Best Frowned Poems
I remember you, from when there was a spring
When the seasons were ripe, with verdant green
Our nimble feet danced in the wind
and on the brink of everything
Not a furrow in the brow of youth
We borrowed life for just awhile
and tapped our shoes on childhood's stage
where carefree laughter was the rage
that filled each age with promised smiles
We danced and twirled a twin ballet
just you and me on summer's waves
Two pirouettes, in mode of curls
of blossoms, frilled, and tender leaves
unfurled in winds, we found a way
to soar our wings, above the world
We knew not yet
of death or dying
or of regret, or cause for crying
But, something frowned upon the season
You caught the wind, and without reason
A colder wind
that kept you flying
far beyond my eyes could see
And to the other side
you disappeared
beyond my words
beyond my tears
Now here alone
I touch the day
and taste the night
remembering
I will walk alone, in autumn sun
And lay myself on dying leaves
I think of you and think of then
I feel the wind against my face
that sweeps me to a distant place
where I recall what time erased
I'm closer now... to hear the sound
The whisper of the seasons calling
Above the trees, the sky is blue
I think of you, and feel the breeze
And all the while, the leaves must fall
9/2013
...................................................................................................
I laugh out loud
every time I hear a politician say,
that the best way to enrich a black person's life,
is to give them a job
Give them some work to do
Labor is the way out of poverty ---
are you kidding me!
They got the nerve,
telling a black person in America
they need to work
Put the shoulder to the grinding wheel,
get to know the sweaty brow feel
Getting employed will solve most of
black people's problems, politicians say
Hard work will bring an honest dollar our way
But I got a problem
with that four-letter word: work
I am bold enough to speak for my people
on this urgent matter
Telling us we need to work some more,
in order for things to get better for us
No! We worked long enough
Four hundred years is a long enough time, don't you think
We been working ever since
we got off those slave ships that didn't sink
We worked hard
at keeping our eyes and voices low
We worked hard
at pretending that we're slow
We worked even harder
at grinning and gritting our teeth
But we worked the hardest
at not getting lynched on a tree
Listen to me:
This is the children of slaves reality,
the living in America experience
of feeling the societal lash daily
Of being looked down on,
of being spurned and frowned upon
Politicians say they helped us all they could,
that entitlements didn't do no good
And only work can get us to where we need to be ...
sounds a lot like old-time slavery to me
No! We worked long enough
Four hundred years is a long enough time, I would think
We been working ever since
we got off those slave ships that didn't sink
We worked hard
at not getting pecked to death by Jim Crow
We worked hard
at trying to survive under the poverty line below
We worked even harder
at not telling the oppressor everything we know
But we worked the hardest
at letting our unchained KKKourage show
Yes! We worked long enough ...
now it's time for us to rest
Will you pay us back for that?
A Magic Adventure of Peter The Pan/AKA Peta The Fwying Pan
Peter was a fine young pan with blue eyes
Like all the other pans his age, except,
Peter could not yet pronounce 'R's'--he tried...
And 'L's'...so hard he tried. He even wept.
School had been especially hard today
Peter had been poked, teased, and made fun of
More this day than any other school day...
And the ride home took so long on the bus.
When he came through the door, his mama knew
"Why the long face? Are you hurt? Are you sick?"
"No ma'am," said Peter, "Just tiwad fwom schoow".
"Some cookies and milk may just be the trick!"
Mama said, as Peter sat down to eat.
By now, everyone was gathered around
To hear of his day--and sneak a treat.
So he told them his story...and they frowned.
"How can someone be so cruel! Makes no sense!
You are the smartest and brightest of pans!"
Said Debbie Dishwasher-- then cycle rinsed.
The rest agreed and came up with a plan.
"Okay! It's agreed!" said Bob the blender.
"You need magic!--THAT--we can render!
Charles Chalice and Gail Goblet--my dear
Bring what you have, for this magic milk shake.
Michael Magic Grill...you go get us some beer
And also get Peter a great big steak!"
Then everyone sang together with cheer:
"A parr-ty! A parr-ty! It's a parr-ty!
We are all...having...a magic--parr-ty!"
Everyone was busy, hust'ling around.
Tams the Golden Toaster was making toast.
Tex Texas Tea Pot hummed a whist'ling sound.
David Dish and Sara Spoon danced the most,
Except for Marlon Mop--he could 'get down'!
Carol Crock Pot was fixing up the Soup.
Russell Rolling Pin had rolled out a crust
For a magic pie with love from the coop.
Joann Juicer made fresh smoothies--a must!
Suddenly...a sound was heard on the stoop...
"Who could that be? It's nearly midnight!"
Said Cyndi Chandlier all bright with light.
Christopher Cutting-board called, "I'll go see!"
Vienna Vaccume said, "Not without me!"
"Wait!" Debbie Dishwasher cried from the sink.
"Let's look at more options. We need to think.
It could be someone in need of a meal...
Or, it's a burglar--come here to steal!"
"Everyone else! Quickly! Hide inside me
Until we find out who that sound might be!"
deborah burch©
5/23/2012
*****end part I...conclusion in part II
I stood on a rocky shoal, regret lingering on my mind
Its fingers traced blood-filled lines along my bare arm
as if brittle veins in leaves, fallen from their tree
I was not blind to fear or its impending threat of harm
Whispers like the breath of death washed over me
Brief the moment seemed to be between light and dark
Shadows cast then fluttered in ebon depth of night
Twas foretold a tale of danger, imminent and stark
Pale moon risen, silvered orb stared at me from high
A cyclops beast waited to feast when time was right
Scarecrow in a fallow field, on his arms there perched
ravens who then danced on his head, raucously calling
Death rode on a pale horse and scavengers took flight
Fierce, my fright when from the sky, red eyes lurched
I stared in disbelief, knowing I'd no chance of stalling
Barren branches of leafless trees, maudlin limbs
frowned at me with forlorn face of a grim poet, Poe
My weak knees trembled; eyes filled to the brim
Frozen with terror, deprived of taking a last breath,
'twas not snow made me shiver; an ill wind did blow
Brisk the Winter chill when murder of crow took to air
after beady eyes sent a warning glance my way
An eclipse veiled the moon; and I, gripped with despair,
heard their caws, despite my flaws, denied Poe my soul
At water's edge I escaped death's claws on a rocky shoal
I saw fingers severed
with comically large scissors
and heads near severed
with an even larger pair,
or crimped stubbornly halfway.
I contemplated with some hurt
what I might have thought
to be my earliest loss,
and thrust myself headlong
into my first descent.
The darkest car I’d ever not seen
carried me effortlessly to my future
across snow and water at once,
in love with a girl I’d never met,
I think she loved me too.
Darkness enveloped me
in my vast empty room,
and I’d swear I killed a man
and dropped his lifeless reproach
in a dusty, uncertain old cupboard.
I wrestled the nasty black swan
and found my hero of the moment,
smaller and stranger
then I’d ever thought him to be,
and I swore to God it was him.
I dropped by the bank,
a hero of earlier moments
mirthfully gave me the gears,
as we argued the toss
he couldn’t help but have a giggle.
A giant came bearing down on me,
then went weepy and forlorn,
wailed about the love not known,
the city lights and the city streets
quietly frowned with dismay.
I stared down enemies unknown,
I was afraid and they were sure,
but I found a greater wrath,
I don’t think I killed any of them,
but I guess I probably should have.
And to this day, still not seen,
I don’t even know if it matters.
31st October 2018
In a world where we are constantly told how we should do this and that,
we must learn to thank them for their opinions…but, to listen to our own
hearts and THINK for ourselves.
There is a difference between guidance & being told what to do; where
opinions are sometimes, sadly, just glorified pre-judgments in hiding. In this
world today, more than ever, we must stand our ground and water our seeds
with our own heartbeats.
Because in the time one could spend listening to loud/louder/loudest opinions
of why one should or shouldn’t do it someone else's way, one could have
already done it their own way. Always move in the direction of time:
Forward
...
Another herd of evaporated soliloquies
Flashing warning signs of good-will
Unto the lost
The deaf
The mute
The righteously blind
They simply ask for a sip of strenuous cognac
To lighten regurgitated burdens
Yet, throats become condensed with
Good intentions
Under a cratered moon, afflicted with two-faced vertigo
How can one stand in the face of adversity
When our legs are kicked from the same foundations
That opinion’s high court built
How can I be told to write with syllabic serenity
When a rambunctious rhyme
Would be the socialized death of me
“Guided” by educated parchments, recycled without signatures
…
If poetry is freedom,
Why do critics scream in beer-battered rings of opulent contradictions?
If poetry is freedom,
How is one frowned upon for speaking the word of Life, the word of God
The same God who told us to speak upon epiphanies’ climactic pain
Towards the same “heaven”,
They swear,
They’ll arrive at.
©Drake J. Eszes
Hopping mad, Billy glares through a port
at what foes seem to think is such sport.
Frown for frown, glare for glare,
scarecrow raises his hair.
He laughed yet while his foes took the fort!
"The human race has but one affective weapon,
and that is laughter."
Mark Twain
LUNCH BOX
The sandwich was probably only two days old
School had let out for Christmas vacation on the 23rd
And now on Christmas Eve Sam had found it -
lunchbox and all - in an alley behind Clarke’s Super
The kid had taken a couple of bites of the apple – now
gone brown- but left the roast beef sandwich whole
“Too damn much mayo!” Sam frowned
“But boy am I hungry!”
Licorice the cat – so named by the neighborhood kids –
was hungry too and let Sam know it with his most
plaintiff cry
Sam was street-wise an old cardboard box dweller who
had tenanted many boxes many alleys in his time
Yet this was no “Hello puss whose puss are you?”
animal summons for attention
The yowl had a bone-rattle desperation Sam hadn’t heard
before
Licorice blended with the night
But stood out even against the gloom
She was pressed against an empty oil barrel back arched
on the tips of her paws so almost skeletal
Sam couldn’t help but sigh
It was Christmas Eve and despite the location – a forlorn
back alley – a string of lights (from somewhere) were
blinking
On
Off
On
Off
On
Off
On
The red-green-gold shown against Licorice’s satin fur
Charmed the (already charmed) night
Charmed Sam the Box Man
“Well I’ll be damned!” he gulped
Then threw half the sandwich to the starving kitty
“Merry Christmas old beggar.” Sam smiled
TIME PIECES
grandfather clock
time so easy to take apart
this child
with broken heart
couldn’t piece back together
that moment
she frowned and closed the door
i checked my watch
second hand stopped
gone forever more
summer vacation
hour hand
locked on 3:00 o’clock
minute hand
but a tick tock away
“tick tock” hooray!
in my closet
out of body out of mind
out of time
nor even strong wind
can rattle the door
Dave Austin
“Can you smell something burning,” Dad frowned and I said “Yeah.”
It had the smell of cooking meat, as well as burning hair,
Dad stopped the truck, lifted the bonnet… “Blimey look at that!”
Something was mangled by the fan, looking like Mum’s cat.
“Strike me pink” Dad shook his head, “Mum’s cat’s been on the motor.
It’s been killed by the fan”; and we knew that Mum did dote her.
Dad looked at me with steely eyes, “Get the spade and dig a hole,
I’ll tell you now and only once… don’t tell a living soul”…
… I was halfway through my tea, staying quieter than a mouse.
Mum asked “Has anyone seen Tiddles? She’s not around the house.”
All Mum got was puzzled looks, and the shaking of each head…
Dad glared to remind me, ‘don’t tell a soul the cat is dead.’
Mum loved her cat so much; she’d have Tiddles on her lap
out on the porch at evening time. Contented she would nap.
I hated seeing Mum distressed, but Dad just acted bored,
when Mum said, “I’ll write a note, with an offer of reward.”
‘Ten pounds for her return’; I thought that Mum would smell a rat,
when Dad said “Make it twenty, if you really love your cat.”
The Ad’s printed in the paper, in the column ‘lost and found.’
Dad said to me “I’m feeling guilty now, with Tiddles underground.”
Dad let me drive the tractor while he spread the ragwort spray,
and then blackberries copped a dose before they shoot away,
he emptied out the tank and we went home to wash the gear.
The Evans’ car’s parked in our drive… “What are they doing here?”
Laughter’s in the kitchen; a joyous Mother’s voice did say
“Young Misty here found Tiddles; she was hiding in their hay,
no wonder she would not come home.” I watched Dad’s eyes and jaw.
… Twenty quid, the cat is back… a box of kittens on the floor.
Waltzing Shearer
Out near Dagworth Station during 1894
Where the Waltzing Matilda, Swagman drowned,
Cos he liked them lamb chops nicely browned,
He was only eating the Masters sheep, scoffing em down,
Disgusting said Squatters and frowned, some more,
In 1894,
Great Shearers strike was still happening,
Burned down Dagworth shearing shed, for sure,
Firing guns were the Gun Shearers , ..shore 300 sheep a day..
Fair wages they wanted, some more,
The Shearers strike it got ugly,
The Master brought in the Army and war,
Shearers were using Phosphorous,
Delayed action fires galore,
The master and 3 coppers came along ,
They chased down a swagman, before,
He plunged in the water, the billabong,
And death did come like a whore,
So he goes no more waltzing a Jumbuck,………..…sheep
His ghost lingers still there by the shore,
Was it the Combo, waterhole,
Where he sprang and he bubbles no more.
Don Johnson 24-sep-11
Yes Vom, Gram.
nothing wrong with sweet little whores,
except unless she sometimes snores,
and forgets to pay the rent,
and death is welcome as before,
for this dim malcontent...
Once upon a time when no one was around,
A lost puppy was born in a hole in the ground.
When he ate scraps, he made the strangest sound,
A high pitch whine that would always resound.
He found a blanky in the streets that was profound,
And used it to hide to avoid the pound.
It soon became warmth when he was cold bound,
And made him the happiest when he frowned.
One day a girl saw him, and love did surround,
Took him home with care; he was a happy hound!
In loneliness and sorrow, he no longer drowned,
No longer was he lost; he was finally found!
___________________________________________
4.15.2022
Nursery Rhyme 3 Poetry Contest
Eve Roper
Beautiful, frivolous queen bided her time.
The castle stood tall and strong.
Silence reigned. No one dared to speak.
Below the enemy had gathered ready for a fight.
A little soldier thought he was just a pawn
in the hands of the King. Someone sent him a message.
He moved forwards towards the enemy.
The queen frowned and moved sideways
towards the edge of the defence.
Consternation rose up. Was it a wise move?
Everyone looked at her regalia,
her splendid crown, her painted face
with verdant leaves and eyelashes glittering.
Immediately the bishop intervened.
Some soldiers fell, the battle fierce.
Time passed and the black knight took his position,
near his lovely queen he stood,
for he had to protect her from all ails.
Alas that left the King on his own.
Another knight and bishop intervened.
But the opponent king was astute and steadfast.
One move and a high cry was uttered.
Checkmate. And all the little pieces
fell in disarray upon the chequered board.
Now let me share my shivery story,
With random revelations shed some light -
Though I’m a dazzling glow but no glory,
I’m much more than white mesmerising sight.
I know around the globe I’m frowned upon,
Shoved aside as unremarkable meme.
Frosty and I, my boon companion -
Ephemeral scapegoats of Nature’s whim.
The poignant part that’s so freezin’ unfair,
Snowbirds and geese leave sweet homeland behind,
And what the hail, even a grizzly bear
Under my frozen fist checks out to hide.
I’m well aware that cars are going nuts,
When on black ice wheels spin out of control,
I’m traffic’s curse and drivers hate my guts -
Apologies for my heavy downfall.
Still silver lining’s part of every cloud -
I’m not warm and affectionate as such,
But my visage being shovelled and plowed
Morphs into cool and captivating touch.
Though I’m made up of many a snowflake -
Floating frigid and fragile to adore,
I swear and say for elves and Santa’s sake -
There is white substance to my melting core.
I’m seasonal and thus a treasured treat,
I’m well equipped and sell extremely well:
Without my gifts, apart from slush and sleet,
Would be no sleighs, no skis, no NHL.
I’m a commodity just so you know,
When you can’t smell the roses, seize the snow!
Let winter’s inhibition cover go -
And Let it glow! Let it glow! Let it glow!
I wrote a song last night,
Oh yes I did,
The bittersweet words came to me
As fast as a locomotive train...
About a girl from the wrong side of town,
Shooting up smack to calm her down,
She was unbelievable how she stared the devil in the eye,
I couldn't leave her side it was clear as day.
Now I know you must be thinking
I fell into a clichéd jam,
But the story you've not heard before
Quite like this.
She was a whore hooked
On that funny stuff,
And the slag couldn't get enough of,
Even was up the duff.
So I wrote a song last night,
Oh yes I did,
Played it on the grand piano it sounded like a hit,
I couldn't talk too much about it before...
About a girl who'd fallen hard,
Her daddy had abused her,
Hell yeah! He raped her every night I heard,
She'd better keep her cursed mouth shut.
She'd best know the rules of the game,
Or else her daddy would beat her,
Black and blue he'd bruise his little shame,
If only I'd known how things were.
So I met a beautiful girl one late night
There on a lonely street she stood,
Her cloths were tattered, I asked if she was alright,
But I could see she wasn't feeling good.
This song is about her as true as can be,
It's clear as that night I found her,
Everything she told me broke me up inside I couldn't foresee,
She was running from her past as it were.
Maybe I could've rescued her I don't know,
But I met her after she ran away,
So here's my song about a girl hooked on slow,
That white powder, which had her betrayed!
This is the song I wrote
Let me sing it to you all day long,
It's a sad one every note,
'Cause she's dead it's so wrong.
But all is not lost for her eerie ghost it rides,
Uptown she haunts the men of sleaze,
If you wanna escape her destructive wrath you better
Not be one of them who propagate disease.
At this point I think I've said enough,
There's just no use in going on,
You know she was rebuffed, and up the duff,
That whore knew she'd be frowned upon.