Best By Word Of Mouth Poems
It's easier to tear things down
than it is to build
Fewer every day have love
many more are killed
Some would rather look away
than to lend a hand
when a needy person's day
doesn't go as planned
Ripping someone else apart
by word of mouth or pen
is the latest social craze
done time and time again
You just insulted someone's mom
with fingertips on keys
but never knew she's suffering
a horrible disease
That young girl who is overweight
your comments cut her deep
and you all had a hearty laugh
like herds of rabid sheep
Some who came across your path
had nowhere else to go
but hatred and sarcastic wit
were all you cared to show
People aren't obstacles
to roughly push aside
humanity is family
from which one cannot hide
Strangers might be future friends
whose names you don't yet know
just open up your hearts and minds
and see where life will go
I shouldn't have to say these things
they should be understood
but human beings typically
choose evil over good
Spread kindness everywhere you go
so little is the cost
for it could easily be you
whose life is nearly lost
Let someone lean upon you
if they find it hard to cope
you never know when you'll be called
to be someone's last hope
The daylight doesn't seem as bright as before,
as if the sun is fast fading away.
And gathering grey clouds fuel rains that pour:
sending kids scurrying inside to play.
Autumn's pretentious colors fade from sight,
until no trace remains; their beauty brief.
And short days relinquish their length to Night,
the trees stripped naked, not a single leaf.
The honking geese have all migrated south,
along with most of our precious songbirds.
And, daunting rumors, spread by word of mouth:
whisper Winter's here in so many words.
Winter's wailing winds will start whistling soon,
and we all must learn to dance to Her tune.
I ran by this thing with haste, that malevolent beast as to school I went
Centered In a beautiful field i never played, because we all knew of the shallow graves.
We never saw them, no one dared to find them, and no one ever even looked
For the other children that were buried there, trust for a child is given by word of mouth.
The rumors grew, as the tulips did in the field that held That Old Red Barn.
A child’s fancy, the minds plaything sometimes given over to the rule of what it thinks must
be
Because Jennifer said it, it must be so; I don’t dare to find out the actual truth. I’m not that
brave
So I leave it alone, this beautiful thing, because the cover does not always tell the story
within.
If I had given it a second glance and not been so scared that I didn’t notice,
That just beyond the reaches of the trees at its circumference laid a house of golden hue
And in those walls, a grander story than even of that of “That Old Red Barn”
A family of two … now ancient to me spent their time growing corn and raising grain
That would one day come to the table I sat, nourishing me and giving me strength.
Letting me have the energy I need, to quickly run by “That Old Red Barn”
So that I could fly past this place that they built and in their hearts would always treasure
I don’t think that they knew of the fear it instilled all because of one child’s rants
But now that I know and am older now, I look out my front door and see what they mean
This Beautiful Field and “That Old Red Barn” once seemed a curious creature
Full of fear and malevolence, they were too old to invest the time to restore it to splendor
So I purchased from them all this vastness of pleasure, That Beautiful Field, and yes “That
Old Red Barn”
Written By: Ryland Joshua Matthews
Date: 11/13/2010
Is it autumn, when silence has come to a lonely lakeshore?
Throngs of reveling summer tourists are flocking here no more.
Is it autumn, the water's sitting still in the swimming pool?
The rowdy children have gone, unhappily, back to their school.
Is it autumn, when the blooming gladiolus have been lost?
Tonight, the garden's bounty will be bitten by our first frost.
Is it autumn, do golden cornstalks hang heavy with their yield?
The farmer has a scarecrow propped, out standing in his field.
Is it autumn, the pumpkins have no orange spattered 'round them?
Their deep green color is fading now, up near the browning stem.
Is it autumn, the farmer has left his apple orchards bare?
The spiced aroma of baking pies goes drifting on the air.
Is it autumn, when the gathering geese ready to fly south?
Two neighbors saw them yesterday, I have heard, by word of mouth.
Is it autumn, with dying leaves turning shades of rust and red?
The maple tree's timbers brave the wind as they begin to shed.
Is it autumn, with ever shrinking sunsets and chilly nights?
There comes a whiff of warm woodsmoke as the first fire alights.
Is it finally the day when autumn will at last arrive?
Twelve months ago was a long, long time to wait to feel alive!
Date - 8/26/2022
(15 syllables per line)
Today's Sounds
Music rolls off the banjo, bluegrass
Active cheery sound, gland it’s around,
Folk music in little town passed down by word of mouth;
Family remembers and other people too, and songs abound.
Symphony sounds dynamic notes through the grand hall,
Aria Nessun Dorma rapturous great joy emotion,
Opera transports to a lofty feeling, heavenly classical,
Piano music and classical guitar uplifting feeling locomotion.
Listen, echoing 14th century chant cathedral music,
Hymn captivating, baroque music alive to this day,
History’s not historical, it’s not even past; and organ rolls on,
Waltz smoothly wafts across the air through the dance hall bay.
Ice cream parlor music cheerful tunes with hot fudge sundae,
Oldies music reminiscence rock ‘n’ roll, jazz, country and western feeling,
Big band dance music, rhythm and blues, brass band thrill,
Gospel music, spirituals, and blues, highland healing.
Motion picture music score jumps high fidelity positive
Enjoyment, touching stereo button to instrumental music roll,
Relax in the day, easy listening music comfortable rest,
Sound waves motions ear drums, people listen alive soul.
7/20/19
"I'll be your Joker"
Still a registered voter
Signed up to be an organ donor
And finally became a car owner
I rarely use a controller
When it's time, I'll man up and buy a stroller
As well as panels that are solar
Near and far from areas that are polar
Doesn't matter if I ever get a Range Rover
Or Roadster
I'm barely ever sober
Always been a loner
And stoner
3 months away from another October
If you want to be my Harley Quinn, I'll be your "Joker"
Not no poser
Where are you Scully? This is agent Mulder
Anytime you want, I'll be your shoulder
To lean on
From here to way beyond
For eons
Where's my Marge? I am Homer
I'll be your rock over and over
Since I've gotten nobler
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder
I've seen it so much, I could compile a folder
Life's one giant rollercoaster
It's really revving my motor
All these women giving me a b***r
And then the cold shoulder
As if I am an ogre
I remain a soldier
Drinking high end coffee, no more Folgers
Getting wiser and older
Becoming bolder
As the world gets colder
I'm not feeling dolor
Just multi tasking, while a fire continues to smoulder
Maintaining my composure
Finding closure
Getting closer
To greatness instead of being mediocre
I enjoyed the work I did with several growers
As well as trapping some gophers
Occasionally I'll partake in poker
Even though I'm not the best hoaxer
Once or twice I used a fire stoker
When it came to Mary Jane, I was a doter
A fan of it's fragrance, it's not what I'd call an odor
I consume some products made by Clover
And am usually in places considered remoter
It's time I get a toaster and holster
I don't really need a Flame Thrower
Or to get my face on a most wanted poster
Suit yourself if you want to wear a boater
Or choker
Houses in continual foreclosure
Not always wise to go for the price that is lower
Someday my mind and body will be slower
And one day it'll all be over
10-4 over and out
And now you know, what i'm really about
Not just by word of mouth
As they say don't look a gift horse in the mouth
Regardless of if you had your doubts
By: Dalton Ogletree
Aub
Aubrey Gordon Joseph Mc'Govern
by Don Johnson...
he was born in 1895 to a land so different then,
one of three boys born at Brenda station,
near to Hebel up the river near the water on a bend.
though just a child he told me of his life upon the land,
of strange things seen and space ships strange, with
coloured lights so grand.
how he and Walter and the boy had seen it flying past ,
but never went to look for it though it fell with a mighty blast.
he drove the coach for Cobb & co, held six horses by the rein,
these 3 Mc Govern's never married though,
so no Mc Govern's will remain.
he worked on Cubbie station as a station hand
their fences he did mend, delivered mail a sulky
mailman to the squatters he was friend.
no radio on the airwaves then, the news would come by him,
by word of mouth the bush telegraph, bare facts with no garnishing.
one time he was a shearers cook and cooked o'er an open fire.
he was on the rum, maybe seeing things, old Aub. he was no liar.
as he stooped to check the boiling pot he saw the Devil lunge at him.
so he flogged him off used his boiling spuds,
made a goodly campfire dim.
old Aubrey's gone where the old drovers go,
but i sure remember him.
as a story teller i did know,
when i was small and thin. …
"Legend of the Raintree"
an ancient legend about the raintree
derived from the old South
a tree shedding golden tears
a promise of length of years
if found ... exclaimed by word of mouth.
young lovers searched to find this tree
buried deep in forest green
whose raindrops melted into the Earth
a treasure chest of enormous worth
only a truthful heart would reveal unseen.
in nightly storms cascades of rain
hypnotized with exotic call
branches without bloom
spelled ominous doom
still the legend lingers as raindrops fall.
*For Carol Brown's Raindrops Fall Contest.
*August 20, 2012
From Africa to America spanning the world, quite possibly
My DNA struggled to survive to make me,
My existence is a testament to survival fitness,
My life is to nurture the future and bear witness, the past,
My name is the name to property they gave,
My heritage my lineage is that of a slave,
Yes, slave, property, harsh words to hear,
Great Granddad was born enslaved, three generations too near,
Granddad laid bricks, played music and sang,
Hope from Grandma’s illiterate lips, I sprang,
A lineage broken in Georgia or Carolina south,
passed on and on by word of mouth,
The legacy must pass through me to give my children power,
For their momma’s line stepped off the Mayflower,
In both I must help them see honor,
For the strength and the pride that made me must endure,
Listening, and teaching, and learning I press on without blame,
Learning from the past about my past I move on without shame,
Each new day, new creation, I write the story,
One of survival, renewal, reflection, doggedly pushing toward glory,
I am black yesterday, I am black now, I am black history.
Don't you just hate it
when you dig a spectacular hole
only to realize that you can't get out?
What's worse is when you
advertise the event, before having practiced,
and now the whole town is here simply by word of mouth.
The signs are here, for all to see,
The thunder clouds, the dying tree.
The shining lights, that draw you near,
Loud heavy music, in your ear.
By word of mouth, or through cyber space,
The hidden pictures, of your face,
The northern lights, are dancing south,
The rumours you hear, by word of mouth.
The sign are falling, from the sky,
Raining stars, on the passers by,
While the battle rages, on underground,
The innocent dying, without a sound.
The cries of heaven, the screams in hell,
That no one hears, down in this well,
The terrible beauty, the open wound,
The innocent babies, in open tombs.
For all to see, for all to hear,
The blind man's painting, the deaf man's ear.
The birds are falling, the fishes drowned,
What once was up, has now become down,
The tender and loving, an empty shell,
The gross and the ugly, now the rallying bell.
The signs are here, for all to see,
Titanic sinking, on a blood red sea.
More poems at http://labyrinthoflies.com
The best kind of true stories are those unwritten.
Time after time, there are people who tend to rely on books to tell truth.
These individuals should be able to take a persons’ word for it.
However, it doesn’t work that way.
The reason is there have been lies that have been told and spread by word of mouth which is why many lives are torn between the realm of the truth when it’s been spoken rather than written.
But, even then ones’ words or the pages of a book can be false.
So, it really shouldn’t matter if ones’ mind escapes into the fantasy or reality world.
The main point is, the decision relies on the readers and hearers.
Whether, to believe what the truth is.
In the end, what matters is the proof that truths are really what some things are in life. Will people ever really decide what is true or false?
He’s a married man who lost his job,
During a depressed economic time;
Willing to do laborious work around your house -
Any kind of odd job he can find.
The kind of things a husband normally would do,
For women who lived without a man;
He could come over and take care of them,
Doing anything that he possibly can.
He could lift heavy boxes or mend a broken fence;
Cut your grass or even take you to a dance;
His wife even said she would look the other way
If you want other husbandly duties and are willing to pay.
He would do his job well then he wouldn’t hang around;
The best thing going all the single ladies found.
By word of mouth recommendations were spread;
Better than in his last job he kept his family fed.
Married women even had jobs for him to do,
When their husbands were travelling for a night or two;
His calendar fills fast so call now if you want him,
He’ll do what he can to try to fit you in.
He’s a married man who lost his job,
During a depressed economic time;
Willing to do laborious work around your house -
Any kind of odd job he can find.
I'd like to have a baby boy that looks like me,
Talks and has motivation just like me.
Plus I'd know his smile would be like my smile,
He's look just like me when I was a child.
I wish I had a son that would call me pop,
He'll be ticklish just like me and laugh none stop.
I wish I had a baby boy, baby boy, baby boy,
One day my prayers will give me a baby boy.
I'd love to have a baby girl that's quiet like me,
But still stands out by word of mouth like me.
Plus I know her eyes would be like my eyes,
She'd be protected by me and also the Most High.
I wish I had a daughter that carried my last name.
She's love cartoons like me, nothing would change.
I wish I had a baby girl, baby girl, baby girl,
One day my prayers will give me a baby girl.
SOMEHOW, ONE SUMMER, SOMEONE SOMEWHERE IN SOME WAY SUMMED IT UP
Somehow they work it out and get into bed
Somehow they’d both rather make love instead
Instead of fussing about things that matter not in the long run
Somehow they work it out and the fighting is done
No one really understands how they do what they do
It may simply be the dove and his lifetime mate as they coo
Everyone marvels at the magnanimous virtue of each
Until, once again, they start firing and both run into the breach
He did this to her and she did that to him as they bickered back and forth
And they both knew with surety that one should go south, the other one north
Give them enough time to consider their options at hand
And the next thing they’ll do will be something no one will understand
Doves mate for life or so I’ve been told by word of mouth
And neither lover really wanted to head north or south
But divisions and diverse dreams un-fulfilled had caused a rift
Yet they both remember each other’s embrace and how making love was granted as
a gift
They decided to part as no longer partners would be the prudent plan
A winsome woman woefully in love with a wandering man
Two years later they met accidentally by the shore as their toes sifted through the
sand
Lo and behold today they’re once again together and that’s another thing no one
can understand
© 2011...Phreepoetry ~free cee!~