Best Chevron Poems
Encamped in the local IHOP patio
Doing reconnaissance on the butter pecan syrup
I discern its malicious, aggressive intentions:
To march defiantly down Mt. Stack
And wage a ruthless attack on
Defenseless over-easy eggs
Acting quickly, I wield my fork
Digging trenches in my pancakes
I flank the enemy, staving off
This unprovoked act of aggression
Victory!
Only in that moment do I lift my eyes and notice
A brood of young sparrows
heralding their hunger
The chevron of hang-gliding geese silently
sailing to destinations unknown
Majestic Monarchs flitting
stoically southward
And rival suitors:
An iridescent hummingbird and an industrious bee
Romantically pursuing myrtle blossoms
The canopy of cerulean blue
And all the life within its realm
Resolves my thoughts from war to peace
Note to self:
Don’t forget to look up
You have grown to be such a man
yet, I cannot help but see the boy in you
you are my Son, who wears many uniforms
as your father, I cannot help but be Proud,
I see you march in the Orange and Black
your new horn, the one you have polished to a glow
every step you take, Orchestrated to perfection
with every note played, My pride, Crescendo
Then, you have worked hard, and Matured
a letter arrives, Office of the Governor, the Man himself
an invitation, Ambassadorship, a Musical one
Travel Europe, Summer next, Seven Countries
A Father, busting with pride, Why? I'll tell you!
Because, " Your Easy to be Proud of"
Yet as proud as I am, there is this other Uniform
the one you wear with Honor, Duty, Love of Country
the one with Medals, Braids and Epaulets
the one with a special pin, a hometown pin
Five Stars Golden, enveloped by Black and Orange
Tenne' a Chevron, a Chief, a Ring of Life
of the First Argent, A Scroll in Black
an inscription, " Classis Adhaereo Adstringo"
A Motto, In Latin, ascribed by the Navy
for Five hometown boys Lost in War
of how they lived and died " We Stick Together"
Albert,Francis,George,Joseph and Madison Sullivan
In that Uniform, I see the Man, not the boy
I cannot help but be caught, in solemn thought
This Man, with Anapolis in sight and mind
on this, the Eve of the 9/11 tragedy and War
That solemn thought reverts to Sacrifice
the Sullivan's sacrificed,9/11 over 3000 sacrificed
all did so,willingly or not, for Country, for God
I think you have foreseen Your Destiny, Your own
Josh, whatever Uniform you decide to wear,
whatever path, you may choose to walk
I'll always Love you, Be there for and with you
and be So Very Proud of You, Why? Because!
You're Easy to be Proud of!
With all my Love.....Dad
Copyright 2011 Richard Pickett
White chevron squadrons usher in spring
With squawking and honking and flapping of wings.
Their return brings a weekend to revel in fun.
The locals all love it, and hundreds more come!
But the poor migrant snow goose must be sorely perplexed;
Revered on one weekend, then slaughtered the next!
On a cool, crisp mid-October morning,
the sweetness of apples flavors the air.
And a chevron of geese honk their warning
that Winter is coming; stay if you dare.
I loved picking apples, but I was small
and only picked those I could reach by hand.
I didn't like using ladders; after all,
the orchard was my childhood wonderland.
Dad had a burlap bag rigged to my back
that allowed both of my hands to be free.
I'd put as many apples in my sack
as possible, wobbling from tree to tree.
I was told that apples were nutritious,
and yet, they're oh-so-sweet and delicious.
A honking chevron
Pressed against November skies,
Followed by the snow
C7
No bigger than a drop of blood on a finger
pricked by a thorn, it marches along
the stem of a rosebush; a Grenadier guard
in its crimson uniform, with seven spots exactly
splashed across its coat. Not a random
flick of a paintbrush, but like a soldier’s
chevron; its rank, its classification.
It rises ready to do battle with the greenfly
that hide amongst soft petals until
confronted with my outstretched fingers
onto which it clambers. I hold it aloft
and blow a soft breath across its tiny body.
Its wings fan open and like a fire-rescue helicopter,
it flies away home.
Who the hell rings bells anymore
whether in a Capitalist society, a Theocracy, an Oligarchy,
or a Dictatorship
the DING has sure been taken out of the
rama dama ding dong
No ones home, the juries out
G-d is dead?
Shell, Chevron and Texaco
have reduced the life expectancy of people in the Niger delta
to 50 years ......
The Oil companies are fracking the hell
out of the water table ....from here to Canada and back
and guess what..then they can up the price of
BOTH oil and FRESH? water??
Who are the bell ringers [Ask Jessica Ernst how the water is in her well?]
Where are the bell ringers [hmmm, Canada?]
[Strangled in the nooses of corrupt governments]
DO say! Do doubt! Do think....
Take a whistle blower home for dinner!
Blinded by the stars [lulled into limbo by Flamingo dancers]
living vicariously ..voyeurs
peeping through the key holes of ****-holes
Pull yourselves UP..OUT, declare COMMIT
re-remember what it means
to have YOUR WORD mean something
re-remember what it means to be a friend.
Free yourself, for no one else will.
Fallacies RING true to the disempowered
there DONGs removed, their clappers plucked
Sex, drugs and Rock and Roll was the mantra
of MY age, and HELL NO I WON'T GO
our calling card.
*Thank you to my muse and friend Rueben O.
for inciting this ancient ding-dong :)
Please read his excellent write [Didn't Don't]
A crystal drop on the child face
who left the shack where mum would hide.
Alone in the streets of guns and race,
nowhere to go amidst the smog of pride.
The dust of a land with thorns and sun,
along the routes to chase the kites.
The thunder tone of a tank and gun,
no milk no hug but hunger bites.
Go fast, go fast the soldiers come!
No joy, no play in their mental array.
Your age, you pale, the bush as home
to hide from those who’ll make you prey.
And when the darkness veils your sorrow eyes,
the trees will move and the shadow will fright.
The village has stars from nauseating fires,
a woman and her child forever immobile and tight.
Your dream of a milk and of a lullaby
soon red of fire and of greed for a peace.
A butterfly on your hand to dry
the tears of dread and the hug of a disease.
A thud in your heart as a van approaches,
your friends are there captive and beaten.
The lion got them as it fiercely encroaches,
the chevron commands to seize and to listen.
Your feet to fly from the lion’s cage,
he puts guns in hands of tremulous leaves.
Your glance on the land of your early age,
your friends now transformed in life thieves.
An when the glance melts into dreams,
there they come the roaring lions.
The beasts and their breed to chase you along streams,
to bring your limbs into deadly riots.
Hiding is now avoiding the open meadows,
taking your life away from guns and slaughter.
A frighten child in the forest shadows,
when the silence is broken by a shot and a order.
Life has gone. It has gone forever,
a bullet has trespassed your chest and your bones.
“Mum please take me! Take me in the Heaven!
To hear from your mouth your heavenly tones”.
This is the Cannabis song,
they've turned something good.
made is seem wrong,
It's illegal why?
Come on politics,
don't be shy
So many uses for this wonder drug,
Wonderful for clothing and sometimes rugs,
Fords model T car was built from hemp- the very best,
Mayflower sails were too they passed the test,
1619 Jamestown settlers had to grow the crop,
It's absorbent fibers make the best cleaning mop.
clothing more solid and sturdy,
Eco-friendly for the fish and birdies,
replenishes soil with nutrients it once dropped,
known as the most efficient rotational crop,
artists for many years used the oil as paint,
use hemp money to pay for that date,
hemp oil could end the gas crisis,
Piss off Shell, Chevron, they don't like surprises,
Lets not forget the physical effects,
One of the best ways to let your body rest,
ointments for sore muscles and lotions for skin,
once it's ingested, ooh feels like a wonderful sin,
The many Cannabinoids help with cancer,
better than chemo not guaranteed to end the disaster,
Certain strains provide mellow for those with epilepsy,
imagine being the kid who just cant sleep,
take a dose once or twice a day,
they now see the sun's shiny rays,
Cant leave out the repair of brain cells,
the ones that alcohol beats up then bails
Why is it illegal you ask?
Politics wear the greatest masks,
Constantly paid off by corporate interests,
Wanted monopolies to bring them pocket book bliss,
Pharmaceuticals, DuPont, Randal Hearst, now Alcohol,
Couldn't stand the competition this “drug” brings at all,
To ensure the public wouldn't be informed,
Made GOV medical testing illegal and provided propaganda ****
So many other details,
but this must end sometime.
For some great information on cannabis
visit the http://NORML.org website
Olga Scheps embodies Chopin's Piano Concerto n° 1
For a pianist who ponders her prey
The taming arms-length erect posture
The torso and pulsating violin back encased in red-rich ornate coarse wrap
Nape muscles strung by swaying grace-groomed arms branched aloft
Pursed lips part for allegro romp
Tensile gushed groin screaming on seat-edge flailing fingers
Averse to sleek chord whale case under knee-cap check
Who is the Master of the indomptable Mistress
Does the script express and extend the actress's role
Or trundled chords liberate hidden Polish voices yearning
Cabriole on prairie pastures
The yearling kicking high on the keyboard
Startling the chevron-sinewed munching herd
Light lambs and kids throwing frolicking fits
Round and round the heifer humping high down the meadow
Stung to the quick half-recurring bars of the theme
The feline fauve now appeased by soft churning cuddles
Pages of screwed signals hung on lined sign-posts
Roused by nut-cracker knuckles
Flush out repartee collective timbre strings
Doused by the sweet-sweating triumphal orgiastic release
The wilful eyes of the hungry panther
Turn soft and pander to the prey
Is this when the poised moment of the composed kill
Misses the mark just once
The sleek black whale bears its twinkling teeth
in hollow rage
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2018
The „7” Wonders
of the (Ancient) World
Condensing
the Past
Creating
a new challenge
To dial an
“8”-chevron address
For a lucky Chinese
wormhole time travel
The August Lion
By: J. Philip Harris
In the area of the afternoon, right before the stars
Where the little gray strands spread out among the coffee roots
Through the looking glass
Beyond the esotropic eyes
In the land of the chevron lane and the laughter of the silly school boy
In the heart of a sawbones' hands
Beyond the reaches of the retentive shadows
Where the hiccups of life have sought to crush his spirit
In the echoes of his father’s soul
Through the reflection of his mother’s love
Like a break-loose dance of life’s unbinding freedom to feel and to breathe.
Here in the whisper
Hear the gentle purrs thrown out into the void
Like diamond lights in the dark matter
Here, the hero.
Hear the August Lion.
It Almost Makes Me Want a Nissan Leaf
By Elton Camp
A car that has no way it can run on gas
For the moment, I feel that I must pass
For driving around near home it’s fine
But that type can’t now become mine
If only there were better ways to recharge
We could take trips both small and large
Now I am afraid that’d be out and about
And the battery’s charge would run out
Yet, how wonderful it would seem to me
Of filling stations and attendants to be free
When I was young, they filled up the tank
But now many are both rude and a crank
Receipt printer’s out of paper half the time
Asking inside is often treated like a crime
Wouldn’t be necessary if they’d do their job
But many an attendant is just a lazy slob
They are making a personal call on the phone
And make it obvious they wish you were gone
Both their breath and clothes smell like smoke
It’s enough to make anyone cough and choke
It would be just fine to me if there came the day
When we propel our cars in some better way
And the attendants could hunt another job
Where they want to hire a lazy, fussy slob
(All attendants aren’t like this, but many in our area are, especially Chevron.)
I get a phone call
South I must drive
Surgery for an elder
Six hours I strive
Phone is ringing again
I'm heading North within a flash
Sister is in trouble
Eleven hours on my a--
Trying to get home
Phone rings again
Orchard needs watering
Six hours East I begin
My son needs to move
Head South one more time
Eight hours of desert
Elders on my mind
I hear a familiar ring
Five hours North-West before I'm too late
My elders heart may reach
God's fate
Daughter calls
Her truck broke down
Six hours East
I'm on a Merry-Go-Round
I'm beginning to wonder
If my job is still there
My a-- is sore
But my family is my primary care
Here it is again
A familiar ringtone
You'll fall off your chair
If my Chevron card you owned!
Galleries of life, ignorant and tough,
Sometimes as sandarac’s incense, usually morose.
I erase bluntness that grew a cravat around my heart,
Abominable inheritance riveted into the soul of farce,
But there is nothing more valued in life than experience,
And there is a bag-full of it in every one of us.
No remorse or isolation, nor any type of solitude can adjust
The solemn desertion that he had to live through.
I am a repeat stranger of sleepless nights,
Lord of rage and hope deposited in a vending machine,
Even during this epistolary hour as a rusty apparatus,
I tick away the time of my life with a slackened pace,
I bore pain, and challenge the horizons where hope seeps
Into the shadows of silence. ---- And it drags its tails,
And it downs the trust that was instilled into the twig since its birth.
The lucent moment of the very first fresh breath ever taken,
During the opulence of love, ---- I beside him.
And he?? He bears the name of a god, in the name and in the spirit,
Dragon-heart-in-a-boy knocking down the stacks of wonder,
In awe one is to marvel his persistence, in awe I remained.
And there is the black sky that roasts my visions,
As the quiet weeping, from the fringes of a moral conduct,
Fastened, with a shawl around the neck that blurs the boundaries,
Of the conflagration as the labyrinth of thought brings to
The verisimilar life-tales, one unintentionally, creates along the way.
And there is the ground-zero widow, the dead bride, an apparition
From a different universe that stands atop a pyramid seemingly vincible
Yet untouchable, yet invisible, yet as vocal as bell in a chevron wave,
When I think to dare, when I am happy, and when I am cross as a bear.