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Best Poems Written by Carol Zic

Below are the all-time best Carol Zic poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Joseph, Mary, a Donkey and Democrats

A donkey carried Mary and her unborn child to Bethlehem 
Joseph sturdily led the way on foot it has been penned 
The donkey proved a faithful friend to Joseph and Mary
It got them to where they had to be on time and safely
The Democratic Party’s donkey logo was picked to demonstrate
How staunch democratic members normally operate
Taking deliberate moves on behalf of its constituency
Sacrificing speed for cautious concern and dependability
Donkeys are known to be stubborn and may refuse to budge
Like indecisive Democrats inclined to delay and misjudge
I applaud the Democratic Party’s’ efforts to serve so diligently
Its donkey logo fits their political and historical identity
After all, if the donkey was good enough for Joseph and Mary
How can I disagree, a Democratic sinner who prays infrequently?

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Thank You Mirror, Mirror

Summoning the face in the Mirror the man calls
“Mirror, mirror on my tasteless bedroom wall,
Am I the only righteous dude who’s got it all?
I’m a Twitter tweeter in everyone’s face, no jest
A god-like prototype ascendant above all the rest
No one can finagle, lie, cheat, and steal 
Like me, the master architect of a shady deal
Mirror, mirror, am I not the sovereign Top Dog
A business guru and vastly envied pedagogue
Give me your answer as you usually do
I await your reply ever predictable and true.”

Speaking, the Mirror says objectively and with candor
(In a monotone absent alarm or apparent rancor)
“Attempts to equal or best everything you represent
Were absent any skill and lacked the power to prevent
Lying, cheating, scheming and copious immorality
Of the traits you epitomize in your relentless duplicity
Bright green dollar signs were tattooed on your rear
And as a 14-karat schlemiel no one was your peer 
But today your lofty roost has toppled it would appear
To a superior arrival a compassionate and powerful rival
Usurping your reign and promising you a bleak survival
For Honor, Humanity, Ethics, Quality and Morality
Bonded as one and effectively challenged your inability
To behave as a human or exhibit any values or maturity
They had the muscle and perseverance to permanently uproot 
Your corrupted regimé that is für immer (forever) kaput
You will never again be hailed as a preferred persona
You will dwell with your ilk as persona non grata
Even if Hell should freeze over (an unheard of phenomena)".

Carol Zic
An 81-year old woman, widow, and U.S. Navy WAVES veteran
January 15, 2017

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Ah, Shucks

A Cowboy is lean, tall, muscled and an inarticulate mass
Of loyalty, independence, pride and downright Western class
He cocks his hat to the back of his head and lets loose an infectious grin
Testosterone overflowing he’s masculine from boot toe to hat brim
He mumbles “Ah, Shucks”, ducks his head and charms the ladies
He’s saddle born, ranch raised and calls his palomino horse Hercules
A Cowboy kin drink, git drunk, cuss and dance a mean square
He kin hunt, trap, fish, and if put to it, outrun a riled–up bear
A cowboy spits, chaws, farts, smokes hand-rolled and sings off-key
He shoots, ropes, hogties, brands and whistles at cattle in high “C”
He’s an introverted soul, shy, gawky and tongue-tied in society
But ranch owners’ virgin daughters are eager to marry him
After doing hanky and panky stimulated by 100 proof killer gin
The shotguns hang on the fireplace wall, but the Cowboy ain’t gonna give in 
Thinking, “mebbe It’s time to git gone and ride out like a swift blowing wind”
And into the sunset the Cowboy eases away without a backward glance
Looking for a cattle ranch that needs know-how hires and give him a chance
To punch cows, shoe horses, drive cattle and harness a gal into a new romance
Cowboys choose, lose, win, and wander here, there, and all around 
Unless a right-smart gal he diddled in the stable of a small cow town
Is a hardheaded Cowgirl who hogties him when his pants are down!

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Hot Stuff

How come I never looked like Hot Stuff in a sundress?
My sundresses by comparison look anemic and shapeless
My figure is not what it used to be (it is hopeless)
It’s fallen down, spread out and looks a trifle excessive
Hot Stuff’s figure is lush, provocative and caressive
Her sundress is stylish, vivid and really expensive
My secondhand garb lacks style and are oppressive
Maybe a sundress worn at seventy-five is not impressive 
Whereas, Hot Stuff’s body and dress are “in your face” aggressive
Am I too hard on myself, too critical and depressive?
Let’s face it; I’ll never look like Hot Stuff in a sundress
Just thinking about it makes me manic-depressive
Hot Stuff’s look is suggestive and expressive
Whereas mine is age-regressive and inexpressive
I never looked like Hot Stuff in retrospect
Yet we all have “our day” in one way or another, I suspect
I had mine so it’s time to step back and reflect
(Kindly!) on our replacements without resentment
Wishing them splendor in the sun without impediment.


“The Sundress”
Carol Zic

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Va-Va-Voom

Flim-Flam dances to the beat of a drugged out drummer
Her moves are suggestive and sometimes vulgar
Her hands are soiled and damp holding onto the grimy pole
She’s topless and her dancing is like a listless puppet performing a role
She has a striking body and her hair is curly and luxuriant
It makes patrons’ thoughts lean towards prurience
As the evening lumbers on, Flim-Flam’s dancing slows to a crawl 
She’s tired, hungry and wants to curl up and bawl 
A huge man approaches the stage sneering at her with tight dark eyes
He’s obese, sweaty, dirty, and wears an obscene leather tie
Flim-Flam looks down and backs up in mortal fear
It’s her stepfather; he’s found her; he staggers as he leers 
He hollers. “Got ya, Gal, you gonna be sorry you ran away – you hear?”
He grabs at Flim-Flam, but a bouncer steps in with a bone-crushing slam
Her stepfather pulls a hunting knife bellowing and slashing
But the bouncer is bigger, fitter, and not afraid of grabbing
Crazed bullies, liquored, riled up and flailing
The bouncer drops the stepfather to marry the floor
Disarms him, pins him while hollering, “Flim-Flam, get out the back door”
Slamming into the bouncer’s 4x4, Flim-Flam hunkers down weeping
She hears sirens, people shouting, cursing, tires screeching
She hears the Miranda given just before she slides into oblivion
A gentle hand shakes her awake, it’s the bouncer, his name is Jake
Her new husband smiles with kindness, his love shining forth
“We’re going north to the farm where I was born and want to live my life
With you by my side, not “Flim’Flam”, but Grace Marshall, my wife
He holds her close whispering, kissing, reassuring
“Va-Va-Voom” disappears; a happy ending, a promising beginning.

Details | Carol Zic Poem

A Favorite and Well-Fitted Glove

A marriage formed by insisting parents
To join lands and force grudging events  
We stood stiff, shivering and apprehensive
Each of us nervous, fearful and defensive
He was over six feet one inch tall
I was only four feet eleven inches small
Clutching wilted wild flowers to my breast
Wearing a shapeless yellowed white dress
His shirt was murky grey his suit was done for 
Pants too short and his coat an eyesore
The minister mumbled words barely audible
Yet we heard him say without any fumble
I now pronounce you man and wife
Together you are forever joined for life
Dizzy, I fell into shadows and confusion
But my new husband moving with precision
Caught me his enclosing arms fixed firmly
Saying softly in my ear and only for me 
I’ll take care of you, I promise, wait and see
We began our marriage studying each other
Faking indifference our interest under cover
My husband was confident and never grim
I became proud that folks respected him
His humor was dry spicy and often wicked
I’d blush and laugh I just couldn’t help it
His cursing was mild but if he was riled
He’d switch to Croatian no translation required!
We began to thaw to be at ease to yearn
Each of us maturing determined to learn.
We worked hard to make a stable marriage
Careful to find nothing to dislike or disparage
The core of our marriage was warmth and contentment
As we  tirelessly worked towards a life-long commitment
Laughter and tenderness ensued sharing passion
Soft endearments whispered even if old-fashioned
We had stops, starts, and minor setbacks
As we finally tread on true and straight tracks
We cultivated a strongly anchored life and love
That enclosed us like a favorite and well-fitted glove
Our foundation cemented as the years sped by
We had no children and only God knows why
We filled this lack by composing and teaching
He a sports coach instructing and training
While I by feeding and seeding in writing
To those young minds uncluttered and seeking
A short path is upon us as we rehearse our final bow 
Our off-stage exit beckons as we share a loving vow 
To never forego our familiar and loving banter
That has been the link forging our balanced center
That cultivated our strongly anchored and enduring love
That now resembles a familiar and favorite well-fitted glove.

Revised March 22, 2019

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Rising From the Ashes

There’s a Child in every Woman that emerges now and then
Together they reverse Time from Now to Way Back When
The Child and Woman search for the Child’s place in Time
When the Child not yet a Woman lived a life that didn’t rhyme
Childhood barely started, cruelly faulted, abruptly halted
Childhood denied, deprived and criminally assaulted.
A lonely, battered Child, isolated in her fears
Crying only inner tears during those long and joyless years
The Child’s life fragmented and became emotionally forlorn
Influencing the Woman as she was later being formed.

Time heals all wounds it is written and said
But memories are forever despite what’s heard or read
Painful memories surface without reason or design
Like road signs in reverse as the Child’s life unwinds
Memories take root as the Child takes on grime
A Child abused and stained
An Innocent, cruelly used and shamed.

The Child (now Woman) affirm each other’s core
Bringing healing closer to forever, seeking forevermore
Can a life so tainted, incinerated and deprived
Rise from the ashes to acquire the value to revive?
First Child, then Woman were determined to survive
Forgiveness shared the path they tread to keep themselves alive
Life shouldn’t focus on evil, they learned, or on whom to blame
Life isn’t to squander as if playing a meaningless game
Do not feel pity for that Child or the Woman she became
Celebrate instead their survival as they celebrate the same.

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Respect

respect our lawyers
        highs lows ins outs ups downs formed
respect the path tread

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The Older I Get the More I Want To Live

At 76 I’m walking a shorter path and I’m not sure how I feel
However, I think an additional 100 years of life would be ideal
It would give me time and chances to take a shot at everything;
Run the Boston marathon or on a gymnastic bar do a perfect ten back spring;
Climb Mt. Everest; win a Tony, vote in a woman as President;
Cruise Alaska, win a PCH contest, or think of something remarkable to invent;
Eat Chinese in China, Italian in Italy, try on a vintage Givenchy in France
See William’s coronation as England’s King or converse with a ghost in a séance
Just odds and ends, this ‘n that, a few dreams I didn’t fulfill
Opportunities I missed, ignored, failed at, or had not the will
To pursue or follow through with for one reason or another
(I’ve found it’s harder and lonelier to “do” without my Husband;
He was always and ever will be my beloved Significant Other).

Hard it may be, lonely or not, the will to live is not easy to disregard,
It’s like sitting in a ballroom staring at your beribboned, but empty dance card
When all of a suddenly things start looking up; you have dances to share
With friends, new faces and you're even invited to try a sexy tango on a dare!
There’s so much of life to experience and explore
Passing on with such a lot to see and do would be an absolute bore!

Hanging in there?  Yes I am, because I want Life whether rich or poor;
I’d like to graduate college and savor New England in the fall,
I want to discover and boldly walk through open doors
So I can relish all the places I’ve wanted to visit, indeed, gorge on travel galore;
I’d like to see world peace and bring discrimination to an end
Rarest of all, see Democrats and Republicans become productive legislative friends;
I look forward to actual freedom of religion, race and gender
And hope to spend more time with my children in harmonious family splendor 
I’ve got family, friends (perhaps the world!) to show how much love I have to give
And although aging may be physically (but hopefully) not mentally restrictive
I’ve no doubt in my mind (age be damned!) the older I get the more I want to live.

Details | Carol Zic Poem

A Taxpayer Speaks

A TAXPAYER SPEAKS

Years ago when filing tax forms reared its proliferating death’s head
I cursed, perspired, and thought about moving to a foreign homestead
As a low-income taxpayer I felt too unimportant to hire an accountant
So I filed and filed for years, at all times a very incompetent combatant
Penalties-plus-interest plagued me and I could not raise a skilled defense
Prolonged tax failures destroyed my sense of self-confidence
It was past time to explore options to end to all this tax nonsense 
Waking to a new day I jumped out of bed at the crack of dawn
And scoured the yellow pages for a tax advocate to call upon
After detailing my sad tax history they agreed to take my case head-on
My tax life was now covered by tax experts with knowledge and brawn
My “Tax-Saviors” wasted no time plunging into battle early-on
Past tax filings were messy, chaotic, confusing and jumbled
Yet they contended, defended, persevered and never crumbled.
I have learned that tax advocate giants who defend vulnerable taxpayers
Give Tax Dictators headaches for they are tougher and tenacious tax players .

A tribute is due these Tax Defenders who aid us so nobly
And recalling the moving inscription on our Statue of Liberty
(An Emma Lazarus 1883 poem composed in New York City)
My tribute follows and is submitted very humbly
(please forgive the “re-phrasing” substituted for clarity):

Give us your tired, your poor, your tax-ignorant masses,
Yearning to breathe free who have no one to file their taxes
Oh, send these huddled and tortured masses,
(Who feel so inept and like derisory asses)
To Tax Saviors who lay waste to all kinds of tax matters
Rescuing taxpayers dwelling in indecision and tax-law tatters
These Tax-Saviors welcome all with an open-door policy
And any taxpayer who makes the journey
Will at last enjoy fear-free tax filing yearly.”

(However, new tax laws are being drafted by devious Tax Dictators 
Who derive joy from harassing captive taxpaying participators!)