Best Gap Poems
My sincere thanks to Teppo Gren for bridging the gap and taking time out of his hectic schedule to visit me on his recent visit to Australia from Europe.
Teppo was one of the very first to welcome me on my debut poem on Poetry Soup, and from thereon in continued to support me with his excellent comments and feedback.
I really appreciated your encouragement and taking the trouble to get in touch and visit us in Sydney. I look forward to meeting up again on your next trip.
Miles of endless sands and seas
In today’s times can be travelled with ease
Bridging the gap between family and friends
In a life composed of so many odds and ends
Extend the hand of friendship to proceed
Beautiful friendships are what we need
It might be called Electrifying Pink,
that color painted on her toes
for it glows amidst the grime of her feet
winding filth up around her ankles
as if dirt were the newest chain
to make a fashion statement.
Pink does move the eye away
from all the silver hanging off eyebrow,
nose, lip, ear and yes,
she speaks with a silver tongue ...
which has taken on a whole new meaning.
Or was that a fork-ed tongue?
Then there are the young blonde boys
standing around in jeans hung below their butt
to show somebody something ....
handsome, sweet faces belie their
lopsided macho swaggers
looking like marionettes from a rap video.
Where have all the flower folks gone?
Bring back beautiful bare breasts
and dancing bodies in tiedye to replace all these sad,
frozen faces covered from head to toe in black!!
Hasn't Goth yet runs its course ... ?
No, dark death hangs out at the mall
or, perhaps, I have just become
the judgmental old lady I used to resent
who gave my hot pants strange stares.
How quickly in this play of life the roles do change.
I seem to have forgotten my next line.
Our beautiful daughters new boyfriend -
was introduced just recently,
and I must say I am not impressed,
and that came to me instantly.
I could tell my wife had felt the same;
I could see this in a deep scowl,
instead of a smile, ‘nice to meet you’
her greeting was just a weak growl.
His hairstyle was a one sided affair
in colours of purple and green
with half a moustache; one eyebrow gone,
tattoos where the other had been.
There’s tattoos of mainly nude women,
on his legs, torso, neck and arms.
There’s studs and rings among other things,
our daughter read as lucky charms.
When he had gone and we were alone,
we did what all good parents do.
We saw this bloke in negative light,
but how the heck do we get through.
My wife uttered ‘he doesn’t seem nice’;
the reply made us quite nervous,
‘he must be nice to do five hundred
hours of community service.’
Little nothings
Unimportant
Mere slips of the tongue
Omitted truths
Slanted or tinted
Not meant to hurt
Each one
A drop
In that ocean
Drifting them apart
AP: 2nd place 2021
She did the washing e’vry Monday morn,
All fabrics sorted in different piles,
The wrung-out whites shone brighter than the dawn,
While flapping in the wind and sunshine smiles.
Dark blues that swish and swirl in the machine,
The Wrangler jeans worn on Saturday night,
And those frilly things that are only seen
Upon the washing line, hidden from sight.
Her tutting sigh - the fabric is too scant,
She looked at me with unbelieving eyes,
I’m folding up her bleached white bloomer pants,
No longer the child full of endless whys.
Yet still we sat drinking our cups of tea,
Some things never changed for my Nan and me.
Form: English Sonnet
Written by Gail DeBole on July 1, 2014
Updated on July 4, 2014
Fred Sr. doesn't like most things that start with e-.
Thumbs down to e-banking, e-books, and e-asy.
He's known to hollar, “I hate all this e-stuff!”
E-learning, e-coupons, e-love, e-cetera…
"E-nough is E-nough!"
Fred Jr., an e-cop, catches e-crooks online.
Thumbs up to e-everything! He thinks it's all fine.
He's known to hollar, “ I love all this e-stuff!”
E-stings, e-crimes, e-heros, e-cetera…
"I can't get E-nough!"
Fred Jr.'s son, an e-doc, helps patients online.
He lives an e-idea coming into its prime.
He's known to hollar, “We need this e-stuff!”
E-medicine, e-nurses, e-labs, e-cetera…
"Who would say "E-nough is E-nough?"
Bridge cards aren't for everyone
just those who have real need
Not meant for all those college "kids"
that party and smoke "weed"
Not meant for all those shacking up
with a "daddy" in the house
His room and board? It's on our dime
he's a government sponsored louse
Not meant for all those gambling addicts
ponies, cards and slots
Nor tires and wheels for pimp mobiles
making haves, out of (have nots)
Not meant for big screen TV sets
oops that's right, they are
X-box set with all the games
you're treated like a star
It's all measured, by the masses
and how we live, (I guess)
Even cars just ten years old
are causing too much stress
Not knocking those that really need
just those that "win and play"
making us, taxpayer fools
while they enjoy their day
When the wage, hits fifteen plus
they won't give up their checks
That "nagging injury" that they have
has made their life complex.....
She’s 65 and got lost her love…
He’s 22 waiting for his right one.
Love strikes at them mysteriously.
Believe it’s a love of infinity.
World disagrees in their odd affection.
How could they be so in love to one another?
People would judge coz of their age…
Doesn't really matter if they are out of the cage.
Forget bad things that they have heard.
What matters most is their innocent love.
Blubbers could always say what they want.
Could not break the castle that they've made.
This odd love is one of the best.
Age doesn't matter if you’re truly in love.
She 65 and she’s his queen.
He’s 22 and he’s her prince.
Love raids at them immensely.
It’s a love that prevails to anybody.
GIRL OF DUNLOE GAP
She in her father's jaunting car,
an eyefull sight to see,
with smoky blond and flowing hair
she smiled as if, 'twas just for me.
And how she stole my heart away
when first we locked our eyes,
all Irish eyes, and I should say
she made my heart to realize
I'd been for much too long alone
her eyes, they promised me,
here is the love I'd never known,
the way a love is meant to be.
I watched them disappear into,
the Gap of Dunloe's road,
I'd see this sight, again, I knew,
the jaunting car--its precious load.
And when we wed in summer rain
the world was at my feet,
now mine but less of all the pain,
that made my life so incomplete.
© Ron Arbuthnot
The Generation Gap
Dad: Have some food now-I love this scone-
I’ve been meaning to ask you-how’s your phone?
Mine’s great for dealing with business work
And all those stuff that you just can’t shirk.
Son: Wait a sec-I’ll just take a shot
Of my scone and soup, all piping hot
And upload it by phone to Facebook now.
What were you saying? I liked what? How?
Dad: I was asking you how you liked my gift
And if it was enough when I worked an extra shift.
Plus, your food is for eating, son, you see,
Not targets for you in a photo-taking spree.
Son: All my online friends do this, dear dad.
It’s just one of us teenagers’ fads.
You don’t have time for me as it is;
At the very least, let me do this.
Dad: What is it you’re buying online, my son,
That may cost two thousand? My, what a sum!
Is what I’m seeing right? Are those just clothes?
What you’ll buy with my money next, God knows!
Son: You won’t understand, dad, that clothes are the fashion
And delving for the hottest ones is every teen’s passion.
How am I otherwise gonna use up my cash?
It’s either getting the latest stuff, or looking like trash.
Dad: Every dollar is a dollar worth-
In my days, to own one was of greatest mirth.
You should learn to save instead of spend-
I don’t care if it’s the latest trend.
Son: I told you you wouldn’t understand;
I have to do this to stay with my friends.
And please would you turn the Bee Gees down?
They aren’t exactly hottest in town.
Dad: The times have changed since I was young
And strange thoughts and actions have sprung
The children have overpoweringly shocking ways-
I have nothing more to say.
Son: The past was so dreadfully boring
That to think of it gets me to snoring.
The world must have been of black, white and gray-
I have nothing more to say.
Through the gap between the closed drapes
A maid peers in a daze
An ashtray upon the table
Held her undiffused gaze
Clearly there was bright red lipstick
Circles upon some butts
A golden earring lies close by
Lying cheat drives her nuts
The fog lifted revealing all
Airline ticket back home
A scoundrel, cheater, liar, creep
In the night he does roam
A teardrop fell upon the floor
As the click opened lock
He slept peacefully this last night
Gun shots silenced by the clock
Last chapter typed upon white sheets
The typewriter now still
Headlines plastered across front page
Lovers in motel were killed
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Contest: Chopped III
Form used: Poulter's Measure, Syllable count 8,6,8,6 with the rhyme on the six..Some lines might be slightly off..
Sambhavami yugé, yugé, says the Gita:
God will come back again and again.
What for?
Of course to protect the virtuous
And destroy the evil doers.
Déjà vu!
The Jews seem to wait for the same end.
That’s what 'The Second Coming’ means, too.
Thus, a belief system, whether born in a Desert
Or a River Valley, seems to point to the same end—
The Coming.
Now, what do we do in the meantime—
Now that the end seems to be infinitely distant,
Elusive, mirage-like?
Do we just wait and suffer?
Or wait and drift?
Or dismiss it as illusory?
Or explore alternatives?
The gap, anyway, seems
To be a period of entropy,
Which, according to scientists, is on the rise.
We may call it Postmodern era
Or Kali Yuga or whatever.
The gap is to be filled
As Nature abhors vacuum:
We have to live in the meantime
And life demands solutions.
Absurdity, for instance, has got to be dealt with.
So, little narratives
And interventions arise by necessity.
There arise, for instance, Irrational Philosophies:
A Nietzsche or a Marx or a Freud
Appears to be our Messiah.
But these Messiahs can offer only palliatives,
Like a counter-irritant in times of pain.
We are – most of us – materialists in a sense,
Inasmuch as we bank
On the Grand narrative of matter
Or on the Grand narrative of the material presence—
Of the Divine in the future;
Maybe as Darsan or Epiphany.
To most of us, seeing is believing;
And hence our incredulity.
Now, to speculate:
The Divine presence may be abstract—
Rather than concrete;
Maybe something like software
Rather than hardware;
May be within
Rather than without.
And, as such, is likely
To be always already there—
If and only if one is willing to see!
***
when Spring River recedes
we will break a ritual bread
together
the lover plans
I would rather build a fence
along the bank,
the woman swears
at the daybreak,
she calls a fence-builder
to have him build
a fence
between her farm
and her lover’s field
on Spring River
say by fate or by will
(or by divine intervention)
the fence builder builds
not a fence
but a bridge
over Spring River
the lover thought,
standing on the bridge:
bone-deep sorrows
can distill the soul
they don’t kill,
they harden and toughen
and cleanse and heal
the foul!
The Generation Gap
The fragile, flawless ice encased
the crumbling soil below
And with it brought bitter winter’s taste –
the seed that wouldn’t grow.
Many a foggy year ago,
the father had bought the plant
Had carried it, through the ice and snow,
to his little son’s wish, grant.
Once again, the son was staring, eyes hollow,
at the seed that could not be a winner,
Wondering if fruitless years would follow –
when his dad called him to dinner.
The father nodded at his presence,
hen lowered his head at the thing
Staring at the lifeless, immobile pleasance
ike a puppet on ends of a string.
Email after email - would the work never end?
His fingers flew across the screen.
At least the son’s phone would make up –
material had to be the dream of every teen.
The son accidentally brushed the screen
and rock music exploded resounding
The dad jumped and yelled at the opposite teen
of the terribly insistent pounding.
The teen shouted horribly red-faced
that it was most heartbreakingly sad
That the rule he’d once taught - don’t work while you eat –
was forgotten by his dad.
The silence that hung impenetrable in the air
was broken by the sharp creak of chairs
As they were pushed back by the pair –
then the loud pound of feet on the stairs.
The dad shut himself into his room,
sucked in a lungful of air
Then lay down in the musty gloom
to, at his long-gone father’s photo, stare.
His young father winked at him through the glass,
a poster of James Dean on the wall
With a jolt he recalled that in the past
his father had loved James Dean’s bawl.
But then came the time when he grew mad
and screamed and yelled at stars
His father had then, disgusted, said,
that they should be put behind bars.
He stared off into the distant past,
staring at but not seeing the ceiling
Then drifted into determined dreams at last,
strong stirring emotions, feeling.
While the son gazed at a long-taken photo,
at the grinning father and son
Hand in hand and holding their motto –
“Our undying love makes us one”.
And he stared off into the inky black
at the far wall of his room
His heart seemed to jolt, and then to crack
as drops on his cheeks began to bloom.
He was once again gazing at the stubborn seed
when he was called for dinner, to eat
We drew near one another and yet we couldn't be farther apart our youth prevents us from making drastic choices to close the distance but we feel or one another we care and know our partner the distance is to great to far for any interactions and yet it's just land that lay before us waiting for us to make those steps in each others direction for there is no such thing as time it doesn't exist clocks exist we have all the time in the world it will happen someday