Best Bifocals Poems
An innocence we used to know
As morning dourly turns to night
Entombed beneath an ashen snow
A cell phone yearning for hello
With hopes of answer growing slight
An innocence we used to know
Within a stampede’s torrid flow
Bifocals lost in jostled fright
Entombed beneath an ashen snow
A playbill from three days ago
Once read with wonder and delight
An innocence we used to know
Pillars raised in commerce glow
Now broken pencils thrown in spite
Entombed beneath an ashen snow
So many hearts in fervent throes
So many souls in heaven’s sight
An innocence we used to know
Entombed beneath an ashen snow
Chopped - Poetry Contest
Including:
Playbill dated 08 Sep 2001
Cell Phone
Broken Pencil
Bifocals
-23 Oct 2014-
Categories:
bifocals, sad, september,
Form:
Villanelle
I stepped in for my first colonoscopy. I was nervous everyone could see
I had a choice to be awake or put out if I was skittish...but no not me
I chose the former so I could watch my own ass on TV
They go right up your canal with a camera like an RV
Imagine my surprise when up my butt they found my phone
The tiny ones they use to make before the smart cell phone
But here's the clincher it was set on vibrate. The doc was suspicious
"My wife insisted" I told him "she bribed me with cake. It was delicious"
Then the doctor red faced handed me something, said "what's this"
I borrowed his bifocals. It was a rolled up playbill. He looked pissed.
"I can explain. It's dated Sep. 8, 2001. That's my wife's 40th birthday
We were drinking. We lost it, got a fancy room right after the play"
He handed me one more thing, a broken pencil if you will
"I'm a mathematician. I was constipated I took a special pill
Then I used math to work it out with a pencil. This one I suppose
It broke. I thought I got it all. I guess I didn't. I mean who knows?"
The good news is the test went well my colon was clear
They found nothing threatening just stuff that was *****
I must admit however ever since that very day I live in absolute fear
That doctor knows my wife's father. I tell you this, in case I disappear
10/02/2014
Categories:
bifocals, humor, humorous,
Form:
Couplet
The Playbill for the 9/8/01 show at Godspeed Opera House falls from my palm to the floor. Here I sit, with a drugged hangover but alive. The last thing I remember is a suicide note in the Underwood typewriter on my desk, beside an ashtray of Blanche's lipstick smeared butts. Putting back on, the bifocals that had been dangling from one ear; I frown. I can't remember arriving? A phone's ringing; I stumble toward the tone. Odd looking thing, I think, as I bend over. The note taped to it says; it's a cell phone? "What the hell?" As I flip it open, I'm tackled. My heel slips on a broken pencil; I'm down. "What did you do? You bastard," he bawls, waving an airline ticket in my face. Looking toward him, I notice the stage still lit. He grabs the cell phone, "What the hell is this? You a commie spy?"- The 'phone? screen?' says 'Fred go to the opera house by midnight or you're both dead.' The curtain parts revealing a pool of blood: a chord is struck.
It's midnight accordin' to the ticker. I have a moment's relief before my arm's wrenched behind me. I'm cuffed. There's a shout from the lobby and the sound of sirens. Lifting me, he shoves me to the wall; locks me to the door pull. The theater hall appears empty except for us. Through a door, he charges. "Back here guys." The SWAT team arrives. "Smells like the dead in here Marco's, where's the body?"
"Ask him. Take him out and open some damned windows will ya." Two of the gorillas toss me on the porch under the moth laden lights. Just when the cop was about to kick me in the head; a woman screams. The coppers run inside. I hear a crash and a half dozen clod hoppers trompin', then through the door rolls a single gold earring. I scream "Blanche!!!!!!"
The crew hollers CUT-PRINT-It's a WRAP. I smile as Blanche saunters out.
Categories:
bifocals, mystery, drug,
Form:
Prose Poetry
items in my container of memories
playbill for "Les Miserables" that Dad enjoyed
reminder of ignoble government
Jean Val Jean’s quest for justice
fugitive from the merciless Javert
outdated cell phone that’s priceless
forever I’ll carry it; this cannot be lost
inbox carries my father’s last message to me
“Happy New Year, Baby,” were his words
just 30 minutes before his fatal stroke
publication of Dad’s obituary
green light for thieves to trash his house
tearfully driving 250 miles, hoping to erase their indignity
televisions, heirlooms and appliances stolen
but Dad’s desk held items of greater value
many awards for the Senior Olympics five-mile race
pencil my CPA father chewed and broke
dreaded bifocals that caused Dad consternation
the only items thieves left behind
were those that bring Dad closer to me
*June 20, 2019
Contest: More to Me
Sponsor: William Kekaula
Categories:
bifocals, death, father daughter, memory,
Form:
Free verse
The Play Bill for the Godspeed Opera House fell from my sweaty palm to the floor. 9/08/01. I’m still alive; it’s a miracle. Pushing my bifocals back, I frown. I can’t remember anything after arriving at 11pm.? A cell phone rings. I stumble toward the buzz; bend over to look for it, when I’m tackled from the wing. My heel slips on a broken pencil; I’m down.What did you do? You bastard,he bawls; looking toward the old theater house’s stage. He grabs the phone, retrieving the last message— Fred get to the opera house by midnight or you’re both dead.
the curtains part
revealing a pool of blood:
a chord is struck
Seems I’m alive and after midnight too. I had a moment’s relief. My arm’s wrenched to my back. The pain’s hard to ignore. I feel cold metal; he shackles me. There’s a shout from the lobby and the sound of sirens. Lifting me, he shoves me to the wall fixing the cuffs to the door pull. The theater hall is empty except for the two of us. Through an open door, he charges.We’re back here guys. It’s clear.That moment alone was all I had. The SWAT team arrived. Smells like the dead in here Marco’s where the body?“Ask him why don’t yah. Take him out and open some damned windows will ya. Two of the gorillas toss me out on the porch for a closer look under the moth ladden lights. Just when the cop was about to kick me in the head—a woman screams.
Categories:
bifocals, mystery,
Form:
Haibun
The Play Bill falls from my sweaty palm to the floor
September 8, 2001 and I'm still alive; it's a miracle.
Pushing my bifocals back up my nose, I frown.
I can't remember the play at all?
A cell phone rings. I stumble toward the closed doors.
Bending over, I'm approached from the wing and tackled.
My heel slip-rolls on a broken pencil; I'm down.
What did you do you bastard, he bawls.
the curtains part
revealing a pool of blood:
a chord is struck
My arm's wrenched to my back the pain's hard to ignore.
Arms back, I feel cold metal, he puts on shackles
From the outside, there's a shout; a cop's siren sounds;
he lifts and shoves me to the wall.
Categories:
bifocals, betrayal,
Form:
Verse
It was one of those days…not great!
I went to the mailbox, there to find
A playbill dated September 8.
I could not tell for sure, half blind.
It seemed like a bill for raking the leaves.
Perhaps, written by my second grandson.
Or it could have been for sweeping the eves.
He asked that I pay him for work he had done.
The night before, “Dog” chewed my trifocals.
Shattering my precarious vision.
Fortunately, I found my old bifocals.
It was time; I was about to have some fun!
But first, I must read the chronicles
And finish an ongoing word puzzle.
It is amazing what thoughts the mind mulls:
Pranks for the kid, a muzzle for the dog.
Just three more words until completion,
My doggone pencil broke; life can be funny.
I took out my cell phone and called my grandson.
He laughed when I thanked him a million … in play money!
October 29, 2014
Categories:
bifocals, children, family, fun,
Form:
Rhyme
I had my 65th birthday on Monday.
Here are some things that were clarified for me by friends.
I hope it is a sign from God that I can still learn!
False, "erectile dysfunction" isn't a labor dispute at the
new high rise they are building downtown.
False, a "persistent vegetative state" doesn't send
representatives to the U.S. Congress and the Senate, it
does however describe the U.S. Congress.
False, Dr. Neil Clark Warren doesn't have the answer to
everyone's dating dilemma. He had a wonderful
transvestite, necrophiliac, faith-healer lined up for
me, but I got cold feet...................Imagine.
True, the only media entity getting lower ratings
than me and my poetry on PoetrySoup, is MSNBC.
False, Chevy Chase isn't one of the tracks they visit
on NASCAR's Sprint Cup Series.
False, we don't subscribe to the theory that premarital sex
will make you go blind. At my age, it is called "Pre-
Interment-Sex" and I wear bifocals already, anyway.
True, I was really feeling a little low about turning 65
and all, but then I saw Hillary Rodham Clinton on the
tube. Now, I feel like the King of the World!
True, there will never be a clear winner in the battle of the sexes.
True, if you woke up on the wrong side of the bed
this morning, you still "woke up." Be happy!
True, I will never write any of this opinionated drivel
on PoetrySoup again for fear I get banned. If you
believe that................
Happy April Fools Day Soupers, don't take ya-self too serious
Categories:
bifocals, humor, satire, writing,
Form:
Prose
It began as a lovely September, 2001, at least, it should have been.....
somewhere lost in the crossfire, between summer and fall
days growing short, and evenings long
But, things now warped into a sense of surreal. What was seen, could not be real
As if bifocals were mixed in a bin, out of focus, rim to rim
I've asked to borrow a broken pencil, I find paper blowing in the acrid wind
my fingers shake with tensile fear....and, I write a goodbye.. I don't know why......
An edifice of a city, shades of gray, smoke, and ash,
stony faces, and rubble, of ruin and glass
littered streets, silent people, crying people in shock
A playbill, lost and frayed, blowing into my face
It began as a lovely September, 200l, or it should have been.....
Sirens, shattered concrete, sidewalks, shepherding the living into
the arms of someone, or maybe, .... into the arms of no one
Someone is borrowing a cell phone, ... there is smell of burnt sulfer
Bridges, crosswalks, that will take them back into calamity, .. our new reality
Someone lends me a broken pencil, I find paper blowing in the acrid wind
I write a goodbye... I don't know why......
It began as a lovely September, 2001, or it should have been....
_____________________
10/3/14
For The Challenge "Chopped"
Sponsored By Craig Cornish
Categories:
bifocals, history, holocaust, loss, remember,
Form:
Free verse
post an atom.
we need one.
subversions
differentiations
of Chantal Akerman reading the Ladies Almanac.
grandpa was jewish,
maybe this summer i'll go to Israel
and visit the mother of all mothers.
The trapezoidal parallelogram
the exponential function with a base
which does not equal a.
Curvatures and theorems
calculating the dimensions
of delta and the centroid.
lables + schedules + links + locations +options=
to label a schedule provides a link to a location which has many options.
israeli prime minister of home land secularity.
the pope is new. the pope is old. the pope is apparently the pope.
the pope cares?
the pope does not care?
the pope is the puppet.
the pope is not a puppet.
the puppets laugh.
as the pope popes.
the poor muslim mans.
the poor muslims.
why create so many gods.
say, just for an instant,
that it is just an idea.
an pretty clever idea.
when was the last time you thought of an idea called 'god.'
what was your last idea?
could you map it on the visible spectrum?
so your bifocals could cerebrally focus?
and sync to the mystic monthy surprise called a menses.
the divine comedy.
it is a comedy.
wag the tail of a beloved.
rip the tail of the beloved.
fall into a pit.
come out of the pit.
eat a pit.
choke on a pit.
spit the pit.
the pit grows into more pits.
someone else picks the pit.
eats the pit.
chokes on the pit.
dies of the pit.
[enter hypothetical scene]
squirrel!
Categories:
bifocals,
Form:
Verse
The sun dappled patio
irresistibly beckoned
pillowed pad to bedeck
cement spongsbob
square pant sized couch cushions
leapt into field of view
as a posse able a gent
provocateurs silently
conspiring as from
azure heavenly vault sent
thus busying mine hands created
simple bed to cradle this loner meant
as temporary escape from cares
and concerns of uncertain world rent
asunder by craven, frenzied, intractable,
lamentable, offal, rogues hell bent
on up-ending peaceful co-existence
across terrestrial plane where decent
folks (including this writer) live
to enjoy simple pleasures
donned with raiment
acquired thrift-store or yard sale couture
affordable dollar, quarter or cent
thus bagged belongings
comprise wardrobe
since personal preference
to expand content
of body, mind, and spirit triage
in tandem drinking warmth
of solar rays event
like manna to this *****Sapiens,
who when basking
pondered where time went
and on picture perfect summer day
pastoral symphony of nature lent
removed bifocals
to let photons of el sol
this archetype
laughingstock wannabe
of Clark Kent
unaware spouse surreptitiously
snuck up perhaps
to steal a kiss or other pent
up animalistic call of the wild,
which elements of huss style
anathema to a convent
where such nun sense
would be abominable,
but secular mores fervent,
especially when
weather fires imagination
as witnessed by 59+ year spent
mortal male oblivious
to presence of wife
until she planted buttocks and bent
bifocals camouflaged
by matted materiel of a fold-up
metal chair which accent
of Gluteus Maximus crushed
side of frame wear
sole pair of spectacles dent
dislodging right side lens thus
to see in sharp focus
cheeky fate did prevent.
Categories:
bifocals, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Free verse
Grampa?
It’s a question usually posed with an inquisitive frown
On an angelic face with large, limpid eyes
And whatever I’m doing, I stop and put down
Peer sagely over bifocals and look grandfatherly wise
“Can you fix this grampa,” shy tentative pleas
Red plastic toy held out in soft delicate fingers
Tear tracks on pink cheeks, scraped, dirt darkened knees
Touches deep to my heart, on child’s face my gaze lingers
Sad, liquid eyes under brows scrunched and worried
Timid, flowerlike smile slowly blossoms on small face
My broken toy examination, slow and unhurried
Parts and pieces put back together with exaggerated grace
Rose bud lower lip, bitten by tiny white teeth
With young brow furrowed with intense concentration
A wondrous thing, this childhood belief
Mouth morphs to O shape in amazed celebration
Grampa’s done it again, that ingenious ‘ol geezer
By fixing the toy has come through in the clutch
I’m arthritic, and smell funny and I’m a puffer and a wheezer
A pushover when she whispers, “gramps I love you so much”
A huge happy hug and a loud sloppy kiss
On grey bearded, prickly cheek
These things I’ll treasure and will too soon miss
When no longer ‘ol grampa they seek
Categories:
bifocals, childhood, family, grandfather, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Evil’s Bookends
Sept 8, 2001, 7:30PM
The limo arrives
the concierge opens the doors
to a clear cool night in the city,
a first Broadway Play.
A cell phone call, a Playbill
tucked between a broken pencil
and a pair of bifocals.
Sept 12, 2001, 10:35AM
Sirens blare
amid grey-white ash.
A cell phone rings,
torn Playbill flaps.
Broken pencil,
sightless glasses,
crushed in the grip
of mindless madness.
9/30/2014
Submitted for Craig Cornish
Chopped – Poetry Contest
Categories:
bifocals, peace, war,
Form:
Free verse
Greater times were spent before the winter solstice.
Before there were the wreckage seasons of my life;
There was happiness all around me.
There were strong and splendid seasons with staunch lovers.
There were wild and gratifying seasons.
I wish that I could tilt my fate back towards the sun when I was young and beautiful, and my skin of onyx was tight and glowing under the golden sun.
When my hair wonderfully tight and curly was of; raven plume.
When my mind was of great cognitive ability, draped with intellectual rhetoric.
When in my imagination of being a protegee of Wilma Rudolph, I could run nonstop for miles and not break a sweat.
When I could curse better than any sailor and make my day against any woman or man.
Nothing about senectitude promise fulfillment.
Deep creases pronounce my thick lips and my neck looks that of the neck of a Shar-Pei.
Not even with my bifocals am I able to read.
My swollen knees pop when I move and my short trips are that of an infant. My hair is platinum and thin and masses of it glistens from my brush and comb.
Nothing about this winter solstice lifts my spirits.
I am destined to wrap my cold and aged body with the warmth of aspiration and take my walk of today to heaven.
copyright 5, 2016 Looking At The Light From The Bottom of The Lake
Categories:
bifocals, depression,
Form:
Free verse
Gather round and listen in to a story I once saw in a show It was called
THE MAN WITH THE BIFOCAL GLASSES
now the play bill was dated Sept. 8 2011
It was about the redneck who didn't want to admit he need glasses
let alone bifocals but he kept falling down and rolling around
He tripped on a broken pencil and split his pants well he was wearing
underwear with a hole in them and that was quite a site
He tried to duck tape it closed but it stuck to his butt cheeks
Then he needed help to try and get the tape of his trailer hitch
But the man he call on his cell phone to help him told that he
couldn't help him it look just like he did a pretty good job
fixin the crack in his butt all by his self but he told him
He wasn't trying to fix the crack in is butt he was tryin' to
fix his britches he just had a hole in his underwear and the tape
stuck to the crack in the butt so now can he pull it off
Well that lead to another can of worms
He told him he couldn't do it cause he was afraid when he did
it would hurt him so bad that this man just might poo his pants and he
didn't want to take the chance of the fall out
Categories:
bifocals, adventure, best friend, feelings,
Form:
Prose