Best Caliri Poems
Candies, Christmas songs and presents
Held me one time in their thrall.
Reunions, however, had true Christmas essence
In that childhood I recall
So fondly, but nowadays it seems
Too many folks I used to know have
Moved on or passed away. My dreams
Are not the same, but family
Still rules in this happiest of holidays for me!
for the What Does Christmas Mean to You Contest of Matt Caliri
After a long work day I come home to a long warm shower. It was getting late into
evening hours. I sat down in my favorite black leather chair. Not knowing I was in for a big
scare. I rolled a joint and sat back fully reclined. I was getting high out of my mind.
As I was enjoying my weed, I almost choked because a voice spoke beneath me! I
jumped up and listened to my chair spit profanity. I wondered if I was loosing my sanity.
My lazyboy said, "Don't be scared, sit down and talk to me!"
I seriously thought I was dreaming. Like an out-of-body experience waking up
screaming. No this is real, very real. I just knew my chair was about to do a cartwheel!
"No need looking around wearing a frown, you been sitting down on me for years; so
have no fear. No it's not the weed, you're seeing clearly, so sit down and listen to me."
I sat down in utter shock, resting my buttocks. As my chair began to explain.
"No Jimmy you're not going insane, but I feel you're causing me harm. I have burns,
scratches, now dust all along my arms. I'm left with a permanant frown. I desperately need
a rub down. I don't wanna be mean, but get some disinfectant and clean. The way I'm living
is obscene!"
No more explanations were needed. So after a good wipe down it was obvious I had
succeeded. My lazyboy's black leather had a nice shine. Now I wanted to rest my spine.
"Ah I feel so much better. Now I can go back into a deep sleep. You can go back
enjoying your weed or nicotine. Just remember my hygiene, and from time to time give me
a clean - Thank you."
I could have sworn my lazyboy gave me a wink. I shook my head, tomorrow I would
go see a shrink!
For Matt Caliri contest "Spea Chair! Speak!
Behind the rough and gruff facade,
amongst the sternness and the pride.
Along with calloused hands and the scars
A little boy still resides.
in spite of responsibilities,
the hard days, daily grind.
There within a man full grown,
that little boy still hides.
In the crooked grin, stuck out chin,
mischievous twinkle of the eyes.
Crazy antics, chances taken,
a little boy joy rides.
Eat one more cookie before dinner,
spend all weekend, playing outside.
Put off mowing the lawn one more day,
that little boy decides.
Work extra hours to pay the bills,
don't let that "Honey do" list slide.
Do anything to see me smile,
His little boy is justified.
For the contest; Anything
Sponsored by Matt Caliri
My three-year-old put his hand on his chin
like he was mulling over something troubling
I said, "Son, look at this place; what a mess!"
“But, Papa,” he moaned, “I pway wifh these!”
His room was cluttered from wall to wall--
books and crayons, even an old football,
an old sippy cup, its contents long dried up,
cars, trucks strewn about from a huge pileup,
game pieces and his Christmas roller skates,
and things I’d long forgotten he even owned.
“Straighten it up, now!” I commanded.
He began to pout. “It’s myyyy wooom, Papa.”
Stifling a tear of my own, I nodded, agreeing,
“But YOUR room is in MY house,” I explained.
When I stepped out and closed the door,
I heard stuff being tossed hither and yon,
So, I stood there for a good long while, and,
this is what I heard: “Otay, I queen up my woom,
but next year for Quissmas....” then, loudly,
“I WANT A HOUSE OF MY OWN, OTAY!”
Loud enough for him to hear, I replied,
“SO, WHEN NEXT CHRISTMAS COMES, SON,
I’LL SEE WHAT I CAN DO!”
Submitted to "2022 Marathon Mile No. 12" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
August 12, 2022
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Submitted to "'Funny Memories'" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Natasha L Scragg
January 16, 2022
Written 3/24/2021 (edited slightly 3/27/2021)
Submitted to: "Look At This Place!" Contest
Sponsored by Matt Caliri
BRONZE WINNER
"Anything Children" Contest - All Poetry
September 3, 2021
Good morning ladies and gentlemen,
I'm just looking out my door.
It has been raining through the night,
Looks like we'll get some more.
But don't worry all you gardeners,
The sun will be out soon.
Just as quick as this snow melts,
Your flowers will start to bloom.
The wind will blow away the leaves,
So you can cut your grass.
I am your local weatherman,
A right pain in the ass.
11/march/2022
You're a weather forecaster poetry contest
Sponsored by
Matt caliri
That’s not my elephant you see
right there in the garden.
Mine is in the prison
where he’s waiting for a pardon.
That one in the garden
is a charming one named Ella.
Mine just steals spaghetti off my plate;
Obnoxious fella!
Second graders like to come
watch Ella spray the roses.
At MY elephant those kids
just simply thumbed their noses.
Ella waters all the flowers,
helping out our town.
George (that’s mine), behind cell bars,
just sits and wears a frown.
But he’s been attending
inmates’ classes -Monday nights.
And his teacher taught him
all about the Bill of Rights.
He’s learned that his Miranda Rights
were overlooked, and so. . .
he made me find a lawyer
and I found one in the know!
So my unruly elephant
is getting out real soon.
A female has been writing him.
He’s way over the moon!
His lady likes to spray.
He told me, “Carry an umbrella
when you walk me down the aisle
with my charming bride named Ella.”
LOST in the "That's Not My Elephant" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Matt Caliri
Viciously, infernally incredibly hot, is its dominance
Excitedly referred to as ‘Women come from Venus”,
Naturally, Roman Goddess of beauty and love, ingenious,
Unsure of falling in love with Venus, no water I fear,
Seduced by folklore, don’t become a foolish Pioneer!
Contest Info : "planet"
Sponsor: Matt Caliri
Dated 28th May 2021
Blackberry Memoir
Blackberries, round and glossy,
Always invite me to return
To dusty country summer afternoons
When languid waves of mirages
Puddle into shimmering hiatus.
From the gently swaying hammock
I hear the rattle of berry pails
To see my grandmother, in her straw hat,
Smile an invitation - come with her
Into the wild blackberry patch.
Like garter snakes that hide in the thorny brambles
Tangled canes slither across the sandy path
No perfect rows only prickly trailing briars
That soar from the heart of the thicket
In arching limbs to touch on summer skies.
Like raven tresses the blackberry fruit glistens -
Capturing sweetness from the glowing sun -
Purple stained fingers release the ripeness
Then hear it plunk in the berry bucket -
Delicious as raindrops in a summer storm.
Warm evening settles in contented sighs
Watching moonlight creep through tangled vines
When juicy blackberry pie warm from the oven
Arrives on clear plates with salivating praise
Topped with ice cream dripping down the sides.
When autumn strips the jumbled canes
To lie barren beneath the winter sun
My grandmother’s blackberry jam journeys
In reveries of summer days to come
When simple berry picking untangles life.
8-2-22
Contest: Your Thoughts on Blackberries
Sponsor: Matt Caliri
Soulless Windows
On the rain wet pavement I stand
The cold memory chills my heart
In the third floor window no glass
Just soulless boarded grey eyes
No laughter reverberate the walls
or children’s chatter to lighten air
disturbing unknown neighbours
The scent of your love lingers on
interwoven with cloying sad decay
Walls remain but you are long gone
to a new life somewhere far away
not reachable to my inner self
That you are lost makes me bitter
but I understand why you had to go
Why did you not take my memories
that force me unbidden to return
to this cold rain splattered street
You are still in our empty apartment
1st in Contest Empty Apartment
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
Daddy look at this place
Mommy said it’s a disgrace
cos nothing’s in the right place
the floor’s an obstacle race
and my best book on space
isn’t in the book case
BUT my kid sister Grace
is lurking on the staircase
she’s got a grin on her face -
That smile I’d like to erase!
Daddy I can only assume
she’s been in my bedroom
As she can now reach the door
Daddy I’ve warned her before
One day there’s gonna be war!
Daddy just hear my plea
Please please give me a key
Then I can lock my sister out
And then mommy won’t shout…
At me!
Look At This Place! Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Matt Caliri
04/12/21
Children, our most treasured wealth shouldn’t grow maimed
In joyful living and the art of life, they need to be groomed
At a young age when they are flexible and pliable
A mother’s gentle guidance will help them not to stumble
I feel I should extend my guiding hand to teach
How to live happy and attain the stature they should reach
I would teach my children a dozen and more values
To be fair and just in all they do and shine in life like jewels
I insist, from the right path they should never waver
Also, to speak out their mind without fear or favor
They should learn to love their body with all its flaws
Keeping fit, but knowing it is internal beauty that glows
Train them to ensure personal hygiene, keep things tidy
Follow a system, be punctual and in decisions, be steady
Inculcate in them a love for their parents, siblings, and the family
Treating all men with respect and love, facing criticism calmly
Make them diligent in their study, dutiful and punctilious
Braving life with its ups and downs, springing back with resilience
Train them to accept that life offers a mixed pack of joy and grief
And hardly there is time to waste in lamentation, as life is brief
Train them to be vigilant not to fall in traps set by predators
As, in our world, there are masked assassins and imposters
Above all, make them love God, giving the reins of life to His hands
Knowing things are never in man’s control, but everything works as He plans
Feb.14.2023
12 Things You’d Teach Your Child
Sponsor- Matt Caliri
I had a dream that I was the President of the USA and this
is what I would do to make my country strong again. . .
Get every single citizen vaccinated for Covid 19 and variants
Work with advisors on ways to open up the economy
Implement a plan to help citizen find jobs, shelter and food
Work with Border Authorities to open up the borders
For sure make the "Dreamers" USA citizens
Release Mexican children held in cages and unite with family
Work to achieve Climate Change with advisors and scientist
Form a plan to reduce pollution in the rivers, lakes and oceans
Find ways to help endangered species and loss of habitat
Put a stop to import of trophy hunter kills from other countries
Work to create a friendly relations with Canada and Mexico
Respect the rights and treaties of the native Indians
Put into action an end to police brutality with zero tolerance
Work on how to end racial prejudice for all races and religions
Create a great health care plan for all citizens
Improve relations with allies and all countries of the world
Work on gun reforms making ownership more restrictive
Make prison sentences have no option for parole or pardons
Show compassion in times of national or world tragedy
Do everything in my power to make USA strong
______________________
February 10, 2021
Poetry/List/If I Were
Copyright Protected, ID 02-1327-582-10
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, If I Was President
sponsor, Matt Caliri, Judged 03/19/2021
Third Place
This new year I feel the tensions of taxes due
While I resolve to complete them in time as
Every year I procrastinate until the deadline is here.
Now as this new decade begins I feel inspired
To clean my clothes closets of clothes I never wear
Yet can’t bear to part with though I am thinner now.
Time has its wicked way of flying by so quickly and
We are forced to face our future head on, to
Evaluate our endeavors, accepting changes that
Never cease to challenge us and keep us growing as my
Tapestry of life lies before me I want to capture it in a book.
Yes, I resolve making this a special year to realize my dreams.
1-23-20
Resolutions Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
Please read the rules above. Obey,
Lest you receive a quick “NA.”
So many fail to read my rules,
So many fail to heed them. Fools!
There’s quite a few, yes, I agree,
Take note of number fifty-three,
Which warns you must use perfect rhymes,
Imperfect ones are common crimes.
Instances of this are ample,
Let me give you an example,
By some guy, let’s call him “Blake,”
Two violations for heavens sake!:
“Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?"
Perhaps ‘twas written by a child,
Whose scribbles with a pen were wild.
Who dares rhyme “eye” with “symmetry?”
This poet barks up a wrong tree.
And also violates Rule Eight,
Good spelling is my main mandate.
“Tyger?” Really!? Sounds precocious,
But the spelling is atrocious!
I found another case just recently,
A poem that starts out quite decently,
Then ignores my main decrees,
The errors seem to come in threes:
“…Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
‘Surely,’ said I, ‘surely that is something at my window lattice,
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore …”
That’s three bad rhymes, all in a row,
Although it seems to have good flow,
(Suggest you study E. A. Poe),
And syllable counts? Inconsistent!
See Rule Ten, I am insistent.
Imagery superb? Yes, granted,
But who rhymes “haunted” with “enchanted?”
Such rhyming crimes are then repeated,
If only they could be deleted:
“...Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore ..."
Could these mistakes I just ignore?
“NA,” I say. Quoth: Nevermore!
Submitted February 29, 2024
Overly Particular Judges Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
Judged: "NA"
The Borg have nothing on the bees;
they act as a collective mind.
Instead of dominating worlds,
They leave a better place behind.
A bee’s life, rather short and hard
unless it happens you’re the Queen.
Twenty-five hundred eggs a day
leaves little time to primp and preen.
The gals do all the work, of course;
the morning route is fifty flowers.
Two hundred beats produce that buzz.
They travel fifteen miles per hour.
Collectively, when added up,
a hive will travel pretty far:
A spin or two around the world
to make a single honey jar.
They’re really not the violent sort;
a gal who stings thereafter dies.
A different type of stinger’s found
among the drone sex worker guys.
Their honey is the only food
you’d need to keep yourself alive.
So cut back on the chemicals
and make a world where they can thrive.
Blessed is this honey bee;
her labor gives us all our fruit.
No other living thing their prey;
oh, that we’d learn to follow suit!
—————
for the Bee Creative Poetry Contest
sponsored by Matt Caliri
written on 05/28/2022