Best In Any Event Poems
I have no pearls of wisdom for you,
you wouldn’t listen in any event,
I’ll give you no advice,
no beatings will be any good either,
it’s not the gift that you need.
You were there for the casting of the die
but you somehow think you’ll survive.
I won’t tell you how to snatch up
the light bright lies that you’ve missed,
and the countless truths to follow,
the realities that so awkwardly escaped us
are a gift that you won’t accept.
I’ve seen the witless blundering
and transgression to shame us both.
I have no sage words for you,
but I have a single round in the chamber,
so I’ll take you out behind the shed
and in the daylight that summoned me
I’ll gift us a gift far greater.
14th December 2018
On the edge
Slightly out of vision
Chaos
No, thank you
I’ll take my social order
On rye
Hold the onions
Hey, I wanted rye
Every day reminds us
Untidy chaos intervenes
Deny it and go mad
Face it and imagine war
To be involved in life is to be involved in battle
There is no escape
Cave dwelling aesthetics are fools
Thus sings the auspicious one
Learn to struggle
Honorably
Graciously
Nobly
It’s not about the win
Which, in any event, is
Ultimately
Futile.
Windowpane
Sitting on the rocker above the street
Chair takes its station with the man, old and weary
Placed there in time to look out side
A broken window holds them both fixated on the day
Cracked in several places caused by storms and age
Five or ten passersby stream past in a flash
They can’t see him due to the tinted fractured glass
Events spirit them away in any case, in any event
One cannot be preoccupied in the mundane or number of the day
They seize the moment and shrink in size, meander down
The wharf is a welcome warm distraction with sun and sea
Out of reach, out of sight, at a distance, beyond the old man’s vision
The window glares complete indifference to these matters
Down to the shore men march against the storm
With nowhere else to go they come and go again
Maniacs cry for such lives as theirs
Someone used to bring reports and papers
To forecast disasters and read about times gone by
But no more; that time has passed, eclipsed by history
Old man gets all his news by looking through the window
Through it life stares back through cracks
Rising past the damaged world into the bungalow
It seems like everything is somewhat fractured
Like humans, window and the pane, will crack more over time
Mediators to the universe, a microcosm of themselves
They see all things unfold although distorted
Real things happen every day out there
Old man catalogues them all in a glancing gaze
On his rocking chair beside the window
His glaring friend in pain is there
To share his ways and gather up the moments
My grandmother was booked to cruise on the Titanic
but she canceled suddenly,
and my father while serving in the military
was shot in the back by the enemy,
but a can of peaches in his backpack took the bullet
and saved his life most likely.
Was it divine intervention or were they both just simply lucky?
In any event I find both events to be extremely spooky.
Had either one of them died, I would have never come to be.
I love and miss both of you. Rest Peacefully.
(More Pun-ishment)
The difference between a Fine and a Tax
is really easy to tell!
A Fine is a tax, for doing wrong!
A Tax is a fine, for doing well!
If life gives you lemons, make lemonade,
I once heard someone say.
Find someone whose life gave them, Vodka'
then you two can party, the rest of the day!
"What's the purpose of Raindeer"?
He thought that question was funny!
He answered her, as best he could,
"It makes the grass grow, Honey"!
What Disney movie is about a stupid boyfriend?
Does anybody know?
Sorry people, your time is up!
The answer, of course, is "Dum-bo"!*
What's the longest piece of furniture in the world?
Please, answer if you're able!
You can go to the head of the class,
if you said - The Multiplication table!
If a Parrott is crossed, with a Centipede,
what would we get in the end?
The result,very simply stated,
is a "Walkie-Talkie", my friend!
A bullet stuck in a tree with no leaves,
would be difficult to see!
In any event, you would have to admit,
it's "a cartridge in a bare tree"!
What would you call a Rabbit with fleas?
Which wouldn't be all that funny!
I don't know about you folks,
but I would call him "Bugs Bunny"!
(*Dum-bo = Dumb Beau)
Wow, you survived Moody Monday, you were flying a bit blind. Now it's Tuesday you start to see the tell-tell signs and you can make a good guess of how you will handle the rest, badly or with finesse.
Look at the good leave the bad behind, your confidence you will find, then, you unwind. Be objective it's very effective. Whether you take or give it's your prerogative. In any event try not to resent and you can about peep the rest of the way on Tell-Tell Tuesday.
Have a very Blessed Day.
As a youngster, I looked like a boy…there was nothing girly to be seen
I could run topless without comment until the age of about fifteen.
I could climb the highest tree, jump the highest fence
I even dislocated the shoulder of the man teaching me self defense…
I could run forever eating the wind - but was never really fast
That didn’t matter in any event, I was the one that none could out last.
I could dive and swim from the heights to the depths
I could do so much and never lose my breath.
Then I turned eleven and things started on a decline
I fell out of a tree head first… and it was definitely not by design.
I hit the ground, but remember it not, apart from all the screaming
From thirty foot I took my dive because of too much leaning
They all knew I was the only one able to climb that tree
A mother asked me to save a kite that had cost about 50p
I remember thinking that branch was thin and would break
I was right but for the mother, this risk I did take…
It caught me out and that was when I learnt there was one thing I could not do,
And that was fly like a bird, or float like a butterfly, believe me, I really tried too.
My neck was broken when I landed there and hit the ground,
I remember my toe was the only thing hurting when I came round…
But then a terrible thing happened… and I turned into a girl
My tomboy escapades were gone - it happened in a whirl
I hung on as long as I could but things began to change
One thing was sure at this time… I was never mistaken for a boy again.
© 19/05/2012
Red to Black
Pink?
Pinkish!
The first flush of youth on the face at the gate.
Who? Pat Bouwer.
Then she’s maturer
And peach is the more appropriate word.
Whilst Red and Black are sep-a-rate.
A life-time of years
One of love not tears.
When out of the blue
There’s a transitional cell.
Bottom line? Please tell!
Cut to the chase.
Cut! Cut? Cut!
The knife excises the renal invader and its cancerous bower.
(Oh my Pat, it’s a fearful pun.)
One organ is gone
Still with poisons and rays they smack her in case.
Then hope flares up like a flame
But the crab bites deep
And begins to creep
Ever on, and silently on, like a veritable ghoul.
Peach fades to pallor and blanches like powder the beautiful face.
Now days are Black
And the western horizon is increasingly Red.
But Red inside her is read as life.
Something to grasp and hold very tight
Albeit only a straw.
Then in a twinkling Red switches to Black
And the dreaded Black blood gushes upward and out
Filling the dish she, yes she, holds alone in her hands.
A stainless-steel dish with a renal shape.
What bitter irony is that?
Worse still, she’s all alone;
A nurse without a nurse.
The ultimate curse.
What’s a vocation it’s only a ‘jop’
In any event the bell does n’t ring.
‘Bloken ?’ Oh yes it certainly is.
So move out, move out to where there’s love,
Care, and compassion but void of hope.
Now it’s gentle Black hands and Red epaulettes.
Calm are the days and gentle the nights
As warmly wrapped in her morphine cocoon
She wanders content with ghosts of her past.
And the Black is contained as she slips gently away
But there is time for a final whispered exchange
And a tender last brush of our lips
“I love you lots”,
“And I love you too.”
Then with a sigh and smile she is gone
As one of her own softly squeezes her hand.
Now Black is the hole that is left behind
And Red is the grief consuming my mind.
In the valley of the culprits
be patient.
Remain planted on your legs
to be struck
by the newcomers and leaving them
never look behind you,
so that each one can see
the hairstyle on the nape of your neck.
In the valley of the culprits
while insults fuse
do not say anything, especially
make like the nightingale which ate a blackberry
while the human one depreciates.
The bump at the end of your nose
must not have an impact on your spirit.
Know that your language burns if you eat while pricking
and your backyard burns if you speak bitterly.
Above all
forget your mother, and your father.
It is not necessary to worry about their fate
or that they are weakened physically
and drag themselves along.
Do not say anything.
Drop...
Let your efforts break down.
Let the mast be reversed...
Carry on your way simpering.
If you see a fallen friend
above all have no feeling
no pity
and if you have envy, give him another kick.
Do you know that nobody is thinking of you at this moment?
If you come across a large turkey
cut its throat without saying anything to anybody
and eat it!
Have no panic, remain still
where you are well hidden!
In any event
You are in the valley of the culprits.
You will be viewed badly if you work much.
You will be driven out if you speak the truth.
You will be crushed
if you go the way of love.
You will be beaten in various ways
if you resist tyranny.
You know
that there are things not to be neglected.
In any event
you are in the valley of the culprits
Be pitiless!
You know that integration is spoken about uniquely,
that at least your indentity card is like theirs.
One demands it from you insistently.
If in spite of all you do not like
all that I have just said
do what you want, act according to your desires
as well as your accomplishments.
One never knows
Perhaps you will be accepted!
Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Paris, le 04.11.2004
Traduit par by Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by Joneve McCormick – 05.12.2004
Eileen has nicknamed me Kenny
Because of my resemblance to Mr. Rogers
Wish I had his piles of dough though
I'd sure be a happy old codger
Methinks she means before his facelift
At least that's what I hope she meant
It made him look like a real different person
Not as charming in any event
So I'll take it that's what she really meant
When Kenny was young and virile
Instead of this ageing singer of songs
Fame can be fleeting and so fragile
Mr. Rogers can still belt out a love song
With than familiar rasp in his voice
For over four decades he been charming us
Was everyone's favourite choice
So I really don't mind the nickname Kenny
A compliment is how I take it
Eileen could have nicknamed me Bela
As Dracula I never would have made it
© Jack Ellison 2013
"He must have been mentally bent
whoever designed the Washinton monument.
That thing doesn't look anything like him.
I suggest that we," said Monica Lewinsky,
"change it to A Tribute To President Bill Clinton."
Get it? It's because the Washington monument looks so much like a, well you know,
a cigar...........then again it could also look like a middle finger or even an erect p........
.....I better not say the last one. I don't think I can on Poetry Soup.
In any event, they'd all be appropriate for her.
Wonder if I'll do something right, today
Normally I'm wrong, as wifey will say
More than 50 percent
But in any event
I'm encouraged that it's not 90 percent each day
Out Flanking The Phalanx
Roman Soldiers like to drink
So I sent them out to battle Hannibal
A simple mission not for sober men
First to the Cannae Battle, 216 BC with lots of sun and debauchery
Then on to Tribia
It came to pass with sun on every side
More so for Hannibal and his forces who survived the battle
With tactics honored to this day on how to slay your foe
I told my men don’t move too slow
Perhaps I should have said don’t go
If you want to build a proper wedge the echelon wedge is perfect
Add the double envelopment and pincer movements to seal the deal
No postage needed
With those three tactics Hannibal left my men for dead or bleeding
In any event, defeated
When at Tribia, I ordered my men to clean at Lake Trasemine (remembering that they stink) and to wait for war
A consummate debacle by the Roman war machine unfolded
Legions flanked, lined up to die
Utilizing only brute force they marched in phalanx manner
Over 80 thousand strong, with breath and body odor to over power.
(They had no showers)
Annihilation got in the way of their success
Blinded by the sun and intellect designs of Hannibal
The light of day came by the compliments of nature
Utilized by Hannibal at no extra fee to blind his enemy
But charged them to the lake to trap the Roman forces there
In a Carthaginian standpoint
What started as a laundry day and cleaning of the roman forces
Soon became a blood bath on the shore
My legions defeated by a masterpiece of battle tactics
No Romans….. No more….
The locals commented at the sight
Dying is no way to make a living, they’d say
They were happy to see the fighting end
And get back to fishing once again
I would have promised all my men a trip to Disney world
If they had won and if it existed
But they died so didn't miss it
Too bad they ever enlisted
6/18/14 Roman Legion contest
black and white views
In this era
Of extreme polarization
We have lost our sense
Of humanity
Seeing the same event
A black man walks to his car
Confronted by five cops
Guns drawn
He tries to get in his car
To check on his three children
As he is pulled out of his car
He was tazer then shot
Seven times in the back
At close range
While his three young children
Sit in the car
Look on terrified
As they see their dad
Shot by the police
Many whites think
Well he must have done something
To deserve this Fate
On that date
Perhaps he had a criminal record
Had a knife or gun
Talked back to the police
Perhaps used curse words
Perhaps not showing proper respect
To law enforcement
Which should be a crime
After all
And it does not concern me
I don’t care
About this at all
Not my problem
Will not ever
Happen to me
But in any event
People will hit the streets
Protesting yet again
Why can’t they just shut up
And leave it be
It is what it is
Black people brown people
Think of course
He was shot dead
Shot seven times
His crime
Being a black man
In Trump’s America
A white person would not have been shot
Would have been treated with respect
But he is just another
In a long line of people
Shot by the police
Many of them
Turned into ghosts
Because black lives
Do not matter at all
The truth is lost
In the shuffle
The facts are clear
The police over-reacted
Using deadly force
As a first response
Not as a last resort
After talking to him
Trying to calm things down
If that did not work
tazing him
Should have been the end
Of the confrontation
If he was indeed
A violent criminal
But he was a black man
That is all the cops saw
Black lives still do not matter
They have never matter
Will this change anytime soon
I doubt it
As longer as old white men
Are in charge of our society
And black and brown lives
Do not matter at all
It is what it is
Were I so inclined, I could scoff and say:
“The times are worse than they once were,”
But, I submit today is a repeat of yesterday
To many, moreever, yesterdays are but a blur.
There simply aren’t many things to occur
That haven’t happened on some prior day
Sometime in the past, most will concur,
Were I so inclined, I could scoff and say.
We can at the feet of a distant past lay
Some needed action failed to solve it, sir,
Our ancestors did not keep the hounds at bay
The times are worse than they once were?
In truth, times have never been a soft purr
Complex circumstances are often in play,
In all candor, I would want to be demure,
But I submit today is a repeat of yesterday.
In any event, many folks are likely to pray
To the Almighty, they will earnestly defer,
Asking God to make current events sway
To many, moreover, yesterdays are but a blur!
Despite everything, time will seem to inter
Collective memory forgets the piper to pay
The past rises again to haunt, I am sure,
I would argue the dim past is here to stay
Were I so inclined.
Written September 6, 2022