Best Attendance Poems
(Even If You Are A Cat Person This Applies To You)
Dear Dogs,
When I say to move it means go someplace else, not switch positions with each other so there are still two dogs in the way.
The dishes with the paw prints are yours and contain your food.
The other dishes are mine and contain my food.
Please note placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and my food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.
The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a race track.
Beating me to the bottom is not the object.
Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run.
I cannot buy anything bigger than a king size bed.
I'm very sorry about this but do not think that I will continue to sleep on the couch to ensure your comfort.
Look at videos of dogs sleeping. They can actually curl up into a ball.
It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out with tongues hanging out the other end to maximize space used is nothing but doggie sarcasm.
My compact discs are not miniature frisbees.
For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom.
If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut it is not necessary to claw, whine, try to turn the knob or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open.
I must exit through the same door I entered.
In addition, I have been using bathrooms for years;
canine attendance is not mandatory.
Lastly, the proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other dogs butt.
I cannot stress this enough.
It would be such a simple change for you.
With Love,
Mom
In a small café, customers stream through the door. I jot down orders that pile up as I wonder what’s happening in the back kitchen. The patrons are looking more and more displeased. I scurry table to table filling glasses running endlessly dry and simultaneously noticing the increasing number of empty napkin holders. Where’s the manager? Why is there nobody here but me? The order slips are almost gone. And now plates of food begin appearing in the back so quickly that I cannot recall to which table each one goes. I’m running and running, the proverbial dumb chicken but with its head still attached and throbbing! I hear the clamor of “Where’s our meal?” and more people keep entering through the door.
Now I find myself in a plain white-walled classroom of my school. The clock on the wall ticks on and on as students trickle through the door. Students sit staring as I search a pile of papers for the attendance sheet. The papers fall and I just know my lesson plan is lost among the scattered sheets. I bend to pick them up and my brain is a fog. What am I to teach? I sift through the disarray as ticking seconds become minutes, and a silence pierces me as I view the stony faces before me. I try to mouth words, but they simply won’t come. I can almost feel the fidgeting of the students as my upper lip begins to twitch. I know they are thinking me an imbecile. As I stand dumb stricken, time is fleeing, and more students are entering the room. . . . .
I awaken to the loud incessant ticking of the clock beside my bed. I’ll rise to greet my day, get into my car and meld with a stream of other people driving to their everyday jobs. There will be days that I encounter the cheerless or dissatisfied faces of strangers or even of family and friends. There will be times that I hasten frantically, feeling all is futile as bills pile up or work overwhelms me, and there are sure to be times when I will feel at an utter loss as I live vicariously the nightmarish woes which sometimes my husband must confront. How grateful I am for ordinary days whose hours of normalcy are heaven compared to the mind boggling misery endured throughout this world. And how thankful I am for ordinary days that greatly outnumber a few awful dreams!
They call me anti-social
As if I could care less
When I'm on my own
Is when I'm at my best
A room full of people
Socializing and being equal
I could care less to be in attendance
But I guess its about remembrance
But being a Social butterfly
Is not in my agenda
I prefer to dwell in my own hacienda
So I will be anti-social
And leave the pro-social
To the locals
For now that's my focal
He asked his flock if they believed in the Hereafter
Amen, pastor, they said amid much joy and laughter!
Hereafter, when the plate is passed
I expect it to be filled up fast
For some reason chapel attendance plunged thereafter
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Trees dressed all in pink
In attendance at spring's ball
cherry blossoms dance
~
Nature
Poetry convention is now convened
attendance must be asked and seen
Eve - Present
Jan- Present
AnneLise -Present
Santa Claus- Present
Shakespeare -Present
Greek Ghost - Dead
Jesus - Three days late
Bach - Stringing things along
Poets all
dance and sing
paint, draw and hold purse strings
ah but some poets claim such glory
Why then do they cheat
upon Gods glory?
All in favor
clink our glasses
red wine and friendships
heaven exists
in bistros
of
honesty
The minstrel and the rubbish
To a homeless in N.Y., who had a guitar to keep him company
But he that is greatest among you shall be your servant.
(Matthew, 23, 11)
The rubbish was blown aside
by the arid marching of the wind
leaving the whole street clear
for the minstrel who was crooning
his latest composition
to the street’s dream-recipients,
while the voltage of the wind
was going down at intervals
under the burden
of the unexpected stave.
The night was watchful
- you’d say she dreaded –
lest she bumped into the chords
and crush their solitary waving.
Breastfeeding music the minstrel
was opening up new pathways
to the question marks
of his melodies.
Me, what was I then
I still haven’t found.
Wind, rubbish, onlooker
or something else?
The minstrel ’s mute audience,
the rubbish, transcended its nature
at Time’s attendance register
and, after all, it would not
have always been rubbish
and some of it would have had
its own illustrious past, too,
and it must have known
what it means to have
eyes that leave Love
as a map to find them back
and warmth that has left,
as a memorial,
its fleeting past,
with Hope
as its one and only stamp.
All alone the minstrel,
homeless with his homeless guitar
housed his trivial dreams,
under the yoke
of the obese city’s wind,
in his Heavenly Melodies.
(translated by the original ‘O ???a??d?? ?a? ta s???p?da’, by the poet, from his book of the same title.)
Have you ever been a-flyin'
Up in the sky so blue?
If you have you seen the people
Who provide their service for you.
Flying for them is a profession
One of assistance, service, and care.
I often times have mumbled
At some of the things they hear.
Have you ever been a-flyin'
In a plane with silver wing?
If so you have met the people
Whose "attendance" is their thing.
I have seen them courteous and collected
Even in spite of a boor.
Somehow you know they are thankful
When the last one is out the door.
Have you ever been a-flyin'
Up above in a crowded plane?
Have you ever wondered
How those people do not go insane?
Life for them is walking
Thousands of miles each day.
With every step they take on that plane
They try to help in every way.
Have you ever been a-flyin'
Up high...well over a country mile?
Then you must have seen the people
Whose job it is to smile.
Courtesy is the watchword of their profession
No time to give way to personal vents.
So when you get on an airplane
Be thankful for the "Flight Attendants".
I got the most wanted invitation
It’s organized by a bad collaboration
Would be fun by every indication
Now to think of that fabrication
That would get me there with no implication
To that plan, I will give my whole dedication
B:
Halt! What was that insinuation?
Dad even made a buttressing contribution
I will still not give up in this new occupation
It will have to pass through sound evaluation
At all costs I need to get to that destination
By every power possibly even divination
C:
Oh! The sorrow is like constipation
Against all my careful stipulation
I only needed to heed their conversation
Now I can only sit here in retribution
Awaiting news of others inhibition
My own attendance has already reached its conclusion
Bless your heart — Southern Sugah’
Pecan pies love clouds,
smothered and smothered in peaks
— fresh whipped cream, Darlin’
Sinful recipe —
sweet lil’ hymn.
Ma’am!
7/14/2018
From Wikipedia: The Bible Belt is an informal region in the Southern United States in which socially conservative evangelical Protestantism plays a strong role in society and politics, and Christian church attendance across the denominations is generally higher than the nation's average.
Gorgeous gracious gardens gaping
Riveting running rivers racing
Echoing effervescing enamoring endless
Adoring Angels accepting attendance
Towering tranquilising trees tremendous
Eloquent equilibrium euphoric exile
Surrendering silence sustaining smile
Comfortably calming content consciousness
Attracting acoustical ambiance autonomous
Pleasurable pensive pondering paradise
Exuberant ethereal eyes entice
Jan.08.2020
Great escape Poetry
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
Placed 3'rd...Thank You
indescribable,
untranscribable ~
imbibable, your exotic, quixotic perfume
spiraled me into a quandary
of dirty laundry, penance,
no superintendents in attendance
I come from ragged boys, no poise,
just noise ~ a quiver of quavers,
no saviors of silence,
but if some sap sullies our sister
we'll flatten him
you come from platinum
a blessed nest of nuance,
a quay of kindness,
finesse, fineness ~
savvy sophistication, subtlety
a quaint saint I ain't
then poise met noise
you became my bible;
undeniable, heavy sighable,
unclassifiable ~
indescribable
Written 12 Feb 2021
I awake to the sound of birds chatter.
I know a new day has begun.
I draw back the curtains,
Look out on the world
And joyfully welcome the sun.
The majestic trees are gently swaying
As the wind softly rustles through.
All of the Earth is ablaze
With the colours of summer.
And the sky is a picturesque hue.
I drink in all this beauty of creation
That is there in attendance for me;
And I greet the day
With my heart in tune
With nature’s symphony.
Never a foe, life made you so.
Gazed at me from head to toe
as darkness sees light through the Owl.
Your nature is a rhetorical "how".
I sort for you during day time.
A visit, I hope isn't a cold crime?
How 've you became fugitive oh nocturnal bird?
Daylight curiosity got me lividly lured.
You reign supreme at night like darkness,
they proclaim you as their highness,
Though certainly not the finest,
your eyes are well fed to the fullest.
Your fate hides you in nature's wound,
a confinement where you grudgingly brood,
not free to rule all day as you should
just as the Crepuscular species.
I found you in your fortress of distress
longing to see you like a dearly mistress.
Can't love you as much as I wanna fly high;
Life's laid a poignant juxtaposition betwixt you & I:
My wings and feathers mimicks pretty,
your color like grey-tailed tattler looks filthy,
your daylight attendance is such a pity.
Though we belong to the same specie
our fondness ends up totally mashy.
Oh dear Owl, allies of moonlight,
ghost of day, vigilante of the night,
you shall always be dwellers of height.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Envoy/Rhymes
Copyright© March 23rd, 2021.
Spelling, syllable count, vanity, too simple, Simon! Be prolific, cruel, smart, up to par, above the bar, fit for the stage. Tap, tap, tap…
—by poet
The Prismatic Self
See the wooden stage, markers for my feet, bright lights, great expectations, critical analysis. Curtains will open any minute as my words make an entrance. Will my opening lyrics draw a crowd? Who will be in attendance? The theater’s not likely sold out.
Backstage, the sponsors, who are they? ATTENTION! As if a teacher wields a pointer, tapping at my feet. Will the audience throw erasers?
On the palm of my hand, the rules - perhaps strict, but I’m not in fear of a stickler. Trained by the nuns in love and hate knuckles.*
Lots of rules, I might have to practice the act for quite a bit longer. I practice in my dressing room, trying on outfit after outfit - those flouncy forms or something simple and succinct.
Am I a people pleaser? Do I perform at the pleasure of the King or Queen? Or am I my own worst critic?
Yes! Yes! Yes! No!
I desire to be seen but I will yield. There is something more important than being the lead. Still, I must confess, I must run back to my little box, mime my tears, dread my limitations, take a breath and when I am ready - take a bow.
At the onset, I must build my own backdrop, backstory, be vague and understood. I run my lines quickly, slowly, go over them again and again, even as I recite them freely, as a monoku or Shakespearian sonnet; or get even more elaborate.
I labor over each word, its placement, its meaning. I don’t care! I do care! I must feel it practically perfect; though I will let it go. Eventually, it will be a comedy of errors, erroneously erupting past the stage, in the rubber hands of cause and effect. The sponsor’s Marlboro ashes fall on it, without understanding my heartfelt meaning; my wings clipped as I await the list…the dreaded and dreadful list. Most surprised when I am the cream, alone - floating at the top.
**Fastbreast, blushing, aghast, euphoric. That sponsor is exact. I do not grow prideful. I do glow. The tip of the iceberg shows, all other words sunken, below. In leotards, the ships pass by, having a look - one clips itself.
*conceit
**Fastbreast - heart beating rapidly (Neologism)