Long poem by
Suzette Richards | Details |
It was a visit long overdue by most people’s standards. I had last seen my daughter two years prior to that during a whirlwind trip which she and her fiancé had made to Cape Town. I had an unexpected financial windfall and the money was burning a hole in my pocket. On the spur of the moment, I called my daughter and asked her to source accommodation for me in London over the Christmas season. A few days later, she called me back with the news that all the hotels had been booked up, save for the Ritz. I chuckled at the idea of having to spend my entire holiday budget on just one night at the Ritz. Then reason asserted itself and we put our heads together to come up with an alternative solution. I could hear her flatmate in the background, chipping in with her penny’s worth of advice. My daughter hung up and I was feeling down in the mouth about the plans for the trip being derailed in such a fashion. Later that evening, my daughter called back with the offer that if I did not object to sleeping on the settee in the lounge, I would be most welcome to stay with them at their London flat. I gladly accepted. She is a chef at a top restaurant and I was looking forward to gourmet meals prepared by her - including the Christmas turkey.
screeching seagulls dive
at sushi scraps on a plate -
the urchin watches
The evening of the booked flight to London, arrived. It was an uncomfortable hot day and I showered and dressed with only minutes to spare before my friend took me to the airport to book in the statuary two hours before international flight departures. At the airport everything was in chaos. We were given the unwelcome news that our flight had been cancelled. This was the third direct flight to London which had been cancelled that week due to London experiencing the worst weather and snow since records began in 1890! We were offered alternative flights and had to stand in queues for hours in order to procure a new airline ticket. Some people became very verbose and insisted on being granted passage on other airline carriers (at the cost of our local airline carrier).
I do not know whether it was due to the weather or the disappointment I was feeling, but when my turn came at last to book a new flight, I readily agreed to fly on Christmas Eve ( three days hence) to London. If I had been given time to reflect on this date, I would not have accepted it. Arriving in London on Christmas Day would have been disastrous: The tubes and other public transport would have been curtailed on Christmas Day and shops and other amenities would have been closed for the day. This I knew from previous trips to the UK over the festive season. To add insult to injury, taxis would have charged triple for cab fare and no amount of quibbling would have swayed them. I phoned my friend to collect me and when we got home, I poured a large glass of Merlot and retired on the sun lounger in the garden. It was *full moon that evening and it was almost worth missing the trip to witness its beauty. I left my bags in the hallway and retired early – after phoning my daughter and giving her an update on the status quo.
between moon flowers -
Six am the following morning, I was woken up by the phone ringing. Sleepily I took the call. It was the airline inquiring whether I could get to the airport by seven am. My friend was dancing up and down in agitation and already had the car out by the time I had brushed my teeth. I offered to pay any speeding fines which she might incur during our mad dash to get to the airport on time.
The flight was an additional service which was laid on to get the backlog of passengers to their desired destinations. Heathrow had given our pilots permission to proceed, hence the call to me that morning. We were a total of thirty six passengers on the Boeing 747 – it translated to two passengers per crew member. We were treated to five in flight movies which were current and could eat and drink as much as we wished to. By the time we landed in London at seven pm that evening, there was a festive spirit among us. A radio taxi (which my daughter had organised) was waiting to collect me at Heathrow airport. It was a chilly four degrees Celsius below zero and I was grateful for my leather coat and wool accessories.
steep steps to flat
shut out the bitter world -
a heart pounds
*The December 2010 lunar eclipse occurred from 5:27 to 11:06 UTC on December 21, coinciding with the date of the December solstice. It was visible in its entirety as a total lunar eclipse in North and South America, Iceland, Ireland, Britain and northern Scandinavia.
"bitter" means piercingly cold..... A term commonly used by Britishers...
"flat" means apartment. The Londoners I know, refer to it as just "flat" with no adj or possessive noun or article. Please see the About section for explanations regarding the 1ST AND LAST haiku.
Haibun(literally, haikai writings) is a prosi-metric literary form originating in Japan, combining prose and haiku. The range of haibun is broad and includes the autobiography, diary, essay, prose poem, short story and travel journal. ~ Wikipedia
Long poem by
Darryl Ashton | Details |
The misery guts on Christmas Morning!
Christmas Morning...With Alf Garnett jnr!
(This is based on both the classic US and UK TV sitcoms of All In The Family,
which starred Archie Bunker - and the Til Death Us Do Part - starring Warren
Mitchell as the bigoted and loud mouth Alf Garnett - which actually did inspire
All In The Family.)
(Some strong language is included in this feature)
(Alf wakes up with a hangover)
ALF: "Oh, my head!"
ELSIE: "Serves you right! Stopping out till all hours, drinking and smoking.
Now you're fit for nothing!"
ALF: "Shaddap, you silly moo!"
ELSIE: "Do you want some breakfast?"
ALF: "No, I bloody don't! Just a cup of tea!"
ELSIE: "I don't know what I'm gonna do with this!"
ALF: "With what?"
ELSIE: "This, turkey, you bought from the market! It's too big!"
ALF: "Just cook it...and we'll all bloody well eat it!"
ELSIE: "A nice bit of pork would have done us! This will be wasted!"
ALF: "Oh, stop yer nagging, will you! Just bloody well cook it, and we'll eat
what we can! Bloody women!"
ELSIE: "But this won't fit in the oven! I don't know why you had to buy such a
big fat bird, in the first place!"
ALF: "Only you is doing the bloody complaining, my dear! Only you is bloody
moaning about the bloody turkey! The good lord has seen fit to bless us with
ELSIE: "Well, he hasn't got to cook it, has he!"
ALF: "Well, perhaps if you pray a bit harder - he just might come down and
bloody well cook it for you!"
ELSIE: "You pig!"
(Knock on the door)
ALF: "Bloody hell, who's that, bloody knocking? Shouldn't be bloody knocking
on people's houses - not Christmas morning! Tell them to sod off!"
ELSIE: "They're carol singing! Can you hear them?"
ALF: "Yes! Bloody yes! I don't want to bloody well hear them! Bloody annoying
it is! Begging, they are! Bloody parents I blame!"
ELSIE: "What's on the TV?"
ALF: "The same as every bloody Christmas - bloody garbage! Repeats! Carol
bloody singers, news readers, spitting out the bad news all the bloody time.
Should be illegal, it should!"
ELSIE: "Well, I like the carol singers! I like the fairies, too!"
ALF: "What bloody fairies?"
ELSIE: "The fairies on the tree!"
ALF: "Bloody trees, waste of bloody money! Too much mess on the floor!"
ELSIE: "Well, you don't clean up, do you, I do it! Just like I do all the cooking,
and cleaning, and you go up the pub! Christmas is hard work for me!"
ALF: "Oh...shaddap, you bloody silly moo! Bloody Christmas! Should be
banned - too expensive! Bloody three wise men - starting a bloody panic they
ELSIE: "The hotels are always full at Christmas!"
ALF: "Yeah, poor baby Jesus, was born in a bloody stable! Bloody cold he was,
ELSIE: "Yes, it was terrible! He was born in the stable with them cows and
everything! You see, all the hotels were full! So they couldn't get in one!"
ALF: " You bloody silly moo!!!! They didn't have hotels back then - it wasn't
known as bloody Christmas! Sometimes your intelligence really does bloody
well astound me!"
ELSIE: "I love them carol singers! They sound like they're happy!"
ALF: "Of course, they're bloody well happy - they going round and annoying
people - singing their bloody heads off - when they should be home with their
mom and dads!"
ELSIE: "Look on the TV, all them stars are on! All working Christmas Day! Even
America has been on!
Elsie: "I like the America!"
ALF: "The people on the TV are recorded, they don't work on Christmas Day!
There'd be bloody riots if they had to come in to work!"
ELSIE: "But they're there, look, on the TV? How can they be at home - and on
our televisions at the same time?"
ALF: "You bloody silly moo! You really are going bloody well senile! Here, have a
bloody drink! They prerecord their shows!"
ELSIE: "Look? Obama's on the TV!"
ALF: "Sod, Obama!!!!"
ELSIE: "Well, I like him! He's got a good suntan!"
ALF: "You bloody silly moo - he's naturally bloody brown! He's running around
bloody well gloating! Bring back yer George Washington!"
ELSIE: "What, Washington? Oh, the pub/bar!"
ALF: "If you listened a bit more to the news - you'd bloody well know which
Washington! It's yer American stuff!"
ELSIE: "Well, I want to see the Queen! When she on?"
ALF: "She's in her bloody palace - having her dinner! She's managed to cook
her bloody turkey! Unlike you! You silly moo!"
ELSIE: " Are you going down the pub tonight?"
ELSIE: "You should stay here, with me!"
ALF: "I've got to go! It's traditional!"
ELSIE: "Yes, but it isn't traditional to come back home like a drunken pig!"
ALF: "Shaddap! Stop yer bloody moaning, woman! It's Christmas! I'll bring yer
a bottle of beer and some nuts back! Ha Ha Ha Ha!!!!"
ALF: "Baa bloody humbug!!!!"
Long poem by
Caleb Smith | Details |
Other than the image of my father looking up to the trees, most of the hunt leading
up to my test, is a fog. I do know that he had killed several squirrels that day,
because it was my job to follow along, pick them up, and stuff them in his vest.
I was fairly content to do just that. My clear recollection of the hunt begins with
us spotting a big fox squirrel high up in a tree. It was either too far or too protected
for a clear shot, so we made an attempt to get closer. Keep in mind, these aren't
city squirrels, folks. When a critter around here spots a man in the woods, it runs
for its life. This guy was no exception, and he high-tailed it through the tops,
jumping from tree to tree. We chased him into an area where the ground was
thick with thorn bushes and vines ... a thicket. At some point, my dad became
tangled and hung in the thorns. I came up beside him to help, but he only brushed
me off and handed me his gun.
That was quite a moment for me. When my fingers wrapped around that old
shotgun, I felt like a man. Now, that might sound ridiculous to some of you, but
it wasn't the fact that I was holding a gun that made me feel that way. I'd held
and fired quite a few guns by the time I was seven. It was the fact that I was
holding my dad's gun ... my grandfather's gun, and I knew what he meant for me
to do with it. But ...I just stared at it.
"Well go on! Go get that sucker," is what he said to me.
And so I went. To be honest, I was terrified. I remember that very clearly. I was
terrified that I would lose the squirrel, or worse, miss it, and have to come back in
shame. So, I held nothing back. I tore through those thorns like an angry bear,
and they tore back at me. My arms, hands, and face were all scratches and cuts
before the ordeal was over. The whole time, I did what I’d been taught.
“Mind your feet, but keep your eyes up,” he would have told me.
I must have chased that darn squirrel through half a mile of thicket, toting that
old gun, before I had a clear shot. I’ll never forget … the limbs stopped shaking,
and there he was, running around the trunk of a huge red oak. Lucky for me, he
stopped on my side to chance a look at the hunter. I was so tired by now that
when I raised the gun, I could barely hold it up. It heaved up and down with my
chest while I desperately tried to find him in my sights. Again, like I’d been
taught, I took in a deep breath and let it out slow. I saw orange hair, and I fired.
When I picked myself up off the ground, I was shaky and my head was
pounding. The percussion had knocked me flat. But there he was. Old Mr. Fox
squirrel was dead at the base of the old red oak. So, I sat down with my back
against the tree, put my dad’s gun in my lap, and cried. It was the first time I’d
ever killed an animal for food, and the first time I’d ever killed any creature
outside of a snake or two … and maybe an unlucky bird who got in the way
of my slingshot. It was also the first and only time I ever cried after a kill.
I reckon I was partly sad about taking a life, and partly glad that it was all over.
I was tired, bleeding, and still a little rocked from the shot. My dad had put a
lot on a little guy’s shoulders.
But as soon as I saw him walking up, all that emotion turned into pride. He
was smiling, and I knew he was proud of me. I stood and held my kill up by
the tail to show him. I remember how he clapped me on the back and said,
“Man! You got im’ didn’t cha?”
My father, a man of few words, and fewer compliments, had just made me
more proud than I had ever been … and possibly ever would be until my own
children were born. The hunt was over, but I didn’t follow him out of the woods
that day. We walked side by side.
I’m sure many of you think that seven is far too young to be introduced to
firearms, and maybe it is. But it’s part of our culture here … it’s as simple as
that. Many children learn to hunt at a very young age.
My dad bought me my own shotgun that following Christmas …a single shot
4-10. My son hunts with it now, and it sits in my gun safe right next the old 16
gauge, among others. My son, Cade, never got to see the Black Lake Woods.
They were gone not long after he was born, and I can only tell him stories
about them. It’s possible that my father knew exactly what he was doing that
day. There’s a part of me that thinks he meant to get tangled up in those
vines. Though …I’ve never asked him, and I reckon I never will.
Long poem by
Carol Eastman | Details |
A little girl lost her home this year, for her, Christmas wouldn't be there.
Her family was angry from all the troubles, they simply couldn't repair.
Don’t bother us about presents her parents said, they were depressed by their fate.
With bitterness they said, you’d be lucky to have dinner tonight, or even a plate.
Life was harsh, nowhere to go, anger and fear had put their souls, in a terrible place.
The little girl had found no hope or joy, lurking near their old car, of late.
The car was their home, gas money was scarce, and with few places they could park.
Yes, their troubles had slowly extinguished, that precious hopeful spark.
Without that spark, they’d never find their way, from this terrible place of cold and dark.
And life’s darkness grew deeper nightly, as hope vanished under a reality so stark.
Even the very fiber of her family, seemed to be shattering slowly, slowly, apart.
The child felt alone here in this dark car, as sadness tried to engulf her little girls heart.
The future seemed filled with hopelessness, as shame and dread, were leaving their mark.
Embarrassment to be seen and turned away, made it hard for them to reach out, to restart.
But life goes on, and we can’t fear to rebuild, or the future will be hard to impart.
The girl suddenly declared there’s more to life, and she wouldn't let it conquer her heart.
She decided triumphs will come, and all will get better, if she held to that hopeful spark.
Seeing the desolation and anger here, she couldn't stay around, she had to get away…
So she climbed out of the car, and she walked into town, not so very far to stray.
She went and looked at the store windows, where Christmas was being displayed.
The music and people filled her heart, lifting her spirits, deep inside, that day.
She noticed a store, way down at the end of the row, on the next block, where it lay.
No one was there, it seemed lonely, and the darkness was again, spreading it’s decay.
She ran there in time to see an old man closing up, with sadness on his face betrayed.
What use were his goods, if no one would shop, or come down along his way?
The super store down the block, was daily making him lose more and more in the fray.
He could no longer afford to hire people, and the season had very little time, to stay.
As they talked the girl saw that she couldn't let the darkness take another, so she prayed.
Then she told the old man, if he’d open the shop, she’d bring customers down his way.
She added, she’d find reasonable workers, if her family could live upstairs, she portrayed.
First bring the customers, he said, and the rest will be yours little friend, he conveyed.
She had him put his best toys, as a contest prize, and to add lots of lights on the display.
He set a contest, “Winners-the best collectors for families in need” on Christmas Eve.
He put out a bright contest sign, but still nobody came to his end of the block, to survey.
So she had him call the Salvation Army, for a kettle, Bell ringer, and Carolers, who came
Lickety split, their way.
Then she had him call a dear old friend, and farmer, to bring a tractor full of bails of hay.
Another volunteered his horse and sleigh, both, to see the city lights thru New Years Day.
This was a great idea, since the older drivers, could use the help, for their bills to pay.
The girl ran all over spreading the excitement, and to come see the prizes, his way.
The families suddenly started heading toward his door, and to those wondrous rides.
At that moment her parents came, and she explained what her hope, had improvised.
Her father talked a contractor into building a disabled family a home, to help advertise.
He could get a tax break; come to this store for supplies, and hire unemployed workers, he devised, so wise.
In the end, each night grew brighter, because of a girls hope, and heart-warming delight.
And the old man began smiling for the first time, in a long, long, time, starting that night.
All was saved, a home was found, and another built, as a sad little girl taught grownups to smile along the way…
You might say, A Spark of Hope lit a candle, then a raging fire, which was burning bright by Christmas day.
The moral to my story is:
Never give up on Hope; it’s your best friend, as life brings its troubles your way…
Know that with time, a good heart, good will, and friendly ways…
You can find God’s gifts again, if you don’t let the dark take you away…
Long poem by
Therese Bacha | Details |
~A To Z An Amazing Couple~
A is for Allow me to write a poem about my best friends
love affair with an army man, she was 35 years old he was
the same age living together for the past 5 years.
B is for Believing his love towards her as thee perpetual
love of the century their love is amazing, their sharing is
united, intelligence, its endearment, understanding
everything for a wonderful happy life together.
C is for Creative in her work, she is a born philosopher
so much she has patience, she loves her job, she exists
to give all her entity to her lover.
D is for Destiny for a unison hopefully to be able
to have a child of their own. They try each month
the tests come out negative.
E is for Eloping one day when she gets pregnant
marry and settle down in a beautiful country side
mansion that has been bought already.
F is for Forgetting to think about moving now to their
new home until she becomes pregnant. This month her
hopes were high as a future mother would sense that.
G is for Great news was announced on the phone to her
husband she is pregnant. That evening was a unique
celebration champagne dinner for 2 in the most beautiful
restaurant by the ocean. Following that evening was their
love making an enormous pleasure together never happened
before she told me.
H is for Happiness to the beyond, apart her work the buying
stuff for the baby, the babies room was a heavenly event for
both of them, they moved that month to their mansion by the
I is for Induced her delivery in the hospital that day, and her baby
son was born in 2 hours, so healthy and beautiful baby lying in
his mothers arms looking at her with yearning eyes.
J is for Joining close family and friends after a few days arrival
at their mansion.
K is for Kissing the baby and his dream she's a mother & his
disbelief that he is actually a father.
L is for Living together when the wedding took place in a small
church only family and the bride holding her baby boy in her arms.
M is for Married an hour ago their entry to their mansion was an
unforgettable event the house was decorated with roses everywhere.
N is for Never would they both forget how important their sons
career will be. Both vowed to stand by him grow together for the
utmost accomplishment of his success in studying as a lawyer.
O is for Ordering their breakfast after a sleepless night the baby
needing his mum every 3 hours to feed him the amazing sensation
of a full house filled with babies soft cry.
P is for Presents that he had bought for his wife a Diamond ring
with a beautiful pearl necklace which she wore with pride.
Q is for Quitting her job after years of practice was so important
as her dreams for her son to become a senetor in her goverment.
R is for Running for PM after graduating from Harvard University
His parents mansion over the years was transformed into invitations
huge gala for politicians finding him extremely adequate for this job.
S is for Signing papers as her son started to get involved with the
senators and sharing talks about her sons involvements with
politics. She was his right hand.
T is for Turning over to the secretary all the confidential papers
and she was very happy with the choice his son made about the
new secretary, his office was huge and employees everywhere.
U is for Unbelievable but true she was relieved at last and now
that her son is on the right track she will have all the time to be
again with her husband a normal life.
V is for Very close to her husbands office she decided to stop by
and surprise him for lunch at her favorite restaurant.
W is for Where is he the office was empty she has been so much
involved with her son she had neglected her husband.
She was told he went home already.
X is for Xmas was around the corner next month she went to buy
the Christmas decorations to surprise her husband.
Y is for Yelling for someone to come and help her instead she sees
her son in tears running towards her he hugged her and whispered
in her ear I have some news.
Mum dad I am already elected I will make you proud of me.
Z is for Zap will be my goal I promise you dad and mum
he got married and was elected.The first youngest to gain that
Long poem by
Chris D. Aechtner | Details |
1) Since you have such a crazy drive to post every thought which goes through your mind, you consider posting your grocery lists.
2) You come up with another lame senryu just to post something new(and create a cheap entry for yet another contest).
3) Even though you post everything which comes to mind, post 3+ poems per day, every day, you believe all of your posts to be exemplary pieces.
4) (in relation to #3) You believe all of the "This is a masterpiece!" comments left on your poems, to be completely sincere.
5) You have the tendency to ignore that you are nearing 60 years of age. You put up avatars of yourself, circa 1971, and flirt with nearly every Souper below the supposed age of 30.
6) Instead of having a romantic evening with your significant other, you end up surfing the Soup blogs and drooling over member avatars.
7) After being single for 15 years, a completely compatible person asks you on a date. You decline the offer, end up surfing the Soup blogs and drooling over member avatars.
8) The admin makes an announcement concerning site maintenance, how the site might be down for 24 hrs -- upon reading the announcement, your stomach drops-out, you are filled with a phantasmagoric sense of doom which escalates into a bout of nihilism so strong, you consider methadone treatment to prepare yourself for the upcoming site-shutdown.
9) You begin methadone treatment in preparation for the two hours you will be away from the Soup(and awake)attending your best friend's funeral.
10) Your sleep-time has drastically altered to less than 4 hours of sleep per night. This is for various reasons, one of these being that every week you feel the need to leave a minimum of 1000 comments on poems, so whenever you post something new, the 'return' comments on said post, help push it up the 'Top 100 Recent Poems' list. You consider this to be an accomplishment akin to winning the Nobel Prize in Literature. You are awesome.
11) Instead of watching your favourite soap opera on the booby, you follow the soaps happening between Soupers in the blogs.
12) Every time you get a splinter, you have a strong urge to put up a blog about it to gain support and sympathy during your ordeal.
13) You put up blogs telling members that you are going to be 'gone' for 2 days, and apologize for not "being there for everyone" while away from the site.
14) After not seeing daylight for months on end, you put up a blog about seeing the most amazing thing .... you finally went outside and saw this blazing orb in the .... in the .... in the whatchamacallit, sky?
15) You forget to say "Merry Christmas!" to your family at home, but 'say' it in the Christmas blog that you put up on the Soup.
16) You forget your significant other's Birthday, but remember the Birthday of your favourite 'platonic' Souper.
17) Whenever you see or hear the word "Soup", your palms become itchy and you can barely contain yourself from using a computer/phone to login to poetrysoup.com.
18) You believe that if a poem rhymes, it is automatically a decently written poem.
19) In desperation, your family members and friends create accounts on the Soup, believing this to be the only way left to interact with you. In return, you have your account deleted and open a new one under an assumed pen-name.
20) You make the rounds each new day leaving "Good Morning!" comments on your friend's poems.
21) You go on vacation to an exotic beach location. The weather is gorgeous. The water is wonderfully warm. The sand is splendid. You don't swim in the wonderfully warm water. You don't take in the sights of the beach. You barely even notice the beach. Instead, you log onto the Soup via your laptop/phone.
22) Your children are hungry. You barely even know who your children are anymore. You don't care. *click* *clickety-click*
23) Your significant other finally offers to "do THAT thing"(yes, THAT one!)you've always fantasized him/her doing with you, but until now, he/she has always refused to fulfill for you. Now .... you don't care. *click* *clickety-click*
Long poem by
Roy Jerden | Details |
Oklahoma cowboy, tough coal miner’s son
Born in Henryetta, south of Tulsa some
Raised by daddy’s momma, taught him wrong from right
Daddy taught him ropin’, taught him how to fight
Herding made no money, its stock was really down
Mamaw feeling poorly, dad mining at Old Town
Seventeenth of December, in the year of twenty-nine
Dad was shoring timber, 9th west entry of the mine
The gas ignited close to him, he never smelt its breath
It belched fire and thunder, and everlasting death
Sixty-one they counted, who wouldn’t see the sun
Twenty-five weren't recognized, they buried them as one
On that fatal Tuesday, the boy became a man
Had to make a living, had to have a plan
Heard about the oil patch, got a chance to try it
Drill the earth for all she’s worth; just keep it turnin' to the right
Some they called him weevil, some they called him worm
Some they wouldn't speak to him, figgered he was just short term
They told him "Open up that vee door; go to get the key
It's in the possum belly, in doghouse number three"
Took his turns at floor hand, at first a little green
Became the fastest broke out hand the driller ever seen
Morning tour, evening tour, working day and night
Drilled the earth for all she's worth, kept it turnin' to the right
The driller called him partner; the pusher called him son
The other roughnecks shook his hand, and took him in as one
Got up on the monkeyboard; learned to spin the chain
Pumped that mud and shed his blood, and worked right through the pain
On a bitter frosty evening tour, in a cold December snow
He saw derricks lit like Christmas trees in the distance far below
He saw the fairyland of the refinery, shining through the night
He saw Mother Earth and the universe, all turning to the right
He got a job as driller, to West Texas he would go
A boomtown named McCamey, southwest of Angelo
Hired a shack from Pansy, put money in the bank
Drove his pickup out of town, seen the million barrel tank
The oil patch was a hard life, moving all the time
But he saved a lot of money, didn't waste a dime
Morning tour, evening tour, working day and night
Drilled the earth for all she's worth, kept it turnin' to the right
Sent his kids to college, working through the years
One became a teacher, the others engineers
He hung up his hardhat; he shed his steel-toed shoes
Then one day he passed away; he'd finally paid his dues
Made it to the Pearly Gates; they handed him his wings
Handed 'em right back to them; said "I don't need these things.
I want to do some drilling. That's my heavenly plan."
They said "Go talk to the Devil then, cause he's the company man."
Old Scratch needed hellfire; he always come up short
Too many bankers and lawyers and others of that sort
When he heard they had a driller, he jumped up with delight
He danced a jig, "You've got your rig. Keep it turnin' to the right."
Now he drills for hellfire; in the derrick he's got Jake
Buck and Sam on the platform; Sonny's on the brake
They all grin like demons; they're all where they belong
Doing what they love to do, they sing their roughneck song
"We all eat caliche and sniff the devil's brew
Play dominos with Satan and whip him at forty-two
Work all day on Sunday and honky-tonk all night
We're oilfield trash and we'll take cash to keep it turnin' to the right
We all love West Texas; it's like the Promised Land
Horny toads and rocky roads, and even dunes of sand
Dust storms every morning, northers every night
We get tans and freeze our cans to keep it turnin' to the right"
The lingo used around the rig you won't hear much in church
It'll curl your hair and make you stare and leave you in the lurch
So close your eyes and realize it's gonna get much worse
Drink your beers and plug your ears; here comes the final verse
"We p*ss longneck Lone Stars; we f*rt Frito pie
Give us ****, and we will spit some Red Man in your eye
Don't **** with us, or we will cuss and bring you to the fight
We're low class, but we kick *** to keep it turning to the right"
Click "About this poem" above the title to see the notes.
Long poem by
Roy Jerden | Details |
T'were the night after Christmas, 'n' the house wuz all dark
Not much money for 'lectric in the ol' trailer park
Ma waitin' tables at the club on the base
Just me and my sisters alone in the place
A big ol' blue norther, t'were a hard winter storm
We's all snuggled up close, jist tryin' ta stay warm
The trailer's as cold as a well digger's ass
Cause they come out that mornin' and turnt off the gas
I shore kinda hated to git out of that bed
But ol' Mother Nature made me git up, instead
I'd gotta go out if I wanted a leak
'Cause the toilet had bin all plugged up fer a week
Outside it 'peered warmer, which wuz a suprise
As I peed on the tree, sumpin lit up the skies
Them lights shined down on the yard, and I froze
Shore prayed it warn't one of them weird UFO's
As I stood thar turnin' round and around
There wuz white stuff fallin' and coatin' the ground
I grabbed a big buncha it up in my mitts
I thunk it wuz snow, but turnt out it were grits
I heered a big motor runnin' up overhead
And down come a monster truck painted all red
It bounced on the front 'n' bounced on the back
Then the driver clumb down 'n' grabbed a tow sack
He wuz white-haired 'n' husky, with red overalls
With ZZ Top whiskers 'n' blood-shot eyeballs
A red John Deere work cap wuz perched on his nut
And a WalMart white T-shirt half-covered his gut
He look like he just come off'n the farm
'Cept fer them tattoos of elves on his arm
As I stood around there jist like a complete dick
He sez, “Boy ain't you gonna say crap to St. Nick?”
“Yes siree Bob”, sez I, “I got sumpin to say.
I'd shore like ta know where you wuz yesterday.
The toilet's stopped up and we's all out of heat.
Ain't got no money and they's nuthin' to eat.”
“I wuz fixin' ta make it on time”, he then said.
He look kinda sheepish, and hung down his head.
“But I stopped at a bar when I finished my rounds.
And run inna St. Paddy at the Hare 'n' the Hounds."
"Ya know that he's the very best pal of St. Nick.
But there's none who can put 'em away like that Mick.
And the next thing ya know, we's over at Chances
Where that Tooth Fairy is doin' ten-dollar lap dances.”
“The Tooth Fairy a stripper? That done give me the chills!”
“Yessir”, sez he, “Where ya think she gits all them bills?”
“Jist a minute”, I goes. “Where's the reindeer and sleigh?”
He turnt even redder, and then looked away.
“Well, we had a poker game goin', I thunk I would win.
I wuz holdin' four aces and bet everthang in.”
There was a palpable silence, a terrible hush.
“Then that damn Easter Bunny laid down a straight flush.”
“Well, I cut cards with a redneck and won me that truck
But as for the reindeer, they wuz squat outta luck
They throwed a big barbeque, and cooked 'em up slow
But I must say them reindeer's good eatin', ya know?”
No Dasher, no Dancer, no Prancer and Vixen!
No Comet, no Cupid, no Donner and Blitzen!
For hung on that red-painted monster truck's nose
Wuz eight pairs of antlers, lined up in two rows.
“Anyway, I brung vittles for you and the girls.”
And out of the sack pulled six freshly skint squirrels.
“I jist bagged 'em thar in yer neighbor's back yard
Fry 'em up well, boy, with plenty of lard.”
I goes, “Them squirrels is rilly fine eatin' fer shore,
But ta git past tomorrow, we's gonna need more.”
Sez he,“Well, I's a bit short on cash fer today.”
And he give me six lottery numbers to play.
Then up drives my ma with bad blood in her eye
Draws out her six-shooter, jist primed to let fly.
Then lowers her arm down and commences to bawl
Sez, “I love you, you bastard, you tol' me you'd call!”
He sez, “Boy, looks like it's not healthy to linger
Sticks out his mitt 'n' commands “Just pull on my finger.
The truck is fer you, son. I bid ya goodnight.”
And on a column of wind, he plumb riz out of sight.
I feels fevered and flushed as I stands there in awe
And I reckons this redneck St. Nick wuz my paw.
A voice far-off hollers, “Merry Christmas, now, y'all!
Then adds, “Don't fret none baby, jist wait fer my call!”
December 19, 2013
Long poem by
Darryl Ashton | Details |
GOOD GOD AND ALLAH
Good God and Allah sat
down to eat their meal,
God asked Allah: “Why
do you kneel?”
Allah took his shoes off
but his feet weren’t so
So Good God got his
hoover out and cleaned
them using steam.
You are tickling my feet,
said Allah – please don’t
don’t do that,
Shut up whinging, said
Good God – and your
feet are getting fat!
You look so very smart
tonight, said Good God
yawning with a bore,
Oh, thank you, said Allah,
now why don’t you play
Play the piano? But I
Oh don’t be a spoil sport –
we could always pray!
Yes, I know that – we do
that every day –
We need some excitement –
and we can shout; HOORAY!
After our meal we can do
some cleaning –
Who’s bright idea is that
then - I can’t reach the
Oh, just sit on the magic
carpet, that you stole the
And you have the nerve
to seek forgiveness – when
you kneel to pray?
We can both clean our
cave – and evict those forty
Who trample all over the
place – wearing nothing
but their fig leaves!
Those forty thieves are all
my friends – how dare you
call them that?
Oh, shut up whinging – and
go and feed the cat!
And please stay off the
mobile phones – and try to
We live in a cave you know –
not an Indian temple!
We’ll have to spray the cave –
it stinks of curry spices,
How can I bring a lady back -
and act out some heavenly
Heavenly vices, what about
Oh you can watch if you want
to – or sit firmly on my knee?
Sit on your knee – and watch
you? I’m not a blinking pervert?
Well, you can join in if you so
desire – you can snog that guy
Who the heck is Bert, I know
not that funny name?
Oh, that’s the guy on the dance-
floor – he danced with that
great fat dame!
We can invite two lovely ladies,
into our heavenly mosque,
Then sit down, have a beer –
and haggle on the cost!
Haggle on the cost - what are
Well, you never do know –
things could get exciting!
We can take them to the
disco – and bop the night away-
And we can do some somersaults –
but you always want to pray?
We can take to the dance floor -
both hand in hand –
Jiving like we are demented –
to the meerkat rock n roll band?
Who the heck are they, are
they from the temple?
You know; Aleksandr, Sergie,
and baby Oleg – they always
Oh, yeah, now I know – I see
them on TV,
Aleksandr, Sergie, and little
baby Oleg – their toys, they
gave to me!
Gave to you – how do you
mean – you don’t drive a
No, I know that, you silly
man, but I do smoke a cigar!
And as the politicians keep
saying; “smoking, is bad for
I have to make a claim – and
get quickly what I’m due!
Yes, yes, but that’s in the
future, what about Christmas?
Oh, let that wait – I’m sick
of it – we’d better go to mass?
Well you can go as I’m staying
in – and watch the boring TV,
Well, if you don’t pay your TV
licence, in prison you will be!
Just then their alarm went off,
and what a dream they had.
Let’s go to the holy temple and
pray for my dad?
Why, what’s special about your
dad – is he still classed as mad?
He used to be a terrorist – oh
he was very bad!
Okay, old chum, we pray together –
but please sit over there,
As when you let off an horrible
fart – the stench will fill the air?!
Here’s to good times and freedom
Now just don’t forget to carry –
that thing called a ‘mobile phone’?
So, as both Good God and Allah,
both held each other’s hands –
They started to mysteriously dance –
and also threw in handstands!
Both Allah and Good God – have
now achieved world peace,
And everyone lives in harmony –
in the glorious human race!
Long poem by
Timothy Hicks | Details |
That's my dad for you... getting his hands deep into the knitty-gritty, when most others would just back off a safe distance away saying, "No thanks! Maybe when Armageddon comes a'knocking we can talk religion, but right now I'm in the middle of favorite show so.... bye!". I have much respect for him in that sense... a hard working man as well as a man who never stops thinking... even when on the coattails of turning 60. Still in the fields of repairing roofs, fixing leaky pipes, (even building tree-houses for the overly eccentric clients that don't even have kids that would enjoy it). My siblings and I would unanimously agree that he's been in construction since the dawn of time. And in some ways that statement isn't so far off from the truth - depending of course on who's "time" you are referring too. In my heart and soul he will always be high in my book of Highly Admired People. But of course there will always be those personality traits I wish were apart of him. I can say this, in complete honesty, that I don't believe he ever once remembered my birthday. I don't hold it against him by any means. Truth be told he doesn't remember ANY holidays whatsoever (Fourth of July, Christmas, not even his own birthday, bless his soul). He's just not wired that way. To him a holiday is nothing more than a glorified day where telemarketers and business men take full advantage of. "Feel like your mother doesn't appreciate you enough? Well here's something that will change her mind, this coming mother's day. A brand new 24 carat diamond encrusted necklace that's guaranteed to dazzle those eyes. You can beam with pride when you hand it to her... I went to Jared, yes, indeed!". But in some ways I mourn his inability to become engrossed in a monotonous no-nothing conversation. We can't discuss movies, musicians or any upcoming local events. Sometimes I feel as though if the topic isn't of dire importance, he won't give it a second look. Sports won't hold his attention... doesn't everybody know the Superbowl is just a distraction from all the wars going on around us? Doesn't at times, we resemble Hitler hiding his bunker, drinking wine and eating gourmet delicacies of pate and caviar, while the rest of the world is battling it out? Perhaps he's a victim of too much truth and it consumes him... perhaps I just have a truth deficiency and just smile away, in ignorance, at some comedian on the TV, "I have no idea why I'm laughing, but I guess I'll sit awhile, and wait for this steeple of ours to come crashing down upon us." This proves just how much I take after my dad... might as well have a Walmart worthy button pinned to my shirt at all times, "HI! MY NAME IS TIM AND I'M A HOPELESS MELODRAMATIC... FREE SAMPLE?". Truth be told, I guess we both have elements of wisdom and elements of pessimism deeply ingrained into our thick skulls. It's one of the most difficult things in the world to explain the complexities (or in some cases, lack there of) of Garold Hicks. When my friends inquired, I'd cut it short saying, "Well he's different... not all that social I suppose." But I feel that is a great injustice to his personality, to sum it all up in pocket-sized sentence that takes barely more than a short exhale of breath, to let out. It's hard to end this ode of him, and still leave the reader with a clear sense of purpose, or any real sense of conclusion. I guess it's only fitting to end this piece, once and for all, with yet another my dad's witty zingers,
"I used to think I was in indecisive...
... but now I'm not so sure."
NOTE: I wanted to write a piece about my dad for ages, but couldn't find the words. He really is a strange person (and I don't mean to be insulting for I'm very much like him).