Best Jockeying Poems
I think we are in trouble
they are all in good spirits
something smells fishy to me
They smile and they tell you
they "will", fix it this time
give them your vote, and you'll see
Each one is claiming
they are without question
so far above all reproach
They wave their credentials
and swear that they're honest
they say they are no cockroach
They are doing some dueling
jockeying for position
all four maybe five that are left
If there is no indictment
by the Justice Department
the White House is guilty of theft
The American people are
the ones that are cheated
a "new prez" won't help things at all
Millions are voting soon
good, bad or indifferent
it's too late to put up a wall
They'll be printed in languages
that are foreign to most locals
the ballots will surely be lost
Count and recount them
til they have what they wanted
for it must be their way at all cost.....
EARLY MORNING IN THE COUNTRY
The smell of fresh brewed coffee
The sound of bacon slowly sizzling in the pan
And the heady aroma it creates
Homemade biscuits in the oven
Sending the scent of their baking
Into the far corners of every room in the house
A bottle of cane syrup
Made the old fashioned way on Thanksgiving Day
Freshly churned butter for the biscuits once they're done
Mourning doves cooing to each other
Twelve sparrows jockeying for positions
On the nine available perches on the feeder
The sun slowly beginning to peep over the horizon
As if testing the day to see if it's time to rise and shine
Its rays scattering sunbeams through the winter foliage
The frost slowly, almost reluctantly, beginning to melt
Young squirrels scurrying around
Under the centuries old oak tree, searching for acorns
No concrete and steel buildings
No jostling crowds
No cabs, buses, or honking horns
No exhaust fumes
Ah! The beauty, joy, peace, and tranquility
Of early morning in the country
1 February 2010
In brooding dusk they gather from the East
Arrive in twos and threes upon the trees.
Autumn beeches, now devoid of leaves,
Begin to darken as the branches heave
And teem with animated rooks.
And jackdaws too, all jockeying for space,
Amid this vibrant, raucous, corvid mass,
Jostling, shifting, squabbling for pride of place,
To raise their voices, demand attention
Speaking freely in this parliament.
When sunset beckons they slip the air
In charcoal squadrons to the field below
Where, in serried ranks along each furrow,
They bow and scrape in search of meagre fare
For supper and the long dark night.
The leader signals, adjourns the meeting –
Vast clouds arise, a thousand wings beating,
Driven as a single being, Westward
To their high swaying roost – murmur greeting,
Huddle together against the cold.
Thanks for not saying I'm an Alpaca!
Llama
Calmer
Kitten will only eat Kit-E cat
Fussy
Pussy
Tiddle's uses her litter tray
Tiddle's
Piddles
Eeyore had far too much to drink
Wonky
Donkey
Jockeying for position
Racehorse
Off course
Top dog
Yuppie
Puppy
Time for walkies
Shih-tzu
Needs pooh!
Sponsored by Brian Strand
06/18/21
Blaring klaxons rouse the weary
Fumble for steaming mug of pain
Stiletto sunrise, eyes bleary
Sandman’s Valium starts to drain
Resplendent youth line up for inculcation
Foreheads kissed, lunchboxes brimming
Then practiced subroutines of remuneration
Contentious jockeying, sinking/swimming
A million convocations for stricken minds
Urgent catharsis, and perhaps, listening
Long awaited liaisons, pairs entwined
Pheromonal interweaving, skin glistening
Round beer babies nursing towards sleep
Gluttonous eyes devour psychedelic flashes
Daydreams of love, wide and deep
Half-empty bottles, faint taste of ashes
3/7/16
Early Morning
I wish to capture in some way,
With words, the ineffable
Images, and sounds of quiet,
In a time without man sounds.
Early morning awakened by
The first glimmer of orange red
As it begins to rise phoenix like
Across the lake.
Incongruous images blended together,
deck railing covered with
beach towels, swim suits, life jackets.
Sandals with the obligate passengers of sand.
Cool, windless, no sound
of noise, except the
Bountiful nature noise
That exists in my silence.
Conversations of squirrels
As they sit sending their messages
From the high floating needle fingers of white pines.
The subtle whir, phantom like,
of ruby breasted humming birds
At the feeder, jockeying for position.
Persistent bird songs,
Celebrating, welcoming,
And then the exploring pileated wood pecker
On pine overgrown, over ripe.
Nothing moves except the cacophony of sounds.
No requirement to categorize each sound,
Only to listen to the sibilant blend,
and record in your mind the palette of colors
That surround you, the palette of sounds.
House quiet within-as is the
Glassy lake with mist rising,
Ephemeral gauzy, translucent.
The orchestral sounds of silence
Play out against the rising orb.
In its rising, the silhouette fills out,
Mists rising within its climb.
Now a brilliant blaze
of focused energy with a yellow shell,
Then a ball of incandescent light, searing to behold,
Incandescent memories.
May 2, 2021
BLACK AND BLUE FRIDAY
First – the carbo-loading
monster meal to sustain
the beast that drives
the cornerstone of greed
in mindless hunt for “bargains”.
Next – jockeying for position
awaiting the starter’s pistol
explosion of coupon bearers
storming the gates of ….greed
pursuing an empty, endless, need.
Feint right, fake left, bob and weave
position, position, timing
shuffle-step, reverse pivot
head fake and twist, break right
aisle 6, electronics, end zone – score!!!
Crazy dance, fire works,
no flags thrown, no penalties.
Game over. Ice and ibuprofen,
rest and recuperation.
AH, the joy of
BLACK (AND BLUE) FRIDAY.
John G. Lawless
11/21/2017
Patchwork Musings
Vying for order
This square
That corner
One's center
These squared-off life experiences
Know well jockeying for position
Is fraught with chance
Disappointment
Acceptance
The waking state knows
Nothing resolves naturally
No stitch in one's original design
Arrives at needle's focus point
Matching perfectly the original intent
Red threads
Clash with its attracted yellow
Black outs white
One's colors
Opting to make permanent
That square
Or the next
Find unraveling threads
But a question of time
Permanence better hung
On the wall of one's imagination
Still
We hope
Will our dream impressions
Be nestled beneath chin
Or atop restless feet
Where nightmare's fragilities
Thrash about
Disturbing tucked images
That lovingly comfort
Dream's Neverland
So long
This task of bringing together
The peach trees of youth
Nestling next to briar bushes of adolescence
Awaiting adulthood's gnarled disappointments
One's patchwork cover
Taken every night to bed
Merely wants the blanky of security
Insuring a safe slumber
Until tomorrow
Where more patches await
Noises That Cry And Shout
A lifetime of tears spill out
As I watch the incinerator spout
Billows of smoke from roof stacks
My eyes following puffs of death black
But it's the incessant sound of a hum
A churning metallic sound, like a drum
That's forever embedded in my mind
As I sat on the funeral home bench, so confined
To the mercy of my surroundings, life
And the passing of my dear, dear wife
My eyes follow a golf cart to that sounding hum
Of workers carrying more bodies to, leaving me numb
The voices in my head compete with this noise
Of sad thoughts jockeying with the metallic convey
The voices of regret racing with the humming sound
Racing, for her, my dear, of being homeward bound
Onward to that sad day a lifetime of tears spilled out
With my hearing filled with noises, noises that cry and shout
3/9/17
Everybody has a point of view to express…that’s one of the joys of being free.
But what happens in a country when two sides completely disagree?
We end up fighting a war of words with both sides jockeying for position.
We end up far from a united country but a country in transition.
One side thinks our president is wonderful…they are his loyal devotees.
The other side…well let’s just say the other side…wholeheartedly disagrees.
One side would like to see some gun control…any measure however small.
The other side says if you take one of our guns then you might take them all.
One side says we need to do away with abortions…in all life we must rejoice.
The other side says this a heart-wrenching decision and should be the woman’s choice.
One side thinks their God is the only God…no matter where on Earth you wander.
The other side thinks that in this world there are many Gods to ponder.
One side holds up the teachings of their God as a reason to discriminate.
The other side thinks all people are equal in a world any God would create.
One side says there is no global warming and scientific arguments they doubt.
The other side says we need to listen to the scientists…that our time is running out.
One side says the Earth is just another resource…we are only like bees taking honey from the hive
The other side says we can’t mistreat the Earth…she is the reason we’re alive!
One side says we have an immigrant problem…it frustrates…it enrages
They say we need to be tougher…they have no problem putting people in cages.
The other side agrees we have a problem…but says our principles have gone astray
We need to find a better solution…we cannot treat people this way.
When we have two sides so diametrically opposed…then no solution can arise
when they cannot find a middle ground…they can see no compromise…
We end up with each side thinking they are right…while the other side disagrees.
One side believes they are fighting a civil war…the other…a war for civility.
We all know where we stand on these issues…on which side we belong…
I guess history will ultimately show us…
who is right…
and who is wrong.
One thing I might remind each side…whatever your point of view…
Our children are not only watching but learning from what we do
On beginning to compose a new poem...
Assaying thoughts gambol,
scuffling as in an affray
née crushing, jockeying, stampeding...
demanding equal airplay
gushing as metaphorical think
spigot turned on full force airway
thru totally tubular cerebral
microcosmic aisleway
vesicular conduit fifty
plus shades of gray
exhaling sigh of relief, cuz
transcending writer's block
innovative talent with words
did once again allay
needless panic, where yours truly
finds himself punchdrunk
in some dark alleyway,
an unfortunate fate
Matthew Scott alway
avert reminding myself
to utilize ujjayi breath
hard driving gateway
into Pranayama practices
analogous to make
emotional transit thru
golden itty bitty
teensy weensy archway
infinitesimal impossible mission
to pinpoint areaway,
yet crisscrossing meditative
zen zone an array
of utmost nirvana
will never lead effortless
mantra buffeted concentration
not lead astray
and matter of fact
lightness of being
scaling metaphorical kickstarting
rah height aweigh
up yonder within
outer limits twilight zone
re: supraconsciousness
keeping at bay
non intrusive thoughts
ruff lee collaring, mimicking belay
boring bonafide dog obedience training
pant tum miming (think) begging
for limp bizkit, thus
canine loosens seat belt buckle
one notch braving violating
no trespassing sign
despite petsmart restriction
heavy populated wall tint
head nab yule Haitian
made Christmas benday
eerily resembling voodoo
cursed poppet summoned
if anybody doth betray
not being spellbound
hence, blithely skipping
reading future poetry (mine)
magic edict I dost bewray.
Jockeying
for position.
Defining
pecking order.
Defining power.
Sea of
motion.
Pushing for
control,
supremacy.
Carving out
a place for
survival.
Quagmire
of resistance.
Humanities
dance of
existence.
Has always
been dog
eat dog,
survival of the
fittest.
Pace
picking up
light speed
change.
Brownian motion
on a
global scale.
Turning
the other
cheek,
quaint musings
of a
simpler time!
Mediation
I wish to capture in some way
With words, the ineffable
Images, and sounds of quiet,
In a time without man sounds.
Early morning awakened by
The first glimmer of orange red
As it begins to rise phoenix like
Across the lake.
Incongruous images blended together,
deck railing covered with
beach towels, swim suits, life jackets,
Sandals with the obligate passengers of sand.
Cool, windless, no sound
of noise except the
Bountiful nature noise
That exists in my silence.
Conversations of squirrels
As they sit sending their messages
From the high floating needle fingers
of white pines.
The subtle whir, phantom like,
of ruby breasted humming birds
At the feeder jockeying for position.
Persistent bird songs
Celebrating, welcoming,
And then the exploring pileated wood pecker
On pine overgrown, over ripe.
House quiet within-as is
The glassy lake with mist rising,
Ephemeral gauzy, translucent.
The orchestral sounds of silence
Play out against the rising orb.
In its rising, the silhouette fills out
Mists rising within its climb.
Now a brilliant blaze of
focused energy with a yellow shell,
A ball of incandescent light, searing to behold,
Incandescent memories.
left left left right left
army marches to the sound
of boots in in time
like a wall of robots
fast movers climb
jockeying for position
only to thrill and kill
joy stick of death
left left left right left
a squad makes way
undetected unseen
to gather intel
before they are seen
left left left right left
left left left right left
closer marches echoing sound
slumber city dreaming of peace
happy as their frowns are upside down
division march time march
division halt
the city falls without hope
over run by the deafening sound
mortar and gunshot sounds
find all who hide men, women,
sons and daughters
the war is over ?
This is for all you trampled and forgotten
freezing in a hell not of your making
inching your way up the ethereal gangway
jockeying for rank and recognition
among the heavens the aristocracy
the drooling two headed priesthood
cheap seat keepers of the pure flame
how pure just ask them and run
mineral springed and thermalized
and sanitized for the eyeless inspectors
by their several scruffy butlers
a profitless study of elusive trifles
spilling out onto the unclean street
a morass of mortifying characterizations
and profound bar stool divinations
told to any monkey with a peanut
to sacrifice in a shrewd exchange
billed as regeneration but more like
fencing contraband for a cohort of thieves
who are nothing more than a crack in the glass
chronically avoiding the camera lens
come here you fluffy little bunny
tell us a story that hasn't been told before
I'm all ears pointing in all directions
Melody Fontanelle the Cliche Contessa
skids to a stop throws the door open
in front of my gleaming Doc Martins
her eyeball shape receivers work me over
like a $3 pizza at Rock N' Bowl
personally she breathes hot in my face
it's little more than a matter of repetition
as a skin bag full of molecules will instruct us
yah but the scales are all thumbs I blurt
come here rabbit man she croons
and I feel the edges of my personal outline
begin to ring like the wet lip of a wine glass
too many cooks she snickeringly inquires
yes and not one of them a wire dancer
the only calculation in my turgid response
which continues to this very instant