Best Hydrants Poems
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
What are these objects in your frames?
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
Why must they gotta be the same?
Cars and busses, traffic lights
Bicycles and motor bikes
Crosswalks, signs, and steps and stairs
Fire hydrants everywhere
Boats, planes and parking meters
Tickets, fines, misdemeanors
Why are you so fond of these?
Why are palms the only trees?
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
The pictures trapped inside of there
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
Depict a world so bleak and bare
Arid, bland, unaesthetic
Barren, drab, unpoetic
Sterile, cold, antiseptic
Unconcerned, apathetic
Somber, sad, and desolate
Woeful, bland, pedestrian
Weary, grim, dreary, hopeless
Grainy, gray, out of focus
It doesn’t need to be this way…
Many things could fill your squares
Why not fill these things in there?
Tambourines and castanets
Bass trombones and clarinets
English horns and piccolos
Harpsichords and xylophones
Fiddles high and Irish whistles
Jingle bells and finger cymbals
5-string banjos, mandolins
Saxophones, accordions
Desmond Tutu and Mandela
Cassius Clay, Cinderella
Charlemagne and Genghis Kahn
George and Ringo, Paul, and John
Twain and Edgar Allan Poe
Wayne and Brando and Monroe
Ida Wells, Frida Kahlo
Steinem, Parks, and Ferraro
River Thames and stormy seas
Winter wrens and bumble bees
Cyprus, ash, oak, fir, and pine
Sassafras, willow, and lime
Daffodils and magnolias
Marigolds and begonias
Cabbage, beets, and potatoes
Carrots, beans, and tomatoes
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
If your pictures must remain
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
How aboutcha change the frames?
Captcha circles, captcha suns
All the captcha olygons
Wiggly captcha twiggly lines
Twisty captcha twiny vines
Captcha diamonds, captcha hearts
Captcha clovers, moons, and stars
Captcha ribbons, Captcha lace
Captcha colored string bouquets
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
We understand you're here to stay.
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
Just be more creative, OK?
They love creating chaos that's their plan.
Look at the wild fires out West, here we go again!
Devastating families with no end in sight.
Canceling their fire insurance, as their homes burn bright!
No water in the fire hydrants, can you imagine that?
The Controllers planned it that way, such an evil act!
Chaos they love and they love to destroy.
Starting off the New Year, Newsom's their boy.
This world is full of evil, and it will get worse!
If the people don't take a stand, there will be remorse!
(No syllable count)
PLEASE DONATE TO THE CALIFORNIA COMMUNITY
FUND. IT IS A RECOVERY FUND DEDICATED FOR
HELPING THE VICTIMS OF THE WILDFIRE.
Thank you and please pray for the victims of these
wildfires. God bless all that do.
It is sad to know these Hell bound
Satanist have planned the destruction
of California through their manipulation,
aiding in not implementing a plan to
have water in the hydrants with 7.5 Billions
put aside to do so, they did not implement.
Cutting the Firefighters budget by 17
million dollars. Creating the fires like in
Hawaii using lasers. They have targeted
California, Hawaii, and Canada. You know
this was planned because the fires were
started with 100 miles an hour winds in
place to fan the fires. What are the odds
of having no water in the hydrants, 100
miles an hour winds to fan the fires, and
the start of fires, all at once... Also months
before the insurance companies started
cancelling homeowners policies against
fires. Who tipped them off these fires were
coming to take such action. This tells you
it was planned and someone knew ahead of
time the fires were coming? This has to stop.
I hope there is an extensive investigation from
a private company not by their own
administration.
Davin Newsom has to be charged for this
planned destruction, loss of life, and suffering
caused by his alleged deliberat actions.
Important: Please go to YOUTUBE and type in
The Fires are "the plan" This is Disturbing. Off Grid
with Doug and Stacy... You will be amazed what
is in this video...
August Sunshine
August sunshine feels different
Than sharp newborn rays
Of afternoons in June…
Round,
August sunshine tells
Of ripening
And growing large –
Laying still
Watching the breeze tickle
Mature birch leaves
Until they quiver
In delight
And dance.
August sunshine is about napping
And waking
Waking and pausing,
Seeing the depth of blueness in the sky
All over again
As if for the first time
Mouth open in wonder;
Letting warmth
Slowly seep
Into cold bones and weary souls –
Being still
While butterflies
Float
Past summer visions.
August sunshine is about
Looking
For the moonrise in paleness
To light up the way
For summer shooting stars;
The feel of hats –
The smell of suntan cream
Winding down,
Gathering,
Resting
In the sound of children
In the backyard
Ice in glasses,
The smell of newly cut grass.
August sunshine is about
Seeing the action of life
Write itself
Into
The afternoon
Then watch
Parades
Of boats
Stroll by on lakes –
Or buzz the shore
Pulling water skiers -
Tiny dots like aquatic ants
Surfing
On summer waves.
It is about being enveloped –
Watering – weeding - getting ready
And the whoosh
Of rainbirds
Sprinklers
Fire hydrants
Making puddles –
Water trickling down
Furrows
Of the skin and soil;
Opening windows - closing shutters
Ice cream vendors and thunderstorms
Announcing their arrival
In tinkling bells and booming laughter.
August sunshine feels different.
Police brutality
should not be
ignored, but
exposed.
Excessive force
is being used on
innocent civilians
over petty ****.
Protect And Serve
they pledge, feels
more like a purge
instead.
Hot headed cops
above the law,
breaking the laws
they sworn to uphold.
Seems more like
thugs dressed in
uniforms.
I see them everyday
on cellphones driving,
parked at fire hydrants
on non emergency...
Going through red lights
without their sirens on,
with no care for human
lives at all.
Bullying, patronizing our
society, causing fear, and
bloodshed.
When will this nightmare
end ?
When will police brutality
come to an end ?
Written by: Poet Shi
Prayers descend like acid rain from
oligarch-soaked manchurians, stumping
for elected office, praising hybrid
demigods, passing out vouchers to the
peasants.
A slow rumbling-
part of the night-sounds-of-curfew;
descends like fire ants.
Cleaners of the guilt, hidden in plain faith,
unable or unwilling to walk, feign
blindness, darkness helps.
Cellphone towers only reflect scripted
light, as memories of real sunshine, fade
to black. A good cup of coffee is hard to
find, all the fine beans were swept away
early on, replaced by dancing bears,
politely ignored. Thunderclouds, imagined
in shapes of our founding fathers,
encourage the deluge, slowly ascending.
Underground-
a grim band-of-believers watch (again)
a pirated tape of their favorite '80's movie,
'They Live' from the fabled city called the
new capital in 'The Postman' Minneapolis..
while the tormented sounds of-
plows
scraping overhead, and
hydrants,
bellys full, feeding power washers,
cascade
over hardened
faces.
05/11/14
minneapolis
© All Rights Reserved
Many springs have come and gone,
the city roars and wheezes,
concrete monsters block the prospect
and restrict the balmy breezes.
Summers stifle, streets are steaming,
hydrants bring some small relief,
merchants battle with the street gangs,
struggle on in blind belief.
Canyons strangle, subways throttle,
autumn bleeds in red and gold,
chilly now as winter beckons
with its shroud of killing cold.
Jersey beckons 'cross the river,
yet another frying pan,
in the cauldron of convection,
cradle of the modern man.
Batteries Not Included
They sit – idle memories – languishing
crusted filth - a city’s weeping gutters.
Detritus of fast food disposal clings
to scentless bloodied thorns of tear soaked rose,
future maple trees sailing sewer bound,
adrift on a city’s polluted dreams.
Yellow lights a-swirl on oil slickened streets
highlight a scrawny stalking alley cat
sad mime back arched on a red brick facade.
Cold shush of tires on icy pavement
hissing at the joy of dancing snowflakes,
chilled chatter of recycling’s shopping carts.
Barrier reefs of soft restaurant lights
deflect the silent hardness of the night.
Wet dogs shiver in the blue cell phone light,
taut leashes battling absent owners
check for “Pee-mail” on “Face Book” fire hydrants.
Puddles torment the feet of passersby,
tempting the feet of children and adults
dampening the spirits of the homeless.
Gutters, siphoning off a city’s soul,
seeking salvation from a moonless night
in search of a coldly distant sunrise.
12/27/2016
submitted to – Form – B – Poetry Contest
Paws on the Avenue
Every afternoon ‘bout half past four
Paddy and I go out the door
No straying from our daily ritual.
Paws on Fido Avenue
Happy tails of sloppy kisses unmuzzled
Parade of canines – every kind “bone-i-fied.”
A purebred mutt strut cavalcade
Fashion parade of single coats
Long hairs march in pants
Yaps and barks and woofs
Howling hounds the moon
Canine panoply unleashed
Treats at every yard
Toys at every door
Red hydrants for pee-mail.
Delight rolls over
For belly rubs and tummy scratches
A loving pat upon the head.
No stray warm beds on winter nights
No puppies sleeping in the rain
No litter left abandoned scattered by the winds!
This march of conformation
Moves by happy gaits
Where even cats are welcomed in humane harmony.
Every afternoon ‘bout half past four
Paddy and I go out the door
For this our fantasy walk on Fido Avenue.
9-18-21
Contest: Avenue
Sponsor: Julia Ward
First comes Spring, with daisies and Easter eggs,
And little girls running around wearing their Sunday best.
My peony's start blooming, followed by
long walks with my dog, who is sniffing around
fire hydrants for the first time in 3 months.
The sun's eyes are open later,
While the moon takes his time rising deep in the horizon,
And the stars are just so much more,
-fascinating.
Summer brings newness and fresh green everything,
Everywhere it spreads, wherever it can touch and see.
The burning heat is combined with sweating,
which then turns into family reunions,
Followed by swimming with my cousins.
And I can hear the sound of tiny footprints on lawns
Running through the neighbor's favorite sprinkler.
And sweet smell of marshmallows to eat,
-at dusk.
My favorite one of them all, would have to be the Fall,
The sweet scent of fire lingering through the
Twilit cool breeze,
And there are yellow, orange and red leaves falling,
Like confetti from a pinata,
They have a certain destination in mind,
Mostly it's for my children collecting them with papa,
Or using them for their 3rd grade Science project.
Families all over the world get to do one thing,
At the same time...
Collect nature's beauty marks,
And jump so excitingly among,
-the beauty of a season..
Not too long after that, the Winter I saved for last.
Not because I don't appreciate this weathered season,
But because there's nothing better than that first time
You can see your breath when you breathe.
I'll never forget the first time I woke up as a child,
Gazed out our front porch window,
And experiencing awe for the very first time and saw,
Snow dipped pine trees with little green, and a lot of white.
There are icicles dangling reflecting a prism into
All surrounding light, and when they decide it's time to melt,
It's about that time of year when the sun stays up a little later,
And when the moon takes his time rising deep in the horizon.
And when the stars are just so much more..
-fascinating.
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: I'm Gonna Write
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: August/1988
I'm gonna write about
my grandmama -
I'm gonna write about
my mama -
I'm gonna write about
my love......
What I'm gonna do,
and
must do,
Is write about
all
black women
in the world -
About how
warm
caring
understanding,
and
resourceful
a black woman
is -
While um write'n
I ain't
gonna leave
out noth'n -
I'm gonna write about
her hair,
cause her hair
is beautiful -
About here eyes
cause
Lord knows,
her earthy
brown eyes
have seen
the vicious dogs
in the streets,
and
hydrants of hate
flood
through her
as though
she was nothing -
I'm gonna write about
Coretta Scott King,
and
all that her eyes
have seen -
About Winnie Mandela,
about Assata Shakur
about Rosa Parks -
And
while um write'n
I ain't gonna leave out
noth'in -
I'm gonna write about
a black woman's
strength
and
courage,
and how the
Underground
Railroad,
was born -
I'm gonna write about
a black woman's
vocabulary,
and
the words
that she speaks,
cause her words
are lived words,
her words
are
song words......
"Life every voice and sing
till earth
and
heaven ring,"
I'm gonna write about
a black woman's
shoulder's,
cause her shoulder's
are strong!
I'm gonna write about
her hands,
cause her hands
have laboured
hard
and
long -
Like
Miss Jane Pittman
like
Harriet Tubman
like
Ida B Wells,
And
while I'm write'n
I ain't gonna leave
out noth'in-
I'm gonna write about
the fact
that she has endured
the test
of time -
She stands for hope
she stands for love
she stands for peace
she stands for freedom
she stands tall
and
She stands proud -
When asked to define the word love
My first thought was... it's impossible to explain love
How does one descibe the wind
How does one describe the cool fresh morning air
The brilliant sunshine that makes us feel so alive
It's a feeling inside that can't be put into mere words
When you first experience it, no one needs to tell you
The experience overwhelms you, it takes over your soul
You walk on air oblivious to your surroundings
You smile a lot at silly things
You walk into things that someone
Has strangely placed in your way
Like street lamps or fire hydrants
You forget important meetings
With the excuse that you lost your date book
You feel like you have a raging ferver
But you're cool as a cucumber outside
Friends worry, wondering about your strange behaviour
But then soon recognize the symptoms
The same symptoms that 99.9% of human beings
Have experienced at least once in their lifetime
Ah love, sweet love
Is there any greater feeling in life
Most emphatically I say NO!
© Jack Ellison 2014
Childhood in New York
Childhood in New York
Pocket change dangling from open pockets
candy stores soda fountains five and dimes
root beer floats licorice sticks baseball cards
and chewing gum
stick ball bats against dark black streets
and smells of pink rubber balls
Sun filters slowly through silent water
of fire hydrants where children play
and dance their days away
Thick colored chalk on grey cement
tell the stories of their young lives
hopscotch double Dutch and rhymes
sing songs of childhood dreams
as mothers out windows call to and fro
penny arcades newspaper boys on bikes
throwing bundles of dailies to stoops
bright red balloons on whitened twine
held up to oxen’s of the sun
They do not notice the noise and grime
tenements with close lines drape banners
that rise and fall to breath of sails in the wind
open windows to the morning air
sewer covers where steam rises to the evening sky
car horns call in the distance
the lonely cop walks his beat
City streets playground of sounds
that whistle full of joy in a summers day
roof tops black tar beaches of pidgin coops
cigarettes and beer and
radios play in background squares
Many springs have come and gone,
the city roars and wheezes,
concrete monsters block the prospect
and restrict the balmy breezes.
Summers stifle, streets are steaming,
hydrants bring some small relief,
merchants battle with the street gangs,
struggle on in blind belief.
Canyons strangle, subways throttle,
autumn bleeds in red and gold,
chilly now as winter beckons
with its shroud of killing cold.
Jersey beckons 'cross the river,
yet another frying pan,
in the cauldron of convection,
cradle of the modern man.
The lines are blurred when blended
I know first hand that govenment grilled cheese sandwiches
are delicious as I shared them with Phillup my best friend,
black as night and true as time...he was my ace
His mother, my godmother Lucille, chased us out to play
in streets equal parts innocent and villainous
Street kids busted hydrants in blazing summer days
we ran through the water blasting sideways cooly
There was no race-hate-ignorant-violence
Black and White children playing with only the care
of our next adventure and the dread of a setting sun
All poor, all struggling, all trying to get by
lines were blurred and blended splendidly
playing a Guns N Roses tape for Lucille
as she laughed at the wailing voice
shaking her wise head saying "Here honey"
...."Listen" replaced with Otis Redding
the pain and passion in his voice
hung in the hot air adding to the summer soundtrack
I moved to a whiter and "higher" place
better schools and cleaner streets
the children echoed their parents ignorant
hate filled diatribe...Ni**er this and Ni**er that...
...I visited Phillup as he moved to a rougher hood
the children echoed their parents ignorant
hate filled diatribe...Honkey this and Honkey that...
Not one of those knowing the other...the lines
clear and defined. Seperate and scornful
...I miss that beautiful blurred time in my life
...I wish everyone knew such a place existed
Many springs have come and gone,
the city roars and wheezes,
concrete monsters block the prospect
and restrict the balmy breezes.
Summers stifle, streets are steaming,
hydrants bring some small relief,
merchants battle with the street gangs,
struggle on in blind belief.
Canyons strangle, subways throttle,
autumn bleeds in red and gold,
chilly now as winter beckons
with its shroud of killing cold.
Jersey beckons 'cross the river,
yet another frying pan,
in the cauldron of convection,
cradle of the modern man.