Best Allotments Poems
Five stones
closing times
radiograms and
seventy-eights
school caps
sticklebacks
saturday flicks,pooh sticks
Charabancs
steam trains
linoleum
oil cloth
mangles
fish paste
sandwich spread
Hot towel shaves
cut-throat razor
shopping baskets
paper bags
braces,plimsoles
short,back
and sides
Wizard beano
and hotspur
lending libraries
picturegoer,
road to
Bridget Bardot
Marilyn Monroe
Dripping
coal fires
antimacassars
nylons,suspenders
crumpets
and toast
Brown and mild
barrelled beer
conkers,school milk
blackboard rubbers
and liftup desk lids
times-tabled
school-kids
Draughts
and allotments
rusty bikes
roller skates
satchels and scrumping
pounds,shillings
and pence
To those who measure the depths of their power,
In the fathomless pools of tears of the oppressed;
To the human hyenas that gorge themselves full,
While the sons and the daughters of the incarcerated,
Battle with the sharp arrows of hunger and dearth;
To those who appropriate to themselves,
Mother Earth’s allotments to the destitute;
To the dragon-mouthed whose fiery flames of hatred,
Sear the reputation of the guiltless;
To the puckish tongues that uproot family trees,
Wresting the blossoming babes from Pa’s loving arms;
To you all, Satan’s scamps; I say and say again:
The wrathful wind doth gather the celestial armies;
And the saintly swords of the beleaguered,
Will chirpily chaperon your souls past the netherworld.
spring the season of procreation
a coming together, fun, elation
birds nest building, mammals den digging
cock birds singing, squirrels dreys rigging
dawn chorus, awakening a warm day
all life buzzing and new on the way
but natures confused, as winter holds on
spring life suffers, hark, not a song
tis, not the way springtime is meant to be
not fickle, like warm, hot, cold and icy
climate change to blame, pollution, you and me
that was March a total conundrum
hopes lifted, yes, April showers an idiom
a record set the hottest spring day yet
tempting butterflies, yet I do fret
it's not nature that confounds spring
not knowing what climate change will bring
its warm now but don't take it for granted
we still need to get our allotments planted
tis not the way springtime is meant to be
not fickle, like warm, hot, cold and icy
climate change to blame, pollution, you and me
last four weeks of spring from winter still running
it is not natural for winter to be so cunning
let us hope that May is that much stronger
as the nights get shorter and daylight longer
may May hold to its promise of a golden summer
still not heard a cuckoo, for me that's a bummer
maybe when spring gets near its end
we might hear a cuckoo, springs dearest friend
tis not the way springtime is meant to be
not fickle, like warm, hot, cold and icy
climate change to blame, pollution, you and me
Upon the transit city streets
Where all the faces seldom meet
and hands are seldom held in greet
as ears and eyes avoid hungers reek
Who clamors for the hungry born?
While food is stuffed in fattened heads
delivered from thoughts of those unfed
while on the corner just up ahead
a man sits, weary, worn…
Corporations greedy towers
Counting coup and gaining power
Diamonds on their loved ones shower
Thousand dollar suits empower
Who offers hope for poor’s new born?
Unpaid a worthy wage to each
their monthly bills in hope to meet
Body hungry, so kids can eat
A man sits, weary, worn…
Fists clasping hold to wallets tight
Gathering things, their given right
Reaching always for richer heights
Employees grieve, though not in sight
Who suffers, man, poor wages born?
When unattained, money sought
Though fair wages are clearly bought
a paycheck, cashed, is stretched too taunt
A man sits, weary, worn…
Hiding funds in a foreign land
Tax evasions rape sovereign sand
Lobbying to hold the wealthy hand
Meager sums paid retirement plans
Greed begets the poor wages born
while feet get wet for need of shoes
Though they smile, hearts sing the blues
When second job hopes come unglued
A man sits, weary, torn…
On 08/31/14 I declared this 4 day undertaking completed. I’ve tweaked to the best of my ability. The rhyme scheme was not the challenge, it was the meter I found hard to follow through in each verse. Not anywhere near what I consider the best of my scribbles but here it is !!
When I was a kid, I would climb up trees,
Was made to wear shorts and always cut my knees.
Played in the allotments, making tents from cloth and sticks,
Imagining we built a fortress made of bricks.
We’d play outside all hours, even till dark,
Playing football, cricket or just running in the park.
We’d ride around on bikes, on the pavement, along a street
Where everybody gathered because then you couldn’t tweet.
You would call on all your mates, ask ‘are you playing out?’
Knowing the answer would be ‘yes’, of that there was no doubt,
Whatever you were doing, come rain or shine that day,
There was always something to do, always time to play.
Mum did all the cooking, a master chef no less,
She’d bake cakes, make biscuits, ‘course we must clear the mess.
On Sunday it was lunch, a roast with all the trimmings,
A feast for everyone that cost only a few shillings.
If you were rich or poor, it mattered not a jot,
Nobody compared what he or she had got.
I’d get half a crown to spend, on a Saturday no less,
For me that was simply heaven, that I must confess.
Along to the sweet shop, where the jars were on display,
Such a massive choice that it took your breath away.
I’d maybe buy some sherbet, fruit salads or pear drops,
Or a lucky bag; If I could I’d have bought the shop!
You knew all your neighbours, each and everyone,
It was the village community to which you did belong.
The happiest times, special memories to treasure,
Growing up in the sixties, an extraordinary pleasure.
Strand Select 5 any form, any theme Poetry Contest
Date: 7th January 2020
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Pathway blocked
Detour around;
Seek alternative route
Look beyond zest
Let message fling;
Align your quest
No customers
Drowsy sales person;
Somnolent afternoon
Bazaar atmosphere
Crowded pathway;
Curious seekers
Mini speakers
Loud digital music;
Screaming upbeat sounds
Popcorn vendor
Long queue waiting;
Small people and parents
Durian season
Pungent suffocation;
Sensory perfection!
Sales season
Great Singapore Sale;
Temptations galore
Diamonds and stones
Sapphires and garnet;
Precious metal settings
Food court delights
Staple dietary fare;
Oriental flavours greet
Looking at something
Finder's keepers;
Standing queue now claims
Time and space
Strange allotments;
Flood tide of moments
Leon Enriquez
11 July 2014
Singapore
Five stones
closing times
radiograms and
seventy-eights
school caps
sticklebacks
saturday flicks,pooh sticks
Charabancs
steam trains
linoleum
oil cloth
mangles
fish paste
sandwich spread
Hot towel shaves
cut-throat razor
shopping baskets
paper bags
braces,plimsoles
short,back
and sides
Wizard beano
and hotspur
lending libraries
picturegoer,
road to
Bridget Bardot
Marilyn Monroe
Dripping
coal fires
antimacassars
nylons,suspenders
crumpets
and toast
Brown and mild
barrelled beer
conkers,school milk
blackboard rubbers
and liftup desk lids
times-tabled
school-kids
Draughts
and allotments
rusty bikes
roller skates
satchels and scrumping
pounds,shillings
and pence
NRIs (Non-reading incorrigibles) always start their public school careers not in August or September, but rather on November 16th, because November 15th is the day all schools get paid in full for the entire school year for each student who is enrolled that school whether they attend that school one more day or not. Thus, charter schools, which can kick them out, almost always kick them out on that day when they have reached a certain age - usually ten, and the school has reached a certain intolerance for them. I am sure they have the paperwork all ready to go the evening of November 14th.
One year we got six NRIs from the same charter school, in the same grade level, and five of their parents told us we should not put them in a class with each other. This was a bit of a problem as they were in fifth grade, and we only have two fifth grade classes. Unlike charter schools, public schools have to take everyone. I imagine you already knew that.
These NRIs might not have become NRIs if they had attended an accredited public school with standards and guidelines in the first place, but unfortunately, they did not. Worse, some of their parents were not aware that the reason they were NRIs, causing the problems they were causing was due to their abject frustration that they have not learned to read or write or do math or anything remotely school-like. If you are a child, stirring up trouble is a fantastic way to get out of class, so the students who can do things like math do not figure out that you cannot do them. I know this, being an experienced math-despiser, who always tried to get kicked out of math class.
Keep sending us your NRIs on November 16th, you charter schools, but I think it is a travesty, and I do not see how you sleep at night. Maybe paying schools a yearly allotment for each student on November 15th needs to be changed somehow? Paying schools their student allotments monthly instead of yearly on November 15th might eliminate this problem.
Imagine ! Engineering a Surreal Eden.
To grow a mountain, imagination right?
In, an old jam jar, yeh right!
Of clean soil, Soil! Isn’t that soiled?
Such a seed could be, soiled and would be exclusive;
Perhaps part time growing in window box?
May save the roof? No rain mind,
just a tarry dim sun.
Breezed by a filthy wind ; alone!
In its eroded scraggy day, while
expanding, a different slice of the colour green.
Pushed skywards, it all looks the same!
What about Apples and Snakes?
and our engineered countryside,
of plastic and glass, filling allotments.
With mirrors for the gods! And soured bogs.
Eyes only open at jar breaking time
And – the mountain? We shall keep it!
Under the bed, so it can’t be seen.
.
Everyone longs for meaning, finding bits in many places.
Searching for a soul mate, we get a glimpse in many faces.
Countless strive for success although they cannot claim it.
Such a transitory notion, it’s hard to sustain it.
And happiness, although we can’t define it, permeates our every thought.
Grasping a fragment for a moment; the next second, it is lost.
We are all pursuing something, be it love, riches or hope.
And, we discover them in allotments, so our hearts and minds can cope.
But, once in a while, a yearning finds us in an unexpected way-
And, our souls sing eureka for the faith we found that day.
We exhale resolve for all our unanswered prayers-
And, understand that blessings come in changeable layers.
Our hearts are filled with gratitude, but that too is fleeting.
Again, we’re back to morsels of that which we are needing.
Twenty secretaries found his
Notes interesting. These were
the official words to the
Beginning of a music partnership
that was done for the purpose of
creation and profit. Twenty music
Companies sought a solution
They found it feasible to consolidate
there interest by sharing.
They bought sixty acres of land.
They allowed establish singers and
performers to buy into the project.
They wanted, a opera, country and
western,rythmn and blues, rap, pop,
Folk, comedy, latin, urban, townsmen,
Soul,rock heavy metal,oracstra , gospel,
Traditional, modern,and contemporary
Singers, to build homes there. The singers
Projections were assigned with limited
allotments that cause the creation of
construction.A list of songs,was givinen
A time for a concert established, foodtruck
and rvs rented the space was cleared a concert off grid
Promoted, and the funds were meant to create
the new town. The hopes of eagerness to
Create a new tommorrow for those who sought
New beginnings and newness.The music company
To take the revenue to create a new company, owned by the
Towns people, and the stars who headlined the show.
The new creation to be music for a listening world
to hear.
They would use modular housing to create the
Structure. Mansions, restaurants and theaters
Yet to come.Business minded people who looked to creation as means of exhistance.Seeking, believing and trusting.
Am I fitful,
fluctuating, fluid?
thin compass waver
as I jubilantly weave
lilac tree vignettes
that weep or chortle,
rainbow figment curtain
rashly wished upon
in grain smudge zephyr
garnet sand raw vehicle
garden common opal
transit sidestep
to a multiverse
of sappy fruit drip
net bag of niche
mauve rim canopy
a gilt ring culprit’s
flashpoint conjure
stirring taxi cabs
of lavish spurt
woolgathering
a gold rush stray
footslog must
have steel encased.
undulating folds
entangled nomad feint
dwarf yellow scorcher
firmament fatality
dash for straw hut
casita or elm
wood cabin where
advertence on
turnpikes, trails,
woven tracks lead
trajectory abuts
plod along dry path
dust bowl swirling as
they spurn allotments
meek enshrouded lull
with unalloyed poise
to jettison narcolepsy
brief embargo on
spiral plumule
when one’s physique
has many harrowing
gasps, taut breath
that intrinsic quest
for glistening cascade
seems an urgent
void, crushing
diapason rudderless
mahatma clement at
Arcadias nascent
totem of egress
yet charismatic
terminal flag
as this sentient
hypothesiser on
emerald tint bract
beneath hiking boot
unflinching
wild clasp at
beanpole verges
riven from
shade burst cockcrow
lure an impetus
to meandered pretext
primeval boon-docks
whilst tranquil flit
discommoding tawdry
pitch or tilt
gaunt endowment
I must brood on
surreal moiety
of cerebral aspect
squandered
rude reckoning aside
lapse into sullen
vacuum found across
a link whose blind
velvet crush lingers
query later doused
in vapour whirl gush
inkling thin veneer
sheeny beadlet
brow sapped
nod and falter
to a childhood turf
shelter for the limb
victim of grinding
marathon on marathon
to relish glow hue noons
hermetically abeyant
sempiternal eves
avenue to wanderer
fatigued yet still
in broad pursuit
of deep quiddity
A well of knowledge we're not privy to
The Atheist fills with ridicule
Construing God as something else
While their Spirit longs to find Him
Their common sense; so critical
An insult to demand proof
Yet Jesus traced His scars with Thomas
Are we again to crucify Him?
Some allotments have been Biblical
By no means limited to
If all our hopes in Him turn true
Is that not more then words could do?
24 Hours of Power
By Curtis Johnson
He was strong, loving, and merciful, and he was God
He made a beautiful world when everything was void
It was He who sat on a throne and gave valuable gifts to all
The red, yellow, brown, black, and white; the short and the tall
He gave allotments of shares in packages of twenty-four
Lose not, waste not, as so many others have done before
Take your God given shares and respect them highly
Invest your God given hours and use them wisely
24 hours per day; to live, to laugh, to care, to share, to learn, to love
So, treasure your package of twenty-four as long as you live
Your priceless measure is fixed; no more can He give
Sail the oceans wide, or climb the highest mountain; the choice is ours.
We may descend the deepest sea; or build the highest tower.
In the time allotted, we excel or fail; we have the power.
cj08102015 Curtis Johnson
Real life
We clamour to be heard for our space which invariably
will intrude on others’ space which we dismiss in a torrent of abuse
we will not listen to voices of reasonableness.
We say they are voices of traitors and bitterly want them silenced.
More and more people demand statehood even if it is within the borders
of the country they already live in; they will not assimilate.
Accept other cultures which are dismissed as inferior to their ideal.
Smaller and smaller allotments of land declaring independence
Isolating their religious culture from interference and using
violence against any seeking sanctuary.
Russia and Ukraine fight a turf war, as do the USA and China demand
fidelity to their culture; there is only one veracity in the one manuscript
written by sages who had nothing new to offer other than hatred
against those that speak in a foreign tongue and preach understanding