Lots
of years
now have passed
since couples parked
to romance lovingly after their ride-
wearing dressy clothes 1930s style!
These days- replaced
with frayed jeans
cool tees-
done!
August 23, 2021
Contest: Double Tetractys
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Photo Used: #1 (On Left)
Syllables: 1, 2, 3, 4, 10, 10, 4, 3, 2, 1
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Presented Polite Priest To Our Parish
There are many things that poems can contain;
Fragrant flowers which will flow in a spring rain;
Sky full of clouds and mountain top with snow,
While across some wide sea wind would blow.
Heard a polite priest who we love in our parish;
Could give great sermon which we will cherish;
And should see him walking down a long aisle;
Done smoothly and graciously with much style.
In many ways, himself he did seem to involve;
All of our spiritual problems was able to solve;
We also have heard that he is well educated;
His main concern is to make others motivated.
Naturally of course we know his greatest goal,
Is always to make us whole and save our soul;
God did gave us exactly who we had desired;
He was the pleasant person who we had hired.
Jim Horn
Common sit down you're not cool, quit being a fool.
The Democrat party doesn't give a care bout Black Lives Matter, like you, they support Klanned Parenthood where black unborn children are being ripped apart and having their lives Shattered
These children for gun control are overrated, just like in the 1930s German youth they're being indoctrinated.
People who lost loved ones in Parkland who support Trump didn't get to speak, the far-left only knows how to suppress free speech that is so weak.
On Emma Gonzalez's jacket, she wears a Cuban flag of a communist country where the people are treated so badly, She can't even wear the American flag of the land of free and the home of the brave this is very sad.
Are Boss Hog ruts §?g trying to give a clue like the Riddler, He gave a salute like he's little Hitler
Yes Common God is Great, but he doesn't support your Hate.
This was poem made bout March For Our Lives. Common talking bout Trump's hate,
The resist solute by Hogg, the jacket of Emma
The year was sixty-seven, mid July,
a summer's day, and Hucknall was the place,
I sat beneath a cornflower blue sky,
sun hat on head, and ice cream on my face.
Strange mixtures of aromas filled my nose,
like aviation fuel and candy floss,
hot dogs with onion, I had one of those,
got ketchup down my shirt, my Mum was cross.
Not angry for too long, she treated me
to my first trip aloft, a pleasure flight,
a 1930s biplane, the Rapide,
all wood and struts and wires, like a kite.
Mum leaned across and handed me a sweet,
she said to me that sucking it would stop
the pressure change around two thousand feet
from making both my eardrums go pop.
We bumped along the grass, took to the air,
warm currents rose then dropped our little plane,
my face at one point took on colour where
the lime boiled sweet and it were both the same.
We landed, I climbed out, all beaming smiles,
and pleaded with my Mum to go again,
my next flight I would have to wait a while,
but that was when I fell in love with planes.
For contest 'Early childhood memory', sponsor Line Gauthier
22nd April 2018
City across the water, night by violet aurora
Los Angeles, we're further south than I thought (than we should be)
I take a strewn-bark trail to get a better view
Hand me the camera, Polaroids in quick succession (when is this?)
It's not quite capturing it, never the depth of field we need
Daybreak (remembering, there's no bay in LA)
Scores of Chinese workers emerge from pores in pagodas
Hauling, cleaning, young mean men, old pig-tailed women, children too small to see clearly
Faces are rusty, resolutely worn
I can zoom in but can't get there from here
Night again, back on the trail
A man appears from the palm brush behind
Could pass for a 1930s Okie hobo; faded salmon shirt, crushed felt hat
Something in his beard
He just wants to feel the lights and see the palms
Gunshots, on my side of the water
Okie flees, I hear whispers, overlapping
This is good stuff, though unnerving
I should be writing this down
Ushered from the scene, to somewhere I didn't expect to be
Peter loved his wife Carmen Lúcia
Their love 's color was tranquil fuchsia
Their love took shape in Mogok
In depth of the Mother rock
Big red ruby-poem of Gaia
HISTORY
The Smithsonian's National Museum of Natural History in Washington, D.C. has received one of the world's largest and finest ruby gemstones. The 23.1 carats (4.62 g) Burmese ruby, set in a platinum ring with diamonds, was donated by businessman and philanthropist Peter Buck in memory of his late wife Carmen Lúcia. This gemstone displays a richly saturated red color combined with an exceptional transparency. The finely proportioned cut provides vivid red reflections. The stone was mined from the Mogok region of Burma (now Myanmar) in the 1930s.
Precious Stones and Gems - Poetry Contest
Sponsor:Anthony Slausen
Poet: Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty
Form: Limerick
Theme: Love, Ruby, Precious stone
Until 1934 I was a barber, that used to be my profession.
Many people are suffering because of this Great Depression.
A Gangster walked into my shop but when he left, he had to be carried.
He was responsible for many deaths and I made sure that he was buried.
I usually don't brag but this time I love to gloat.
That punk asked for a shave and I slit his throat.
He dealt in Prostitution, Gambling, Booze and Heroin.
I made sure that he couldn't do anything illegal again.
I'm not ashamed of myself even though I lost my freedom and my wife.
I saved people from that animal and a judge sentenced me to life.
I'll be locked up for the remainder of my years.
I don't regret what I did, my conscience is clear.
(This fictional poem takes place in the 1930s.)
Winners Risk All
Aware, after spending the day teaching
Reminiscing, remembering, reliving
And interpreting events reaching
The wizened children of my own age.
We of the 1930s and 40s
Seem to have spent our lives
On adventurous sorties
Of claiming, defending, inventing
The stuff of which men and women today
Put together new adventures made of
Claiming, defending, inventing in a way
That seems bloodless, aimless and wispy.
We who are now on the frontier of old age
Can still taste the salt of the bloodlust
From the memories of the wars we wage
Alive still in the annals of our mind.
Have not given up on the battles we led
We have not given up the ground we stood on.
Our causes are anything but dead
Standing aged and worn, lined with time.
Though the energy is gone and strength is bereft
Compared to the younger set
There is more victory, more joy in the life still left
Than in bloodless games with no winners or losers.
One day we will all go down to the grave
Leaving only memories behind among the living
But this century's old ones go down brave
As victors with the decision to the winners.
by E. Marshall Evans
There is a house on Nashatuck hill in Concord
with beautiful open spaces
It was built in the 1930s
and it has an Adirondack style porch that looks out over
a small valley and Concord center
The house has three stories
and on every story the detail work is craftsmanship
shining wood railings
grand moldings
I don’t know who lives there now
I only saw it once like a boy whose eyes meet yours
that you never forget somehow
I am sure by now some wonderful wealthy people have moved in
and given it beautiful colors
filled it with beautiful lamps and light and laughter
I am sure it has become a show place where people come
and go and ohh and ahhh and laugh and eat
and chink glasses
and I will always remember it just like a boy I loved once
even thought I may never step foot inside it’s doors again
1930s Dirranbandi Mucky eye fix
Coming back from bloody Cobar,
where the dust storms used to blow,
came the mucky eyed with Sandy Blight,
as the mucky eyed do go,
back in the thirties - forties,
Ning-a-Ning Joseph saw em, hah,
When ole man Wise took to fixing,
Mucky eyeballs, yes bloody sah!
Widdle in a bottle, swirl the mixture, sweet delight,
Add a little drop of Ainaseed, to kill the smell orright,
Splash it on the eyeball, let it trickle tickle there,
Just a widdle bit of seeing,
Till yer sight was bloody fair,
The mucky eyed no longer gummed up, & eyelid red,
just the trickle on the eyeball, fixed the mucky yucky head,
Ole wise was up 4 sainthood at the Black stump water hole,
A widdle bit of widdle cleans the eye and soothes the soul?
Don Johnson
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