Best Jane Poems
The name's Ike.
Some a ya might a met me before,
in my very first write,
and knew me as the stalker with the walker.
"Retired Romance" was the name,
Spoke about meetin' my wife,
She's here with me, name is Jane.
I likes ta call her the Mrs.,
cause I never thought that would happen again.
Now she like ta near smother me with kisses,
but gives me room ta write now and then.
We had us one of them honeymoons,
she says it ain't over yet.
But dang, if'n it ain't over soon,
we'll have ta call me in a vet!
Ennyways, I wanted ta give y'all a heads up
that I'll be a writin' from time to time .
We'd like ta thank y'all for the nice thumbs up,
'bout our first little Retired Romance rhyme,
and let y'all know that me and the Mrs. .. well..
. ..we doin' just fine !
. "Nite nite darlin."
Her legacy, a carnage littered place.
A crassness hidden by a comely face.
How many roles she played to such acclaim
The naive lovers crushed with cool disdain.
Such cruelty, in order to succeed,
Disguised by gifted wit to mask her greed.
When front doors opened, back doors quietly closed,
A sense of flawless timing, one supposed.
When those betrayed per-chance began to meet,
Comparing scars and tales of her deceit,
She sensed a coming rage was bearing down
And disappeared to bless another town.
One speculates her looks began to fade;
An ending of the money-men parade.
The crushing weight of countless dues unpaid;
A pauper's grave, the toll of evil ways.
Gene Bourne.
06-14-13.
...Now I ain't without notoriety,
Fact is.. I'm an old stalker with a walker.
She was big in the Purple Hat Society
and broke her hip,...while playing soccer.
When I met her, she was on the mend,
and she knew.. what I was after...
and I said I'd catch her when I can,
She said to push that walker a lil' faster.
She had her a "lectric wheel chair,
I just had my old walker and me,
she was pretty fast for a blue hair...
"till I crashed into her I.V. tree...
Well, they fitted my leg with plaster,
and I kinda forgot what I was after...
"till one day,
she wheeled in to see me,
Yep. Said she'd come ta free me!
Now we sit together,
cozy up and talk about the weather.
We compare wrinkled tatoos,
and guess what they are,
we may share a shot of booze,
we don't go too awful far...
We keep our orthepedic shoes
under the same bed,
and I retired as a walker stalker,
meals on wheels keeps us fed
and we keep our teeth...
in the very same locker.
("Nite Nite, Darlin.")
Composed and Written by-
Robert A. Dufresne
DURING MY WORLDLY TRAVELS, I MET ARTHUR ITIS.
TO TELL YOU THE TRUTH HE WASN'T THE BRIGHTEST.
HIS GOAL IN LIFE IS DISTRIBUTING PAIN.
HE LOVES TO ACT UP DURING WINTER AND RAIN,
I WAS ONCE AT A PARTY, HOSTED BY MR. GRIM REAPER.
I WAS BOUNCING AROUND WHEN I SPOTTED A KEEPER.
FASCINATINGLY ATTRACTIVE, WITH A SCIENTIFIC TYPE NAME.
SHE SIMPLY PREFERRED, BEING CALLED MARY JANE.
HER PURPOSE IN LIFE IS TO DRIVE AWAY PAIN,
FROM THOSE PLAGUED WITH ARTHRITIS EVEN MENTALLY INSANE.
HER WORK IS AMAZING, ESPECIALLY HER JELLS.
QUITE THE RELIEF FOR THOSE LIVING IN HELL.
SHE'S THE LIFE OF THE PARTY, WITH A BAD REPUTATION.
IN THE MEDICAL WORLD, SHE'S KNOW ACROSS NATIONS.
SO HERE WE STAND BETWEEN RIGHT AND WRONG.
AND ALL WE WANT IS ARTHRITIS BE GONE.
The name's Ike .
Some a you met me and my wife Jane,
We got us a good life, can't complain.
To the kids, I'm an old geezer round here,
I think it's funny , they don't mean no harm,
I likes ta watch em, and have me a beer,
Work in the yard; Jane calls it my 'lil farm .
I been around a long time,
But ya know, it's still me inside this old shell,
This old body shell is wrinkled and baldin'
gray haired and achin'; I really gave it hell.
Though ya know, inside, ...I'm still really alive!
Funny...I always think I'm about thirty five !
Anyway i'm gettin off track.
Sometimes I gotta find somethin ta git me goin',
so I head out to the yard and start ta hoein'.
Ya see I got me a 'lil garden,
sometimes, I spreads manure in,
...(beggin' your pardon)
You see ,in a special sorta way
each plant needs good care.
Some stay outside 'n grow on the rungs.
Some shoots I wants in the green house,
ta help 'em grow and tend to the young.
Guess them plants is like people,
Some praise God under the sky'
some prays ta Him under a steeple.
This ole garden been through alot.
She been through four hurricanes in her lifetime,
and one year,...a twister just missed her.
I've always liked it out here.
it's a special place to me,..very dear.
We sometimes walk out here, me and the Mrs.
We smile and call it "the old geezer's garden".
Then we get us in a few hugs and kisses.
My old garden been around
a long long time, but she's still alive!
Some folks ask me how old it is,..
and I tell 'em...oh..'bout ...thirty five...
see you folks next time. " nite nite darlin."
Benumbed Jane!
"he'd never give a plain Jane like you a second's thought"
(but hellishly reign his godly wife)
O Jane!
Be little prettier
Be more wiser
Crucify your benumbed senses
Resurrect your eloquent vehement
Why she choose to be the godly wife?
Why he choose to be the beastful husband?
Let's not brawl and yawp
Let's not cuddlerape and strangled with a scarf
In unwieldy guilts and sins of the battlefields of the Great Marriage
Give up now
Or
Surrender to salvation
You are not owing to “Beauty and the Beast” - A French Fairy Tale
Time has no time
Be little prettier
Be more wiser
O Jane!
When we were young and growing through our teens, we've all had our favorite teachers. I've had a few teachers that made the grade. But I must say, there was one woman teacher in particular that was at the top of the podium for me. Because I always kept to myself, she probably had no idea that she was my favorite. I was that curly-haired shy boy who never did his homework on time. That being said, she always passed me with mediocre grades, C's and B's. I never minded those grades, as long as I passed I was cool with that. To me, she could have failed me and she still would have been my favorite. She was always so nice and wonderful. I remember saying to myself " Boy, she reminds me of my own mother...nice, sweet, and kind" Just a lovely woman she was. Well, about ten years ago I had read in the local newspaper that sadly she had passed away at the age of ninety-three. In her obituary they had mentioned her surviving loved ones, those that were proceeded by her, and some of her favorite things she liked in life. One of her surviving daughters mentioned how she loved children and she enjoyed teaching. She had also mentioned that one of her favorite students was a curl-haired boy who never handed in his homework on time. ( In the newspaper she mentioned my name, but I won't reveal it to the judge of this contest). I was shocked to see that, and my grin covered half my face. Although this is a bit sad, I was very happy that the both of us were each others secret favorites.
happily, I cried
it touched me deeply...inside
rest in peace - Miss Jane
Hey, Write Me A Happy Haibun Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
6-21-2019
Howdy folks. The name's Ike
and I'd like to send a refrain.
along with the Mrs.,
Her name is Jane.
Some of you nice folks know us,
and some of you don't.
We don't wanna make a big fuss,
so we probly won't.
See, we was in the "old geezer's garden" talkin,
and we was thinkin' about our new friends,
while holdin' hands and walkin.
We do that now and again.
Yup, we just want to say to you all,
we're a thinkin' you're so precious,
since knowin you, we've had a ball.
So from the bottom of our hearts,
y'all have a happy and holy Christmas,
and may the Lord bless each of you,
with His awesome Love and Goodness,
now and in the coming year.
. Nite nite all,
. from me and the Mrs.
Jane Merchant (2)
Invalid of flesh (but not of soul),
She saw Creation whole,
And hymned the seasons come to pass
Beyond her bedroom window-glass—
December trees—and April rain-wet grass.
~
Jane Hess Merchant was born in 1919 on a dairy farm outside of Knoxville. She was the
youngest of four children. Her family lived on farms in Knox County and Jefferson County
until she, her mother, and her sister Elizabeth moved to Knoxville after her father's
death in 1949. Jane was confined to her bed at age twelve due to the congenital bone
disease Osteogenesis Imperfecta, which made her bones extremely brittle and thus prevented
virtually all physical activity. Indeed, what little of the outside world Jane saw was
from her parents' arms when they carried her outside as a child. The same disease that
confined Jane to her bed also caused her to go deaf at the age of twenty-three. She lived
with her mother and sister Elizabeth, who cared for her until her death.
Although many people may have considered Jane to be hopelessly crippled and thus to be
treated as an object of pity, she was extremely active in the literary world until her
death on January 3, 1972. She wrote more than 3,000 poems, over 2,000 letters, dozens of
prose pieces, and published ten collections of her poetry. Jane did not consider herself
pitiful in any way: as the Reverend Gordon Sterchi put it at her funeral, "no one who knew
Jane pitied her or thought her life dreary. They understood that her life was more joyful
that their's [sic]. They realized that she saw more from the bed than they saw from the
boulevards."
Six wives - three Catherines, two Annes and a Jane
were married to Henry in the course of his reign.
An Anne and a Catherine met their end by the axe.
Anne Boleyn was too haughty, Catherine Howard too lax.
Henry's very first wife was Catherine of Aragon,
both pious and faithful, a virtuous paragon.
Producing no sons, she incurred a divorce.
Anne of Cleves followed a similar course.
Her face was spotty; she had bad teeth and bad breath.
Don’t trust a portrait, the wise man saith..
Jane Seymore very sadly died as she gave birth.
Henry's last wife, Catherine Parr, was a woman of worth.
More a nurse than a playmate, she bathed Hal with affection
and did a good job to relieve his dejection.
Envoi
So that's the close of this ditty,
which I think is rather a pity.
No, I'm not the Poet Laureate,
as the Royal Court never saw to it.
If I were paid to do so,
I'd keep writing like Robinson Crusoe.
~o~VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY JANE~o~
(Cup of Life)
Happy Birthday dear Jane may you have many more
May your day be lots of fun and not bore
Hope you get great things at your door
And get all you wish and much more
So let dreams fly and just soar
You deserve all the best
With my heart expressed
Have fun and just rest
By God be blessed!
Enjoy cool cake
Just have fun
Today
(@)
J
U
S
T
H
A
V
E
F
U
N
(@)
BY GOD BE BLESSED!
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2016
April.14.2016
The "Cup of Life" is a poetry style created by Dorian
Petersen Potter, aka ladydp2000
This is my story…
A headless lighter, a writer
Mix up with silver long metallic
Make the agitations clear cold then warm
Neurons from above became so clear
I can hear my heartbeats like a doldrums
Because I’m just a woman with a perfect body
But now, it turned flat because of my past histories
My body was an image of different sceneries and echoes
That’s why I burned this five handed plant to disturb mosquitos
That anytime can suck my blood from within,
but their proboscis injected the smoke from the air
it became toxin for my veins, a bad effect to alter my inner beauty
and then the sensation…
Where am I?
This game was made by the influence of black society,
Their intentions were white but the grey matter strikes
Then now it became black…
My past that filled with conqueror, with their influence
They kidnapped my siblings, my children
My past that burdened with rapist
They took it all for me… everything…
And now… recollections…
The only way to forget these
Is by getting in again with their systems
Again use their solid potions
To forget everything, my life, my history, my spirit
Out of hue,
Every time.. again… I see myself in black, I knew
…
But all have their end point of time…
I want to find myself again… Where is Mary Jane?…
The real, new… Mary Jane of Barangay Tibay
I deduce, and then seduce it to bring back my old persona
To write another chapter...
but its too late..
I heard some footstep like a machinegun
In this dark room where I have surrendered
Since yesterday…
Is this because, now I realize the real meaning of life?
But he arbitrate that my half still in pain
And still…
Can a beast… can destroy the equity
from the green inferno?
In my instance, the beast coincide
Like a cannibal longing for a fresh meat
in the middle of extinction…
…
“Who are you?” “What are those?”
Mary Jane Said.
The looks were so unfamiliar
He grabbed me… he undressed me
He gave me what he think I deserve…
All became so clear….
Finally I met Him…
And there’s a red blanket everywhere
My heart starts to stop
My spirit try to comeback
But then…
I found myself at the ground,
And then he found a home inside my body
A grief for my grave
There’s no chance to paint back myself
Thank you Daddy for taking Jane and me to the circus
He took the bumps fast along Broadway; we giggled and laughed; it was a great day.
The bustle, the hustle, the poor old men. I said “Dear Daddy can’t we help them?”
They’re just like those guys on Castle Hill in number too great drinking their swill.
Castle Hill was off limits when I was kid; one block over they we all on the skids.
We entered the circus; saw my favorite clown, Emmet Kelly, was always so down.
I knew in my heart his non-comic frown and wondered if he had lain once on the ground.
Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t all that precocious, I loved the lions, oh so ferocious.
My first cotton candy, popping cracker jacks, my eyes grew big at the high wire acts.
There were men on cycles, ladies on horses, strong giants with super-human forces.
I guess I forgot about Emmett and bums, on the way home to sweet sleep I succumbed.
Kathryn Collins
February 2, 2014
Great things could be accomplished,
If the Government would relent;
And Legalize Marijuana for good,
Think of the taxes that could then be spent;
The Revenue from the taxation of it,
Could pull us out of this hole;
Put a tax on it like tobacco,
And take over all control;
Cannabis is an amazing plant,
And can be used for many things;
From cleaner burning fuel to paper,
Imagine the money that this one plant could bring;
It’s a renewable crop, unlike trees,
And can be harvested many times;
I know that it has a bad rep.
Because of it’s link to crimes;
But this wondrous plant could be,
The answer to our economic woes;
It all starts with the Legalization of it,
And from there, nobody knows.
~For the Medical Marijuana Contest~
Jane a real hero
married octopus Xeno
soon got phobiac