Best Also Ran Poems
“God like, not so different”
She wrote,
“where do you go to my lovely?”
my response,
“I sink into the screen
like a scream queen goddess,
I am Lilith most of the time
tap dancing away and
singing off key unashamedly
loudly in life out of step, always
out of time, the ballyhoos
clap apathetically warning,
"watch out, incoming, car wreck!",
more like a shipwreck
broken-in-half, sunk in the deep,
treasures scattered on
the seabed, keys missing
loot unreachable
the flotsam of an ego
jetsam to lighten the
sinking load, arriving
amidst the shallows,
half cracked open
on the Ocean's shore,
waiting for the electric storm
to penetrate the brain, then
I become the electric storm
come to defibrillate the broken heart,
the haunting hero haunting heroes
dashed on their cerebral rocks
like Sirens alarmed all going off,
the feet both punctured,
walking over the sharp unopened
and opened broken shells,
mothers of pearls
bleeding stories,
their cornucopia unblessed
blessedly overflowing in the flow
of long nights' bittersweet darkness,
walking from room to room
talking in tongues,
strange and estranged,
adlibbing alienation
through boundless walls,
carrying a heavy cross like a ghost
in a residual haunting,
a storm in a teacup
sometimes passing,
the cake all eaten,
hungry for more
of something;
but on the 7th day I rest
and become God like
pleased with the turmoil
and calm I have jusifiably created,
there I will be seen
heavenly comotosed
resting under the duvee;
I am what I am,
then to the relief
of my monsters,
I fall,
I sleep …
I sleepwalk
commanding them all;
there is no escape.”
“you gotta larf,” she says, "how do you stop?"
the response,
“easier said than done, my friend;
the red shoes are killers to take off."
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
ljb - llb, klb, mlb
llb - gvlm
“Most poets are mad. It doesn't qualify us for anything.”
Anne Sexton
“Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.”
Anne Sexton
“I am not immortal. Faustus and I are the also-ran.”
Anne Sexton
The Three Graces
The Three Fates
The Morai
Corsican sand
on the Rio Grande
Simon Bolivar weeps
the night asleep
Renegade cycles
hogs gone mild
Gehinnom's Mayor
Timothy Leary's child
Zebras abound
in Peppermint Land
Alan Ginsberg howls
from primal jowls
Leopold Bloom
did not predict ZOOM
Cosmic collisions silent
without Daniel Boone
Country music
Mix in Ragtime
from Alexander's Band
to Motown Rhyme
Andy Warhol's mind
spilled out in soup cans
Campbell's pork and beans
Welsh Rarebit also-ran
When free association
Met psychic gestalt
The resultant metastasis
Petered out beneath salt
Stream of Consciousness is out
New Age Meaninglessness is sin
Wherever Narcissism reigns
Foot Worship rushes in
The best poems at night
often come unbidden
J. Cricket fervently wished
This one hadn't been written
Another Gold
Far from profit’s crass allure,
At a place somewhat obscure,
A poet sweeps his shepherd’s lyre;
He sings of gold, of heaven’s fire.
No. not of gold that Midas stores
Behind fast-bolted treasury doors
But of gold, that, eve and dawn,
Touches sheaves of ripened corn.
More emeralds than all wealth can gain
Has to these eyes the verdant plain.
Without the mind all precious stones
Have lesser worth than dead men’s bones.
The original prompt for the last poem was one I wrote on being requested to resign from a computer company.
Far from profit’s crass allure
At a place somewhat obscure,
Gordon preaches now Cobol.
Fortran and, I believe, Algol,
Unto flocks of Gaelic birds,
Black-faced sheep and long-haired herds.
In Acton’s fleshpots, in his den,
The spotlight first is beamed on Ken.
Beware the luscious woman’s wiles
Or you’ll forget your disks and files.
It would clearly be a sin
To make no mention of dear Lin.
May married bliss attend thy way
And commensurate be thy pay.
Sandra’s performance sets the pace
Robin’s too a similar case.
His hunting prowess earns him fame
In matters that concern big game.
Flower power propels this happy throng
Which means that little can go wrong
As long as Rose your leader be.
May rays of fortune shine on thee
On yon high Olympic mountain
Where Gord and Mary have been scouting.
There beneath the royal wall
Our Ted flogs bangles on his stall.
My ditty now has reached its span
Remember me, the also-ran.
Tin can pan alley cat man
Nickel and dime No money blues
Also-ran derelict on the run no shoes
In Trouble Again
Dragon, Dragon ran off, at daylight, to town,
So I had to follow the crazy clown.
Grandpa Troll came running after me,
Then came the penguins…1…2…3.
Everyone watched as we ran by,
Wondering what had happened, bye and bye.
Was the Sheriff of Crazyland running us down?
Just what had Dragon done this time around?
Curious as curious, as surely can be,
Now, they also, ran following…1…2…3.
Then the more that followed, running on their feet,
Started, yet more, quickly running down the street!
The more that followed him, the more the crowd grew,
Tweeting others to come, to also get in on the coup…
At this Dragon ran into The Park and up toward an ice cream treat.
They were all shocked! That’s all it was? You’re kidding me?
They were about, to all return home, but were hungry and tired, you see,
And the concession stand was as appealing, as appealing can be.
They’d by then, realized it was the first Spring Day to get a great cone…
And Dragon was glad he’d ran; with so many people it would’ve all been gone.
Yes, Dragon had indeed caused things to happen again…
But this time it was amid a great deal of applause, where he did reign.
And he’d done it with only… the love for an ice cream cone!
That’s our Dragon, stirring things up! You just got to know!
Written 4-30-2015
Unquotable quotes - I
A friend in need is the goon who stokes your greed.
A journey of a thousand miles ends with the last broken step.
Don’t kill the brother-in-law until the sister is dead.
Butter your toast on either side to lick hands.
Hang not the hangman with noose: you’ll lose booze.
Half a loaf is better than no love.
Even a blind cat can smell a rat that bells the cat.
Take care of the pounds and the wife will pound you.
Take the load off your own fat.
Shoot to kill only if you can’t stand still.
Slow and steady are two legs in a sack race.
A marksman is the marked man’s also-ran.
A blacklisted writer is on every publisher’s reading list.
A dime a dozen is no denizen.
He who cries thief knows no mischief.
Turn coat and capsize boat.
A snake in the grass may miss Mass but is full of grace.
Early to bed catches the worm.
All that glitters cannot be sold.
Immolate yourself to moult your soul.
Even if you’re forced to burn your boats, fly by air.
Where there’s a will, there’s no giving way.
Run also with the hares and the hounds will eat you.
A little knowledge makes the master grin.
Birds of a feather share the same tailor.
Don’t judge a woman with a book by its covers.
If you kick a can down the street, empty it first.
What burns up and out is the gas in the gut.
A stitch in time saves kith but not kin.
Forewarned is foredamned.
Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, just lay them.
If the hens begin to crow, the cocks will lie low.
If you pour oil on troubled waters, Mid-East will dry up.
Still waters run in sleep.
Parallel lives never meet or greet.
© T. Wignesan - Pris, 2016
Six months from now and it's curtains for me
I'll crash through the barrier of 80
I'll officially be old and crotchety and senile
Pablum after my morning pee
Oh for the days had no trouble getting dressed
Now I forget my darn Jockeys
Don't wanna share this bod with anyone else
Everything's become kinda floppy
Once had tight abs... now who am I kidding
The tightest my abs get now
Is when I try bending down to tie up my laces
At times feel like a pregnant cow
I grunt and strain and been known to curse
Saying bad things like, “holy heck"
Can remember those real naughty old phrases
Like “go to blazes” or “pain in the neck”
Guess six months won't make a hugh difference
I'm pretty well ready for the pasture
One thing I've noticed since reaching “maturity”
Time seems to be going a lot faster
So here's some advice for all you young'uns
Enjoy life while you still can
Before you know it, the darn jig will be up
And you'll just be an also ran
© Jack Ellison 2015
My Madness, Me...
Confined by this straight-jacket,
strapped in, numb and dumbed,
a washed-out, has-been, also-ran,
body, eyes, the equilibrium of mind,
rattling like stones in an old tin-can.
Still, I am,
I am,
and I am unchained,
my dreams taking flight, soaring,
above these claustrophobic walls,
of synapses, and dungeons of stone,
swooping through green valleys,
taking a detour to savour the joys,
soaked in torrential, evergreen memories,
of a younger man, with passion in his bone.
I am.
My wings unclipped, unshackled, free,
I am, and though I am unable to see,
I am.
At long last,
me...
Form:
Mum, you bought me shoes, socks and a football kit,
'You were willing me to see me as your ‘hero’.
Fifteen years have passed away,
I still have your gift that you bought for me on Christmas.
Your son is a really hero, have you seen me,
I am top scorer as you can read in the local newspaper,
When I kissed my first trophy, my tears poured out,
My friends thought that I am crying in happiness.
Mum, have you remembered me?
As I know, I always missed your shadow,
I go to the pond every week,
Where you fed the birds and spent hours with them.
You never come to learn,
How your son spent days, weeks and years.
Perhaps you don’t know, dad also left me,
When you went out, he ran after you.
I saw his picture in a newspaper,
When I grew up a little, I heard from my carer,
Your dad died in an accident,
Have you come to attend his funeral?
I learnt when he left church nobody was behind him,
Only service that he received has been delivered,
I went often to kiss his stone, as I found him,
Few days ago it was a fathers day.
When I join my mate’s birthdays,
I saw their parents curdling them with gifts.
They dance and laugh, enjoy food and drink,
I feel loneliness and lost myself in puffs of smoke.
Always I got drunk but never forgot that incident,
When you tried to stop dad, not to drink more,
He pushed and slapped you strongly,
I saw blood touching your feet.
You don’t know, I also ran after you,
Door slammed shut, road was icy and frozen,
I hit a stone and fell conscious on the street,
When I found myself, I was in a hospital bed.
Mum, is your face looking the same as before?
How will I recognise you if I met you suddenly?
I am sure mum. You will recognise me,
At last I am your son as same as I am Dad’s.
Look for the starry night,
you couldn’t find any evidence
of existing God.
All Universe
quite measureless
in micro and macro level
born, diverged and going to its end
according with the laws of nature
and own unreachable constitution
with precisely tuned physical constants.
I am so hoped for Christ
and put all my soul into astonishing religious,
that created, prepared and covered all matters so amazingly,
but that also lead us away from truth and reality.
I have run from Communism ideology and atheism,
despite of great achievement of godless empire,
and come to Islam after breaking USSR
as for tradition belief of my forefathers.
And soon run from Islam,
opening through Internet and English
the marvel and great depth of Christianity.
But now I ran from Crist and God
and come back again to atheism,
to the brilliant starry night
respecting and understanding deep all religious
but believe just for stories
supported by science and truth
as this astonishing universe,
tuned with natural laws
and nothing more else.
Maybe have existed supernatural power
who created some or other part of this universe,
but he, seems, also ran away
left us with that starry night
and precisely tuned world.
What also need for us?
Thanks very much for that
if highest intellect really exists
or existed
sometime long ago
but now ran away
or completely forgot us
and no want hear about us more
for our sake, advantage and fast rise.
What about tell us
this excellent starry night
of Richard Dawkins?
Love and respect each other’s
and do the same for science
as for poetry of reality
and fast to live, love and understand
your environment
and do not keep faith
without reason and evidence,
escape from various kind
of fanatism, lies and rootles belief.
Once upon a time there was a man
Who had a life so boring no-one knew
That he was there, and nothing fun to do
But work a bit and drive a little van
And buy a Subway and a cheeky can
Of Redbull, or in summer sometimes two
Around and round the motorway he flew
Another almost was, and also ran
Or so it seemed. At sunset he would change
Into his costume and go up the street
And hide behind a lamppost. Oh how sweet
It felt, how surreptitious and how strange
They called him Hello Kitty Man. Hey, Hi!
They'd say, and oh so quickly walk on by
© Gail Foster 3rd August 2022
Your sultry sensual look I still embrace
As I think of those mesmerizing violet eyes,
My heart then quickens and starts to race,
If only you knew what you still do to me.
Whose fault was it that sad sad night,
When you spoke those unjust words,
Was it meant for me to run away in fright,
If you only knew, how much I still love you.
Maybe it was me, or perhaps it was you began
An argument that was bitter, that left me mad,
But know that when you ran away, I also ran,
If you only knew that I could never forget you.
You dazzled me, with your graceful, swan like neck,
Frolicked with your cleavage, your creamy breasts,
Rising and falling, knowing I desired, needed you,
If only you knew that you were the soul of my heart.
I ran after you to catch you, but I was too late,
The rain was pouring you tripped, hit your head,
I picked up your lifeless body, it was your fate,
If only you knew your death was the end of me.
Written for Silent One's contest
However Not Entered as the stipulated number of poems was met.
The Doldrums of 2020
Hullabaloo, nothing to do.
the doldrums latch on to you.
Rickity dink, slippery slimy slue.
We scheme, we plot, we fold and cry a lot ! ! ! !
We fan, we plan, exhausted, but not an also ran,
We heap accolades upon tarnished shards of hope.
Yet find our very best advice lies in
a good hot bath and plenty of soap.
And when night is nearly nigh,
He, gathers you and I Into a Paradise
where none will ever die. To sing the songs
of Isaac and of Abraham ! ! ! !
To polish halo’s all day long, because we can.
Trying to achieve the heart of a simple man
Failing to fall short the simple gist of it to
reward ourselves with a marmalade biscuit.
And in the end we sit and pray.....And though
no one can directly look Him in the eye,
We adulate the King, the He, the most high !
Thank you again God to give me just one
more rhyme before I die. I’m not worthy I know
But at least I take the time to honestly try.
Charles Grady Henderson, On the rampage again after a short Sabbatical cutting my crop of Florida betony, and repotting my Japanese Maples for the first time in over ten years. Along with a whole slew of Iris and day lilies which have multiplicity syndrome. I have run out of dirt, so now have a fair sized hole in my back yard to fill in, along with that horrible wet spot oozing up from the septic tank drain. Man my life has got to get better. And it will “The Lord willing and the creek don’t rise” ! !
I have given up on the divinity of man
For in fulfillment’s race I’m an also ran
I’ve suited up, prepared to play
Sat on the bench many a day
Driven by the insanity
There was hope in sanctity
As the horsemen of my soul
Rode in search of being whole
Thundering hooves and flowing manes
Pursue their shadows in cold rains
As I sit and percolate
Struggling to meditate
1/2/2023
An Existential Curiosity
Edward Ibeh
Charlie Chan
was an also-ran
till, knock on wood
~ 'So far, so good'