Best Every Week Poems
just going to church every week ~ does not make you a better Christian
be grateful for everything that you have ~ because many have nothing
love and respect are not something that you can buy ~you have to earn them
our world leaders and politicians ~ do not bear the scars of battle
your clock of life is ticking and does not stop ~ do not waste a second
surely it is not the end of the world ~ if your team loses a game
always accept a gift ~ don't hurt someone's feelings by refusing it
the reward for kindness is the joy you bring ~ to someone else's heart
it is inevitable that you will grow old but think young ~ stay young
the only true winners in wartime ~are the arms manufacturers
machines make life easier ~ but cannot function without your input
Written 14th March 2021
Dead Men Do Tell Tales
I saw, the rot of sad, deep selfish desires,
burning endlessly in clever fires
Piles of cash a tall mountain high
stolen by those that cleverly steal and lie
six lying days every week ,
while they race into church pretending
to be ever so mild and meek
The preacher crying all to give so much more
while he lives in a mansion with a golden door
drunks living with no other life
have sacrificed family and wife
naked women on the the street,
selling their pride and body like meat
hustlers getting rich selling poisonous dope
as they hang themselves with an evil rope
I looked for solace and found there was none
just endless cowards crying on the run
A world teaching wrong is so damn right
blind monkeys never seeing the light
dancing in fruitless trees,
tree-rats eating with relish their rotting cheese
Looking for Spring to bring life anew
I too am blind and without a damn clue
a fool holding onto a false hope
on a tight leash and even shorter rope
Where is the miracle we each think can come
we see it shining there for some
A treasure glaring in the glimmering Sun
gifted not stolen by guile and a gun
So I finally turned to family for relief
ease my Soul, winter in my long lost belief
that Life must give us all a saving line
other than more food when we sit to dine
R.J. Lindley
Nov 9th, 1984
How do I begin to describe you
Such an incredible person
Yet even now you doubt your abilities
You lost your own mum when you were eight - you never ever got over it
You worked all your life, started off by working in a bank for almost 20 years
Then when you had children you ran a village shop from home
But also helped run the smallholding where we lived
You even had an evening job to bring in extra income
Then you began working in a care home and that had a big impact on you
At 50 you changed direction in life and studied and trained to be a nurse
No mean fete with two children to bring up
When you retired you continued to work in a care home
Then you undertook charity work every week still continuing well into your eighties
In fact you were on your way to work at the charity shop when you fell
You were found lying in the street …
Two bleeds on your brain and over three months in hospital
How you pulled through I will never know
Yet you battled on and are still with us still
Now you have short-term memory issues and are going blind
Fate struck a cruel blow when dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer
He passed away in February
Your lifelong partner for nearly sixty years
Your world turned upside down and now you live in a care home
We are selling the family home - gosh I find it tough emotionally
I know we have lost dad but I feel like I am losing you too
You are helping me clear out things from the house
Items you have known and loved for many years
Sadly we can’t keep everything
It must be so so difficult for you, yet you never complain
I just want you to know how much I love you
How much you inspire me
We only have one mum and I am so lucky I have you still
Written for a previous contest but too late to be submitted
Placed in Judy Konos' Contest - tell us about your mom
18th September 2015
Remembering the days of yesteryear
when family ties were held most dear,
gas lamps flickered in the back street
while most of us danced a different beat.
Tragic alleyways of smog and smut
“Live over the brush”* branded a sl*t,
silhouettes infringe the darkest night
gullible back shift broke the morning light.
Adventurous nights at “Townhead Mill”
eight pints of beer the back porch thrill,
when no meant yes in rapturous skill
to fumigated music from “Nashville.”
Obnoxious libertine this bread man
bay curtain drawn delivery van,
the situation conspired indiscretion
clinical the world’s oldest profession.
Sporting gentlemen in summer bliss
caught first ball costly night on the piss,
pavilion home to moorside drover
many a chaste maiden bowled over.
Partial pilgrimage down “Bolton Road”
black and amber heroes round ball code,
liniment buoyant throughout the room
manly skills embroider the village groom.
Cardinal days steeped in “Rock ‘n’ Roll”
sire in fear of them out of control,
a colossal wedge between cultures
in shadows of decency vile vultures.
Repetitious days of school yard might
the bullies reduced one’s life to plight,
parents queried yet misunderstood
reasons for mayhem in the neighbourhood.
Lad and lasses lost in “Hide and seek”
games of “Stroke a back” every week,
by the old school grounds we all did laik**
now the street is naked for heaven sake.
Why on earth would a mind keep drifting back
this poetry constantly placing me on track,
when life was a role without fame or stars
only toil and trepidation and these scars?
© Harry J Horsman 2013
*Living in sin
** Play
One. Latino boys like Buffalo Wild Wings. It isn't clear why, but it's definitely emerging as a pattern.
Two. Latino boys are persistent. When he asks to kiss you for the first time, say no. Why? Because you've known him for a matter of weeks and he is not your boyfriend yet. Don't worry... he will continue to ask every week until you say yes.
Three. Latino boys are really good kissers.
Four. Latino boys love their family. His cousins are best friends, so you probably already know several of them. If any of his cousins also like you, you might think this is problematic. Your boyfriend will tell you that it's normal, and it's just because they're jealous, and not to worry about it. You will probably worry about it anyway. Sometimes it's better to let things go.
Five. Latino boys are romantic. He will tell you how he loves you in two languages and struggle to find an apt metaphor which he can pronounce in the English language. Since his English isn't perfect, he uses his hands to compensate when he speaks, uses a tilt of his head, a shift in his voice; he says most with his eyes, when he isn't speaking at all.
Six. Notice how he lights up when he smiles at you, like the sunrise... remember that the word for smile in Spanish is sonrisa.
Seven. When he offers to teach you the meringue, say yes. When you trip over each other's feet, laugh. When his face moves close to yours... kiss him.
Eight. When your racist father starts talking about socioeconomic classes, remind him that unlike your brother's American friends, your friends are sober. (Well, more sober. Do not bring up tequila. They're not potheads, at least.) Besides, your Spanish teacher is thrilled with your miraculous improvement in spoken Spanish.
Nine. When you go bowling with him and his cousins and he whispers in your ear that people are staring at us, tell him it's just because they're jealous that I have a boyfriend that will dance with me in public.
Ten. "Te amo" is a phrase that sounds prettiest when whispered.
Why wouldn’t you cut me loose from the strings that bind us
You had left me dangling from a marriage that once united us together
The bonds were broken - you had forsaken our love, not once but so many many times
For over a year now you have been seeing her
I could never understand why you wouldn’t set me free and let me spread my wings and fly
I‘d have the chance to find someone who would be faithful and love me – ONLY me
Yet you still chose to wear my ring upon your finger
You wanted to have your cake and to eat it too
Whilst I was suspended like a puppet floundering in mid air
At first I thought it was all about saving face - playing happy families
You didn’t want your parents to see YOU as a failure
It was always me who visited them every week
Running errands and taking them on days out with the grandchildren
You simply paid your parents lip service and rang them saying you are working away, when in reality was you really were with her
But now I have discovered the truth why you won’t let me go - your father let it slip one day when I saw him.
It was his birthday and you’d asked me to take him a bottle of his favourite whiskey - this was your downfall - you know how he likes to talk when he’s had a drop
For now I have discovered the truth the REAL reason why you wouldn’t set me free.
It’s all to do with money – the clause from your uncle’s will. You were his favourite nephew and I could never understand why you didn’t inherit when he died
Now I know the answer - we needed to remain married for fifteen years then and only then would you receive your million-dollar legacy
Ever since your father revealed the truth about the inheritance I have had a private detective trail the two of you – dates, times, photographs I have all the evidence I needed.
The private detective I hired – oh he was delighted to take on the case - you see SHE is his soon to be ex-wife
Well sugar I’m filing for divorce. Don’t bother contesting it. It will be finalised on our 14th Wedding Anniversary.
I’m no longer your puppet, the strings that tied us are finally going to be cut.
Contest:Puppets Sponsor John Lawless
12~25~14
I read Darryl Ashton’s poem Called Pinocchio Rex and this brought back
memories of a childhood incident
When I grew up we had a smallholding – the house was called ‘Longacre’ as we
had over an acre of land. Over the years we had chickens, pigs named Pinky
and Porky and a goat called Susie… she had kids called Billy and Nanny – guess
I was no good at names back then… but I digress
Attached to the house was a small village shop but my parents also made a
small income from selling fresh eggs and in the summer home grown
strawberries – I would help pick washing baskets of them and bag them up to
sell.
Every week a little old man would arrive for his dozen eggs and if the shop was
shut he would ring the doorbell. He wore a pointed felt hat, had steely blue
eyes and the most enormous nose you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to him
my parents nicknamed him 'Pinocchio'.
When I was aged about 7 years old the doorbell rang – mum was busy baking
in the kitchen so I answered it. There in front of me stood this old man wanting
his eggs. Mum shouted from the kitchen
‘Who is it Janet?’
I replied ‘Oh its only Pinocchio’
At once mum appeared from the kitchen, her face was the colour of beetroot.
She apologised for the comment from her ‘cheeky daughter’ The man
purchased his eggs and walked away – never to return!
The moral of this true tale is that parents ALWAYS tell the truth and that
children have ears the size of an elephant and a mouth just as big … so if you
don’t want them to repeat something YOU have said keep it zipped!
Jan Allison
11th August 2014
Full title:
LIFELONG, MEANINGLESS MUSINGS MEAN EVERYTHING OF NO VALUE
aka
OFF THE WALL RAMBLINGS
After upscale meals, I know no relief
until I somehow pick my un-fancy teeth.
Serve me good food in my own home
and these same teeth leave me alone.
At work, when I am approached by someone
who wishes to run some questions by me,
I silently laugh at an image most fun –
question marks toting briefcases as they run.
When my hands are dish-washing sudsy
or toting a large box for some distance,
an air fairy enjoys itching my nose nutsy
until I concede and scratch it roughly.
Any new clothes I hang up that are white,
closet creatures beat with yellow chains
and their marks will not wash out of sight.
The more I love it, the more yellow remains.
Things do grow legs and then walk away.
I tend to nest surrounded by my stuff.
I will not move, but my stuff will parade,
decay, migrate, and evade me, sure enough.
There exist an invisible, rude agitator
who throws dirt inside my refrigerator.
Every week or so, this frig mini-meanie does put
grime, spots, ice-hard raised trails and odd soot.
My air fairy, closet creatures and frig mini-meanie were all to me, assigned.
I know this because I often move and still, it is where I go that they find.
... CayCay Jennings
November 24, 2016
I took a stroll around my mind today
And there I found images, visions at play:
I saw a child, happy carefree
I somehow knew that child wasn’t me
More of a hope, a dream that never came true
That dream, that illusion was shattered by you
I saw a teen innocent naive
For that misled youth I often grieve
I see a bride and her husband to be
But for me that door’s locked and you hold the key
I see the life I should have know
The type of environment in which I should have grown
You’ve taken so very much from my life,
From my sister, your daughter, my mother, your wife
You’ve haunted my days and tortured my nights
To the memories you leave me I can put up no fight.
I will never forgive you for the pain that you’ve caused
The whole of my life has been slowed down or paused
I only hope that one day I’ll see
How to trust again and learn to be me
________________________________________________
April is child abuse awareness month.
According to Ofsted, 3 children die every week from child abuse in the UK and Wales
Try not to roll your eyes
when she is giving helpful hints
of how she does everything.
Make sure her son (your hubby)
calls her every Sunday
and offer to help her with her gardening chores
even though you detest everything
to do with gardening
Take her a cooked casserole
every week, and sit and watch
her favorite TV show with her.
It’s the little things that count more
And let her boast about her roast
and how he(her son) loves her cooking the most.
After all, one day, you too
will be a Mother-in- Law.
An aside: This is purely fictional and written
to a prompt - to write a How to poem.
I actually loved my Mother-in-Law and we got along
famously. I was heart broken when she passed away.
I put my money to work
I put my words into action
Turning my thoughts into reality
Screaming the power of one
We are misled by the world
Adapting wrong information
Refraining from our own destiny
People telling us we are nothing
Laughing at our crazy dreams
I use my head for correction
Let my mind wonder a little bit
Mixing all the chemicals in the reaction
I don't need any approbation
Screw the world, if it stands still
Till the end of my days
New star every week
Old star gonna perish
New year with a new weep
Let us stand up as the world
Help women and children
Put wrong doers into prison
Liberty for all the people
I put my words into action
Let alone no perfection
The world needs affection
Working with the law of attraction
For many years, the creek, ran passed as a drain,
Polluted and unloved; a poisoned murky vein.
A favoured dumping place, for household unwanted things -
out of sight, out of mind; and no good what it brings.
Life was almost non-existent in the creek
and weed infestation makes it sad and bleak,
but turning a blind eye has gone too long,
and allowing this pollution was so wrong.
So, ‘friends of wattle creek’ were duly formed
and at meetings their ideas quickly warmed,
with working bees to help remove the mess,
and from there, reclamation could progress.
Weeds became victims, of mattock and the hoe;
there’s room for native vegetation to regrow.
Five hundred seedlings were there every week,
and planted by the ‘friends of wattle creek.’
Through the years, there were many setbacks,
from mother nature and her natural attacks,
with flood and storms or sometimes howling gales –
and thankfully, it was just the weak that fails.
With the foliage and the flowers an attraction
for lorikeet and honeyeater squabbling action;
weebills and pardalotes, were giving lots of cheek,
to warm the hearts of ‘friends of wattle creek.’
Undergrowth is cover for the wary bandicoot,
and the sugar glider dines on native fruit.
In the shallows of the creek; water is now clean;
once again, a spiny crayfish can be seen.
In a few short years, the volunteers with vision,
turned away an eyesore, with a right decision,
now it’s paradise restored from something bleak,
and all thanks goes to the ‘friends of wattle creek.’
The health of wattle creek is quite amazing,
and ‘friends of wattle creek’ deserve the praising.
Native fish are thriving; bird numbers are on track;
it warms the heart to know – the platypus is back.
For many years, the creek, ran passed as a drain,
Polluted and unloved; a poisoned murky vein,
but is now a thriving green belt, captivating all,
and the ‘friends of wattle creek’ are standing tall.
When I was young, sometimes I’d get to go
to our town’s theater, where I would see
a curtain open up, then a long show
much better than the ones on my tv!
The seats inside this place were plush and red,
and there were lots of them row after row!
Small stars were on the ceiling overhead.
I felt enchanted by their magic glow.
With tales like “Sparticus,” so mesmerized
I’d sit and savor every movie plot.
Were movies a religion, I’d get baptized.
I love all types and I love them a lot!
I left for college. Foreign films I saw
with subtitles, and those I saw for free.
The themes were deep and filled my soul with awe.
The greatest film buff I had come to be.
Some forty years ago, I started to
see at least one movie every week
at a theater when they’re brand new.
And dramas most unusual I seek.
TGIF was on my license plate -
“Thank God It’s Friday” because I live for
my Friday matinees, and I can’t wait
to write reviews of movies I adore.
For years I have reviewed the films I’ve seen
on Facebook and at one time with my own
column in a poetry magazine!
And by the way, most shows I see alone.
My spouse hates going out and is not free
to go with me when I have days off, so
I’ll ask a movie buddy. Usually
she’s busy, but I’m fine just going solo!
I have other passions such as poetry,
e-mailing friends and striving for good health.
But once a week the “big screen” I must see.
Of movie plots, my brain contains a wealth!
Dec. 19, 2017 for the Meraki Contest of Silent One
When I think of my heavenly promised land,
Where someday I will make my eternal home,
With Jesus, who came, the world to redeem;
Oh how the best things of this world grow dim!
When I imagine God’s beaches of golden sand
Along the shiny shore of the smiley glassy sea;
I cannot wait there to go and on my place stand.
Oh what a joyful thought; what an eternal land!
Where down here on earth can I find anything,
To compare with the immortal flowers above;
Which never fade away by day-they feel alright-
As they sing glories to God; for all is light.
Who can show me in this ailing world anything,
Close to the water of life clear as crystal above.
Which never freeze; for there is not any winter—
But flows graciously; inviting me eternity to enter!
My land smells some sweet smell of rare roses,
Angels sing soft songs seasoned with angelic smiles
Every time I think of this land and its unfading roses,
I wonder how fairer my Jesus looks when He smiles.
Oh when I think of my ever sweet promised land
All valuables I have round about me simply fade away.
When I picture the everlasting beaches of golden sand
All the earthly white sand beaches simply fade away.
Oh when I think of my heavenly promised land,
Where someday I will make my eternal home;
I feel so lonely in this world, I am so home sick!
I long to go home to sing with angels every week,
Praising God for ever as I eat from the tree of life.
Shouting Alleluia as I drink the water of life.
For there will be no more crying no more dying;
But singing and shouting and praising Jesus our King.
I know it’s possible through the blood of the Lamb.
I have two teens, a boy and girl
put here to cause me pain.
They fight like cats with their only goal
to drive me quite insane.
I've done my best and raised them well,
can't say they've not been taught.
But they play the victim when they misbehave
whenever they are caught.
Those crazy teenagers roll their eyes
just to see me getting riled.
I didn't learn, I should have stopped
at having one more child.
His pants are baggy and her skirt too short
but when I add in my two cents.
When I say my peace, no matter what,
they're quick to take offense.
They must inform their friends of everything
and it all ends up in a tweet.
And when taking pictures, they're quick to post
and rarely are discreet.
A bit short on manners and often rude,
the reason God made wine.
They're bereft of knowledge and lacking wisdom,
this really saves them time.
They want fashion clothes and fancy cars,
they're pleading for more phones.
They take my money every week
saying it's a loan.
They want more stuff, they need more things,
always ready to consume.
They will never know what they have
until they clean their rooms.
I give them chores, a little work,
then I have to reprimand.
Their faces blank as they do not care
or seek to understand.
If they must have sex, please play it safe
and give your Dad a break.
Don't take this wrong, you drive me nuts,
don't repeat all my mistakes.
God loves those teens as he made so many,
he must has a sense of play.
To get me back for the things I've done
just to watch me turning gray.
So to my children who think no rules apply,
this is just my point of view.
Remember this when you have your kids...
I hope they're just like you.
The End
*For those who may be interested. I will be posting my cartoon 'Bob's your Uncle' on my homepage. A new one will appear every couple of days.