Best Gallons Poems
A quote from "90 North" by Randall Jarrell:
"I see at last that all the knowledge
I wrung from darkness -- that the darkness flung me --
is worthless as ignorance: nothing comes from nothing,
The darkness from the darkness. Pain comes from the darkness.
And we call it wisdom. It is pain."
The first bike I ever owned --
when I was ten or eleven --
was a Christmas gift
from a friend. He was receiving a new one
and I was gifted with his old bike.
He had cleaned it up and brush painted it
with a nice coat of red paint.
It was the only gift I got that year,
one of my only gifts as a child.
I loved that bike:
it freed me to pedal around so
I could accompany my friend
as we rode anywhere in our tiny,
sandy, two-paved-road fishing town.
Before the bike, I ran alongside him.
I was quite accustomed to running everywhere,
especially in summer, barefoot, usually shirtless.
Most years from first grade
until we were about twelve,
we spent our time together,
at his house or in imaginary jungles
or on wild, indian-infested wagon train trails.
We defended those trails from apaches
intent on taking our scalps.
Sometimes, on pirate ships, we manned canons
or forced reluctant traitors and mutineers
to walk the plank for failures and misdeeds.
We were never bored, usually outdoors.
On jungle safaris we were frequently attacked
by ferocious lions and tigers and
often captured by cannibal head-hunters
who put us into large pots to cook us
while dancing all around and brandishing
their spears. They sang or chanted
amazing, invented language repetitive
verses overloaded with frequent "ughs'
and tongue-twisting nonsense phrases.
His mother served us gallons of Kool Aid,
gave us snacks we ate with relish.
With a child’s trusting nature,
I hoped this could never end –
I felt secure in friendship and
apparent acceptance by
my friend’s parents. Of course,
things did change.
But..........I did not.
Not for a long, long time.
Sticky smears on the table top.
on the couch spilled soda pop
one chewed up shoe and one flip-flop
I’m doomed to clean this mess non-stop
Greasy dog bones gone astray
found buried in the rug today
the hamster made a getaway
where he’s gone it’s hard to say.
The shower drain is plugged, I swear
the tub has grout and needs repair
dirty laundry everywhere.
it really is a mess out there.
Under beds dust bunnies show
all closets are on overflow
the fridge is packed with things that grow
dishes clog the sink, I know.
Spaghetti sauce dumped on the floor
12 eggs broke, need I say more
fingerprints on every door
this place, a never-ending chore
Just when I think things can’t get worse
the leaking fish tank cracked and burst
40 gallons was dispersed
I think this house is cursed.
In every corner, ledge and groove
dirt and grim must be removed
there’s one solution I approve
pack your things, we’re going to move!
Liz Relly – 3/06/2012
“Cobwebs and Dust” Contest (new start)
I'm but a frail bird tasked to bring hope and spread peace.
How shall I fly high in the sky with such a brittle burden!
My heart pounds in dilemma like a ping pong ball as I release
my wings in the air to take a flight at the height of a dark sky.
As dark as it can be, above me, the cauldron-black sky
with scary scars of blazing explosions emitting blinding light.
Beneath me, the brazier ground groaning with an outcry,
shedding tears of sparks that vaporize into nebulous smokes.
In between is the whizzing of weapons, excreting smokes
and urinating radiation that smothers the air with brutality.
Warhead rockets, firing aircraft, missiles, bombs...stoke
the fire of war for the sake of supremacy by killing morality.
Shrills of ruination buried under the roars of madness spree
while the two-legged demons having a bloodbath with big guns.
Colors of bliss faded away and helpless time trying to flee
as achromic misery taints moments with grim stains in gallons.
Ember red blood is the only bold color that flows in streams
dyeing the soil and water with a stench of rotting death.
Once cultivated verdant fields are now burned into coal seams.
Marred by violence, houses crumble like ashes in hearth.
Such horrific images I see all around me as the hearth
of fierce war burns with glaring flames and crackling noises.
I fly, hover and fly with my singed wings as there is a dearth
of safe shelter; my exhausted body trembles with fear.
Would I be able to stop the war? I questioned myself with fear.
Quite a hard-hitting answer I received in the form of a bullet
that pierced my heart and I fell on the ground with tears.
From my smeared blood, poppies bloom around me as I die.
Date: 11/12/2017
We are all gathered on the platform
Jumping up and down with glee
We can see the smoke of the puffing train
Coming nearer to take us to the sea
We are off on a Whitsun treat
Forty children or more
Many adults to look after us
Experience told them what was the score
They heaved on wicker baskets of goodies
And crates of lemonade
We were off to Barry Island for a Picnic
Just a half hours ride away
The seats were rather hard and had
mesh racks above to store luggage for folk
Opened up the windows with a leather strap
Stuck out heads to a face full of smuts and smoke
The choc choo sound was so exhilarating
Excitement grew with every mile
Wanted to be that train driver with his whistle
To pull that chain that made the sound, bringing smiles.
Had a wonderful time on the sands
Paddled our feet in the sea
Gathered around to eat our food
Washed down for the adults with gallons of tea
Forty tired and happy children
Clambered aboad that train for home
The clicketty clack of the wheels
the sway of the carriage, sending them to sleep and dream
We were soon at our home station
So sleepy yet didn't want the day to end
Tired and dirty, had a lovely day in the sun
Starting the day aboard a steam train that puffed around the bend.
Penned January 20 2015
Water / Water
New Hamburg, Ontario Rubkuai village, South Sudan
locals rise locals starve
with the river, heed warnings where once there was a river,
to keep from its banks travel along arid banks
thirty thousand gallons a tanker arrives with a few gallons
of unwanted rain rain is worth all limbs
burdens how burdened the village —
storm drains the drought drains life from fields
this summer, filled sport bottles this summer
will be abandoned near will crust tongues
splash pads, as the dying
where saturated children riot tend to the dead
in mist & spray, soak in inconsolable mothers silently
the never-ending fount riot [eyes too dry to mist
until fingers prune, can still spray bullets
until thirst or thirst for just one more look
sends them skipping as irises prune in the sun]
cars gleam and grass grass is a memory
springs underfoot; & graves spring up underfoot
the bridge is power- like emaciated bridges
washed, as though the downpour nothing stops the downpour
hadn’t flooded of diarrhea — the filth binds
spider’s webs cholera’s web
people shower, run half-filled people kneel for droplets
dishwashers & laundry machines, the desert launders
a kettle screams the jawbone
for someone, of the newest ghost who still
anyone to listen listens, waits, for anyone
There’s coming a time of great cheer
when folks will drink gallons of beer
tell tales of wee sprites
and magical sights.
St. Patrick’s Day soon will be here.
On that day, if you don’t wear green,
just stay in your house. Don’t be seen,
or else a hard pinch
might cause you to flinch.
Some pinchers can be downright mean!
Joe The Plumber announced he was runnin' fer Congress the other day!
Congratulations, Joe! You the man! Fer you I shout, "Hooray!"
Tell 'em like it is as you did with Obama - show 'em you won't be outdone!
And, Joe, take yer plumbers' kit - you'll need it to repair the damage done!
Include screwdrivers to tighten the screws on higher taxes and spendin',
And yer biggest wrench to shut off the flow of governmental lendin'!
Take yer solderin' arn so as to solidify warm relationships with yer peers,
And a pipe cutter to cut off zany filibusterin' that is tiresome to yer ears!
You'll need a hundred rolls of duct tape to stem the flow of inane babble,
And gallons of Liquid Plummer to unclog the stalemate of that useless rabble!
A good pipe wrench will come in handy to tighten the discipline in that 'joint',
And a twelve-foot stepladder to rise above that rotten mob to make yer point!
Joe, show 'em what real 'change' is meant to be with a new 'shower' of hope!
Flush political correctness down the john that's gotten us on this slippery slope!
Be sure to take yer roto-rooter and clean the sewer that is Washington, DC!
Use yer most powerful hose to flush the whole mucked-up mess out to sea!
Robert L. Hinshaw,CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
All these years ago it began
then I picked up my black pen
wondering if I could write poetry
so doubtful was I back then
But then my grey cells responded
bringing thoughts mindfully alive
from that point, confidence grew
brings a vision point to truly strive
Having been set to write poetry
it's appropriate what made my debut
for my subject matter set to write
a long-pointed thing is my clue
By now you'll have worked it out
that first poem was titled 'The Pen'
which would be my best ever friend
writing in my notebook forever open
To think now many I've penned
using up gallons of flowing ink
it all began with a pen of mine
which was indeed my missing link!
(This is written looking back on the first poem written all these years ago, so many pens have been used since then!)
QUESTIONKU
silent cursor
across google earth
zero gallons per mile?
© Harry J Horsman 2012
A trickle of water,
A sound of peace,
The stream flies by,
Gallons at a time,
Through the near-silent dark,
The sun is almost at rest,
The moon but a crescent,
Shades of purple,
Shining across the fields,
The ice is slick,
As the temperature drops,
Crickets begin to chirrup,
The bird's song is no more,
The sky is quiet,
Except for the occasional,
Melody of a bat,
A breeze to cool the trees,
Is a song the leaves will dance to,
As children go to bed,
The owls awake to play,
Scouting for their breakfast,
As day's end is their morning,
The mice scurrying the ground,
Animals nocturnal,
Awake to join the party,
Time seems to move slowly,
Whereas,
For the sleeping,
Time is flying,
In fact,
To the sleeping,
It is already morning!
And...
I need 24 quarts of 2% milk;
Okay, "6 gallons of milk!"
No, sir, I want 24 quarts, it stays fresher that way!
But lady we only have that in Silk.
Then I want twenty four plastic containers,
Will you pick them up all in blue;
And then divide up those six gallons,
Just like I want you to do.
Well, I must ask my supervisor,
For I am very confused,
We don't usually offer that service,
I must ask and get back to you.
[I can put quarts up in my freezer;
Those big gallons just don't fit.
Then I can feed my kittens one at a time;
It just takes a little bit.
How many kittens do I have?
I thought you would never ask.
I have 48 on my property;
I'm known of the lady of cats.
Sometimes I like myself more than I should
Other I wonder how I ever could
I believe I'm My worst enemy
Sabotaging myself so as not to be free
A variety of drugs, gallons of booze
On and on like I've nothing to lose
The Real Christmas
From Black Friday to Christmas Eve,
presents to purchase and wrap.
Office and family parties, visits to relatives
platters of food and gallons of alcohol.
Trees dressed to the nines in dangling baubles
and twinkling lights.
Continuous Christmas carols blaring from radios
and loud speakers.
Wreaths and decorations to adorn tables,
night stands, credenzas, book shelves.
Lights hung in strings so large that rows
of houses look like runways for planes.
Inflatable Santas, snowmen, reindeer and nutcrackers
compete for space in yards.
Nativities, pageants, plays special music
consume congregations.
Is this the real Christmas?
Or perhaps it is-
A silent night, two thousand years ago
in a dimly lit cave.
A babe wrapped in woolen clothes
lying in a sheep’s feeding trough.
Only shepherds and loving parents
in attendance.
An infant destined to change history.
The future savior of the world.
Purple People Eater
My car.
It is great.
It takes me everywhere,
Like a roller skate.
I can not wait to go…
Again and again.
We travel from this side to that side,
The state is far and wide.
She is hard to miss.
The color royal, the top is black,
She is sexy.
Thats a fact.
25-30 MPG
10 gallons in the tank.
Do the math,
She is unstoppable.
My tracker, she is always moving forward.
Ever do I pray before we go…
but we do…
Go and go and go…
Oh, Little flame,
you bring a glow that is so useful you know.
By your light, I can read and write — not much warmth, but that’s alright.
Be careful now, one little blow or breeze, and you’re gone — diseased.
Oh, fire contained, how useful you are — the light, the warmth!
For by your light, not only can I read and write, but warm myself, dry my clothes, and cook!
Be careful now, only one bucket of water will turn you to soot.
Oh fire ablaze, who cannot contain.
How you rage!
Nothing can stand in your way.
You are all consuming!
No longer are you useful to read and write by your light.
Everyone must be careful now,
for it takes an army and hundreds of gallons of water to dampen your glow.
Still, in your wake, from the ashes you make, life will grow and flourish again.
With which flame do I most relate?
The little flame.
For I have not much more to give.
With one blow — I’m gone.
For that is the fragile life we live.