Best All Clear Poems
Inside the Dishwasher everyone rushed!
Clinks, clanks, rattles, 'Ouches' and ' Ohs'!
"Would you pa--lease, settle down!" said Deb--They hushed.
"Now we can hear...let's just see how this goes."
Curious, Peter, looked out through a chinc,
And watched Vie and Chris-- approaching by twos.
They opened the door--and who do you think--
Standing there wearing her fine Jimmy Choos,
Ms Lost Sonnet!--spoke not a word--but winked.
Wilma Wine-Corkscrew, dressed in purple hues
Gave the 'all clear', and Peter spread the news.
"We're having a party Ms Sonnet, please,
Won't you join us? It's a magic party
For Peter", said Ruben Rotisserie.
Bob Blender poured her a drink--quite hardy.
Connie Candellabra was flaming bright
As Ms Sonnet swept past to the soft couch.
Carolyn Cookie Jar screamed with such fright,
"Quick! She's on fire!" Then Lost cried, "Ouch!"
"I'll save her", said Catie Collander. "Here!"
But the water leaked through her like a sieve.
Susan Spatula yelled, "Have no fear, dear!"
Yet, the fire held on and would not give--
Others tried, but could not stop the fire.
Then Peter said, "I wuw twy! I can do it!
With 'Awwy, I can fwy! Way up highya!
Togethwa, we can save Ms Wost Sonnet!
Awwy is my fwend. He tawks funny, too!
He's aw the way fwom Engwand and he is
My Supwa Cape! So I can fwy! It's twue!
No H's wive theaw--his name is wike this:
'Awwy--not Hawwy." So now, they all knew.
"Did I 'ear some bloke colling my name?"
"Yes! 'Awwy, me! We've Ms Sonnet to save!"
Harry Handtowel--AKA, Super Cape--fame
Was now on the neck of Peter the Brave!
With no hesitation quickly they flew,
Smothered the fire and saved just one shoe.
Brittle and weak, Lost needed more than glue...
"She needs magic! Oh! Paweeze! What can we do?"
"Peter...we only made enough for you".
Said Carol Crock-pot. They all cried, "Boo Hoo..."
"Then give huw my magic! That's what you do!"
So quickly they sprinkled the magic brew.
Ms Sonnet was greatful--then said, "Adieu".
"Peter, you've done well," said Anne Assam Tea,
"Let's all have a cup'a tea and you'll see...
"'Magic's believing in yourself, --frankly,
Do that--and you can do--anything!"
~©deborah burch
5/23/2012
*Special appearance by "Lost Sonnet", courtesey of David Williams...with much gratitude, thank you all for appearing ;)...Peter has many adventures to come...big hugs, love you all, cap'n deb
I sat quietly and waited, making the noises he had come to know, calling him in his newly given name. His face would appear, cautiously calculating my intent, he would approach. The promise of food and gentle touch too much to deny. And so we did the “Little Prince’s” taming dance, each aware of the other and the possibility of betrayal.
cold eyes, empty heart
frost forming on life’s edges
winter’s numbing kiss
Our meetings continued, less cautious greetings, more welcome contact, minimal conversation. His coat was becoming more ragged in spite of attempts to keep it up, his gait slowing as our good-byes became short walks together. He could not leave his place, his home, even though it had left him – alone, to fend for himself.
hoarfrost in retreat
sunrise gently awakens
friendships warming blood
He withdrew – I would wait, quietly, whisper the name he had come to know, make the sounds that signaled “all clear”. I searched for him, stood silent and listened for his weakening call, shed tears in the cold rain of November. His last call, a feeble attempt at good-bye, led me to him. Alone, cold, hungry, he lay there, rolled his eyes as I cradled his cold and fading spirit. He shivered – and left.
winter’s cold cradle
ice encasing a friendship
a thawing of hearts
10/20/2015
submitted to – Creative Haibuns – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Charlotte Jade Puddifoot
It's 4:30am and I can't sleep,
the sheep leap and lay in a heap,
told me they're tired and got shut eye,
even my own mind has shunned I,
lets just freestyle this rhyme and see where it goes,
it beats laying in the dark watching that ghost,
across the room that never comes close,
my mind protects itself from some images,
probably awake cus my dreams have edges,
nothing on the tele but Teleshopping,
trying to sell pots pans and mops but I'm channel hopping,
maybe I should count that instead of sheep to drop off,
it's dark and rainy outside and there's strange noises up in the loft,
I don't really care though as long as they stay there,
if it's burglars it's funny cus they'll hide til all clear here,
and what weirdo would brake into and burgle the attic first,
a junkie on crack thinking he's superman singing Fred Durst,
Limp Bizkit I want a biscuit in a whiskey,
I'm tired now I've bored myself, I expect I'll sleep in a minute,
this poems over matey, find something else.
Our Cosmic Existence
We think what we know but the key confusion is always there,
When we ponder situations or events that have such high import,
And what we're used to dealing with daily at times on a mere dare.
In this cosmic realm what we don’t know we must try to purport,
Significant because of the infinite nature of deep dark outer space,
Which points toward an existential dichotomy of a most special sort.
Our knowledge of what we don’t know is of such an infinite pace,
Confounding whole the mortal complexity of a cosmic coldness,
And defying our very consciousness in the monotony of dark space.
We must confront our cosmic existence with such confident boldness,
While calculating what we know and don’t—without any hint of fear,
And seek a God-given azimuth beyond this aura of a fearful coldness.
Our cosmic existence lies in God’s light beyond this darkness and fear,
Meaning we must reach out beyond our mortal state in an aura of grace,
With our thoughts, our hearts, and our feelings so God can make all clear.
We can pursue this ethereal challenge now living in our human race,
While realizing we must reach out with God’s help to find this light,
And prepare one day for our mortal transition beyond to God’s place.
Our cosmic existence then is the two-way effort that we must get right,
As we seek out and find our way to Him spiritually beyond our short life;
Confident in our trek through a pathless land toward eternity into the light.
Gary Bateman and Ingrid Krukenberg-Bateman – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved (May 1, 2015) (Terza Rima)
I tell a tale of younger days
When I was just a kid
I went to school in war time
As many others did
We would collect the shrapnel
From the big guns overnight
Most shells missed their target
But would still cause aircrews fright
Maybe on our way to school
A house a smoking wreck
We were not allowed to close
To see we'd crane our neck
The bombers came in waves at night
We didn't get much sleep
Scant room inside that concrete box
Jammed like a mob of sheep
The all clear goes it's back to bed
And then to rise again
The German aircraft overhead
And down the bombs would rain
I lived in Highbury at the time
Where guns fired to the sky
Both sides tried to kill or maim
I often wondered why
Even now I'm older
I still don't understand
Why humans are so agro
And can't live hand in hand
Is it just the Makers way
To make our numbers fall
We have no other predators
It really is our call
I hope that when I've left this earth
Intelligence will reign
We will control our populations
And not need war again
There will be no little children
With gas mask in a pack
See such death and destruction
On their way to school and back
Light to my soul, heavenly bliss,
If you forgive me Lord
Loving you naught can be amiss,
For penance I afford.
Death seems ever so near
My soul should be all clear
Take me Lord there's no fear.
Let the bells toll,
Light to my soul.
Quietus
Three years have passed since diagnosis
then I was told that cancer entered me
in the prostate was where it did dwell
but consultant was sure of setting me free
Various tests were done upon me
MRI, bone scan and CT were all clean
thankfully it had not spread anywhere
then biopsy done what's it mean?
Well, went on D-day to hospital
real nervous, but result cancer 5%
thinking this can be beaten, believe it
so next, decide what's the treatment?
After seeing a consultant made decision
radiotherapy for 20 days with no rest
hormone pills taken for a whole 5 months
at the end of that hope to pass the test
When PC is not a computer
Prostate Cancer jumps no fence
have regular 6 months tests so secure
PC under control feel God's presence
Now 3 years on keeping good health
no all-clear till 2027 wait and see
live your life, believing in your Lord
so take heart if you've got PC
(My history of past 3 years having prostate cancer and on the way to a positive result looking forward to winning this battle.)
Thoust message rings,
But it is a wretched beauty.
Sew up thine tongue;
It forks in many directions,
Ensnaring, passing through the centers,
Weaving a thread gleaming, deceivingly white,
Yet drenched in the black goo,
The sticky gobs of our source, our blood.
Cast aside thine needle,
Let time make it blunt.
Wallow in thine sorrow,
But only for a moment.
Up, up with you!
The sticky gobs cannot protect thee.
See me, Hear me.
For I see thee...
Thou hast split thine tongue
To hide, to forget.
Thine forked words, black to all, clear to me.
Go on, go ahead,
Walk through its enveloping black.
And when you cannot run,
Crawl.
And when you can’t do that anymore,
Find someone to carry you.
Thou art strong!
Let thine center give you new feet!
Yet,
If even thine center falls weary,
I shalt be thine legs.
I shalt carry you, my friend.
Hiding Under My 3rd Grade Desk
David J Walker
Mrs. Pollards smile
Was enough to reassure every member
Of her third-grade class
That their world was secure
As the crass voice in the
Crackling PA speaker announced
An End of the World Drill in the
Middle of the day
Usually, a call to quietly line up
And make an orderly march to
The hallway where we would
Stay crouched in a fetal position
Until the voice returned to sound
The all-clear
But this time was different
This time it was
Duck & Cover under your desk
Was the end really that near?
Were the bombs about to fall
On Thatcher Elementary in
Pueblo, Colorado?
Did the commies hate us so much
They would rain down missiles
On our playground?
Not today!
Not when It was my turn
To pick sides for Kickball
A girl named Diane with blonde curls
Beside me talk about a sack lunch
And tetherball
And a game of Jax if the
Hopscotch courts were full
Would the bombs blast the whole
Building away
Leaving us huddled under our desks
Before recess?
Would we walk home among craters
Created by Commie planes coming
Over the artic just to find us while
Reciting the rhythm
Of the Times table
The Social Studies lesson was
About the Pilgrims and how we
Should be thankful for freedom
In science we were learning
About the moon and how soon
Someday we would get there
If they drop the bomb could we
Still watch cartoons at 4 in the afternoon
Would there be anything left of the
Playground at Mineral Palace Park
And what about the swans that
Make their home on the park lake
How long are we supposed to
Stay under these desks I whispered
To Mark
I don’t know he said
As Mrs. Pollard shushed us
As we hid and waited for
The all-clear
Here upon the poet’s hallowed ground,
my soul I bare for all to see,
I leave my tale of perfect love
and all you mean to me.
For years I’ve wandered aimlessly,
walking blindly in the night,
‘til your soft and tender kiss
unveiled such ardent light.
‘Tis said one never knows,
the breadth of true love’s power;
like a storm it sweeps upon you,
a sudden formidable shower.
I stand now as living testament,
swept up in its raging current.
Logic bows to the heart and soul,
overrun by true love’s torrent.
Like minds, like souls, like hearts;
drowning in self lament,
‘til fate’s fortuitous hand
revealed love’s sweet content.
Once I mocked the poet’s verse
that paid such homage to the soul;
playful dreams and fantasies,
that spoke of halves made whole.
Such mockery is but a fool’s mirage
your touch forever changed me;
you bore witness to life’s verity;
a portent of what living should be.
As the tempest cleared away
once gray skies turned blue.
The pallid now resplendent
as I viewed the world through you.
Now stripped of past vanities,
I stand naked in the sun.
My world forever changed,
when you and I became one.
Emerging from such throes
to the heights of ecstasy,
your soft and gentle touch
has made it all clear to me.
My world forever changed
that day you stole my heart.
The poet’s verse doth ring true;
I’m but half when we’re apart.
So, my muse, I leave my tribute
here where love’s prose grew;
the perfect theatre to tell the world
how much I love you.
Picture it.
3:00 AM
Niagara Falls, Canada
We are rudely awakened
by an intermittent buzzing
very loud
irritating, nerve grating.
“What is that?” I ask.
“Fire alarm,” he answers.
We get up, wide awake now.
“Maybe it’s just a drill,”
he says, hopefully.
A disembodied voice
“Please remain calm, please stay
in your room while we investigate.”
The message is repeated at intervals.
He goes back to bed.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“It’s probably a false alarm,”
he answers. I wonder.
I’m thinking that if it’s real
we’re wasting precious time.
We’re on the ninth floor.
I’m thinking of the arthritis
in my knees, knowing we would
not be allowed to use the elevators.
I get dressed, make coffee,
immediately apply my makeup,
check my hair.
The word is passed along the halls
“Evacuate, evacuate the hotel!”
I grab my purse, jewelry,
camera and poetry notebook.
He puts shoes on bare feet,
exits the room wearing only
a tee-shirt and sweat pants.
The stairs are crowded with people
in various stages of undress:
Fuzzy slippers, long sleep shirts,
flip-flops, nylon jogging shorts
flimsy gowns, satin boxers.
A moving mass, silently descending.
Outside, hundreds milled around,
quietly watching the fire trucks
parked at the curb, motors running,
red lights flashing.
I un-sheath my camera, begin
capturing the moment.
When the all-clear sounds,
he starts back upstairs.
“I’m going back to bed,”
he announces, and begins
the climb back upstairs.
“Not me,” I say, “I’ll see you later.”
I find a chair in the lobby,
sit down to watch drama unfold.
A couple from Toronto had
walked down from the 22nd
floor, she with a cane
(hip replacement surgery).
A young woman from Louisiana
with Aloette Cosmetics,
roses in arms,
waiting for the shuttle bus.
Families with small children.
A bride, whose new husband
had walked off without her
gives him an angry message,
a rude gesture, a divorce threat.
Free Starbucks coffee supplied
by the hotel, followed by a bill,
shoved under the door,
seven hundred sixty-three dollars.
“For three nights!” he rages.
“It was worth it,” I say,
“I wouldn’t have missed it!”
The Ghost Train
North Wind, it was a howling, the sky was black as guilt
Malevolent the sheen, where upon her moonbeams spilt
Through the murky distance, her belly glowing bright
Roaring down the line, she was roaring down the line
Charging down the line, the Ghost Train rolls tonight
She glides along the platform, where haunted faces wait
With dreams of grand ambition, that only she can slate
The driver in his blood red suit, turns a skeletal grin
Toward the hungry hopefuls, then ushers each one in
From store to fire, his actions deft
The fireman twisting on his plate
Stokes the engine right to left
He fuels the fire of fate
He mutters and stutters, “We can’t be late”
For time is money and money won’t wait
With shovels full of human desire
He fuels the fire of hate
The whistle cord is pulled, the flag flutters all clear
The engine she is plied, starts the journey into fear
On it goes a rumbling,
On it’s round iron feet
Inside the folk are tumbling
From every leathered seat
Amid the laughter and the chants
What life, what love, what times
Everyone is held entranced
By ghostly railway lines
Tittle tattle chatter, ash from the chimney pours
Natter rattle clatter, onward the Ghost Train roars
Strange games are played
Some win some lose
Sincere thank you’s become mislaid
As each the other use
Beneath the load the earth she quakes
As all aboard debauch
Done deals and shady handshakes
On every carriage porch
Kerching-kerching-kerching, the till bell rings
More-more-more, the engine softly sings
From store to fire, his actions deft
The fireman twisting on his plate
Stokes the engine, right to left
He fuels the fire of fate
He mutters and stutters, “we can’t be late”
For power is waiting and power is great
With shovels full of human remains
He fuels the fire of hate
In never ending search, she roams across the land
Controlled by the evil, of the blood red suited hand
Through the murky distance, her belly glowing bright
Charging down the line, the Ghost train rolls tonight
If it pulls into your station
Will you jump upon its frame?
Will you lose all inhibition?
On your way to wealth and fame
For when the ride is done
There’s no-one else to blame
If you find you become
Another furnace flame.
There he stood alone and cold in the dark bare streets
Dressed in rags from hand me downs, & carrier bags on his feet
The hustle of the daily grind constantly passes by
But still he stands & never speaks, or even bats an eye
No-one noticing where he stands or even who he is!
This young homeless soldier now back from war & living on the street
Ten years ago it was different when he left to go to war
Just a boy of 18 was he, when he left his homely shore
A proud mother waved her son goodbye with tears of pride & pain
Not knowing when she will ever see her child, her son again
With pride he saluted his country's flag as he ran with guns & knives
Knowing by the end of the day he would have started taking lives
He saw the death around him, the faces etched in fear
But still he had to shoot that gun until he was given the all clear
The images stayed inside his head for years & years to come
The memories of having to shoot little kids that were using loaded guns
They haunted him all through the day even when he closed his eyes
The sights & the sounds, that were left behind made him unable to live his life
The boys they couldn't help him, he was seen as damaged goods
Kicked from the only life he knew cos his hands could no longer shoot
The life in civvy street was hard, the rules of the game had changed
No orders, no friends, no arms, no men his days were not the same
The normal life just didn't compare to the life he had to serve
His team became just him alone, his orders left unheard
So from the place he stayed, he left & went to that homely shore
No mum to wave him off this time, no fleet to sail anymore
So rocks in carrier bags he filled, & tied them to his feet
Then walked they way his boat had sailed, when he had first joined the fleet
Nobody even missed him, as he walked into that sea
Returning to the life he knew, the deaths, the war, the team
So now on a lonely street he stands, this statue so proud and tall
A silent cold stone soldier representing the men that died for us all
//Bang bang//
//nothing but the blood of your homie is going through your mind//
//That's fine nothing but the blood of Jesus is going through mine//
//this is not just a line this is a design//
//you live in the hood//
// you think your a gangsta for good//
//you rob banks and shoot blanks//
//you think your big//
//you think your bad//
//but you can't even add//
//doesn't matter if your a blood or a crip//
//your in the same battleship//
//Your fight alongside Satan//
//doesn't give you light even when your eating bacon//
//you don't want to give up your lifestyle//
//even though your a juvenile//
//all you do is rob shops and Run from cops//
//why do you wanna live in fear//
//yell out its all clear//
// you can help people from repeating your past//
//they don't have to wear your cass//
//ask God to forgive you//
//now I just won the combative//
Alligator always thought he could fly
He wanted to have wings
Like a butterfly
Butterfly wanted to be strong
Have big teeth,
she had wishes underneath
Alligator wanted to swim in the air
Touch the clouds
Get out of his lair
Butterfly wished she could be an alligator
Not to fear
She had all clear
One day, they both met
at the island place
what heartbreaking case!
Let’s change our bodies- they said.
Alligator tried to fly around
But he fell down
Butterfly tried to scare a giraffe
But that made animals
Have a good laugh
After failing tries
they decided to live together
no matter the weather
Butterfly on alligator’s back
Didn’t feel a snack
But ready to attack
Alligator wearing wings,
felt like kings.
What a wonderful thing.