Best Deliveries Poems
I Am A Waiter
“I am a waiter,” the man said to me,
“ I wait in a restaurant serving luncheon and tea.”
“I am a waiter,” I said with a sigh,
“Where do you wait?” he asked in reply.
“I wait at the bus stop and wait for a train,
I wait in the surgery and wait for a plane.
I wait in the sunshine and wait in the rain
And on a day with nothing to do,
I go in to town and wait in a queue.
Then at the Superstore I never can win,
The next queue is quicker than the queue I am in.
I wait in for hours as instructed before
A van load of deliveries come to my door.”
“A waiter in your restaurant?" I asked, "That would suit me.”
“Yes,” said the man, “Now, just let me see,
It’s thirty minutes for luncheon and fifteen for tea.”
Yesterday
Cast along a dotted line
of yesterdays and practiced rhyme
These dreams before of what was told
deliveries my heart does hold
A poet’s thoughts of times gone by
in empty scenes and tear stained eyes
Where broken hearts have come to play
my words they speak of yesterday
Yet here I stand on corners plead
as verses plant the morning seed
These shadows lingering behind
now disappear in what I find
For beauty in my eyes I see
as love it walks this dawn to me
And since your love has come my way
I’ve no more need for yesterday
Good morning Soupers
I have a pantry where I keep my blessings,
each one a precious gift.
The daily deliveries never stop,
although I sometimes overlook them.
Some days the shelves seem empty,
but when I find the strength to look again,
I see that they are filled in abundance
waiting to be acknowledged and accepted.
If I open each gift as it comes and
arrange it on my shelves, I see I have
the wealth of love, the warmth of smiles,
And the comfort of grace.
I have opportunities to share these gifts
with those whose coffer is bare.
A humble hug, a warm embrace,
a simple smile of understanding.
If I have food, I share it; if I have drink, I share it;
I have enough, I need not more.
My joy is in sharing that which I have;
my strength is in giving, not taking.
If I hoard my gifts they dry and become stale,
shrivel, and die on the shelf.
If I take out a gift and re-wrap it for another,
my bare shelves overflow with more.
Isn’t is remarkable how one’s daily coffer flows
according to the condition of one’s heart?
What is the turning point when one realizes
that one's blessings are meant to be re-gifted?
What greater act of worship, than to
teach by example and to give unreservedly?
A giving heart is a joyful heart and
strengthens my resolve to keep my pantry full.
We each have highs and lows in life,
and sometimes a rough in-between.
Yet divine awareness and a roll of tape
can change the momentum of our lives.
My porch must be miserable
Full of empty boxes
Thanks to Amazon’s daily deliveries
I had not noticed until today
But it is unbelievably noticeable
I wish the delivery men would take the empties away
My front door looks shabby
Needs a fresh paint job
But it is a mural and not easy to repaint
My car is not empty
There are three coats in the back seat
When did I become such a slob?
I would open the trunk
But I could not stand it
And the garage is already brimming with stuff
Nest week is spring break
Dare I begin purging?
I pick up a Styrofoam plate on my way to the car
And I am not yet in my car
So all of this is the three minutes
It took me to get ready for work!
Paying attention is unique
Has awaken me to my faults
I sit down behind the steering wheel, pondering my steps
She was back into my life after a long sejours
how could I not welcome her at the table
after so many suns and moons
Having crossed the oceans of reality,
my dream was a surreal bizarre reel,
featuring my sister
sitting at a table ogling whimsical canopies.
She says "I'm hungry," but when it comes time
to eat, she can't ,
Large strips of duck tape pasted
on both mouth and nose.
"so I could breathe better" was all she says;
I remember a much younger Lupita,
telling me she dreamt of midnight chocolates
wrapped in silver paper
with blue stars on them.
It's been six long years since I last saw her
the silence between us has epoxied
turning into a gluey exhibit;
Probably both of us are starving
for mother's homemade milk soup,
Though mom has been dead for eons,
like the Divco truck that rattled our glass bottles
like the memory of father on the balcony
holding a paintbrush, smelling of tobacco and paint,
This fantasmal dream of mine has no beginning,
and certainly no end.
Speech of Tears – Zamreen Zarook
Drops of tears from our purl conveys a lot,
Each an every shedding has a ballot,
By identifying the core, our hands should allot,
Because, some might be extremely as shallot.
Chipper and blissfulness gives you cool tears,
Whereas in console and divesting flow hot tears,
Fear and pains give drains of tears,
Nothing that can be patch with dollars.
Some deliveries are automatic,
While some productions are acoustic,
Another drain says I am really bombastic,
Tears are at last solely cubistic.
They convey the emotions,
People go in search for solutions,
They become happy when they are with the precautions,
Reactions again as the tears, it’s the real abbreviation.
( Coming home from the mill. )
Air full of smog from dirty factory chimney
people walking around square quite nimbly,
grey clouds above small terraces workers abodes
typical northern town with narrow cobbled roads,
Local shop owners struggle to make both ends meet
children with no socks or shoes on their feet,
family men hope for a day's work to pay rent
to feed all his children that to him were god sent,
wives with baskets looking for bargain goods
so poor though happy with their neighborhoods,
men hope to earn extra money for a small bet
women on hands and knees cleaning door step,
clean clothes pegged out uniformly on washing line
smell of fresh linen, carbolic or fragrant pine,
sparse food deliveries are made by horse and carts
factory workers full of hope and bleeding hearts,
communities of northern England full of respect
where life was so hard and would never be perfect.
Composed 25th April 2017.
Contest:-celebration of art.
Great careers are not shaped by hopes,
No one like him to fill easily the loopholes;
The gladiatorial spark which he spread,
Under Tendulkar's shine it got fade;
Mr. Dravid a classical batsmen's epitome,
His generosity here and there roam;
You will always like him on greenery when India 20/4,
With Steyn,Anderson and Martin fearlessly roar;
His defence never failed either it is hot or cold,
He never had been fierce like Gayle's mould;
The wall with 24,208 bricks and 209 tiles,
Unfolds his journey to Cricket miles by miles;
Cricket is a religion in India and Tendulkar is God,
He might be somewhere in the ministry of lord;
No one can create another Dravid,
It takes 16 years of hard cricket to be so vivid;
He was most brutally used by captains,
Sometimes wicketkeeping,sometimes opening anything for the emblem;
Numbers,numerals never gave him favour,
Neither he was a great gambler;
Always cheerful to play the superballs over wind breeze,
Creating some of them into symphony whenever on crease;
With Sehwag,Tendulkar and Ganguly he made great partnerships,
But it was something special with Laxman whenever Aussies gave hardships;
The spark of the traditionalism which he gave in modern era,
Spread the flint of 70-80's cricket vierra;
The silent achiever and steady hunter,
The voracious reader and impeccable learner;
The longevity of facing most no. of deliveries glorifies his patience,
Always eager to learn from from senior any lesson;
This is the story of my favourite cricketer,
Rahul Dravid ,my hero,Mr.Cool,Mr.Dependable;
You will be missed by million hearts,
A mode of inspiration for me by creating a legendary benchmark.
He comes every day
Sometimes he knocks on my Door.
Delivery for you UPS
Sometimes its the same person
other times not.
And still he calls Delivery for you UPS
I wonder when I don't see him what he does
Just deliver packages all
Since I have no deliveries today Shame
Miss that call Delivery for you UPS
I went ghetto gold .......
I was told that when I flip this,
I'm come sicker than syphilis,
My verses come in 3's like triplets,
I drop ebonic type scriptures,
That keep your eardrumbs numb,
when my psalms roll off my tongue,
my adversaries hide & run,
as the oxygen escapes from my lungs,
I lace my poetic sermons with codeine
the mo' feinds means the mo' green I separate,
I'm a cheese head like in Green Bay
so I stay in a chedda' state[money state],
of mind frame & 1 of my prophecies,
I will rise at a high velocity,
and my thoughts'll be,
sprinkled[spoken ] far from sloppily,
when my voice is transmitted,
the pathetic get netted & shredded,
by my unsweetened poetic antidotes
see i'm sugarfree like diabetics,
Strong Faith,Family&Love's a good trinity,
and my deliveries,
during my performances or soliloquies,
will let all know this should be,
broadcasted throughout history,
I'm the vocabulary minister,
If your poetry soul's empty I'll replenish ya',
and when I'm finished
I'll stamp your inner thoughts
with the Rhyme Pedllaz signature,
And my mouthpiece unleashes verbal hand grenades,
from the block to the stage,
and the weak gets quarantined
when I deliver 1 of my spoken word plagues,
You can wipe your ears off now.
People label others "money hungry"
when they demand what they have worked
for, unsavory characters have a way of turning
earned salaries into an ugly metaphor,
Money Hungry is best described when one
has a penchant to consume dollar bills,
for nutritional values or thrills,
The rich can be misconstrued as being
money hungry, for each deal they conduct
it requires money deliveries,
They only do philanthropic work for free,
and they too still demand a salary,
Therefore, if one is not craving money
for dietary requirements, then to call
them "money hungry" is pure nonsense.
In my mind
is a box of memories
I open the box
and you appear
I allow myself
to make deliveries
of when you were
alive and near
and sometimes I make
discoveries
that back then
wern't so clear
My memory is
the only wittness
for a love so dear
Your words were
few and simple
And eye's they
never lied
The moments
we had together
were the best
in my life
to be loved
as I love
To that nothing
can compare
In my box of
memories
this will always
be there
Tears and laughter
are some of the things
I wish that I could share
with you
Joy and pain
are still emotions
being gone
you still do
In my box of memories
that I have filled
with you
I close and lock
my love
And seal it with
I do
GUIDING SANTA’S SLEIGH
An inventor elf named Alvin
was celebrating the day,
he finished his invention,
a motor for the sleigh.
No need to sweep the runway
or have to use the plow,
with no reindeer feet, Santa could
just push a button now.
Santa was excited,
especially when told,
it would cut his time in half
out there in the cold.
But later when he went to bed,
he tossed and turned all night,
something was on his mind,
something wasn’t right.
When morning finally came,
his head began throb,
he realized this would put his reindeer,
out of a job.
The rules state quite clearly
Santa reviewed them too,
that any reindeer unemployed
must go live at the zoo.
So Santa said to Alvin,
“your invention’s very smart
but I won’t be using it,
I have to do what’s in my heart.
Can’t see myself on Christmas Eve
flying across the skies,
making deliveries without
my four legged guys.
Through all the stormy weather,
we’ve worked together,” Santa cried,
“Christmas would not be Christmas,
without my reindeer by my side”.
Some traditions can be broken
but some simply must stay
as long as there’s a Santa
his reindeer will guide the sleigh.
In another century
artificial intelligence will rule
humans will live like the Jetson's
with robots in your homes and schools
The one child only policy
will be strictly enforced
because there is no longer a need for many humans
in the brave new world workforce
Drones and autopilot flying cars will be making deliveries
to your stack and pack apartments in your walled cities
and no need to get up off the sofa and do any chores
as Rosie the robot does that and much more
Such as teaching your child manners and helping with homework
taking care of the laundry while always being alert
assigned to be your maid but also be your family spy
as she can tell what you are thinking by looking in your eyes
Big brother will also be watching your every single move
so if you need to use the bathroom or have nooky... they're downright rude
you'll feel like your in a movie your ancestors watched long ago
when a man was being watched 24/7 called the Truman Show
And if you try to run away from your camera controlled life
Rosie will run after you and you will pay the price
for bolting away from your nuts and bolt prison drama
she'll drag you back home repeating, beep, smile, your on candid camera!
6-12-18
Christmas Day
Today it’s Christmas Day and no presents beneath the tree
Neglected 12 months of the year and today it's only me
Only remembered when favours needing done
Can't they ask somebody else, am I the only one?
I hear the sound of a child's laughter
Coming from the house next door
Maybe neighbours will invite me in
But they never have before
I see numerous deliveries of presents by the score
Nothing ever comes for me, they're always for next door
Family come and go, for she's a well-loved mum,
I hear their constant chatter, visitors I have none
At noon, I will go into my freezer
And take out my meal for one
Christmas Day is a lonely day
When you have no-one.