Best Full Tilt Poems
The Poet in His Casket
Well, look at you lying there!
In your brown suit and gold tie.
How I want to hug you now!
You can't be dead, you're only forty
years old!
We lived together till you took a new
wife!
Her name was alcohol and that ended our
happy days and our life.
She was the apple of your eye, she took
all the money and happiness we had!
She destroyed your morals and see, your
once great body,too.
And as for your writing skills?
Out the window they flew.
The world is filled with once innocent,
unaware people like you,
Thinking what's wrong with a drink or
two.
What's wrong is the simpletonian thinking
Is the ignoramus belief
" There's nothing wrong with a drink!"
I tried to control you, how sad in retrospect.
I know far better now!
You never heard of the twelve steps neither
did I!
You are buried in Marin County now.
I try to tell this brief story here.
If any poet here or has a family member
with a problem...
It can end. Not in a grave, no.
I realize he had a disease, full tilt.
Heavy drinkers can quit easily!
Alcoholics cannot, they have a disease
and need help.
Three weeks in rehab for true alcoholics
simply won't cut it.
This is a mental and physical disease,
quite a whopper!
We feel soory for the diabetic or cancer
patient, don't we?
But just Tsk,Tsk, when we see a man or
woman walking drunkardly.
It maybe someone just high for one night.
But for many it's more than than that.
When alcohol is the love of your life.
Know that No person sets out with the
goal to be an alcoholic.
If you love them, keep loving them!
Get to an Alanon meeting if family
Or friend.
You must understand the disease if you
truly love them.
Best wishes, good luck and indeed, that
poet in the casket was my husband, indeed.
The last time I saw him, he recited a
poem dedicated to me.
And now that poet....is history.
Forever lost to me, living in eternity.
Panagiota Romois
5/22/2019
7:15 pm
Unsettling rain forgets the sun and stars.
Obscurity of hue, gray clouds in style.
A ride along, the windshield splash, the haze.
I miss the cerulean skylight days!
The sudden peek-a-boo, the rainbow seeps.
The pallet’s full — the artist’s paint full tilt.
Explosive rush like gold poured from a box.
The weatherman pulls shiny words from stock.
12/11/2018
Stardust vigil of eager twelve-year-old
Owl’s evening hoots brings awe to forest
Sweeping shadows inspires imagination full tilt.
Memory floats up sixty years later, making her smile.
A little old lady named Judy,
Works hard to accomplish her duties.
She cooks and she cleans,
Runs errands, makes things,
For friends and for family outings.
Sometimes her arthritis flares up.
She can barely pick up a cup;
But she's no cry baby,
She's one tough old lady,
A hot bath and a pill and she's up.
She'll finish the job 'fore she'll stop.
She loves life and she lives it a lot.
She'll keep goin' full tilt,
Until she gets kilt,
Or she runs out of gas and just drops.
There are those I love unconditionally
Regardless of their attitudes, ideas or beliefs.
I love them because everyone is in a state of perpetual motion;
Tension or release…
From the surly bonds of society
Wherein we find ourselves full tilt;
And who’s to blame for all the shame,
Turmoil, toil and guilt?
From past and present participle
To future tense somehow;
Those we love we place above
Ourselves, right here and now.
And there are those we wish to elevate
As high as sky is round;
If you and I could transmigrate
I’d find you up or down.
Don’t ask me why
We laugh and cry
Like children growing still;
There are those we love unconditionally
And additionally,
always will.
All is Loneliness
Song title that tells the truth
About your life, Janis
Born in Texas,
You seemed more at home in San Francisco
Or Portland with your rock and your blues
Your mezzo soprano vocals
Lit up the stage
You were electric!
Full Tilt Boogie Band
Kozmic Blues and Big Brother
Would have failed without you
Cheap thrills
Pieces of My Heart
And Ball and Chain would have never made it
You were here a mere twenty-seven years
But what a legacy!
You brought us the blues in a big way!
Cheap thrills
Song title that reflects your
Heroin overdose death, Janis
She gave me an angry look.
Neither her face or eyes were familiar.
The hope I had been counting on for three days, dissipated.
This mean-looking eleven-year-old child had been through more
awfulness in her life, than I could imagine. She was unrecognizable
as my stolen 4-year-old child. I doubted she could be my child.
It had been eleven years since I saw Cassie. I had held out
hope for nine of those years. Collecting birthday presents
and Christmas presents for a 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 year old
girl, a child who might not even be alive.
DNA said she was mine, but is this proof enough?
Cassie Lynne had been joyful, and fun, and funny. Her laugh
had lit up the yard full-tilt. Her daddy was gone now, or he
might have been able to point out something about her that
was ours. I could not see it.
This girl, the one they brought back to me, to show me,
to get my approval for, this girl did not look at all like my
child. I could not imagine that she was my little darling Cassie.
This girl was angry and sullen, and suspicious. Hyper-vigilant,
she jumped at every sound. Her siblings did not know her,
because we only had Bobbie when she was taken, and he was a baby.
Lost time, never to be retrieved, never to be understood. Years and
years of lost time, I looked at this child, with eyes of a mother,
who has lost now not once, but twice.
Wondering if there is any way to salvage any of the 4-year-old child
I remember. I am afraid to go to sleep with this girl in my house.
fearful of her, and fearful of how she will change my family.
Lost time, lost girl, lost me.
A little old lady named Judy,
Works hard to accomplish her duties.
She cooks and she cleans,
Runs errands, makes things,
For friends and for family outings.
Sometimes her arthritis flares up.
She can barely pick up a cup;
But she's no cry baby,
She's one tough old lady.
A hot bath and a pill and she's up.
She'll finish the job 'fore she'll stop.
She loves life and she lives it a lot.
She'll keep going full tilt,
Until she gets kilt,
Or she runs out of gas and just drops.
They said she sails forever the seas off Cape Horn:
See her and wish to God you never was born.
Laugh if you wish but there’s countless bones
And hulls been sent to the locker of Davy Jones.
‘Twas a fair wind and the seas were at rest;
Then a sudden heave and press of the water crest
Off Magellan Strait, and the storm’s fury grew,
Plunging down our craft and our crew.
As we bore away hard to the west, our ketch
Near to tatters, our topsails astretch,
Another ship massively built
Came out of the storm right at us full tilt.
No warning from the masthead or in the shroud
Just blue sparks of St Elmo’s fire as she ploughed
Towards us, with rope’s creak and flag’s snap over her deck’s teak.
No voice from deck soundless, no bosun’s pipe to speak.
Bell rings in her roll but for whom does it toll?
Cabin doors bang and slew, moonbeams slant through the hole.
The rigging sings an eerie song and waves slap her prow,
Trying to wake this sleeping scow.
But her bowsprit pierced our maindeck,
Then her mizzen cut across our quarter deck,
While her mainmast sliced through our foresail
And her rigging overwhelmed our fo’c’sle.
Water in scuppers bubbles and foams
Light in her cabins blazes for men with no homes,
Tiller fixed, wheel motionless, thru the grey haze’s dullness -
A craft crewless, homeless, hull-less.
Our ketch seemed to shudder and lose her rudder -
I thought that the spectre had wrecked her:
Storm died down immediately she slipped thru thus
And there was no sound and no damage to any of us.
In pathless depths that abound in the sound, (‘tis my belief),
On a rock or reef where you’d come to grief,
In shoals and shallows where souls become hallows,
Such an unfathomed phantom has no fellows.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Entered in Debbie Guzzi’s Contest Tell Me a Story
Big Ben strikes ten, depart Kings Cross.
Squeal of tight wheel, where lines criss-cross.
Clickety-clack. Clickety clack.
Now heading north-bound on fast track.
Leave city sprawl in grey and grime
for now we're on East Coast mainline
in rural space, expanse of green,
where all around, countryside scene.
My window view is flashing by,
too fast for focus of my eye.
Field after field, farming landscape.
Golden barley, bright yellow rape.
Wood with coppice, hedge and hawthorn.
Few grazing sheep looking forlorn.
On steep hillside, deserted farm,
red-brick decay falling down barn.
Whistle warning, speed through stations,
each one gone in just two seconds.
Now reach Yorkshire where engine built.
Accelerating to full tilt.
Non-stop on straight, all clear ahead.
And now we hit the full hundred.
Still at top speed and close to coast.
Through industry, of the North East.
Now parallel to Roman road,
to Edinburgh with full payload.
We're nearly there and right on time.
Now slowing down for station line.
Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack.
Over the points to platform track.
Arrive on time in the city,
the clock showing just six thirty.
Born to a time of stress and rigors.
Loaded guns with half pulled triggers.
Endless days of fear and sorrow.
No hope now,No hope tomorrow.
Skinheads hating blacks and Jews.
Drive-by shootings in the news.
Kids at war,for red or blue.
Don’t blame them,Blame me,Blame you.
Broken home,A deadbeat Dad.
***** Mags or some new fad.
T.V. violence,Rock-N-Roll.
Darkness tugging at your soul.
Someones Daughter,Someones Son.
Goes to School and brings a gun!
No one saw their pain,their Rage!
Dead and wounded,That’s Front page.
Babies born then seldom fed.
Beaten till they end up Dead!
Violent deaths before age two.
Parents claim,”We’re Victims Too!”
Tough new Laws,New Prisons built.
Fight the “War on Drugs”full tilt.
All we've gained in years of trying.
Countless dead! And still more dying!
Some say”God hears,when we pray”
But,Kids hear Only”What We Say”
It’s not them,It’s me,It’s you.
They learn by watching”Things We Do”
So,No more games,No politics.
No Smoke or Mirrors or Magic Tricks.
STOP! And look,It’s time we see.
And Listen to their Desperate Plea!
All our Children on their Knees.
“HELP US,GUIDE US,SOMEONE,PLEASE.
Don't ignore, don't blame, don't preach.
"They can learn, but we must teach!
Written By: Ken Gentry
03-10-2002
Once upon a time, a Bedeviled Bachelor,
fell in love with a Sinister Spinster.
It seemed to be a match made in Heaven,
until the day all Hell broke loose.
It started when the Bachelor's Brother,
laid eyes on the Sinister Spinster's Sister.
It occured at Bachelor and Spinster's wedding.
Brother was best man, Sister was maid of honor.
Bachelor and Spinster was completely unaware
that this wasn't the first time the two had met.
On the contrary, they had met years ago;
And totally despised one another.
The irony was, it too was at a wedding.
This time, Brother was best man to Best Friend,
Sister was maid of honor to College Roommate.
The two hooked up after way too many drinks.
Needless to say, the encounter was disastrous.
He passed out while on top of her small frame,
then proceeded to hurl all over the bed
while she was pinned helplessly underneath.
It made a mess of her beautiful gown,
not to mention the damage it did to her hairdo.
The poor girl was trapped like a rat for hours,
because she couldn't pry his 250 lbs. off of her.
When she was finally able to wriggle free,
she commenced to kicking the living daylights out of him.
He came to with this wild Hellcat screaming maniacally,
and pummeling him black and blue. He retaliated.
So, the moment they saw each other again;
after their last unforgettable encounter,
the fight began just like it ended before...full tilt!
Bachelor and Spinster intervened immediately.
Unfortunately, they got caught up in the melee too.
Bachelor pulled Sister off of Brother,
Spinster pulled Brother off of Sister.
Sister kneed Bachelor, Brother decked Spinster!
When it was finally laid to rest...
Spinster blamed Bachelor for Brother,
Bachelor blamed Spinster for Sister.
It ended the relationship and wedding.
Five years later, the Bedeviled Bachelor
was still a practicing Bachelor.
And the Sinister Spinster, well she decided...
Men suck and married her Sister's Girlfriend.
I cannot read small labels, my eyes don’t see so well
The labels on my spices: a culinary hell.
I came up with a system; it’s pretty hard to beat,
‘Cuz most of what I cooked before was not so good to eat.
With pictures on the label, it’s easier to know;
‘Cuz peppermint and barbecue simply do not go.
Anise is a garbage can, I kick it to the curb
Basil, I called Rathbone, a swashbuckling herb
Bay leaves, Otis Redding, sitting on the Dock
My chives, the brothers Bee Gee, ‘cuz it’s the one that talks
Cayenne, picture of a large teepee, ‘cuz man, it's real in tents
I cinnamon Jamaica way; I haven’t seen him since
Allspice, a real Transformer, it sure does add a spark
Cocoa, murdered cuckoo bird, because that’s really dark
Cardamom’s a driver’s license, to check if she’s young or old
Chili is a heavy coat for days that it's too cold
Curry is a horse’s brush, for favorite Indian dish
Garlic, a nasty tongue, to taste an ugly fish
I haven’t any Ginger, ‘cuz Mary Ann’s the best
Lemon peel, a self portrait, to scrape with zeal and zest
Sage, a wizened wizard, ‘cuz they give fatherly advice
Hibiscus, pics of flowers, because it smells really nice
Mustard, a colonel, in the library, with a pipe of lead
Pepper, a peck, what Peter picked (or so they said)
Nutmeg is a soccer ball that’s passed between the legs
Paprika, scary Lucifer, atop my deviled eggs
Parsley just has Elvis, for when you need a shake
Pumpkin Spice, a perfect pie, the kind you want to bake
Thyme, can’t keep too much on hand, the liner notes from Styx
Cajun rub, a pair of legs; it’s got a healthy kick
Tarragon, a house on fire, the smell when Scarlett’s mansion burned
Caraway, Mav from Top Gun; okay, it's breath, I'm unconcerned.
Tartar, from the Enterprise, Kirk wearing Scottish kilt
Pepper flakes, Quixote's windmill; you'll need the fan 'cuz it's full tilt.
Yeah, some of these are pretty bad, but cooking is more fun.
My family sure is happier; they love a tasty pun!
I’ve been good for too long,
my finger
have become permanently curved
and I growl
with every other breath
so in order to gain control
I release the beast.
Running into a field
I tear out of my shirt
as my bones begin to shift
locking into a sleeker,
primal form
reawakening the wolf,
and as my jaws extend
I raise my head to the moon
and howl
at the sight
of my aluminous friend.
I slide to a stop
as the last of my fur
finishes extending
through my pores,
sit and cock my head
as I listen,
catching a rustle
off to the right in the near woods.
Instinct decides
to head towards it
and I begin at a ground eating pace.
I can taste its scent in the air,
rabbit.
Reaching the edge of the forest
I delve in full tilt,
mere inches from the trees,
so close
I can feel their presence
on my skin.
There it is
bolting across the path,
I snap my jaws
catching its right hind leg
and swing my head up
lofting my prey into the air.
Back legs sliding
as I turn around,
dirt and rocks
spraying away from me
I leap,
its still trying to run in the air,
futile.
I feel my mouth encircle it
and clamp down.
As my teeth meet
I feel the head pop off
then I come skidding to a stop,
splattered blood
dripping from my muzzle,
breath coming in pants.
I hunker down
to my feast,
desire sated for now,
next time
I’ll have to find
larger prey.
HIDDEN YOUTH
Locked inside each oldster,
There's a youngster you will find,
Peering out and looking back,
At all he's left behind.
He's really not so different,
From the youngsters of today,
Though wrinkled now, his eyes are dim,
What hair he has is gray.
He stilllikes a little company,
Enjoys a little fun,
And oh the stories he can tell,
From back when he was young.
He's not as dumb as some will think,
He's wiser now than most,
And you can learn a lot from him,
If you aren't self engrossed.
Most problems that we face today,
He's seen it all before,
You aren't the first to run into,
That self same slamming door.
He has a world of sage advice,
If you will only listen.
He's run that same track once or twice,
And he has hind-sight vision.
He's really not so different,
He laughs and he cries too,
Not just some stuffy old antique,
Inside he's just like you.
Judy Ball
So many people today think once you've passed the Big Five-O life just ends. NOT
SO! For many of us it begins al over again.
We're finally free to pursue all the things we previously set aside to raise our
families. Our brains don't just stop functioning and I've never seen anyone with an
expiration date stamped on their bottom by God at birth.
We still like to have coffee and chat, we still like a good joke, still like to dance, go to
dinner, see a show, etc. Myself I still love the great outdoors and being surrounded
by Nature and my animals.
I'm old I'm not dead.
I'm gonna go full tilt until I just run out of gas and drop one day.
You can do what you want with what's left.
I won't be needing it anymore.