Best Deposited Poems
I was strolling through Evergreen Cemetery the other day,
Glancing at epitaphs etched upon various stones along the way.
Some flowing verse was out of this world but I can only assume,
That the authors were forthcoming in how they met their doom!
"Should an inconsiderate bird upon my stone alight,
Please do me a favor and remove the blight!"
"Here reposes a dude who tried to rob a lady teller,
But she was a keener shot than this unlucky feller!"
"Here sleeps ace pilot Captain Cletus Cole;
His wings were clipped attempting a barrel roll!"
"Here reclines butcher Clyde who cheated on his wife.
Unknown to him she was also adept at wielding a butcher knife!"
"Here lies Hank his mortal shell riddled with lead.
He was nabbed rustlin' steers and the sheriff shot him dead!"
"Here is deposited the corpus of Eddie a top-notch baker.
He is now serving assorted donuts to his beloved Maker!"
"Please relay your regards as by this way you pass,
But for heavens sake, keep off the cottin' pickin' grass!"
"On a banana peel the dear departed slipped and fell.
We pray he landed in paradise and not in hell!"
"He didn't know his Volkswagen had all that power.
He met his doom head-on doing 90 miles per hour!"
"Fer nigh on 40 years old Hank rode this earthly range;
Now he rides in that final roundup on that heavenly grange!"
"Gambler Jim has left very few friends behind to grieve;
He was caught with a couple of aces up his sleeve!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Good poetry is like an Old Master
Crafted with expert skill imbued with soul
No abstracted throwaway disaster
Or a bland undistinguished casserole
Of poor ingredients cooked up faster
And deposited in the toilet bowl
No, it should stimulate the appetite
And explode in the mind like dynamite
Good poetry should stand the test of time
Like great art it should make your spirit soar
Made memorable by structure and by rhyme
Utilizing simile, metaphor
Allegory and precise words that chime
Never should its contents the reader bore
Linking thoughts and ideas that one can quote
More than just a run-of-mill anecdote
Good poetry conveys thoughts in a way
That prose cannot - however full of wit
As a good photo brilliant in its way
Rarely reveals the person who took it
But a crafted poem - like a Monet
Should bear its creator’s mark and transmit
A recognition of the poet’s style
Whether it’s limited or versatile
Good poetry is like a single malt
Aged in a golden sherry cask of oak
With which a connoisseur can find no fault
Redolent of heather and peaty smoke
So, any poets worthy of their salt
Should let thoughts marinate, mature and soak
And distil them once, twice or even thrice
Before serving neat sans water or ice
courtesy of management in general
and particularly Jackie Geiger
assistant property agent.
One benefit living social
at Highland Manor Apartments
until decrepit and bent...
constitutes qualifying for reimbursement
direct deposited into checking
as chump change event,
hence one generic grateful gent
feels self satisfied as Clark Kent.
After broken wing and prayer
granted courtesy The Flying Tigers
at long last located valuable information
issued December of each year
surprisingly enough exactly where
social security (2021) 1099 form
remained untouched, I swear,
yet earlier yesterday April 5th, 2022
at 1500 hours though very near,
and finally located necessary documentation
(think rental rebate) here
with unexpected discovery
birthed following poem aware
many if not all avid readers
will not care, nor give rat's a$$
regarding humdrum minor dilemma
involving one bonafide
*****sapiens merely
bruising himself – common Joe
garden variety generic biomass,
nonetheless, he fetes, lauds, tauts...
rental rebate tantamount
approximating financial reimbursement
without being unduly crass.
Thus reasonable rhyme
yours truly doth aire
without stut... stut...
stuttering, yet no guarantee
wordsworth their weight
in gold will ring clear
more likely receive
frosty reception everywhere
across world wide web,
perhaps with unwelcome glare,
yet profuse apology
if man with wit - me,
(i.e. Whitman) didst unwittingly interfere
with unwanted distraction
courtesy bobbing square
pants donned sponge
soaking up precious time (yours)
foolish longfellow rushing in where
one capricorn long since wed
not nsync, but alone,
cuz angels fear to tread
"quod erat demonstrandum"
forgotten Latin accessed
at least once year
when yours truly crafts poetry
more familiarly recognized as Q.E.D.
(shares close pronunciation
with ska quid word)
ditch costs extra nay saying
horse sense according to Ned,
whoop sorry, I meant mister Ed.
Afar off you stand,
fearful of me
because of what ...
the color of my skin?
At a distance (you deem safe)
do you judge
the worth of me
As you live in gated comfort
of isolation
Wearing a white suit of
fruit salad honors,
pressed to the breast
are the colors you love
Valor and bravery
was imbued to you
by a metal wizard wand
Spitting fire in your hand
allowed you to stand
afar off from me
With a steely hand
you pinned unspeakable deeds
on the innocent and guilty
Commendations notwithstanding,
when did I give you
a medal of fear
to put me in a box safely?
From blue service to white promotion,
your scarlet actions
were washed away
by the firmament gutter cleaners
And many heroic hosannas
were rained upon you
from a goodly parade distance
As the familial tears
of your justice
were buried from view ...
Safely, at a lengthy emotional dug space
Afar off further you stand,
hateful of me
because of what ...
the color of vitality you withdrew
from under my brother’s skin?
And you deposited
your talisman protection
at a safe distance,
yet-to-be determined
in the witching hour
True friends are a treasure
Deposited in one's heart
From which
He may withdraw any amount
Without ever having to ask!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
10 September 2022
Six legs, two arms and often a tail
It greets its own kind with an expectant wail
They may well converse and they may form a pack
But what do they keep in that very small sack
There’s others that come bearing more heads and limbs
And some that appear when the light of day dims
Its plans for a peaceful encounter can fail
Often the culprit has foreshortened tail
Quite unlike what might occur on the X-files
It doesn't spit fire but does hurl projectiles
It then splits in two, it knows where each one lands
And rushes them back to its other halve’s hands
It’s salvo continues ’til someone cries ‘ouch!’
One half then watches the other half crouch
It scans its surroundings to feed the small sack
Wherever it’s from it’s then time to go back
But first it must visit the red hi-vis bin
The small sack, now loaded, deposited in
Its travels may take it up hill or down dale
Six legs, two arms and often a tail
*
If you don’t get this, your minds full of fog
Or your brain just went south on a train
It’s only the tale of one man and his dog
So why don’t you read it again?
As the autumn of my life approaches, a bit of memory fades,
But I still recall very special times from my primary grades.
We did things then now considered politically incorrect,
Enjoying Valentine and Halloween parties - no one did object!
The Valentine party was the social event of the school year.
Kids secretly expressed affection for that very special dear.
They deposited their cards in a box covered with colorful crepe;
Walls were decorated with hearts of every size and shape!
Someone scrawled on the blackboard, "We Love You Miss Ruth!"
And below were scribbled the names of her adoring youth.
Valentines cost two for a penny in those uncluttered days,
A cheap way to express puppy-love in such endearing ways!
As the cards were distributed, secret admirers gave a shy grin;
Boys received saccharine cards much to their chagrin!
Miss Ruth served cookies, popcorn and chocolate milk,
And heart-shaped candies saying "Love" or something of that ilk!
Miss Ruth gave a special hug to every girl and boy.
Her love and care topped off a day of delightful joy!
I fear that the children today may never again enjoy,
The simple pleasures I knew that today, some vow to destroy.
Now I wonder if in this day and age where anything goes,
If children are even permitted their affection to disclose?
Or have the politically correct creeps decreed it ain't okay,
For kids to celebrate innocent love on Saint Valentines' day.
Within my weak and frail body
God deposited something so precious.
Thus, in my body dwells a soul divine.
A spark of life that blazes profuse.
It's a slice of God, emitting divine radiance.
It's the unique essence that sustains.
It's the fragrance that disseminates.
It's the infinite universe within each one of us.
A temporary prisoner in a clay-built abode,
Soul will one day seek redemption.
Death cannot summon it or subdue it,
Nor time defeat or decay it.
With death, the soul like a beam shall spring,
Into heaven’s immeasurable heights,
Into a realm where restorative waters flow,
Where grief shall never make its ugly presence.
Originally my soul had the sparkle of a diamond.
But when I started loving and caring my body more,
It lost its pristine lustre; it lost its divine grace.
Without love, my soul is starving and dying.
Caught in life’s swift current and swirling eddies,
I struggle to stay afloat, I am about to drown.
Lord, help me pilot my small vessel,
Safely through the turbulent currents of life.
I now decide to leave my old ways behind,
To retrieve the sparkle of my soul divine.
Wash it clean of every trace of sin and blemish,
Purifying my thoughts, words, and actions,
With my body, mind and spirit coming into fusion.
May the eternal energy from the divine soul flow,
Through every nerve uniting me with the Supreme
To experience the perennial illumination within me.
“Wind Song”
When the rain came it raised a torrent
music, little by little, raised the levy
light pebbles rolled over one by one
took with them
all their
flotsam and jetsam
leaves ferrying Black Ravens carried on
Brook babbling
listened to the birds scrabbling
singing -
“I am the one!"
"I am the one!”
Fed them bread and thanksgiving
Fat and feathered their over fed pride sung
Red Robin turned with the Wind,
flew red currents away from the Aviary in full swing
Spreading wings, riding on their Wind Song
She sings She sings
(Lovejoy-Burton, August 2018)
"Home is where your story begins."- Unknown
1. Levy
impose (a tax, fee, or fine).
"a tax of two per cent was levied on all cargoes"
synonyms: impose, charge, exact, demand, raise, collect, gather; More
archaic
enlist (someone) for military service.
"he sought to levy one man from each vill for service"
noun
an act of levying a tax, fee, or fine.
"police forces receive 49 per cent of their funding via a levy on the rates"
synonyms: tax, tariff, toll, excise, duty, fee, imposition, impost, exaction, assessment, tithe, payment; More
historical
an act of enlisting troops.
"Edward I and Edward II had made substantial use of the feudal levy for raising an army"
2. Levee
an embankment built to prevent the overflow of a river.
a ridge of sediment deposited naturally alongside a river by overflowing water.
a landing place; a quay.
Death is but a change.
Nothing truly dies, it only takes on a new form.
Everything that was created in the beginning
Is a total of all that was and ever will be.
There can never be more or less.
Evolution at it's best.
My soul, lay in wait in euphoria to be born mortal.
Now bound in my human form.
When my vessel gives it up with faded breath
It will again be as it was created.
Perhaps to be bound again;
more lessons to learn....
The wheel turns.
Only in death perceived am I truly alive.
Immortal; without sin.
I say again,
"Do not mourn for me."
How long will this evolution continue?
Souls deposited in human prisons.
The answer, I believe, absolutely lies
behind our eyes;
in our minds.
A living computer of which we use a minute, ten percent;
certainly not as was meant.
Perhaps in another billion years , at one hundred percent, we will be
perfection of the three;
body, mind, and soul.
Our evolving complete.
To live as human immortals;
with intelligence and loving enough souls to keep our bodies ageless.
No more to evolve...
Puzzle solved.
Until that day,
I'll be on my way.
Not dead, but somewhere out there, or perhaps very close, continuing my journey.
Do not mourn for me.
Imagine if you were to wake up one morning
To discover you're the big jackpot winner
Eighty-six thousand, four hundred dollars
You could treat the whole neighbourhood to dinner
Well you're a big jackpot winner every single day
Cause eighty-six thousand, four hundred seconds
Are deposited in your Magical Bank account
Like a bonus sent down straight from heaven
Use them wisely your account could be closed
At any old time without warning
Time races by much quicker than you imagine
No guarantees you'll see another morning
So enjoy yourself, live your life to the fullest
Each second is worth much more than gold
Live and love with sweet kindness in your heart
It's a ticket straight to heaven I've been told
© Jack Ellison 2012
No excuses needed
Nor apologizes
This is who I am as a person, a human being and the man that I intend to be. Take your thoughts and beliefs and keep them for yourself. I am this man that you see before you without shame.
Not a shell of myself, maybe rough around the edges that seem to cut through the surface of my personal imperfections. My life and struggles has made me, prepare me for unexpected disappointments. So that I could just smile with tears in my eyes holding my head, no matter the circumstances. I make no excuses for myself every tear and worried thoughts are accounted for compared to the scares that cover parts of my body. I’m a fighter in every aspect of any thought or words form.
I represent the broken men who believed in something once
Maybe twice, maybe I should just count up my tears and move on.
Dues paid and deposited into the tampered and broken sections of my heart, no dearly departed I’m still standing. I’m just aware that my life means something to me. I find myself looking into the mirror with wondering thoughts that seem to just cross my mind and time doesn’t exist. I want to hug myself, searching for some type comfort even though poetry frees me. There are lists of things going on but that’s the role or part played by the image of this broken man.
I work hard on who I am, doing my best not to be wrong though have been taught by several, sometimes I just don’t matter. It’s not in me to give up, just that part of me to be Noble and at the same time a broken man.
It took two days but I drank the oceans dry
Spat out the salt creating deserts beneath a cloudless sky
I ripped a mountain from the earth and deposited it on the moon
Blew down a giant forest with one breath, not a single leaf remained in bloom
Turned the sun down a notch or two and redirected its rays to lessen global warming
Swept clouds to where rain was needed and sunshine to where rain was pouring
Rerouted rivers far and wide so that arid lands might bloom
Capped all menacing volcanoes on the Earth and shut down their noxious plumes
Confiscated the wealth of the greedy and redistributed it to the starving masses
Ripped the guns from the hands of a million sociopaths and kicked their useless asses
Tracked down Greed, Envy, Hate and War and crushed them into dust
Released Love and Compassion from their steel chains, forever eliminating mistrust
If all this be a dream and when I awake I find I'm still merely mortal
I will still be heartened by the fact that "hope still burns eternal"
Try to open your third eye
Sharp your sixth sense
You can clearly see
This earth is still passing through ice-age.
People would say
This summer was the hottest ever!
If you’d inquire, you must see
The sun is now heatless
Not able to melt the deposited ice
Of this helpless earth.
Who knows when these fossils would get back
Their lives, how ?
Who knows, after stepping up how many stairs
Life would take the shape of human ?
Who can predict the exact moment
When this civilization would reach
At the zenith position of the square
In the lightless sky
When would this indolent sun
Burn the impurities of million hearts ?
Oh! The belated winter is unbearable
Fear in my body
Impotence in my flesh
I’m collecting my bones
To set fire and burn my soul.
One day ashes of my body would be deposited
Under the igneous rock
To irrupt as a Volcano.
What species of humanity are you?
Whatever kind you are, you don't worry us.
According to hearsay
you were willing to lay your hands
on small items
deposited by my mother
to the communal account,
close to a bank.
I know that since its existence
Istanbul has changed others.
Some who have gone there wearing worn down shoes
have returned in high heels.
You continue to brush its streets with your skirt.
Mirrors do not show what really happens.
Ah, yes, you forget so quickly
the dusty streets of the sub-prefecture
of your childhood.
This ruse is your currency of the moment.
I know you.
You have swindled your brothers and sisters
with many recoveries.
My daughter, is there nobody to take you by the hair
and demand that you seek out America or Europe?
You have invented a lie to fill your pockets with money.
What species of humanity are you?
Whatever kind you are, you don't worry us.
Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Paris, le 09.10.2004
Traduit par by Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by Joneve McCormick - 25.10.2004
(Note: Soul to Soul presents this fine poem and others
in the spirit of communicating freely to increase understanding,
not to cater to any agenda or offend any nationality.)