Home » Poems » Best » Roy Jerden » Best Roy Jerden Poems

Best Poems Written by Roy Jerden

Below are the all-time best Roy Jerden poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Roy Jerden Poem

Halloween On the Dark Side of Town

It's a nightmare down on Elm Street. Satan's waiting here at home.
Where's that little Freddy Krueger with his nails of sharpened chrome?
And that dearest Michael Myers, as he's always sure to call?
Halloween won't be so keen without some slashers in the hall.

They're all meeting up with Jason and the other demon spawn
to pay Old Scratch a visit, so I'll leave the porch light on.
I'm your sugar devil daddy and I'll tempt you if I can,
so now open up those goody bags, cause I'm your candy man.

Welcome, all you little zombies. Here, I've got some flesh for you!
It's in a candy wrapper and so much easier to chew.
Just hold out your plastic treat bag, and hold off eating me.
The junk I'm gonna give you tastes much better than my knee.

It's so loaded up with sugar, you'll be bouncing off the walls.
So go ahead and gorge yourselves and fill the bathroom stalls.
Kneel before the porcelain god or use the toilet sink.
You can always use the practice now, for later when you drink.

You can't take a piece of healthy fruit or any home-made treat.
The media have made damn sure it's only junk food that you'll eat.
So celebrate my holiday and consume till it's obscene.
Welcome into my domain... and Happy Halloween!

October 15, 2014

Details | Roy Jerden Poem

The Pedicure Virgin

I don't know what came over me that day - an instant of weakness after years of resistance, I suppose.

My beaming spouse leads me, a dog on a short leash, into the forbidden citadel, the sanctum sanctorum of feminine fastidiousness, the dreaded nail salon.

As we pass through the portal, we enter another dimension, one not of Man.

One of Woman.

Overwhelmed by estrogen, like Superman in the presence of Kryptonite, my strength saps.

The harpies in the salon immediately sense fresh meat, hailing my wife like Caesar in a Roman triumph, gleeful in the knowledge of the barbaric sacrifice to follow. Lightheaded, my eyes dart around, a trapped beast seeking escape.

I'm screwed.

The sacrificial altar is prepared. The torture device is like a dentist's chair, but with a tub for the feet, presumably where they will drain out my blood. Resigned to my fate, I mount the gallows.

Glancing around, it seems that all the employees are Southeast Asians. Mostly young. Reputedly, they own this territory, like Indians in convenience stores or Italian greengrocers. My personal tormentor is the proprietor, a slim pretty Vietnamese woman perhaps in her mid 50's, with cold eyes and a professional smile.

I immediately sense that I am dealing with She Who Must Be Obeyed. I am commanded in that bossy Asian way to put my feet in the tub, as she turns on the water. Apparently, like some feminine droit du seigneur, Dragon Lady reserves the right to draw first blood from pedicure virgins. My primae noctis, so to speak.

As she sits below me and leans forward to grab my feet, I get a good look at her well-formed cleavage. Maybe this won't be so bad,after all...

As my feet soak, I close my eyes and sink into a Felliniesque fantasy, surrounded by Asian houris garbed in short white Grecian gowns, catering to my manly whims.

I'm getting a semi...

Dragon Lady brings me back to reality, placing my left foot on her toweled workspace.

Whoa!
There's another guy here...
and that SOB is getting a manicure from one of my girlfriends!

An older lady enters the shop. She has an experienced and well-traveled look. Obviously a repeat offender, she immediately begins apologizing to Dragon Lady for her tardiness, meanwhile sizing me up like a slab of man-meat. Dragon Lady gives her a proper scolding, then the horny old biddy tweaks my big toe and flashes me a knowing smile. I wonder if she is packing heat in that big purse...

Suddenly, I become William Holden in Sunset Boulevard. As I make a break for freedom, I am plugged in the back by the scorned Gloria Swanson lookalike.

Then, a cold look from Dragon Lady and my spouse re-establishes territory and Gloria backs off.

Dragon Lady looks pleased as she draws out what appear to be farrier's tools for shoeing horses, presumably to work on my virgin toenails, which I admit are heading toward Fu Manchu territory. A pair of evil-looking wire cutters makes short work of my talons, then she pulls out a chisel and begins removing layers of yellowed nail until they are smooth and white.

Nice. I can take this.

Then she removes the cuticles and pushes back the skin.

Holy crap! I think she just popped my cherry! I see blood on my big toenail. I take it like a man. A bead of sweat runs down my brow.

She finishes the flaying job, puts the foot back into the soothing bath and begins carving up the other one.

"And women pay for this?", I think.

"You like massage?", she asks.

"Massage?" I glance at my spouse nervously, wondering if she intuits the direction of my thoughts.

She points to the control panel on the chair.

Oh!

"Why, yes. Yes I would!", I reply.

Anything to take my mind off my pending amputation.

"All the way?"

I suppress my licentious thoughts.

"Warp seven, Mr. Sulu."

"What?"

"To infinity, and beyond!"

She got that one, and turns on the machine. Robocop immediately digs deeply into my neck and spine with his titanium-steel fingers, plowing my vertebral column like a John Deere cultivator. My central nervous system releases a flood of endorphins. The cocktail of pain and pleasure is a masochist's wet dream.

The surgery going on downstairs dissolves into the background...

Dragon Lady puts the second foot back in the tub and removes the first. She pulls out a big cheese grater and goes to work on the bottom of my foot. I don't have thick calluses, but she produces a pretty respectable pile of Parmigiano. Makes short shrift on foot two. My smooth feet now look like a baby's.

Not too bad, not too bad.

My spouse shoots me the old Told You So look and smiles.

Dragon Lady now pulls out the pumice for the final polish. As she goes to work on my foot, nerve endings now exposed after many years return me to infancy.

It tickles! Oh Momma, does it tickle!

I'm giggling like a young girl. I can't stop, and I really don't want to either. The entire salon joins in my giggle fest.

Dragon Lady doesn't let up for a second. She is giggling too, and for the first time I see the young, innocent Vietnamese girl buried deep inside.

Then I see the napalm and burnt village.

And all the rest of it...

I see and she sees. We each have seen... too much.

She smiles sadly. As do I.

My next appointment is in a month

I'll be there.

September 11, 2014

Details | Roy Jerden Poem

Cruisin' the Drag

Sipping cherry limeade, driving in the car parade, 
we're cruising in the Lone Star state.
Didn't want a bucket seat; the thing it couldn't beat, 
was sitting up close to your date.
One hand on the wheel of daddy’s Oldsmobile, 
my arm around my brown-eyed girl,
feeling pretty sporty, radio on Top Forty, 
I was cooler than the Duke of Earl.

The lady of the cruise had her penny loafer shoes; 
her bobby socks were turned down twice.
With a little eyeliner, she couldn't be much finer,
too much and it wouldn't be nice.
There’d be no wild oats under those petticoats;
she’d never go all the way...
just a perfect flip-up 'do and cute look number two
practiced in the mirror all day.

Hear those tires squeal when I make the rubber peel
for the fly-boys waiting on the bus,
to take them to the base where they don't feel out of place,
not cruising like the rest of us.
I was the drag's head honcho as we pulled across the Concho
and we saw the lights along the riverside.
We'd had quite a lark there at Neff's amusement park,
playing Putt-Putt and going on a ride.

The cheerleader squad rode a killer hot rod
with a spinner on every rim,
a perfect tuck and pleat on every single seat,
courtesy of Wanda's Auto Trim.
Candy apple red, it would really knock you dead;
it was a drop-top Pontiac.
One was there to steer and three were in the rear
posing up on the back.

Those football beauty queens in their skin-tight Levi jeans
were followed by their biggest fan.
Checking out those lasses in his Buddy Holly glasses 
was the nerdy little Aqua Velva man.
In his stainless steel braces he grinned up at their faces;
they iced him with a haughty air.
He never would forget it; they would later on regret it
when he became a multi-millionaire.

A four girl bevy in a big finned Chevy 
were riding west on Sherwood Way,
four guys right behind in a pick-up state of mind,
all ready to make their play.
Thought they were the smartest cruising pick-up artists,
but those gals were pretty astute.
When they stopped and the guys started telling all their lies,
the chicks started putting on the cute.

We turned the car around and headed back downtown,
cruising down the boulevard.
Stay cool daddio, bear right at El Patio,
and take it down Beauregard.
There were lots of pleated skirts and those button-down shirts.
The flattops were everywhere galore.
From a Lincoln Continental, we heard an instrumental,
Mister Acker Bilk's “Stranger on the Shore”.

We slowly pulled through BJ’s, listening to the deejay’s 
announcement of the next hit song.
Leaning on their doors with their Brylcreem pompadours,
two hoods were playing Mr. Wrong.
Completing their disguise, they slouched with narrowed eyes
and did their best at looking mean.
With a twist of his pelvis, one was doing Elvis.
The other did a fine James Dean.

Like a sweet potato vine, the bride of Frankenstein 
was entwined around the Marlboro man.
With the passion of their make out, they should have gotten takeout 
and opted for a bigger floor plan.
With her black beehive hair and his fancy western wear,
they were putting on quite an awesome scene.
I had to give a chuckle at his huge silver buckle,
but those M.L. Leddy boots looked mighty keen.

I pulled the Olds on through, and we bid BJ’s adieu,
and I put us back onto the street.
With those four whitewall tires, we made for McIntire's
to get ourselves a bite to eat.
We stopped for some fuel, over near the school,
in those days they came right out to you.
Best place on Earth, ‘cause with a dollar’s worth,
they’d check your oil and clean your window too.

The drive-in, painted green, was quite the social scene
with people mingling car to car.
Everyone was caring; the drinks were all for sharing,
(especially when in a mason jar).
She ate a big banana split, and then left me for a bit
to comfort an old friend not feeling right.
A moment more to linger with that final steak finger,
then I took her home and called that one a night.

That was many years ago, but some things you don’t outgrow,
and I think back to when I was a teen.
When doors were left unlocked, and children safely flocked,
unchaperoned at night on Halloween.
And sometimes at night, when the stars are big and bright,
and I’m deep in a Texas state of mind,
I think of that lass who was in my high school class,
And I wonder if she thinks of me in kind.

August 10, 2012

Details | Roy Jerden Poem

Willow: a Fable

Timmy Tom Tuck was a young fellow with charm
who one summer stayed at his grandfather's farm.
He loved to eat ice cream and Grandma's baked goods
but his favorite thing was to play in the woods

He so loved the willow oak tree near the spring
to lie flat on his back and hear the birds sing.
The bunnies and ducklings would come to his call
as Timmy Tom Tuck was best friends with them all.

One day young Timmy was watching a cloud.
All at once his name was called plainly out loud!
He looked all around but naught did he see
till a marvelous creature stepped out of the tree.

"Willow is my name", softly sang out the sprite.
Her skin was quite crinkled, her hair purest white.
"I am your friend, so you have nothing to dread.
This tree is my home. I'm a dryad.", she said.

"A dryad dwells deep in the heart of her oak
and she speaks through its roots to all forest folk:
to mosses and mushrooms, the ferns in the fen,
pink lady slippers, and the grass in the glen.

For all things are akin, all substance is one:
the earth and the stars, the moon and the sun,
the grass and the trees, the air high above,
the birds and the bees, the people we love."

From that time on they were never apart,
and Timmy loved Willow with all of his heart.
All day they would play in the rocks and the streams
and at night sweet Willow would dance in his dreams.

Dryads live long but young summers do fly.
Soon Timmy and Willow spoke words of goodbye.
He promised he'd surely come see her next year.
Sadly smiled Willow; her eyes glistened with tears.

But Timmy came not in that year nor the next
as summers were filled with exciting prospects:
soccer and baseball and Boy Scout Jamborees.
Those days with Willow turned to faint memories

But at last one summer he went back to the farm
and contritely thought of his vow in alarm.
He gave hugs all around, and once he was free,
with his heart in his throat, ran down to the tree.

The oak was all withered, no leaves anywhere.
"Oh Willow! Oh Willow!", he cried in despair.
"Oh Willow! Oh Willow! Oh where can you be?"
then embraced with both arms the willow oak tree.

From the tree there came a soft tremulous sigh.
"Oh Timmy, dear Timmy, my end is now nigh.
I've lived and seen wonders in these many years,
but now I must go; you must not shed any tears.

For all things are akin, all substance is one,
the earth and the stars, the moon and the sun,
the grass and the trees, the air high above,
the birds and the bees, the people we love.

I'll kiss your sweet cheek with every small breeze.
I'll cool your hot brow with the shade of the trees.
In dewdrops I'll wash your bright face with the dew,
and in dreams my soul will be always with you."

With those words, kind Willow then faded away.
Near her Timmy stayed till the end of the day.
That evening quite late he was able to sleep,
then dreamed such a dream, and the dreaming was deep.

The forest was big and the forest was bright.
Sweet sunshine shone through it in golden daylight.
Then all the wood fairies came out at twilight,
and fair Willow danced in the silver moonlight.

"Spend time with those you love"

Details | Roy Jerden Poem

Dante's Path

Oh seed of Dante, dost thy path
in mid-life's turning gone astray
upon a sylvan darkness hath
to tread a rut with feet of clay?

Wast thou that youth of virtue pure
who bargained not with Judgment Day
untempered green convictions sure
before life's tests induced decay?

Didst compromise and circumstance
thy dreams of glory put away
to promise them a second chance
if thou but wouldst concede delay?

Rejoice upon thy wisdom learned!
With youth's illusions purged away
there's still a kingdom to be earned.
Persist, persist, and find the way!

June 28, 2014

Details | Roy Jerden Poem

Delicacy of Leaves

Crash! Bang! Poof! The angry leaves assault my roof
My canine friend turns end to end, and cries out with a woof
I grab my rake and take a break, enjoying autumn's show
No haste to battle Zephyr's breath, with such a fine tableau

Then a pause and silence falls, and time slows to a crawl
Molecules of red and gold in fractal loops enthrall
Leafy fingers stroke my brow, a delicate caress
Cares and worries leave my mind and harried thoughts regress

A second seems forever as I'm lost in reverie
A timeless crystal moment of deep serenity
Then I stir, my eyes unblur and I roll up my sleeves
I put my mind in focus, and begin to rake the leaves

August 23, 2012

Best Poems Written by Roy Jerden

The Angel Inside

Redneck Santa

Kiss of the Eagle

Ragnarok: the Storm

Halloween On the Dark Side of Town

The Pedicure Virgin

Cruisin' the Drag

Willow: a Fable

Dante's Path

Delicacy of Leaves