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Best Neighborhood Poems

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Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

This Buds For You

-This buds for you!-
-It takes one to know one!-
-I know you are, but what am I?-

A second hand, on my stopwatch, going nowhere!
You are a joker, a smoker, a midnight stroker  
<-------How, about that, Steve Miller song

I'm not here to talk about the way you comment a poem
That's not how I roll, now listen, and listen well, 

I don't care, about them words you speak
A whining sheep, every time you don't score
Crying behind close doors, 
Boo-Who, I did not place high in so-and-so's contest
Gosh&dammit, not everyone's on a quest
Blogging, about the day, your poem got demoted to nonsense
Trying to comment relentlessly, 
You can't top, a mountain that has no setup

I'd rather leave a copy paste comment, 
"than being fake as fake can be"
At least, my copy paste was a song, 
in which welcome the new poets on
Treating, everyone with love and security
Your invites, are cold and force, to you it's not about community
No motion, to your notion, simple, and disgusting

I don't know why you think, we are competing, 
Long ago, I left you bleeding, no reason to be defeating
Your paranoia, has you thinking, it's all about the points,
It's getting old and boring,
You cry babies are nothing more than jokes and hypocrites
Hey you, this ain't dominoes, we done pass every Jo-Jo
When, I have time I sit here for fun, my trigger finger on the gun

Reading, commenting, until my day is done
You think, because someone, left a copy paste 
That your poem was not read,
Perhaps, it was not understood, or enjoyed
Or, a welcome to the neighborhood
A nice smile, from me to you
Nice poem, You Rock!
So What! ---- WOW!

This Bud's for you
I think it's time for you to GET A LIFE!
Be glad someone took their time, in checking you out twice
Not, everyone on this site, is full of bull-shit
The smallest words, are more likely to be legit 
I don't need and expensive comment, 
I don't want to impress, when it comes to the best comment
Please do not make love to my poem!

A nice pat on my back will do, 
Now that my friend, puts a smile on my face
To know you care, to know you were there:)

Peace Out,

~SKAT~

Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

Time Machine

Ride with me on my time machine to a different time and place
Return with me and let me see if I can put a smile upon your face
To the days of AM radio and the TV was black and white
To lying in a grassy field and counting stars at night
Popcorn and soda in the balcony at a Saturday matinee
Parades led by the High School Band on Decoration Day
Dressing up and going door to door on the night of Halloween
Cigarettes rolled in your shirt, pretending to be James Dean
Pep rallies before the football games, everybody stand and cheer
Going in the woods with your friends at night, sharing a quart of beer
That feeling inside, turning red, when she smiled at you at the dance
Wanting to kiss her goodnight, but you were afraid to take a chance
Playing chase tag at night in the neighborhood, hiding behind a tree
Holding hands with your first steady, so all your friends could see
Medicine Show at the end of town in a giant canvas tent
Saving pennies for a rainy day, fasting on candy for Lent
Going for a Sunday ride with Mom and Dad in the family car
Playing in the yard at night, putting lightning bugs in a jar
Drag racing on that long stretch of road, Chevy was hard to beat
Stealing peaches from a neighbor’s tree, always seemed so sweet
Riding bikes all over town, never knowing the meaning of fear
Identifying cars by their tail lights, make and model and year
News and Stooges at the theatre before the movie starts
Valentine’s day I love you written on tiny candy hearts
Easter bonnets and picking flowers for Mom on Mother’s Day
Opening day at the community pool the last weekend in May
Sock hop in the auditorium, collar up, trying to play it cool
Meeting friends at the usual place, everyday after school
Six for a quarter on the juke box, music that would move your soul
Return with me now to those glory days and the birth of rock and roll.

Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

My Friend, My Angel, My Unsung Hero

My life was falling to pieces, the cracked shards I couldn't glue together.
I was about to crumble and wash away my life in stormy weather.
With a rumble in my belly, to the soup kitchen I went in need.
Looking for a hot meal for me and my baby, the church did feed.
Sitting there at the table, an older man came to sit next to me.
He said, "I recognize you from my neighborhood, I know you see,
Can I sit with you and join you" we shared a meal, a good talk.
I started noticing him when I took my daughter on her walk.
We started to get to know each other, he was a good man.
I learned a lot of good advice, and he became my biggest fan.
He drove us all around the cities, places I've never seen before.
And we talked and talked for hours, and then we'd talk some more.
He kept my sanity when I struggled, and gave me a needed break.
We had the perfect balance to our relationship, a happy give and take.
He plowed my driveway when I was unable, mowed my grass twice.
He did so much for the neighborhood, he sure was giving and nice.
It broke my heart one morning, when I heard the ambulance wail.
To his door, he was on the floor, with a stroke, his body did fail.
Now he is in rehab, and I miss my friend every single day.
I can't wait until he comes back home, so kindness I could repay.
For all those reading this now, just remember angels are here.
And treasure them with every ounce of thankfulness when they appear.



07-28-2014
For Contest Unsung Hero

Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

A Ray Of Sun On A Rainy Day

i stood looking outside listening to the rain  with its long slender fingers tap a tune against my window squeegees in hand i could see  the troops of drops clean the air for a clearer view while on their descent people some walking  holding their umbrellas others running attempting to escape the cruel barrage of knocks to their heads there are a few children  in their rainy day gear locked and loaded steady and ready attacking the puddles with a fierce offensive  crushing any and all puddles  dare question their authority  jumping and diminishing  the enemy ruthlessly the children's joy propels me to thoughts  of the gift ahead a rainbow large or maybe a double arc fully colored vibrant interrupted  my kettle  whistles me over meticulously  i proceed to prepare my rainy day cocoa in my neighborhood it's a law rain? hot cocoa cocoa in hand i return to my show the trees are soaked the rain unrelenting  the plants forced to bend under the weight of heavy rain all the tiny flyers  seek shelter while birds  bomb dive  for their landing worms however are in their full glory out for their unscheduled shower later aliens with lamps shinning from their foreheads will gather to pluck worms  from the earth poor worms my daughters will be glad never having  liked crawlies  of any kind i suppose  they would think poor aliens the rain now is descending violently  apparently in cahoots  with the wind but still no  thunder or lightning  this must be their week off a paid vacation  i gather my cocoa only warm and almost finished i decide to bid the rain  a good night i head upstairs for my  daily shower
Maurice Yvonne September 12 2014 Rainy Day Contest

Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

Super Fly Spy

On the wall of a house I might be
Owned by *Brangelina Jolie.
There’s no real reason why.
I’m just one nosy fly.
Not to mention, Brad nude I might see!

House to house in each fine neighborhood
I’ll spy like a super fly should.
An “enquiring” mind,
Lots of scandal I’ll find.
As I fly over all Hollywood.

When I tire of the “stars,” I’ll fly to
Any place juicy plots might ensue.
Just beware. Flies like me
Are as sly as can be.
Right now I am looking at you!

*Brangelina refers to the coupleship of Brad & Angelina
I'm assuming they are still together?

For the Contest by Michael J. Falotico:
"A Fly on the Wall"

Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

Love and Care - Collabration



                             Its easy to become what you fear..
                 Could bring you down,or shift you into high gear

                          Embrace the hope you see in others..
               A neighborhood filled with loving sisters and brothers

                              Love and care for eachothers..
                      Always a helping hand and some leftovers

               Smiling faces in the streets,children playing in paradise
                     Come on over,check it out while we roll the dice..  








June 29th 2012

Anne Lise & Arild Andresen

* Collabration with my lovely hub

Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

Pink Tennis Shoes

PINK TENNIS SHOES

I mother always pride galore
 until the words from daughter abhor.

Her gentle heart and loving embrace
smashing to pieces. She fell from grace.

Her untied tenny shoe, wrapped and tight
around her bike, could free no might.

Mommy checking faithful each half hour
found her daughter helpless, no power.

Down the hill mommy went
no time was wasting nor was spent.

The wind passed threw my long hair locks
when shock took over from what I got.

Not what I thought from bike I bought
but cruelest words, my life distraught.

From those lips kissed each night to bed
not once, nor twice, but thrice to head.

“Hurry up old lady” from my daughter
 how my heart bleed of tears and water.

For no words crueler ever sere spoke.
My shame, the horror on face neighborhood folk.

My tail between my legs indeed
got there, put there by my third bore seed.

And mothers day and birthday too
three days from now turn 45, BOO-HOO!

Never knew my aging beauty fade
would be this hard for the lies I’ve made.

Lies I’ve told to self each day
that children’s love fulfillment may.
So on this very special mothers day
this “old lady”  family f--- off  say.


Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

Who Are the Men

Who are these men who would leave
To storm the gates of hell’s domain?
Who are these who don't grieve
For their brother’s wounds and pain?
For the sound of a thousand feet
That march to the beat of a drum
With the bitter taste of defeat
Bringing lonely soldiers back home.
Where are the girls of the neighborhood
Whose loves were lost at sea?
Where are those who died in foreign lands
Who hung on a forsaken tree?
They come from long lines of soldiers
Whose solemn duty was fulfilled;
And their blood lay silent on the ground
When the enemy had killed.
Where are the boys dressed in blue
Who flew when their eyes were blind?
Did God bless this awful mess
That was created by mankind?
Who are the warriors destined to fail
Who rode with the cross to die?
Will they go down in history
Did their mother's cry?
Who are these who would fight us now
Has their purpose been concealed?
Only with the dark hands of time
Will the reason be revealed.

Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

Lady Kathleen

She pours the brewed, hot cup of tea, as we relax here in the shade
Honeysuckle vines encircle the posts, of the old screened porch
Webs of daddy long-legs, glisten in the afternoon light, and I listen, intensely
while she nonchalantly chatters, telling me stories,..as if they were ordinary tales
                                 
True life adventures, that I can't imagine, but yes......they are real

She crossed an ocean, saw war, in action,
A life of adventure, of hardship, of courage, of fear
Yet, nothing revealed, to hint of the years
that have weathered her crinkles nor dampened her cheer

Inside the house, the counter is a clutter, piled high with dishes
The old floor is sticky, and dog hair floats in prisms of light
One old hound sleeps in the middle of the worn kitchen rug.
Another lame Labrador laps water from a pie tin,
     dripping water from his sloppy face across the peeling checkered floor.

Throughout the house, a lingering musky smell of well loved pets,
       and a stale, smoky odor of burnt toast from her attempt at breakfast.
Servants, cooks, gardeners, part of a long ago past.
The house is filled with dust covered, belongings
History fills each corner to mingle, along with the dust motes that linger in air
  
 Junk mail, newspapers, dog treats, documents and clippings
 prized antiques and artifacts, ......just facts of life, from how she sees them

On every shelf, and on the walls, are sepia-hued photographs
Famous faces I have seen, on the news, and on the screen

A handsome young man, and she was his bride
A commander when the world took sides
She followed him to the ends of the earth.  
And soon will gladly follow him to the grave

I sit here now,...with this woman of many lives.
Like one of the flowers on her porch, she wears a tattered, splattered dress.
Today, she is a homespun, country widow.
An extraordinary woman, this grand Duchess,
          yet now who bears traits of Ma Kettle
She brought class, dignity, and a wealth of knowledge
       to our small country neighborhood,....... to my life.
Here we are, together, so far from the world she once knew.
We sit in the shade of her covered porch
A long haired, grey cat jumps into her lap.
Under the veil of a summer day
I pour her another cup of tea, and a little more for myself.
    Tea is served, flavored with lemon....I have much more to drink in.....to savor.


________________________________________________________
A True Character....dear /Friend/and Neighbor (Kathleen Maitland) now deceased
Whose husband was an aviation pioneer
The most amazing couple I have ever known
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lester_J._Maitland
Revised 10/21/14   For Guatami's Contest: Sketch a Character

Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

His Old Pick-Up Truck

He begs me to come, but he's run out of luck You won't catch me dead in that beat-up old truck! It was painted blue...now the color is rust But you can't be too sure...since it's covered in dust!... The engine must idle, (about an hour is good) You can feel the vibration, around the whole neighborhood A life is at risk, if you go for a ride! The windshield is broken, and leaks rain inside It makes a weird noise, rides bumpy and rough The dashboard is littered and covered with "stuff" The seat cushion's torn, and it pokes at my rear The dog sits beside us and licks at my ear There's no place below us, for resting my feet There's a hole in the floor, O my God, there's the street!!! The windows don't close, so there's more than a breeze Wrappers from Twinkies, a Burger King box... One lonely old sneaker, and smelly old socks Half a stale donut smashed down on the floor Darn!! The dog beat me to it, and is looking for more!! The muffler is loose, you can see the sparks fly Dirty looks from the folks, who get smoke in their eyes When we drive by the neighbors, I duck my head and I hide I'm no Prima Donna....but I've still got some pride!! He loves that old truck, he calls her a gem! Make him choose between us??? ....I'd be out on a limb!!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------- For Verlena Walker's Slamming Battle Contest

Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

Turkey Chase

Turkey's on the table, both legs up
Everything was fine, 'til I made the first cut!

The turkey unleashed a "CACKLE!", then jumped onto the floor
All you could see was basted skin, bolting out the door!

"Catch that turkey!!", I screamed,..."That's our evening meal!!"
The neighborhood looked on in awe, while asking,..."What's the deal?!"

The turkey rounded the corner, boy, that sucker was quick
Dashing like a sprinter, pumpin' those massive drumsticks!

It darted down an alley, disturbed a hobo's nap
And there, seated in a corner, he jumped upon his lap!

"Thank you Lord!", the hobo cried..."Today I won't have to beg!"
"Maybe I'll start with a wing, or perhaps I'll have a leg!"

"Put the turkey down!!", I roared,..."That bird belongs to me!!"
All I could see was a tailwind, as the hobo decided to flee!

I chased him down the alley, perhaps a quarter mile
Acting a fool in public, was never quite my style!

We dashed across the freeway, dodging every car
All I want is my turkey, can't stop, I've come too far!

The chase led to a corner, right past a city cop
He stood there like a scarecrow, talk about a useless flop!

Suddenly, it ended, the bum tripped over his laces
He broke his leg quite viciously, in fact, several places!

I woke up the next morning, thank God it was just a dream
With a hangover and an achin' skull, "OUCH!!" is what I screamed!

I looked over at the table, what do you think I'd see?
That same ol' basted turkey, lying there peacefully!

I stumbled to the table, laid that bird in a box
Packed two sides with a bisquit, then staggered on down the block!

I came upon that alley, peeked behind a garbage can
And there, sleeping like a baby, was a ragged ol' homeless man!

I placed the box beside him, never did I say a word
I penned a note which kindly read,..."Hope you like the bird." 


Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

Mrs Briggs' cat

Mrs Briggs' cat. There's plenty to do in our neighborhood, with games and places to explore. But you really should run, 'cause the trouble's begun, when you hear that "meow" at your door. A cute little tabby cat sits on the step, all fluffy and gentle as can be. Just try not to be dim, as you pet it, on a whim, It'll eat you alive for its tea! "Tiddles" belongs to old Mrs Briggs, who lives up the end of my street. She thinks it's a breeze, but there're no guarantees, that this pussy will ever be sweet. Our local vicar thinks the damn thing's possessed, and I'd say that he's right on the nail. Surprised I would be, If I wasn't to see, Satan's head poking out of its tail! So if you see that tabby cat coming your way, I beg you, don't stand there and wait, Don't stroke it, don't pet it, look, sunshine, FORGET IT, Or that moggy will seal your fate!

Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

How, When and Why


According to my neighborhood, 
(All experts on the topic), 
Opinions vary, none too good, 
One called it "Catastrophic". 

Exterminators sigh, refrain 
Condolences, I'm sorry. 
At City Hall, they're shocked, exclaim
They have no such Department 
 

To know that squirrels are running wild, 
I hear them as they scamper. 
An attic is a sacred place, 
Secure, not meant to tamper. 

Their next move, chewing all the wire 
And gnawing through the rafters. 
I hear them squeak a vermin's choir 
And hear my own crazed laughter. 

That life dare heave this final ho, 
But agents know thier timelines. 
The hours when the house is shown,
Their outdoor play, the best time.

I also left the scheduled due
When freight train horns will pass through.



Gene Bourne
08-26-14




.


Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

A Different Game

Friends and trouble go hand in hand.
Legends of the  neighborhood.
Like statues  and vacant buildings  still stand.

A crime in plain view no one ever saw.
Held hostage in fear.
The mouse sturggles to escape from 
cats claw.

Blood on the bricks  that stains my mind.
Time takes me away.
Yet never leaves the memory far behind.

Summers in the city nights run into days.
We turn are backs to the truth.
But in this game everyone plays.

Heros are villians  depending 
on who you are.
Stories told bout the other night.
Hidden truths  like the bat under the bar.

The players are future tombstones
Men glorified beyond there name.
the citys children caught within her  confines.
Forced to play a different  game.

 


Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

Unsung Hero - My Mom

Unsung Hero – My Mom


My Mom has always been unassuming, never flashy,
But her name deserves to be up in bright neon lights.
My magnificent Mom, Olegaria, is my hero!
In her eyes, no one is a zero,
And she is a blessing to all who crosses her path.
Successfully raising her own five children,
She also helped to raise all the stray children in her neighborhood.
Her guiding motto is “You can’t believe in God and
Not care about others - whether it is people, plants, or animals.”

An extraordinary human being, generous to a fault,
She would give her last slice of bread
To anyone who needed to be fed.
Nothing, including her time, is too good or too precious 
To share with family, friends, and even strangers.
Often she’d sacrifice her own happiness,
If it meant that others would be happy.

While Mamacita is very humble, forgiving, and non-judgmental,
She is nobody’s fool and can be a fierce lioness, 
Quick to defend her values and those she loves.
Caring mothers like her are especially rare today,
And should be declared national treasures.
Because of her powerful influence and the solid values she instilled,
I am a stronger, kinder, more conscientious, and better person.

My Mom helped me to see life in a more positive
And compassionate way – to treat people 
How I would like to be treated.
Even though she is not a regular church-goer,
She prays several times daily and her home is her altar.
I thank God every day for blessing me with this wonderful mother,
And for her continued presence in my life.
Mom, you will always be my hero!



Entered in “Unsung Hero Contest” sponsored by Carol Eastman (7-30-
2014).

Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

Kresge's Five And Dime Stores

I was reminiscin' the other day about times that were more sublime,
And got to thinkin' about those old stores called Kresge's Five and Dime.
I recall browsin' through Kresge's Stores as a lad with Mom and Dad.
There ain't no more Kresge's Stores as far as I know and that is very sad.

There was a Kresge's in every sleepy town along Main Street.
Sittin' on a stool at the lunch counter was always a special treat.
Munchin' on a hotdog and tater chips and then a slab of cherry pie,
Or maybe a sundae concocted by the soda jerk would lighten up my eye!

Notions galore were displayed on tables, bins, racks and shelves.
Friendly clerks stood by to help but folks generally helped themselves.
The cashier put yer money in a tube that sailed off into space,
And in a trice returned yer change from some mysterious place!

I recall the squeaky wooden floors and visitin' the store at Christmas time,
When Santa Claus doled out bags of candy to kids at each Five and Dime.
Alas, those neighborhood stores have been replaced by huge national chains,
And only pleasant memories of Kresge's Five and Dime Stores remains.

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved

Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

BROTHERS

           I awoke to a memory that asked to be felt through the emotions of 
An early rising seeing boys playing in the park without wondering
                  about the meaning of life because at that time life had no 
 meaning only to be lived and enjoyed in the moment
                   And I wondered
Was it better then as a tear climbed downward on the lines carved deeply in a 
face that had
          Seen so much and loved so fervently
                                 Those days when a sandlot became an arena and the ringing 
of laughter echoed
Through a neighborhood
Where there were skinned knees and sprained ankles but hearts were left
        Unharmed and the gladiators had not seen 13 yet
While skirts were still a reason for giggling and it was more important to reach 
first base from the hot corner than it was
                To acknowledge her smile because 
We were warriors with a common bond
                                                BROTHERS




Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

Pyramus-Thisbe - a selfless love-W

Pyramus was the handsome young man
Thisbe the fair maiden of Babylon.
The houses of their parents did adjoin 
Neighborhood brought the two in relation.
And the acquaintance ripened into love
And the fire within them burnt with bright glow.
Would have married, but their parents forbid
Ardor in hearts of both they couldn’t forbid
They did converse by signs, one can think of
The fire within them burnt like glow covered
But Venus doesn’t always befriend true love.

They found crack in wall that parted the houses
In spared passage for tender messages
Caused by fault in the wall of the mansion
What will not love find for satisfaction!
They passed the tender messages of love
As the night fell they said farewell with awe
Moving backward and forward through the gap
She on her side, he on his, kissed the gap.
One morn the sun put out the stars above
From the watchful eyes, they tried to slip up
But Venus doesn’t always befriend true love.

Then Thisbe stole forth as agreed upon
Unobserved, her head covered with a veil
Out of city’s bounds edifice well known
Waited for Pyramus near a fountain trail.
In the dim light she descried a lioness
Nearing the fountain with blood reeking jaws
With a recent slaughter to slake her thirst.
She fled dropping her veil out of fright.
After quenching thirst turned back for her cove
Renting the veil in bloody mouth on her retreat
But Venus won’t always befriend true love.

Having delayed Pyramus arrived there
Saw footsteps of the lioness in the sand
And found the veil all bloody over there
Crying picked up the rent veil in his hand.
Thought himself to be the cause of her death
Covering the veil with kiss and with tear
And said, come ye lioness tear with your teeth
Let my blood also shall stain your texture.
He plunged sword into his heart with a shove
Blood spurted, tingling the tree with red color
But Venus doesn’t always befriend true love.

Thisbe stepped out not to disappoint him
She noticed the change in the tree’s color
In the agonies of death she saw him.
A shudder ran as ripple in still water.
She saw her veil and his scabbard empty.
He has slain himself for her sake only.
She said, “I could be brave and follow thee
Death alone couldn’t prevent my joining thee
Love and death join us, one tomb be our grove”
She plunged the sword in her breast near the tree
But Venus doesn’t always befriend true love.

Envoi 
Such tale of the self-less love presented
The two bodies in one tomb were buried 
Pyramus-Thisbe tale our hearts do move
Berries serve memorials of their blood
But Venus doesn’t always befriend true love.


                           +++
Dr. Ram Mehta
Second Place win
Contest: Your favourite poem by Giorgio Veneto

**Chant royal [shahn rwa-yal], 
A French verse form normally consisting of five stanzas of eleven 10-syllable lines 
rhyming ababccddede, followed by an envoi (or half-stanza) rhyming ddede. The last 
line of the first stanza is repeated as a refrain at the end of the succeeding stanzas and 
of the envoi. The pattern is similar to that of the ballade, but even more demanding. 88


Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

My Bicycle

Once I had a bicycle,
A loving present from my grandfather;
Since I was his favorite granddaughter,
He granted my wish at a snap of my finger .

Since he was so old,
A new bicycle he could hardly afford;
He took his bike when he was young,
Which I found it once at the back of our barn.

As far as I remember,
It was really so old and rugged;
But my grandpa was like Mr. Mac-Gyber,
Amazingly fixing all things all-over.

My granda was a well-known painter,
I thought he will repaint and use sandpapers;
When I surreptitiously sneaked into his hut,
He was there recycling all my milk cans.

When everything was done,
He gladly gave it to me with a big hug;
I hurriedly drove it at once,
Down the street and field with so much fun.

“My bike was real a unique one!” I thought.
So different from others in our neighborhood,
Its wailing siren was made up of a  cow’s horn,
Tubes were made of dried bamboos and corn.

Other parts were still the same,
Like forks, hubs and chainwheel set,
The rest were made up  of my milk cans,
They were pedal, brake and seatgear stem.

Handle bars were what I like  most,
Converted from the handle of his old plow;
So sturdy and so strong all I knew,
And  I can drive it  so long in full control.

However, when I travelled quite afar,
Parts were falling one at a time;
Until everything suddenly split apart,
Eventually it dropped and rolled me down.



Date: Aug. 3, 2012
( A loving tribute to my dearest Dad)


4th Place Winner (My Very First Winning Poem)
Contest: Any Poem of the Week Contest
Contest Judged: 8/4/12         
Poet Sponsor: Poet-Destroyer

Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

Thanksgiving Pudding

Mix up all the love felt for my family, God, and Home.

Sprinkle in the gratitude for material blessings from above.

Blend well, holiday cheer.

Whip the the blues and set aside.

Let the Joy rise to overflowing.

let all the friends partake of the blessings, Warm the hearts of others in my path, sautee the 
ingredients and Share the Love with all the neighborhood. Set a spell and enjoy.


My Recipe for Thanksgiving Pudding

Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

Zolar the Inet God

(after Edgar Allan Poe's "The Angel of the Odd")

It was a tidy day and I sat, replete, under vellux blankets.
Sadly, my tea was weak, the bottle of cinnamon whiskey
tantalizingly low, and my feet swelling above my anklets.
So I was snippy one might say, zippy, flipping with zee...

from one screen to the next, oops, forgot! Poor Usain Bolt!
Yes, I took it out upon him. Dressed him first in bouncy hearts
cruel, I admit, and then purposefully fried him, let him float,
banged him, tripped him, let the sloth dine, and let out a fart.

Crude, I admit. Let's blame it on the tea, shall we? "I say not."
I sat up. Who had spoken to little old me, an old lady too weak
for any great villian with a booming voice. I blew out my snot,
found my glasses and good grief! The speaker made of teak.

Pseudo teak, my stereo a bit old. But leaning against the wall
fruity-kins wearing leotards when he should not, the belly
like a spiked watermelon. I admit I considered a sip at neck gall
but got turned off by papaya thighs, arms turned banana jelly.

Who are you, I squeaked, smushing low to hide like a flea.
"Zolar, the Inet God. Say, I wonder, are you  a high roller?"
No, no, said I. No bingo, no slots, no high stake poker, just see...
"See? I see far too well. You let my buddy Usain go polar."

Tee hee. Just, um, fun and games. How about a nice slushy?
Yes, I admit it. With such as he, I couldn't help but imagine
giving a blender whirr, a smash and splash, sort of plushy.
With glee whee, off went vellux and I set to the kitchen.

The rum was old and watery, the vodka scummy at collar
and all went crash. Imagine the horror if you will, foot rot
 in my fine spirits? My hoover sucked it without bother
and when I examined residue, found crumbs, hairs and a dot

of mushy raisins. So I googled on my phone  with askance
how purify spirits? Zolar suggested kindly, "Try a colander."
A genius of the mash, a nonpariel of the objective chance.
My mind turned to such grater things I made my first blunder.

Who'd believe a fresh market reject could move with alacrity
I swung a hammer, missed his head, slipped on the slick floor.
The recoil hit my head, and I bled red vintage, singing a ditty,
Oh me, oh my. I'm gonna cry, while Zolar went out the door.

Not leaving my just desserts to chance, I slipped and slithered
rubbed my foot rot, and hopped after him, butcher knife in hand.
A beep from my iPhone and away he dodged, while I dithered
leading me, up, up and out to where it rained to beat the band.

It hit me then, just get close enough to hug Zolar, then push
he must have read my mind because he darted and I flew
head over heels, but thankfully over a branch like a lush
who did okay on the acrobatic bars, hair tangling in dew

covered maple leaves and my dismount worthy of a ten.
I mucked toward my door,  my bare feet covered with mud
I opened the door, except it was locked, no window open.
I checked my pockets, found a lighter, snapped, a dud.

No phone, can you imagine? Even Usain Bolt wouldn't recover
such blasphemy as rain, muck, and maniac fruit without zen.
I now had an axe to grind and a green house to uncover.
My thirst now absurd, my mind stuck on might have been

I raged, thrashed through cabinets, seeking a bottle once stored
and found it. Amen. I uncapped it, took a deep swallow
Hot. Hot, hot! Immediately I upchucked, help me I implored
to the God of the Inet, Oh Zolar, call 911, don't let me wallow

It's cold, wet, dark and mucky, and here I'm all upchucky
I pounded on doors, they'd open, snap a flash then close
oh, woe, woe. I clutched my head, my throat, I'm ever so unlucky
to wish to slip into slushy and end up posted before repose.

A siren in the night grew and grew, then flashed beside me
a voice said, "Ma'am? Can you hold it right there, put your hands
overhead?" Sure, but bladder being bad I couldn't stop my wee wee
from dribbling down my leg, then my feet slipped unplanned.

That's how the news pictured me, along with neighborhood
postings, feet all asply, a phew of urine and of whiskey,
my hair filled with leaves, eyes black and blue, and would
you believe it? My hand rests on watermelon, me unable to flee.

I never go near the iNet, never search out or  bash Usain Bolt.
The night of Zolar in mind, I even gave up cinnamon whiskey.
Because a fruit in hand is better than an axe to grind or a volt
from lightning, with tush grounded and no vellux to cover me.

Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

Other Side of The Rainbow

It was on the other side of the rainbow
When I slid into a dream
I guess at that time nothing was, as it truly seemed
People came and people went
The needle played my blues
Through the rainbow dreams into leprechaun schemes
I was Papa Smurf with the magic brew
I built a Crystal Castle
On the shores of nevermore
I guess sometimes I wonder, “What was I searching for”
Beauty danced with big brown eyes
Though the faces always changed
Many times I slept with gals I thought were rather strange
Magic slides that no one hides
I wonder where they go?
I once slid down the rainbow just to see the show
The stars are bright it’s a beautiful night
Moonbeams illuminating mushrooms all around
Here by my house crickets and frogs are the only sound
Fairies dance like fireflies 
It’s really quite the sight
Ever tripped down Hollywood and Vine on a Friday night
I have lived through many dreams
Shared many angels souls
Shattered dreams and broken schemes, nothing but empty goals
Broken hearts torn apart
Blowing in the wind
Like fairy dust you just can’t trust
Not even your closest friend
I dove into a crystal pool on the other side of the hill
I swear sometimes in my ears I can hear the ringing still
I rode upon the tornado just to go spinning through the sound
Landed in a concrete room bouncing all around
Leprechauns and rainbows
Unicorn’s beautiful and white
When I finally kicked the horse
It wasn’t a pretty sight
Like a frog on the log or a sick old dawg
Just a skeleton in a box
With the strength of Arthur's sword and trust in the Lord
I shattered a thousand locks
Now I’m back on this side of the rainbow
And every thing’s looking bright
My Guinevere is here and I love her dear
She is such a lovely sight
Trials come like waterfalls
Flooding though our life
I truly am a lucky man to face them with my wife
Well let’s gig the frog and fire up the log
We’ll roast us a pig tonight
Life is good in my neighborhood
Nary a single vice
The other side of the rainbow now seems so very far away
I guess that is really about all I have to say

Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

The Neighborhood

I know we love to read of beautiful things 
Hear early morning serenades the song bird sings

See buds blooming into roses perfumed
Within majestic sunset's horizons become consumed

There's another place I lived in for a little while
A neighborhood where somethings didn't make me smile

A child banging on the door, mommy let me inside
Things in the home, I guess from his eyes they must hide

I befriended a boy of ten riding his  bike
Said he always went to me-maws to get a bite

For there was no food in his house to eat
Dad found other things to buy instead of meat

A few days pass, no sign of my friend
There he was riding down the street again

I asked where he'd been, was he alright?
He explained he was recovering from a bad dog's bite

I asked him what the doctor had said
He replied, I sewed it myself with a needle and thread

I reluctantly said, let me see your nice sewing job
He pulled up his pant leg, I choked back  a sob

I asked him if his daddy was ever mean
He shrugged his shoulders, said sometimes it seems

It kinda hurt my feelings when he said to me
Finish him off - right between the eyes
I won't feed a dog that bites
Not worth the ground where he lies

Sitting on his bike, a leg began to sway
Eyes filled with tears, quickly he wiped one away 
Remembering the killing shot he'd fired that day

Toughen up son, is what his father said
Advice given in love, maybe....
Then off on his bike he rode to have some fun...

I know in some places many families still really care
But Mayberry exists only on TV in shades of gray

I moved back to the country where buds bloom into roses perfumed
And into majestic sunset's horizons I can be consumed

©Donna Jones

Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

Cowboys Can Change

Inspired by another poem by another poet---------just for fun



Oh, I didn't know that cowboys
weren't respected and revered
John Wayne, when he passed away
Brought me close to tears
But now I know that people
Think we're all just trailer trash
So I've taken of my boots
And tossing out my hats

There's no more eating beans
upon these dirty plates
And movin' from this trailer park
Oh brother I can wait
But, putting cars on blocks
Oil changes in the yard
Stopping those activities
I swear it will be hard

Beer cans won't get piled high
In a pyramid, way out back
My pit bulls won't be barkin'
Always ready to attack
Soon I'll trade-in my pick-up
For a brand new SUV
And I'll become more citified 
For the whole dang world to see


I won't mistreat my woman
And call her an old cow
And I won't let my kid's
Ride a bull, or catch a sow
Oh, I didn't know that cowboys
Were just lazy and no good
So we're moving from the country
Right to your neighborhood 




Details | Neighborhood Poem | |

LUNCH BOX

LUNCH BOX

The sandwich was probably only two days old
School had let out for Christmas vacation on the 23rd
And now    on Christmas Eve    Sam had found it -        
     lunchbox and all -  in an alley behind Clarke’s Super
The kid had taken a couple of bites of the apple – now
     gone brown- but left the roast beef sandwich whole
“Too damn much mayo!” Sam frowned
“But boy am I hungry!”

Licorice    the cat – so named by the neighborhood kids –
     was hungry too    and let Sam know it with his most
     plaintiff cry
Sam was street-wise    an old cardboard box dweller who
     had tenanted many boxes   many alleys    in his time
Yet    this was no “Hello puss    whose puss are you?”
     animal summons for attention
The yowl had a bone-rattle desperation Sam hadn’t heard
     before

Licorice blended with the night
But stood out even against the gloom
She was pressed against an empty oil barrel    back arched
     on the tips of her paws    so almost skeletal
Sam couldn’t help but sigh
It was Christmas Eve    and despite the location – a forlorn
     back alley – a string of lights (from somewhere) were
     blinking
On
Off
On
Off
On
Off
On
The red-green-gold shown against Licorice’s satin fur
Charmed the (already charmed) night
Charmed Sam the Box Man
“Well I’ll be damned!” he gulped
Then threw half the sandwich to the starving kitty
“Merry Christmas old beggar.” Sam smiled