Best About The Same Poems
I grew up in Middletown, where everything was pretty much average.
Every house, every car, every mom, dad and every kid were all
just about the same. Except for Paul Locke. Paul was the only Jewish
kid on the block. But that wasn't what made him different.
Paul could eat dirt and seemed to enjoy doing so. Someone would say,
"show'em Paul", and he would. Sand, red clay, loam, dust, it didn't
seem to matter. Paul would reach down and grab a handful, choke it
down and then laugh uncontrollably at his accomplishment. He was at
his best in those hot July and August days when we hadn't seen rain all
summer.
Thinking back on it, I don't believe I ever saw him do mud.
I suppose even being different must have its limits.
Give Me Your Best James Tate-Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Space Cadet
11/03/2016
A guardian poet you have been to me
Much like an angel, there protecting me
When I was silent, lost in dark of night
You read my words and brought me back to light
You told me that my words were ever true
That in my writes were thoughts profound and new
You would not let me simply drift away
A word of hope you’d send to greet each day
Your name is there below each thing I write
To tear dimmed eyes you brought a vision bright
“The Queen of Passion,” how I love the name
You gave to me and life is not the same
To you, my Guardian Poet, thanks I bring
You fool me not; I see your angel wing
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Richard Lamoureux and I joined Poetry Soup at about the same time a year and eight months ago. Richard has been like a mentor to me. I’ve recently been very unwell emotionally and unable to write. I have appreciated the fact that he did not give up on me and kept daily visiting my previous writes and leaving words of encouragement. My words are my soul, so, in a way, he was affirming my worth as a person, which is what I was in need of. Richard has written a poem for me entitled, "Queen of the Romantic Pen."
Richard, your friendship is precious and dear. You are a man of faith and integrity. May God bless your home, your loved ones, and your heart with all that brings you joy. Thank you for standing by me through my dark times.
His deepest belief was in truth,
His greatest faith was in God,
He was selfless in his pursuit,
Millions followed where he trod!
He wore no crown, robes or tie,
He was no king, had no kingdom,
Thin and small at five foot five,
He won his people their freedom!
He lived life about the same time,
Adolf Hitler unleashed his anger,
millions perished to Nazi crime,
But Gandhi put no one in danger.
race discrimination he boldly fought,
in South Africa as a young lawyer,
No guns or swords he ever sought,
But he lead by fasting and prayer!
He was by birth a religious Hindu,
But respected all the world beliefs,
All religions were one in his view,
They were same in their motives.
Love, peace, path of nonviolence,
were all his weapons of resistance,
Absorbing anger, showing patience,
he lead India to its independence.
Great minds, common people like us,
Called him Mahatma, a great Soul,
He was likened to Jesus and Moses,
As they revered and pursued his goal.
He fasted to unite the rioting people,
Who killed because of religious strife,
They prayed in mosques and temple,
And thay all prayed only for his life!
On a prayer morning in late January,
Two hate bullets tore his loving heart,
His life put out by ignorance and fury,
he was killed by a world torn apart!
Even several decades after his death,
His message of love shines through,
Like many prophets before his birth,
His life’s mission, to save me and you!
*2nd placement in the contest
Sponsor Chantelle Anne Cooke
Your Favorite Legend ' Contest
Written 10/03/2020
I found out today you had never been true
You were with someone else when I was seeing you.
You took my love, my heart, my trust
And all it meant to you was lust.
I found out today that you gave her a ring
While talking with me about the same thing
And pledged your vows and made her your wife
And swore to stay with her the rest of your life.
Was it just a race? Was it just a game?
Did either of us matter or were we just the same?
Did you really care which one of us said yes first?
Here I thought when you left me you had done your worst.
I found out today the ink was not yet dry
On the decree from your previous lie.
I was just one of many, a face in your crowd
Being duped by you does not make me proud.
I found out today I will get over you
I will hold my head high, I will get through
You have made me a skeptic, you have opened my eyes
I will not so easily fall for men's lies.
One day if I chance to see you on the street
If our paths should cross, if our eyes should meet
I'll forget the deceptions, the lies you would say
I'll remember the truth that I found out today.
The meadow has come alive with sight and sound
As I go through the gate, I hear buzzing all around,
The bees are busy working on milkweed flower
Waist-high daylilies and coral honeysuckles tower,
Enticing a few hummingbirds into the crowded field
I snap a piece of sassafras which is carefully peeled,
Soon I see three cottontails on the path up ahead
About the same time, a cardinal flashing by, all red,
I hear the call of a tanager and a mourning dove
Today, there is so much here in the meadow to love.
The narrow pathway is overgrowing with wild carrot
Originally blown over here from a nearby cattle lot
Breezes are stirring up the gnats and dragonflies,
And I keep wiping floating pollen out of my eyes.
As I expected the mother deer has weaned her fawn
I’m surprised to see her here so long after the dawn,
The afternoon sun beating down is now aggressive
I should have known better, it’s becoming oppressive.
I’ll head toward home, foregoing a walk to the river
A sunstroke is threatening; I have begun to shiver.
Written July 16, 2022
One stone… but please not one ounce more!
Just three cheese straws… or was it four
Nut-crackers made for breaking in
To hardened shells with nuts within
Candies there to tempt my eye
Selected as I wander by
Soft mint creams with chocolate skin
And one more glass of gin
What we call a stone, is, in fact, fourteen pounds
But this British measure so often confounds
About the same weight as two newborns in prams
It’s also called Six point three five kilograms
Two stone… but please not one ounce more,
Those pigs in blankets, I adore
Turkey; roast with stuffing in
Sparkling wine instead of gin
Gammon with an orange glaze
Honeyed parsnips hold my gaze
Cocktail sausage on a stick
And gravy rich and thick
What we call a stone, is, in fact, fourteen pounds
But this British measure so often confounds
About the same weight as two newborns in prams
It’s also called Six point three five kilograms
Three stone… But now it’s nearer four,
Dad, your pants don’t fit no more
Wife says, “Slice of cake for you?”
I say, “No,” but then I do
Mince pies, cake, profiteroles
Christmas pudding, sausage rolls
Custard, jelly, squirty cream
Tried the scales… but hear me scream!
…
…
What we call a stone, is, in fact, fourteen pounds
But this British measure so often confounds
About the same weight as two newborns in prams
It’s also called Six point three five kilograms
One stone, two stone, three stone…… and FOUR!
My tum’s a shadow on the floor
I was male but now not sure
For I can’t see the proof no more
But sausage rolls that went uneaten
Were never gonna see me beaten
So, it’s diet meals drunk through a straw
Like every Christmas gone before
Oh contraire… my Frigidaire
Is full of sherry trifle
I took a little peek in there
A truly festive eyeful
I’m fit to burst but I don’t care
For Christmas MUST HAVE trifle
I’ve got a bowl, I’ve got a spare
I’VE GOTTA HAVE THAT TRIFLE!
What we call a stone, is, in fact, fourteen pounds
But this British measure so often confounds
About the same weight as two newborns in prams
It’s also called Six point three five kilograms
Two Scavengers in a Truck,
Two Beautiful People in a Mercedes
At the stoplight waiting for the light
nine a.m. downtown San Francisco
a bright yellow garbage truck
with two garbage men in red plastic blazers
standing on the back stop
one on each side hanging on
and looking down into
an elegant open Mercedes
with an elegant couple in it
The man
in a hip three-piece linen suit
with shoulder-length blond hair & sunglasses
The young blond woman so casually coiffed
with a short skirt and colored stockings
on the way to his architect's office
And the two scavengers up since four a.m.
grungy from their route
on the way home
the older of the two with grey iron hair
and hunched back
looking down like some
gargoyle Quasimodo
And the younger of the two
also with sunglasses & long hair
about the same age as the Mercedes driver
And both scavengers gazing down
as from a great distance
at the cool couple
as if they were watching some odorless TV ad
in which everything is always possible
And the very red light for an instant
holding all four close together
as if anything at all were possible
between them
across that small gulf
in the high seas
of this democracy
Sometimes the question is more important
Then the answer could ever be
Sometimes you must close your eyes
To ever be able to see
It really is all about the same
Everything is held to chance
No place in life is this more prevalent
Then the passion of romance
Have I mentioned destiny
Or a thing called fate
How each played a major role
In me meeting my true soul mate
My wife and I met one day
Each of us on the run
Trying to stay one step ahead
Of the things we had done
We talked about our children
The hearts we had broke
And how some people in this life
Are truly different folk
Then we talked about ourselves
And how it came to be
That we were finding in each other
What others failed to see
That was many years ago
As I smile at her and grin
That, that lady took a loser
And then taught him to win
There is a hero in my wife
At least she is to me
That lady who took a demon to bed
Then made an angel of me
"Triptych: The Haunted Emerald Windows"
a story
in 3 parts
affixed to a wall
2 of the pieces
fold
left and middle
hidden
the right
plays part
of the symphony
in 3
but not
the all
***
we remove ourselves
from the present
that is the past
we sink into the wall,
through the right -
framed,
the portrait
of a story,
but not
the all,
we move forward
deep within a forest
towards the
centre of the story
into the safety
of a circle,
drawn by the fingers
of trees;
outside the circle
2 of the pieces
fold,
left and middle
hidden, closed.
the inner world
of as above
so below
moves forward
within the story
watched by
unfamiliar creatures
that come
and go
reflected in
the glow of shadows
within a strange forest
opening and closing
portals, illuminated
by the lights of
phantoms
moving through
the haunted
emerald windows
***
at the edge of the forest
on the peripheral,
a child hesitates,
a snowy white owl
on the right shoulder
on the left a squirrel,
the child faces 3 portals
left, right and middle
(Ladylabyrinth / 2023)
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."
(The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost)
remember these rich kids
who moved from downtown
Manhattan,
after the towers fell,
out into the uncharted territories of
Bushwick & those regions of
Brooklyn, which had once been
lined with 3 story houses (or fewer)
& whose skyline one could
see over,
when stores, music venues &
cheeseball clubs were
closer to the exception than the rule,
when there were genuine poor people
who dressed the way that they could
afford,
when these mungo hipsters
didn’t plague the land like the
rats that come squealing out from
beneath the garbage bags piled up
outside their loft buildings,
remade factories, which now serve
as high income palaces
with the guise of low income &
the sprawl of fake-poor in the land of
the
cool.
these hipsters would bump from
thrift store to thrift store,
shopping with mommy & daddy’s money
(now safe from the downtown “terrorist
threats”)
in order to look like they were straight from
the 1970’s, like corduroy everything
was somehow a part of the 21st century,
like sideburns were the way of the
future---
parading with pocketbooks full of cash
which would allow them to frequent the
sushi bars that had sprung up or
pop from expensive café to expensive café
without a second thought
about the same exact dream that they all had
followed,
from the white picket fences in the suburbs of
bumble**** wherever,
to transplant themselves into the
dumpster diving
“soul” searching
snot nosed brats
that lit the fuse for gentrification
all over what used to be
Brooklyn.
I could write about the same things every day for years, you, love, miracles, it would never change anything. You're oblivious to my constant battles with myself. I sit here for hours on end bleeding, continuously pouring my feelings out to you but you never even glance my way. I understand that I'm difficult to love, my mind goes a mile a minute and most of the time I'm an emotional wreck. on the contrary, I'm worth it. I am to be greatly appreciated. My sister always told me that my body is a temple and I am worth more than all of the jewels and treasures that money can buy. I am more than the T-shirt and jeans I throw on early mornings. Under the smile and golden locks, I am broken. as I sit at my typewriter with tears rolling down my face, I ponder what we could've been. I grasp my cup of Joe and wipe my tears. I realize that no one knows what kind of girl I am underneath, I am brilliant but reserved, exotic yet content. I laugh at everything, I can't contain my contagious giggles, they practically spill out of me. i'm irreplaceable, and not to be compared to anything or anyone. I love naps, just collapsing into my bed, disregarding the fact that I'm still in my ripped and jagged jeans, Chuck's on my feet and my ex-boyfriend's flannel on my back. i'm confident, and proud. Yet modest. Yes, I will flaunt my better qualities and I will be happy with who I am. because who honestly cares that I'm wearing yesterday's make up again today. And who gives a damn that I drank two red Bulls this morning just to ensure that I'll make it through the day. because if you're not going to help me, I'm going to have to help myself. And I'll be the first to tell you, you have to put effort in if you want to get effort out.
Did you happen to see old Sam?
He's my poor turtle on the lam
It happened he was told
That his body had been sold
To a restaurant in the city
Where the cook had little pity
On the stove he put the pot
And the veggies that he got
But he had no turtle meat
So decided he would cheat
Chicken tastes about the same
Or so the turtles always claim
So his turtle soup became a mock
Cause he made it with chicken stock
!
For the Turtle Soup Contest
When I was a boy of three,
My sister much older than me
Raced me to the teen-age stage
Where we seemed about the same age.
We knew that folks of thirty
Were way over the hill
And their greatest thrill
Was to sit back and relax
While teen-agers furnished them facts.
But when we reached thirty,
Filled with awe, we foresaw,
That thirty was grace to behold,
And knew in our soul
Folks of fifty were hopelessly old!
But in our fifties we grabbed what we said,
And pushed “old age” way up ahead.
And at sixty we did the same.
Age was just a game not to disclaim.
In our seventies we slowed just a bit
But were still not ready to quit.
And now as octogenarians,
We breeze through museums and aquariums.
With many things to learn
While we have energy still to burn.
So youngsters don’t fret,
Old, we ain’t—not yet!
Manhood
The ad said that I could increase the size of my manhood.
I gave my manhood serious thought and asked myself if
my manhood really needed an increase in size. I was also
concerned as to what particular aspects of my manhood
they were offering to enlarge. I already have a colossal
ego, most men do. My self esteem, well I’ve never tried
to measure that although I do think that its dimensions
vary with proper situations and stimulation. My self
worth, not to be confused with my taxable income,
is extremely susceptible to proper stroking and subtle
whispered hints at its greatness. I wondered if perhaps
the ad was referring to my wondrous aural presence,
or my spontaneous chest puffing upon receiving a
compliment about the size of my manhood. Could
it be referring to those good deeds done and kept
secret, not to hide them but because they are the
things that men of great size do. You know, that
old fashioned stuff like holding the door for a lady,
or more recently allowing her to hold the door open
for me), offering my seat on the crowded subway
to anyone who seems distressed, smiling, walking
with a bit of a skip in my step, stopping to admire
a sunrise, picking up the bottles left lying in the
playground by men much smaller than me, stopping
to talk to the old couple who pass by about the same
time every day, shoveling someone’s walkway. So
I figure my manhood is just about the right size for
me, some areas could probably us a little pruning
but I like to think that being the right size is more
important than being larger than life.
John G. Lawless
Here you silently rest unsung hero
A granite stone on top of you
As a symbol of deference and dignity
With the words Rest in Peace.
Rest in peace indeed hero of mine!
You once walked amongst the living
Coming from a battle
With aching wrists, stomach cramps and leaden feet,
And yet the world grinned at you with emptiness.
Yet, they sang songs loud and clear.
Songs of eternity about the same battle
Praising those who came back with
Bleeding noses, cuts, bruises and black eyes.
Rest in peace, indeed.
You once came back from a marathon,
You were exhausted but still had your feet firm on the ground
And yet you were met with lifeless words.
Instead they sang songs of jubilation
To those who came back from the same marathon
With their chests panting like frogs and
Sweat streaming all over their bodies.
And now!
Only now that you lay lifeless in the world of the silence
And the living finally has wax removed from their ears and eyes,
Are beginning to weave songs about you.
For they now know that you had the furnace of a tiger
You had burning passion that lit for men and women
Walking in confusion in the jungle war.
You held an elephant’s tusks
For your knowledge provided paths for those who were lost
And kept them grounded.
You had the strength of a lion
Your tenacity made you fight and fight…
Rest in Peace, indeed
Hero unsung.