Best Going South Poems
Spring Whimsy
winter packs his trunk
full of icy fleece and flakes ~
going south for spring
spring unpacks her bags
rolls out green hills with poppies ~
mustard carpets glens
vernal daylight sighs
sheds a winter overcoat ~
nature somersaults
sassy daffodils
troubadours of the season ~
in the midst of snow
snowdrops and tulips
mingle with playful raindrops ~
hummingbirds return
spring teases tree buds
tickles robins and the wrens ~
jokes in cheeky fun
loons and larks arrive
mistral songs fill flaxen fields ~
forests swing and sway
coy clouds gather in
flirt with flashing thunderbolts ~
birds watch from warm nests
rain tumbles through skies
plays hide and seek with thunder ~
feisty blue bells stand
waxing springtime moon
paints rose petals platinum ~
neon night aglow
impish morning sun
winks at fields of red clover ~
spring born of whimsy
3-30-22
Contest: A Brian Strand Premiere Choice
Sponsor: Brian Strand
On a train going south on business
For what seemed an eternity,
I chanced upon a memorable man
Who changed the path of my destiny
He was itinerant to look at
With tatty coat and shabby shoes,
An unshaven face, his hair unkempt
And string, as a belt on his ‘trews’
He boarded the train, peoples heads dropped
For fear that his gaze they’d meet
He walked down the aisle, disappointed,
As no-one would give up a seat
I offered the seat beside me
He thanked me for making the space
I replied with a sincere ‘you’re welcome’
And a smile warmed his weathered face
He asked me about my journey
And I asked of his in return
I felt in my heart, that by talking to him
There was much about life I could learn
I bought us both refreshments
As he told of his life’s history,
Once in a while I would interject
With a small anecdote about me
Behind the shabby persona,
Was a man of intelligent mind
He’d lived on the edge in finance,
Made his fortune, left it behind
As his bank account grew he’d lost everything
His family, his friends, his wife
He’d found out, too late, and at great cost
That there was so much more to life
‘You have to stop and smell the roses,
Make some time for those you hold dear’
And as he spoke, down his rugged cheek
I saw the track of a small, salty tear
As we reached the end of our journey
He clasped my hand at our time to part,
He thanked me for my company
And told me I had a good heart
When I got to my lonely hotel room,
I called my daughters on the phone
And told them ‘we’ll be together soon
I’m taking some time off when I get home.’
Sometimes it takes a chance meeting
To give your whole life a shake
I felt I had met my ‘Hermes’
And now had decisions to make
When I got home, I made a decision
The missed years with my girls I’d amend,
My life took a different direction
All down to my indigent friend
You can’t judge a man on appearance
But if you look in their eyes you can,
I knew in the instant I gave up the seat
I had met a remarkable man.
Putins botched invasion is going south
I think NATO should give him a way out
Chocolates stuffed with TNT
And then set off remotely
As he stuffs them in his fat evil mouth...
Be music to our ears to hear him scream
But sometimes in life things aren't what they seem
I came to with loud beeping
Was woken from my sleeping
And sadly it turned out to be a dream...
Written on 10th December 2022
I’m going to follow the birds
And the monarch butterflies
My suitcase is packed and ready
I’m going south…..
I want to lie on a lonely beach
And watch the waves repeat
Let my mind wander..or not
I’m going south….
Touched by the morning sun
Listen to the wind in the palms
While my cares stay at home
I’m going south…
Swings and hides in the kangaroo court.
The bulldog drops him with one report.
He struggles and fights to stay on his feet.
His fancy footwork skips every beat.
Bob and weave, stick and move.
He floats like a kangaroo with no groove.
Pathetic and weak and nothing original.
He hides in the bush like an aboriginal.
Come on sparky, show me something new.
Are you tired of the bulldog beating you black and blue?
A kick in the rear is what you need.
Your sorry punches are lacking speed.
You think you’re cool with your big mouth.
True north is where I am. You’re going south.
You’ve got no power to your punch.
This Bulldog eats Kangaroos for lunch.
As I was headed home, a squirrel
Passed me going south.
I noticed him because he had
An acorn in his mouth.
Since winter’s not approaching,
I am curious to know
If squirrels still amass a stash
For when supplies run low.
Or was that nut for dinner
From his daily market run?
Or a late addition to a meal
His family’d just begun?
I have no way to ascertain
What’s stored within his nest
So, like many other mysteries,
I’ll give this one a rest.
(Response to And Still I Rise by Maya Angelou)
Refusing to ever descend after
My mother, grandmother, great grandmother
Have all endured broken wings
To ensure that I would one day be able to catch wind
I rise
Because Maya said so
Explaining to me my existence
Is never burden
Not curse
No, I am heavenly
Her voice like gospel
And I will always respond to good news
I rise
Because I was birthed from dead flames
So you’re damn right I’ve been through hell
I rise
Because too many
Will find satisfaction in my downfall
I’ve been hunted like duck season
Aiming at my every move, so yes
They will be upset when I make it out alive
I rise
Cuz I know no other direction
Built into me like going south for winter
Internal compass passed down
Through North Star guidance
This is instinct
There is nowhere to go but
Up
Some folks believe it. Others do not. The legend told in the Bayou Cannot. The only witness who can swear that it's true, are the creatures who live in the bayou. The owl told the gator, the gator told the frog, about the horror filled night that changed their home in the bog. Far off on the mainland, miles from the marsh, in a large city, where living is harsh. A man's world invention sprang into life. A breath of fresh air to man's world of strife. A new deisel engine, queen of the line, would make it run for the very first time. The sunset limited it was aptly named. Gleamed in the station waiting its moment of fame. Boarded by folks going south, some headed out west, none mindful of anything, but each's own quest. New York to L.A. via the southern run. So it was, the trip had begun. Back in the bog, things were happening too. A barge made its way north with its captain and crew. The day had been hot. The night had turned cool. The fog roiled in, with its blanket of dew. The captain steered his tug, painfully slow, caution was key to safely deliver the tow. All of a sudden there was a scrape and a jolt the barge floated free, not held by a bolt. Panic seized the crew! "We've lost the tow!" "MAYDAY!" screamed the captain over the radio. Amid the chaos and moans of disdain, another great jar, "We've got it again!". Back on land not far down the track the Limited sped with a clickety-clack. Approaching the tressel no one noticed the shake. Who could blame the poor folks; the hour was late. Midway over the bayou came the tressels demise. A great shiver another great quake, tons of speeding steel, folks met their sad fate. Days went by weary and sad. Rescuers agreed none worked a wreck this bad. Twisted and bent the engine was pulled from the muck and the slime. "102" came the final count, the coroner spoke and noted the time. A weary voice shouted "Wait!" "Sir, I disagree!" Tired eyes turned, what did they see? A weary man held in his arms a child about three. Today believers say "an angel wanders." "A tiny spirit" Others agree. On foggy nights when no moon can be. A tiny light flickers so you will see. "It's a firefly!" Say the skeptics of haunt. The creatures disagree and murmur their taunt. They know the spirit of the child now lives in their swamp.
Written by my grandmother Sandra Burch
JACK SPRATT
Mc Donald's food is unhealthy it's thought
Food is food no matter where it's bought
When encountering starvation on your traveled road
You'll not hearing them saying "McDonalds? I'd rather eat a toad!"
People in war zones are thin but not by choice
They have no McDonalds to make them fat of course
It's not the food making Jack Spratt's wife fat
Overeating is where the problem's at
Cholesterol and calories are not what it's about
It's greedy gobbling like the food will run out
Exercising her legs more than her mouth
AND
Mrs. Jack's rear end then wouldn't be going south
I'm getting older, Father Time's my foe:
I cannot trust a fart, and pee all night -
have ceased to count how many times I go;
I'm to and fro the loo 'till morning's light.
I've gained a rounded tum and lost my hair,
my flesh has started sagging, going south,
the part that stood erect is hanging there,
and plastic dentures fill my grumpy mouth.
But now I'm old, my gas is part of life;
no longer clenching tight to hold it in.
I will not bother searching for a wife -
I'm flattered if they'd think we'd 'live in sin'!
Though all's not bad - no oozing teenage spot;
I may be craggy but not polka dot...
* not autobiographical!!!!!
for Carolyn's Hope contest
When the young start calling you "deary"
You know that things are going south
And ask if you want the senior discount
All with that smarmy smirk of the mouth
Shopping becomes a sad affair at best
Cute clothes don't fit a drooping frame
Your wardrobe consists of cover-ups
And the bulges showing really are a shame.
The memory goes, I cant find my keys
Did I take my pills or feed the darn cat?
I'm supposed to buy eggs or was it cheese
Doesn't matter, I'm just a crazy old bat
Getting old is not "golden years" as they say
It's more about hanging on as best you can
And trying to find some small joy in each day
But now really, who thought up this ridiculous plan....
Zanthalous was one time his name
On the shores where his parents dwelt
Endings came with the hurricane
April storms ravaged his pelt
Under stormy seas he was swept
Going south even as he slept
Until the icy lands
Shoals above rock sands
This sea's fish he came to accept
Alone so long, he finally saw them
New Mates. For this, by the bull he was condemned
One male attacked him
Rushed, and lost a limb
Made Zanthalous king in land by sea hemmed
And so ends the tale of the Finn-like Sea Lion
None else so well follows the path of Orion
urgh What's that , Her tongue is in my mouth
What is she up to now , Her hands are going south.
Hey , Behave , My tone was so abrupt
I'm a sweet and gentle virgin , Stop trying to corrupt.
I'm afraid she ignored me , Still exploring with her tongue
ooh She said , That's very nicely hung .
Ouch , I cried , As she bit my bottom lip
I simply can't believe it , She's fiddling with my zip.
ooh says I , my eyes feel as if they may pop
What do you think you're doing , You've got 24 hours to stop.
30 seconds later, I still can't believe the things she's done
I've just lost my cherry and I'm only 21.
Has anyone had the problem of their North Pole going South?
Is this a change that we need to worry about?
A new kind of climate control?
Another seniors ailment?
Are people aware of this phenomenon?
Will the earth's axis now not be on course?
Will there be a tilt in gravity as we know it?
How do we cure the problem?
Will scientists discover why this is happening?
How many people do we know who have experienced this?
Will our world now be upside down?
What do we do next?
Oh well, maybe we need to stand on our heads
Then south will be north and the problem disappears
Do think there must be a solution
Any one have any ideas?
I might have one but need to experiment to see if it works
Will really need a volunteer to check my theory
Oh well, it should be fun figuring it out
I heard a storm was rushing in
From the arctic breeze
Gonna cover people
Upto their flipping knee’s
Icy blizzards
Gonna hit this town
Showers of snow
Gonna fall to the ground
I can feel it in the air
See it in the clouds
And just before it falls
We’ll have that warm spell
Got my de-icer ready
My heating full on
Antifreeze in the car
Here the winter comes
Well I don’t mind the snow
But the effects that it brings
When it turns slushy
It ruins all my jeans
Got to do some shopping
I’ll be slip sliding away
One leg going south
The other northern Eh!
© Copyright K.C.Leake
21st November 2015
All Rights Reserved