Best Colin Poems
A contemporary creature,
this Tyrannosaurus Rex is not a carnivore.
He delights in gnashing peanut butter sandwiches
and his habitat is lush
with rocks and bugs and toys
And if I dare suggest he is a little boy--
his mighty roar is deafening.
Its echo captures ancient pains
that live in mother's heart
And for a moment
renders them extinct,
as joy tears them apart.
I Salute You General Colin
Your Becoming The First African American Secretary Of State
Your Heroism standing up for All Of Us Americans
A True American Hero for all to Look Up to
First Black American Secretary of State, COLIN POWELL, (1937-2021)
Served in the G. W. Bush, Ronald Reagan, and Jimmy Carter administrations,
He said, “Success is the result of hard work…and learning from failure,”
His hobby was restoring old cars; hardly knew the meaning of vacations.
written January 20, 2022
especially for "A Celebrity Epitaph" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Michelle Faulkner
L.A ‘62. English professor George (Colin Firth) is mourning the loss of his gay partner. He's
spent the day reliving memories, but that night meets his student Kenny (Nicholas Hoult),
who secretly admires him, in a bar. The two end up at George’s house after a spontaneous
ocean swim. Kenny has just emerged from the shower,wrapped in a towel. George is making
a fire. When Kenny goes to get a beer, he discovers a nude photo of George’s dead lover in
a drawer. His suspicions about his teacher are confirmed. A beautiful score of stringed
music, nostalgic and tender draws me in to every nuance of Colin's performance.
George, feeling foolish and seeming a bit flushed with anticipation (yet restraining himself
from improper conduct), sits on a chair across from the young man when the boy returns to
the living room. A conversation ensues in which George asks Kenny questions, trying to
discern the young man’s reasons for being there that night. The boy, too, is trying to learn
things about George, but keeps hedging with his responses to George‘s questions, and
nothing completely “telling” is ever said. Meanwhile, their eyes linger on each other. The
young man’s eyes are an enchanting almost gleaming blue; I find it hard myself to look away
from his sweet face. My eyes are also riveted every second to George’s face and to its many
subtle changes of expression.. Finally, the boy asks George something and at that moment,
George’s face blurs. My curiosity is very aroused when suddenly the scene has switched to
George awaking at about 3 a.m. from his bed.. The young man, however, is not in the bed
(as I had hoped he would not be). He is asleep on the sofa, and he clutches in his hands the
gun which George had planned to shoot himself with. Had George revealed his plan to end
his life that day to his student? Was that what happened in those missing hours? Had the
boyish Kenny (while George was sleeping off his drunkenness) found the gun in the same
way he had discovered the picture of George’s partner and now was holding it to prevent
George from carrying out his suicide? I know I am soon going to learn George’s fate. . .
My brother
could hibernate through
anything.
Even the nights of unmitigated fury
that expelled itself in blasts of white, frothy
spittle
from the corners of father’s lips.
He was a cocooned worm nestled
in the bed at the back of my room
while
mom held the cheap aluminum door,
maintaining our homeostasis,
shut.
On the other side
my father, a wounded creature
Hissing, crackling,
Insane.
would bang
until the vibrations shook my very breath.
Colin
never really understood
being fourteen
and
scrubbing out the night’s fury
that stained the carpet
in crimson ponds.
The smell of a bucket
of warm pink soapy water
and the
red that never really washed out
He would not understand the game
I made of it
blood spot, ink blot test
This one looked like a butterfly,
And this one A father and daughter,
And this one a bottle of pills.
This boy who brought home
matted and framed pictures from kindergarten
Crayon colored pleasant family,
crayon colored pleasant home
Poor, addled Colin Kapernick
Once a coveted NFL draft pick
Made $43 million in pro football, yet finds it all unsavory
Victimized! ~ Accuses team owners of slavery
. SUNDAYS WITH COLIN
We, are all a Binary Code,
Noughts and Noughts, and ones and ones;
The beginnings, look like the end…
and the ends, look ,
Like the same, as it begun!
This is progress and much- much more,
According to Colin, who lives next door!
“It’s a binary code,” He seriously said,
“You wont understand it, it's not meant for your head,”
“But when the Aliens come down one day, these are their words, the things they’ll say!”
I said, “But what if they come down in my backyard?”
“I’ll try to make contact, Colin but that’s really hard!”
“Don’t worry,” said Colin, eating his pre-cooked pasta,
“They’ll land on the car park at the back of Asda!”
“An’ their Binary Code, will be wrote on the side of their ship.”
“Do you want a napkin Colin?”
“No, I’ll skip”
I like Sundays with Colin.
COLIN ROSS
Colin Ross the squatter man
He wore a suit of black
He carried a pistol on his hip
And a cross of gold hung slack
Deadfox Dancy looked up from his sheep ...
(so called for raffling a dead fox in the pub)
His shearing interrupted
was it god from the devils deep
and almost spoke but stuttered
Yyyyyyesssirrr no fiddling in the shed
Got ..if you do...I'll do to you
What cannot be now uttered
I'll jerk your chain and cook your brain
And have your gall bladder buttered
Old Sam McEwan had the uniform on
His bayonet fixed and ready
Charge said Colin his sabre drawn
And the wild pigs trotted steady
Old Bill got work with Colin Ross
And met the bosses wife
He was caught right soon
Beneath the moon
His pants around his ankles
She looked for a bite
Of a snake or mite
And Colin sure was thankful
Bill was 65 just then and she was twenty seven
A child arrived , Colin often smiled and said it's the will of heaven
3 years went by and Bill was spry, 3 children in the house
till someone spoke , said Bills the bloke
and Colin flogged the louse
Bill climbed aboard his old racehorse
His stock whip hanging coiled
Colin came to the gate no pistol mate
And lash of the whip did force
A run and a chase to the common gate
And Bill got no divorce
Of happenings in the 60s about 400 miles west of here......Brisbane.Queensland Australia
Don Johnson
They told marchers they shouldn’t march;
screamed at sitters in busses and diners;
blocked the doors to the public schools,
“whites only” signs were clear reminders.
They hated when black fists were raised,
or when folks joined peaceful protests;
they couldn’t stand their sins broadcast,
were frightened by the freedom fests.
While things are better, injustice still lives,
and now they say that kneeling’s wrong,
they want to squelch the dissident voice,
But we’ve all heard this familiar song.
Colin Powell Horn Haiku
One was wise old owl
I had thought of Colin Powell
My face has a scowl.
Have lost my respect
Criticism did detect
Can't be more direct.
Seems like politics
Of trade full of many tricks
Off me always ticks.
What do you think of that one?
Jim Horn
Form:
Poor Mr. Colin Kaepernick
Claims America is racist, inegalitarian and sick
His professional football contract only pays him $11.4 million
Though his clear-eyed grasp of the issues makes him worth at least a billion
walking through the dark
long strides, not looking
the eyes all on me
burning, the smell of hate
rising through the leaves
my thoughts are coming
just one of many
dripping from graceful mouths
she said goodbye to the airless room
the men stared, some looked away
droning on, so far down now
dont want to look up
the dirt is shoveled slovenly down
the still flowers running in the ground
with colours, on crude cloth
cobalts in wasted tubes
oily fingers pressed softly
to a sound of moons colliding
holes and craters vibrated
a solitary gun strays into view
an alien planet like ganymede
dead like seasides and lavender fields
crimson earth with white ash
soft in the shadows of destitute women
cold as the door closes on them
my father looks at me
a last look of distanced remorse
nothing shining in the dark now
I am afraid
windows hiding the faces
making out the shapes
as its driving away I sink inside
and day dawns to metallic chords
a brown radio blares on but dead
I can paint now she has gone
Don't ever vouch for drunk caffeine
That it can't one show one's coffin,
Now,my heart's calm rate quickening,
Later,taxed vessels weakening
Turns it out a search for a lift
But towards Descent final drift.
One begins to question its source;
A system is being moved with force.
The waiter in every cola:
Eaters it won't make a Zola;
Even one drags by the collar,
My best movement A Parabola!
What would you have stimulated;
Samson's bearing simulated?
At the sight of caffeine stiffen:
I'd stop a long chat or briefing.
A field where tall bony trees,
Where hums the cool gentle breeze.
In the gentleness of the grass green,
There lived two rabbits Colin and Tim.
Colin and Tim two best friends,
Lived in little caves in the grassland.
Colin looked like autumn and fallen leaves,
His roasted chestnut fur like all hallows' eve.
Tim looked like winter, his eyes like hibiscus,
His fur as serene as snow, him as lovely as Christmas.
Two buddies, they never fought ,
Hatred, they never got taught.
Their friendship was something so admirable,
As amiable as ever, just like some sweet old fable.
One day they decided to make banana bread,
They were sitting in front of the fire when this thought came into their tiny little head.
Tim brought flour and eggs,
He ran as fast as he could with his galloping legs.
Colin had honey and bananas in his cosy candlelit kitchen,
He decided to read his grandmother's recipe
And began to learn.
They still needed chocolate and baking powder,
Tim went to the market (again) and came back singing louder.
They mixed everything together,
Their heads, light as a feather.
But something very important was still missing—oh! Vanilla,
The batter mixed, then baked, the bread was ready and voilà!
They ate wholeheartedly with smiles as soft as silk,
The banana bread tasted better in the soft pouring rain with some chocolate milk.