Best Broadcaster Poems
Some days, I am a dreamer of the future.
I tend to imagine myself treading paths
I've always dreamed of taking.
At night, before I sleep I try to
Envision myself in a court defending
A client with all my might and knowledge
Mondays, I am an attorney.
Tuesdays, I step on stage and hold a
Microphone as I stand before the eyes of
Thousands of international public speakers.
Wednesdays, I am an artist.
I like to think I have this magic within me
Where I'm capable of making a whale
Fly freely up above the sky or the
Power to make eyes talk and be alive
Thursdays, I am a poet enchantress
Full of metaphors and languages
One wouldn't learn immediately.
Fridays, I am a creative writer
My fingers tremble as I release the
Monsters in my head and alter reality
On weekends, I am a broadcaster, a hunter
Of news and caster of truths with my voice
Heard and listened everywhere you go
But most of the time, I am just a girl
With an ambitious soul living inside this
Lackadaisical body and I keep walking on
A treadmill facing a single direction making
Efforts with seen and heard footsteps
But no signs of movements forward.
I am stuck in a labyrinth of self-doubts and
Insecurities with a lack of energy to climb its
Walls and try to see what's out there
I am in a continuous cycle of hallucinations
My mind wanders to different dreams and paths
But my body is in a frozen state of carelessness.
I am a stagnant river, calm and still
When I'm supposed to be flowing endlessly.
Today I saw ‘Sand in the Sandwiches’ Edward Fox was playing Sir John
What joy to hear his wonderful words it was like he had never been gone
On the train journey home I’m inspired ~ to put down my feelings in words
But unlike Sir John’s I have little doubt that these will ever be heard
The play it was filled with humour some naughty and some good
It also contained much pathos which in turn made me think, as it should
Of times when life was simpler where happiness and joy would abound
And when Sand got into the Sandwiches much laughter and joy all around
Written 19 October 2018
Sir John Betjeman CBE was an English poet, writer, and broadcaster. He was Poet Laureate from 1972 until his death in 1984. He was a founding member of the Victorian Society and a passionate defender of Victorian architecture, helping to save St Pancras railway station from demolition.
Contest Podium Placing Promise (2)
Sponsor Brian Strand
2nd PLACE
I always think of you on the first of May
Recalling the New York Mining Disaster
What a tragedy it ruined my holiday
For whom the bell tolls expressed the broadcaster
Recalling the New York Mining Disaster
Stayin Alive would have been a miracle
For whom the bell tolls expressed the broadcaster
Immortality? Guess I am cynical
Stayin Alive would have been a miracle
My secret love died that day; now I’m alone
Immortality? Guess I am cynical
If I can’t have you I don’t want to go home
My secret love died that day; now I’m alone
Such a heartbreaker! Forbidden love so right
If I can’t have you I don’t want to go home
You should be dancin’ right here with me tonight
Such a heartbreaker! Forbidden love so right
What a tragedy it ruined my holiday
You should be dancin’ right here with me tonight
I always think of you on the first of May
Beegees Titles used - the Beegees were prolific songwriters writing well over 900 songs for themselves and other artists
The first of May
New York Mining Disaster
Tragedy
Holiday
For whom the bell tolls
Stayin’ alive
Immortality
If I can’t have you
Secret love
Alone
Heartbreaker
Love so right
You should be dancin’
Musical Pantoum Contest Sponsored by Silent One
05~30~16
Tempest rages through the night
Howling and roaring with all her might
Rain lashing against the window pane
How I wish the storm would end!
Thunder and lightning what a night
Tempest’s energy bolt of light
Now what’s that I see outside?
It’s falling slowly and it’s white
In the morning I rushed downstairs
I turned on the radio unawares
“No school today,” the broadcaster announced
I screamed for joy, I jumped - I bounced
Yipeee a snow day no school for me
I quickly finished my cup of tea
I grab my coat, hat and scarf
Then went to play with my friends in the park
Freudian Slip --- Insight of Lip --- Dane Ann
Gravestone ---Heart- Mark ---Dane Ann
Gall --- Vexing Vixen --- Dane Ann
Happiness --- Bounteous Bliss ---Dane Ann
Hog Sty --- Power Pen --- Dane Ann
Indigent --- Penniless Pauper --- Dane Ann
Insistent --- Relentless Nagging ---Dane Ann
Jerring ---Heartless Heckler --- Dane Ann
Jovial --- Cheery Chirping --- Dane Ann
Sports Nuts --- Crunchy Food, Poetic Mood For All to Read --- Linda-Marie Bariana
Good Vibrations --- Ghostly Groove --- Catie Lindsey
Last Will and Testament --- Dead Bread ---Catie Lindsey
Fine Wine and Spirits --- Wink and Drink ---Catie Lindsey
Agreement --- Words Concurred --- Dane Ann
Argument --- Quite Quarrel --- Dane Ann
Banter --- Chat Wit --- Dane Ann
Care --- Need Heed --- Dane Ann
Conscience --- Scruple Snooper --- Dane Ann
Detective --- Fact Grinder --- Dane Ann
Ducking --- Waddle Quacking --- Dane Ann
Emotional --- Frazzle Dazzled --- Dane Ann
Ship Mate --- Toy Boat --- HG
Gravestone --- Dead Cert. --- Sean Kelly
Broadcaster --- American Female Newscaster --- Sean Kelly
Cold War --- Battle Against Swine Flu ---Sean Kelly
Silicon Valley --- Cleavage, After Breast Enhancement --- Sean Kelly
Hebrew --- Jewish Tea For Men Only --- Sean Kelly
I wish I were a tree and no matter the times am cut down; my roots will still be planted in your heart. If I were a ship I would vote you as the captain of my heart, for you I will lay asunder. If this was a novella, you would be televisa ‘the greatest broadcaster’ and I would be the greatest writer. It would sell big time with your charm and golden heart driving everybody nuts. Your sizzling eyes and angel smile awaking all buried happiness. Your muscled frame sending all in awe, like you drive me crazy. You will be the window of my heart gaping whenever necessary. Whenever I look outside for comfort, you would be the smiling sky, you would be the fresh air for my calmness, you would sweep away the pain and whisper words of hope to me, all my dreams would come true. You will be the lock that protect my fragile heart and the watch that never delay my expectations. I would be your cell phone, you will be my password. Your fingers printing themselves all over my body; every click would be unforgettable moment. If only the stars can sign this I can ink you all over my heart, and the angels can be my witness.
Sometimes in churlish chains
Fed up with ribald refrains
On my mind inflicting pains and strains
In the morning, afternoon and night
When from life I gain no delight
Sinking into sorrows on the flight
From illusion
Conflated with delusion
Carved from collusion
Between cynicism
Pessimism and criticism
Wrapped in a veil of wanton witticism
That to my ears spells disaster
I detect in the voice of a broadcaster
Enjoining my mouth to shut up faster
Lest lunatics in straitjackets
Should unleash explosive packets
To pulverize my brain brackets
To terminate challenges I mount
Day and night whose barbs and blurbs amount
To desecration in mistaken impressions tantamount
To insults in the eyes of Cyclops
Whose evil eye develops
An uncanny loathing for emissary envelopes
Whose missives send shiver
Down spines shorn of silver
When Cyclops quiver
In their boots
At the thought of brutes
Taking away ill gotten fruits
Cyclops munch
At brunch
Foregoing at lunch any hunch
That predicts winds of change
Within my mind no longer strange
To vicissitudes Cyclops arrange
To counter banter
In the encounter
Arranged in the canter
To ferry freedom
Beyond confines the fiefdom
I no longer consider part of the inherited wisdom
In which I found comfort
From every report emanating from the fort
I vowed with all my might to support
If I should remain sane
To reject any arcane
Attitude bent on releasing propane
To burn my spirit
In an effort to treat
Ores of sanity with gangrenous grit
Hoping to achieve progress
While promoting disgrace
In the last lap of a stress race.
I relish sparring repartee of clever quips...
Particularly, when voicing and/or
writing bon mots doth betake
chuckling clownlike me
rumbled stilled skin,
and e'en rouses
this mummified corpse
(asleep for bajillion years)
among sleepers awake,
where mine inside belly
doth pleasantly ache
jollity the best medicine
most thus spoke Zarathustra,
asper nonpareil persona
American radio broadcaster
Doctor Demento would attest,
one need not buy,
nor spend real or "FAKE"
money, yet brilliant come
back (as averred by
unnamed modest chap)
sweeter than New York cheesecake
moist definitely more
delectable than grubstake
jamming gobstopper with
yodels, ring dings,
or mouth size edible
chocolate candied drake,
a propensity for parrying
thrusts humorously recently
adopted, though occasionally
embarrass self,
and perhaps I might
momentarily even forsake
such wordplay, but
honing humorous turns
of phrases come roaring
back to partake, and
appease simple pleasure
inexplicably to satiate
passion with English
Language and slake
unquenchable thirst
experiencing euphoria,
vis a vis yours truly
melding, jump/kick starting,
forging, distilling
reasonable rhyme
(albeit short lived) giddy
as if I won sweepstake
this newfound affinity
with whittling words
manifested during opaque
throes of fatherhood,
when ceaseless parental
demands sought fast break
from learning to
accommodate lest stressful
overwhelming anguish
found me undertake
king oft times frazzled state,
where among great
anonymous dead poets
society, posthumous renown
would be small consolation
for widowed missus,
whose then two little girls,
(now grown to womanhood)
would inconsolably shake
for ever and anon drowning
their sweet sorrows,
where profuse tears
engender lachrymose lake.
September is here and we are remembering
the worst tragedy that ever struck our
Nation, a Nation where we thought - we were
safe. What were you doing on that fatal day?
I think that what ever any of us was doing we
will never forget. Just think about that.
It was September 11 of 2001. Everybody was
going about their business, when about 8:45 A.M.
everything exploded at once. Nobody expected
this tregedy to come. I was coming from a doctor's
visit. I stopped at my house to fix myself something
to eat before I went to work.
I turned on the TV. All I could see was fire, smoke
and people running everywhere. I first thought it
was a movie, when I heard the broadcaster say
that they were live in New York City. I called my
husband and we both watched how the twin towers
came crumbling down. We couldn't believe our eyes
of all the horror we saw. All the channels were
breaking the news.
The terrorists crashed two planes and thousands of
our people died. some of the people didn't even know
what hit them. It was better like that. It was better that
they go to heaven and not to hell instead.
Another plane was headed for the Nerve Center of this
Country, but never made it there. The passengers in
that plane knew, that soon they would meet DEATH.
They decided to fight the terrorists and heroes they
became, when flight 91 went down. In all the planes,
the terrorists died, but to their people - it's no loss.
We all know that they died for the cause...
09/11/2012
written by Lucilla M. Carrillo
There was an AM station from years ago.
I tuned in at night to hear my radio.
Their tower was based in Windsor, Ontario.
They would let the best of Canadian artists flow.
During the day, it was a station I could never hear.
Another entity on the same frequency was broadcasting near.
When 8PM rolled around, that broadcaster went off the air.
The Canadian station took over from there.
I always heard the latest sounds from the Guess Who.
They also had the Stampeders and the Bells too.
One day, the broadcasts would disappear.
Their music and messages I could no longer hear.
That Canadian transmitter’s call letters were CKLW.
Like many other AM locations, they bid adieu.
I want a parade
Let it be huge
No chance I’ll be swayed
Don’t be a scrooge.
Lot’s of Brass Bands
Marching Marines
The clapping of hands
This thing’s in my genes.
I may not have served
I wasn’t quite well
But now its deserved
A big show and tell.
Just a few tanks
A fast plane or two
All to give thanks
To the red, white and blue.
Macron does it well
Putin much more
But I can foretell
That both will be sore.
I’ll be the ring master
The one with the voice
The perfect broadcaster
And for that there’s no choice.
For some things I know
I haven’t a clue,
But to put on a show
Is my own special brew.
So sit back and wait
For what I’ve in store
My work’s so first rate
You’ll clamor for more
https://dictionary.cambridge.org/us/dictionary/english/broadcaster
Brian Williams Broadcaster
Always knew Williams first name is Brian;
Best broadcaster on air and no denying;
Both you and me,
Never miss MSNBC;
Expose Trump how hard is always trying.
Jim Horn
N-ews anchor on air
E-xpounds the current events;
L-et's all watch his program,
S-hare the informative moments.
O-n the twenty-sixth of August, the justice reporter does speak,
N-et twenty-five station airs him days of the week.
L-isten to his commentaries,
U-sing TV or radio anywhere;
B-rave broadcaster of EBC,
A-nchor of news
O-n air.
I hear myself talking to the radio;
the shock-jock stops pushing words
into my vehicle,
a pause, as if he is listening.
I don’t get paid for my opinions
my place is to be a listener, a non-combatant,
just ears and a vast echoing space between them.
The dead-air threatens to kill its audience.
The broadcaster voice gets louder as his mouth
moves closer to the microphone.
He knows! He heard my counter-arguments
and had no reply!
Then the radio signal is lost,
static nothing but blaring static,
I don’t turn the sound off
now the car has to listen only to me
as I carry on a heated conversation
inside my talking head.
Zealots, one by one, with steadfast passion
serving God as Master
in enthusiastic fashion -
His broadcaster.
Zebulon’s tribe pardoned for insurgence
became clear spokesmen yet;
famous mariners and merchants
with God’s mindset.
Old Testament prophet Zephaniah
foretold deportation
of God’s hope for the Messiah -
chosen nation.
Old Zacharias, priest in the temple,
doubted in disbelief,
lost his speech; really simple -
he caused God grief.
There was Zebedee, busy fisherman,
father of James and John,
loosed his sons, new mission began
their anchors drawn.
Simon the Zealot, unsung disciple
attentive, observant,
zealous for Jesus, not idle
as His servant.
Zealots, one and all, somewhat imperfect
serving their Savior God.
Righteous, they were voices He picked
to give Him laud.
December 27, 2022
sponsor: Constance La France
contest: Zip, Zig, Zag, Zing