Best Citing Poems
A Look Back at Eighteen Months Here-The Show is Over
When your poems reside in a shoe,
like mine,
pounding the pavement to nowhere.
The onset of blisters isn't imagined.
Those blisters take roots,
hindering your motivation
to move-
and to continue to write.
It hurts.
Seeing those poems take residence
in pity.
Sans the
comfort of
leather and lace,
shine and sole,
all of which would have been nice.
But all my eyes see are my poems,
tucked away in worn loafers,
unpolished,
unnoticed.
Not exactly eye candy.
But eyesores ...judging by the lack of views, here.
And undoubtedly my shoes made of synthetics
and sneakers
to the purveyors of good poetry
and good shoeshine.
I look down for good reason,
defacto
and stigmatized,
no contest wins,
no poems ever in the top 100 (new) list,
no scent of roses (or views),
nothing.
Nothing.
An abyss of sublimity,
save for the white bird
that chirps
to nobodies ears.
To wit.
For he who signs up for this site
got a handful of mixed emotions,
confetti less tomorrows,
a begotten rah, rah,
a ladle of spiel,
poems published ...
and in my case alone footnote
that I was a member
sans the shoe shine.
I really have to admit,
writing here,
eighteen months now,
has taken its toe.
I have no one to blame but myself.
Kind Regards,
connie pachecho
4/26/2018
The proprietor of the show has decided to call it quits, citing mental health issues here. The posse of black bears got to me. The guises, pretense, and hate towards me eroded my spirit. Tell her she can play with my insanity but not my spirit. To my readers, I really appreciate your patronage during this journey here even though the crops are bare and the barn fronts a blank stare.
The cows fight with the pigs, and bacon went to waste. One thing I take is the seed in me to aspire elsewhere, which I've already planted at HP under the name Logan Robertson. Thanks again. Wish everybody the best.
Constance, my friend, like you, I am a dreamer,
treading on the pathless path of fate
tending to the scars on my soul.
Memories have you looking inward,
writing poems that take my breath away,
lamenting how rainy day blues have levied their toll.
You've shown me the beauty of morning dew,
the surreal, unfathomable reverie
of dreamy places, and had me flying with the birds.
Sometimes it feels like I'm walking on broken glass
or drowning in the deep, deep, blue sea:
when I hear sorrow, like a lover, whisper such sad words.
Citing the beauty in rain and the beauty of dusk,
you've shown me grief is love, with nowhere to go:
and I am one with the spirits in the sky.
Saturated in solitude, there is a dream place.
filled with ebon veins of old thoughts,
where childhood memories oft make you cry.
You are a poet born from grief,
broken into a thousand beautiful pieces;
trusting love will heal the world.
And collecting all the pieces to the puzzle,
you swim against an undercurrent of melancholy,
to find both love and woe in the netherworld.
Shaken, angry and scared is the family that was once three
Each parent accusing the other of murder in the second degree
But just who would set the fire while their only child was inside
Their faces register horror, realizing someone could have died
Watching them from the observation room I'm increasingly intrigued
The yelling finally ceasing as they become understandably fatigued
A troubled marriage led them to live in separate houses for almost a year
The husband citing lack of 'love' and wife stating he drank too much beer
Fire broke out in the mother's house after dad left after visiting son
Family room in flames, out the door mom and boy had to quickly run
Fire department said fire was set deliberately with a bic lighter
Luckily no one was hurt and fire quickly extinguished by a fire fighter
Their son sits alone across the room, withdrawn and very stressed
Each time his parents bicker, he becomes a little more distressed
Drawing pictures on paper of his family smiling in happier times
Of them in house on a hill, hanging from the porch, musical chimes
The house he draws is where he lived up until almost a year ago
His mother moved out the family home with her 8 year old son in tow
It becomes obvious to me that it's the boy who has set the fire
So his family can live in one house, to rewind time is his desire
I enter the interrogation room and say to the boy, "I understand"
"Sometimes things don't always work out the way we have planned"
He whispers, " I'm sorry", as guilty tears of relief roll down his face
The sergeant states, 'case closed', as mom and dad their son embrace
Sponsor ~ Vicky Tsiluma
Contest Name ~ Profiling 101
When Jill was asked to create a “Pie Chart”
She believed her teacher meant a la carte
Using a Lego set
Jill felt her goal was met
When she finished, there was not one spare part
Her project resembled a Ferris Wheel
Huge peach pie in the center of the reel
And her passenger carts
Were scrumptious cherry tarts
But Jill’s effort had an Achilles’ heel
She took care bringing the pie wheel to class
Some oohs and ahs her project did amass
But the wheel in motion
Caused quite a commotion
Pies flew to faces with a forward pass
Kids didn’t mind as they ate the remains
But most of Jill’s friends had custard for brains
A class pie fight ensued
And Miss Bigbutt so shrewd
Gobbled crumbs citing eminent domain
*October 11, 2014
We’re lucky to have a math-whiz kid
And one day this is what he did.
He said we all know about going number two
Now I’ve sorted out the decimals too.
First, there’s the basic, number two
Which chiefly, is going to the loo
Yet there should be a, two-point-one
Which is not flushing when you’re done
Or how about a, two-point-two
That’s when the bowl needs a cleaning, when through
He blushed when citing, two-point-three
Which is when the seat is damp with wee
And nobody forgets old, two-point-four
Which is when you’re scared to open the door.
Our son doesn’t like, two-point-five a lot
As when it takes much longer than you thought
Personally I’m a, two-point-six hater
Which is when you can’t find more toilet paper
My wife says, two-point-seven is worse
As in going again-like you need to rehearse?!
And, two-point-eight is never a breeze
As in squatting amongst the trees.
But the clincher of all is, two-point-nine
Which below is briefly defined
That’s when after flushing
The water keeps gushing
And it never stops
When it reaches the top
Which is bad when alone
But you’re not in your home
And your feet are now wet
Coz there’s no plunger to get
So you search for some towels
But there’s pain in your bowels
You then splash on the floor
Then someone’s at the door
He asks, “What’s the matter?”
As you clutch your bladder
So you call out to the guy
“In a minute”, you lie
As you turn off the water
You then need one more squatter
So you go one more time
But can’t flush down the slime
So out the window you climb
As quietly as a mime
Coz you can’t face this crime
And disperse covered in grime.
Our son hoped we enjoyed the overview
Of the finer points that follow, going number two.
Poem is from 2013
Let me drape upon you a written robe,
beautifully indexed on your tablet.
My! you look divine,
off we go to dine on literary flavours and liquid verse.
A five chapter meal we just published.
This evening with you was a stunning essay read like a swift summary.
Narrating your life’s novel,
I record and archive,
citing the volume of your smile,
punctuating the exclamation of your eyes.
May I undress you with my pen,
printing kisses on your pamphlet lips.
Nonfiction foreplay is the order of the day
with teasing stanzas and touching tomes.
Your skin the clear scroll,
we edit with rhetoric as I explore the fiction of your passage.
The lexicon of your moans, would a fine manuscript make.
This plot you will review then quote.
You descend from that last paragraph,
this memory shelved high in your canon.
My pen has woven for you a silk word blanket;
as you lay on my journal pillow;
wrapping you in the epigraph of my affection.
Just A Simple Man , That Is Me
Just a simple man , that is me
all I want in my life
is for people to just let me be
Make no claim to bright fame
no hero do I declare
a simple man is my name
Have no riches , no shining gold
just honor in my pockets
hopes to live until I grow old
No papers citing my glory or deeds
just living my very simple life
planting loving family seeds
Sunday finds me down on my knees
no hangover from late night partying
instead prayers for help in my pleas
Lord sends answers almost every day
not with emails sent on my computer
just love and blessings sent my way
I asked that simple life be my reward
no massive wealth have I sought
no million dollar limit on my card
Parents taught me right from wrong
how to fall down on bended knee
admit my weakness and sins all along
Just a simple man , that is me
all I want in my life
is for people to just let me be
LYNYRD SKYNYRD .... "Simple Man"
Kelly Deschler
Contest Name, I Love Rock N' Roll
~ David Cassidy ~
Sharing a room with my sister
David was plastered over each and every wall
It's a wonder she'd never got a paper cut or blister
From all the posters she did lovingly install.
David watched me as I fell asleep each night
Smiled at me each morning when I awoke
My sister claimed him hers, citing love at first sight
He would one day be my brother, became our private joke.
When I started dating, in David I would secretly confide
He told me find a good one for "Breaking Up Is Hard To Do"
To "Strengthen My Love" and look far and wide
Stressing that "Love Is All I Ever Needed" to get me through.
Our David from the soup tells me pretty much the same
His words of comfort and wisdom helped me in times of need
I consider him my Bro, even though we don't have the same last name
No one can ask for a better friend and poet, he is the best indeed!
So Bro, "Ain't No Sunshine" when you're gone
Our prayers are with you and your wife
Have faith and hope as each new day does dawn
That this is just a temporary bump in the road of life.
With love, your Sis
Contest ~ DAVIDS FOR DAVID
I’m not sure I understand my boss
He does it all and credits me
He makes the plan, and says I did
He works the plan, and states it’s me
Writes the report, and crowns it mine
My mysterious Boss!
He called me today
And washed me with praise
Shocked, my boss seeks to know
How did you, modest, manage
The tusks of this beast alone?
With husky confidence
He shoots my pay and says
Measure for measure, my valet!
There’s more to come.
My Boss will burn it all
The mid night wick and moil on end
First in, Last out. The office smells his balm
His cologne is everywhere
He sweats on the printer, the copier, and the phone
His ink flows, his paper is busy
The keyboard is worn, the letters have gone
He knows them by heart
ASDFGH and the index at J, he types
His seat sags and his elbow is coarse
The backrest is new, he never rested
His fingerprints are faded
Filing, citing, binding, signing, sending, recalling, working
Reading, doing, redoing, searching, researching, working
Calling, waiting, reminding, mending, thinking, working
Reviewing, checking, approving, panting, working
But he says I did, all he did
Great works, look and marvel!
Now Boss
They want me! Ready to bleed money
And charm me, they are down, bended knee
Abroad, the internationals are hinting
Aboard, the nationals are bidding
And Bored, the locals are winking
They want me! The postman is dizzy
My inbox congested and messengers grumbling
The deeds have spoken
And my boss is depressed
Who shall do it, says he, all the work
His hand is calm, my shoulder feels it
Go my child, my boss, your meteor is bright
And never will it set.
Green lush of green
lush green is green
a leaf of language
a branch of word
a flagstone steps
Heart of the earth is free,
white flowers
Clean heart,
fine arts literature
sketching art
arable land
planting gratitude
Green is nature
cool breeze
citing cloud
loyal heart
clarity of thinking
for the future!
My thoughts, not like what can be written on paper -
A paper so thin that you can see through,
onion paper, yes,
are not worth citing still,
they are just empty words, like yours
or others that resemble someone like you.
No need to feel "oh, so insulting"
just think on matters more convincing -
like the matters of retirement,
or ending some beloved engagement,
where of course, you and I mattered not
enough to be heard by someone just like us,
where tears are waters enough to fill
all the wells in Yorkshire, or the seven seas.
So what exactly are my thoughts, as if they spoke of
volumes or of super heroes
that would revive the emptiness that is living.
Refuse me, please, you have your own
decisions and contentions to displace,
but all the words we speak are
windows to the human race.
Even yours.
So though you fret in lonely silence now
alone with laptop gleaming,
or sitting in a library while
someone more important breathes behind you
for her turn -
Remember, we are all sitting in front of some
media-bleeding device, be it our mouths, our radios
laptops, or campfires.
Think on what I've said here in deep reflection,
if you think your own thoughts are important enough
to prove that mine are as well.
What do you think, when alone with your thoughts ~
Are they real?
Or do they speak the level-headed cruelties of
politicians and spokespeople for some soft-drink?
Truly, I say to you all ~
Breathe in.
Yo,
When I was younger, stronger, faster, phatter!
I saw Bayard Rustin, ascending and descending on bell hooks’ reveries,
And I screamed, from artistic insights,
Of plights and rights, citing Mumia Abu the Baptist,
“MOVING” SOULS to awakening, writing like Melchidezek in a Birmingham Jail,
Christ in Communist imagery,
Mohammed quoting Amos and speaking Barack into the “real”,
The World unknown to slaves of Matrix Madness,
Sad yet Strident,
Che and Jesus, encased in Chrystal prisms,
Of John the Baptist’s prison,
Different shades of the same spirit,
Freeing seekers from Oppressed Pedagogy,
But the sounds of naked children,
Screaming from the shattered images of Native Prophets denied their right to subdue the earth,
Enraptured my brain, and the thousands slain by South African Nazis,
Brought me to the brink of new beginnings,
Wherein, I war from the inside out,
Watching the sunrise of lies exposed, and young prophets forging emergent imagery,
“Christian”, teaching on the front lines of minds that can breathe anew,
“Dr. T”, slayin’ nightmares of myopic minions clouding the light of the almighty,
“Eli”, the young Jedi, facin’ Dark Forces with a saber tooth intellect,
“Melissa”, demandin’ respect for the forgotten and makin’ miracles for the downtrodden,
“Hugo”, the only begotten of Chi-town expression, taggin spiritual secrets on the backs of
abandoned day dreams,
“Viv”, teachin’ lessons of stress silenced by the strident freedom of angels bustin’ forth
from cocoons of plastic consciousness,
“Leber”, the dreama, of new market creation, in the image of acts, where none know lack,
And the facts, smack, cracks, in the faces of fat cats who feed on the blindness of hatred,
These are the prophets of my generation,
And as I weave my seeds of transformation, from a tower of sanctuary,
I look to them on the streets, reaping the harvest renaissance,
And know joy!
REGULATIONS
BY
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
Two sources of laws that govern the lives of men
One’s called survival the other a stroke of the pen
Those from survival are easy to list
Food, water and shelter so we can exist
Those from mans hand are often not clear
A crime over there is legal over here
Man’s laws may be admirable at their writing
Later found questionable at their citing
Laws, ordinances , regulations or policy norm
With so many restrictions not easy to conform
Don’t forget rules they’re important as well
Am I acting legally or awaiting a cell
Take the sinister case of the berlin wall
Many tried to cross it only to fall
It had been prohibited to go to the west
Any attempt to flee would result in arrest
One night a defector was fatally shot
Hung over barbed wire destined to rot
Then guess what happened the very next day
Passed a law if you want to go west “ its ok”
An example of a law that caused men to die
An illegal extortion forcing free men to defy
There are needs for law and order to protect
Each new law tightens the noose on a citizens neck
The penalty for breaking a law way back when
Put the guilty in leg blocks or a public pen
Shame him in front of neighbors and friends
Humiliation may cause his lawlessness to end
The initial mandate of imposing a fine
Worked quite well for a very long time
Regulations(2)
It became so lucrative new laws were soon due
Pile on new charges, generate more revenue
A man runs a red light cops are hot on his tail
There’s so many charges he may not make bail
Want to change the house color from tan to gray
Need to get permission from a hundred miles away
Redo these doors on the inside of my flat
Got to submit plans and a copy of the plat
It just gets tougher each request causes a fuss
Easier for the government to keep a rein on us
To control the masses is an easy feat
They just add more laws just never delete
It’s easy to have contempt for so many laws
The enforcement of them is loaded with flaws
A girl with drugs gets years of incarceration
Drunken teenager kills four receives probation
Additional laws will make us quiet as a mouse
You’ll soon need a permit to leave the house
A Soldier Remembers
In this evil world a few old men do still truly tell
the battles, gory losses and places their buddies fell
Painting the scenes of such sad and terrible fates
adding in the bloody details , names and sad dates
The old soldiers that lived on to love yet again
rarely ever forget the passing of cherished friend
So often said with a choked chuckle and hearty laugh
citing some other funny deed or terrible little gaffe
To highlight the humanity of that loved and departed soul
a remembrance, a statement so others may yet know
The life and times of a "beloved brother" and "comrade"
that did his very best and gave all he ever had
To stand his brothers and defend his beloved nation
preserve freedom and give peace to a future generation
Robert J. Lindley 07-13-2014
Dedicated to ALL soldiers and ALL heroes , fallen
and living!
I can no longer pretend
the lies you tell me are true.
And if they don't quickly end
our relationship is through.
Expecting kisses and beers
you can't make sense of it all.
For you are greeted with tears,
and an emotional wall.
You claim you never cheated,
acting like someone deranged.
And I wasn't mistreated,
citing the vows we exchanged.
Tears choreograph the dance
as forgiveness is pursued.
And you beg another chance
hoping to soften my mood.
But the truth levies a toll
in the form of pain and shame.
And a small part of my soul
feels I'm partially to blame.
10/30/2015