Best Before Long Poems
Sarah’s Story - Mental Illness
Sarah, the “Crazy Lady,” was a familiar sight,
roaming the streets any time of day or night.
Her foul body odor announced her presence,
as she paraded around in her filthy, smelly garments.
Walking barefoot regardless of the weather,
in her state of mind, she couldn’t do better.
Children teased and made fun of Sarah,
reciting ridiculing ditties, adding to the drama.
Behind her a lively entourage would follow,
taunting and calling her names creating a sideshow.
They howled with childish laughter,
as Sarah hurled angry profanities after.
An avid collector of all kinds of trash,
she transformed her abode into a garbage stash.
Sarah’s odd behavior made her fair game,
to unkind people who had no mercy or shame.
While many folks turned a blind eye,
young boys threw rocks and other missile,
at the roof and windows of the shack she occupied.
Behind bushes, they would scamper away to hide,
as Sarah furiously dashed outside,
brandishing a machete, cudgel, or broom,
screaming out curses, damnation, and doom.
Like a cancer, her mental illness had devoured her brain,
and before long, she was officially "certified insane."
Most agreed it was for her own benefit,
and for the good of society to be rid of this "misfit."
But even though she was locked away in an institution,
no psychiatric treatment could cure her mental condition.
When Sarah finally died, she was unloved and alone;
her passing was hardly noticed, and she was mourned by none.
Note: This piece was inspired by a true account. While we have made great strides in the study of mental illness and understanding it, unfortunately negative attitudes and beliefs toward people who have mental health conditions are still common. Thus, as a society, we still have a long way to go to improve our attitudes and to show more caring and compassion for those who suffer from various types of mental illness.
08-06-2015
Contest: Mental Illness
Sponsor: Nathan D.
Placement: 7th
Let me tell you the story of Miss Jenny Prime,
who spent all of her days making everything rhyme.
It was thought she’d outgrow this strange childhood spell,
but her fetish just grew and made her parents’ life hell.
When Miss Prime was a baby, still sporting a bib,
each night she was cuddled, then placed in a crib
by her doting young parents, who thought it quite funny
to give her a pet name, “Sleep tight Hunny Bunny.”
And that was the start of poor Jenny’s plight,
forced to listen to vowel chimes night after night.
Before long she was making up rhymes for herself,
all her un-rhyming toys were just left on the shelf.
Even quenching her thirst could cause quite a stink,
no O.J for Jenny, her drink had to be pink.
They bought her some shoes, red, shiny and new,
“I’ve told you, I’m not wearing a shoe that’s not blue”
She demanded a dog so they went to the pound,
she picked the fattest one there, just to have a round hound.
Her bed had to be red, her jeans had to be green,
and a fish dish for dinner or she’d cause a right scene.
Stamping her feet she cried “I should be Jenna,
and for pocket money, I should be getting a tenner”
Each Friday brought tantrums, as she hardly had any,
reluctantly taking just a penny for Jenny.
Her increase in years simply brought more despair,
she bleached ebony locks for she needed fair hair.
The colours of clothes always caused her to cry,
so to get round the problem she learned to tie-dye.
Now I know it will come as some sort of surprise,
but Jenny had caught a young gentleman’s eyes.
He knew things would be tough, but he’d give it a try
so, with posies of roses, he dared to drop by.
The roses were great and he was kinda cute,
he’d even gone to the trouble of tie-dying his suit.
He was called Jack Kilkenny, his name did not rhyme,
so she told him to leave and stop wasting her time.
But Jack was his nickname, his real name was Lenny.
Alas, this information was not known to Jenny.
He was perfect for her, a match better than any,
for if they’d wed they’d be Lenny and Jenny Kilkenny.
they met, once upon a time-
her silky hand melds with his
for but a moment
an exchanged glance, fleeting
chocolate brown orbs
swimming in pools of milk
ebony hair dancing across her
backless gown as she walks away
walked away…
swirling visions fill his head
dreams of her upon his bed
spinning, thrashing to and fro
stars put on an astral show
future bride on horse so white
sparkling jewels illume the night
speaks his name so sweet and low
eyes that cast a hopeful glow
calling, begging for his love
angels dance a waltz above
off they ride into the sun
forevermore they’ll live as one
‘twas the night they met
her heart stolen-
tapered black tie suit, cufflinks of gold
matching his golden locks
momentarily awestruck, diving into
piercing deep blue eyes
was all it took to set her blood afire
his seductive smile teasing
it’s way into her heart…
late at night when the world is asleep
she’s up thinking about him,
secretly hoping he’s dreaming of her too
when she finally closes her eyes
she drifts off, and in a moment of time
she’s with him, ready to love him
bands of gold glimmer like starlight
her silky gown drops gently to the floor
Andromeda turns her gaze
lost in love’s embrace
they burn like the midnight sun-
forevermore to live as one
she glances his way
her heart smiling, believing-
meeting him was destiny
she walks past his desk
drinking in another fill of him
if only she could tell him…
if only he could tell her...
he catches a glimpse
from his lonely cubicle
the nape of her neck beckons
a tender kiss, well-placed-
before long he's lost in a daydream
An honor to collaborate with July Morning
I had never felt a part of the we
Not sure how I was supposed to be
I stood on tiptoes trying to see
Wondering if there was room for me
I floated at the edges like smoke
Laughing imperceptibly at a joke
Wanting to be like other folk
Yet in my own silence I would soak
Wondering if others felt the same way
Lost between words that people say
Wondering if they should leave or stay
Just wanting, wishing for a part to play
It took a smile a glint in an eye
Looking at me, I wondered why
Then he walked over and said hi
His name was Joe a regular guy
All it took was two to be a we
Before long two became twenty three
They were okay with me being me
All of us different that was the key
Within a group I learned how to be
The me within the we
A gardener was gifted a seedling.
Before planting its teeny weeny stem,
he gently prepared the earth,
carefully, vigilantly, so it was soft,
but tough enough to hold its roots.
Everyday, affectionately
he would provide it with water,
especially when the sunlight was too strong.
At times he would place an umbrella
over the top, so the stalk would not become dry.
When the winds would blow with force and
the sapling would shiver and shake,
the gardener would place a solid support against
its trunk, so it could lean on it during the storms
and when the puddles were too deep,
the gardener would wipe them away
and make sure it wasn't affected by the moisture.
Slowly, as the gardener nourished
the young tree, its roots spread
deeper into the ground and gradually
it began to reach out its elegant branches.
Before long, verdant leaves spread, all glossy
with their satin sheen sparkling in the sun.
When callous, colder days arrived
and leaves began to wither, like sorrows
the gardener would treat the bark and
cleanse away the moss,
so no beetles would ruin its skin.
When snow angels fell from the sky,
he would remove all the snow
and build snowmen around its base,
so the tree would be jolly on bitter nights.
As it grew all high and mighty,
its curly brown branches became home
to baby birds and hibernating squirrels hiding their nuts.
With sincere vigour the tree would protect them
from predators... Now the tree was big and strong,
so the gardener would sit underneath resting
from tiring days sheltering from the rain.
After a while the gardener never returned,
but the tree kept flourishing,
because it had unyielding foundations
to battle the elements.
When dieting, I’m rarely weak. In fact,
I’m Batgirl strong – resisting the allure
of sweet desserts. I’ve never been attacked
by chocolate hunger pangs. I’ve got the cure.
I give myself allowance every day
to taste a little bit of things I crave
since deprivation is the surest way
to get a Superhero sure to cave.
But don’t let popcorn anywhere near me!
The yummy butter smell asSALTS my nose,
and I go crazy, when especially,
nobody else is eating it! Suppose
a bowl of it just sits there? I‘m less strong.
Handfuls of poporn I will keep on getting.
That popcorn you’ll see vanish before long!
I then remove my Batgirl tights . . . regretting.
Oct. 5, 2021
For Anthony Biaanco's Your Kryptonite Poetry Contest
I sang to the moon in your favorite style
with lemonade lyrics and daffodil song
Gathered the stars that I found in your smile,
leaving the universe dark before long
Moved every mountain in spite of their size,
short in the middle and tall on the ends
So that the sunset reflects in your eyes
and to your heart every echo now sends
Painted the oceans in rose petal mist,
colors as soft as the touch of your hand
Walked on a shoreline the waves gently kissed,
followed the footprints we left in the sand
Wrote you a poem of whimsical scenes,
written in verses now speaking of love
So that you know in my forever dreams,
it’s always you that I am thinking of
Dad gave me my first wood baseball bat
an Eddie Mathews signature model, 28 inches long
when I was 10 or 11 ('66 or '67)
shortly after he got me my first lefty glove
(I still have it, so small! with a bullseye crudely hand inked in the center!)
after a few years, it splintered near the handle
I tried nailing it back together, the hickory
shaft was tough to penetrate, but I kinda got
it done, then wrapped the job in some electrical
tape I found
whenever I tried using it again, hitting a pitch
sent shivers thru my hands and wrist like a
lightning bolt shocking me
before long, I left it in the sports closet Dad built
into the canned goods cabinet in the basement
he made for fall canning
so whenever I opened the cabinet door, the wonderful
smell of wood and leather combined with the
rows of gleaming jars of fruits and vegetables
delighted me!
canned beans, peaches, pickles and more
all lined up to select from when Mom or Dad
would send me downstairs to choose side
dishes for supper
frozen meat was kept in the 8' freezer chest
in Dad's workroom thru the door
being sent for that was a special privilege
my brother and I relished
( my sister, being 3 years younger, didn't get many chances!)
I remember there were honorary sports relics in
the closet on the top shelf
a leather football helmet Dad's Uncle Depot wore
before WW11 along with his old softball, the kind
with the exposed seams (I still have it)
wonderful memories
from a
magical time
I will always treasure
© james marshall goff
In the early morning light…
You stand before me, and slowly disrobe, as you have so many times
before.
Then …for a moment… as you have so many times before…you stare at
me, not seaming to see me at all, as you wipe the sweat from my face
with the palm of your hand.
Then…for the first time, as if looking for some lost truth you hope to find
buried in the depth of me, behind the silver mask I wear, you stare at me
in a way you never have before…Long and hard, until…tears begin to roll
down your cheek, when…for the first time… you see yourself, as you truly
are, through my complete indifference.
Written: August 23, 2014
Christmas Eve Mystery
The sun had set, and it was Christmas Eve.
Dear Santa finished up and packed the sleigh;
made sure his Reindeer were geared up to go
before they'd have some time outside to play.
Now it was time to go to North Pole Park,
for there they'd snack on greens below the snow,
and run and prance to loosen up their legs
for galloping through space 'neath moonlit glow.
There, Santa rested on his favored bench;
'tween nodding, saw them romping everywhere.
However, Rudolph proudly stood on guard
beside him watching with protective care.
But soon enough, except for one, they'd fled;
whichever way they looked, none to be found!
Rudolph and Santa surely seemed upset...
yelled out each name in hopes they'd come around.
Before long, darkness fell upon the park.
Did Santa's deer come back to join the team?
Yes...every precious gift arrived on time.
'Twas only Santa's 'forty winks' bad dream!
December 10, 2018
For the Contest, "The Park Bench At Christmas",
sponsored by Sara Kendrick, based on Picture #3
A warm, September day, so many years ago;
our home was then aboard a large Marine Corps base.
Expecting our first-born with new moms shared, and so
my neighbor, friend next door, came over to our place.
A favor asked of me; to watch her newborn girl,
her little babe, just two weeks old, a precious one,
with chubby cheeks and rosebud lips, a tiny curl
upon her head. To play with, watch her, oh, what fun!
Day after, all went well in early morning hours;
drank bottle in my arms then slept in her quilt bed,
bound snuggly in her wrap of white with pink flowers.
Before long, Mama picked her up, and off they fled.
That next day haunts me still. Forever, will I mourn
the overnight crib death of my dear friend's newborn.
September 21, 2015
Contest: I Will Never Forget
Sponsor: Silent One
Form: Sonnet in Iambic Hexameter
True Story from September 1958
For Silent One's - Mamma Poetry Contest
Where is the love, Mamma?
Through broken Louvre blinds, you're ever watching
Rosary beads clicking prayers on repeat mode, uttering
Your plethora of Faith keeps me steadily striving
Though, frustrated when peace will be arriving.
Under cover of the midnight moon, hookers seducing
Shady men with illicit wares aggressively peddling
Of changing our situation, I'm forever idealizing.
Enduring every day's trauma, just surviving.
Seeking direction from above, when is enough enough?
Tell me, Mamma ~ Where is the love?
Collective immorality still existing.
A ticking clock morality meekly resisting
Corruption, greed, and deceit still abounding
This life where goodness seems to be drowning.
A depraved degradation of insanity still insisting,
Death, broken hearts, crime persisting
In the chaos, qualms never ceasing.
lawlessness above the muck and mire rising
At the kerbside, a holy man piously preaching
Should I turn my cheek, still beseeching
Amidst their plundering and their leeching?
NO !!
Enough is Enough ~ Where is the Love?
Beyond-repair abhorrence, I'm escaping.
Fervently, I'm hoping and praying.
Please God, Mamma, be safe while I'm gone
I'll be back for you before long
In the eerie darkness, emotions imploding
Sirens blaring, with the sound of guns exploding
My shallow breath quickening, turning back with throat thickening
All the while, I'm screaming
Where is the love?
Back through this hellhole, I'm rapidly racing
All through the panic, still hoping and praying
Please God, Mamma ~ Be Safe, Be Safe, Be Safe
Neon blue-red lights flickering and flashing.
Through my open front door, I'm madly dashing.
Looming through the haze, I hear them saying.
'Sorry, Miss, yet another random shooting
Your Mamma just got caught in the cross-firing.'
The last thing I hear is my own voice crying.
MAMMA ~ THERE IS NO LOVE! THERE IS NO LOVE!
Budgie managed to get me to write again, I am very grateful to him for providing me with the first stanza, he's a wonderful friend :)
***
Elm stood regally and rigid.
Ivy looked up in awe
and said, a little timid:
“Ahhhh, to be so big,
close to the Sun”
Elm nodded with a focused gaze,
he was, to be fair, somewhat amazed,
and thought to himself:
“What harm could it do
to allow this slight
little weed to wrap
around me, gain my sight?”
She looked so sweet and small,
he was so strong and tall
Ivy snug a little closer
and in a tight embrace
clung for dear life to his twigs,
wound her lithe limbs
'round his leaves,
entangled him with lovely sprigs.
Elm liked that sweet intrusion.
It tickled him in many ways:
"A little higher now, my dear,
just an inch more, yes here."
Ivy flexed her fingers, green
and poisonous, Elm didn't see
through her ambition
from his high position.
"Oh Elm, I'm almost near your head.
Oh Elm, show me your eyes,
I will caress your delicious neck
with my small leaves?"
Ivy wound 'round him in strong embrace,
and before long his breathing ceased.
Then Ivy eased, for from her high up
vantage point, she became queen
could see so far she'd never seen.
And only then she lost her grip...
When Elm broke and crashed
Ivy realised she only ruled
a Kingdom of soil and dust.
***
September 3, 2017
Copyright © White Wolf and Darren White
I like it when she talks
I like the way her hands fly through the air, animating, orchestrating a ballad of colourful characters, each word coupled with a swoop or sway or swing or charade.
I like the way her face vivifies as she speaks;
I like the way her eyes ignite, wild flares of delight, a world brimming with bliss behind each hazel iris.
I could gaze into the welcoming warmth of her eyes for an eternity - I would if I could.
I love her voice, but as I listen it soon fades into a sweet symphony of soft nothings, and before long I'm lost, lost in the dreamy embrace of her face and her eyes, and space and time is frozen in place, sublime,
and I like it.
She pauses, and I'm found again.
"Why do you look at me like that?"
Then her dimples appear, summoning a chorus of giggles, and my skin wriggles and tickles with pins and needles. My stomach knots, brimming with butterflies, and as they flutter and fly my mind whirs in stuttered surprise, my heart pounding, my lips dry.
Because her laugh makes my mind fuzz, and her touch makes my skin buzz, and when her cheeks blush I get goosebumps, and if I speak there's a chance I'll mess this up.
So I say nothing.
I answer with a smile, and she replies with her own, and continues her tall tales and anecdotes.
Her hands resume their dance, and I'm lost in my trance of euphoric romance,
Her eyes revitalize, back alive, enlightened, a gateway to hazy horizons and shining diamonds.
And she talks.
And I listen.
And I like it.
People in my school have names for someone like me.
Freak, crazy, weirdo, a spawn by the devil's decree.
I took note of every malicious word they ever spoke,
knowing that before long they'd no longer make me a joke.
None of them knew how truthful were their mocking words.
They had no clue I could spread my wings to fly among the birds,
with ravens that caw out for blood at the stroke of each midnight.
I'd fill their haunting dreams with images of daunting fright.
A snip of dried herbs, a pinch of fungal root, boiled in fat of fowl,
a concoction for me to savor, secreted to me by my mother, an owl.
Eyes that see through bloodshot color, they would see them too
when the full moon was high and the sky turned dark cobalt blue.
No help will they receive from a scream or gyrations to be free.
They soon will know they should never have made a mockery of me.
The time is near, my brew is cooled, now it's my time to have fun.
Tonight their dreams will be nightmares, a gift from the evil one.
With their eyes closed, they will envision they are being chased
by hundreds of bloodshot eyes, the likes of which they've never faced.
Black robes adorned, scepter of wormwood waved from my hand.
Eyes... wild bloodshot eyes, will seek vengeance at my command.
Fog advances to the bedrooms of those who sleep in peace.
My adrenaline is pumping, just a few more minutes until release.
A snarl of satisfaction I feel curled upon my blood red lips.
You won't belittle me again with your taunting nocuous quips.
NOW! I gave the order for the eyes to creep into their dreams
But my heart is beating too fast. This was not part of my schemes.
I can't see a bloody thing. What's happened to the spell I cast?
How long will this blindness torture me? How long must it last?
A truant officer was sent to see what had become of the freak.
Through a window he saw many ravens, all with bloodied beak.
No body was discovered. All that remained was a robe of black
and a note scratched upon the floor. "Too late to take it back."
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
December 26th, 2015
Deep and Dark Contest
Sponsor: Broken Wings