Best Chauffeurs Poems
When I was young my mom, like most women, donned a hat when she went out.
Dad said it added to her beauty…of this I had no doubt.
My mom had a collection of hats she stored in boxes under her bed.
So many different kinds of bonnets that sat atop her head.
Moms of today are different they go out with their heads bare
but one thing they share with Moms of the past are the many hats they wear.
If we tried to count the hats they don...we couldn’t...they go on indefinitely
Perhaps one way to approach it...is alphabetically.
Moms are:
Accountants
Babysitters
Chauffeurs...they do what
Doctors and
Electricians do…they are
Farmers
Governors
Housekeepers, and
Ice cream makers too…they are
Janitors
Kitchen and
Laundry workers, and
Maids who clean the floor…they are
Nurses
Optometrists,
Painters
Quality control inspectors and furthermore they are
Receptionists
Seamstresses and
Teachers…they can
Upholster that sofa or that chair…they are
Valets
Washroom Attendants and
X-Ray technicians…ready anytime and anywhere…they are
Yard managers and every Mom I know is also a keeper of the
Zoo
That’s 26 different hats they wear…
26 different jobs that all Moms do.
Moms are the original and still the best multi-taskers the world has ever met.
In fact, I didn’t run out of hats for them...I ran out of alphabet!
I guess it’s a good thing each job doesn’t have a hat that sits atop Moms head
for there wouldn’t be enough room to store the boxes under their beds.
They are visionaries, they are cheerleaders, so much of our existence they adorn
yet they had no experience as a mother until the day when we were born.
Because it was at that miraculous moment, despite their fearfulness and qualms
when they smiled as they looked at us and realized……’I’m a Mom.’
For that is the hat that encompasses the rest...the hat we call motherhood
and I must admit, from where I stand
Moms…you make that hat look good.
So Moms, here’s to a wonderful Mother’s Day as this poem bids you all adieu
For all the many hats you wear…
our hats are off to you.
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY
There’s a house out across the creek,
just an old rundown two-room shack.
Each time I drive out past it now,
those memories come flooding back.
It’s the house that held my childhood,
where all fifteen of us were raised.
A loving piece of treasured youth,
only a pile of sticks these days.
It was a different story,
back fifty years or so in time.
A hillbilly man and his spouse,
lived happily there in their prime.
They would fill your empty stomach,
though they could barely feed their own.
They had never met a stranger,
any were welcome in their home.
Come warm your body by their fire,
talk and sing ‘til your head was clear.
Warm your soul with a little wine,
warm your heart with friendships held dear.
Many people I did not know,
they went in and out of that door.
When it came time to leave they knew,
that kindness is worth living for.
That shack is barely standing now,
down that dirt path just off the road.
But to us it was a mansion,
memories more precious than gold.
We did not have maids or chauffeurs,
we were living a simple life.
Each other’s love was all we need,
that hillbilly boy and his wife.
That hillbilly boy and his wife,
they showed us the meaning of life.
Love and hope are all you need,
if you have that then you’ll succeed.
Her single bouquet
of white roses
slowly expire,
in a cheap crystal vase,
atop a dust-laden
bookshelf.
Petals crying
a lover’s lament
are overheard by
out-patients of Eros
and other
nameless receivers.
She scrapes
her flushed face
against the claws
of a stuccoed wall.
Hidden cutlery
shares space
with buried photographs.
Scores of broken nails
and bleached hair follicles
float so neatly
in rusty brass tureens
filled with tears
of disgust.
Cursing pervades
heavy black corners,
piercing ozone canvas –
breaking codes
of respected silence
and calm.
Desirable wishes
remain empty
and pitifully abandoned;
a Levolor drawn
across the sun’s eyes.
She yelps
a mournful vendetta
against an elusive fate
and a cheated Genesis.
A regurgitated revenge -
a counter play towards
many things…
Inclement weather
and rain-slicked lanes
speeding Hummers
and Hennessey -
chauffeurs and Chivas -
as a limousine bids farewell
to a church filled with ecstatic
onlookers.
whilst at kettle pond lake casino
wouldn't you know it started to snow
over the hill we slide
crashing limousine ride
the chauffeurs driving really did blow
2/10/18
this is for
kettle pond lake contest
gl all
Spring heralds a new beginning
She fosters a rebirth,
Gloom is replaced with mirth,
Newness is obvious as the morning.
Many await her entrance,
There’s a lavish display of colours,
Beauty pervades in its symmetry and contours,
Awakening is seen from a distance.
Withered boughs bloom,
Nature enlarges its room,
Spring chauffeurs a time of refreshing,
She aids a replenishing.
Butterflies take flight with colourful wings,
Basking in the joy that spring brings,
She sculpts new ways,
She's a harbinger of happy days.
March 1, 2023.
In Bloom Poetry Contest,
Joseph May.
I remember my mom having a collection of hats she stored under her bed.
For any occasion that could arise…she had a hat to set atop her head.
Moms of today are different…often they go out with their heads bare
because of this we don’t often realize…all the hats they wear.
If we tried to count all their hats...we can’t…for the list goes on indefinitely
perhaps one way to approach it...would be alphabetically.
Moms are Accountants, Babysitters, Chauffeurs...They do what Doctors, and Electricians do
They are Farmers, Governors, Housekeepers, and Ice cream vendors too.
They are Janitors, Kitchen and Laundry workers, and Maids who clean the floor.
They are Nurses, Optometrists, Painters, Quality control inspectors…there’s more.
They are Receptionists, Seamstresses, Teachers…Umpires…and not always soft spoken…they are Valets, Wardens, X-Ray technicians who can tell if that bone is broken.
They are Youth counselors and every Mom I know is a keeper of the Zoo
If you’re keeping track that’s 26 different hats...26 different jobs that all Moms do.
Moms are the original and still the best multitaskers the world has ever met.
In fact, I didn’t run out of hats for them...I ran out of alphabet.
I guess it’s a good thing each job doesn’t have a hat that sits atop Moms head
for there wouldn’t be enough room to store them in boxes beneath their beds.
They are visionaries, they are cheerleaders, so much of our existence they adorn
yet they had no experience being a mom until their first child was born.
For it was at that miraculous moment in a panic mixed with calm
when the doctor handed them their baby and said, “Congratulations…you’re a Mom!”
And to any Mom who might not have given birth…might not have been there from the start…here’s to all the Mom hats you’ve worn once you opened up your heart.
Do you remember that miraculous feeling…with a mixture of panic and calm…
whether you chose the moment…or the moment chose you…
when you became a Mom?
And therein lies the hat that encompasses all the rest...the hat called motherhood
and to all you Moms out there…I must admit…you make that hat look good.
So to all the Moms everywhere,
here’s wishing you a wonderful Mother’s Day…for all the things you do…
for all the many hats you wear…
our hats are off to you.
Talking to trees
In nature's bliss
Spring holds sway
Decongesting nature's way
Feeble boughs bloom
Hope finds a room
There’s a resurgence
And gloom’s divergence
Exotic fragrance fills the air
Butterflies come out of their lair
There’s a lavish show of colours
In shades, symmetry and contours
Spring harbingers a rebirth
Dawn chauffeurs mirth
Nature is in good times
Trees swirl in pleasant rhymes
May 16, 2023,
Couplet Poetry Poetry Contest,
Sotto Poet.
Humans are like magnets,
There are links between us,
Through our minds, we are connected,
Our minds trestle the bridge between us.
The mind is where the dream starts,
The mind is where the vision is birthed,
It opens the door to reality,
It chauffeurs the visible.
Nature speaks,
Its voice is heard in the tranquil of the mind,
It tells us where the lost can be found,
Its message is received in the stillness of the soul.
There’s a life force around the sun,
There’s a power it bestows,
There's an energy it gives,
The sun is the glory of nature.
April 19, 2023.
Many exit when covered, while others nake’
Some wish to leave, while others hesitate
When the latter comes, the former hides the face
The journey for brave, courage it necessitate’
The journey for combatants, the journey for all
The journey for chauffeurs, the journey for all
The journey for the inadequate, and the rich alike
When the day emanate, the past historical
When the gadgets play, all shall dance
The deaf the dumb, all shall dance
The journey for the adequate, and the rich alike
When the instruments play, all shall dance
The scent of reading,
It pervades our chambers,
The dew of knowledge,
It moisturises our being.
The scent of reading,
It diffuses into a hidden part,
Concealed in our subconscious mind,
Stealthily it comes to the fore when needed.
The scent of reading,
Like the aroma of flowers in spring,
It envelopes us,
We glide in its richness.
The scent of reading,
The luxury of its fragrance,
It chauffeurs through the door of insight,
We're haloed by its light.
The scent of reading,
It gladdens the heart,
We take flight on the wings of knowledge,
We're embellished with stars.
February 9, 2023.
Insufficiency holds sway,
Dawn chauffeurs meagre segments,
In this ambience, the children play,
Anticipating their paltry fragments.
Homes wear a sombre look,
Nothing delightful to cook,
The furniture is worn out and spent,
Dilapidated and bent.
Vacation is too much of a luxury,
Hands are dutiful in domestic drudgery,
Children wear undersized and patched attire,
At nightfall, with these, they retire.
Opulence is seen as an illusion,
A treasure hidden in the deep,
Out of reach until they go to sleep,
Away from the world of seclusion.
March 28, 2023.
Writing Challenge - 'P' Words - Poetry Contest,
Constance La France.
I stand at the bank of the river
where my father used to come,
Twilight brings him here,
He stands and watches,
Lost in the ambience,
Embraced by a presence,
He didn’t bother if I stared at him,
Or if I was engulfed with fear,
It was a refreshing time for him,
He beamed with an unusual light,
Endowed with a rare sight,
He always left inspired,
Armoured for the treasure he aspired.
I stand at the bank of the river
where my father’s feet stood in days gone past,
Where he stood like a mast,
Twilight chauffeurs me here,
I’m eased off the day's travails,
complexities and perplexities,
Hope swallows my unanswered questions,
I’m strengthened for the miles ahead,
Even though gloom still has its bed.
I stand at the bank of the river
where my father was inspired to write,
Where he was motivated to stand and fight,
All that saddled and perplexed,
He sojourned, conquered and returned,
Until the last mile.
I stand at the bank of the river
where my inspiration raptures from the rind,
I’m invigorated to find,
All my heart desires,
All mind aspires.
I stand at the bank of the river
where my midnight brings no fever.
March 20, 2023.
I'm slipping into a world I don’t know,
I'm going in a way that doesn’t show,
I try to weave hope into the maze,
I look for a pathway through the haze.
I open the door to my abode,
A deluge makes an inroad,
I'm in a tumultuous session,
In a world beyond view and comprehension.
I'm a portrait of sombre colours,
My chamber is patterned with contours,
I work to assemble my thoughts,
They are bricks of varied sorts.
Dawn chauffeurs me this way,
Little do I know about it to say,
Its volume is sculpted in obscurity,
Its details coalesce in veiled security.
April 24, 2023,
Writing Challenge - 'W' Words - Poetry Contest,
Constance La France.
Unexplained encounters,
Undulating terrain,
I'm standing in the rain,
Hemmed by downers.
I find myself in a direction,
A way I know nothing about,
A route that's beyond discretion,
It's an everyday bout.
Where are the answers that I seek?
To unravel the mystery in my walk,
To refrain the hands of the enigma's clock,
Disperse the shadow that makes dawn bleak.
Dawn chauffeurs the unexplained,
Within me, these are curtained,
I'm saddled with the unseen,
None of these could be foreseen.
Everything I do not know,
To this, I do not yield,
I only utilize its vast field,
Keeping hope alive as I go.
March 12, 2023.
Writing Challenge - "K" Words - Poetry Contest,
Constance La France.
we were mis - understood for fools.
in fact we had to drop outa high school.
no breakfasts, No lunches,
just brunches.
They made us weak
whenever we speak.
need not peruse the list of winners
we were sinners,
GOD bless our dinners - loosers
we held on to the JESUS piece,
kept our peace, worked out our piece.
Busily,doggedly,Relentlessly,
but not easily.
now we flood the covers of magazines
check em out on the sofas.
We transit in limousines
checkout our chauffeurs.
back in the days they dissed us,
hissed at us
now they missed us,
tease us, wanna kiss us,
JESUS!
#STREETGOSPEL