Best At Most Poems
She was at her window listening to the rain
Mind just wandering, immersed in pain
She was wondering if it was true that angels cry
Each time they see a child die
They took some tests but it was too late
It was in an area they couldn't operate
She smiled at him and hid her fear
They said at most another year
How much pain can a mother endure?
To look at her son and know there is no cure
There are no words that can even start
To soothe the pain in her broken heart
The days and nights went quickly past
The time had come he would breathe his last
Her faith was put to the supreme test
The day she laid her child to rest
She is alone and prays each day
The memory will forever stay
Sometimes in her prayers she just asks why
And she wonders if the angels cry.
From the book Voices of Hope.. Thank you Crystal.
The snow so deep… That it was over our heads… Was a melting by the hour!
Give it a day, or two at most… and with this heat… it would all be gone, forever!
But in the meantime, we were sadly stuck, in mud, deep, within our own backyard!
The water couldn't run off fast enough; our backyard had become a swamp, marred!
Just then, low and behold my old Volkswagen bubbled up, thru the mud it came!
You know, the one, surely you do! Last year it had floated down the storm drain!
Now, low and behold something got out! OH WHAT I’ll never, ever, really know!
Said he was the REAL Swamp Thing, and tired of spring-cleaning his house, so…
He chained the car to a tree, as he hopped out. Said his name was “Gone Fishing”.
Said his Mama read it on a sign, and used it to name her sweet, baby, Swamp Thing!
But then, he saw our back yard, he shouted in delight and decided to visit for a spell!
After all, it’s turned into a real swamp! And he’s the real Swamp Thing! So, Do Tell!
Dragon, the penguins, and all else, followed him straight, to the swamp so profound..
The penguins slid down the muddy slope, and followed the Swamp Thing all around.
But when Dragon tried, his weight got him stuck! We had to wench him, to the shore.
Mud became the name of the day, with mud and snowball fights going on, in galore!
Everyone was in seventh heaven, ‘Gone Fishing’ the same, as they slide, all about!
Fun ensued! For how often can he vacation about? Only once a year! No doubt!
After 2 days of fun, the snow was almost gone, so we cleaned them, as they played.
Yes, the fire hydrant was turned on! Dragon threw his Penguins, happily, into the spray!
That shot them almost to the moon above! The closest to flying they would ever be!
They soared then slide down the street. Even Dragon did play this time! How sweet!
But ‘Gone Fishing’ knew his vacation was up. So he waved a hearty good bye…
As he jumped into the Volkswagen again, and let it fly, and man, could that baby, fly!
It flew down the street, and back down the drain! Before our very own eyes!
That was the last time we saw the Swamp Thing, as we waved, a sad goodbye!
But next time it snows to mile high deep… as it melts, we’ll be looking for our friend.
Here lies our story of ‘Gone Fishing”. It’s real! Honest! To you, I’d never lie! I defend!
And I expect, where ever he really is now… He’s ‘Gone Fishing’…THE END
Good Morning
My old friend
Nice waking up to see you again
Still doing ok?
Cause I am doing fine
Except for these thoughts,dreams and pains of mine
Do not worry over me
I will make it through
Just if you please could stop showing up out of the blue
Scaring me half to death
Along with any woman I ever met
I would greatly appreciate it
Thank you
Yes I remember back when I tried to do you in
Docs told me I could not be your buddy
You pushed my mother away
To the point it was questioned her love for me
Yet our friendship began
You took me places I have never been
To the edge of life itself and back again
Just was me and you friend
All through school I was the loser
Walking those halls 'o hell
I would never that girl amuse her
Many a boys lucky at most proms
Not me
I was home with you and five dames
For the life of me I can not remember their names
I dreamed a dream of dreams
Entering them asleep and awake
You shown me that no death was in my life to take
Or my existence had no goodness sake
Staring at me from the bottom of that lake
I swear one of these days
I will find someone
So we can go our separate ways
I am not tired of you pal
It is just I am always alone
Even in a group
With my family at home
Speaking to noone on my cell phone
Copying actors off the T.V.
Wanting to be somebody I can never be
Trying to seem normal
When I knew I was lie
But you took me and made this empty lifeless shell
So that I would not die
You saved my life a thousand times fold
Even now that I am 42 yrs old
What I can I say to you friend?
Where can I go?
That you have not shown me
Or that I do not know
So many times love came and gone
Til I just stop answering the door
I have 2 twin daughters
Whose mother used your name on court papers
For my name not to be theirs anymore
But it is ok
We never can win
Even when we do not lose
Because I was never a real person
And we were never friends
This poem is (ALLEGORY) but it is not in the *poem type* list
So I put free verse.
Countless poems I've tired to write
But unfinished they still remain
Either i can't find the words to say
Or put in place the right refrain
My pen is begging me to flow
String words along into prose
But writings not an easy task
Of this I surely know
Some nights the words flow freely
The nights where emotions are in control
I love these poems the most though
I never find them dull
My mind can rhyme all night
Such a talent is elementary at most
So I try to put it to good use
My pen gliding with the ease of a ghost
On such a night as this though
When the lines just dont want to form
It's usually due to tumultuous feelings
When I just write to calm the storm
On earth, how to cleanse our soul
To make the cloth of reputation white
At most we can only achieve this goal
When filled the neighbors mind with lies
What we are, at most hidden
Will never let them see
We tricked our neighbor to believe in
On what we seem to be
Of every man who tell the world
That they've found the hills of truth
Can't climb with them, my feet to their wisdom hurled
Simply I've learned a lot from my youth
Can we cast away the sins
On human claimed holy words
Or just we hide unto the book
To cover our shame on this world
My Granddaddy said
A whole lot to me
To prepare for the things
A young mind couldn't see
He peaked around corners
And underneath beds
Here are some things about life
My Granddaddy said
Life if you ain't careful
Can grab you by the throat
It's a dress that is red
It's a glass bottom boat
It's a beautiful smile
With the sharpest of teeth
Life's a kiss on the head
And a kick in the knees
It's a shake of the hand
A knife in the back
A shoulder to cry
A belly of laughs
Life it can be
Most anything
From the roar of a lion
To a bluebird that sings
It's a shave that is close
A miss by a mile
An old man at most
A soft tender child
A moment of wonder
A sneeze never blessed
Pouring out more
Then taking it back
My Granddaddy said
A whole lot to me
To prepare for the things
A young mind couldn't see
He peaked around corners
And underneath beds
These are some things about life
My Granddaddy said
A thousand ships through the dark nights sail,
to mysterious lands and adventurous trails.
With a thirst for life, I cannot rest,
when one is finished, there comes another quest.
I travel many paths into the unknown,
with each path completed, I know I’ve grown.
Though dangers lurk at most every turn,
I sense I’m protected; I have no concern.
I try new things all the time,
I’ve never seen a mountain I’d not try to climb.
Life is for living so bring it on,
I’ve never been broken except for a bone.
I’ll keep on a traveling across the seven seas,
Enjoying the adventure, and the ocean’s breeze.
I have a dream
A fantasy
A way to cope
With reality
You're not really leaving
It's only for awhile
A week or two at most
And you'll be back with a smile
You would never leave me
You know I couldn't go on
You know what you mean to me
And your feelings are just as strong
I Believe that someday
We'll have a family of our own
Life will be perfect
In our happy home
I believe in angels
And it's plain to see
I believe in angels
And God sent you too me
I have a dream
And it's killing me
Because I know
It'll never be
An Angel, came in human form.
Arrived at my house about noon.
I knew he had a spirit, for he was
past any norm.
And my keen, mystical soul, was
right with him in tune.
We chatted for just a bit...
The uniqueness of his spirit showed.
I did not want him to ever leave
or quit.
For as I ascertained, I was in a most
heavenly zone.
Suddenly, I looked down, and the startled
to see the that Angel had but one leg!
It quite startled me, greatly because he
had such great agility.
I was at a loss for words when he told me
he was more than grateful?
To say that I was astonished, is to meet him
goes beyond anything fateful.
He was perhaps but twenty-five, at most,
I gathered as he related.
A great wife and two children and
seeking a job was he, which all three
he celebrated.
The story goes a drunk driver, ten years ago
hit him and there went his leg.
But to him, it was a night with gratitude
he celebrated.
He made me look at my life here
at the Soup.
I should be grateful and elated!
But my ego crushes me, with few
comments I feel diminished, and
yes deflated.
Now here was an Angel, who told
me, he ran obstacle courses
around the world!!
And here I was, thinking at Poetry
Soup feeling all deflated.
He stood with one leg in contrast
like a magnificent,glowing emerald!
I never came here to be famous
or seeking any poetic glory.
It took an Angel with but one leg,
To remind me to stop sniveling and
groaning.
To seek to give, not have others listen
to my insipid, selfish moanings.
September 3, 2020
5:30am PST
* Requestiing positive responses, no
discussion on drinking, please*
Tentative steps beyond my front door
Ten or twelve at most, can’t go more
Not boldly either, but taken timidly
No match for the heat and humidity
The skies’ brightest hue is haze
The air shimmers as if dazed
Blades of grass wither and wilt
Lawn after lawn a dying brown quilt
Thirty-one days without a breath
O, August, your badge is death
Morning time...waking with sweets in my mouth
cinnamon carameltmarshmellowed out
breakfast cereal Sugar Dynamite
secret prize inside,bestows x-ray sight
Sugar shock,tooth rot,'60s psycotropic lollipops
an infinite selection @ Treat's Sweetshop
its addictive candy flavors
improves moods and bad behavior
beware of its dangers
sugar rush overdose and hypereality at most
Peanutbrittle,jawbreakers,misfortune cookie riddles
limesours with saccarine middles
crispycreams filled my mouth
multi-colored jelly beans,sweet and sour insideout
Chocolate candy bars filled the candy jars
cinnamon coal pepper scorchers
mouth and stomach torture
jellied fruit medley,candied vomit,flavor bliss
oatmeal crisps and spicey comets
cool peppermints sooth
my tongue stuck to sticky tarts stronger than glue
Sugared hyper,spoiled rotten
the last flavor blast,gone not forgotten
Narcotic treats penny gag sweets
firecracker gum
blistering flaming lip smackers
and moldy sugarplums
Blue cotton candy,caramel dandies,gingersnaps
assorted sugared snacks,
bubblegum taffy stale rotten candy
are tough chewing tasks
the good stuff in my secret stash:
vanilla cream mashed between two oatmeal cookies
even tried vegan fruikies
my heart's desire...
spent several days sugar wired...still ain't tired
When tastebuds crave an everlasting taste
even toothpaste's nothing to waste
suck,never chew hot swallows in haste
found tastebud relief
gulped this 32oz. blizzard
topped with chopped strawberry twizzlers
Nighttimes mean euphoric wake dreams
cool whipped creamed baked desserts
milkshakes quenched my sugar thirst
Next an ice cream brainfreeze sprinkled with the works,
Ate three slices of icecream cake unthawed,
and an entire carton of chocolate marshmellow smorgasborgs
smothered in toffee fudge crunch and caramel popcorn munch
Baked treats make each morning time sublime
Sugared creamed pastries cake sweet
Saccarine cereal tastes surreal
Chocolate sprinkled ,vanilla milkshakes
completes morning meal
Then the entire day of sugar shock toothrot
indulgence at Treat 's Sweet Shop
It is like a drunk
or addict reaching that 'so called' stopping off point. That point
where one can't imagine life with or without the fix. Writing is like that.
Obsessive, progressive, addictive. A fix. Scribes need it to 'feed the rat.'
Recently I have felt
overwhelmed reading all of the BFAs and MFAs out there, being at most an
amateur ham and egger myself. Writers all strive arduously to organize words
into some form or message that people enjoy. That touches them. That they
identify with.
I've dreamt of hearing,
"Ahh, your words meant so much to me!" And, immediately I fall into
delusional dreams of people swooning. This helplessly addicted novice would
be left to wallow, pro tempore, in the juices of their nouveau riche, yet
auspicious skills? It is simply not like that though, people!
Most of the time
writing is line by line, meter by meter, and word beside word. Then edit,
clip, and rewrite. And all of that to be a novice 'ham and egger.'
Look at
E.E. Cummings, James Agee, Carl Sandburg, Ernest Dowson, Gana Gioia.
All of them capable of writing something complete, abiding, and significant
in less than sixty words.
So significant that
one can return to read and reflect upon the words all the years of a life.
No chance of my ever
writing something compelling like one of those guys? Maybe, I could channel
an inner Dylan Thomas? Perhaps, if I touched the oxfords of Dr. Seuss?
Now, there is a good plan! That Sam I Am, That Sam I Am,
I do not like that Sam..............E-I-E-I-O!
Perhaps, if I had voted for Barack Obama I would be
more sensitive and artistic? All muses, artists, and
sensitive people vote Democratic, don't they? ---
Yes, that's it! If I change my voter registration I'll suddenly
awake one day with all of the angst and existentialist ardor
of Sartre or Dostoyevsky!...........................****, not a chance.
A better strategy might be
to write poetry for all of the right reasons. It is very much worthwhile
expression and communication in our age. It is an accomplishment if
even a handful of people every read the words. Poetry is still important
today. Its benefits enable the author to 'dig the well' of their life experience
deeper with every topic completed.
The words are there. All one has to do is gather them fearlessly!
I look about this merry gloom
Thoughtless, fat and slim.
Remembering but half a tune
I'd lost my will to win.
'Give up thy Eric Idle, son.'
I heard a whisper mutter.
And sitting up inside my head
Knew this was not a stutter.
'Are you the reepher with a grin?'
I asked, which pleased him so.
'The one without a duffel chin
And klinkers to and fro?'
'Indeed I am that very sole
That fishes in the deep.
I've come to Clam you half or whole
And Cod your wife to weep.'
'Ah-ha! You baddie bootleg bloke.
I've seen you as a lad.
You took my Granny up in smoke
For only half a drag.'
'Def Albert and his weeping nose
You took him there as well.
To where God only heaven knows
It's really hard to tell.'
'Perhaps, not now, or yet at least.
At most, not in a bit,
Be gentle, like a gentle beast
And sit a while in sit.'
Eighty I am but now I feel young
When bubbles of champagne tingle my nose
The wine going down my brain to disclose
Is acting in my soul like a big bang.
It’s a real new blossom of my youth lost
Which fills of flowers each next bubbling drop
It is a flow of petals with no stop,
A spray of perfume exciting at most.
A miracle happens wider than told
Since I am feeling as long time ago
When bubbles and love together could go
Their blossoms transform a man even old.
Blossoms and bubbles from a crystal glass
Are doing of me a young of first class.
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At midnight, he'll propose a toast
and raise to light a fluted glass,
as they gaze, muted, at their host
Though in his eye may sting a tear,
he knows theirs will stay dry, en masse,
as they ring in the coming year
That he alone bears witness to
this cheerless savoir-faire, is clear
but he's forgot (or never knew)
such camaraderie, at most,
is retrospect to spirits here,
where every guest is but a ghost...
At midnight, he'll propose a toast
that he alone bears witness to
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