Best Iowan Poems
Recalling Laughing Reading Learning Teaching myself
the flicker of into night with all of the to cook and how to wear
fireflies my sisters Nancy Drew books loving to eat makeup
Rainbows over Pizza Troll dolls Ping pong in Boyfriends and
Iowan Saturdays Hoppity-Hop study hall and drive-in movie
corn fields Popcorn Sundays and my bike Swing Choir kisses
Lying in grass Grandma's house The movie house Sleepovers' Dancing to
seeing at the end of with its starred chit chat live music at
shapes in clouds the lane ceiling and girlie games twilight
Hot days Lilac bushes Gaily Herman's Hermits Writing
cooling off and the big spinning on Bread and short stories -
at Weed Park Pool ballfield carnival rides 3-Dog Night dreaming awake
Snowy winters The tangled woods Endlessly Clothes bought with All the
raspberry behind our swinging babysitting wonderful things
summers first house up to the sky money of my youth
Oct. 17, 2018 for the Charlieku 4-3-2 Poetry Contest of charles messina
Words like choir, etc. checked by HowManySyllables.com
David Morris
1840-1914
I was indeed a rich man!
A lucky man, a family man,
A man firmly ensconced in the faith
Of the Nazarene.
It is written my friends
That to live for Christ
Is the summit of wisdom,
For wise men still seek Him!
And to die for Christ
Is the absolute acme of human existence.
Rachel and I came to this heaven on earth
When the roads here were dirt in the summer
And mud in the winter.
Yes, me and the missus,
My lovely bride and me,
Found a home here in 1894
A comfortable curtained home on shady Milton Street
When the unburdened trees
Of ten thousand acres
Contained a myriad of feathered fledglings.
And so, with our own five chirping sparrows in the nest
The missus and me, we marveled at
Their gregarious growth and
Their high intrepid flight!
To the northern icy regions
Our first fragile sparrow flew.
Lizzie, my fledgling wanderlust,
Found simple salvation in a cold wooden Iowan pew.
And later, found everlasting life and love
On the frozen Arctic tundra
Of ten thousand luminescent northern lights.
As far north as Dearing Station, my friends,
Twenty miles from the Arctic Circle
Our Lizzie travelled,
Travelled with steadfast faith,
A faith so firm, so unyielding,
It put me, her proud and faithful father,
To shame.
"In a land full of corn, you've got to just laugh a little."
The gravel flies out from beneath,
The hicks smile with half their teeth.
The corn grows,
The horses have shows.
Flat paths and lanes lead,
All starting with the soil for the seed.
As country plays on the station,
Under God is our Nation,
Playing close with friendly people,
BINGO tonight or riding the bull.
Views on the Mississippi river,
During the winter we all start to shiver.
Living in a reality world,
The doors are slim but few are curled.
For it's Iowa the seasons come,
The bottles are opened with whisky and rum,
Talk is everywhere about our city,
here there are plenty deer to hit in pity.
Tractors fly in style,
Come visit and you may stay awhile.
For there's casinos and bars to see,
A castle called Jumers; grab a key.
Viewing beauty from the peer,
The beauty found in every mirror.
The MidWest lives fine,
It opens up glory in one to shine.
The traffic flowss through each town,
On the way through going up and down.
The hills with cows astray,
The nights over; back to the day.
The city people leave for work,
Sending off messages as each is a perk,
Neves lending a need to be,
Opening new things to see.
For it's Iowa the grass grows green,
The people are friendly; not too mean.
The glory of the state is here,
The glory is very near.
Talk and walk the Iowan way,
Come visity and maybe you'll stay!
THE SULLIVANS, 1942
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
It was a cold blustery day in Waterloo
An Iowan winter with not much to do
A silent military mission was underway
Three warriors here with a chilling say
Can you point the way to 98 Adams street
We have a message from the commander in chief
They arrived found Tom Sullivan at the door
He instinctively knew why they were there for
The war was on and as was the custom
When a serviceman was killed or missing
The service branch would send a mission
To advise the family of the tragic event
Which one of my sons did not survive??
I’m sorry sir we’re here for all five
No dagger could plunge as deep as that phrase
The infinite heartbreak that message conveys
Now to tell Alleta the mother of the boys
How do you tell a mother her five sons are gone
Dispensing heartbreak with a multiple of five
Al, Frank, Matt, Joe, George, none survived
These young men all rest in the sea
Each has a stele dedicated to his memory
At the place honoring many a son
Campo Santo Arlington
That happened over seventy years ago
An event that every american should know
The fate of five brothers on the USS Juneau
Azure waves roll,
across golden fields,
Where he lies waiting,
for the Heartland-
Heavens,to blanket him
with bliss.
Floating down a river
of quite bronze earth
Guided by hands,
of Iowan seraphim.
He dreams of sacred
Alaska,
heavenly
technicolor
light shows,
and ancient tundra
not yet disturbed.
mercurial me
Gemini
painter
cartoonist
poet
from the mid west USA
Iowan
a rapidly transplanted nomad
My husband moved me thirty-seven times
I attended eighteen colleges before I received a B.A.
masters degree achieved in 1996
I have now attended thirty-seven colleges
Masters plus ninety
I will never be able to get enough school
professional student
school counselor
wife
mother
mother-in-law
grandmother of ten
mother of a dog and a cat
lover of nature
A woman who works shucking corn
Tells jokes that are Iowan born
Just lend her an ear
And you're bound to hear
How colonels can milk a French horn
I heard there were horns on an Iowan fox.
This went around the circle of kids wearing socks.
In front of a time piece that had out of sync tocks.
The circle was strange, most nurses wore crocks.
The gossip went haywire, ending down at the docks.
Bass fisherman parked to say this on the rocks.
Beware of sharks, they are arriving in flocks.
All because a unicorn had arrived out of a box.
words 75
The pastel flower was gorgeous; I was fascinated by it. What do you call it?We call it Christmas cactus. I stare at my aunt. There is no red or green. No dazzling white or frothy lacy sock look about it. Arizona has curious ways Calling a pastel plant of pinks, lavenders and oranges this makes no sense to me. Seventy-six degrees on Christmas day also makes no sense to this Iowan.
pink lavender orange
why are you christmas cactus
in arizona
Another Senseless Killing...
IOWA CITY, Iowa
(killingly, jarringly inexplicable,
horribly, gruesomely, and forlornly),
the found exhumed decayed corpse
belonging to young
vibrant coed twenty year old
college student Mollie Tibbetts
perhaps a spurned, snubbed,
or scorned love seriously gone wrong,
she who disappeared
from her small hometown
in central Iowa sad swan song
now plays, where every
last drop of sorrow rung,
now weeping family, friends,
relatives, et cetera subjected wrack
with lifelong emotional pain,
which searing inescapable
grief twill unrelentingly track
ferociously, fiercely, and figuratively,
doth disallow recourse
to duck away
from heart wrenching quack
king unbearably, terribly, and scathingly
will fully bill leave ably
beak homing a folly,
mockery, and travesty,
sans time heals
all wounds (truly "FAKE"),
nonetheless psyche riving tragic
(irrevocable loss) doth pack,
a punch greater then any
all star olympic pugilist
straight to the ab
domain of opponent, where
rumor mongers mill and blab
how this, that, or
another potential suspect,...
whence tissues dab
corners of crying eyes,
an endless stream
of tears merge with gab
bulling utter dis belief
questioning the supposed all
mighty, or at a loss
to do nothing but bawl (at Baal)
into the fox sized rabbit hole
trying with futility
to block (even crawl
ling into every
rabbit hole) no bastion
against implacable
maddening crowded
house alive with murderous frenzy,
and a dialect (non
tickling) gentle Iowan drawl,
while once again this
affected soddenly wet soul
cannot process any (defying) logic,
asper the impossibly steep toll
the purposelessness killing,
a lovely gal (same age
as my youngest daughter),
whose missed presence,
(albeit her - slain
Mollie Tibbetts – permanent absence)
now created an expansive
infinite black sink hole.
He’s somebody’s grandpa I bet, we all said.
He had wandered into our family reunion around nine.
Grandma rolled her eyes and set him in front of the TV.
He smelled like chew, his flannel shirt was a bit wrinkled.
He was unkempt but clean, a relative maybe?
No one knew, but we kept our opinions to ourselves.
He lit up a stogie and watched the news past our heads.
Grandma brought him a tray with bacon, eggs and two piece of toast.
As she turned to go he gave her a playful pat on her petootsie ootsie.
We young ones laughed; earning sharp looks from our parents.
We never did find out who the guy was, but figured he was an Iowan.
This was 1962, when children did not know the ways of grownups.
I have never forgotten the pat on grandma’s petootsie ootsie
Or the way the old dude’s face lit up when he looked at me and grinned.
I pegged him as Granddaddy’s replacement, but never saw him again.
Those little holes in Cheerios
boast a flavor all their own,
distinctly Iowan, distinctly unique,
Nothingness here is not outshone,
in nourishment or things antique.
Preface:
Earlier today May 28th, 2021,
the 12-member jury unanimously
found Cristhian Bahena Rivera guilty
of first-degree murder in brutal stabbing death
sentenced to life in prison
without the possibility of parole
of Mollie Tibbetts remembered as then friendly
20-year-old who was studying
to become a child psychologist.
IOWA CITY, Iowa
(killingly, jarringly inexplicable,
horribly, gruesomely, and forlornly),
the body found July 18, 2018,
an exhumed decayed corpse
belonging to young
vibrant coed twenty year old
college student Mollie Tibbetts.
Impossible mission to deduce
senseless killing of innocent babe
wild speculation perchance
spurned, snubbed,or scorned
love seriously gone wrong,
she who disappeared
from her small hometown
in central Iowa sad swan song
now plays, where every
last drop of sorrow rung,
now weeping family, friends,
relatives, et cetera subjected wrack
with lifelong emotional pain,
which searing inescapable
grief twill unrelentingly track
ferociously, fiercely, and figuratively,
doth disallow recourse
to duck away
from heart wrenching quack
king unbearably, terribly, and scathingly
will fully bill leave ably
beak homing a folly,
mockery, and travesty,
sans time heals
all wounds (truly "FAKE"),
nonetheless psyche riving tragic
(irrevocable loss) doth pack.
Grievous punch greater then any
all star olympic pugilist
straight to the ab
domain of opponent, where
rumor mongers mill and blab
how this, that, or
another potential suspect,...
whence tissues dab
corners of crying eyes,
an endless stream
of tears merge with gab
bullying utter disbelief.
Family/friends question
the supposed almighty
at devastating loss
to do nothing but bawl (at Baal)
into the fox sized rabbit hole
trying with futility
to block (even crawl
ling into every
rabbit hole) no bastion
against implacable
maddening crowded
house alive with murderous frenzy,
and a dialect (non
tickling) gentle Iowan drawl.
Third anniversary regarding
asper the impossibly steep toll
the purposelessness killing,
aforementioned deceased
affected sodden wet soul
cannot process any (defying) logic,
a foregone lovely gal (same age
as my youngest daughter),
whose missed presence,
(albeit said slain lass
Mollie Tibbetts – permanent absence),
now created an expansive
infinite black sink hole.
I once lived in an Iowan county called Appanoose.
Yes, there were women and babies, called the little Papoose.
We drank lemonade, coffee, tea, and some carrot juice
Nothing exotic like escargot, or salmon mousse
Our lives were so ordinarily simple in Appanoose
We ate hot dogs and drank beer, and made our own apple juice
We shunned saying words like healthy, glutton-free, and carrot juice
We were common salt of the earth people in Appanoose
A nice, friendly new farmer came to town, and tried to sell us his great produce
But we all had our own gardens, with plenty of vegetables, and a lot of use
Our veggies were tasty, and our red strawberries made some fine fruit juice
So I am sorry to report that he barely broke even in Appanoose
I love my Saturday morning drives. I have a weakness for watching the pinkish golden Iowan sun rise above and break through the naked treetops cascading shards of light down the hillsides. As the sun’s rays cast over the sky, usurping the deep purples of night, my breath gets taken away. Dreading the sunsets when I have to let my sunshine go, my life fades into darkness, and I feel alone. It’s moments like these that remind me of how beautiful the world can be.