Best Heavy Duty Poems
God has need of a few good men up there in heaven, I suppose,
But sometimes he picks one of the very best, and we wonder why he does.
Is there some heavy duty work up there, that only a strong man can do?
Like fixing the hinges on those gates of pearl, or tuning up a harp or two?
Or…Could he need the trumpets polished for that final blast that’s about due?
It won’t be long til the rapture occurs, maybe they need a choir director up there,
Or maybe an usher to handle the crowd, and show them around heaven on tour.
Streets of gold, walls of jasper, and the River of Life we are told,
The Tree of Life and the throne of God are some of the wonders we’ll behold.
Maybe God needs a few good men up there, around his heavenly throne,
Just to sing his praises throughout the ages, while the years on earth roll on.
Whatever his reason for taking good men, whom to us seem too young to go,
His word assures us that he loves each of us, and his plan is neither too fast or too slow.
When our purpose here is completed, and our journey through life is o’er,
He’ll escort us safely to our heavenly home, and the joys that he has in store.
Time will one day cease as we know it, and eternity will unfold.
One endless eternal day awaits those who reach that city of gold.
I live in Tucson, in a trailer court on the South side
All Mexican, except for me the old Gringo
I speak Spanish, can get along with most anyone
With all the Mexican border drugs, things can get wild
I am getting old and taking things slow
Was sort of a paradise in the Arizona Sun
The owner has lights, security cameras, claims to be drug free
Even claims to be a heavy duty born again
Not like us old folks and sinner on the South
After a couple of years of watching, seemed counterfeit to me
Said by him last weekend, "This land is blessed, sin cannot get in"
He is one of those feller, born with a silver spoon in his mouth
There has been a murder conspiracy after me for years
By the Old Witch and the Mexican Mafia that continues
Severel months back I could feel a change in the atmosphere
It was the old witch had moved in, with her bucket of fears
Trying to scare me and make me sing the blues
Make me think that my end was near
But then last weekend I saw it all, a crystal ball view
The owner lives in California, was in town
Fell on hard times and the park is empty
Went to the witch and money people, "Anything that is what I will do"
But soon the Devil will let him down
Only to add to his up coming misery
He sold his soul to the Devil, just for a little gain
And maybe when it all comes down, will end this conspiracy
A long story made short, to the court I will report
Set me free, for him will be eternal pain
For a man that sold his soul, God can give no mercy
There are no troops in his fort
Tried to take my last dime, leave me down and out
But I knew that God would not let me fail
I can over come this evil pair
With God, the Devil cannot run me out
You see if have sort of left a "Paper Trail"
"Joe you have sold your soul, you don't even have a prayer"
Form:
Oh, a mangy little doggie went galumphing down the street
And as his luck would have it he just happened there to meet
A warden with a wagon and a heavy-duty net
And he nabbed the rabid mongrel and he took him to the vet.
I own lustful eyes
though I keep them in disguise
they are always watching
I am a very curious person
I have no problem with endulgence
I enjoy being sexy
I touch myself to release
If I didn't I would go crazy
because my body is constantly craving
physical activity
pleasure is what I desire
I'm such a naughty girl
trapped inside the role of a good girl
If people only knew what was brewing inside
they'd take a second look
and noticed the glint in my eye
could they realize my secret?
that my body is truly insatiable
looking for a heavy duty load
to completely replinish my system
I can't help if i'm addicted to it
4/30/17
Underneath what they consider lunar
Don't care if your name is super
So much for your future
And all of the rumors
There is nowhere you can go to outmaneuver
When I turn into Krueger
Take you out before the sound of the rooster
Whether or not on the computer
Or a scooter
Oh well that just makes one fewer
I don't care if you can't appreciate my humor
I come from the sewer
Not much of a snoozer
But a heavy duty boozer
Warning
Night and morning
The rage accumulating and forming
Before, during and after storming
In and out of areas with bugs that continue swarming
Feeling like Rick and not so much Morty
The temperature below, above or at the forties
In and out of different territories
Near and far from quarries
Coming in like Vorhees
It doesn't matter if you heard all the stories
Because nothing can prepare you for me
Considering that we all fall in different categories
And carry our own inventories
Mine can make it gory
Yours are empty normally
For you it just may end up horribly
Drawn out or ending shortly
I don't care about the glory
Or so called purgatory
A simple and friendly reminder
Don't have on your blinders
Think wiser
At elevations lower and higher
On foot or tires
Looking like Myers
In and out of areas devastated by fires
Above and below telephone wires
With a pair of pliers
Ready to eliminate any liars
Leaving behind no traces or fibers
Tried to go after me, but instead
He was caught, and pissed the bed
As it was off with his head
When I was Pinhead
Could be worse or better
More or lesser
Something that would do you some good to remember
Before I lose control of my temper
And become Lecter
Against whomever
Thinks their clever
Whenever
During any weather
The surrounding suddenly became redder
Not concerned about opinions
A one man army on a mission
They wanted to give me a million
Endless medical prescriptions
And to persuade me with religion
But I wouldn't give in or listen
Because I am a villain
By: Dalton Ogletree
I have a small secret love in my life,
A marriage I love to do,
It’s when I use the stapler,
Making one grouped sheet from two.
The heavy duty mechanical,
The straight, to big, to small,
I love the crunch of bending steel,
The papered wedding, I love it all.
And at special times there’s 5 sheets or more,
A bunch to join as one.
Then, when the pile of paper’s so big,
I use the electric staple gun.
My small secret I keep so quiet,
I never want to create a scene.
I just quietly work my job, 9 to 5,
With the photocopy machine.
Written 15th March 2017 on a whim for John Lawless' contest
Begrudgingly I grab my raincoat rolling my eyes back sighing, not again
Now SHE, she jumps up and down acting like she just won the lottery.
Slipping on rubber boots I ask, you really want to walk in this rain?
She stares at me as if saying, move it I don’t have all day.
Opening the front door the strong wind sprays rain into my face
I grab my zipper pulling it up as high as I can get it.
My loud cries were drowned out by the wind of course
As my saggy aging chin got in the way of zips journey to the top.
Wondering which direction we should go this time out
I am dragged quickly to the right for some reason only she knows
Before long I am pulled under the first tree, a wind gust comes up
Dumping water on me as if this were the ice bucket challenge.
Now if the neighbours are wondering where my umbrella is
Yesterday it tried taking me on an outer space mission.
It was one of those super heavy duty cost a fortune type
Built so well, instead of collapsing you just fly.
When I decided she had enough opportunities for release
It becomes my turn to do the pulling and I’m all in.
She slowly came still kicking grass wildly behind her,
Sending little patches of grass flying on the neighbour’s lawn. Ops.
Entering my house I am happy to shed a few pounds of soaked laundry
I dry her off as well as possible then she shakes and soaks the front hall.
Pondering the fresh air and exercise I just received I sit back in my chair
Happy and contented, praying she can hold it till the rain finally stops.
For ye whom wonder, yes I had baggies with me.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
09.11.2014
For Contest Rainy Days
4th
Leonora Galinta
After the storm, my brother
(all gangly knees and elbows)
bore the brunt of its ferocious aftermath.
Every day after school
I watched his wiry biceps bulge a little
as his handsaw scritched against the tree
which had fallen diagonally across our front yard.
I witnessed the violence of metal on wood,
the violence of The King of the Mountain’s smirk
as he too watched, his greedy eyes
taking in my brother’s razor sharp collar bone,
with jaw set in furious concentration.
This imposed punishment was meant to goad my brother,
meant to tempt him to rage
so that the next time the stepdad slugged him
he would feel justified, holy even.
Kneeling on scratchy couch to watch
I scrunched my shoulders,
Folding into myself like an accordion,
gathering myself up to make of me something smaller;
I pressed my knees together
wrapping my arms around them
and lowered my head,
waiting for the sky to rain trees
with swollen trunks, and branches thrust downward
as if warding off a sickening impact with earth.
My brother, it seems,
must be punished for the crime of
his existence;
for this the stepdad’s eyes shone bright,
bright as the heavy duty flashlights
he begrudgingly loaned my brother
so he could work far into the night.
His eyes fairly burned with lust—
The lust of sadism’s glee.
I saw him lick his lips;
You’d have thought he’d conjured up this
Columbus Day Storm all by himself
for the sole purpose
of proving to my brother
that he had no right
to co-exist with him in the same universe.
I watched until my eyes burned
and my head ached dully
and my brother, sweating and chilled,
laid down his saw
swiped his arm across his forehead,
and straightening up, met my wary gaze
with the scoured look
of shame whittled down into hatred,
sawn away into stumpy pieces like an old tree trunk.
After the storm my brother cleaned up nature’s wrath.
He stood a little taller and his eyes, when they met his abuser’s,
burned unflinching.
After the storm we feigned memory loss
Pretended that nothing had shifted in our family dynamic.
We sat down to meals silent and repressed and picked up our forks
as if the stepdad hadn’t just won a major battle,
as if my brother’s days in that household were not numbered.
Frankly Speaking
There is a couple on the beach, they have a small room, been on the beach for years, suffered through the worst of it. They have been through every phase. The Hippie, the war protesters -the poet-the artist - the "free love fest"- the heavy duty weed scene, "hell no we won't fn go" from there; To the board room with a haircut and a suit. Back to the beach, to retire; She still wore pigtails and flowered skirts. Oh, my God, we’ve moved slower through time she thought, and those times now seemed so far away. Contrasting times were here with cocaine, ecstasy, and mushrooms.!
S.S. check gone too soon, these days were not like the old days but vegetarians never die- So we dance at night after soaking up the sun; Growing wrinkled and red and filled with vitamin D... He displays his art- we played on our boombox: Bob Marley and Elton John which drew a crowd. We became as one with South Beach, as we practiced our Yoga, or played our musical instruments and chanted “Nam-myoho-renge-kyo”.
My black friend was so beautiful in her bikini and golden headwrap...She roller-skated past and waved. She was a poet like me... She said she'd be back for the session. A lot of her poems were about David the owner of the Franklin Hotel where we lived. I and other poets wrote poems about the system that tried to impose hate upon us free thinking peoples. People would give us money for sharing our poems, and purchase his art work. We’d buy few mangos and veggie burgers for our dinner, next, we’d wait for the sun to go down.
At night, my Black friend. Oladeji would collect the last 5 bucks, for the Gourmet Franks that she sold to the hungry drunks left over on the beach, who had been evacuated from the clubs for maxed out credit cards. Sad looks and broke pockets were not welcomed.
Which made her hot, fat kosher gourmet grilled franks, smothered in her special onion sauce, even more of a redeeming quality; As her poetic sign read… {FRANKLY SPEAKING…Home of the gourmet franks} ... Oladeji, would chant out her newly learned Spanish words nightly, to the dregs of dejected party goers, she’d shout “Pero caliente, saboya salsa” Rico delicioso”! then again in English; Hot-dogs with onion sauce very delicious.
Whether the weather
necessitates to anchor
myself as a tether
when the frankenstorm
socks the east coast
shredding terrestrial
zone like soft leather
i may end up attired
in esprit de corpse
being tossed hither and yon
to and fro like a feather.
If...the forecast imbues
meteorologists flooded with folly
making a mockery
of humanity run amuck
in panic mode - by golly
this mortal male will don himself as
"the chief garbage" taster
with a garland of holly
shuffling along the
boulevard of broken
tin cans and rubbish
feigning to be melancholy.
This getup a throw
back to a costume
adorned this papa when
he attended grade school
eons ago, where corporal punishment
prevailed in case
student disavowed any rule
such as smoking in the boys' room
cigarette such
manufactured by Kent or kool
or lambasting any unlikable teacher,
(whose bookish face) at
receiving end of
pranks rather cruel.
So...presume that Halloween
will take place without any axe
of nature to grind monster
brewing at sea
and picture this poet decked
out dumpster diving
for the most fetid trash
and materiel with cracks
to be affixed upon
a heavy duty sack
with goop from
sullied foodstuffs -
a cause for glee
rotten meat infested
with maggots, shards of glass,
crushed metal cans,
et cetera to the max
will be haphazardly splayed
(Jackson Pollack like)
on this sturdy cloth
that will drape me
spurring a conga like of hungry beasts
ready go pounce – menacing
ferocious wolf packs
adding to the welter per helter skelter
of decayed detritus distributed
from head to knee
and a set of punishing
pronged antlers spiking out
in all directions upon
ma noggin-hence to tax
utmost fear in passersby, and quite
an abominable sight to see.
Still, and again
“Ogongo” crept into my mouth
As I behold the two nocturnal creatures
We have waited endlessly
No longer in my Aunt’s place,
But we became unsolicited watchmen
At the streets gate entrance
It was an ungodly hour
Darkness had key to everywhere
Still, and again
I winked at my cousin
He nodded, and murmured
“They are on their way”
But when midnight started knocking
Out of the furfuled dusk
Appeared the two nocturnal “Ogongos”
One bringing back the memory of the famous Yokosuna
Of the Heavy weight with an heavy duty
To her chest,
Were a very big size-less eve’s apples?
Her mean look compliments her dark complexion
Her burnt lips. . . Reddish eyeballs speak of her as a chimney
My cousin I pity from within my heart
Her hyena-like laughter
Turned me back to the second “Ogongo”
Of a lesser weight to the former
Her Eve’s apples were almost not there
“Bad catch, worst choice”
I echoed to myself until I saw
Her roundly shaped protruding buttock
Speaking louder than a loud-speaker
It overshadows her duck-like ugly mouth
It was an undeniable asset
Indeed, the “Ogongos” are both endowed
With a Unique Selling Point (UPS)
With these, I had taught they can never
Run out of good prices in the market.
Lo and behold,
At the crucial product delivery point
I rushed out of my room
Only to see my cousin outside too
Looking worried and dejected
The “Ogongos” are over-used products
The expiry date lapsed long ago
The USP was a flash in the pan
We both slept in the parlour
Leaving the “Ogongos” in their different rooms
It was a bad deal in a bad day.
Alayande Stephen T
09.55am
20th June, 2007
NB-Ogongo is a coinage for Prostitutes.
In Iba, with Ayo and Yemi, expecting
An Izobo daughter and Tobi’s call.
I had the strangest feeling
That if I cut my hair
All of my crazy poem ideas
Would suddenly disappear
Like Samson with Delila
I'd loose that added edge
If I didn't keep this mop top
On top of my knotted head
All the poetry would be zapped from me
And I would lose my purpose
Start rhyming things like moon with June
At that point my pen would be worthless
But I couldn't take it anymore
It was driving me insane
So I got out the heavy duty shears
And did something about this mane
I now see the pile in front of me
Expecting the Philistine's to crash through the door
But the only action that there is
Is me sweeping my curley remains up off the floor
I now face the day in front of me
Showing no lack of courage
Continuing in my quest
Of looking for that elusive word that rhymes with orange
Electroconvulsive therapy,
a last ditch avail
able effort optioned, aye bewail
as desperation if standard
psychological measures peter
out leave ving paul tree
(paltry) choice, and blackmail
ling Doctor Frankenstein
out of the question, cuz
accidental discover re:
visa vis could yield (ahem) grave
zero APR, hence bad
(bon jovian) medicine
sought as precautionary
measure to countervail
undesirable repercussions
hoop fully curtail
ling any unexpected derail
ment, thus every nitty gritty detail,
asper my treatment plan
made purposely intractable
courtesy Matthew Scott Harris,
to flummox decrypting
this daunting task, whose
hair brained scheme didst entail
hatching with Sam I am
(of Doctor Zeus fame)...Oh...My...G___
egg gads no fail-
safe recourse, should shell shock
Electroconvulsive – formerly electric shock
therapy even slip an infinitesimal jot
offsetting requisite
exactly predicted results
yes, even if precision errs
by a mere clipped fingernail...
the sought after outcome
(devised on the fly - by night
Reddit writer above named author)
must absolutely dovetail
with The Elements of Style
or very close
facsimile thereof, anyway
strict requirements quality controlled
with results tubby
sent as email
to Strunk and White,
who will flail
like some GMO gone awry
(if patient accidentally electrocuted)
finding them to become
instantaneously petrified and frail
looking analogous to
witnessing the Holy Grail
shattering into a bajillion pieces,
whereby the heavens,
would reign hail
scaring every last man,
woman, and child to hightail
donned in heavy duty boots
studded with many a hobnail
with duff feet, sans long arm of
law and order on their heels,
and if any scapegoats nabbed
definitely consigned to jail
without chance of parole to prevail
no matter guilty might sail
to some tropical island awash
with countless carbon copies
of Euell Gibbons doppelganger,
and Swiss Alpine like mountains to scale.
'Like the silence that screams, cursing solitude...
whispers of faith sing patiently with prayers.'
(Quoted by Regina Mc Intosh)
Hung suspended from hive rafters hexagonal
Leader Lady Ruler Bee gorges imprudent
Heavy duty seeps striped desirous abdominal
Workers hover, rush beneath Queen exuberant
Team enthusiasm pumps a syrup scaffold
Propolis produces massed mission belligerent
Numb buzzing bumblers fumble fated cuckold
Hunger for cohesion, gold body encompass
Busy anonymous paupers, sources unresolved
Eager in sweetness, clan clustered accomplice
Reverently fulfills each gluttonous request
Swift need swords stung in caustic redundance
Plump with pupae, flightless wings flouresced
Polar iceberg cream honey hearts can't ingest
13th January 2021
Written for Contest: Terza Rima Quote
Sponsor: Regina Mc Intosh
6/17/17
I'm just cooling
And musing
Below the flooring and above the roofing
Still manuevering and moving
Working hard towards improving
Live a life of your choosing
Focused on what I'm doing
Got to get it, can't continue snoozing
While there is and isn't booming
Whether win draw or losing
Before and after what is ensuing
Regardless of if it may be confusing
Quickly fuming
Often stooping
To such a low level, then snooping
People feuding
And dueling
Over petty things, continually adding fueling
To the fire, while ridiculing
Among objects that may or may not be protruding
Near and far from lifeforms and items by themselves or in a tight-knit grouping
At a rapid pace, spewing
It's all bad when it comes to polluting
Always stirring up the pot, and tooting
Your own horn, while assuming
Because you want to see another's undoing
Shame on those that continue spoofing
And fooling
As well as those that did or are planning a mass shooting
There's just no excusing
Such horrendous actions, regardless of it involved drug abusing
And heavy duty boozing