Best Honking Poems
I dance upwards;
below me,
the waves slap the cliffs
and beat the rhythm.
Wind whipped clouds gallop
with flying manes
across the blue plain of the sky.
The wild geese resent
our intrusion;
honking displeasure,
they swoop a warning:
we are guests here.
Amid the cedar fragrance
of summer and freedom,
I lean back
into the arms of the world.
OLD MA.
Old Ma always gave the kids a nice treat
Always nuts and never anything sweet
But they soon found out why
Nuts were in great supply
Choc nut bars she'd only suck cos no teeth...
NO HIDING PLACE.
An old gangster robbed a bank and he ran
Flew out from Canada then onto Japan
The Mounties tracked him down
In old Tokyo Town
He was caught cos they always get their man...
A WARDROBE MALFUNCTION
Went to a posh restaurant called Vicars
A girl walked out the loo, there were titters
Her face turned a bright red
At what's every girls dread
She'd gone and tucked her dress down her knickers...
DOMINATRIX.
A dominatrix from the state of Maine
Enjoyed hanky panky out in the rain
She'd use a leather fetter
T'would shrink as it got wetter
And her clients would pass out with the pain..
A FRIEND IN NEED.
The outback two mates went to catch a 'roo
One got cut short and said "I need the loo"
A spider crawled up his knee
As he was starting to pee
And bit him hard on his digeridoo...
His mate phoned the flying doctor who said
"Suck out the Poison if it has turned red"
He thought to himself no way
His mate said "well what's he say?"
He said "in 'bout half an hour you'll be dead" ...
LOST THEIR WAY. For Gershon Wolf
Geese flew south they were honking and hinking
Snow storm came they were blinded and blinking
They had no way of knowing
Where the hell they were going
To see them sway you'd think they'd been drinking...
Written 21st October 2020.
Beyond the valley mottled clouds and blue
Invite all strangers into quiet peace.
There sunlight sparkles with the morning dew.
The river hears the loudly honking geese.
And fragrance from spring flowers fills the air.
Each anxious soul can feel his qualms release.
A quiet stillness floods the valley fair.
Magnolia blossoms show their shining white.
A virgin giggles adding her sweet flare.
While smitten by the golden sun’s daylight,
She challenges desires in her mind.
Beneath the yellow trees her heart takes flight.
Idyllic beauty with God’s hand entwined,
Resounds His message through nature’s converse.
Departing there, good virtue still aligned.
Delightful flowers fill her universe.
autumn's sky ablaze
shades of red orange and pink ~
sunset masterpiece
geese in formation
flying to warmer climates ~
honking their goodbyes
an arachnid's silk
glistens with the morning dew ~
spider clings in wait
Migrating southward, before Autumn dies;
flocks of geese split the air with honking cries.
And snow clouds dapple Winter's ice-blue skies,
as winds kiss the trees with audible sighs.
Dawn's first light ignites an ice-cold sunrise;
long-gone are the songbirds and butterflies.
Yet, some creatures have learned to improvise,
turning food into fat, they winterize.
Hibernating bears must bulk up their size,
not gorging in the Fall, would be unwise.
A long Winter could lead to their demise,
should the need to wake up early arise.
Inclement weather tends to brutalize;
for nature doesn't react well to surprise.
Fighting starvation and all it implies,
some species evolved to cannibalize.
The sunlight doesn't seem as bright as before,
while Autumn's warmth is fast fading away.
And ominous grey clouds bring rains that pour:
sending kids scurrying inside to play.
Fall's exquisite colored leaves fall from sight,
till no trace remains; their beauty is brief.
And day relinquishes its length to Night,
as trees stand naked, not a single leaf.
The honking geese are all migrating south,
along with most of our precious songbirds.
And, daunting rumors, spread by word of mouth,
whisper, winter's near, in so many words.
While wailing winds start to whistle a tune
that warn winter flurries are coming soon.
I sat in church listening to the preacher
Without hearing a single word he said
I was thinking about the football scores
And my favorite team instead
As they passed around the collection plate
I put my money in
Wondering just what was the going rate
To have God absolve you of your sin
When it came time to share a sign of peace
I turned to the pretty lady in the red dress
Giving her my most pious smile
Trying real hard to impress
I shook the preacher’s hand at the door
Saying I loved his sermon that day
Anxious to get out of my tie
And to be on my merry way
As I stopped at the traffic light
With the windows down in my new car
A homeless man walked up to me
And started talking real bizarre
He said, “You know there’s nothing special about Sundays
Nothing special about the building they call a church
By simply going through the ritual
You don’t improve what your soul is worth”
“If you would rather be watching football games
You can talk to me some other time when you are free
And twenty dollars in a collection basket
Doesn’t buy your soul out of poverty”
“That lady in the red dress
Is much too young for you
And you have to fix the relationship you are in
Before moving on to someplace new”
The cars were honking from behind me
Because the traffic light was green
I turned around to shout at them
Then turned back and that man was nowhere to be seen
I drove the rest of the way home in a haze
Wondering if I imagined the whole scene
But when I turned on the football game
That man was in a commercial on my screen
“So think about the words I said
And talk to me on your own time
In a location of your choosing
When you are in the right frame of mind”
“I am always available to hear you
And provide guidance along the way
But the outcome of these football games
Is not a thing for which to pray”
So, I gave up church on Sundays
And I donate to other charities instead
And today I am a more religious man
Always conversing with God inside my head
I stepped into a cow pie, back a year or so ago, and I did fuss and cry!
Or so I am told… Then I found a Dragon egg, and as you will surmise…
The plentitude and size of those pies, unfolded before my poor, sad eyes.
I pooper scooped alone, as they all ran from me and it, no matter what I tried.
There wasn’t enough fussing or money, that could bring them, into my crew.
It took a great big honking cart, behind a tractor to work the deed, it’s true
Dragon wouldn’t cooperate, to even remotely, pile it wherever I did need.
In fact, he buried my rose bed: as he covered it deep, in protest, at full speed.
I thought my teenagers had capped that rebel and protest thing, to an extreme.
OH, BOY! Have I become enlightened, to what a true protest can really mean!
Yep! And then he taught the neighbors Dogasaurus, to cover my dear, old Car!
Pitchfork handy, I chased them, as an incentive to unload in another place, so far!
That was inspired, I had gamely thought, until they dumped upon, poor little me.
I became known as the Dragon pie lady, and that was not a treat, I guarantee!
And yes, the paparazzi, put it on the front page as I got my 15 minutes of fame.
At this, Grandpa Troll came, to my much-needed aid, to help me stop this game.
He put us across the lake, from each other, in time out, until a deal was struck.
When Dragon’s fire finally gave out, he finally agreed to help clean up his muck.
Dragon agreed to ash all deeds, if I’d sell it as fertilizer to buy him more ice cream.
A bargain struck, peace reigned, and a fun incentive brought about our dreams.
The moral to my story is: Anyone can start a fight… But a fun incentive can be
Golden and bring the end to any plight.
Have you ever squeezed a lemon before?
(you very might well have and just not realized it).
Each time you grab the steering wheel, you feel determined:
There's no way in hell you're waiting another minute!
A lemon is sure a close call,
and anyone's capable of it - every Tom, Dick and Harry.
Sometimes you don't see it at all,
until you look up and realize it's already turned cherry.
It's a rarer site to see someone squeezing that one,
but there's no doubt it happens now and then.
Some call it stupid, others brave and daring.
Me? I just wanna get out of the car and grab a pen.
Squeezing a lime sounds much more safe.
Feeling a bit less brave, a small price to pay,
for living another glorious day.
But my dad is a different sort all together.
He goes through the entire fruit smoothie, it's just his way.
There'll be honking from behind,
people yelling, "What are you friggin' color blind?
Get off the Bluetooth, man!".
And I'm just sitting in the front seat thinking,
"I have such great writing material, so close at hand".
I'll have my head crouched low
feigning embarrassment, but in reality
this man, driving me, where I need to go
is the spitting image of myself
forty years down the road...
Ah, to this land of the monsoons
or should it have been the sunsoons?
Yet for frozen land tourists, a tropical hot boon.
Where bullock carts, stray dogs, horse carriages and cows
pedestrians, goats, bikes and rickshaws
scooters, trucks, motorbikes and cabs
all compete together in quirky medley of traffic jams
On crammed roads you could ram into bulls and rams
So brakes forever screeching, the cars forever honking, hooting
while beggers begged and pickpockets could go a' looting on a footing
But where else you'd see, ducks and ponds in the city
buffaloes wallowing in mud without fear or pity!
Urban jungle eh, you'd think with a wink
and in many's esteem this land shan't ever sink.
Then pass the huge expanses of paddy fields and the rice farmers
and next come face to face with those Indian snake charmers!
Ah and the imposing edifice, Tajmahal, one of the seven wonders of the world
is no where else found, nor are the epic himalayas on any map unfurled
except for India, and a whole ocean with her name
The Indian ocean knows and salutes her fame!
As for me, meeting relatives there, is the best best part
then shopping too in each and every crowded mart
shopping like crazy, filling my spree's shopping cart!
March
Sweet, bitter March,
last year tears haven’t dried out up
till now and yet you
are already at the door,
knocking lightly!
Sadness is still flapping over my head like
a frantic goose, what have you brought with you
to silence its primordial honking?!
I can see your hunched silhouette against the wall
Of my waiting, standing awash with shame,
wringing your empty hands desperately!
O' March , anniversary of tears and smiles,
Memories are pacing around nostalgically, sniffing
the withered roses, leafing through the pages of books
trying to put the haphazard leftovers of a once
beautiful image into shape…
The hurricane that accompanied you once
has subdued, leaving behind a nerve-tearing silence and
a deracinated life!
Don’t wonder; rootless hopes are still roving
over the corpse of a long dead dream, taking
strength from the ever pulsating stars…
March, March , embracer of birth and death,
the breath of eternity has abandoned
your rosy-cheeked child..
The resonance of its happy giggles are
haunting the vacant hours of night, sending me
reeling of longing!
Its face emerges from among the clouds of years, an angelic
Vision imprinted on the face of a mourning moon!
Standing next to a fire hydrant
Alone
Sitting on a park bench
Bothered by you
rather I be alone
Looking into a broken mirror
Cliche'
People bore me. That they do.
I'm a person so I am also quite
the
Drag
Silly vagrants honking horns, fancying party favors
Yuck
Find me eyed on my lap,
Glued to boring my old shelf
back
Together
All are you completely wrong about us
I am so about this.
Watching look that faces have right now.
Right now is when?
Tomorrow is yesterday while present in today.
Tomorrow
And Yesterday
Definitely Today
So, so lame
as you mock me my case I rest.
but I have too much to declare.
June 8, 2017
Contest: The Bleaker the Better
Sponsor: Julia Ward
- The Goodbye Goose-
Winter polishes at four o'clock, shining all the rocks aglaze.
Reflection, stretching shadows.
Longer thinner men - longer thinner still.
Shadowy tall , feeling small.
Sunmangled window in a diamond quadrant.
Keyhole orifice and creeping becomes nostalgia.
Why dont you just shut up and call?
Home going geese-slipstream in a vee.
High honking traffic, trailing vapour leaves you exposing me.
Cascading spirits slipping down the walls, swirling eddies
and smoky waterfalls, draping over furniture like slimy octopi...
Drunken weekend metaphors , Monday morning remorse.
Up and down the ladders of my memory, tinkly piano playing on my spiny vertebrae.
Permeating lies of my story told not of voice or tongue or lips-no.
But of crafty bits that left unsaid, untold encyclopaedia of me.
T'would be so simple to top you up, yet dark forces warn me ,
to pimp me out to you is to forfeit martyrdom and victory crown,
deprives the joy of shooting you down, shifting the blame.
Denies the stature as abuser , distracts my winner into loser.
Never be a frontal goose .
Why are you not where you belong?
This situation is very wrong?
I do not mean to pry,
Yet still I wonder why?
Some beautiful birds and a lake,
Would not at all be hard to take.
Fish swimming up and down,
Colored like the circus clown.
Striped red, white and cerise,
They bring such poetic peace.
Such a beautiful place to write,
A poetess’s heavenly delight.
Evergreen trees buzzing with bees,
Geese honking with expertise.
With colorful gardens all about,
Beauty in your heart and without.
-----------------------------------------
Nowhere now to feed the birds,
Confused and can’t find the words.
Your poetry now in plastic bins,
No longer heard sweet violins.
The new rooms have high ceilings,
Yet lack the homely feelings.
Your heart longs for absent friends,
On whom your happiness so depends.
A magical world you see all around,
Describing it with words that astound.
The cat with a fiddle and a bow,
A heated passion for warm Bordeaux.
A unicorn hosting a Gala,
Invitations delivered by Impala.
A Loon’s call in the still early morn,
And a puff ball on toast before dawn.
Dear lady stay the whole course,
Write again, ride that white horse.
White chevron squadrons usher in spring
With squawking and honking and flapping of wings.
Their return brings a weekend to revel in fun.
The locals all love it, and hundreds more come!
But the poor migrant snow goose must be sorely perplexed;
Revered on one weekend, then slaughtered the next!