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At The Last Minute Poem
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Original Poem Just Desserts
I was at my favourite restaurant and had a lovely meal
If I finished all my food then a pudding was the deal
I’d relished every morsel and was pleased as a Cheshire cat
The dessert menu was on its way, Oh I couldn’t wait for that
The waitress bought the menus and I rubbed my hands with glee
Oh sticky toffee pudding, now that’s the one for me
She came to take the order – we had waited as you do
She finally turned to me and said ‘oh Madam what can I get you’
Oh stiffy cockie pudding please was my swift reply
I didn’t realise what I’d said till I saw the tears form in her eye
I went as red as a beetroot and the others began to laugh
At my spoonerism which turned into a complete gaffe
The pudding it came quickly but I couldn’t wait to leave
I choked on every mouthful and my stomach it did heave
So please take notice of my error on this horrendous day
If you order sticky toffee pudding be careful what you say!
2nd February 2014
This was my first poem posted here and was is my first poem to be published in a book by United Press
Response Poem to Just Desserts
When I read my ‘Just Desserts’ poem, oh I made such a gaffe
I am petrified it will happen again and everyone will laugh
At home I have been practicing the correct words I have to say
To order sticky toffee pudding again will really make my day
We still go to this local restaurant for a tasty treat
I love the food they serve, it’s a lovely place to eat
But when its time to choose my dessert then I begin to shake
After my terrible Spoonerism I can’t make the same mistake
I smile sweetly at the waitress who comes to take my choice
Then clear my throat gently so I have a steady voice
I want to order sticky toffee pudding, the dessert of my dream
But I chicken out at the last minute and order an ice cream!
Contest - A response to My First Poem
Sponsored by Silent One
09~27~15
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
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At The Last Minute Poem
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From the Gardens of Babylon,
to the walkways of Palestina,
to the grand temples of Jerusalism,
to the sandy beaches of Syria and Cyprus.
Went my Persian Queen riding,
upon her golden, firery chariot.
Her black hair, like silk long and flowing.
Her royal robes white and purple, bare and pure.
Her sword by her side, ready to strike.
Her spear fastened, ready to stab the dreeded heart
of the Fire Dragon.
On the firery chariot, riding with her armies,
Went my Perisan Queen.
O, how my arimes fight your armies,
in the midst of night fall, under a full moon.
Let us stop this foolish fighting.
And have fellow brother, love fellow brother.
And so we can fall in love forever.
And don't act like you don't show love for me.
I see you in the dawns, standing upon the sand covered battlefields.
Standing proud behind your armies.
With your black hair flowing.
You almost making me want not to fight the battle of the Day,
for if you were killed, what victory would that be then?
You pull your armies back at the last minute, before I am slayed
by your fellow brother in arms.
You retreat your arimes back over the hills, not in fear of losing the day,
but in fear of losing me.
You and your armies had plenty of chances to kill me, yet you do not.
My Persian Queen, O come now.
Come down from your firery chariot
and into my restless arms.
I know you are tired
and wanting to sleep.
Listen to the nightingale
sing her love song.
Drinking the sweet necture,
from the gardens, in your vase Persian Empire.
Come now, and kiss me,
Hold me, let us ride,
far from the simple minds of the Old World
and fall in love in a New.
My Persian Queen
O how I love you so much.
I cannot bare to see you in a life you don't want to live.
Come let I, your Knight in shinning armour liberate you.
Take you by the hand, run through the great bazzare in Old Istanbul
running away from the Janissaries of your father's Imperial armies.
Let us leave this place of hate and sorrow.
To start our lives a new.
My Persian Queen,
Now dressed in silk lace,
with golden jewlery hanging
from your beautiful and tender neck.
Along with the silver pattened belt around your harmonial waist.
It is time for you, to come with me.
No more shall we act like we dispise one another.
As Romeo and Juliet's love failed,
shall our love take course, and we shall love
till the oceans swallow the earth, the mountains crumble,
and the Sun engulf the sweet Earth.
And on and on shall our love go on,
My adorable and lovely Persian Queen.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
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By destiny, became friends
Not by real contact but e - contact
Great was the distance that separate, yet felt so close
Shared dreams, goals and ambitions
With optimum passion of achieving them
Shared knowledge which empowered onto wisdom
Got to know the common and contrast
Hours after hours, laughed and frowned
Days after days, shared pains and gains
Months after months, the hearts seemed too close for an e-feelings
There arose a need for some definitions to be made
Necessitating some decisions to be taken
Alas! picked the word 'distance' even in the digital world
Anytime the past memories beeped,
It seemed treading the future path was impossible
Month by month, could see more possibility
Day by day, could get rid of the past memories
Hour by hour, the future path became clearer
And at the last minute when everything seem to be new
There appear the e-friend in the real world
Like a shadow under the sparkling light
with blast of some melodious music of Spanish touch
Thought everything was over
But not the impression left by love
which could lead to something new
And definitely in the real world
Copyright © Joshua Akinwande | Year Posted 2011
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All you Souper know me as Jack
But in reality, my real name is Charles
I will try to explain this seemingly strangel turn of events
I was the last of ten children in our family
The first nine offsprings were girls
And then came a BOY... li'l ole me!
Well the word quickly got around our small town
The Ellison girls have a baby brother, WOO HOO!
Word also got around that all nine sisters and my Mum
Agreed “Jack Norman Ellison” was to be my name
However, on the way to the church for my Christening
My Grandmother changed my Dad's mind at the last minute
And convinced him to christen me Charles Byard
After my Dad's brother who died a hero in the First World War
My sisters were livid with anger
And decided from then on
They'd call me Jack irregardless of what my birth certificate said!
And they did... so now you know the rest of the story
Strange or what???
© Jack Ellison 2014
Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014
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At The Last Minute Poem
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C
HR AS
I M
S T
Colored lights aglow
Decorated trees inside
A joyous time here
Black Friday arrives Cards received from friends
Shopping at the last minute Holly strung from the Rafters
Commercialism Rules Reds and Greens abound
A Fireplace with no fire Children's Eyes so wide
Cookies and Milk left for treats Anticipations so high
Stockings have been hung Santa comes tonight
Dad reads directions Packages So Pretty
Looking for the correct piece Wrapped with a Parent's Love
The Trike completed The Elves Approve
Today's Air is Sweet
Aromas of Mom's Best Work
Sweet Pumpkin Pie
Copyright © Dan Cwiak | Year Posted 2016
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At The Last Minute Poem
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Gone with the wind
Gone are the days of indecision
Gone are the days of determination
Are you sure?
You will forever be indecisive
Because God decide
You will forever be hesitate
Because God has the final plan
And it changes at the last minute
So forsake - go on
Know that the Determiner has a Hand on you
That He determines everything
from the day you walk
To the day you talk
From the one you marry
To the one you fly
From ahh whatever
You get the message
One thing for sure
- He will not leave you floundered
aimless
He always has a plan
And therefore you have a plan
You just don't know it yet
Or do you?
Like I said
Don't be floundered
Aimless
Like you have a choice
Copyright © Toquyen Harrell | Year Posted 2015
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"Dearly beloved, "We are gathered here today to witness,
The wickedness of these times."
"Blessed", fortunately, its ending soon."
To radio stations phone-it.
"Wait!, No!, Next month.
"Taking the kiddies fishing."
"Perhaps we should postpone it."
"Reminds me, of an ole story.
"My, dear neighbor, now long past away."
"Bought a two-thousand watt light bulb."
"Used it to clean the lint from his toe nail."
"Then handed it over to me."
"Which item?", he asks.
"The lint or the bulb?"
"That's for you to decide."
"For extra credit, predict when the bulb burns out."
How the truth sometimes hurts.
For he loves us, and we love Him.
Faithfully digesting a breakfast sermon
Hard garlic salami, and dried prunes.
Oh , dear Paul.
Why was Moses punished?
He loves us.
In spite of our gas masks.
Even blesses our vents.
Just look at me.
I,m sure we meet before.
I,m wearing the inspector Klusoe badge.
Hiding near the back row.
Wearing an "Eddie Haskell", smile.
No mask , though, I,m tough.
I sure would like to tattle, on that darn kid.
Carefully rolling his perfect round gum wad.
Leaving it at the front door.
Tattle on that old fogy.
Hiding a re-cycled stogy.
Near the front bush.
About anybody unannounced,
Can bounce-in, these days!
Hard-core corporate sinners.
Hard working, making this world better?
With what thanks?
To greet the other side in hell?
If we don,t get to them.
Perhaps us as well.
Without Grace.
Sure would like to tattle,
On those arriving at the last minute.
Budgeting time, to edit a grocery list.
Tattle?, to Who?
Tattle on ladies, so easily upset.
If the closing clock, past noon strikes.
They must sell powerfully minted cookies.
Serving such a needed feast.
Considering whats for breakfast.
Dear Jesus, can you explain?
Why you cursed the fig branch?
So Our sports fans can understand?
Boy would I ever like to tattle,
On that little, freckled faced girl.
Sneaking in her kitten.
Us listening, to penetrating competitive "Meows."
"We are the cats meow."
"Not hippo-critters."
So please join Us.
123 altogether sing.
"We love Him."
"We love them."
They love Us."
"Love"," one-another."
Sounds absolutely crazy, doesn't it?
Copyright © Oliver Krier | Year Posted 2014
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During last night’s draft coverage, ESPN would reveal
that the Cleveland Browns and Philadelphia Eagles made a deal.
At the last minute, Philadelphia sent their first-round pick
to Cleveland for two Browns choices in a move that was quick.
With pick number twenty-two, the Browns chose Johnny Manziel.
This was a move many Browns fans thought was swell.
Cleveland folks will be happy as hell welcoming him here.
He was the first Heisman Trophy winner in his freshman year.
Johnny hopes to bring the Browns back to respectability this season.
Cleveland is quite happy, and Johnny is the reason.
From a sports news story found on ESPN.com
Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2014
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At The Last Minute Poem
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hope the driving force of the world
a mouse dropped in a vat of water with no chance of escape
circling the bucket to no avail will let itself drown
at the last minute picked by its tail to be saved
learned hope as the cruelty of scientists under the pretense of knowledge
experiment with emotions and reactions
and later back with the same ordeal the animal will swim forever in hope of rescue
religions an easy carrot for the lost
believer atheist or agnostic no matter as without hope the planet will be immoral
but the flora with the goal to devour it all as it bleeds and recoils if threatened
I hear the scream of the lettuce I eat
and no hesitation to skin a rabbit as it's it or me
my church is the potty for every one to see as porker I flush the deal to be on earth.
Copyright © catherine labeau | Year Posted 2015
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At The Last Minute Poem
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My wife told me she invited Santa to dinner
But it is not Christmas and this is summer, but should I let him enter?
What shall we serve?
Should it be potluck at the last minute and is this what Santa deserves?
However, Santa will bring his reindeer troop
They are big enough to be their own group
The meal must be done right
The stars are giving the wink in get cracking tonight
Otherwise when Christmas finally comes, my house could become a drive over by
Then my Children will start to cry
Every effort on my part being a try
Santa’s HO HO HO will be an affirmative NO
Then I will respond with SO
I need someone to feel me on this
Because my Wife may not give me a kiss
I can only image Santa passing my house for the first time
All of the coal that would be mine
Now I guess I could serve some nice champagne
But if Santa gets drunk, guess who will be the blame?
I can just see the Headline, ”Santa gets a ticket for being drunk”
All the children around the world would a lot of bunk
Well Santa has the invite
Now as the Host, I must be polite
Otherwise, it will be a guest of probably might
But for now I extend my Good Night.
Copyright © ANTHONY BLAKE | Year Posted 2015
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At The Last Minute Poem
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All the time I was descending into that deep, dense cavern of a hole
Between my shoulders an uneasy crick appeared and seemed to slip into my soul.
Overhead, jagged, stalactites hung, daring any to allow this cave to be explored
Mystic webs floated within the shadows, trailing over rocks marked and scored.
Illusions I discovered, some buried, some cast by an evil mind, ate at my very soul
Numbing fear suddenly binds me and I am falling ever faster and deeper into the hole.
At the last minute I stop, hearing, angry sounds and howls in the shadows cast
Then I see a creature grotesque and ancient; a nightmare ripped from my past.
In the mists, the cloying stench of the mutilated destruction claws at my nose
Opting my brain to scream,'run', but too late the creature has come in close.
Nightmares everywhere fade, reality winks in and slowly I become aware
So maybe, I'll buy, just one more ticket, 'Abominations', is a really cool scare!
Copyright © Jane Richer | Year Posted 2012
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At The Last Minute Poem
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The busy hours at nine,
running at the last minute.
Those never ending classes
now i miss them in every
minute..
Give me back my school days
is the only thing to say.
Let me go to school for once,
that's the only prayer i pray.
The heap of lunch boxes
and the rush for the recess
break,
give me back my school days
is the only wish to make.
Last night study and crying for
buddy,
i really miss them all
teachers question and empty
faces
makes me laugh when i recall
getting a star or a zero
makes no difference right now,
i wanna have my school days
back
please give it to me somehow...
Copyright © Aarya Roy | Year Posted 2011
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At The Last Minute Poem
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(The tea is pronounced ESS-i-ac)
The tea I use was born in Canada.
Holistic doctors told me of its name.
This strange concoction does a lot of good
with curing cancer its main claim to fame.
Ten minutes you must boil it. Later, put
it in the fridge; it settles like brown sludge.
You have to shake it up before each use.
That sludge does not taste anything like fudge!
Destroyer of free radicals it is -
removing toxins, healing, helping pain.
It aids digestion, even strengthens bones
and nourishes and stimulates the brain.
The list of all it does goes on and on.
So many illnesses this tea can fight.
I make enough to last for two week’s time
and drink three ounces morning, noon and night.
It’s bitter but not horrible; I’ve made
this tea my daily habit because I
am at high risk for cancer, so my friend,
in Essiac I'll trust until I die.
(I noticed at the last minute that my original version of this poem was too many lines to fit the contest requirements, so this is a revision taking out at least three verses that discuss the tea's healing properties. Please, if you are interested in learning about this wonder tea, go to my poem underneath this one and see all the details and links!)
Written Dec. 6, 2016
For the Wake Up with Coffee or Tea Poetry Contest of Kim Rodrigues
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
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Listen to poem:
by Robert (Bob) Moore
Its Christmas in Australia, the weathers stinking hot
got to do some shopping, but I’d really prefer not
the crowds are large and noisy, the kids get in your way
and its just so you can buy some things, you have to give away
You dress the tree, and hang the lights, a fairy on the top
you hope you’ve covered everything, but your brain just won’t stop
thinking there is more to do, something you’ve not done
and then at the last minute, to the shops you’ll have to run
You’ve boiled the Christmas pudding, and added a bit more rum
it’s time to set the table, for when the guests all come
we should have done this inside, as the flies begin to swarm
too many clothes, and too much heat, the drinks are getting warm
Is all this really worth it, now I can hardly think
as if things are not bad enough, the AC’s on the blink
don’t think we’ll do it next year, it really is too much
and with the Aussie sunshine, every things too hot to touch
Now friends and family start to arrive, the air is full of cheer
a kiss and cuddle, or a handshake, can I leave these presents here
it really feels like Christmas, when all are gathered round
Singing Christmas Carols, it’s such a joyful sound
Then food is eaten, drink is drunk, we are feeling pretty tired
except the little children, running round like they are wired
it really is a happy day, family and friends are near
we had such a lovely time, we’ll do it all again next year
Copyright © Bob Moore | Year Posted 2016
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I wish I wouldn’t stop me, it’s a painful problem of mine every day.
I plan things almost forever, then at the last minute freeze or walk away.
Some times I close my eyes and continue to barge on thru, to the end.
Mostly I’m just a coward who’s frightened to see things thru, just yet, my friend.
I’m not frightened of what others will say, tho friends I’d hate to lose.
It’s more I’m fearful of the unknown, with its hidden walls of don’t and do’s.
Every time I enter into my plans, unknowns pop up to stop me in my tracks.
Getting in over my head gives lessons, that stop me from wanting to go back.
Some times I just shy away because I’m suddenly so very shy…
And being paralyzed with fear takes me a while, before I can carry on and try.
I’ll probably eventually finish things to whatever point I can…
But fearful timidness, is always lurking there at hand.
So stand there by my side, and give me a smile to urge me on.
Watch me take off flying, even if I fall down and become withdrawn.
I’m really not alone, it’s also there inside of you.
So as I take off running again, you should take off flying too.
There’s courage in numbers, and sharing problems makes them seem far less.
If I can lean on your shoulder, you can also lean on mine, you bet.
Together we’ll get thru things… tho always with more planning and way more time.
Learning doesn’t take forever, and one goal can be met with each flight.
After all we’re still only human, with this battle of starts and stops to fight…
If we lose our footing in the sand, sooner or later we’ll get up and carry on.
With patience we can find the treasures out there, and more stars to dream upon.
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2011
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Another Tale Of Musical Madness...
It was in the early seventies...
My friend and rhythm guitar man,
Mark Trotiner, worked in a well
known musician store in NYC...
Another one of those so rare
"light up the room types"-
He played great rhythm guitar,
Couldn't play a lick of lead,
Sang proudly with an awful voice,
Was the arch-typical Hippie of the 70's,
Knew all about music and bands,
Was friend to Frank Zappa,
Blues Project men, had met Jimmy Page
and countless others, the first
of the Greenwich Village Super Hippies
All the bands knew him...
He could charm your socks off...
Swore till the day he dies,
He inspired Mark Knaufler"s
"Money For Nothing"..
And I'd long learned how
to catch a bullshooter in crap...
Listen to his story....
Wait a good amount of time,
Ask him again about it...
See what has changed...
Repeat this process about
Three times,
You're sure to expose the lie,
I did this to him repeatedly
Over the course of years,
And he passed every test...
(that story itself worthy of
a great work...someday soon...)
However, he was the core figure
In the Grateful Dead Cover Band
I was in...with his guitar player friend,
Mark "Bone" Diaz- 6 foot three,
80 pounds, curly red hair tied back...
Greatest musician I ever played with...
And another anxious singer
with no voice...
Well Mark was always meeting
musicians of various levels...
And so charming, so unassuming
he appeared to be...
He had that aura, like cousin Bill
In all my life, those two still..
Stand out with this gift...
Oh, give me a spoonful of that gift...
And what a boost in my life it would lift
Anyway, (and this happened twice...)
Hope I don't get mixed up...
It's like tossin' them ol' dice...
This band, named "Koala"
Early 70's recording band...
Invited us down, based on Mark's word,
To open a set for them..
At their Bond Street Loft...
We wound up there twice...
Were told to bring naught
but our guitars...
Their equiptment world class...
Now I'll compact these 2 stories
To make my point...
We didn't know what we had
stepped into...
Should'a never entered the joint...
First gig, just like the "Big Day Gig",
All other musicians crapped out
on us at the last minute...
And I wound up doing this job
With Billy, Mark T., a drummer,
and me..
Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007
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At The Last Minute Poem
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Pathetic, the word I just can't seem to outrun
it beats me to alley-way exits, creating dead to ends, enclosed places
Defeated, it might as well be the twin
The effects, they refuse to cease yet love to seize me
I've made so many plans, so many plans to alter the aspect
tread on broken glass to allow Karma to change sides
but at the last minute, I exchanged those plans
for different names to sustain an imaginary legacy
'Divided into pieces of the sun'
so the poet's dream is comprised of Ra, the Sun God
or am I chemically flawed in my mind...likely
The voices in my mind command to enjoy the beauty in reality
their response is an open mouth for I have laughed in their faces
What beauty does the death of children portray
What beauty lies in seeing grown adults fight over a molded piece of bread
Imagination, now a similar corrupted world
when the poet merges two worlds and dives recklessly straight into the sun
Disoriented by emotions, morals; how can I breathe
I am lost, dial 911ost; I've lost my mind and the locks
simple math, I cannot when math is not involved
When will the citizens of Earth open their ears and hold their tongues
Get off my back, let me relax; I'm derailing from this track
The fluorescent, white light blinding me
the only thing I'm able to see
myself combusting into several thousand degrees
The supernova of beginning dreams
now dubbed the supernova of emptiness
shining as bright as a dying star
Copyright © Crow thepoet | Year Posted 2016
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on a velocipede against traffic pedaling hands free texting cyberspace
at the last minute the millipede with its mani pedi went to the stratosphere
to meet the dog up there.
What to be found you ask me raised by the jesuits
if I know my gum it is juicy fruity
for the cat to lick and god forbid the swallowing
what a nougat were the carmelites
if not caramel of a camel to carry the load
of fear the mighty ruler under the knees
Copyright © catherine labeau | Year Posted 2016
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Oh my god look at the time how did it get so late all of a sudden I can't believe I've done it again and left this to the last minute minute what do you mean minute you must be joking try last second or how about nanosecond its ridiculous you know better than to think that you can pull things together at the last minute I mean second but no you have to do it every time don't you I mean when will you learn that this is so stressful and what if you make a mistake but then it almost
seems as
if time
slows
down
for
you
and
some
how
it
all
comes
to
get
her
Copyright © David Brown | Year Posted 2015
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At The Last Minute Poem
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Clouds can be remarkably similar
to the friends lovers and passer-bys
that filter through our daily lives
like unexpected weekend guests
who arrive exactly as they planned
or close relatives who fail to appear
simply cancelling at the last minute
as if you weren’t worthy of their rain cheque
you have cleaned the bathroom
and your conscience for nothing
Puppet clouds pull easily at our strings
just the rumour of a troubled sky
can send a jetliner the other way
and when thunder rolls like a lions roar
even the bravest of us cringe for cover
for their faithful companion lightning
can be utterly shocking
like the last couple to leave a party
you are not even sure who invited them
Naysayer clouds are lifelong companions
content to rain on just your parade
intimidating away hopes for a brighter day
some clouds are hauntingly thin and long
like the fingernail scratches of a prisoner
held within the walls of a gray winter day
thirsty for the taste of a falling raindrop
and who among us has not known
at least one cute blond cloud
cannot find her way around a hilltop
Vegas stars mime the clouds de soleil
desert matinees provided dawn to dusk
elflike figures grasping silver moonbeams
magically move across skies of fantasy
one moment an elegant graceful butterfly
the next a leaping giant walrus
brilliant costume changes accomplished
within the blink of your eye
now you see them and then you don’t
encore encore encore
Who has’nt witnessed the theft of sunset
winsome pickpockets lurk like puffs of innocence
clouds seemingly distant but so close
we never feel them steal the belief
that we actually can own daylight
as if it were a shiny silver dollar
the usual suspects hide away to darkness
even a cloudless sky fails to please us all
who has not longed for a rainy day
Clouds of suspicion descend upon truth
as if locusts hunting for delicious prey
and can like a loaded pair of dice
forever change the games that we play
the fickle and aloof clouds of love
play hide and seek with our very hearts
Juliet cried out where for art thou Romeo
deep in her heart she knew his words
were just a bunch of silver lined promises
who do you trust if you can’t trust a cloud
IRISH
Copyright © Michael Poyntz | Year Posted 2009
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A couple of Sundays ago, my daughter called me stating that she wanted to go to church with us. She realized that it was getting late and apologized for calling at the last minute. She inquired about our schedule, and when I informed her of our normal schedule, she said that she would hurry to get ready so as not to delay us. I said, "No, take your time. We will skip the morning pre-service prayer.
I will never forget that morning, because that brief encounter provided me a fresh understanding of the Christ we serve and worship. I already knew this lesson, but with my daughter, the observation became even more personal. Religion was saying one thing. Relationship was saying another.
Man Made Religion was saying, "I'm sorry honey that you called at the last minute. Perhaps you can go to church with us next Sunday, because we are dedicated and obligated to be at the pre-service prayer. The Lord and the church are depending on us. The Lord comes first you know.
Christ Made Relationship was saying, "The interest of my daughter, a living soul, takes precedence over my scheduled prayer activity. My daughter's interest and spiritual well being become a higher priority than my obligation to the pre-service prayer." Because the priority lessons of Christ were deeply rooted in my heart and spirit, I immediately knew how to respond.
For example, the 99 sheep had to wait until the shepherd found the one lost sheep. The Sabbath had to pause for the rescue of the sheep who had fallen into the pit. The Sabbath had to take a back seat to the crippled man whom Christ healed.*
Christ is not about religion or merely religious activities. Christ is about relationships with Him and his people.
11262017 PS *Mat.18:12-14; Mat.12:11; Mk. 3:1-6
Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2017
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At The Last Minute Poem
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add inflation & unemployment stats,
(its highest level in 28 years)
an absence of universal healthcare,
(its highest level in 28 years)
foreclosures, lost pensions, dead 401K’s, etc.
(its highest level in 28 years)
&
(its highest level in 28 years)
you get a whole lot of angry people
(its highest level in 28 years)
waiting for something to happen---
(its highest level in 28 years)
are you ready for this?
(its highest level in 28 years)
are you gonna save up all your strife &
(its highest level in 28 years)
pretend that it matters when you walk into
(its highest level in 28 years)
the ballot booth on 11/2/12?
(its highest level in 28 years)
gonna try & make yourself believe that
(its highest level in 28 years)
those in power are gonna save you?
(its highest level in 28 years)
that they are going to have a sudden change of
(its highest level in 28 years)
heart---
(its highest level in 28 years)
and suddenly they will just feel sorry for the rest of
(its highest level in 28 years)
us &
(its highest level in 28 years)
wash us all over with their cash
(its highest level in 28 years)
allowing for the 99% to get
(its highest level in 28 years)
just an
(its highest level in 28 years)
itty
(its highest level in 28 years)
bitty
(its highest level in 28 years)
piece of what the other 1% has?
what does it take to wake you up from your slumber?
gonna go to your priest,
(its highest level in 28 years)
when he’s not raping little boys &
(its highest level in 28 years)
beg him for help from your big imaginary friend in the sky?
(its highest level in 28 years)
is he gonna help you?
(its highest level in 28 years)
you think you have an ace in the hole,
(its highest level in 28 years)
something that can be drawn upon at the last minute---
(its highest level in 28 years)
well,
(its highest level in 28 years)
the clock is ticking &
(its highest level in 28 years)
the index is rising.
Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2011
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At The Last Minute Poem
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Every morning spent hours, unmoving in bed.
Watching the bumps and the cracks and nothings of the ceiling.
Unreality.
Get up at the last minute.
shower, dress, eat, leave.
My toothbrush hasn’t touched my mouth in a month.
And I find my dreams are filled with nicotine,
blazing fires of kerosene,
Uncomfortable moments of obscenity.
“Please don’t touch me [there.]”
Every scream in my mind,
almost never leaves my throat,
Despite the relief I know it would bring me.
And I find myself staring,
At the wisps of smoke,
That find their way and explore the wind,
Trailing off my cigarette butt,
“I could fix this all.
Nevermind. Stop the scene, cut.”
Copyright © Maria Cherub | Year Posted 2016
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At The Last Minute Poem
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how many times does
hillary
have to tell the world
that Russia needs to do this,
or Russia needs to do that,
before she runs out of breath?---
it is Russia that reads between the lines &
sees the ulterior motives in the west
promulgated by the empire,
for a restructuring of Syria,
so that it will not turn out like Egypt---
how many times do people in
Syria have to assert to the cameras
that if other countries weren’t paying
the various rebel groups in their own
country,
that a civil war would not be just around the
corner?
just how
INTENSE
does the US, NATO & all their buddies
want the situation in Syria to get,
so that at the last minute they can come
sweeping in
with their big state-of-the-art
armies
to prevent the people of Syria from doing it
themselves?
Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2012
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At The Last Minute Poem
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I watch at the last minute
a solitary petal falling
from the cracked bough
through thin glass of my window--
it rustles and soars way high
along a grappled wind,
sailng over the chilly vale .
It aligns with a hundred other petals,
all together waltzing in space.
Watching their unrehearsed dance
in glorious animation, a tear of awe
smudges my eyes.
Contest No 415-- Brian Strand
03.25.2018
Copyright © Banjo Casto | Year Posted 2018