Best Green Day Poems
Let us celebrate
a green day on seventeenth
holiday of march
wearing of the green
eating green and feeling green
dance with green concert
St. Patrick's dress
green delicious cooking tastes
green's cream of the cream
Contest sponsored by: PD
A green day is seen as the sun rises up from the East horizon
The green day which every farmer desire to encounter each and every day,
Day by day as his crops sprout from his tilled land,
The land which he went through toe and nail to acquire,
To acquire that he could have possibly inherited or purchased.
A green day dusk upon the dry elm trees,
The trees which the birds perch and rest on their nests,
The nests which bear the young ones and which they are raised.
A green day rises upon a beautiful nation,
The nation which bears the green colour from the aerial view,
The green which represents agriculture,
Agriculture which thrives best in its economy,
The agriculture which is the backbone of the country,
The agriculture which is the best subject for a student,
The student who burns midnight oil to achieve his success.
The green day band performs music in a concert,
The concert which is packed to the brim,
Brim in which water must be filled to be adequate,
Adequate to water the green vegetables.
First Tier!
A leprechaun from Ireland
made it to the United States.
She came in spite to
destroy St. Patrick’s Day.
She docked in Mass. joined in the Parade.
Second Tier!
She was enriched; her appearance changed quick.
Ms. Aideen Mac Cool wealth was
not known to anyone.
She fight with sticks and
hit with bricks when someone
finds her pot of gold.
Third Tier!
She yells, “I am a Limerick;
a perfect pitch of Irish folklore.
As a Leprechaun, I will kill
over my pot of gold.”
I am never one to not forewarn.
~I am Ms Aideen McCool!~.
______________________________/
Note: This is a three tier Limerick (also can be considered as a poem). Each is written in a Limerick form, which is Lines One, Two, and Five all rhyme with each other, and Lines Three and Four rhyme with each other. More, a leprechaun is a green theme in which Ms. Aideen Mac Cool wears green (costume and clothing) and loves the color green. Her favorite color is green. She is a leprechaun. All pertains green as they theme to nature colors. They possess the luck of the Irish for St. Patrick's Green Day.
______________________________/
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Contest
Name: Any Green Theme (old/new) nature/color (St. Patrick's Day poem/limerick)
Motif: Leprechaun
Penelope Alecknavage nee perskin whose death aye assay
to comprehend, this son of the late Harriet Harris -
November thirteenth 2016 marked her eighty first birthday
if she still lived these last eleven years - instead met crossway
where grim reaper awaited - though my mum sought to delay
futility to accept Pyrrhic outcome - homage pep rally
thru poetry n essay
writing, and finding cadence of words
helps me (with powder milk biscuits)
gather courageous foray
and means to grapple with demise
of a loved one, and hence my gray
matter sifts thru childhoods' end,
where remembrance of hooray
amidst claque of chattering aunts, cousins, and uncles
the fuzzy interplay
of Penny racing at dog speed across lawn of family home
cordoned off via a jackstay
looms in forefront of my mind,
vulnerable to grief most people sad - me, oh kay,
reckons cessation of life = equalizer of sorts
when significant person without breath doth lay
Tom foolery deft hands of motley crue prestidigitation
playing game versus sobbing as corpse
driven to graveside viz motorway,
where belief at such stark catastrophe - nay
numbness pervades next of kin survivors
especially when passing occurs pre-holiday,
yet no matter whence one departs
bobbing along River Styx to unreachable quay
mourning iz broken with nary sunny and Cher full ray
to warm earth, wind and fire - seeking soul asylum,
trying to blink away ill logic cheap trick re: acceptance,
but inxs of tears for fears begs scene 2b screenplay
not hard rocking coldplay accursed reality
terminal illness ushers helplessness cuz part of ourselves
agonizingly rent asunder, which psychic tearaway
far exceeds any physical pain, and will underlay
the immediate future, which bodes hollow
with the sounds of silence
despite informing musicians or veejay
to lighten moody blue -
boot invariably bono fide, green day,
Lady gaga emitting beat,
per the human league (plus the culture club
of heart felt village people affiliated with goo goo doll
traversing into nirvana)
creates clangorous discordant ringing
increasing nostalgia for loved one lost before yesterday!
(1.)
Where Green Forests Wrap Desirous Land
Across the midnight divide in a shroud,
this soul sails upon glistening gold wings.
There with vanity and what pride allowed,
my seeking heart wanders along and sings.
Beneath snow covered summit my joy shouts
where green forests wrap the desirous land.
To find me, hire the greatest Native scouts
for I move on with the animal band.
Near to the sweetest flowing river's banks
each morn, I rise to give eternal praise.
Give this, my Native American thanks,
escaped I, from dark cities wretched haze!
Deep in that huge divide my spirit dwells,
no longer enduring man's living hells.
Robert J. Lindley, 3-13 2016
Sonnet, ( Remembering where the wolf prowls and the panther hunts )
Native American blood speaks.
100 words..
(2.)Saddest Blues Flow Through Winter's Icy Frame
Saddest blues flow through winter's icy frame
Even when its cold winds no longer chill.
Sure, white snow at Christmas garners great fame
Oft forgetting blizzards God's creatures kill.
Horrible sights seeing, hard frozen scenes
Realizing death travels in its breath.
Bitter truth, I found in my early teens
When my puppy escaped and froze to death.
Yes, I was far too young to understand
Winter is Nature, as death to living.
When seeing, ice frozen across the land
Heart yearning for Springs new, greener givings.
That moment, those sad blues are tossed away
Anticipating Spring's first warm green day.
Robert J. Lindley, 8-25-2016
Sonnet, ( Looking at Winter In a Different Light )
100 words
Leaked excerpts from the journal of a
disgruntled federal, civil servant employee.
These views and opinions are not shared by
the Environmental Protection Agency.
These excerpts were made public by an anonymous source.
My knightly mission is to protect the air you breath,
keep you safe from all harm environmentally
But the new king, who was just sworn in,
said an endangered earth ain't nothing but liberal spin
He's gonna have those fracking machines
dig even deeper into the ground
Inject more and more waste water underneath
He said too much regulating ain't economically sound,
big business will get the economy back on it's feet
The king vowed they're gonna hit paydirt,
there's lots of oil soon to be found
Pump the profits up
by putting more poison in the ground
And the crops just cried a little more
because I couldn't unsheathed my sword
King put a muzzle on me and my scientific horsemen,
round tabled us with a work order freeze
There's a flash flood coming, a quake just around the bend ...
the earth's gonna open up and swallow us all in
Lord, please
forgive us for our sins
Flash freeze ... if they don't stop,
Ice Age soon to begin,
and we didn't care to know we brought it on ourselves
Custodians of the planet just got laid off,
as the mockers continue to scoff
Wonder what they're gonna think
when the land begins to stink
Vomiting oil all over the tainted soil
Flash freeze ... no more hiring
Help won't be on the way,
but this old knight will continue to pray
that our children will live to see a green day
Once thy future spouse (Abby Zison) found herself in the family way
(with what would turn out to be the first of our two daughters – i do say
determined and sealed the decision per our rolling in the figurative hay
to wed said mother of thine deux female progeny
on an agreed (in Linkin Park) upon a green day.
Both of us happened to be older grown offspring at ten times thrice
Or three plus decades to be generally precise
our fate sealed sans no hup hauling clay dice.
Said age difference approximately a year and a half between us two,
and miserably living with parents, which o’er the years rancor grew.
I agreed to pledge my troth on the premise this writer
(christened Matthew Harris) aka king o one scott the lighter
found himself in the throes of becoming a potential mister mom)
per one dominant seminal striver a darwinian foo fighter.
Since neither of us took any precautions and thru caution to the wind
the inevitable (i.e. a so called bun in the oven) nonetheless
tasting supposed verboten fruits branded us as having sinned
took us by surprise and got us necessarily biologically pinned.
Even though a decision to tie the gordian knot (more like a noose)
per donning the role of future father tightened and n’er got loose
an inner conflict jostled thine inner being
against forming a legal wedded union – the deuce.
Prior to taking that legal vow to be husband and wife
until death doth us part before the justice of the peace
(which building matter of fact, happens to be
a hopper, skipper and jumper
from where this seat experiences posterior strife
because this gluteus maximus constitutes on bony ****
as if being cut by a knife
matrimonial bliss seemed like a pipe dream
in subsequent years only to spiral into a maelstrom of chaotic life.
In truth, the prospect to marry
in general mills and aforementioned gal in particular
hardly filled yours truly with giddy excitement
but a decision this troubadour wished to defer and tarry
even as of this writing thoughts meander envisioning
the bachelor life - since daughters grown and I feel self confidant
to manage the unforeseen challenges of life, and hence less wary.
There's a languorous strain of violins, a concert in the park,
In the honeyed warmth of a green day, as bluebirds sing above.
Irregular perfect blooms all round, mellow sun is pouring down,
Music's in the air like a fragrance, as clouds drift softly by,
Like the beautiful and wandering path, of the purple butterfly!
The lustrous sunshine violins, fill the lovely noon with sound,
The musicians' hearts in every note, in the stillness of delight!
A distant laughter can be heard, under sparkling cerulean skies,
As another fervent and breezy day, awaits huge jeweled fireflies!
such heretics pitched headlong
into fiendish frothing furnace
forcing obeisance toward primitive popular
identified, honored, glorified father figure
expressing devotion re:
decking the halls of the mountain king,
whence boughs of Juniper sprigs contriving wreaths
sanctifying twisted brambles via springling angel dust
(actually cremated remains of malefactors
stripped of habiliments) during bleak winter
unwittingly interweaving nascent (futuristic)
formally codified bona fied religions
unknowingly, tacitly, silently rendering
quintessential premises obliging
layperson to foreswear locally rooted secular treatises
trounced, trumpeted unction voided
wishy washy antithetical blind faith coalescing edicts
over course of time became established
Greco-Roman imposed group think
disallowing cynics,
diametrically emerging fanatics, skeptics
who (if he/she did not recant
recalcitrant reccommended recourse
faced torture amidst throng of madding crowd
as entertainment and forewarning gall
asper those who held steadfast dissimilar views
taught since birth, when citizenry reared
as just a little drummer boy/ girl pipsqueak
taught to stay the course (sans straight and true)
bound without freedom to express contrary aspects
of ways and whyfores, which controlled each green day
and silent night, wherefore unimaginable ogres
lined straying hip cats
eventually ensnared within warpath,
whence law of the land lend scimitar to smite
any mortal man, woman or child with flaming torches
licking the heretical body electric,
while defiant individuals
left to burn into decimated
charcoal blackened, ashen corpse.
How to Find Your Way Home
Wear your tweed coat and checked hat.
The bus stops at the edge of the bridge.
It is a drawbridge and the ships are passing.
An old peddler pushes his cart along the
edge and sings his fruits. There are stars
in the water. Newsboys will shout their
headlines. “Red skies bleed to yellow.”
Ignore them and count your change because it
is a green day and the colors always change
at dusk. This is the way the street opens, but
the cobblestones defy interpretations. Treasonous
taxis sit back under street lamps, doors slightly
ajar. The young women are dancing with
reflections, their heads ringed with beads. The
men are no longer interested in dreams. The
restaurants will be almost empty. No one orders
in English. Pinpricks of light will appear in the
north sky. Hobos will stand with their hats in
their hands, waiting for Venus to appear in the sky.
You will know you are there when the last ship passes.
Do not look back. The bridge is a clock.
Mark Conte Copyright, Yankee magazine, 1982
My short name, my lucid green day
My South Dakota doll accent, my life-jacket
My worn through the knee blue jeans
A red ant
struggles
between the last two toes.
Though the heyday and stellar popularity didst long since wane, I still enjoy listening to select song titles (to many for listing here along this virtual boulevard of broken dream) of this iconic Punk Rock band unique rapid fire machine gun punctuated trademark style still induces goosebumps IF only because my eldest daughter (Eden Liat) used to be a rabid fan.
She even voluntarily recruited this papa (and asked me in her coy, diminutive, earnestly irresistible purring kitty cat demeanor if yours truly could taxi herself, and one or more best buddies, (whom she keeps in regular communication to this green day) to the the theatrical performance “American Idiot” being shown on Broadway.
Unsure at the present status of this three (?) member all male musician troupe (with a moderate sized following at the zenith of their renown i.e. with quite a motley crue of groupies to boot), nonetheless at the height of fame and fortune experienced by said trio, a spurious whim spurred this middle aged chap to jot down his feelings of unbridled affinity toward said talented three person creative young men within a poetic format (left unmodified only if there appeared a typographical error, or an ambiguous awkward outdated word arrangement) will be appended below.
Ode to Berkeley TBC
I grew up in Berkeley, my spiritual home.
I grew up in the 60’s crazy time.
No matter where in the world I might roam,
Berkeley always center of my space time.
Berkeley is the center of everything
Berkeley is what it is, a special place
Berkeley is a special place, a special city
To Berkeley, California I sing
It has always been there, my special home base
Berkeley is gritty and also pretty.
Berkeley has always been in its own zone
Berkeley at times is stuck in a time warp
Berkeley is my home, foundation stone
At times Berkeley is stuck in a warp
In Berkeley it is always the 60s
A city stuck in time and in the past
Berkeley is a very expensive town
But sometimes it is also the 80s
Berkeley holds on to its values steadfast
Berkeley use to be a very blacktown.
Berkeley is a city with many hills
I graduate from Berkeley High
I grew up in the Berkeley foothills
Berkeley is foggy, seldom a blue sky
Berkeley is a city of such music
The best band ever, tower of power
Also home of such great bands like green day
All kinds of music except country music
There is no band better than the tower
In the end Berkeley is a city by the bay.
Rather than crank up the heat...
and ratchet up global warming
like bubbling vegetable stew
with tsk... tsk... heard
courtesy Greta Thunberg,
who would utter "how dare you..."
I bundle with layers to stave off cold
energy efficiency drilled courtesy
me late mother conserving
nonrenewable resources she extolled
now ewe best heed following suggestion
wool worth 3d printing than wearing
a sheep doubled over
along dotted line to fold
cuz expending (fossil fuel)
leaving carbon footprint
would immediately being lectured
by ecology conscious eldest daughter,
(a University of Pennsylvania
biomedical engineering alumna)
who would mildly scold.
Myself and thee missus holed up
here within Highland Manor Apartments
(unit B44 in case you wanna drop me a line)
we're here moost every cold December day
sipping warm cup
of our favorite beverage
exotic coffee latte brew
suits this muttering pup
actually yours truly
a doggone ole
long haired pencil necked geezer.
He can be found moost any given warm Green Day
shuffling along boulevard of broken dreams
overhead skies colored rosy gunmetal gray
occasional huff fro zen cloud slashing solar ray
heating inside cozy nook,
though outside temperature brisk,
nevertheless for winter quite balmy
while I sit here heavily clad,
hence yours truly quite toasty within
perfect weather for wedding,
especially one hashtagged December/May.
After dusk i.e. established misnomer known as sunset
occurs 4:36 Post Meridiem heavens quickly turn jet
black today - Thursday, December 10, 2020 (EST)
whereby darkness lulls one into sleepiness, I bet
dollars to donuts impossible mission
to keep eyelids opened, particularly if sleep debt
necessary to pay the sandman,
who knows maybe you gotta get get
comfortably numb vis a vis temporarily unconscious
state, whereby dreaming of a white Christmas
analogous to eventual Elysian Fields,
where divine creator
conjuring Nirvana and/or
a place called Willoughby
if a believer, said Almighty eventually met.
I hate robocalls!
Inxs of recorded messages
transmitted automatically
to my telephone number
by automatic dialing device.
I turn off damn ringer,
and disassemble (carefully
as disabling a time bomb)
internal workings nevertheless...
telephone still buzzes
twenty four seven
eight days a week
automated telephone calls
digitally recorded message
perfectly spoken English
differentiation to distinguish
"FAKE" simulation
all bot impossible
totally immune to escape
gagging hospitable invective
electronic jawboning immunized
against antipathy, cruelty, enemy,
hostility, insecurity, pleasantry
Yukon run to tallest mountain
dive into Mariana Trench
get catapulted into
outer limits of twilight zone,
yet NEVER be free and clear
getting wirelessly zapped
with visual ad audiological
offal dregs and spam
(minus the green eggs)
oh... yes even after life,
while weightlessly
pinwheeling in limbo,
particularly during eternal sleep,
when dead souls repose
six feet deep
or corpse undergoes cremation...
yepper, infiltration into atomic core
blithely battered, jimmied,
cherry lee pitted, tweaked,
worse fate than return of Zombies
electrical essential existential
incorporeal surreal auditory ordeal
spurs indiscriminate human
to relish golden silence
spawning best selling novel
to flesh out fiction
Utopian treasured island story
winning unknown author
instant acclaim and glory
describing village people
livingsocial, free and clear
without annoyingly,
egregiously, infuriatingly,
maddeningly, quaveringly
vexing, nauseating, disrupting
blitzkrieg courtesy aggravating
trumpeting autonomous programs
hijacking brainstorming concentration
thwarting aim tug get back on target
(even when carrying on camping)
sundering coalescence
regarding colonizing black screen
aborted doomed genesis
of brilliant fleeting idea,
contributes to conspiracy theory
linkedin with ghost calls
thus one smart
generic garden variety
longfellow forced to
grovel along boulevard
of broken dreams
on a green day.
Any resemblance between above
hyperbole and living person
asked courteously by his name
of the human league,
I police tell the caller
purely coincidental!