Best Bout Poems
The steady pull
of temptation--
a tease on
my resolution.
When I can sleep,
I take what dreams
afford me.
In these dreams,
my 'noxide comes
to ward me.
Her smoke is an invitation.
my conscience
falls for
the con science
of my imagination.
I give in
and reality spins.
Between the sleeps,
I lie in sanity.
I wonder:
Did I give into
my humanity?
did I'd err?
Is that
smoke in the air?
I guess I’m more accustomed to the modern sting these days;
the one that comes by e-mail or the phone.
They might hurt the pocket with the modern scamming ways -
but Mother Nature’s stings bite to the bone.
I’m talking ‘bout a paper wasp,
or the angriest of bull-ant;
perhaps a hornet or a bee,
and that Queensland stinging plant.
I could be in the scrub casting out a fishing line,
or relaxed while I stand beside a tree
without a thought, but ignorant to a home that isn’t mine,
and its residents who start attacking me.
I’m talking ‘bout assertive spiders;
that little blighter jumping jack.
Damn mosquitoes and march flies,
and scorpions sometimes attack.
It may be every few years, but there does come a time,
when backyards need a bit of cleaning out,
so there will be disturbance that is not a pantomime,
and lackadaisical is not what it’s about.
I’m talking ‘bout stinging nettle,
or prickly pear annoying hairs.
The European Wasp and chiggers,
and white-tail spider toxin scares.
When fishing in an estuary; the beach or in a bay,
you never know what bounty it can bring.
You’ll always have a fighting fish trying to get away,
and some of them can give a nasty sting.
I’m talking ‘bout butterfly gurnard;
the torture of a sand flathead spike.
Feeling of pain after sunset,
and a victim when biting midges strike.
Some might be quite obtrusive - and some a fine-looking thing,
but they all come with a warning - I’m talking ‘bout the sting.
What has happened to our kids?
Why did we become the type of parents we did?
Is there a name for us?
Slower, easier, then turned into a mess of fuss
Using our imaginations and reading the classics galore
So much lovely literature to explore
Had to look up facts in a Book
Critical thinking came without one second look
Now we have I.T. people at schools
Showing and telling us...
something I never really wanted to use
Gets me into trouble
What DO YOU mean I can't have that document on the double?
So, this generation I am in...the before and after
Are a special bunch of people going faster and faster
We are a special generation, you see
We grew up without the almighty god of technology
People try to put us down... cuz' we don't know the way around
Can ya dig what I'm tryin' to say? Computers will never fade away
I'm not tryin' to cause a big sensation...
Google is fine, but not the only means of education
An old lady sat near a window, near a window looking out.
With her radio going she sat there sewing, with an occasional look about.
On her thumb she wore a thimble, as she pulled the thread so nimble, enjoying the
light,
While the weatherman’s voice was blaring, declaring a storm in sight.
She began to hurry, and to worry about her Sam.
Had he heard the early morning warning from the weatherman?
While she sat there stewing, the storm greater brewing, she thought about her
man.
“He could work much longer, if only he was stronger— he does the best he can.”
The skies grew darker and her thoughts grew starker in the afternoon.
“Upper air disturbance; expecting turbulence with night coming soon.”
While she debated, the storm accelerated from the north.
With clouds unloading her thoughts grew foreboding, as she paced back and forth,
Qualms of duress she expressed about her Sam.
“Was he wet and freezing? Was he cold and sneezing? Poor old Sam!”
The northern air was gusting as she began thrusting shut the door,
From freezing rain fast falling, while for Sam she was calling as she paced the floor.
Back at the weather station a strange situation was spreading forth.
Not so far away an arctic foray pushed from the north.
It hardly took a wizard to see the shaping blizzard hiding every star,
A whirling cloud formation showed its concentration on the isobar.
Suddenly she started walking, while talking to her Sam.
Once she stopped to listen, ignoring the snow that glistened— then she ran.
She must’ve been unsightly as the lights shown on her brightly from a car,
Driven by her daughter, doing things she taught her, searching near and far.
“Mother! It’s me, Mabel. You know you’re not able to be out in the cold!
Look how hard it’s snowing with the wind so cold and blowing. Forgive me if I scold.
Finding you not there, I looked everywhere up and down the street.
You’ve come too far, so get in the car and dry your feet.”
“Mabel . . . Pa went out this morning . . . but he had no warning the weather would
be severe.”
“Oh, my mother dear, please come here, come here. Dad’s been gone a year!”
Suddenly the old lady was weary, her eyes old and bleary, her body weak and cold.
She had no coat nor jacket, but in her hand a packet—Sam’s picture she did hold.
Ello, Gwammy,
Yea, saw the wain, Gwammy,
Big dwops fallin’ on the soil.
Dwopped fwom clouds.
Aunt Jan was angwy.
Said I get wet.
But I took her bwolly,
The one with the paint on it.
Big bwolly so I no get wet.
Went on the bench to see better.
The soil got wet.
Aunt Jan called me,
But I want to see the gwass gwo.
The wain will make the gwass gwo
And I can play there.
But it gwo a lot, only
Can’t play in gwass. Much wain.
From the bench I saw lovely colows.
Aunt Jan said it’s a wainbow.
Don’t know. But you know, Gwammy,
I saw mamma on the wainbow.
She smiled and sent me a kiss.
I want to see the wainbow again.
But no wain now.
When you come
Bwing me cake with a hole.
I lowe it. I lowe you too, gwammy.
Must go.
Bye, Gwammy.
My Famous Favorite Poet,
One day, I'll write like you own it.
Your gorgeously written sonnet,
Mines are like bees in my bonnet.
Words hum dimly and don't brighten,
Yours float high, and they enlighten.
All my poems acquire honey,
They buzz about sounding funny.
Each of your sonnets shines like gold,
With words that glow, so all behold.
My poems hid inside a beehive,
While yours outside gets a high five.
I hope to write like your sonnet,
Honeyed butter like Bluebonnet.
people never could understand me.
heck. i can't even understand myself.
some things i don't even try to understand.
some things i'd just accept.
me. . . many people would describe me with just one word.
one simple word called crazy.
they say i'm a bit harder to get along with.
or maybe it's just because i'm different.
no one ever could "get with it".
no one ever could understand what i represent.
and the ones that were supposed to rep. with me
somehow ended up a hypocrite.
but that's alright 'cause i don't mind rollin' solo.
and in the end, when Christ comes back
he'll know who was there to defend his name.
and the ones in the world playin' sin like a game will get played back.
it's almost like that saying "once you go black you never go back"
but for me it's: "once you rollin' with Christ you never go back."
'Cause he keeps you safe from Satin's attacks.
it's so hard to explain these things that i'm saying
but when it comes to Christ i just ain't playin
yeah. . . many people would describe me with just one word.
many times i don't even try to understand
and this, i could even accept.
i just can't help it if i'm crazy about Christ.
he's the one that's been there for me when no one else can be.
and he's the one who cares for me when everyone else leaves.
so the fact of the matter is. . .
he's the only one i need.
so you can try to break me down with your words but they don't even matter.
you can call me crazy or use other words to describe me
but i don't give your words another thought.
you're not my savior.
Christ's the one that paid the cost.
i'm his child.
he's the only one i aim to please.
and I'll do it all my life
even if i do look crazy.
Don't you worry bout my soul
Til you've been down all my lonely roads
And gauged the weight of my full load
Don't you worry bout my soul
.
I see you on the tv conning, talking squawking walking like you really care about me and my kind
You cry your tears like a crocodile empty eyes phony smile,
To me I plainly see you're clearly blind
So don't you worry bout my kind . . .
I see everything just fine
You're busy yelling and a tellin me all the things you think you can see, going on in this ol world you think ain't right
Get the beam on out of your own eye, til you've listened to the children cry, hungry and tormented in the night
Don't you worry bout my eyes . . .
I'm seeing everything just fine
.
Don't you worry bout my ears
Cause you've been deaf for many years
I don't need some deaf man tellin me what I should hear or how to be, when he is only playing on my fears
So don't you worry bout my ears . . .
I hear your deafness loud and clear
.
Don't you worry bout my mind
Though it gets misplaced from time to time
But I think I know what courage means, how heartache feels, when freedom rings
And I know that I am running out of time
So don't you worry bout my mind . . .
I think I'll get along just fine
.
Don't you worry bout my soul
Cause I met the Master long ago
And the one you portray Him to be
Is not the same One known to me
The One Who made me free so long ago
So don't you worry bout my soul.
.
Mathew 15:14
Coloured and in cascades, there's foam on the falls,
Elliptical dome shaped..almost perfect circles are recalled
Haven of childhood and sanctuary gained, ephemeral beauty
its existance proclaims, against backdrops on dewdrops in
rain on the leaves, bubbles are forming in torrents and streams
in my bathtub they a'wait me..under billows of steam..!
Copyright Joe Maverick 2011
How 'Bout Stoichiometry For A Conversational Hook?
Nary a clue exists about
the relationship between
relative quantities of substances
taking part in a clean
(non GMO contaminated)
gluten free reaction,
or forming a mean
compound, typically a ratio
of whole integers umpteen
place holders long proudly,
(albeit microscopically)
swaggering analogous
to a prideful
home coming queen
walking with her beau
appearing much older looking
than a latte (drinking) teen,
the third word up above, (affright
full looking, isle
lid lashing sorely,
trying, torquing, and
testing vision, i.e. eye sight),
where with insight
red left to right
across conventionally,
sans persons write
ting, and/or read
ding English, who might
live within neck of the woods,
how zing this knight,
where the whirled wide webbing
haint so bright
this smart aleck (comprised
fancy title), excite
ting immediate uptight
reaction came to "light"
just in the nick of time
to spur a sprite
lee chary reader to take
pro nouns hubble flight
(at what the ĵ** -
in reference quite
understandably to multi
syllable chemical airtight
romance masquerade),
this barred bard did write
unfamiliar word, which undoubtedly
triggered consternation,
and fierce urge to bite
and/ or sentence this "FAKE" cur,
who whiz unable to height
ten interest toward me senseless
poetics with supreme delight.
His client had a leg amputation
Oops! Wrong leg due to miscalculation
His client wanted to sue
But as the attorney knew
No leg to stand on for litigation
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in Carolyn Devonshire's "Lawyer Limerick" Contest - August 2010
(Last line based on the old saying "You Ain't Got A Leg To Stand On")
Prayers lost under pollution
like innate rights under the constitution
Citizens raise question receiving no solution
while activist talk talks of retribution
I raise my fist waiting on the revolution
Living lives within cages
feeding families off minimum wages
Playing roles in life like plays on stages
stuck within system wondering why the God’s wont turn pages
I raise my fist waiting on the revolution
Rest asleep on tear stained pillows wonder why you have no tranquility
because this system offers no stability
No humility could get you credibility
No degree for availability within a Babylon facility
I raise my fist waiting on a revolution
Spreading Internal and external war
sending innocent souls ashore
Institutionalized racism encroaching the blacks childs core
so much confusion you souls become sore
While, I raise my fist waiting on a revolution
And just humanity begins to adjust to insanity
Mingling with profanity and vanity
acceptaning mental inhumanity
We raise our voice beginning a revolution
oh cinderella a dream many girls wish
fit that glass slipper
and ended with a kiss
happily ever after
the story fortold
but what happen after
a story unknown
see i ran into her
the other day at the store
she told me horrors of her life before
and how her soul mate
was gay
See she wasnt mad at him
but why marry her if neither of them win
but then she left the castle
to an apartment downtown
she had no work experience
so she downgraded down south
she was on welfare
angry as a bee
she had no money to buy anything
then things got worse
when she couldnt get not one wish
she called her godmother
but found out she was just a witch
she had no other choice
she was stuck where she was
so she moved back in with her stepmother
who didnt change at all
Her stepmother
yelled and screamed
and once again she did everything
But then she said she found a guy
she was in love
to her surprise
she got pregnant
she was happy indeed
but then he left her
with a baby to feed
When she went to her stepmother
she wouldnt alow both
so back to welfare she goes
now here she is with a child and no job
wishing for some happily ever after
she says it can happen again
but oh cinderella
the story is done
life just didnt work out for you hun!
*NO offense was/is intended to ANYONE*
Just got a text from a friend:
"Don't miss your family tonight on
A&E: *Hatfields and McCoys"
Here's just a tid bit more 'bout me.
See it tonight on A&E:
'Hatfields and McCoys'--*Hatfield's
me--
Not sure 'bout content--we'll see.
I know from Wales, orig'nally.
Perhaps more 'bout the family tree,
And of course the 'Fued'--def'nately!
Don't know what time--just--A&E.
deborah burch©
5/58/2012
*lol...yup...it's true ;)
Think, your rhymes are quick and rapid No record, on the wall? Aah! Snap, it went placid Tell’n me all how, you did this and that, rat a tat tat but it doesn’t matter, coz when it hits the fan, you are shattered Your rap's are just RIP’s, while tryn to give your cousin’s, the slip
You ain't lived the Dozens and my roots, aint under your whip While your mind's a buzzin, you want respect, show me your intellect Not how many, brother’s and sister’s you done rekt Your eyes roll on fleek, coz now you lost the beat Let me, slo-mo matrix’s style and then repeat It’s not bullet time, so just chill and don’t take the pills The drugs-n-thugs, got swept under the rug, need a refill? Thinking, you’re off the hook , read a book! Absurd, you think but in word, you’re just a reverb