Best Booth Poems
It will be her first visit since the day we waved goodbye....
It is spring break !!
It was moving day several months ago...
that she wrapped her small arms around her Grandpa's waist, tearfully
Then turned to me with "I love you" from her small voice"
"I love you more"...I choked, with one last hug...
And then they were gone...
A white van, fully packed, we watched through blurry eyes...heading down the highway
A battered U-Haul, trailing behind.
But at last today is here!...Spring break!!
We are meeting half-way....
Between the two cities so far apart
We are picking her up, to bring her home......to have her smiles...for just awhile!
Her springtime visit, a school recess
There they are!! The meeting place we had arranged
And before we know it...she has hopped into our car
And once again...we are heading back home...her suitcases
Her stuffed animals...her smiles and chatter in the back seat of our car.
Lunch time....we must stop for awhile
That cozy diner, that sits out in no-where-land,
Along the stretch of the Interstate
A place filled with truckers and travelers like us...
The waitress shows us our booth
This child hesitates, ...looks between the two of us
Unable to decide....
"Who would you like to sit with, my love?" I ask.....
When the waitress returns...
Carrying our menus and three glasses of water ...
She is rather startled, as are the other diners..
To find three people tightly squeezed together on one bench
Yet across the table
The other bench remains empty....
Clouds turns black,
not plain nor blank
In that dark,
I looked up to the sky
Saw the glittering stars,
Not any out of sight
Noble they all look,
Every tick they spark.
Twinkle, twinkle
They all hail their moon
When in place,
No one cause them to mute
Fashion of their light,
makes me amuse
Even when dim,
Men trust their booth.
Little I have seen,
Take it for a sample
Many hung dreams,
No more hope to handle
Stars that strives in struggles,
Called it hustle
Is it blacks haunting whites,
The road we should paddle?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The expresso machine hisses,
its steam whispering secrets~
morning's slow ache dissolves
in remembered promises.
I unfold my hands on the table,
press my thumbs into the laminate,
counting the knife scars
you once traced with your finger
as constellations.
The door jingles.
I watch the door open
wanting it to be you, Tilly.
I want it to be you so badly.
A small animal in my ribs
whimpers Tilly,
as if the universe might shrug
and give you back,
steaming from the rain
in that ridiculous leather jacket
you stole from your brother.
The barista calls order up
for someone else’s life.
I stir my spoon in circles,
watching the foam collapse
like all the things
we didn’t say.
The yellow pages wither away in this red undertone
Our world once reconnected behind wood and glass
When two hearts were disconnected by the world so vast
To the love posted in units of time…get me a coin fast!
At the corner of Cosmos and Maxwell two minds meet
The hour midnight to your noon, ‘see you soon’…we greet
Hello…and we both smile, in spite of the thousand miles
Between us is an unbreakable cord…glad to have dialed
Driving past there…it’s now a newspaper stand
The line long cut, but you’re still holding onto my hand
Something other than my aching heart making headlines
Your travels have brought you back home to the phone
The change kept us in touch, nothing much has changed, but
It’s a lot cheaper, easier to say I love before the funds run out
I had our names stenciled above the receiver to remember us both
You’re first in my phonebook…as you were to the telephone booth
Behind that screen you are waiting to hear
“My dear, please confess. Why do you fear?”
My body burning and my soul bound for hell
“Do hear me now, my confession’s a spell.”
“I confess, I love you more than I should
I confess, near you... I cannot be good
I confess, for you, caution’s thrown to the wind
I confess, in my mind with you I have sinned
I confess, I want you with obsessive need
I confess, my whole being to you I concede
I confess, I want NOW to have my own way
I confess, I mean to undress here today"
I press naked breasts against latticed screen
I want to ensnare him in this lover’s dream
I hear breathing quicken; I start to shake
"Oh, darling, believe me, you’re about to quake"
I confess, this longing drives me insane
I confess, desire burns in my vien
I confess, your slave, I’ll do what you please
I confess, I want to tempt you and tease
I confess, your name is burned on my skin
I confess, I intend your soul to win
I confess, I’m willing each rule to break
I confess, I’m trying your passion to wake
Only now, in this room, hushed and serene
Come press against me, your fantasy queen
Hear my confession; purge my desire
Remove this screen; give in to the fire
Others are waiting to come and confess
But now I’m here…hush and rip off my dress
Your eyes aglow, you've been wanting to taste
Throw down your robe, for I cannot be chaste."
Confessional booth rocks to muted screams
Flames rise from the doors from enacted dreams
Later, I leave...not absolved from my sin
Oh, the sweet triumph in my wicked grin
Eileen Manassian Ghali
To Voting Booth Race
Why let her experience go to waste
Hillary in Presidency should be placed
Time for woman in White House being
My wife and I have been agreeing
And to voting booth we both raced.
Jim Horn
Always a little leak,
Dripping in my roof.
As the thunder and the lighting,
Storm around my telephone booth.
The tidal wave is rising,
To drown the children a sleep,
As we hammer in the nails,
Through his bleeding wrists and feet.
Some talk of joy and wonder,
Some talk of better days,
But I try to tell you something,
That makes you shy away.
The humanity inside you,
The innocent lamb and dove,
Have been eaten by the humans,
Covered in *****and mud.
Your soul you held within you,
Your children that you loved,
Have been eaten by the humans,
Who drank the holy blood.
The holy and the sacred,
That once we beheld in awe,
Is now the dancing laughter ,
Of the drunkard and the whore.
Always a little leak,
Dripping through my roof,
As the fishes go on swimming,
Around my telephone booth.
more poem at http://labyrinthoflies.com
Jonathan studies at Huddersfield New College,
A BTEC in sports development and fitness,
He has Charcot Marie Tooth as his baggage,
Which by physiotherapy has a tight harness.
He trains in the swimming pool determinedly,
Of Huddersfield Leisure Centre extensive,
With Kirklees Active Leisure’s team happy,
To measure his swim performance active.
He swims in the S9 category in the freestyle,
And was born on the 16th of June in 1998,
He enjoyed swimming from the very first stile,
At age eleven when has dad took him, fate.
From regional events representing Yorkshire,
He began to internationally compete in 2014,
At an International Meet in Glasgow’s mire,
Where he became Youth Champion well lean.
His closest friends on squad ParalympicsGB,
Are fellow swimmers James Crisp, Josef Craig,
Lewis White and also Matt Wylie who all did see,
The lights of Rio: Jonathan came fifth in plague.
What says London more than this
The Red Telephone Booth can't be missed
On a walking tour
Nothing grabs you more
Says London like Big Ben and the British mist
after the dance we opened the doors
dampness surrounded this place maroon drapes
paisley patterns blinded my emotions license plates
of james dean covered the pine paneling only in the back
funny how a pair of levi's could bring about
such lonliness but there was james standing there
leaning up against his motorcycle flickering that cigarette
i had dreamed of life away from a smoked filled room
however i was being forced fed macho manner
by mere bruts tyrants wearing tightly fitted pinky rings
shuffling their feet quickly my only thought was that of
the stingrays sharp shooters how their eyes are morbidly
unseen right before they strike their prey i wouldn't even
speak of away from tropical shirts and the pelicans beak
an yet after the dance we had entered this think tank
of sea urchants mere leaches all reaching for small time
scores the same old crabs in the same old bucket
one by one pulling the one closet to the top back down
to scurry sideways with the bottom feeders night crawlers
here i am again your place their place our place i wondered
if they noticed me at all or was i just a cold curvy bottle
of coke a cola to be placed on a red and white canvas
in front of knitted covered candles or was i just a manikin
leaning against that timeless old seeburg continuing to drag
the needle slowly across the nylon fibers of my favorite record
over and over again like filing my broken nail or fussing over
another run in my stocking who needs stocking why i was simply
this forgotten mermaid among a school of green eyed hungry sharks
but then there was james a mere mirage gazing down route 66 in land
catering to the backside of those levi's oh wait here he comes again
he's going to ask me to dance what will i say oh my feet hurt or just
say no shoes tonight shall we swim out of here my mind tossed to and froe
i just couldn't bare to waste a perfectly good pair of fins don't you know
My African-American
young adolescent daughter,
since she was age five
needing a therapeutic home and family,
with Oppositional Disorder
and deviantly diverse neural-cognitive communication patterns,
would have voted for Donald Trump if she could.
In large part,
I suspect and fear,
because she is obsessively attracted
to what and whom she knows is bad for her.
Bad medicine.
Toxic sights and sounds and feelings.
Poisons for all sensory receptors,
Mutually oppositional reiterative disorder
perpetually trading barbs of blame and shame,
games she so loves to hate to play,
with tendencies toward bipolar disarray.
Why does she seem to prefer older
straight
blond boys?
Probably because she identifies herself as a younger
brown-skinned
curly-headed
(in several ways and means)
princess-diva-girl.
Anyway,
she helped me vote for our town's Mayor,
and School Board,
and Propositions about borrowing money
to pay it back later
out of her real-estate and business tax investments.
What she thought would be more interesting investments
for her future,
rather than bridges,
and firetrucks,
and improved highways,
she thought more gardens would be nicer,
and more nutritional in the long run.
As for Mayor,
she told me to vote for "Donald."
Well, honey,
bad news.
None of these candidates is a Donald.
I didn't say Donald
I said vote for Dora.
(Did I mention her speech therapy,
and lack thereof?)
(Did I mention I'm deaf as a post
and old enough to be her Great Gay Grandfather?)
Honey,
I don't think writing in "Dora"
would be a good idea
because she's not one of the choices here.
Well,
just don't vote for Donald Trump again.
Never mind about the "again,"
as if I ever had,
or would,
But,
what came between you and your love for Donald?
He is against my mental health
and my mental health right
to live in a good community
without fear of automatic
or even not-automatic
gunfire.
You've been reading my blog again
haven't you?
No!
Why would I read anyone
not smart enough to write in Dora for Mayor?
All a platonic trend.
Two brothers and a friend.
Since childhood all began.
From morning till night's end.
Fun times that they would spend.
Till love hath just descend.
A friend with boxed glove.
Brother, more sort of.
The wiles of young love.
A swoon mourning dove.
Played 'pull the leg of'.
Kissing booth scene.
Unraveled seams.
Break by all means.
Nothing but dreams.
None of that.
You spoiled brat.
Love at-bat.
Brother
Pother
Kiss
Villanelle L Milton Hankins Aug 18th, 2022
A Corner Booth and Eggs Benedict
The mood needs to be just right
Candles lit and flowers placed perfect
So fun to be in the spotlight
Winds of fortune caress this site
Our guard down, never circumspect
The mood needed to be just right
Ambiance fills the room tonight.
This dance is ours we reconnect
So fun to be in the spotlight
You played Wallflower's “One Headlight.”
Wine poured brings that care-free effect.
The mood needed to be just right.
Through stained-glass window pours moonlight.
Last dance, a time for introspect
So fun to be in the spotlight
About to see the days first light
A corner booth and eggs benedict
The mood needed to be just right
So fun to be in the spotlight
The animals on the
farm are having
their annual county
fair.
Frogs from the pond
have agreed to
set up a kissing booth,
so far no takers,
except other frogs,
but for 50 cents,
it's a good deal, all
the proceeds go to
homeless farmers,
so come on down,
kiss a frog, hey
it's for a good cause.
wrote 8-8-08
Booth. How you hated the Union.
The end of suffrage you so despised.
One in the brain of the great orator.
Death in the theatre.
Sic Semper Tyrannis.