Long poem by
Vee Bdosa | Details |
There on the deck, I took a practice swing
tormented in the possiblity--
then hope was dashed--I found no hope to bring
up to the plate, when Ump cried out, "Strike 3!"
I was the last to bat--in this last game--
just oh for three, my record said it all!
And in the dugout, faces all the same,
the looks of gloom! Just waiting for my fall!
I took my place, right up there to the plate.
Out on the mound, the picher grinned at me--
as if he hoped to make my swinging late,
or throw me one--I couldn't even see!
He'd walked a batter, waiting on first base,
to tie the score, if we'd get in the race!
"No girl can hit!" I heard the catcher call,
and echoed from the bleachers was the same,
we made our stands, the umpire cried "Play ball!"
and then I vowed to get us in the game!
I gripped the bat, the windup came too fast!
As did the ball, but where it should have been!
"Strike one!" the umpire yelled at last--
The fastest ball that I have ever seen!
"She'll never swing!" the catchers words for me--
then threw the ball out to the pichers hand!
While out on first, my runner waits to see
if I can swing, or only make a stand!
Right in my face--the picher scouled a bit--
while I choked up--and readied for a hit!
All set to hit--I made it then my dream!
and came the ball--I could not swing at that!
"Strike twoooo!" the umpire made it scream,
then said to me, "You've got to swing the bat!"
The bat it weighed a hundred pounds or so;
"She'll never swing," the pichers eyes did say,
With that he gave his very best, I know!
I glued my eyes--as it screamed straight my way!
I never saw the hitting of the ball!
but won't forget the cracking sound of it!
Nor know again the feeling of it all
of this my very most important hit!
The sound it made--that ev'ryone could hear--
a batters dream--but pichers' greatest fear!
The ball soared hard and high past second base!
then seemed to drop so slowly from above,
as quick as I could get us in the race,
I watched it bounce right off the fielders glove!
The tying run was just ahead of me!
Ole "Never-Steal" now ran like not before!
And right behind, fast as my feet could be
I gave my best! And then I gave some more!
The crowd gave out the seasons wildest plea!
As I yelled to the runner just ahead,
with all the grit that I could find in me,
"I'm going in! And if you stop--you're dead!"
Ole "Never Steal" was giving all he could
and on his heels--I made my promise good!
We saw the ball come by as rounding third!
Not once a hesitation in it all--
and as the umpire watched without a word--
he swept his arms, to make the tying call!
The score was tied--third baseman set to throw--
now ready at home plate, the catcher stood--
and through it all--my only thought was GO!
but if I did--I'd have to make it good!
I knew the ball was thrown down to home plate!
The catcher poised, and glued where he should be!
I had to slide, and heard the ball hit late!
"She's SAFE! She's SAFE!" my Daddy yelled to me!
Now layed to rest--our coaches greatest fear--
the only game we won--throughout the year!
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Long poem by
Darryl Ashton | Details |
MY AMAZING PHONE CALL FROM BUCKINGHAM PALACE...INCLUDING COMMENTS FROM FACEBOOK
WOW!!!! I've just received a phone call (which I thought was a hoax) from a spokesperson at Buckingham Palace. They did ask me some "ID" questions - as I just might be an undesirable - linked to terrorists! But after I cleared security they very calmly asked me if I was Darryl Ashton, the poet? Originally from Great Harwood - now living in Blackpool? I said; "yes, I am". Then they very politely asked me if I could possibly write a special poem for both Kate and Prince William as a special tribute for their second baby? I am very honoured - and so very flattered to be asked. I have agreed to write two poems for them - but on one condition - they make a donation to a children's charity for children who suffer with cancer? They have agreed to this. They also asked me; 'will I make both poems of a comedy nature?' Of course I will. Anything to oblige our royalty!! Now how's that for a welcoming phone call call on a Monday morning?! Please stay tuned for more details. Sorry, but I will NOT be informing the local Blackpool newspaper the Gazette. They just hate any kind of good and positive news!!!! hopefully, I do hope to get an invite to actually deliver the poems in person. And maybe ask for a...KNIGHTHOOD!!!!!!!!!! LOL. You know folks - it isn't every day a poet gets a phone call from Buckingham Palace requesting them to write a couple of poems! I do feel so very very honoured. Have a great Monday - and that also includes all the lovely staff at Buckingham Palace. God Bless the Queen - Kate and Prince William.
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Nor Hajihil, Christine Bentley, Susan Miller and 27 others like this.
Teri Franks Every credit Darryl, you must be very proud of yourself, I know your dad would be proud of you! Xxx
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CheChe Pama Wow congrats Sir!
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Darryl Ashton Hello Teri. Yes, indeed. I do know my dad's looking down and saying to God - and the other angels in heaven: "That's my boy." I wish I could go up there for 24 hours - what a surreal poem I'd write for Good God - and all the angels. And, yes, I do feel so very proud - this just doesn't happen everyday to all budding poets. But I do think this is absolutely amazing local news. Take Care. God Bless You, Teri. xxxx
6 hrs · Like · 1
Darryl Ashton Thank you, CheChe. God Bless You.
6 hrs · Like
Matthew Selwyn Fantastic news - nice to think the royals will be chortling along with the rest of us.
6 hrs · Unlike · 1
Darryl Ashton Hello Matthew. Yes, fabulous news like this - is so very very rare. I am expecting to hear from them again - as to when they want the poems for - and if they want them signing. But to be asked in the first place - really is an honour. Cheers amigo!
5 hrs · Like
Valerie Vincent That is awesome! Congratulations! BIG HUG sent your way.
4 hrs · Unlike · 1
Lila Hamilton Fowler Awesome news Darryl!!
4 hrs · Unlike · 1
Evelyn Bartonico Congrats my Honey. I so proud to you.xxxxx
4 hrs · Unlike · 1
Peter Chikritzhs brilliant, darryl. well done. congratulations
4 hrs · Unlike · 1
Susan Miller That is an honorable request. Congratulations.
3 hrs · Unlike · 1
Long poem by
manek kohli | Details |
Once night Gretta Foster sat in the backyard,
building a rocket ship that ought to take her a-far,
she had been working day and night - tirelessly,
hammering, programming, all so dexterously.
Then when the sun arose and sparkled in the sky,
Gretta was still working, that too without a sigh,
the ship was finally built, Gretta was on cloud nine,
but going a bit farther up than that seemed rather fine.
She sat inside the cockpit, tightened her seat belt,
pushed a few buttons, with such admirable stealth,
algorithms aplenty - all perfectly aligned,
as the engine started roaring, boisterously alight.
The rocket ascended at last, it set sail yonder,
to the farthest frontier that this universe could conjure,
and after it finally left the vivid atmosphere,
Gretta was so happy, she let out a smiling tear.
Days passed and she was put in catatonic sleep,
immobile and still, immersed in lovely dreams,
suddenly with a thud, the ship had landed still,
She woke up instantly, with a newfound thrill.
She wore the lunar suit, which she had stitched herself,
opened up the bolted door and descended the metal steps,
the moment she touched ground, she turned around,
and got pleasantly surprised by what she found!
A red-hatted impish elf, sat crossed leg,
a large nosed fairy stood, munching on nutmeg,
two rabbits bowed down to the rabbit goddess,
and two more pressed her feet, in a soft caress.
Gretta walked a step and heard the elf shout,
"oh silly person, take that suit out!,
we've got oxygen, plenty of em to breathe,
that suits a waste o' time and energy!"
Gretta obeyed, and unzipped the heavy suit,
underneath she wore a dress - flowery and cute,
"good going, young child, now lemme show you,
this lovely wonderland which you dub the moon!"
And the elf was right, they met unicorns,
box-laden garden paths and joyous little fauns,
walking and talking scarecrows, nursing little crows,
small blue doll houses with chuckling gnomes.
within a crater lived a colony of werewolves,
but they were nice and fair - specially one named Ulf,
he'd give her milk and tea with chocolate biscuits,
and in order to keep her warm, red spotted mitts.
The goddess too was nice, a wise and lovely soul,
"be imaginative and create, but don't forget your goal",
she'd also give her nutmeg of such abundant variety,
her best friend was a Faun, so strong and mighty.
and the Minotaurs build Gretta a lovely home,
with a mushroom roof and walls build of foam,
"stay here with us, Gretta, you'd have a great time",
said the red-hatted elf while singing a rhyme.
Gretta thought and thought, she came to a decision,
she decided to stay for sure, she looked forward for her admission,
and from thereon, life for her was perfected,
all her dying wishes had suddenly been resurrected.
Long poem by
Monterey Sirak | Details |
She is ninety-something
A tiny old lady with wizened eyes
She says the hot dog on her plate looks good
“It reminds me of when we roasted them over an open fire.
They tasted so good, hot off the stick.
I don’t have much of an appetite anymore.
I waste so much food, and my mother would never
have approved with so many starving children in the world.
Would you help me put my leg back up on the chair rest?
My body doesn’t work too well anymore.
I wasn’t always like this. I wasn’t always this old and crotchety.
I was young once too, and so was everyone else.
I was a child at my mother’s knee. I was sassy and a brat,
for children of six have such confidence.
I played with an Irish boy two doors down in Illinois.
He hit me in the forehead with a snowball wrapped
around a chunk of coal and I rubbed his face in the snow
until we were wet and cold and our mothers were mad
because we stayed out too long.
I am not as different from you as I seem.
I too had dreams, although I admit
they did not include the events I lived through.
The flu epidemic which swept the land,
where so many took sick, with children dying out of hand.
The big war, the first one. I was still a fairly young child,
but I knew the young men were dying, heard the mothers crying.
Then the depression came, with no jobs, no money, no food.
Each night on someone’s table there lay a posting of jobs,
but there were too many looking for work and too few jobs to fill.
No jobs were fat jobs, you were beyond lucky to get six bits a day.
That is seventy five cents, by the way.
I learned to make do with what I had. There was never any excess.
Not like for the generations who came next.
When World War II came we already had practice.
Only this time my generation was dying, and I was one who was crying.
Look in my eyes, I am still a young girl inside.
A young lady with plans to be a bride, to have my children at my side
and be the loving mother like mine was to me.
But my son took too many risks. I told him to slow the cars down,
don’t drive so fast. He did not listen and he died before me.
That is not supposed to happen.
I did not plan to get old and infirm and alone.
Everyone is gone. I told them goodbye, each and every one.
No one left to hold my hand.
No one left to understand the memories
prompting bursts of girlish giggles.
I never planned on being the one left for last.
never planned on my future becoming my past.
So much history remains alive in my mind.
I lived the events which shaped the world that you found.
Lived them time after time for ninety some-odd years.
No, I was not always this old.
I was young and fresh and in my prime, for a time.”
Long poem by
Prince Katlholo | Details |
When we fight in silence, like titans abound by egos
An eager poet overcome by words.
A beautiful model delicate as raindrops
When the silence in the room is as thick as our nostalgia
Wanting to hold each other but held back by thick egos
Ripe with the wretch of imminent paradoxes
Contemplating charades of choices of parallel provisions
As if we can afford life without one another
When we fight in silence and the room gets microscopic
Her presence bold. she drifts like a thunderbolt across an African sky
Similar spaces, sharing oxygen and the ammonia in our hearts
our breathing aligned by the poisons of our fear
We have sacrificed in miles to allow centimeter consequences
Our story ripples gentle beneath her feet
A story that eclipses at the axis of our ex's
Subtle and calm in the stanzas on our palms
our skin cells still thick under their fingernails
When we fight in silence and cant even look each other in the eye
The war between our minds that our tongues abstain from
Cold war of silent minds in love like a godless church
When the earth sprints beneath us,
bare bones and shuckles in our silenced fight
I don't know if its a curse that we both cant quarrel
Like feral lambs with a deep predilection for another
Infatuation so simple like the cartography of her skin
Her hair superior, laden ith disposable paradises
Simple chemistries of lovers who 've been through some shit
When we fight in silence. Hearts smooth as skipping stones
Hungry enough to believe the silence tastes better
But time... Time is a cold mason between us
Like a perverse heartbeat, the worst kind of treason
I have lived bittersweet moments that slow down the clock
I have seen pendulums and hourglasses turn lovers to strangers
I have heard how we change the world & the world changes us
I have learnt that the world is always ending and love prevails
Like neglected flowers in thick mahagony vases
Infested with greedy butterflies free from their leashes
The agony of traded dreams and faded hopes
Words are despots I would rather be silent than say something I will regret.
She is my armor. No sword in my castle, verbal nor metal
My fists only fold when I pray to God for her existence
Four eyes, one vision, one blindness
Heroes are for children and those who cant save themselves
After the silence the dialogue writes itself in a calligraphy of apologies
In our new-found understanding of the tapestry that is you & me
Minds re-aligned like telephatical alphas Completing each other's sentences
Simple enough this is our redundant arithmetic
Learning integrals of loving her beyond her crutches through infinity
Thats the mathematics of my existence. When we fight in silence
Long poem by
Katie Pukash | Details |
It will hurt like a tattoo guns sting
as the ink infiltrates your skin.
Your first love will be like a tattoo on your heart,
always remembering the blessings and pain he gave you.
Be with a person who fills you with fluttering hummingbirds
even after the first and second and tenth kiss
who drinks the nectar of your demons and sucks them lifeless.
There will be men who you think will carry you forever
but after so long of holding
your feet above the water
they will throw you down.
They will not reach out a hand to pick you back up.
They will turn cheek,
kissless and forgotton.
You will stand with dirt palms
and fall back into his inferno.
There will be loves like this,
who convince you to prick yourself with safety pins,
the ones who carry guns on their backs
but never shoot to protect,
only to hurt.
The ones who drink all the water,
leave you parched in the desert of his mistakes
telling you that they are your own.
The ones who shoot arrows in your lungs
and you lye bleeding
believing that the color of your blood is true love for him.
The hour hand will spin around the clock
too many times before you leave him.
It will hurt.
You thought it was true,
but after the death of it
you will realize you deserve someone so much sweeter
than a bitter apple.
Love the one who doesn’t cheat you blind,
but instead comes to you with truths in his wretched palms
and waits for you to
but never gives up and never stops wishing that the past could rewind
that he could change the things wrong that he did to you.
Love the one who feeds your heart warm apple pie,
who cries in front of your children,
who drives them to school and hugs them when they get home.
Be with someone who doesn’t ask for you to change
but instead loves your mistakes
cradles them within his fabric lungs
breathes them in with a grin.
Love is an interesting thing.
You will be thrown out of a moving car to the side of the road.
Some will come running back to you.
Don’t jump back in the front seat,
until you find someone who buckles the seat belt for you.
Drives five under the speed limit,
takes things slowly and waits for you to be ready to accelerate.
I am here for you.
Remember me, the one who loved you first,
the one who will never stop loving you.
Come to me after he breaks up with you.
You can cry on my shoulder,
and ill wipe your tears with my sleeve.
Find a love who loves you the way
that your father and I love you,
the way that your grandmother loves you.
Find a love who already considers you family.
Who meets you
and looks into your ocean eyes
and drowns peacefully into your heart.
Long poem by
Deanna Schaub | Details |
Winter winds blow all around.
I’m astonished by the sounds of Jingle Bells and reindeer stomps.
All of this should never stop.
Snow lies on the ground, if only that weren't too profound.
Time only leads to decay, but not on Christmas, not today.
You should see the angels pray.
Toy trains, and rag dolls are the things kids used to want.
But time has changed, yes so have children…
Santa seems as if a villain.
So much fighting, so much crying, it sounds as if the kids are dying.
“I want money, I want fame, and these toys are just so lame.”
But that’s the product we provided.
Second chances are no more, Santa’s plot we wait for.
He’s sick of this, he doesn't care, it’s as if he’s not wanted here.
He gets ready to take it all back….
There’s still one toy left in his sack, it’s for a little girl, half a world away.
Now how could he have missed this, on the perfect Christmas day?
He turns around, not time for war.
This toy, the girl is waiting for… It’s not a toy like you’d expect.
She didn't ask for electronics, or stupid games such as Sonic.
She just wanted one small thing…
She’s waiting for something EXTRA special this gloomy day.
In a bed she sits and stares, at the window near a chair.
She’s so weak, and all alone.
She doesn't even have a real home, not where there are bright lights anyways.
They've decorated a weeping willow, the only tree around the “home”.
So she has lights to see.
It’s Christmas after all, but there’s no way to calm the raging sea.
She’s dying, it won’t take much longer, and she doesn't care about the tree.
She needs a new heart extra bad.
So, Santa’s bringing her the one thing, that will stop her parents from being sad.
He rushes to the hospital in his golden sleigh, and climbs right down the vent,
He’s saving Christmas today.
Santa rushes in just in time, finds a doctor, the girl is dying.
It’s not what he usually does, but he stays and watches as they save her life.
He waits for her to wake up.
“Santa, you saved my life, oh thank you so much! I needed my heart to be touched.”
He just smiles, and kisses her hand. He’s so glad he didn't destroy the land.
Christmas is still a special day.
There’s no more sorrow, no, not today. Santa smiles though some are still ungrateful.
There’s that one child, standing in the snow, her life can now be started in the evening glow. That’s life for the grateful, loving, caring, and the thankful. Most of the time Santa just gives toys. For all the good girls and boys. But not today, and not tomorrow, once a year he gets rid of sorrow. So sleep tight and say your prayers, Christmas time is but once a year.
Long poem by
Ingrid Showalter Swift | Details |
Why We Will Never Say Hello or Good-bye
By Ingrid Showalter Swift
Rake your fine fingers across my tender lips...
waiting with the hunger that years have made.
...Do you still hear me?
I am off in a land of daisies and flowers, of many colors.
I walk down sandy paths of pale soft skin... that I imagine
The water-butter beneath my finger tips
is your skin as well
and I look out across a far away horizon and know
you live there
breathing on, in unison with arms open to the sky
You beam as the sun... I weep as the waves.
I ache and bend and cry out in labor pain
There is no separation... but the heart still seems to seep
I can see your eyes
and in my eyes still dark and far away
...you drift quietly on a raft bobbing in a safe cove
The night still shifts to the wetted calm of us from time to time
and I know the trees and dogs can feel us moving
beneath the surface, like mermaids
Our tails are webbed jewels of gold and myrrh
Our fingers are intermingled... our cells combined...
Our torsos are sleek and clean
We separate... dip and dive like porpoises...
They know... I know they know... and hear our ever calls
and dive for us
in the still of twilight’s dancing diamonds
Why not? I cry... but know all too well the answers
Because there are flowers on our paths
and children playing in the skin of the sand
and we are one in our purpose
and one in the words and one as they fly over head - wing to wing...
As autumn climbs the hill to winter...
we will be in the flickering light of fire side
and the warmth of the soups that brew
and are handed one to the other
and we will ever be in the sawdust
and in the creation of anything new
and in time as it flows back and forth with the tide
Nothing can ever sever us from the ants
and the shells
and the mail that arrives in the mail box
Do you know that we are only a car ride away from forever?
Do you know that we are nothing more than one phone call apart?
...just seven numbers apart!
and it will remain the distance of forever because we know
how fine the sand feels between our toes
how smooth the wind blows over our wet torsos and white sails
and how water splashes into tiny beads of light at the bow
and how the tree grows
and how the stone feels from the inside
We will remain alone and surrounded by love
...because grass is green
God! How I love you!
Tell me again that you know... tell me... call me... tell me
...that it is real... that you can hear me
that I am the same as the child beneath your palm
loved ever, unconditionally
and you are proud of who I am and who I am becoming
Long poem by
Robert Stoner Jr | Details |
The Little Gray Squirrels First Christmas
Please join me while I tell you a story
about Christmas time and all of it's glory
Little Gray Squirrel just under a year
needed some help to get some things clear
one day with his dad a question he would ask
this story of Santa he had to unmask
Little Gray squirrel did anxiously say,
“ Is there a Santa and will he be coming our way?”
His dad looked at at him and said with a smile,
“Sit down my son and we'll talk for a while,
what do you know of this Santa you spoke.”
Little Gray Squirrel asked” Is he real or a joke.”
“The other boys have been talking a bit,
and there seems to be some concern about it,
they speak of presents Santa brings in the night,
will he know me and find me gives me a fright.”
dad looked down and said to his son
“Santa knows all and knows everyone,
he works all year to bring Christmas cheer,
even little gray squirrels you may have no fear.”
“If you've been good a visit will come,
but things of more importance there are some.
Christmas is a time of love and of joy
and about the birth of one special boy.”
“The grace of the season will fill everyone
in each his own way from the old to the young.”
A little squirrels thoughts should be of family and friends,
the love of each other that never will end.”
The Little Gay Squirrel went to bed Christmas night
all snug in his bed warm and tight
he did wake once to think he did hear
the tinkling of bells and the hooves of some deer
The morning did come with a new fallen snow
the sun sparkled bright making a wondrous show
Little Gray Squirrel couldn't believe what he did see
there in the clearing stood a little pine tree
not just a plain ordinary old pine
it was covered in shiny bits of silver so fine
colored bits of glass were hanging in glee
sweet acorns were draped everywhere he could see
down to the ground he ran so fast
fearing this magical sight may not last
under the tree was a ball with his name
mittens and scarf of milkweed silk he could claim
the Little Gray Squirrel danced and he laughed
around the Christmas tree he did joyfully prance
when he went around the tree to the back
there in snow he was sure he saw reindeer track
The Moral of the story is:
Christmas is a time of the year
for family and friends of joy and good cheer
presents are nice to get and to give
but with the love of family you will happily live
Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©
Contest: Children's Christmas or Holiday Tale
Sponsor- Carol Eastman
Long poem by
Mario Vitale | Details |
Vulture's Of Darkness
Vile thought fangs waiting in vengence etched within
A twilight sun had tainted my inner vision again ?
Shattered fragments torn in desolation vanquished within
Vile degrade filled sweat pouring out in sharp contrast fetched;
In a caged fury proned to live yet not willing to forgive?
In such a Christless society having abortion on demand?
Hoping someday that all will truly understand the implications?
Heightened fears & worry of the day I prey;
Saturated with light with the willing hope by which to stay/
Images filled with braided women's hair in derision/
The fragments our collectively enhanced for its chosen dance
If they listen they will come;
Shattered fragments all in gloom/
Shelter lies dormant onto its beckoning call asunder Instead they push God aside with
walls to hide in pursuit of pleasure ever more
The prepare for the dance;
Primal decadence shaded briars to hide the eternal pain from within
Burdened soul in bondage within a cavity tooth in hue decayed form
Burdened soul in elapsed bondage with cavity in hue
Desolation & myraid temptess with gun for hire!
Vultures of darkness ate the crumbs you left
Got no place yet to retrace your steps
Lead it to me I'll take you home
For a real desire for more/
Yet for what I do not know?
Out in darkness one can negate to shine a visible light
In sadness sought to give up on the fight curse the night/
In sadness sought to give up on the fight
Still truth still negates the lie
The lie that says I am what I do ?
Some may even have bitten way more then they can actually chew?
Truth is turned to rubble strong
Out of words spoken in the dark it won't be long
Truth still negates the actual lie
Fear is constant source of will to triumph
Truth is strong rubble stregnth with legs to walk
Out of clear worrds spoken in the dark to light
Truth negates the lie
Amidst the sadness running circles in my fragile egg shelled brain
Patterns of worry lest of course I shall refrain a distant fervor
Fragments of weary traveler's embraced by sight in sunlight
Particles of dust although fluent from its eternal myraid pillage sought
Particles of dust although fluent from it's sought after cud
Truth in the end will save a weary soul in unrest
Let it go & turn it over to a higher source
The one who chose the one who gave his life to you
Just leave to him he'll take you home
Vulture's of darkness on a weary process
Strong in violence within viscious long hanging fangs that bite in the night !