Best Later Poems
6 years ago, I wrote limericks about 5 PS poets. Today, I've posted
about another 5 and will continue to add more... before 6 years.
I tickled funny bones of five Souper men
So, I gave thought to trying it once again
In the order they replied
My sarcasm was applied
As I gently heckled them with ink and pen
First, Tom Cunningham, who "liked my collection"
To femme limericks he had no objection
But now it's his turn
Tom, forgive the burn
I heard you're headed for a house of correction
Jerry T Curtis said to "keep them coming"
But I think that lately he's been slumming
He's all aflutter
And starts to stutter
When his lady friend starts his heart strumming
Then there is the poet of romance, Tim Smith
His sweet words of seduction are not a myth
I know it to be truth
Don't ask me. It's uncouth
I don't kiss and tell so I'm pleading the fifth
John Gondolf said my limericks made him "chuckle"
His comments are always filled with honeysuckle
But if he wants a date
I'll have to castigate
I have a black belt in the use of my knuckles
"I needed smiles and giggles," said Greg Barden
His poems are flowers blooming in a garden
But some words are couture
Fertilized with manure
Now I guess I'll have to beg for Greg's pardon
The new additions...
Like a brother he comes to my defense
This man wears no guise and has no pretense
Mark Koplin, misunderstood
A modern-day Robin Hood
To me he shines with rays of effulgence
There's a man who took me under his wing
Says what he thinks. Doesn't hold back a thing
Danny Turner, my friend
A helping hand he'll lend
For offering kind words, he's a wellspring
David Kavanagh, true friend from the start
Encouraging advice, he does impart
Throws Monoku lines like spears
I raise a glass to him ~ cheers!
Loyal, his word. A man with a good heart
Canadian, Vaso, we don't see oft
Art doesn't come across as being soft
But has a tender heart
For countries torn apart
His poetic words should never be scoffed
His funny thoughts overflow in a Flood
Terry writes humor that's never a dud
Risque, and sometimes not
His stories have a plot
Rumor has it that he's known as 'The Stud'
Gentlemen, I ask forgiveness for this spoof
My humorous parodies should be the proof
That I like all of you
And don't mind if ya do
Get even in your own limericks of reproof
(the sequel to A Christmas Story Told By The Dog)
Twas the night before Christmas just one year ago,
When we had that commotion outside in the snow,
With reindeer a-runnin' this way and that,
And a strange obese man in a red suit and hat;
Who'd snuck down the chimney of all the strange places.
Guess he thought that way he'd leave fewer traces.
The folks were at church, they were gone for the evening.
The house was empty, at least it was seeming;
But I and the cat had been left on guard,
And when he entered we brought him down hard.
I fastened my teeth 'round his ankle and then,
The cat screamed and scratched him from eyebrows to chin.
He screamed and he scrambled back whence he came.
As I grabbed his bahunkus he called me a name.
He made it to roof and jumped in his sleigh,
And the reindeer took off in a fast get away.
They hit some old lady out in the street,
Swooping low for momentum for a speedy retreat.
The house was a shambles, the front yard a mess,
And I'm sure that old lady felt less than blessed.
I sit here remembering one year ago,
And all that commotion outside in the snow.
All of a sudden I heard a sound,
And the cat hit the window in one mighty bound.
He let out a screech that sent chills up my back.
I can scarcely believe it but that sucker's back.
This time he skipped us and went next door.
Just wait till he meets their black labrador;
For he still remembers that terrible night,
And you can be certain he'll put up a fight.
Merry Christmas, Y'all
That I am alive today
Is His grace I should exalt.
That I conceives thoughts
And am able to interprete them
Into words for minds to receive
Is another reason I think
He deserves my praise.
This new episode of my life
Is like a dream.
A dream that
Perhaps I know
Where its starts
But I don't know
Where and when
It will end.
A nation of pieces may not contain
My words,
My feelings,
My emotion,
My desires...
For now.
I don't know of later.
Boston Strong 2014
One Year Later
There is a strength in compassion,
a courage in the compassionate,
not a faint desire to be of service
but a triggered response.
There is a power in sadness,
not in the tears or deflation
but in the determination to
persevere, to rise again.
There is a force in unity,
the inexplicable rumbling
of hearts, beating in response
to the hearts of others.
There is a passion in oneness,
in focus, in belief, determination,
a love shared, nurtured, shielded,
cherished, and necessary.
John G. Lawless
4/16/2014
submitted to - Best of 2014 – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Carol Eastman
He was six. Brown hair, brown eyes, with a round freckled face that longed.
His mommy had died two days earlier, in a tragic accident on her way to work.
I did not know him, we’d never met, but I knew his 16 year old sister, a friend of my daughter’s.
And she needed a break, some time with friends, time to grieve.
I offered to keep him, for the day, for a weekend, for however long she needed.
Her stepfather was too cocooned with sorrow to be of any help now.
We had a delightful play date, this darling six-year-old soldier and I.
We drank lots of pop, ate crazy amounts of sugar, cooked food, and played board games galore.
I wanted a smile. I wanted him to know that life goes on, even when your mommy doesn’t.
We both needed to play; him more than I, but my heart was aching; he was such a good boy.
His name I have forgotten.
This was twenty-one years ago, and it was only one day.
I was worried it would take him all day to smile. I was wrong. He was six, remember?
When his sister came to get him, I did not want to let him go.
We had become best-ies, this six year old soldier and I.
We were giggling like seven months old, at this point.
I hugged him really tightly, not wanting to ever let him go.
Anywhere without his mommy.
At the last second I yelled, “See you later, alligator.”
He turned; his face split into a giant grin. He ran back for another hug.
And he said, “That’s good! Can I USE that?”
“Use it all you want,” I said.
I am still smiling about this boy without a name twenty-one years later.
My boy.
LIKE LATER
Zero
Wind chill
Hear the wind
How it whistles
And I in my bed
Pulling the covers tight
I think of brewing coffee
The image of that steaming cup
Then I see ice caked on my window
Glance at my wife asleep and snuggle-up
The Enquiry
Is over
They did not find
the missing and murdered
whatever
they were looking for
But every woman knows
Why
There are so many
missing and murdered
Aboriginal women
As every woman knows
Why
There will never be
an Enquiry
into the men
who murder women
June 5th, 2019
"Suicide doesn't kill the pain-
it just passes it on to someone else"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
weeping from loss I emptied the ocean,
remembering each emotion
abandoned by devotion-
sights unseen by nude eyes shine,
forgetting your dear heart is divine-
please spread angel dust as a sign...
that you will be fine
ice falls down your cheek-
frozen like the air i breath
winter never knew her value,
for she is a season of loss
and o, those honey-hazel eyes
you wear-
once full of honeysuckle
brilliance,
now enveloped by thoughts
of your willow weeping,
your ebon pupils dilate-
(forever blinded by my affliction)
i gently tucked your laugh away
for safekeeping
lost in a landslide of non-forgotten
lachrymose moments
“reveries of safety try to flow,
but they've been sandbagged by pain and woe”
youthful lesions crawl with ease-
one pin prick to the heart is
enough to be lost inside what might
have been
searching for touches needing
to be touched,
longing to kiss the unkissable
craving to voice what’s unspeakable
shielding your innocence to fear not
what lied ahead-
(soul stolen by youthful demons)
the december rain is falling, and-
so are you
~three months later~
seems like a long time
but it’s been no time-
feels like a lifetime…
since you've gone
for i cannot live
with your need to swallow death-
sin of an angel
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Forms used:
Rhyme (AAABBBB), Verse, Couplet, Verse, Senryu
August 8, 2019
~A lament~
Most signs and prophesy already fulfilled,
the scarlet of harlot lady has sung,
the veil has fallen away.
Hitler, De Fuehrer the man of sin,
the son predicted, hath prophesied,
many of God’s elect, the Jews have died.
`Tis much later than you think,
millennium is surely at the brink,
the harlot’s two legs of beauty are no more,
two towers of economic power have fallen.
In one hour great towers did fall, bewailed,
bemoaned, the earth doth reel, to and fro,
nature’s safety is in the fro, as earth bows low.
A vicious cycle, a call pending of Michael,
One foot on land one foot on the sea, one final plea,
One more call of love, and then we’ll see.
Mother’s Day-Three Years Later
I may speak to you
as a still portrait on the wall
no wailing
ghosts don’t present
only those of memories
especially
clasping the cross
between my fingers
as it was buried
on your chest
no tears
I only whisper
“Mom…”
are you stirred?
I reach out
truly
lean in
indubitably
to the Lord
who
with no doubt
hears
my heart cry
I don’t use
many words
on
the smile of your shadow
but lean
into
the sure everlasting arms
of Jesus
it’s almost time to honor you
are you still my mother
or merely my sister
in Christ?
do we retain the same relationship
or
is it like husbands & wives?
the bible says
we are like the angels
in heaven
no longer
given
to marriage
so I wonder…
I wondered
at the beginning
of your death -
do I still
have a mother
or
am I motherless?
I tuck
the Mother’s Day card
away
my husband thought
I’d want to put
it into her arms
next to her large portrait
next to her purple urn
on that first motherless occasion
I can’t even look at it
I can’t conceive it
the scent of funereal flowers
fills my living space
and the altar of grief notes
is growing
I throw them down
like a house of cards
likewise discard the flowers
leaving dried petals of sunshine
in a broom closet box
it’s three years later
the dust settles
the drum beats
always reminding me
we must rehearse
every day
not pick up the phone
not regress
be addressed
only by our own
my children can still reach me
if they choose…I’ll hear
America plagued by terror
Murder and hate wherever you turn
Country gone the way of Watts, ‘65
~ “Burn, baby burn”
Yes, later on
we will dance
and perhaps
see stars overhead
Does it matter
That we sing here on earth?
I think it does!
Yes, and the lights from over the bridge
are shining
as they have been shining for the past one hundred years
If we can "catch the Wind" as Donovan put it
we will feel safe
and not sorry
Ready to deal with
Whatever the future has in store for us
Make all of those hearts that are filled with hate,
be forced to hibernate and reappear
after seventeen years..
They could get it right or remain
out of sight in the dirt they could persevere.
Just like a cicada, we would say see you later,
until their hearts became soft and dear..
Life isn't an order of event
If you get married late
Meet later, what's the harm
The series of appearance is plan
Well and good, but different
The outcome may quite change.
If you come early or late
Give every one a priority
Eventually, it will come
It doesn't matter if it's a little later
We have already grown up
Lest become better version of ourselves.
At the most mature time
Meet you who are late
But just came in on time.
Just pull through and smile.
You'll see her again in a while.
Speak to her she's up in the sky.
And no it's not time for goodbye.
It's time to let her live on a star.
You may think she's gone but it's really not far.
Strength is the key I know you'll be okay.
She battled and battled but just couldn't stay.
God needed an angel on that sad day.
He took her to safety I pray, I pray.