Best Inventory Poems
INVENTORY
Are you
growing old with grace?
this would seem to be ideal
among the ancient –
living style with wide appeal,
mental powers all in place
Well
take inventory.
how about deformity,
forgetfulness,
pain, its enormity?
broken down, is that the story?
Is there
a need for escape –
glory in the childhood years,
the times of fun and games
to soften your present fears?
inventory taking shape?
Do you have
loss of direction,
occasional drooling,
and prone to heartburn,
with constant trouble stooling,
burning need for correction?
Do these bother you -
rising cost of gas,
children making loud noises,
just any rock band,
people with piercing voices,
on the highway getting passed?
Are you
growing old with grace,
ancient brought up to present,
keeping up with times,
no struggle to be pleasant,
or old, trying to keep pace.
WELL
let me tell you this,
few there are so endowed
among the ancient
as to prosper in the crowd
with perfect health, life of bliss
SO
crack open a smile
share aches and pains with the crowd
let out your anger
in company, good and loud
let misery be your style
Adam was an
acceptable accountant
And Eve a bubblingly
bright bookkeeper;
Adam loved the
First-In, First-Out
Accounting (FIFO) system,
While Eve preferred
The Last-In, First-Out
Inventory (LIFO) system;
Together they testified that
Inventoried sweet fruit
should neither
Sits and spoil
nor go to the
Garden wastebasket
Wrongfully.
Cherished ...
Is the word I use to describe
The works of poetry that I add to my preferred list
That list is quite limited ...
I suppose you could say I'm picky
But those poems are the whole package
NOT with respect to having all the elements
That I look for in good poetry
But rather how those pieces represent the ones who wrote them
If looking for perfection, the list might not exist
But I save the poems that speak to me of the author
How that particular poet sees this process
How they view life and love and the Universe in general
How they wield the various tools of language
To sculpt what THEY feel is poetry
But most of all ...
My preferred list is rife with enjoyment
The works that just plain MOVE me in some way
Light or dark, up or down, left or right, bad or good, happy or sad
If my heart thrums faster or my spirit is affected more intensely
If I'm left with the motivation and yearning for more
Then it gets added to the list ...
Poetry is a piece of the person who wrote it
And a gift to those who it reaches
The pleasure I find in unwrapping that gift
Is the worth I attach to it
So if it makes that special list
It's a gift I wish to open again-and-again
With the joy of a giggling child
On Christmas morning.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Fave" Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.
What have you stolen?
What tic, what response from me
did you palm and put in your pocket?
What have you stolen?
Did you collect the bits of paper you tore off
and paste them back together
on a blank page of your notebook?
Did you use the shreds as easter grass,
or as packing material?
Did you do something useful with them?
What have you stolen?
Do you cherish the fragments you’ve collected?
Do you have something fond to look back on?
What have you stolen?
Was it my eyelashes? my nerve endings?
my proprioception? my cartilage?
my chewed-off fingernails?
Do you keep a formaldehyde jar-full
of my intestines?
Do you hide them in a rotting shoebox?
What have you stolen?
Did I ever have something so precious
that you had to sever it from me to keep for yourself?
What have you stolen?
Was it difficult to choose?
Was it difficult to carry?
Was it difficult to hide it from me when I came looking?
Did you take everything from me
that you meant to?
Was it worth the effort?
I destroyed a lot of me
(I think you must have destroyed it too),
not being exactly who I'm supposed to be
simulating strength and walking barefoot
over coals for so long.
Guess the stores never sold
what i really needed.
I keep thinking about these confusing years
and when I touched the essence of truth,
pretending so,
that you were exactly what I expected,
or saying without conviction that no,
do not worry, I'm fine,
but inside committing crimes against you,
to calm the nausea that the words brought.
We always end up taking one more sip,
exceeding unsafe speeds.
what did we mean
when we crossed the city streets
because of sad phone calls,
trying to save the world
with convenience store chocolates?
I think there were moments
where not even the dogs looked at us with dignity.
There was so much peace and balance to spare
to mix in the mortar
of that world that was formed.
But the chances were fading
like a mistake of nature,
something that forced the most beautiful birds in the universe
to migrate disappointed
and the landscape became this ugly plain,
the pieces of days scattered across the floor,
torn papers,
hiccups,
old people coughing in corners,
muttering something about the past,
muttering something about life,
about Us.
She died of an overdose
Heroin, like spiderwebs
Separating millions of core-nerves
From reality-living neutral
Until coals revive blanc
Sorrows, child left behind
Awaiting distress
I found her flower etched
Jeans, in my office
I threw them into the trash
Her beauty crushed
What could have become?
What could have
Become?
12/03/11
Long day did finally pass;
toiled along vexing its morass.
Arrived back home to rest and retire;
energy and inspirations soon to expire.
Debrief my conceptions and thoughts;
queery my moves and those aught nots.
Lay at ease to stargazes and dreams;
job well done for me it seems.
http://skykingentertainment.yolasite.com/
Do you have what it takes
Do you have stage legs
That won’t break?
Can you make eye contact
Do you know the difference
Between compare and contrast?
Can you weather the storm
In spite of illusionary harm?
If you meet all the criteria than you’re the one
Who’s conquered inferior and your
Confidence is superior
I am surrounded by:
Pirate women,
Wild women,
Belly dancers,
Flappers,
Steampunk women
Haughty women,
Pony-tailed women,
Gardening women,
Faerie women,
Handywomen,
Irish women,
Ninja women,
Cleopatra-like women,
Majorettes,
Circus performing women,
Cat women,
60’s women,
Teacup women,
Hippie women,
Mermaids,
African American women,
Dragon-taming women,
Pet owner women,
Cats, dogs, dragons, and unicorns,
Jack-0-lanterns, and Dracula,
All drawn and painted by me in the last four years.
Inventory, Inventory,
everything is for the glory
Innocence, my innocence
e'er bequeathing recompense!
Where but deny ~ my own expense
the cost of trial in motion's hence?
Oh innocence ~ my heart's own fence
was crumpled ~ from without's consent!
Ne'er more, ne'er more ~ the hoaxed pretense,
reveal the scourge
the scourger's meant!
Oh Innocence, my innocence ~
. . . . .the inventoried soul's relent!
Go to ~ www.larouchepac.com
Data about missing kids rings!
Maybe this is it
Our time to do an inventory check
Of what is important
Of what messes with our soul
What's irrelevant
We might also neglect things
We thought were important
Cause honesty they never were
So maybe all those lightweight relationships
We thought were integral
Just lost all their shine
Because we had to take stock
Of our happiness in our homes
Without chasing those flighty or fickle ones
©wilmaneels
©10062020
Keg full of monkey j*zz
Jar packed with grime
Little tank of tiny turtles
Pot of slug slime.
Shaker full of flea larvae
Small box of moss
Squeeze-tube of mushy meat
Flask of dog sauce.
Leeches in a cookie tin
Ice tray of blow
Now can you play to win
This cooking show.
Never eager for glory
less be piece of history
God's son my inventory
as if I didn't know that it's too late now to admire the spectacle of the fringes of sunlight falling oily and golden over the backbone of the mountains on the horizon...
or that it has become impossible to enthusiastically appreciate the catalytic smile of every human being who has finally found the reason for his life in another person...
late to enjoy the enchanting sight of the savagery of the elements as winter advances violently on an autumn that says goodbye shyly...
feel the mind-blowing impact of sea water when the weather is warm and the thick, salty liquid envelops every cell eager for the coolness of the waves...
the time has come to make an inventory of each of the wonders of the human odyssey on earth and try to extract from them what can still serve as a pleasure to the nostalgic memory
I do not have
apparent estates,
fungible assets,
Farm, cattle
boats ...
I don't live in
sumptuous mansion,
luxury flat,
I live in socks
waters, four
distressed walls ...
I shelter daughters and grandchildren
on the living room table
tight ... alive
tight and not
I have a bungalow ...
But if we discuss of
invisible holdings, I have
a lot: thousands
of songs I love
and short ... dozens
of books read and reread,
hundreds of poems
I did and I do ...
Words, verses
and rhymes are portion
of my vast
repertoire of a
soul rich in soulful
effluvia and replete of
noble feelings ...!