Best Four O Poems
Memories all seem like just yesterday
As time brings you another birthday
Where does time go, you want to know
You look around it's the big four O
The seconds are passing, the minutes move on
Night slips away to a brand new dawn
Where does time go, you want to know
You look around, and you've turned five O!
Each year that passes, the decades that chime
Moves life forward in the passage of time
Your yesteryears have gone, your tomorrows will go
Where has time gone, you want to know
You then realize you're on a roll
Time keeps on moving and taking its toll
Where does time go, you want to know
It seemed like just yesterday you had a youthful glow
Your vision gets blurry, your movement gets slow
Where has time gone, you wish you did know
But you keep writing in verse and in rhyme
As another birthday is lost in, time....
6-8-2020
Time Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
In solitude with eyes
closed, a bell flashes with a
little girl chuckling, chasing it.
In stillness, silence, the bell starts
tolling and the girl intently stares at it,
eyes beaming with glee and a radiant smile
expressing delight. I opened my eyes, shook my
head, thought of the childlike innocence, the display
of honesty, freedom, enthusiasm and suddenly remembered
my own childhood always excited hearing the church bells tolling
for they meant fun, cheers, good times. Hearing the bell at six o’ clock
in the evening for worship or Angelus prayer at our altar, meant having dinner
with my favorite dish or dessert for dinner was served after our prayers. Hearing
the bells after the morning Easter Sunday procession meant fun in the beach
for everybody went there for fun and lunch to celebrate the Resurrection.
Hearing the bells after the four o’ clock morning masses during the
Christmas season, from December sixteen through
twenty four meant eating delicious
rice cakes at the church
kiosk.
Meant to be read over this song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?
v=dYQ_lse44gQ&feature=related
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i.
[clockwork rage]
goddamn
dried up
everything
even my saliva
is wooden
you don't
know it
how homeless
and strong
I am
unbreakable
and so dry
everything
ii.
[no air]
can't sing
no more
can't form
the words
but I pray
smoke
heavy smoke
thudding against
your window
like a goddamn
pigeon
wrung
dry
all our necks
bared
and strewn about
like dirty socks
this body is
a long
white
stranger
death
can't feel much
different
halfway between
stood up
and fallen
iii.
[a whole heart, a whole heart]
but watch this
watch me leer
at the pretty girls
watch me stick
to the sidewalks
unwashed
unrecognizable
I'm dancing with
fingers
and with smoke
laid out
like so
a dead fish
reeling under
the stars
I'm strong
so strong now
I tell you
when you walk by
with another face
another face
another face
but you never
listen
anymore.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This is me reading -> http://vocaroo.com/?media=vbcUNSaOwuB4v7AVl
Ah, the joys of summer
delightful sights that
lift our spirits
feed our souls
Chickadees frolic
in the sprinkler, bathe
in puddles on the patio
The arched trellis, encased
in delicate cardinal vines
bright red star-shapes
sing hummingbird's song
Trees in full regalia
absorb the heat, offer
shade and gentle breezes
Four o' clocks present their colors
reveal cheerful faces
only at night
Melon vines "taking over"
redeem themselves with
promise of tasty treat
Sweet Peas cling
to the aged oak
wearing lush pink ornaments
We enjoy these summer pleasures
stockpiling in memory
moments to treasure
in winter's freeze
It is so easy at four o clock
in the morning,
under a starry sky,
surrounded by redwoods
and pines,
centered and breathing
clear air and watching
the sky travelers
make their rounds.
Buddha nature is a piece of cake
until Six PM in the dining hall
with wife and children,
a bloody bore on your right,
who's elbow's in your food,
as he shakes your hand,
and moves into your table.
Now, lets see your Buddha Nature!
OL'E TY COBB OF YESTER YEAR,
WAS A GENIUS IN SPIKES, OR SO I HEAR.
HE RAN THE BASES WITH A BURST OF SPEED.
LIKE ADRENALINE JUNKY IN TIME OF NEED.
STOLE SECOND BASE WITH HIS FOOT HELD HIGH.
A SERIOUS THREAT TO SPIKE ONES EYE.
LIT UP THE CHARTS, WITH ALL HIS STATS.
TRIPLE CROWN WINNER AND THATS A FACT.
NINETEEN-ELEVEN (1911), COBB SET THE PACE.
WITH A FOUR-TWENTY(.420) AVERAGE, HE STOLE EIGHTY-THREE (83) BASE.
LED THE LEAGUE IN TRIPLES FOUR (4)TIMES.
HOMERUN KING NINETEEN-O-NINE (1909).
CHECK HIS STATS, HE LED THEM ALL.
THAT TY COBB COULD PLAY BASEBALL.
THIRTEEN THOUSAND-0- SEVEN-EIGHT(13,078).
NUMBER OF APPEARANCES MADE AT THE PLATE.
DON'T FORGET THE BASE ON BALL.
TWELVE-FORTY-NINE (1,249)AND THAT'S NOT ALL.
FOURTY-ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY-SIX (4,186)HITS.
THE RESULTS OF THE WAY HE SWUNG THAT STICK.
BATTING CHAMP ELEVEN (11) DIFFERENT TIMES.
WON NINETEEN TWELEVE (1912)WITH A FOUR-O-NINE (409).
LED EIGHT TIMES, IN TOTAL WITH HITS.
LED STOLEN BASES WITH A TOTAL OF SIX.
EIGHT-NINETY-TWO (892)TOTAL STOLEN BASES.
IMAGINE THE LOOK ON THOSE CATCHERS FACES.
TWENTY-TWO-HUNDRED FORTY-SIX RUNS.
AFTER TWENTY-FOUR SEASONS, HIS CAREER WAS DONE.
HE ONLY STRUCK OUT SIX-EIGHTY(680) TIMES.
OVER TWENTY-FOUR SEASONS, THAT BLOWS MY MIND.
HALL OF FAMER, THATS A FACT.
WITH HIS NINETEEN-THIRTY-SIX HALL OF FAME PLAQUE.
GEORGIA PEACH IS DEAD AND DONE.
JULY SEVENTEEN SIXTY-ONE. A
A HUNDRED YEARS HAVE COME AND GONE,
THAT TY COBB LEGEND, STILL LIVES ON.
four o' clock in the morning,
i'm feeling like a slob;
the alarm says that i must go,
to face this horrid job!
the weekend's all a tease,
just when i'm good and lax;
monday beheads my shallow pride,
like an executioner's axe!
my eyes are swollen crusty,
my breath's a putrid stench;
saliva soaks a beaten pillow,
my energy lies in a trench!
i dread each day of monday,
as i drag myself to the shower;
my nerves are like an itchy rash,
my attitude's vague and sour!
out the door i go,
to battle a huddled freeway;
monday is just the beginning,
where in the hell is friday?!!
Whatever happened
To afternoon tea
Served around four o-clock
It used to be a daily ceremony
Out came a pretty cloth
From an old sideboard drawer
To put on a small table
Used many times before
On to this table
Doylies and napkins placed
Precisely and carefully
There was no need to race
Then came the china
A person's very best
Teapot and cosy
And an antique spoon rest
Fairy cubes of sugar
Along with bowl and tongs
Wireless playing softly
To the now old-fashioned songs
Now to the best part, the spread
Oh! the spread
Everything home-made
Especially the bread
Assorted sandwiches, sometimes ham
Mostly it was scones with cream and jam
Nothing elaborate just wholesome fare
Loving-kindness sprinkled there
Not a Macdonalds to be seen long ago
And preservatives were not so prevalent
So, most grew their own vegetables
And had gardens with fruit trees
Used old-fashioned methods
To nurture these
They grew organic without realising
Healthy, rewarding and very enterprising
Rays of golden sun, at orange dawn, I enjoy...!
I wake up, hearing chirps of birds at four O’ clock;
At fifties! Yet, I feel, as though a little boy...!
The earth and the heavens celebrate springtime-joy,
Timely changes in weather never my glee block;
Rays of golden sun, at orange dawn, I enjoy...!
Newborn baby animals race around in cloy,
In ponds around, bullfrogs in chorus gaily croak;
At fifties! Yet, I feel, as though a little boy...!
Breeze, as though touch me not, feels me and fades in coy,
Within feelings, like salsa, to xylophones, rock;
Rays of golden sun, at orange dawn, I enjoy...!
Seed drowsing, spring up and shoot up fresh green savoy,
Migratory birds to their homelands fly in flock;
At fifties! Yet, I feel, as though, a little boy...!
Sunshine! Shower! Wedding of foxes! Dogs convoy!
Ducks and geese and swans and swamps display their catwalk;
Rays of golden sun, at orange dawn, I enjoy...!
At fifties! Yet, I feel, as though a little boy...!
15 April 2022
Springtime Villanelle Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
The rose unfurls its petals to drink the morning dew,
warblers sharpen their trills, granting the Son his due.
Mother bat folds her wings, hangs upside down to rest,
baby clings to mother's fur, hidden in their leafy nest.
Four-o-clocks hide their faces against the dawning light,
morning glories open wide, only to wilt and die at night.
Leaves on lavish branches with baited breath, await
lilting notes of day-wind sighing through the garden gate.
Deep within the forest glen, where fox hides and owl hoots,
the hidden world changes pace, each creature to its own pursuits.
A world without change would soon grow dull and invisible,
if all were night or all were day, diversity might be impossible.
Almost four-o-clock in the afternoon
and not a single tambourine in sight
you should have jumped over the moon
hours ago, until
secret alien creatures on the surface
said the autopsy was inconclusive
which explains for me why
icicles drip from your heart, as the sun
warms the memory of your embrace, like
moonflowers, gently unfolding at night
reveal the mysteries of love
the bandleader, wearing a feathered pompadour
signals a final formation
somewhere in time
your tune marches into the distance
marches
.......into the distance
01/02/11
Up here in Canada we have our own words
Everywhere does, some think ours are absurd
Between toques, hosers and rhyming currency
Like loonies and toonies, we do speak uniquely
But narrow it down to one province specific
Our Saskatchewan tongue is fairly prolific
We drive on the blacktop to get to the grid
To get to the cabin you went to as a kid
Past the RM’s to grab a two four o’ Pil
Put on my bunnyhug to ward off a chill
Wearing thongs in the summer to the river and back
But the ones on our feet, not the ones up our crack
Kitty-corner from the LB is the Rider store
For watermelon helmets, jerseys and more
Our die-hard fans, they all bleed green
Filling the stands, not a bush league team
Daylight savings? Not on our clocks or phones
For anyone in Saskabush or Pile’o’Bones
Or Elbow, Eyebrow, Climax and Oxbow
Moosejaw, Moosamin and Findlater also
And if you were in P.A. for any time spent
You’d know poor deadly is a compliment
Swimming at Pike used to give you the itch
But it’s all better now so jump in, in your gitch
Even if you’re in the city you know everyone
Probably from the small town that their cousin is from
Someone always chuckles when they say Speedy Creek
We like eating dainties, drinking Vico and Beep
Land of the living skies on or license plates
With good prairie storm clouds, the view’s kinda great
Take a left by the elevator and a right at the barn
Keep going until you’re 20 clicks past the farm
See the dog with one ear up and one ear down
And those are all the directions to get to that town
Full of colloquialisms you may not know well
If you're not from the easy to draw, hard to spell ;)
TIME FOR A VACATION
It is my wife’s lifelong dream, a fairytale place a magic land :
The small village of Rye in Sussex , in southern England.
This is the heart of England, its bosom -
Filled with peaceful smells of blossom :
Like a Dickens scene on christmas cards -
Steep streets with cobblestones - no cars.
Smoking chimneys, bow windows, roofs with thatches,
Hanging baskets of alyssum and lobelia in batches -
Her favorite colours white and dark blue:
I wanted to make her dream come true.
Tea and hot crumpets and warm butter oozing
By the fire in the sitting room with grandad snoozing
At four o’ clock by the chimes of the grandfather
Clock which fascinates - it’s like theatre to her.
Soft beds you sink into deeper and deeper;
Little bedrooms with floral wallpaper
She’s only seen in movies about Sherlock Holmes;
And small windows recalling our childhood homes.
We feel at ease, content like birds flown home to their loft.
View to cherry orchard trees in blossom soft
And to France on the distant sea horizon:
She gazes and thinks and daydreams on and on.
A LANCASHIRE LIASON
“Laugh an world laughs with yer” she said, as she cum in.
I said,“ Do you live in a barn?”
She grimaced an with er large left arm she swung out an shut door.
“Are y’ ere to read last rites? No? Well tek your cap off then”
She whipped the black wool hat from her head and settled down in the chair.
I say settled down. She perched on the edge like a hawk waiting to dive at the plate of biscuits, jammy dodgers, for a her weekly visit.
I had a builders brew all ready for her.
“Well, what do you know Dorothy? Owt or Nowt?”
She laughed in between crunching. “Do yer remember Mrs Newtons daughter, Susan?” I nodded. “Well she’s got another one living wi her, that’s three she’s ad now. This one’s a Derma Filler.”
I said, “Well she’s ad a builder an a plumber, she might as well ave a plasterer.”
She threw her head back laughing almost choking on the last bit of the last biscuit.
“No, its stuff they put in yer face to tek your wrinkles away.”
I smiled, “I know, just kidding wi yer . So tell me Dot, what else ave you got?.”
She sighed, “Not a lot an don’t call me Dot, meks mi sound like a speck”
I thought, ‘oh eck,’
“Well go on Dorothy, what about the lottery, did yer get near?”
She snorted, “Did I eck as like, as far away as Katmandu”
I said “I got 3 numbers, fifteen pounds”
She looked fallen as she creased a smile, “Did you?”
“Anyway" I said, "yer lookin well. Ow ar yer in yerself? ”
As soon as it was out of my mouth I wish I hadn’t said it. She went on for the next hour about her bowels, I were glad to hear the clock strike 4.
“Ey” I said,”that’s four o clock, yer gonna miss your bus!”
She grabbed the hat, plonked it on her head and said, rushing to the door,
“I’m off then Stanley, I ave to seh ‘time flies wen wer together, two of us”
“It does that Dorothy, nice to see yer. See yer nex week”
“Yeh, an it’s my turn for biscuits, I think I’ll mek yer a rhubarb tart dear”
She leaned over me and pecked mi cheek.
I thought after, ‘ee, its bin a long forty year.’
Where Have All The Flowers Gone
Yes Yes Yes, Spring is here
Lillies, Hummingbirds, Bees are near
Time to remember the old and the new
Days pass by too fast for me and you
The lillies my mother -in -law grew so pretty
Now grow in my yard, for eternity
My grand-daughters smell and pick the flowers
The flowers renew just like the rain showers
The hummingbirds love my "Four O Clocks"
Yearly they come and find their docks
Stories, Smells, and Memories are made
Just like the life lessons, they last for decades
The Flowers haven't gone too far
Their here today, tomorrow just like the stars**
Written by: Debra M. Falgout