Best Booklet Poems
STEPS ASIDE
They’ve banned the “step counters”
Outlawed the treadmill and stationary bike
Banned jogging (aka fast walking for the elderly)
Sports will be limited to “non-aerobic” activities
Tiddlywinks tournaments will be Government funded.
Scientific research and investigation
Funded by the “stay inside and die sooner” chapter
Of the “Governmental Gottcha Groups”
Has conjectural and anecdotal evidence
That the heavy breathing induced by exercise
Increases the carbon dioxide emissions
Of those engaged in anaerobic exercise.
Suggested alternate activities are:
-Daydreaming,
-Scheming (aka conspiring with imaginary friends)
-Meditation…without chanting
-Astral Traveling (with or without passport)
-Thinking, but only about the things presented in our booklet
-(also known as “Talking Points)
Or the “Rip Van Winkle” solution…
Go to sleep for twenty years
and hope it’s all over when you wake up.
John G. Lawless
©2/24/2023
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you--
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it’s that simple?
I am twenty, an average girl, born in Chicago.
I went to school there, then here, Florida.
Fifteen years, I’ve been to school
Two more, I still got
Before I’m done and in school again
But by that time, I’ll be the teacher
It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me
There are so many theories
So many philosophies
Well, just five
But that’s enough when you’ve got to prescribe to one
or two
or three
or four
or all five
At twenty, my age, I’ve suffered them all
Teacher-centered essentialist classrooms
Rows of students paralyzed in fear at no kitten but rather
Of a rather fat cat dressed up in a test booklet
I’ve been a victim of perennialists
Holding within a “great book” a great book.
For all the eyes behind her head,
Teacher couldn’t see my copy
Of Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging inside of my copy of The Iliad
One day I walked into a progressive classroom
The teacher put us all in groups
We built a robot and learned
About torque, levers, and voltage
I’ve been privy to social reconstruction
Now that is motivation
To seek and find a problem
Then to seek and find an answer
My mind was never idle in that class
In the class of an existentialist
I drank cool water
She let us be
And was our friend
Being me, I can never be you
Or Ms. Wild
Or Ms. Green
Or Mr. Melvin
Or Ms. Kilic
Or Ms. Miller
I can only be me
And with being me, I will carry every philosophy
I am product of them all
Of the tests
And old books
Of the group work
And activism
Of the simple, free classroom that played my kind of music and turned me into Da Vinci
For an hour
I’ve learned from all of them
I guess they all learned from me
And now we’ve both got something true
A living, flowing, breathing philosophy
This is my page for Special Topics
Countless lives have been rearranged
By the power of written words;
For the better many people change,
While the others from bad to worse.
Millions of books have been printed
By authors, editors, and publishers;
These precious pages are widely studied
By students, mentors and researchers.
There are books about ideology,
Religion, law, and critical thinking;
One page can twist man's philosophy,
Even a slave may turn into a king.
Computer wizards around the world
Introduce the wonders of internet;
Updated information they upload
May be copied and pasted to a booklet.
Grandmasters win the chess game,
For they scan every available strategy;
Triumphs toward fortune and fame
Inspire them to enhance their ability.
From college down to elementary,
Written words of wisdom cure schism;
From general psychology to history,
From physical science to journalism.
Books on music, marriage, counseling,
Bibliotherapy, short stories, poetry;
Superheroes, wars, engineering,
Medicine, sports, economics, IT.
But above these books is the Bible,
For God, our Father, is the Author;
The Scripture offers life eternal
From the one true God, our Creator.
For USS Bonhomme Richard (LHD6)
We Have Not Yet Begun..........
Some experiences leave words
inadequate to describe them
Like standing on the flight deck
of the USS Bonhomme Richard
Witnessing at sunset
the lowering of the colors
feeling the reverence and respect
shown as the flag flutters to rest
The solemn escort of the flag
that demonstrates devotion
to high ideals and freedom
Here on a ship with a name, deeply
steeped in history I am told the
motto, "I have not yet begun to fight"
Proud words that rang out long ago
from John Paul Jones
And so tradition carries on-
in the awesome technology deployed
in the constant fight against tyranny
During this tour I have learned
a whole new language
Important messages like
"Don't give up the ship"
and how the resolve of these words
shone from the eyes of every crew member.
The feeling of team-ship was strong
among them- yet I felt
as I stood at the side of a
certain Lieutenant Colonel
on that flight deck, that I
was in the presence of an American hero.
I will long remember
my visit to the USS Bonhomme Richard
In the little booklet I was given
it stated many facts and figures;
snippets of information of a
mind-boggling nature-
but the smiles and conversation
the crew were so willing to give
will live -in my heart forever.
I will be thinking of them
"Launching into the abyss,"
attending to commands- like
"Darken ship" and I will bless them always
for their roles in defending
our Freedoms
"WE.... have not yet begun....
to thank you for your fight
Dear men and women
of the USS Bonhomme Richard."
Suzanne Delaney
Tucked away and never been seen for half a decade and more, a box that brings to the fore memories galore.
Been six years you passed away, since then I haven't been able to find in anyone a real friend.
Everything that reminded me of you I pushed inside a box, mad at you for leaving me behind to grieve your death.
Recollection of the blissful moments of our friendship made me miserable, how I wish I had a forewarning of your betrayal.
The tear-soaked pillows and my stifled whimpers have wiped away any bitterness there was, all that remains now is pain and an inexplicable emptiness.
With shaky fingers I open the cardboard box, peering at me from within is a red little teddy, on it's bib the image of a fox. One of the gifts you gave me each year on my birthday, I sit here clutching this small tiny thing amazed at how without so much as a word from you how six long years have gone away.
Rummaging through several Archies cards and a booklet of quotes on friendship my gaze lingers a little longer on the lines highlighted by you. I never really bothered to read them then but today my eyes glisten while I do.
At the bottom is a stack of letters you wrote to me while you were ill, the rosiness of my romantic world had made me so impatient I had not read them full.
Your passing away shook me up and on my soul left a big dint, but now when I read between the lines I realize you had given me a hint.
Maybe it was me , who in my love for you refused to believe that even angels die in order to find their peace!
With the romantic period over, a girl sits squatted on the floor with her agonies, in front of her lies open a box full of memories!
Standing in an open field the sun
burned deep through my forehead mesmerized
by the arrow in mychestand the
bullet in my back--motionless quivers a
numbed spine paused my heart in a
rapture of devious contempt from a
long distance voice of panic depression
while lying with a rose petal of thornless
infinity---the bearer of this booklet trapped in a
Zodiac chasm of bottomless neverchoices
chants a harmful chord of courted chaos.
Free admission for the file of names that pass this way
that leave the dead lamp burning for useless
noones---abandon the frenzy wise sleuth and don
the love clown that fits you so well. Service to the innane
truth you call yourself and hope the
arrow bullet blend in a vicegrip ballet--
crippling your for afterlife shadow of
uncommon pretense. Take it to the place
where you stand lying down and grovel in your own
wasted time with little notion of grevious malice. There
is no pain only longing---no death only one size
fits all nothing and hear the vultures laugh
lovingly in the distance. Eat at Joes.
Viv had planned to be out supping real ale
But his wife had a different idea
Furniture assembly - Viv's face turn pale
but he gritted his teeth, and said ‘yes dear’
Alas, to poor Viv's utter dismay
the instruction booklet could not be found
With stiff upper lip, it won't mar his day
His ******** expertise will astound
So Viv got to it, banging and screwing
to achieve an outstanding ********
Celeste the cat’s contentedly mewing
Watching Viv work to utter perfection
Viv's DIY skills were put to the test
He reached his goal with no help from Celeste!
Poem based on Viv's blog
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry/blogs/blog_detail.aspx?BlogID=33348&PoetID=62162
My ONLY sonnet in 2018
3/8/18
Observer of the skies, I thrill to see
a puppy cloud stretch out to dragon length,
a shapeless mass become a well-formed heart,
or pastel puffs become an ice cream cone.
These sights call forth my best old memories
of playing with my dog and summer treats,
of how my teen heart fluttered when I wore
my first real boyfriend’s class ring on my chain.
A local man I knew saw doves, the Cross*,
and messages from Jesus in the clouds.
A booklet holds his photos of these scenes.
Revisiting my copy gives me pause.
Why would two long-time Christians like us see
such widely-varied scenes among the clouds?
I’ll bet this man prayed fervently to see
some lovely words and images from God,
who chose to send the answers in the sky.
“Ask and ye shall receive,” the Bible says.
I’m praying, and believing, He’ll reveal
some messages from Heaven in the clouds
to bless my soul and move my heart to sing.
*The Cross upon which Christ was crucified
March 8, 2023
Contest: the Each Passing Cloud Poetry Contest Placed 2nd
Sponsor: JCB Brul
I sat ready to take the Entrance Exam
Determined to give it my very best shot
Hoping my answers would get me in
But worried that they may not
I looked around at the others in the room
Already deeply buried in the text
Some quickly scribbling their answers down
While others seemed terribly vexed
One tester yelled, “This isn’t fair”
“These aren’t the questions I studied for!”
I saw two others tear the test in half
And fall crying on the floor
Cheaters caught looking at another’s exam
Where quickly escorted out
I was ready to open my test booklet
Suddenly filled with horrible doubt
I know I got the first question right
“What is your name?”, is all that it read
But I wasn’t prepared for the second one
“When was it that they found you dead?”
I knew then just what this exam was for
And what place I was testing to get in
I took a deep breath, prepared for the worse
And turned the next page to begin
There were no questions about what is in the bible
Or how often to church I went
There were no questions regarding any religion at all
Or how my Sundays I had spent
There were no questions about the Ten Commandments
Or about using God’s name in vain
There were no questions regarding prayers that were said
And no dogma for me to explain
There was just one question in the middle of the page
Answer it truthfully, I knew that I should
I reread that question about twenty times,
“Did you do all the good that you could?”
Suddenly I was awakened by a beeping sound
And a doctor saying, “We’ve got him back”
The Entrance Exam I will have to retake
Because I didn’t die from that heart attack
But now that I had a look at that test
I know what I need to do to be better prepared
So the next time I sit in the Examiner’s room
I can write about all of the people for which I had cared
It's relatively a slow process.
A thought builds upon anticipation.
Thanks to the nostalgia ingrained by Disney.
Musically the songs are different.
Granted the press of a thumb.
Spotify, Pandora.
An assortment of different streams all profoundly deep.
Separately, the adaptation is the same.
Boy meets girl.
Eyes go on vacation.
Suddenly we're dressed in leisure.
Beautiful sights ingested by the brochures of a hotel lobby.
Just yesterday none of this seemed possible.
Everything crowed into the bends of a folded booklet.
Lost in the sensation of influential taste.
This was my outlook.
A yesterday morning spent in the hotel lobby of my own interest.
I am in sense booking my own fear.
This slow process that begins it's advance.
A millennium that begins a couple seconds past twelve.
She was the art visually spread across the brochure.
With arms wide open I fell in.
Speeding up this process ever slightly.
I still a consumer at best.
Her being the best vacation I ever been.
I am in sense booking my own fear.
Her love.
Further more exploring the secret of her parenthesis
At 13 years of age, a pamphlet
Showed up in my home.
My mother bought it, not to be
The subject of a poem.
It was intended to explain
(A lecture would be worse)
The facts of menstruation,
Often called the “woman’s curse.”
Modess, a manufacturer
Of sanitary pads,
Produced the booklet; it cost
Just a quarter; they made scads.
The title always bothered me,
For what would be the need
To try to get young girls to like
A messy monthly bleed?
A novel I am reading
Brought this little pamphlet back.
A character is using it
For knowledge she does lack.
It’s rare to find a copy
So on Amazon they’re hiking it
To almost 90 bucks, another
Reason for not liking it.
Many years ago, I documented certain life events.
Some were personals about family, college, and relationships.
And others were current events. Back then, we called those
personal items dairies, but my inputs were not extensive,
and did not last very long. In fact, my dairy days did not
last more than two years. It was vital, but there was never
anything secret about it.
Today, what I was doing 50 years ago, is better known as a JOURNAL.
My writings record events and experiences from late '68 until late '70
and were written in a small green booklet with a lock and key. My journal,
among other things, records sad emotions in reference to the poverty in
which my mother and younger siblings were living after our father's passing. Some passages were about my brief romances and struggle with balancing work and college.
I treasure highly that brief collection of facts and experiences that I encountered. My JOURNAL, that little green book, has followed me for more than fifty years and 20 relocations, from MidAmerica to the Pacific coast and back to where my life began more than 73 years ago. My history, my story, is about a short period of my life's challenges. All of which is documented in
a little treasured green JOURNAL.
030823PSCtest, Writing Challege, ...'J' Words. Constance La France. 1P
Word chosen: Journal.
We stand by God’s well of blessings daily
As He invites us to delight in them tremendously.
There He assures us of His eternal loving presence wondrously
With His providence and protection indeed covering us truly…
Thus, we thank Him with glad praises* constantly!
We draw living waters from God’s well of salvation**
Whenever we lose our joy because of pride and transgression.
There we remember Christ’s sacrificial work for our regeneration
With His bruises and wounds for our forgiveness and justification…
Thus, we thank Him with worshipful jubilation!
We stay freely at God’s well of contentment
As He welcomes us to His satisfying replenishment.
There He comforts our souls, so weary from worldly entertainment
With His caring instruction and admonition that cure envy’s ailment…
Thus, we thank Him with earnest commitment!
We desire to get near God’s well of revival
Whenever we’re discouraged with our earthly survival.
There He empowers us to cling to Him for His approval
With His strength and might to prepare us for Christ’s arrival…
Thus, we thank Him with firm confidence of doubts’ removal!
We rest beside God’s well of peace and calmness
As He greets us after labouring in His kingdom’s business.
There He offers to us triumph’s sweetness in fellowship’s closeness
With His compliments and rewards for our faithfulness…
Thus, we thank Him with sincere humbleness!***
*Psalm 92:1 It is a good thing to give thanks unto the LORD, and to sing praises unto thy name, O most High.
**The poem of seven stanzas was originally penned on October 31, 2008, with the title, “Wells of God’s Blessings.” It was published “Wells of God’s Blessings thru Supplications” on March 8, 2009 in the ACTS 29 Newsletter of the Christian Bible Baptist Church, San Pedro, Laguna, Philippines.
***These are among the seven stanzas included in my 2016 self-published booklet, “BEATITUDES’ THANKSGIVING 1 Thessalonians 5:18 POEMS” of 44 pages.
October 27, 2020
2nd place, "Have You Published" Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier; judged on 11/23/2020.
With evening comes melancholy , barefoot and unannounced ; cloaked in a reddish yellow tinge of dawn. It snatches away all mirth and stares at you while you sulk and frown.
Permeating your heart , like in winters through the trees you see the mist seep , until from every corner of your mind the old memories creep.
It keeps record of everything you best thought to forget , opening one after another like chapters in a booklet.
Bringing you the best ones first , the moments that make you smile with joy ; not knowing it's your enemy in guise you give in to it's deceitful ploy.
And soon it makes you realize that the people you love have gone , you can see them no more. You tell everybody how they still carry on living in your heart while in truth there is nothing but a sore.
The ones who are living are not the same anymore ; unfortunately the moments spent with them are etched in your heart like an old folklore.
Life is Not a Test Booklet
Life is not a test booklet
to be filled out in number two pencil.
as your future goes down the drain.
There are no erasers in life
only mistakes to make,
only time and distance.
Life is not an elective
it is our permanent record,
our neatly filled in circle.
Life is an eternal learning moment,
a non-existent classroom.
Life is not a test booklet.
We must live our lives
move forward - scars and all.
There are no erasers in life.
What are you willing to learn today?
What are you willing to teach?
John G. Lawless
3/21/2014