Best Announcements Poems
My grandmother used to bake pies
in the kitchen where I lived as a boy.
She would spend all day mixing
and kneading,
singing her old lady songs to herself.
I would get to lick the bowl.
This was my prize.
Back when the world was psychedelic
and hippies wandered the streets.
My sister and I would play outside
almost every sunny day.
Magic kingdoms made of mud and bricks.
Toy soldier citizens of mock empires.
Barbie doll victims of terrible wars.
Bubblegum music from the top forty
traced the pattern of our lives.
Our country had a new flag and boys
in school still had short hair.
Little girls wore skirts and dresses and
pony tails were still the normal fashion.
Black and white television set turned to
the latest American sitcoms. We would
laugh at Granny and marvel at Endora.
Mr. Sullivan would present the latest rage,
the latest quartet or singer from England.
Back when the world was psychedelic
and hippies wandered the streets.
We wore peace buttons on our coats,
and drew "smiley's" on our books.
We talked about what we were going
to do to make a difference in the world.
We admired the Fab Four and worshipped
at the altar of glorious possibilities.
We knew it was going to be beautiful,
because that is what we were being told.
Every morning at school we would sing
"God Save the Queen" and "O Canada",
say The Lord's Prayer and
hear the announcements.
Teachers talked about the future
as if it was a land of possibilities.
We did not know the black and white visions
would be transformed into colour horrors.
We had no idea that the dreams of peace and love
were going to be forgotten. Who could predict
the grey soul of adulthood? Where have
all the beautiful people gone?
My grandmother used to bake pies
in the kitchen where I lived as a boy.
Back when the world was psychedelic
and hippies wandered the streets.
The voices of my present state and feelings echo
down into my mother’s sympathetic ears,
They resonate…in no barriers, she decodes
with her warm understanding and great love overflow.
She hears my footsteps on trails of joy and contentment,
giving me her smiles with supporting hands to go ahead;
She hears my footsteps on path of desolation or in tacit sadness,
Offering her breast and shoulder to lean on,
her loving pieces of advice uplift my spirit, wipe my tears and give me breath.
My fragile emotion easily restores and mends,
Oh, mother dear, your listening ears are your heart’s aesthete!
A rich tapestry of comfort, love and affection,
where all my sighs , fears and sentiments will be laid.
No child’s turgid words in my mother’s loving ears,
regardless of distance, she listens, embraces and cares,
With her sensitive radar system, she knows all my needs
like Tannoys - so loud, supersonic, she hears them all vibrate.
Her ears synch well with her loving heart
Amazingly entwine, they are twosome…
Oh, mother dear, may I touch lovingly your ears with my both hands,
may I touch your angelic aging face as I thank you so much,
This poem is especially for you, I’m sending it with a SWALK
Sealed With my Loving Kiss on this sweet Mother’s Day card.
*Tannoy s- systems of loudspeakers for making announcements
Written: May 9, 2015 10.40pm
-This poem is a loving dedication to my ever dearest mom who is here with me right now. She loves poetry so much. She was my first teacher in reciting poetry. I was inspired to write a free verse poem for her. This is my Mother’s Day gift for her along with my humble art works/ paints, Mother’s Day t-shirt and card.
May I also dedicate this poem to all mothers all over the world. More power and blessings to you all! HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY! MANY HUGS FROM ME!
First Place
Contest: Mother's Ears
Judged: 5/18/2015
Poet Sponsor: Craig Cornish
A Mother's Love, Tributes of Love for Mother's Day
Contest Judged: 5/3/2022 7:00:00 PM
Sponsored by: BJ Legros Kelley
Place 1
You are still keeping heavy arms,
You did not stop explosive devastations,
The Earth is clamings trials – not once,
Have troubled vital forces for whole Nature,
United Nations orders been ignored,
Intrudes feeling free for invasions,
Increasing wars revising what agreed,
Incoming time inclining independence,
Indifference for all asleep,
Discourage poll possessions intentions,
Remaining backwards countrys in need,
Would left among nations in faceless,
Despite foggy announcements on stand,
Among the stars would shine the Planet,
Don’t leave your children on the sand,
And face cold judgments for a wild,
Pretending for the Future bright,
It’s hard to watch hearts children crying,
Forgiveness doesn’t have a chance,
Missed way to all the Human Kind
Here we are again, you having to pack
When I just got used to having you back
I hate you having to work so far
Wanting to see you doesn’t mean just getting in my car
Inside I shout “can’t you just stay?”
Wishing not another goodbye I have to say
But before I know it you’re on your way
“Passport? Ticket? Here to check in mate?”
“15 minute before you have to be through the boarding gate”
I hate it all and I’m trying to be fine
But every time it’s you going through, leaving me behind
Thousands of miles away
Me being here counting each day
Before I get to have you back
Then again just a while before you have to pack
Again that boarding gate
I absolutely hate
Standing there waving as you disappear in the crowd
Airport announcements oh so loud
Walking to the car
And it feels so far
Because I’m feeling alone
Knowing when I get there you won’t be home
I can’t wait to hear “Here to check in mates?”
“15 minutes before you guys have to be through the boarding gate”
Not having to stay across the line or say goodbye
Maybe then I’d love airports just fine
When you’re not leaving me behind
Forgotten bells
I wake up before bells and faint dreams
There are many days that I don’t want to wake up
I feel that I want to fly to the oblivion
And repeatedly wakes me up the prayer of love
But I cannot paint the length of the night
I go and come together with the wind through the season veins
At the grave of father Fishta I could find none of my bones
As in black and white celluloid I touch the corps of the re-departure
One another final way of infinite pains
Over the thousand days I don’t know who is killing me more
The misfortune diagnosis above the sky I cannot kiss either
Sugar in blood of anemic books
Verse lung cancer
Or soul letters tumor
I feel so close to the end of the beginning
As the bells that are not ceasing once
There is so much hunger for freedom and thirst for another life
And I cannot decode the Becket’s mask into Dante’s circles
All those whom I love don’t turn me their backs
Prayer roses into a dry spring without heart
To open the door I want, there, where angels suffer in silent tears
And, even in the end of the end of the beginning
Do not ever stop lullabies for the cradles
Don’t ask me for more while I breathe the air as Lasgushi
Do not make prayers into mornings and evenings with lots of anxiety
And if nothing and at all you will remember
Nor the buried poet and people with a lots of wounds
Damn me once with voice of the soul
There, where bells play funeral announcements
Although, we don’t recognize the length of the day and the darkness kills
And, often we would not want to wake up from the curse of the nights
Repeatedly we are greeting the day
Forgotten within loneliness but closer to the language of God
I fear I might be woken up by gunshots,
as thugs attempt to break into my house.
I fear everything might have expired in the fridge,
because of power blackout throughout the night,
and long hours throughout the day.
I cross my fingers as I search for "breakfast".
I fear for my cousin who loves eating junk food
almost everyday;
I can see him becoming obese really soon...
I fear I might be hit by a matatu,
as it carries passengers to the Metropolitan City.
Sometimes they use pedestrian routes,
when traffic cops are not around.
I fear I might be retrenched early,
as bosses in other companies cut off their employees,
due to higher costs of living and inflation.
I fear for the children in the war-ravaged countries;
I can't stand the cry of a hungry child in pain.
I fear picking up phone calls,
because scammers and funeral announcements
are common.
I fear listening to the radio or watching TV;
terrorism, ethnic cleansing, natural calamities....
is all I hear and see all day...
I fear I might get a misdiagnosis or wrong prescriptions
when I'm sick - there are many quack doctors out there.
I fear for my brothers, sisters, cousins, and friends
travelling by road. Road accidents have taken lives
a dozen times more than terrorism, suicides,
illnesses combined.
I fear that I'll never cease to fear....
Glossary:
* Matatu - A public service vehicle that transports people in urban areas
in Kenya.
Grandma's dresser was a testament to time. Elegant in it's curves. Sturdy in it's
construction.
A thick piece of plate glass lay atop, to protect the wood surface. Under that glass,
sealed away, yet there to be seen, were pictures and announcements. Mile stones
important to Grandma.
There was a picture of each one of us grand kids when we lost our two front teeth.
Big, gap toothed grins on our young faces. Taken years a part. Yet placed side by
side, under the glass.
Positioned below them was a poem. Written by my Grandfather while they were first
dating. Lovingly kept to be read each day.
Over on the other side of the dresser top, was placed a short newspaper article. The
obituary of her mothers death. next to it lay the program from her funeral. Grandma's
tears, still evident on the parchment.
Towards the middle, was my brothers Certificate Of Graduation from The School For
The Deaf, at the age of five. There had been a newspaper article done on him by the
local daily paper. That picture of him with mother was next to the certificate. He was
proudly wearing his first hearing aids.
A bit of lace from Grandma's wedding dress.
A napkin from a fancy restaurant Grandpa took her to, once.
A flower drawn on brown paper. Given to her on Mother's Day by my mom at the age
of three.
Other little photos and bits of life kept to be enjoyed and shared...under that plate
glass.
A lot of people ask me how Darjeeling is right now.
This is my answer to everyone.
Darjeeling the Queen of hills
Is going through a lot of pain
Everything is so still
I don’t want to picture again
Peace rally, silent protest
Lathy charge and gun firing
Depleting ration, time of test
Unrest and mourning
Different news everyday
We are foreigners is what they say
Speculations and assessments
A new committee to lead our way
Online posts, articles, announcements
Situation here is degrading everyday
From kids to old, man or woman
Suffering in different ways
No schools or colleges
Cannot gather in one place
Forces deployed everywhere
Carrying arms, guess for self defense
Fear of walking in the streets
Can’t sleep properly at night
New morning, new plans
To make Darjeeling Gorkhaland.
The Storm, by Gayila Bolden
Like the calm before the storm, you came out of nowhere. No watches, no warnings, no public announcements and no time for preparation. The winds of your attraction blow violently around me as I crotch underneath the protection of my common sense. The winds of your attraction blow violently around me.
It cuts like a knife to my very heart. It’s like a thirst that is never quenched and a hunger that is never satisfied. It cuts me to the bone. The winds of your attraction blow violently around me.
Should I walk into the storm and taste the rain or should I cling to the secure structure of my safe shelter of protection? The winds of your attraction blow violently around me. The winds of your attraction are shaking my very foundation. Will I be able to stand? Will I survive?
Can I be saved from this great unexpected storm? Will it destroy all that is familiar in life? The winds of your attraction blow violently around me. When the wind stops blowing and the air is still; what will be left of me? Can’t sleep, can’t eat, steady wondering how to weather this storm, called “You”. A force so strong that wisdom and experience scatter in fear and the heart is left in charge of my destiny. The winds of your attraction blow violently around me.
Do I dare surrender to this storm called “You” and drench myself in your love? Unsteady and battered; I crawl from my shelter of protection into the storm to taste the rain. Oh, how sweet the taste with drops of fear mixed in. The winds of your attraction blow violently around me; yet I surrender to the storm, called “You”.
Almost, Christmastime
I am unwrapping my gift.
Unwrapping [his love] he left in a Christmas stocking with
My name (Ayesha) on it.
Seeing my baby boy for the first time.
I love just hearing my newborn son cry, scream and I love his baby babble.
He is adorable.
As a new mom I get excited I finally have my 1st baby.
Believe me I have goosebumps as I write this poem.
Days after he is born I decide to get 20 Birth Announcements made and to
send them to family and to all my girlfriends.
I sit up in the bed in my private hospital room and I look into my baby boy’s eyes.
I adore his dark cocoa skin that resembles my own and his papa’s.
I vow I will teach him to love himself so he can love the way God made him.
As I look at my newborn son’s face I see a tiny miracle.
He is mine.
> This poem was written whilst laying in a hospital bed, recovering from an operation in December 2011. There were continuous announcements on the Hospital Radio's news of soldiers being killed in Afghanistan.Both American and British.
WEEP NO MORE
Weep no more my loved ones.
I cannot see your tears.
For I am now in Paradise.
Where I have no fears.
Weep no more my loved ones.
Your sorrow saddens me.
Here all are friends, there are no foes.
So weep no more for me.
All is peaceful here now.
Glad sounds, nice sights i see.
So think of me with happiness.
AND WEEP NO MORE FOR ME.
As I was laying in my sick bed, more and more news reports came in, relating to troops being killed. I should therefore like to dedicate here the above poem to all our fallen troops. I read many sad poems on line when I was discharged. I hope they brought some comfort if that's the right word, to those who read them.
A GUARDSMAN FALLS
Another lump was in my throat.
As on the news bar someone wrote.
Although not in his bright red coat.
A Guardsman's dead, I had to note.
No more he'll tread on his home streets.
No more his friends, will he greet.
But sure as night the day will meet.
Memories of him, will be so sweet.
Although he has gone away.
You'll still remember every day.
He with his look, could you sway.
To have some fun, now today.
So as he lies down to rest.
In peaceful surrounds with the best.
Weep no more for now he's blest.
In Heaven for life's final rest.
The latter poem was written after Guardsman Micheal Rowland was killed in Afghanistan.
Stanley (The mad Author)<
Oh, how I remember the old snail mail
Reading in the microscopic detail
From the one rightful owner of the tale
Now,instant messaging, the holy grail
Spreads half cooked word instantly without fail
Distorting it immensely in its trail
Announcements and news burst in with the gale
I prefer authentic, even if stale
Written on 08/23/2016
Contest: Monorhyme Mania by John Hamilton
Public service announcements seem to not work any more.
The stress of our circumstances seem to confirm our righteousness.
We never listen to anybody but we listen to our pity.
We praise and glorify the same thing that families mourn over, and we only grieve when it directly affects us.
There’s no turning back from what you believe to be righteous, but yet you expect the same support of your wrongdoing.
You want us to turn a blind eye to what we’ve seen everyday.
Now, see sir, that’s not righteous.
That’s insanity.
Doing the same thing over, and over, until the result rears it’s same ugly head.
Extortion, of course, that’s the name of this game.
Our “leaders” in this case seem to run at the face of the law, because they can’t face what will happen to them if acknowledged.
Now, they’re no different but my God how soft you seem when those other colors show up.
Why don’t you treat them like you do those other boys
from cross town?
See, that’s the enticing part about this lifestyle you boys live.
Gang banging, cane slanging, one bad son of a gun.
Until proven otherwise.
See the pillars of Islam, there lies 5 truths.
Just as it does within the rights of humanity.
See we, us, we got the right to life and liberty,
But you believe your liberty is to take a life.
We also got freedom from slavery and torture,
But your actions torture our community and enslave not only us but yourselves to a 23 and 1 confinement space.
We got freedom of opinion and expression,
But let a soul say something you dislike and again their liberty and life is at stake.
See liberty and justice is not for all,
It’s just for you. I guess.
See, but I got the right to work and education.
And if that means working to get you boys to see more than what you’re doing and educate physically or
mentally, that’s what I’m here for.
See that’s my right. Survival ain’t my human right. it’s just my right to live. And you just ain’t cutting it for me.
I guess you boys from the hood ain’t get the memo.
The only person you put fear in… is you.
Instead of breathing air--It is tears I take in.
I can feel them, taste them.
How does one taste their tears…
They slip down your throat when
One weeps on the inside all day.
It has been so long since I heard his voice
I repeat in my head, his last words I heard,
I am afraid I will forget.
“Mama, I love you--I am not going to die.”
I think what we would do if that call came…
No planning a family vacation, a graduation,
There will be no exciting baby announcements
Or wedding invitations
Instead, I wonder will we have a service... No… No…
We will not--
Because in the end it is only us that care.
We will not share you anymore.
Those so called friends will go on with their lives.
They will tell stories of what a bad ass you were
And how you were too cool for school.
They will say words, but will not feel the pain.
Nope--they just keep getting high--as if nothing has changed.
Omg-If they knew we may cremate you,
They would ask if they could smoke you.
Yeah--that is what such good high friends do.
Copyright © fonda anne….mooreofme....mamao
“Twas the night before Christmas and all through the malls
there was widespread confusion and hot, frenzied brawls.
Many shoppers were wanting the same bloomin’ gifts.
Desperation resulted in feud-level rifts.
There were four grandmas fighting for one preschool game.
Their ferocity made angry pit bulls look tame.
Jostling shoppers collided and bags hit the floor.
Their attempts to retrieve them caused head butts and more.
Loud confusion—“That’s mine!” “No, it’s mine!!”—could be heard.
Startled bystanders heard more than one naughty word.
Two old geezers that should have been home fast asleep
bumped into a tired Santa; all three muttered BLEEP.
When announcements “Ten minutes till close” hit their ears,
those who hadn’t found all they desired held back tears.
The wild nightmare soon ended, and tired folks went home,
knowing that no time soon, crowded malls they would roam.
All would vow, “NO MORE last -minute shopping for me!”
Christmas morning—well-rested— all smiles by the tree,
they remembered the monsters they’d been just last night
and rejoiced that those creatures were nowhere in sight!
November 22, 2018, entered in Joseph May's Night Before Christmas
contest