Best Crudely Poems
I've passed it by, so many times before
While traveling this twisted asphalt highway
That weathered sign, nailed, so crudely fashioned
To peeling bark, upon the yoke
Of one ancient, gnarled and battered cottonwood tree
It marks a fork of the old backwood road
Where gravel branches, bends and sways
And meanders through the glade
Where the dry creek bed, goes high into the hills...
Where poison oak thrives, and secrets hide...
There it is!.... That feeling, that inclination to explore...
I've had before....
Stabbing that place of my wanderlust
My curiosity....
An old dented mailbox....sitting alone...whose, do you suppose?
Where does the mail go? Does anyone know?
So many times,.....we have passed on by...
I've caught a glimpse, and thoughts would rise...
What lies beyond this fork in the road?
What lies beyond the bend, the turn?...What would we learn?
What course, would we follow
If just this once, we turned, and broke away from the ordinary...
Changed our direction...followed the unknown
Where the creek runs dry
And the banks are rife...
With chokecherry....and willow scrub
Where leaves are layered with chalk white dust?...
Will we ever know?
What lies beyond the fork in the road?....
As I turn my head, and watch my chance disappear once again....
Will I ever know?.....
_________________________________________________________________
Silk wading thru wistfully warm sea waters,
my dreaming fingers have lingered to potter
with ocean surface, sun sparkled glitters.
My poetic pieces have gone full twitter
in charmed waters of crystal clear rarity
where I felt God's love soothe life's severity.
Slowly easing into ocean powered waves,
my playful moods have seriously caved
from forceful, salt stinging, brutal wave smacks.
My body has ached sea bruised, blue and black.
Rough seas crudely taught me joy may survive
despite waves of fright that savagely arrive.
Now, reaching the end planks on my journey's pier
and viewing my twilight's approach so clear,
it's past sunshine glitters that most sustain
these concluding sea views for my earthly gain.
Yet, I know without crass waves that abused,
wading joys would not have peaked this enthused.
Dad gave me my first wood baseball bat
an Eddie Mathews signature model, 28 inches long
when I was 10 or 11 ('66 or '67)
shortly after he got me my first lefty glove
(I still have it, so small! with a bullseye crudely hand inked in the center!)
after a few years, it splintered near the handle
I tried nailing it back together, the hickory
shaft was tough to penetrate, but I kinda got
it done, then wrapped the job in some electrical
tape I found
whenever I tried using it again, hitting a pitch
sent shivers thru my hands and wrist like a
lightning bolt shocking me
before long, I left it in the sports closet Dad built
into the canned goods cabinet in the basement
he made for fall canning
so whenever I opened the cabinet door, the wonderful
smell of wood and leather combined with the
rows of gleaming jars of fruits and vegetables
delighted me!
canned beans, peaches, pickles and more
all lined up to select from when Mom or Dad
would send me downstairs to choose side
dishes for supper
frozen meat was kept in the 8' freezer chest
in Dad's workroom thru the door
being sent for that was a special privilege
my brother and I relished
( my sister, being 3 years younger, didn't get many chances!)
I remember there were honorary sports relics in
the closet on the top shelf
a leather football helmet Dad's Uncle Depot wore
before WW11 along with his old softball, the kind
with the exposed seams (I still have it)
wonderful memories
from a
magical time
I will always treasure
© james marshall goff
She fell from the light, into a world shadowed in gray.
~ by poet
An angel pouted to protest her punitive plight
No repentant redemption for her serious sins
Wings waylaid, the fatuous one was felled in flight
And from Heaven hurled; now banishment begins
Resentfully she roams in shadows of somber skies
An enraged expression marring her fractious face
A ranting rebel like the dastardly devil, father of lies
Dwelling in darkness due to her decadent disgrace
No earthly escape will she discover through death
Crows circle and caw, crying out in a clamoring voice
With crass words she crudely curses in banal breath
Wicked wrongdoer, condemned for her corrupt choice
With foolish folly she sorrowfully surrendered her soul
and delves within deep darkened depths for eternity
All alone, there will be no one to comfort and console
From shadows and suffering, she will never break free
She sulks upon sullen stygian shores of the river Styx
without a reprieve or relief from tormenting terror
There's no exit from her eternal eviction as time ticks
for Satan's spawn, shrouded in shame for her error
August 30, 2022
Alliteration Old or New Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
the marked must go quietly in the night
without a word of farewell
through the trembled dust
down the dark road from which they say
no one returns
the gods who made Africa
strike fear upon the living
comfortless
vituperative
rampaging through our lands:
freedom is a hoax
we abandon ourselves
to the crudely dug dungeon
the pit is boiling like a volcano
dark blood seething ceaselessly
so many souls within its recesses
so many mournful eyes
so many broken hearts
we cannot cry, we cannot move
this pit is an endless pursuit of misery
there is no escape, there is nowhere to go
bit by bit our bodies are dying
and our strength disappears
we lose our sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch
hell lies about us in our innocence
we wonder who will be the last, the very last,
to seek this place for what it was:
they'd neither like nor believe
the horrors no God could have allowed
we are sure only that from
our true liberation movement
we have disappeared
we simply do not exist
no comrade-in-arms squeezes
a fake tear for us
noticing we are not there
when did he last see any of us?
he cries out we are disloyal,
have betrayed the cause
and all the while
we are labouring in the dungeons
we dig for him
we dig to be sure
he surely is next on the blacklist
the supporters deny our disappearance
and with the human rights watcher,
no record
nobody, it appears, misses us enough
to report
it is easier to die than to remember
and where do we come from?
where did the liberation struggle take us,
the combat,
the underground resistance?
prison? protest? mere conviction?
it was a time of revolution
there were no fantasies
there was simply the beyond-endurance
and then the fleeing-into-exile
we are the illicit cargo marooned
in dungeons guarded by scare-crows
Seems like certain politicos toss about the f---word thinking they're cute!
Didn't their mommies teach them that real ladies and gents of good repute,
Don't express themselves in public in such a disgraceful manner and so crudely?
"Profanity is the effort of a feeble brain to express itself lewdly!"
Betrayal at its worst…evil at its
best
Eloquently caressed in shroud
of endorphins…
Unknown evils lurking…
shadowed lust controlled by
patience
Revealed at luck’s untimely
departure
Endurance only after ruined
escape
Burglarized by butcher’s
hands…crudely robbing of more
than is initially displayed
Shredded confidence
developing into aversion to
sweet pleasures
Respect ripped away to
expose…
Hard shell formed to isolate any
possible further damaging evils
or healing touches
Lasting scars a constant
reminder…hidden to spare
recollection’s pain
Time worn walls grown weary…
Weak candle flame tempted to
extinguish in screaming wind…
Selected by the swift sound of hand to shoulder blade,
The bells upon their ankles sounded like seven trumpets
to me. I had been a chosen sheep among the Shepherd’s flock.
Lead me my Pharisees, I wish to see feel the glee in following
the Lamb within me.
The weight of my new necklace, crudely crafted of twine and timber,
swayed in a schism'd rhythm between my shins
bruises born from my steadfast faith. For I have never fasted
Before, all there was in my Ziploc bag was a single raw egg,
Two slices of wonderbread, three matches with no book.
I heard fireflies bounce in the air between my ears,
I could not see, you see I was blindfolded, but I felt no fear.
The marching sounds stopped, balsam trees surrounded me
and the rest of the chosen tribe.
Night befell the evening, the stars jumped and danced for me
For the Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty, His strength
flowed like the river Jordan in my veins. I had no chains.
Never had I felt grace like this before.
We awoke with gnats in our nose, centipedes between our toes
We arose, and our trials we must undergo.
Silence is the sound of our worship, broken by the
wood bashing between our bitten legs.
The kindling was wet, the bread was stale,
forging for food in the raspberry bushes, hunger flashed
in front of my eager eyes.
Memorize second Corinthians, some stories
I no longer care to remember. I felt the splinters
in my shins, the twine singed the hairs of my neck.
The breeze swung between the leaves and sung chants
that worshiped the King amongst kings.
The counselor crept out of the brush, and with
immense embarrassment I flushed
any of the chances of becoming one of the chosen few.
I could not immerse myself within the verses.
His eyes struck disappointment deep into my gut,
his knife drawn I knew I was cut.
The log crashed to the ground like lightning, the
twine left my skin red and raw. It felt like the
sting of a thousand roses thrust upon my nape.
My cross was no longer mine to bear, it was the end
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I descended from the shining hill, back to
the cabins and basketball nets. I had failed.
There is a creek I will never wade, never cross,
I drowned in my disdain, my faith may be lost.
Another camper, another kid, lost in the flock
of the Shepherd’s failed kin.
In an evergreen forest
Surrounded by a lake
I owned a little cabin
Where my love I did take
Moss crept on the walls
Of the crudely built home
But in silent serenity
We could be alone
She loved it more than I
That place beside the water
She wanted to stay forever and a day
Or whatever proved to be longer
Simple living
Minimal care
Clean country breathing
In the pine scented air
The water rippled
And slowly swayed
During all hours
Of the night and the day
The woods teamed with life
And the trees filled with leaves
Birds fluttered along
In the gently blowing breeze
We couldn’t escape
This beauty astounding
We became one with the lake
Our hearts matched in their pounding
Enamored were we
With our quiet possession
But this love that we had
Turned in to obsession
Scared of the threat
Of having to leave
To go back to the world
Of death and disease
We clung to the feeling
Of everlasting bliss
Because while we were here
We could never resist
But late one evening
As I sat by the fire and drank
My love, afraid of departing
Walked in to the lake and sank
I realized too soon
That I had to leave
And forget all about
This so called serene
For it was not an earthly place
Yet not entirely fictitious
Just outside of reality
If you believe the superstitious
That cabin by the lake
That my love knew so well
Called her soul to rest
Was it Heaven or was it Hell?
“It surely takes a grievous toll
Near the end of snow-white roll” (by author)
My lifespan by default, bawdily brief,
Sadly signifies excremental grief.
From pristine white to shady hues of brown,
Crumpled or creased, crudely disposed aground.
Paradox: I’m the most needed token -
Yet most disrespected, tissue-broken.
It could be smelly feet but no, alas!
It has to be the dark side of an ass.
I don’t intend to make you humans blush,
But you waste me on your waste in a flush.
Thus my life on a roll, floating in vain,
Down the drain, down the drain, down the drain!
August 14, 2026
The wilderness has been improved of late,
Or so they say.
The maple trees where sticky syrup oozed
Between the cracks of scarred and broken bark,
The wild apple trees whose crooked branches
Cradled clumps of crudely woven twigs,
Have been replaced by houses, row on row
Of painted boxes gleaming in the naked sun.
The narrow trail, a divine doodle
Traced across the earth and kept in place
By centuries of coyote and bear
And deer that bounded zigzag up the slope
Lies tame and straight beneath the asphalt sweep
That cuts a leveled swath across the peak.
The blackberry briars that pressed against the path
And tore the skin from little hands that wiped
the purple stain on Sunday clothes,
Are cut away, and soft green grass grows in their place.
“Superior development, and more to come,”
The realtor explains,
Not knowing that I was here before.
I scan the hills for one certain house,
An Improvement on a three-room shack
where squirrels chattered in the rafters
And wasps built nests against the eaves,
And berry bushes dirtied up the window panes.
The modern house is pink with snowy trim;
A cement sidewalk leads from drive to door,
And tulips nod obediently by the steps.
Beyond the manicured lawn,
The last undeveloped forest hugs the hill,
And stubborn briars spill onto the planted grass.
“I’ll buy the house,” I tell the man.
He sees me looking at the woods and smiles
Apologetically. “For a slightly higher fee,”
he says, “that bit of forest can be cleared.”
“I’ll take it as it is,” I tell him.
“The blackberries might still grown in there.”
A guard overseeing the king’s jail
Mocked the inmates without fail.
He spoke to them rudely
And treated them crudely.
Now the king has his head in a pail.
'Breaking the Trauma Bond'
Do you still like me?
Let me count the ways.
The tired old familiar abuse,
The ugly scowl,
The “get outta here’s!”
“Don’t give me that kind of sh..t!!”
Vile venom heaped upon an unwary lover.
I’ve been sucker punched, again.
Fallen for the antics of yet another
Unwilling, unable, unstable, and uncommitted to anything
Other than his own pain and confusion.
Oh, good!
Someone NEW to hate!
I know what comes next.
The gifts I have given
Treasures I’ve shared,
Regard, respect, admiration, adoration and affection
Willingly offered
And received,
Crudely discarded.
Run through the disposal
Put out with the garbage
Neatly packed and
Hauled off to storage.
Archived with
All the other
Past violations,
Slanders and
Cruel rebuffs.
My body is crushed.
My spine is mangled.
My nerves are seared.
“I don’t NEED any more PAIN!”
I wail
Mentally shuffling through
Well-worn files of
Past encounters.
Rage rises,
The Ogre is demonized.
Humiliated and dis-graced
Tears fall from fresh wounds.
I take refuge
In dreams resplendent
Of laughter, pleasure
Joy and enjoyment
Where wishes of the wisher are fulfilled,
Where food and delight are found.
Fueling fond fantasies of nobility of character,
Decency and courage
An Equal.
Bitter tears cease,
Fury finally fades.
And yet curiously,
The guilt remains.
I choke on the olive branch of forgiveness,
Again.
Each night when darkness falls
I'm plagued by terror and turmoil
vexed in a crazed state of slumber
tossing and turning, my life in crux
chafed and chased in turbulent dreams
It always begins when I close my eyes
and sense a lurking shadowed presence
I see the outline of the grayling's jaw,
square and strong but flawed by pock marks,
like deep craters from the fire pits of hell.
Overbearing is the heat from flames
thrown from his wicked tongue.
They delve deeply to the core of me
with curses that scorch and burn.
They've left me scarred with jagged lines
that he traces with knobby fingers.
"What is this vile place of darkness?"
I scream in agony, born of fear
but there are no ears to hear my pleas.
My cries for help are never heard
but resound rapidly all around my head.
Darkness conceals his face and form
but his beastly shadow hovers over me
as I sit, cringing against the wall.
In a voice now raspy and weak,
I gasp for one more breath.
Clinging frantically to hope of escape,
but I find no manner of breaking free.
My arms and legs are bound in chains,
blood flows like tears from my lips.
I bit through the skin when I gave in.
By morning I wake, dampened in sweat,
stiff and sore with every move I make
as though I had been crudely used...
abused as if I were a cheap whore.
Memories linger and there's no peace
for my day is spent in dread of night
when I'll be locked in chains once more.
I search for the key to unlock my prison
an illusive key that I may never find.
:============:
9/19/2017
In The Dark Contest
Host: Russell Sivey
Bus Shelter
Driving past a crudely made bus shelter, it looks like concrete box
I took a picture because a mystery story was told about it.
A stormy winter night a man found the shelter it had a bench
glad the he was dry and he waited and waited only the bus didn`t
drive on this road any longer.
Years later passers-by found a skeleton the police was called but
the bones had no papers to tell his name and a mystery was born.
My dog disappeared when she found her way home she was
tired and petrified and like the skeleton could tell me nothing.
I think she was lured into the van of a hunter, tied up in his backyard to
be trained as a hunting dog. She got loose and ran and
ran perhaps for days and too scared to approach people.
She overcame this trauma lived a long life and now is a skeleton in
a black bin bag in the outhouse.