Best Finish Up Poems
I Love . . .
to snuggle in my bed, no one around,
the purring of my cat the only sound.
And whether near a window streaming light
or with a lamp nearby me late at night,
I hold within my hands all boredom’s cure,
for I’m embarking on a magic tour.
I might be visiting a queen and king
while on my way to find a hidden ring.
Dark knights attack. Before the tale is done,
I am a hairy hobbit on the run!
Fear, though, is addicting. Oh, heart be still!
I’m chased through pages of a book. The thrill!
So many kinds of places I can go.
So many kinds of characters to know.
To ancient times on any given day
I might end up and then be swept away. . .
a slave girl who is yearning for the chance
to be set free and even find romance!
At other times, I’m in a mystery
or in a crazy person’s mind I’ll be!
When lost in a good plot, I just can’t wait
to finish up and know my hero’s fate.
To live another life I only need
to open up a book and start to read!
Written Feb. 20, 2017
Now used for Maureen McGreavy's What I Love Poetry Contest
The devil's in my room and he's speaking to me
I'm supposed to just swallow what he's feeding to me
Let me tell you what he said
I'll keep you company when you don't have the strength to leave bed
I'll be the reason you can't drop to sleep when you lie down
All those so called friends, where are they right now
Quit being emotional, or I'll give you something to cry about
You pushed everyone away, so it's just me
You'll only hurt yourself if you try to push me
I've been with you since you were 14 Alex, You should trust me
You've been free from self-harm for too long, once again you need to become friends with the knife
Who's going to care if you finish up ending your life?
Go ahead, Just take one cut with the blade and you can mend tonight
That's all it will take for you to stop losing sleep
You may aswell, your poetry isn't as good as it used to be
Every poem is the same "Blah Blah blah, I'm tired of depression abusing me"
You should respect me instead of attacking me, it's always been you and me
You mention my name on every page that you write
When all your relationships went wrong, I was the one who stayed by your side
I paid visits to you when you were in care,where was your mum at?
Drinking with your dad, and he's dead now and can't come back
But he didn't even want you when he was alive
Yet you take it out on me, when I've always been by your side
Bipolar is my brother, and you're upset I let him get to know you
Then I introduced you to my sister anxiety
This family was supposed to deal with everything privately
You blame us, But it was you who exposed you
The devil is depression and he's speaking to me
Said anywhere I go, he'll be leaving with me
A freak of literature
Designed by those mad poets
But escaped the lab:
the English classroom,
Its me G the hybrid word:
With added punctuation and
bold character so im strong-
Arial be my font family but I paced away,
So I ain't close to them
So sorry paragraphs and stanzas!
I guess the writer knows my verses.
A lonely word, a sentence out cast:
Low self esteem and narrow stem
Serifs sticking out so im teased!
Roaming the lines, in the bottom line
Seeing meaningless words and incorrect spellings;
Paragraphs hanging in the margins ,
Looking out for erasers and ink removers
No word dreams of spending their literature:
Stroked out; erased and torn out;
Threw in a garbage can: that hell!
O please writers answer us!
We just want to be read in harmony,
And spelled correctly.
We words know:
That these are the last Summarized times
so the poem might end
But let me finish up,
The writers know the poetry
The whole story, they created us!
Words of this Chapter
The freak of literature,
How do I know? it's the writer
The prophecy of the chosen word:
The son of poets and the proper nouns
So they all capital letters,
Yeah! They coming for yeah!
The errors, words that have been erased
The undead, the unreadable
Damn the legible,
Think they better than us!
Cause they accepted by the writers,
Writing and prophesizing sentences
Those verses forming stories,
It's war: words stroked
Cold inked so they erased,
Torn out papers!
This is deeper than writing!
We all words destined to be read
So some are reasoning,
Is this a verse or a poem?
Many words are beginning-
to question their literature,
Begging writers to write evenly,
No orphans and widows:
We just want to be spaced out,
Adjustments and justified
In lined sentences-so we spread out
Properly uniting calling paragraphs;
Growing in numbers to stanzas,
So all the readers read us as one story.
Twas the night before deer season
and all through the town
all the hunters were campin';
there was no one around.
The guys weren't all snuggled
and warm in their beds.
Instead they're in sleeping bags
dreaming of mounted buck heads.
They hope to get out early
and see a huge buck!
To hear something besides a squirrel,
I'll wish them good luck!
The schools are all out for
the whole of the season.
The mothers will go crazy
for that very reason.
It causes time to be mixed up
and all in a haze.
The game warden's wife
hasn't seen him for days.
So get all your gear out,
and decked out in camo.
Shine up the ole rifle,
and fill it with ammo.
Before I finish up,
I'll give you one tip.
Don't mess with that warden,
don't give him no lip!
It's almost time to head out,
and listen hard for a grunt.
Happy deer season to all;
have a safe and fun hunt!
I reached retirement age a year ago,
but still I like to teach and so I do,
but three days now instead of four a week.
I start at 9 and finish up by 2.
I love my students, and I joke with them.
My class most fun is an elective: Film,
but first class of the day I love the most
because our foreign students need it most.
It’s grammar, and without it, other skills
fall flat. I feel that it’s my strongest suit.
Although my major happened to be Spanish,
I felt inadequate, nor did I want
to teach our teens so little motivated.
One doesn’t get paid well in ESL,
but students are adults who wish to learn.
My personality goes great with teaching
since I love words and knowing how they work.
I get to be creative and tell stories
to illustrate my point to students who
appreciate me. From them I learn too!
I came to poetry in my mid-40’s.
I’d only written stories in my high school,
I now use poetry to write about
all sorts of things, by using classic forms
in which the structure of a sentence matters.
I love poetic elements such as
alliteration, rhyme and metaphor.
I’d never make a stunning free verse poet.
Iambic beat came coursing through my veins,
and led me to the way I write today,
The silence of the darkness on my early morning strolls is as close as I have ever come to experiencing nature’s soul.
There is a beauty in her silence at the beginning of the day…a tranquil kind of mystery that can take your breath away.
Have you ever stood in silence under a starry sky…and not wonder what you’re doing here…not wonder how and why.
Have you ever stood in the silence of a falling snow…or watched clouds silently changing shape as they’ve drifted to and fro?
Have you ever walked in silence through a field filled with flowers…and as you experience the wondrous varieties of life…not wondered about a higher power?
Have you ever sat in the comfort of silence with a loved one…and in your heart concede…that, at that particular moment, you have everything you need?
In the aftermath of a death…the ultimate silent tragedy…who hasn’t felt the silence that was once your friend…become your enemy.
Sadness rides in with the silence for there is a silent moment when…you realize you will never see or hear or touch that person in your life again.
And even though you know they’re gone…still…every now and then throughout the years…isn’t it in the silence of your loneliness you cry your deepest tears.
But isn’t it also in the silent darkness when you begin to feel yourself ascend…and the silence that was just your enemy…once more…becomes your friend
And again you feel the comfort of the silence…your smile returns because you know…it is in the silence of the evening when the trees begin to grow…
It’s in the silence of the days when the flowers create their blooms…and where does the miracle of life begin if not in the silence of a mother’s womb?
My morning walk is over and as I finish up this latest stroll…I feel blessed that nature has allowed me a silent look into her soul
Basketball Blues
Here I am trying to string some coherent thoughts into a prose in writing…
When there is this sudden continuous thumping noise behind where I am seating…
Oh no! That can only mean one thing, my little girl is into her basketball dribbling...
In this limited space of the living room, her boundless energy needs venting…
Ever since the local junior basketball competition has started, I wish we live on the moon…
When the whim strikes, it’s Michael Jordan incessant dribbling about in the living room…
Only the emptiness of space around the moon can silence the sounds of these staccato booms…
NASA or whatever relevant space agency, book me quickly, if possible, beam me to the moon..
Yeah, I know better, our cajolings and pleas for quiet in this living room is a waste of saliva…
This feminine version of Michael Jordan in my living room is in one of her breakaways runs afire…
Look out! Control that ball, you almost bump poor Nemo in his cute fish bowl off that table…
Where’s your mother, what do I have to do to get a little peace in this time of the day altogether…
Little girl, if you don’t mind, I’m trying to finish this little poem of mine to post on-line…
I have my readers and fans, they’re just like yours, hoping to see the best I can offer each time…
Yeah I know, your fans and supporters, they are cheering you on too, I see the picture…
But little angel of mine, please put away that blasted ball , how about something else to consider …
Let me finish up this shortened prose, post it up online and then I will bother you no longer…
After that, it would be better that I quickly retire to the master bedroom, silence there is pre ordered…
Tell me again, when is your last game, for all this thumping through the week is giving me heartburns…
Do you have to bounce that ball indoors, that noisy din will one fine day bring on angry neighbours…
Better you do something not so noisy, say, clean Nemo’s tank - it looks rather dirty to me….
What? You’ve clean it twice already in this week, are you very sure of that? How about money?..
Would you like to have some change and maybe you can grab a soda outside, it is one fine weather..
Fervently I dare hope, my little Michael Jordan, do go and pick up your many dolls, where’s Barbie..?
Have you ever entered in a room?
Where you know you’ve been before?
A place that’s so familiar,
Played back for you once more.
A room where your surroundings
Are clear and can be viewed.
Where you return to finish up
Things you left to do.
A room where nothing changes
Always seems the same,
This place is so familiar
Yet so hard to embrace
A room where life will take you
Show you where you’ve been
A room you remember
It lives in you within
So when you walk into a room
Where it’s so familiar
You know you’ve entered into time
For you has been kept in there
One at a time is the step of life
Take a leap when you get to a pit
Else, down the pit you'll dive
When you resurface your bearing is lost.
Slow and steady is the race of life
Never look back 'cos it’s lost and gone
When you meet setbacks, make a dive
Bypass it never leaving your lane.
As bold as the hawk you should be
Your eyes as sharp as the eagle's
So all that walk your lane you can see
And promptly treat according to size.
Never overlook anything on your way
Never take those sweet spots the way they are
They're never the best places if I may say
The regrets in loving them is not always far.
Never try to side-step any step
Never run away from the difficult spot
The next step is as important as the last step
Ignore it and all is lost.
As you strive to finish up the race
Be mindful of those on the way offering you water
Some kinds of water can set you ablaze
Remember there is nothing as late as later.
These are the rules of the game
Keep these rules
And you'll rise to fame
Aside you, the winner will be no one else.
If you draw your sword so sharp
To skewer me on a night so dark
Stop and ponder what might befall
If my words you chance to spall
A bouquet of thorns, for you I’ll sow it
Take warning fair, beware the poet
I’ll drag your hair out from your crown
Set it aflame to render down
Flesh from bones and skull and pate
Your dome will be my dinner plate
If for your body you care or fret
Take warning fair, beware the poet
I’ll fry your kidney, spleen and lung
Then garnish it with nose and tongue
Your innards I will with pestle pound
And feed them to my trusty hound
Who’ll lap them up with zeal I bet
Take warning fair, beware the poet
I’ll carve your shin bone to a spoon
You’re ears will become two spittoons
Fine shredded cheeks and coarse sliced eyes
Can become lip smacking pies
Each digit will make a fine brochette
Take warning fair, beware the poet
I know ‘twill be a fantastic feast
For family and friends, ten at least
We’ll toast stupidity with your blood
And finish up with sweet, heart pud
It’s no false threat that I emote
Take warning fair, beware the poet
I said I'd bring the Brussel Sprouts.
My friend said that was fine.
But still I saw him questioning
as though I'd crossed the line.
He mentioned we had many things.
A meal for a king.
But then he said "Oh what the heck"
and on I went with zing.
I mentioned bringing cranberries.
To which he said "For beef"?
Then stated that I didn't care
and kept it just that brief.
Till finally bringing cherries up.
The Marashino kind.
Do tell; I'd brought his anger up.
He thought I'd lost my mind.
I said they're for the ice cream.
When he said "We have cake".
Then told him we could put them on
for something new to make.
He greeted me with smiling eyes.
His kitchen in a mess.
He'd cooked the meal the whole day long.
This man was meant to bless.
The table sat in waiting now.
A knife, a fork a spoon.
My friend next to the burners on
where he'd been next since noon.
We talked about the day we had.
complained of things unfair.
While turnips, carrots and potats
sat cooking on with flair.
The roast was last to finish up.
It cooked a second time.
It looked like we'd be waiting on
for pink to leave the Prime.
When finally all was ready now.
Each dish upon the table.
You couldn't have had a better spread
or find a friend more able.
The turnips shining in their juice.
The carrots basted glisten.
Potatoes mashed in pile of silk
for gravy left to Christen.
We filled our plates with everything.
Three inches piled high.
And kept them separate in their space.
Not more if we could try.
When finally it had come to change.
The cranberries coming next.
My friend conceded they taste great
with beef in it's context.
The Brussel Sprouts were perfect
as we both approved thier taste.
And ate as many with the meal
to keep them from their waste.
With everything we ate that night
included was our prayer.
For though we stuffed ourselves that night
we're thankfull to be there.
We walked it off an hour or more.
Our health in need of chance.
Returning for another round
of ice cream, cake and trance.
To which I mentioned sweetened cherries
to add a little flavor.
When placed upon the ice cream scoop
would leave us both to savor.
The meal ended with a scrape
that both our plates gave squeak.
but despite our prayer and being full
not one us could speak.
To Your Health
I read an article that said laughing's good for you
It strengthens the heart muscle, it's something you should do
It made me think about my health and all the things I see
That I should eat to guarantee a new and better me
So I thought that I would change, what do I have to lose
If all the experts say its right, it must not be a ruse
I just got back from shopping, bought a lot of healthy things
I'm going to test the theory, see what improvements that it brings
Today, while on my treadmill, I snacked on tofu puffs
While lifting dead weights with my arms, but that was not enough
I quenched my thirst with carrot juice, all freshly squeezed of course
And munched on a granola bar, a sure heart healthy source
I had a bowl of Cheerios, floating in some Silk
I'd heard that it was healthier then even nonfat milk
For lunch I had a yogurt, it was the non fat kind
I also hid the salt shaker, out of sight, out of mind
Later in the day I thought I'd like to take a break
So to sooth my hunger, I munched on a rice cake
By dinner I was ravenous, my cravings unfulfilled
This healthy kick that I was on was not as it was billed
I guess I need to give more thought to the changes I will make
But for now I'll finish up, this inch thick pan seared steak
Perhaps I moved too quickly, cause I don't like the food I bought
So starting with tomorrow, I'll just laugh a lot
Placed 12th in D.P."s ANY FUNNY POEM contest
Count First
So you're too cool to finish up high school.
consider that no one will hire a fool.
Count first.
You might be fine with selling fries and burgers.
Take some classes, sell some bigger orders.
Count first.
Before you cut along the penciled line,
Get out your ruler, measure one more time--
Count first.
Before you cook your specialty times three
Make an ingredients inventory.
Count first.
You won't impress that pretty girl so fine
If you can't pay the bill for wine and dine.
Count first.
Before you finally pop the question,
Give her an honest evaluation.
Count first.
If you want a newly-wed apartment,
Think smaller--there is a big down payment.
Count first.
You covet a car with high performance.
Can you even afford car insurance?
Count first
Before buying a new high-tech gadget,
Is there enough in the household budget?
Count first.
When maneuvers are in the planning stage,
Before you commit to a shell barrage.
Count first.
Before overdoing your Santa Clause,
Can you pay the rent? Read the fine print clause..
Count first.
Before you walk up to the Pearly Gates,
What's on your conscience--ask before too late.
Count first.
Mark Halliday 17 May 2014
Dixdeux O
Here is my own recipe for Diet Fruit Pie.
Perhaps you’d like to give it a try.
It will be a success I trust,
if pounds need be shed
as I assume they must.
Peel five large bananas and discard the insides.
Get out the chopper and blend those hides.
When it turns to paste, flour up a pan
and squish it in there by hand.
That will be the crust
of which every pie must.
You may even lick your fingers
If you’re one of those bingers.
Now to this diet pie plan of yours,
Add four cups of apple cores.
For filler, chop up the cardboard box without the ritz
and fold it in with a cup of blended cherry pits.
Now cover up this mess with the rest of the banana peel batter
Bet you’re already feeling a lot less fatter….
(stop drooling)
You may finish up with a garnish topping as follows:
Take old grapefruit peelings and chop them up fine,
mix in, to suite, bits of watermelon rind.
Sprinkle this topping generously all around
And burn this dietary delight until brown.
Warning: this recipe is not for the anemic
As it tends to make one bulimic.
(for more tempting recipes go to : uuuheadforthejohn.com )
Chef Robairte'
BLUNDERS SO SAY
WHEN CONFRONTED BY THEM
DIFFERENT NAMES, SAME MEANINGS
PEOPLE OF THE NIGHT,
COLD BLOODED BEIGN
AS THEIR NAME IMPLY
PERCHANCE APPEARS IN THE DAY
IF CHANCE PERMITS
FORCING THEM TO SUCCUMB
TO THEIR PRESSURE
‘COS HOLDING IN HANDS
METALS OF DESTRUCTION
THOU FINISH UP IN A SECONDS
AK 47 RIFLES FOUND WITH THEM
JACKNIFES, CUTLASSES
GLITTERING IN THEIR HANDS
BLITTERING LIKE GALAXY OF STARS
WHEN NEMESIS HIT THEM
TURN AND TIE TO THE DRUM
OR POSSIBLY SET ABLAZE
PERCHANCE GAOLED TENS YEARS
FOLKS SEEING THEM WEEPING HOT
IF GOT TOLD THEY ARE HOODLUMS
THEY HEREBY WHIP THE WEEP…