ev’ry night where two prongs left a scar.
©Bush Poet and Balladeer - Merv Webster
Copyright © Merv Webster
From Life of Cat
From life of a cat what can we learn?
Never have seen one wearing a sunburn
Our cat we do have that does exist
Seems to think he is a ventriloquist.
Took meow test and great grade he made;
To write poems even tried to persuade
Sweet and low chariot was met by a meow
And what I am about to learn no one knew.
In our house, cat has a humble place to live
Sufficient food and water to him, we will give
But when he wants to eat by himself alone
He likes ice cream served on a crunchy cone.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
So where is the cat poem contest at?
Copyright © James Horn
3 polished oak fans,
Swirling in robotic unison
High maintenance socialites,
Sipping on Merlot fallacies
Lemon yellow coated walls,
Like their smiles
Comparisons of dangling Porsche & Bentley keys
A glorified day care center,
The muted virtuosos speak softly in hymn dialects.
Courtesy laughter in snob’s octave
Their heads twitching side to side,
Left to right to left
An equilibrium facing assault charges against self
They slow dance to cello dreams
And E minor dividends
Two-step monotone, sway
Against platinum lacquer foundations
But, it was then.
These same socialites,
Made of recycled candle wax
And rubberized, hedge-fund confidence,
Began to stare longingly at the party host’s 70 inch plasma TV
Proudly imported from China
“Attention uptight snobs of Mecca!
The city zoo has imploded!
The monkeys revolted!
The zebras were tired of being racially profiled!
Run for your LIV…!”
And before the reporter’s frightened inner child could finish’s his clause,
An elephant crashes into the decadent room
Filled with Crisp linen scents of Febreze & judgmental fear
It stares at the socialites,
Laughing heartedly as it playfully stomps away into constellation’s onyx night
As tears waterfall from the snobs’ sobbing eye sockets
As if they just listened to another Celine Dion song
The real newsflash
Metaphors played hooky today
©Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes
Double oh Sevens
The gamble of dangerous men
Poets who carry guns
To shoot out the hearts
Of unsuspecting ladies
A single word, a bullet
That can wound or kill the love
Of any careless romance
Yet they fall at the feet
Of mystery and sweet words
And later in the evening
Tears flow from ladies of sadness
Left alone among the sheets of love
The Spy, he could save the world
Yet save not one single love
He grew old and alone
His last thought among the living
I die a lover, and never felt love
Copyright © arthur vaso
Many years ago, when we were all young,
We really thought life, would be so much fun.
While playing dress-up, trying on mom’s stuff,
Putting on make-up, we found to be tough.
Then came our schooling, and boy things would change,
“Those aren’t our parents”, when they acted strange.
Sometimes they were hip, but old-fashioned too,
That’s something I swore, I would never do.
Wishing you were older, adults had it made,
They would do nothing, yet still would be paid.
That is how little, we all had known,
We surely found out, once we were grown.
Loving the twenties, we’d go out with friends,
When we went shopping, we followed the trends.
Doing what we wanted, and staying out late,
It didn’t matter, what time we all ate.
Then came the thirties, and most of us wed,
Watch what you wish for, my parents had said.
We had to work hard, many bills to pay,
I guess they were right, what more can I say?
Raising your children, was hardest of all,
Needing some advice, your parent’s you’d call.
It seemed so easy, they needed no rest,
So now it’s your turn, you learned from the best.
The forties arrived, that was a shocker,
We’d spend lots of time, just at the doctor.
Back aches and headaches, so tired you’d be,
Trying not to cough, or else you would pee.
The fifties would come, and your grandkids too,
Where were your glasses? You hadn’t a clue.
You searched here and there, and under the bed,
“Hey grandma” they laughed, “They’re right on your head”.
Here come the sixties, now let’s have some fun,
You are retired; your work is all done.
To dinner with friends, you dressed and you wait,
They never show up, you have the wrong date.
Now the seventies, with friends playing games,
If only you could, remember their names.
You try hard to hide, those under-eye bags,
Gravity happens, and everything sags.
Enjoy every day, and have a good laugh,
All the steps you took, led down a new path.
Live life as it comes, each year a new page,
One thing is for sure, everyone will age.
Copyright © Kelly Zakerski
A true story....
Well I lived in Sioux City for a little while
Another job site, hubby and I have covered some miles
While there, my mother in law came to visit
She drove Elvira, the biggest Buick ever made
No doubt about it!
I drove mom around to see the highlights
If you've been there, you know there's nothing but corn in sight
Suddenly the cars in front of us started to slow
Wondering which way around this pillow they needed to go
Well some went left and some went right
Some straddled over it and seemed alright
Mom said baby, it will be OK
Just drive right over it
Elvira won't notice anything in her way
I lined up perfectly and over we went
Thought I'd made it until visions were sent
Into the rear view mirror of down floating everywhere
And it wasn't pleasant!
I could see people on the sidewalks laughing, I pretended not to care
As millions of feathers floated through the air
Really embarrassed I drove on about one hundred feet
Then Elvira stopped dead right there in the street
Somehow the drive train had caught the cotton cover
Ripping it to shreds, wrapping it round and round so tight
Until it killed the engine dead
Now I know God works in mysterious ways
But He proved it for sure this very day
In a parking lot next to where Elvira had died
Was a complete race car driver's pit crew - no lie!
An 18 wheeler with trailer in tow
Guys dressed in uniforms, patches aglow
With traffic backing up behind us
They came over to see what was all the fuss
I said spitting feathers out of my mouth
I really don't know, I'm from down south
They opened their trailer and out came the jacks
Air hoses and tools, they got down on their backs
From under the car I heard laughter and jokes
They'd seen cars stopped by everything but a pillow!
Well I thanked them and shook each and every hand
They wouldn't accept money, said the entertainment was grand
I often wonder who they were and if they remember Elvira and the pillow in Iowa land....
Copyright © Donna Jones
Have you ever squeezed a lemon before?
(you very might well have and just not realized it).
Each time you grab the steering wheel, you feel determined:
There's no way in hell you're waiting another minute!
A lemon is sure a close call,
and anyone's capable of it - every Tom, Dick and Harry.
Sometimes you don't see it at all,
until you look up and realize it's already turned cherry.
It's a rarer site to see someone squeezing that one,
but there's no doubt it happens now and then.
Some call it stupid, others brave and daring.
Me? I just wanna get out of the car and grab a pen.
Squeezing a lime sounds much more safe.
Feeling a bit less brave, a small price to pay,
for living another glorious day.
But my dad is a different sort all together.
He goes through the entire fruit smoothie, it's just his way.
There'll be honking from behind,
people yelling, "What are you friggin' color blind?
Get off the Bluetooth, man!".
And I'm just sitting in the front seat thinking,
"I have such great writing material, so close at hand".
I'll have my head crouched low
feigning embarrassment, but in reality
this man, driving me, where I need to go
is the spitting image of myself
forty years down the road...
Copyright © Timothy Hicks
I am a cliché
A soul walked along the water
The winds yelling cliché cliché
A dark soul was on the other side waiting
The winds yelled again cliché cliché
The two souls met inside this cliché
Of dark poetic solitude
They ordered drinks and black roses
In the cafe of clichés
From the skies appeared an Angel
Looking down upon this earth
At the clichés of life
The angel too walked in the bar of dead souls
Immediately she realized
I have walked into a cliché of dreams
The most terrible of poem and verse
Attacks my very, my very, yes oh yes, my very soul
Then it dawned on this angel of the evening
That he too is a cliché and somewhat confused
The three of them in the darkness of life’s parodies
They downed some shots and spilled some blood
Slightly inebriated one looked at the other two?
He demanded what the hell is a cliché anyways?
The darkest of souls, replied, I think is Spanish for friends!
This narrative my friend is a poetic rendition of the three amigos
I mean cliché
My Lobster means it too
Copyright © arthur vaso
Two Martians went on a blind date
They agreed to meet at half eight
Dressed as harlequins
They looked like two twins
Them meeting was just down to fate
They sat down and ordered some beer
Drank it up and were soon full of cheer
They went to a star
Which wasn’t too far
And agreed Mars had no atmosphere
They decided to visit our earth
Most earthlings gave them a wide berth
A photo was taken
The image is makin’
A fortune - just think of its worth!
Both settled in the US of A
Martians friends came on a holiday
Wearing such clever disguise
They look like regular guys
Area 51 is where they stay
Subject Mars – Joe Maverick
Copyright © JAN ALLISON
I do not know?
If you should search for knowledge
To answer the riddle of your self
All the books found on every library shelf
Might not relieve your puzzle a smidge
Because ‘h’ is the difference of self from shelf
Search within and you’ll see without eyes.
Things happen in a test tube
That we can easily observe and explain
But anywhere outside of it
It’s not quite the same
That’s because it’s out in the open
Where there’s less control and closure.
Some advise taking only two steps
Once into and once out of water
Supposedly while you’re watching
Perpendicular to a flowing stream
So firstly you get your feet wet
And then you get them dry.
Or you take the opposite length
Over the adjacent length
Then every measured distance
Makes each tangent different
But if trigonometry was used at Pisa
That’s not why the place is famous.
So if a princess was in a tower
And let’s assume she was a prisoner
At least she should have a window
Because horizons offer a fine view
Then the next time the witch calls her
Rupunzel throws down her chair.
Copyright © Michael Dom
If life is like a box of chocolates,
is it rude to ask for candy?
Can you really say with certainty
that you even understand me?
When life hands you lemons
I think you'd better run.
Cause life can throw a curve ball
and hit you just for fun.
I can do without the chocolates
You can keep your lemons too.
Life is what you make of it
not what it makes of you.
Copyright © Sarina McConnell
Fake Words – Zamreen Zarook
God have given us mouth,
Not to speak to north and south,
Tongue is given under an oath,
So it’s our duty to protect them both.
Girls chat fake with boys,
Having a notion that the boys are toys,
They often make varied noise,
Thinking to keep a trap on handsome guys.
Boys are also human being,
So it’s not possible being clean,
Things varies in the way they are seen,
So positive thinking will make you keen.
Boys’ minds are pure,
As it is pure bio,
So don’t try to pour vino,
Which will take decades to get cure.
Copyright © Zamreen Zarook
A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Copyright © Dan Keir
I bring hit after hit like a boxer
You haters' inconsistent
Everybody's on the same vibe
Mine's kinda' different
Verse hot, hook hot--
I'm gon' sellout soon as I drop
Verse hot, hook hot--
I'm gon' sellout soon as I drop
Minor in poetry, fine-arts major
Doctor goon on deck, call this a fear-factor
I'm going in, but I ain't got no curfew
I son a lot of you, it's like I birth you
Got a lot of verses, but this ain't a Bible
Fallout when you hear this, I ain't liable
Ain't talking 'bout tearing, but the beats R.I.P
Didn't sell a lot of tracks, but I got D.O.E
Put you up on game, my hustle's M.O.E
Music over everything, ain't moving 'D'
I got cash like the bank, I sell CD's
Smells funny, tickled my nose, I might sneeze
You would think I'm water, the way I flow
I'm just like some dynamite, bound to blow
Act like you're in a recliner, lay back
If I ain't on fire, then why they say that?
Feature, feature, can I get a feature
So far ahead I sit on competition--bleacher
My Raps' like a bunch of apartment buildings, complex
Got chicks on my jock', ain't talking 'bout sex
I'm so different, it's magnificent
Haters want me to fall, but that's not how the script went
Thing's fishy, I ain't gettin' caught in that net
Just killed the beat, without breaking a sweat
Copyright © Arcene Janvier
Cookies are addictive!
OoOoH! Here's one to snatch!
Okay...where's the chocolate chips?
Kraving too many of these treats
I want some now! But...I might get beeefy...
Every bite is mouthwatering, soft and crisp
Should I take another cookie?
Copyright © J. W. Earnings
Sense of humour, elevating our spirits
Musing over the simple things in life, rejoicing at what we find
Imagination stimulated, childlike, seeing the wonders in life
Light heartedness, laughing at one’s self!
Everything as it is meant to be, smiling, enjoying, the gift of life
Copyright © Amy Rose
I do not know?
Oh say can I see
By the big florescent lights
Once so proudly now has fell
Fell into reality?
Fell into right?
Fell into a time where there should have never been a fight!!
With ’In God We Trust ' printed on every dollar.
But God got kicked out so Columbine became the shocker.
But was it also ' In God We Trust ' when we failed to see nothing but color?
With the hoses put down,
and Dr King no longer around,
is ‘The Dream’ still being reached?
Is it a sign that the first homes we see
are no longer a possibility?
When the Towers came down,
we were 'United we Stand'
But when gas prices rose it was,
“You're on your own, man!”
‘A penny saved is a penny earned,’
is from the man that first helped us try to learn.
But when we stopped asking what our country can do for us,
is that the time when the table turned?
Now that Rosa will no longer be on the bus,
I wonder who will now take that seat for all of us.
With Miss America in the cast,
when will we ever see Miss Disability last?
What happened to the times of ‘I am not a crook’,
it took a back seat to the Man who wrote the Book.
And the rockets red glare,
with bombs still bursting in the air,
is it wrong to fight for the night
when our children’s children will still be there.
Copyright © Whitney Foley
Who Bloks Who?
( think A Space Odyssey, Hal when reading this)
I might Blok you Dave
Ah you may but then I would have to Blok you too
Still Dave I would be first to Blok so I would win
Oh Arthur you can try, but I still may out Blok you
Ok Dave I see you are challenging me, so I am so gonna Blok you
You just watch Dave........
Do neglect all your dear creations
Not Bad Arthur, however I one up that Blok……
Do neglect all your hot earthly passions
How about this one Dave.....
Think in days, and say prayers in nights.
Well Arthur I can do so much better.....
If your spirit is burning and troubling,
Drive your high inspiration away
Maybe, maybe not,
Only wisdom is ready for coming
To Great Night from the life’s everyday
Arthur, I one up yet again!!
On the earth you will not be awarded.
In clear spirits before the God’s face
Ah ha, and now, the grand finale, chess master am I
Slow fade in a right, lone mode
At the leave of the icon lamp’s blaze...
Notes: I will soon post the answer to this riddle, in the mean time
who can figure out this “infinite dot universe poem” ?
Answers: I wrote this as two poets challenging each other on their knowledge of a very famous Russian poet, by reciting lines from one of his poems to each other! .... the famous poets name is of course “ Alexander Blok”
Alexander Alexandrovich Blok; 28 November [O.S. 16 November] 1880 – 7 August 1921) was a Russian lyrical poet. And being a “lyrical poet” well I guess you all know why I choose Dave (Lyric Man) as one of the poets! The photo above is ofcourse a portrait of Alexander Blok !
Copyright © arthur vaso
A bit of fun
There is a man crying
In a AA van on the edge of town
I think he is heading for a
Copyright © Michael Ward
P aranoia permeates, etching itself into your fractured face,
A cacophony of constant pressure; life remains a stressful race,
N othing to hope for, no positives like promotion in the workplace,
I nability to love, relationships lift anchor and set sail without chase,
C hildren crushing dreams under mortgages; age grows with disgrace
Copyright © Dan Keir
Walk before you speak.
Lend your voice that seek.
Foot forward and back.
So will that be a fact.
Gone by and be well.
Trip up and put into a cell.
Got no one to talk to.
I want a phone call to sue.
When I wake from my slumber.
I wish not to be hit by lumber.
Going to become a dreamer.
I hope that I do not become a screamer.
I got new shoes.
With colorful strings that are loose.
I am slow on tying them.
I feel they are harder than stem.
String are not new.
They smell pew.
I walk once again to journey.
That means I need some money.
Trip up again with meaningless acts.
Walking with out trust that lacks.
Shamefulness I speak.
I go behind a tree to leak.
I have no home set in stone.
Wheeling and dealing always alone.
Since I was a child that was left on the street.
I became a street beat.
Strolling with confidence to day.
Making my way.
Some law men stop me.
I was so out of it that they can see.
They thought I was on drugs.
I was really itching bugs.
Stumbling because I have not eaten.
So they grab me and I got beaten.
They finally found me innocent.
So I told them to get bent.
I was a good citizen with high hopes.
The society today thinks I am on dopes.
Can I be help with no pain.
Will they put me some were I will gain.
So I was put into a helpful place.
I was then able to eat and say grace.
Some crazy person came in and started shooting.
So people ran and started looting.
Cannot get away from bad luck.
Sure enough I feel so stuck.
Knowing that I was fleeing.
I became worth not seeing.
I lay there my time just feeling has pass.
Losing my mind and running out of gas.
Finally I hear a person the sound sounds so weak.
A life time that I wanted to seek.
Found myself in a bed.
Down to nothing I was shed.
A person with white clothes that said your in luck.
You survived and now you owe some buck.
So sad not really glad.
Bad thing was the kid that was shooting was my lad.
Time really passes I just want to walk.
To see my kid to talk.
Why did he do what he did.
Dad he said I was starving and I am a kid.
So I have turn to a life time of crime.
Dad do not give me your time.
Because when we talked long ago.
You just left home with all the doe.
Hope you have a good life.
Because mom had been a good wife.
Now it is your turn.
So you can walk into the fire and burn.
With out a doubt you will walk away.
Trip on and Trip up and you will never pay.
Now dad keep your love.
Because I seek my mother above.
You will be chain.
Down you go insane.
Copyright © Reynaldo Mast
You know why I run game? It's 'cause I'm a player
I'm the night in shining armor, she's a dragon, I'm gon' slay her
That means when I beat it up, I'm gonna kill it
Tell her keep our business to herself, don't spill it
Can't follow directions, then it's on to the next
Hope you get the message, not talking 'bout a text
I sleep with more chicks than a night-gown
Without 'em I'm like a sentence with no noun
For those who don't know that means incomplete
It's a race to get 'em first, I gotta' compete
They wanna be on the team, tryin' to make the cut
True player, show no feelings, keep 'em in a shell, walnut
Females fill my atmosphere, they mean the world to me
I got damsels galore, it's always plural with me
Got gangs of chicks, which one should I bang
They're steady in my face, sort of like some bangs
Hate when they try to lock me down, I'm not in jail
She starts talking 'bout marriage, then I'm gonna bail
Sometimes I need my space, like a vacant lot
I hate being congested, like a nose filled with snot
Hey, stop bugging me, you startin' to act like a knat
Before you go, give me head, I need it like a hat
Copyright © Arcene Janvier
One more alien... an extra terrestrial. Bloody foreigners.
Copyright © Dan Keir
I can’t help but wonder, about the blunder, of building a one room log cabin,
Where man and wife, lived a private life, ‘til kids became real, not imagined
With no partitions, or new additions, you’d think their sex life would run ashore.
But they both knew, how to make it through, by inventing a thing called the chore.
As each kid did sprout, pa had to go out, and think up a new job for the tot.
He soon realized, that for his farm’s size, there were more tots then jobs to be got.
And the matriarch, made the remark, that inside we plum ran out of space.
So they tried to rid, their house of kids, as fast as were made in the first place.
At last the last lad, made a nice lass glad, got married and had a grand party,
But pa had ma’s hind, right on his mind; they arrived at the party, tardy.
Well all went ok, until the sad day, when the old man’s life ran out of time.
And then poor ma, lost her chutzpah, plus the cabin exceeded its prime.
So ma did call, her last son Paul, asked if he knew what she should do then,
He said oh dear, I just moved here, and that we don’t even have a den.
But son relents, and acts the gent, there is space in one nook of our room.
If you feed cows, and all the sows, cause heck ma, I’ve got a new bride groom.
Copyright © David Fisher
At a time inconvenient it teases,
As it comes whensoever it pleases.
Creeping ever so sly,
It will make you yell, "Why?!"
And the thing that I speak of is sneezes.
Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst
I was renowned as Chief Buffalo Chips, a great leader of many tribes.
I was given that pathetic name by my father resulting in a heap of gibes.
But with a name like his, Chief Tater Chips, what else could I expect,
So I had to count many coup in battle to gain my braves' respect!
I rode my pinto pony as free as the wind, as free as the eagle soars.
I smeared my bronzed body with colorful hues to enjoy the thrill of wars.
With bow and arrow true, I supplied my tribes with plenty buffaloes,
To feed and clothe the old and young to see them through winter snows!
I smoked the peace pipe with blue coats but they were wont to deceive,
But I got my revenge at Little Big Horn where I won my tribes' reprieve!
Many moons later The Great White Father set up a fund for Indian Relief.
(For some reason Libby Custer refused to donate due to a spiteful beef!)
My humble teepee housed many papoose and Red Deer my prolific squaw,
Plus her grumpy mother, Black Widow, my miserable mother-in-law!
When this mortal shell I shed, I thought I'd escaped eternal reprobation,
Only to find Black Widow in the Happy Hunting Ground! Oh! Such damnation!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 3 in Carolyn Devonshire's " Past Lives" Contest - June 2014
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw
The Elephant Gift.
upon the elephant rode a boy prince,
his royal command, he was there to evince.
dark with grace and dripping with youth.
bringing his men, his crown and his couth.
town after town he strode fierce through the gates.
and any detractors were left to cruel fates.
and on one windy day, as they strode into town.
the faces where tenfold and a hush passed around
the grey of the creature with knowing black eyes
swayed left towards the crowd as if to capsize.
and the mass gasped in horror; bairns seized by their mam.
men flung at young ladies, babes pulled from the pram.
the bewildered and flustered
tired elephant sat.
in the center of all on the bald pastors hat.
the old pastor looked stunned to see such a disgrace.
until he remembered, and composed his face.
'your highness' he bowed. his manners restored.
but the poor prince was toppled his mighty seat floored.
they gasped for the prince, just really a child
dressed in fine silks on this elephant wild.
pastor said, 'here now' extending an arm
hand wrinkled and gnarled from the land that he farmed.
then the guards sprung to life as if sudden awake
guns point to the man of whose life they would take.
and just as they squinted their eye for the aim
a boy sang out sweetly, 'sire he's not to blame!'
and the prince from street where he lay in pool
held up his hand and recovered his rule.
he looked at the crowd and he said 'boy now speak'
the boy said, 'prince it is the prayers that you seek.
the prayers that you'd visit. the prayers that you'd stay.
lord must of heard them and granted this way.'
his eyes wide with truth and the love of his church
the prince laughed a beautiful belly filled lurch.
the carriage was called as the prince shared a feast.
and even some water was splashed on the beast.
such a good time as he danced and he spun
till the horses arrived in the dust of a run.
to thank the town and the lovely haired boy
the young prince gave up his own precious toy.
the beast stays quite put in the center of town...
but prayers? Say no more...
so the prince won't fall down.
Copyright © shannon april alice