Best In No Uncertain Terms Poems
your labored breathing
called out to me
and in my soul I knew
what needed to be done
I reached for the drum
to summon the spirits
called out to ancestors
and anyone who’d listen
gently tapping to the rhythm
of our beating hearts
united as one in a prayer
released to the universe
filled the silence of
your labored breathing
drumming for hours
till the pleading was done
everything had been said
the prayer consummated
left in the hands
of the universe to respond
then it did in no uncertain terms
in an exorcism of sorts
draining the passages
to free your breathing
and so it was
in tune with the universe
the healing power
of the drum
Read on air by invitation ~ February 11, 2021 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
Read on KPBX called Poetry Moment by Kara Bowman 2022 [karabowman.com and griefpoetry.com]
AP: 2nd place 2022, 2nd place 2021, 3rd place 2022, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2021, Honorable Mention 2021, Honorable Mention 2021, Honorable Mention 2021, Honorable Mention 2021
Submitted on June 13, 2025 for contest YOUR BEST AUDIO POEM sponsored by TOM WOODY - RANKED 2ND
and on May 28, 2021 for contest ALL YOURS (MAY 29) sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
What beauty is to me
It's the walk of a young woman in heels
The swing and sway of her hips
The uncertainty of her steps
The vulnerability in her eyes
As she feels all the staring eyes
Devouring her beauty
There is nothing more charming
Than the little girl look in her eyes
As she enjoys the attention
But at the same time is uncomfortable
In the role of a seductress
What beauty is to me?
The sweet woman smell as she approaches
Nothing in the whole world
Either natural or manufactured
Can even come close to equaling
This overwhelming potion that says love
In no uncertain terms, the message comes at you
Loud and clear without a word being spoken
As males of the species
We are uncontrollable under her spell
What beauty to me?
Woman!
© Jack Ellison 2014
I want you in no uncertain terms
You will only be mine,
I know I am selfish,
I never think about your troubles/ diffuclties,
I devote my life to you,
believe me I need you,
I know you will never get this note,
come back to me,
my beloved,
or set me free,
this is my only plea
I want to Reach you,
with everything that I have Insde me
absurdity, insanity
my beloved
return to me
Bev Smith coined the phrase “Jackisms”
That's an honour in no uncertain terms
If Poetry Soup should create a new category
I'll go down in history, it's confirmed
I'll be famous alongside Shelley and Keates
Will be known the whole world over
I'll be loved by millions with untold riches
Literally I'll be rolling in clover
Enough about me, what this catrgory will add
Is a whole new dimension to this art
Jackisms will add the opportunity of the ages
For those with joy in their hearts
I am truly humbled and my thanks go to Bev
For recognizing my great genius-osity
The talent of expressing ourselves with humour
So I expect to read much frivolity
Don't write me letters, this is all meant in fun
Now see this is exactly what I mean
Create some giggles and big time guffaws
Remember I USUALLY keep 'em clean!
© Jack Ellison 2015
Suzi the giraffe was all but 2 years old,
inquisitive, sensitive and positively bold.
She asked her mum a question, in no uncertain terms,
‘Why is my neck so long’ a statement which affirms.
‘But you are a giraffe and all our necks are long,
it saddens me to think you might believe you do not belong’.
‘It’s not that I don’t love you mummy’ Suzi did reply,
‘it’s just that when I look down I’m really awfully high.
On top of that I cannot hear a word anyone says,
lest lowing my head for the rest of all my days!’
‘But think of all the positives by being up this high,
you cannot hear the squabbling’ replied mummy with a sigh.
‘As I see it you’re best up here, ignoring all the gossip,
of what he or she thinks of everyone, on each and every topic.
It’s bliss up here, I can assure, so just enjoy the ride’,
replied her mother whose wisdom was intentionally implied.
Well this will be my last Alphabet gossip poem
As l was summoned to Alphabet H.Q’s this morning
Told in no uncertain terms there will be ‘no more Alphabet gossip’
And given my final warning
So, l wanted to tell you about the letter A
Who stands full of pride at the start of “ The Bet”
A…happens to be the most unlikeable and disliked letter
For who the other letters have nil respect
You see…. A…believes the Alphabet belongs to A
Solely because A is first in line
Taking on the owner and custodian role
Trying to dictate to the letters all the time
A….is arrogant and does not believe in letter equality
Creating so much stress and tension within “ The Bet”
Resulting in yelling ,swearing and… A…being told to P.O
Though there has been no fisty-cuffs as of yet
S, H and L…are “The Bets” sweethearts
All very compassionate and kind
V, J and K … are meek ,mild and very shy
It takes a few drinks before these three unwind
C…has very poor sight thus wears bottle neck specs
T…is known to like a brew or three
I…is extremely anti-social
B…a peacemaker , his mantra is “ Just let it Be”
I hope you have enjoyed my Alphabet gossip
Though sadly it has come to an end
Try not to judge the letters from what l have shared
As letters and words are our friends
Cathie finally lets me go out on my own now
As long as I wear a tracking device of some kind
This, of course, is needed in case I wander away
And can't remember where I live!
At times I have even been known to take a bus
And wind up in a city miles away or even in a different province
I often follow good looking ladies
Hoping they'll be nice to me and ask me home for dinner!
So far that hasn't happened although once
I offered to bring a nice lady to MY house for dinner
But I couldn't remember where I lived
Tried walking into a house that looked like mine
The alarms went off and the police took me and my friend
Down to the police station for interrogation!
That was really quite embarrassing!
I've been told in no uncertain terms not to talk to strangers
And in particular, pretty young ladies!
I whined and stomped my feet but Cathie insisted
Or she won't let me go out on my own anymore!
I'm as sharp as I've ever been but I do call her Mabel sometimes!
Hope we defeat those dirty Nazis!
LOL
© Jack Ellison 2014
My tummy speaks fluent Bowelanese
Every morning before my brekkie
Informing me in no uncertain terms
It needs more nourishment by heckie
It has quietly fasted all night long
Now wide awake looking for grub
Wonder what the consequences are
If I don't send some down from above
Tummy grumblings are quite universal
From the Aloha State to Timbuktu
Queens are known to have 'em at times
Followed by a Royal Fart or two
I guess that sounds a bit irreverent
But hey, Queens are people just like us
The only real difference is however
They can sit at the front of the bus
Now getting back to Bowelanese
A language even mentioned in Macbeth
Just lift one cheek and then the other
To release the body's excess
© Jack Ellison 2012
...The wedding was planned for that fifth year,
but when it came Rob sadly did say:
“I’m being deployed, they’re put us on alert,
I’m sorry love, but I must go away.”
She was in tears, but what choice had they?
What could she do but curse their luck?
The wedding was postponed, and Rob deployed,
saying,”It’ll be over quickly enough.”
But conflicts drag on and for the next three years
Rob was stateside for only four weeks.
In that short time they made a daughter,
a little squirt that they named Genevieve.
Facing fire each day made Rob sport grays,
just surviving was brutally tough,
when his term was up he decided
that for his county he’d given enough.
When he came home he looked worse for wear,
and was missing two fingers on his left hand,
she ran to him, said in no uncertain terms:
“Tomorrow you’re giving me that gold band.”
At a justice of the peace they finally said their vows,
it was simple, but they were in love,
laying in bed that night, he said to his wife:
“This day couldn’t come fast enough.”
Eight years had passed, another girl was born,
but one day Charlotte felt short of breath,
at the hospital the doctor looked grim,
saying,”We’ve just got results from the test.”
A cancer it seemed had gone undiscovered,
but they’d hit it with all their best stuff.
As the months passed she looked worse and worse,
the chemo just did not do enough.
By her bedside, with tears in his eyes
he said,”We have not had enough time!
After all the delays I thought we would be
growing old by each other’s side.”
She smiled weakly, and said to him:
“I know this is going to be rough,
but our girls need you, you are their world,
I know that you'll be strong enough.”
When her day came Rob was a wreck,
but never did he leave her bed,
towards the end she looked up at him
and in quiet whisper she said:
“Do not be afraid of what is to come,
I’ll be looking down from above.
What’s a few decades compared to all time?
We’ll have our eternity soon enough.”
He said,”That day cannot come soon enough.”
Softly I reached
to pull it
A pillow ,Too many ,I think
Your breathing somewhat challenged
Your throat definately
In a kink
Your set up
Was
In a bad angle
Your coif
It was
Starting to mangle
As I grabbed onto
Pillow two,the culpret,
I thought best in a flash
What I didn't know and
As you told me so(In no uncertain terms)
My thinking would prove to be rash
As I jerked it away
You sprang up to say
Mom!!! What the hell!
A cuff button I'd caught
In a lock of your hair
Which came away in the Pell mell
It took me a few
To convince you
that scalping was not on my mind
That my motive
Was pure,as I begged to assure
I had simply thought to be kind
Emphasis on simply
"A Púca is an Irish benign creature of Celtic folklore,
notably in Ireland, the West of Scotland, and Wales."
The Púca
His was not a large White Rabbit,
his was a gray Hare,
gray whisked with gray tufted ears.
We all need a Púca when we are lost children
and children can get lost at any age in a long life.
The Púca creature would comfort the child
when neglected or abused.
The giant grey Hare would hold him tight
in its warm untactile, yet strangely strong arms
until he cried all the pain out.
Sometimes the Púca appeared
as a fuzzy floppy pup,
but he was always ten sizes too big
for its chosen appearance.
His Púca had baby-blue eyes
and smelled
of rain-washed mushrooms.
When the boy was older
he confided in his parents
about his peculiar animal entity.
In no uncertain terms he was told,
that weird relationships
with fluffy paranormal creatures
were just a mental aberration.
Doubt entered his young mind
and with that doubt
his giant friend began to fade away.
Slowly he matured,
quickly his eyes grew blind to wonder.
Sadly he grew up to be
the same
as all we other everyday monsters.
~~~
I just wanted to thank Poetry Soup for, well, for being, for existing as a format for poets to share their hearts and souls. I can hardly believe it's been 6 years (gulp!) since I first posted a poem here--it was about that time that I started writing poetry again after a 30 plus year hiatus since I stopped writing anything in my early 30's. Why I stopped or why I began again, I don't know: Who can explain creativity? But somehow I found Soup and well, a community. So may I thank, on behalf of that community, all you unsung heroes who maintain the 'Soup'.
And as to all those who add their 'ingredients' into the Soup, let me commend ALL of you. In those same 6 years I have not read a single poem that was pretentious, egotistical, idiosyncratic to the point of being so obscure as to seem meaningless--in other words, so called 'modern' contemporary poetry as favored by a depressing number of lit mags today. I've learned at last to stop wasting my time submitting to such [and certainly not if they demand a reading fee] as I-- fool that I am-- continually strive to find meaning in both what I write and what I read. One editor even warned not to send anything that 'conveyed' a meaning, and in no uncertain terms did he want did he want to hear anything about the soul or the heart or-God forbid!- God.
I suspect this is why so many people are turned off by modern poetry today-- and who can blame them? Wasting time reading a bunch of big/obscure/erudite words strung together, only to scratch your head wondering what the hell did that all mean? The best poems are often very simple: 'to be or not to be', 'death kindly stopped for me', 'the Lord is my shephard' -- but they always take you SOMEWHERE [though it may not be a place you immediately recognize]. The best poems, I believe, increase awareness, not leaving you feeling confused, perplexed, frustrated ['what the hell did that mean?' ] This does not mean they give you answers --but they may suggest some. And as modern society becomes increasingly at odds with itself, at risk quite literally of fragmenting, some insight would seem as valuable as it is rare.
The contests are fun at Soup and many demonstrate how clever and knowledgeable Soupers are about the myriad poetical forms. I have to say, though, I wish there were more thematic contests--open to any form that served to enlighten the proposed theme.
One day my little brother Chris asked our mom for a bendy straw,
He liked the way the way it bent towards him until I told him of a flaw.
My other two brothers backed me up in no uncertain terms,
When I told Chris that if you used a straw you’d contract a case of worms.
“The worms,” I said, “would travel up the straw when you took your sips,
The manufacturers hid them inside as a joke to get them past your lips.”
With that, three of the brothers solemnly set their bendy straws aside,
Then we all turned and looked at Chris and the meaning was implied.
Chris took his straw out of his milk and looked through it like a telescope,
To be confident that his straw was free of worms I’m sure was his hope.
“You can’t see them,” I said to Chris, “they probably jumped into your milk,
And you’ll never feel them when you swallow because they’re smooth as silk.”
From that day on the use of straws became banished by brotherly law,
And even today none of the four of us will ever drink with a straw.
If you’re born third of four in a family of all boys I wish you a lot of luck,
Because sometimes the pranks last for years and it sucks that you can’t suck.
So what would you do
if you woke up one morning to
a sign on your dorm room door
saying in no uncertain terms this is for
warning you that the reek in the halls
has exceeded the tolerance levels
our policy calls for? C'mon y'all!
We know we accept brilliant devils
but we expect you to at least
bat your eyelashes to the fact
that there's a pretty dang dangerous beast
out there. We hope you can call on your tact
and moderate your in-your-faceness
enough to where it deserves its effectiveness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
actually, this is sorta a semi-sonnet, but i went with the closest could think of
Though you might think I seem country
And there's a lot of that in my roots
I was raised metropolitan,
Not much on plows, guns and boots!
Once when my stepson came over
To cut up a fallen tree for wood
I happened to see a dead mole
Right next to my feet, where I stood
My wife said, "Just get rid of it!"
I asked, "Is there a bag around?",
"Maybe some gloves or a tissue?"
About then my stepson looked down
He suddenly picked up that mole
And then tossed it into the trees
That gave me a chill all over,
Without even having a breeze!
My wife laughing, didn't really help
My known lowest of self esteems
Showing that in no uncertain terms
I'm not the mole tosser of her dreams!