Best Lifebuoy Poems
One day, Brad felt overwhelmingly sad
The next day Brad was raging mad
Following this day, Brad was feeling glad
This was the best day that Brad had had
One day, Suzy had been crying all day long
The next day Suzy was cheerily singing a song
Following this day, Suzy wasn't feeling so strong
Suzy was feeling like she didn't belong
One day, Peter woke up feeling quite flat
The next day Peter happily met Brad for a chat
Following this day, Peter was worried about his cat
His cat that day had been bitten by a rat
One day, Paige's mind was all over the place
The next day, Paige had a smile upon her face
Following this day, Paige wasn't feeling quite as ace
All Paige wanted was to have her own space
Whether you're Paige, Peter, Suzy or Brad
and whether you're sad, happy worried or mad
The emotional whiplash you get isn't really all that bad
because it means you're still living, even if it's just a tad
My name is Paige and I write poetry when feeling emotion
It's like taking medicine when sick, or applying a cream or lotion
Sometimes I write in order to avoid conflict or commotion
Writing poetry helps me avoid a mental health implosion
I hope these words on some level do resonate with you
I write from the heart and these feelings I describe are true
I hope you find courage to write when you're feeling blue
because you'll feel better afterwards, as it really helps me too
Sending love from Paige to all of you in Poetry Soup
I Value the support from this amazing community group
Our 'Espirit-de-corps' has me letting out a whoop
It's a lifeline to cling to, a lifebuoy, a hoop
'Espirit-de-corps' - Definition: the common spirit existing in the members of a group and inspiring enthusiasm, devotion, and strong regard for the honour of the group.
Just down the gravel road a piece is an old-time country store.
On its saggin' shelves are things you won't find much anymore.
Ladies in bright calico barter with Mr. Draper their eggs and butter,
As they visit neighbors on Saturday nights amid the piles of clutter!
Menfolk lounge on benches in front of the store to discuss the price of hogs,
Argue the merits of John Deere tractors and who has the finest huntin' dogs.
The kids were given fifty-cents and shooed off to the movin' pitcher show.
Later they'll meet at Bruce's Deli Shoppe for ice cream and cups o' joe!
Shoppin' carts or computers ain't used in the store owned by Mr. Draper.
He grabs things off the shelf and totes the bill on scraps of butcher's paper.
Snoozin' nigh the glowin' potbelly stove is Spooks, Mr. Draper's hound.
His inscrutable cat, Wilbur, sprawls upon a barrel of pickles a-sleepin' sound!
Ah, the variety of interestin' stuff available in his store is so replete.
Fels Naptha, Oxydol and Lifebuoy soaps as well as pickled pigs feet,
Wrigley's, Black Jack, Beamans and Clove chewin' gums are on the shelf,
Plus Clark, Power House and Walnetto candies to satisfy yourself!
Farmers keep his bins stocked with fresh roastin' ears and sweet potaters,
Rutabagas, green onions, rhubarb and luscious beefsteak tomaters.
If you can tolerate squeaky floors and Mr. Draper's old-fashioned ways,
Drop by and savor the nostalgic ambience of his store one of these days!
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Entry for Kelly Deschler's "Just Down The Road" Contest
A poem is a conduit,
Like a cable or a wire.
It just provides a pathway
To communicate, inspire.
A way to share our inner self
Our psyche or our soul
Those feelings that we can’t express
Given life upon a scroll
We solder our spirit to paper
Words, like rivets, secure
Sadness, loss, joy and fear,
Grief and so much more
Words, like many balls of wool
We weave to form a shawl
Life’s tapestry of love and loss
That’s common to us all.
Touching something deep within
It moves us and creates
The space to see another’s view,
Their triumphs and their fates.
So do not judge those that aspire,
Through poetry and verse,
To reach the canyons of our souls
For better or for worse.
Not for judgement do we share
Our human need and pain,
But seek only to communicate
And no other form of gain.
There is much that makes us different
But the poet as he writes,
Captures all that makes us human
Not what divides, but what unites.
It’s a lifebuoy to the drowning.
A flare launched in seas unknown.
A hope, a cry, a reaching out
To know that we are not alone.
RETURN TO NEIGHBORHOOD II
There were sidewalks
The way to everywhere!
Tread of resoled shoes
Step-over cracks
Upward slabs mountain making
Skated-on
Spat upon
There were personalities
Runny skin to lifebuoy
Screaming!
Laughing
And then the flow
When sun when lights
were low
too tired to care
There was love
slightly understood
but needed
those mother-eyes
the womb-warm feeling
all mixed with kitchen smells
powder rouge
oh I fit so lightly
so actively young
In my youth I was completely engrossed,
By poetry along the byways nailed to a post!
It wasn't composed by John Greenleaf Whittier;
No, the authors were much more wittier!
I speak of Burma Shave signs once all the craze,
But can only be found in museums nowadays.
I don't claim to own the wit of poet Ogden Nash,
But here are some I might've composed if I may be so brash!
If its a kiss from yer gal you crave
But the stubble on yer mug she hates
Better grab yerself a can of Burma Shave!
When ol' Sarge says you're grown' too much stubble
And threatens to nix yer weekend pass
Slather yer mug with Burma Shave on the double!
When you were interviewed for a host of jobs
But weren't hired because of yer stubble
Smother yer mug with Burma Shave in gobs!
When you insist on takin' her out to dine
But she says no caressin' yer 5-o'clock shadow
Mow yer mug usin' Burma Shave and all will be fine!
If it's yer handsome mug you want to save
Plain ol' Lifebuoy soap won't do the job
Use plenty of good ol' foamy Burma Shave!
Let me tell you fellers about the latest rave
If you want to impress your sweetie pie
Use smooth and creamy Burma Shave!
When time flies, feelings of euphoria,
spur jaw-dropping habitus within,
vision of nirvana on groundswell earth,
chirping bird amber tone on hedgerow,
cacophony that piercing aural backdrop,
riotry of wild bewitching warble,
golden fronted leaf, black nape oriole,
northern red bishop,
snapshot or sedation, honey dribbled spatula,
that ladles satin eardrums,
as momentary plot unveils its kernel,
fleeting countdown to ecstatic charm,
mesmerising tailspin gust bract swirl,
of diamond stud color burst variety,
time lag is an instinct riven leap,
lustrous spark escape hatch mere sprint,
who could be immune to such splendour,
embellishment or antic flourish,
folly swept aside in brisk stanza,
hyperbole on jewel rim chariot,
passenger in situ juggling spheres,
morning dew mist clad bank enchantment,
divinity in spiral foam waterfall trance,
speckled moon’s transient blind soar,
amid hall of mirror dream cloud etching,
bonfire of imagining without rein,
infant echo chamber left me thunderstruck,
lightning flash recall as I shudder,
with ardent inkling of toddler stopwatch era,
parental caper, boisterous shriek,
blue stain paddle boat capsized,
guffaws at the peak of silver rush,
backscatter on a prior and current bloom,
like a reckless swimmer’s wild swipe,
at a grazed iron metal lifebuoy,
whose toss and turn gyration high jinx,
another symbol for the heaven in one’s palm,
that vanishes as soon as it clocks in.
Strive not for strife
But confront conflict on all fronts
When it strides past your ride
Dispense with all disputes
Spare not your fangs
When fear rears its ugly head:
When it rains; have a free cold bath
If sun shines, dry your clothes
At the reign of darkness
Find the inner light
That lights your path undimmed
If the flood flows
Swim afloat on lifebuoy
And if fire rages and smoke rises
Expect the afterglow
When horde of odds assail like bandits
Never retreat, nor surrender
Turn around, turn aside,
Never ever turn in nor turn back
Enjoy the war.
Strive not for strife
But confront conflict on all fronts
When it strides past your ride
Dispense with all disputes
Spare not your fangs
When fear rears its ugly head:
When it rains; have a free cold bath
If sun shines, dry your clothes
At the reign of darkness
Find the inner light
That lights your path undimmed
If the flood flows
Swim afloat on lifebuoy
And if fire rages and smoke rises
Expect the afterglow
When horde of odds assail like bandits
Never retreat, nor surrender
Turn around, turn aside,
Never turn in nor turn back
Enjoy the war.
'The storms are raging on the rollin' sea, and on the highway of regret'
It was surfers' paradise weather but he had only captured a dinghy
Made from lost dreams and drift wood collected in seasons of love
No shoreline in sight he set a flatulent sail on his passage to nowhere
The lighthouse of aspirations had timely faded from self-imposed doubt
His double edged fishermen’s knife offered only cut throat conclusions
As waves cut a Janus-faced image of himself into the surface of rage
For too long it had been his way or the highway and stark pirates loomed
Hooked into remorse he regretted that he severed tranquil emotions
But instead tried to prove the compass wrong and succumb to unreason
Riptides currents and wild torrents resembled the inner chaos of his soul
Salt on thin macerated skin oozed blemished truths and purulent candour
Once he lost anchor and lifebuoy and had to solely rely on stars’ navigation
During a lull he meant to befriend a dolphin but was mocked in contempt
Which made him to feel the disrespect he had once shown to his friends
How he wished he was a butterfly feeding on herbs in sweet meadows
A clairvoyant had warned him not to tempt fate when seeking conclusion
She might have the last laugh now as he stared into drooling shark teeth
Parched to his most integral core the wary voyager shed one final tear
He vowed promised and bargained with mad delirium and entered the sea
Gave himself to the depth of rock bottom and left his fate to the swell
Washed onto a beach his only regret was that he had not surrendered before
17th February 2020
Written on the theme of ‘The storms are raging on the rollin' sea, and on the
highway of regret’ - Bob Dylan - Make you feel my love
Loosen up! laugh off unlucky breaks;
Lifelong lesson: settle mistakes.
Let’s get going; I’m your friend.
Lights shine at tunnel’s end.
Little things loom large
Listen, take charge.
Learn a new
Lease on
Life.
July 23, 2018
contest: Nine lines to let them know everything will be fine
sponsor: Silent One
for far too long now
he had bottled up his emotions
stuck reason to his wavelength
and built an intricate structure
in the glass bottle of his mind
a real showpiece emerged
crafted by a master sail maker
a museum piece of an anchor however
and a bell that refused to ring
so tightly was the voyage enclosed
static it towered on a fire place surround
with other less prominent trinkets
a skinny laughing Buddha and some
Russian dolls mocking his very own
Potemkin villages and a bottle of Vodka
when the vessel hit rocks once more again
and descended into an underworld of passion
it crashed on a lighthouse in passing
and the beam of confusion burnt
a hole in the glass shelter
disfigurement shone until the bottle
emerged from its molten ruins
in the shape of a lifebuoy
he had always thought that
one pull on the life line
which raised powerful trim
would adapt to winds and slackened lull
easily at the push of pure will
illusions in doldrums and thunder
storms fair weather and dolphins
rocking his boat taught him
to swim on his own
search for sea shells and driftwood
and a hut on the beach
the best part about his construction
was that the old ship had never been
seaworthy and that trial and tested error
had been worth a passage of terror
now pacified and calm near the shoreline
23rd October 2021
I was musin' yesterday about things I cherished as a boy.
Simple things, yet in my parochial world, things that brought me joy.
Anything from apples to Zweiback and so much more,
Could then be found down the road at the local country store.
For a quarter I could buy a straw hat to stifle summer rays.
Seems all you can find to wear are baseball caps nowadays.
Ah, to savor the taste of that old-timey original bottle of Coke,
Though the tingle in your nose almost made you choke!
Were there soaps other than Lifebuoy? I never knew of another.
'Twas used quite often to cleanse my mouth of filth by my Mother!
When it was a nickel pack of gum you had a hankerin' for,
Black Jack, Beemans or Clove was available at the local store.
When I could cadge a nickel from my hard-workin' Dad,
A Clark, Bit-O-Honey or Powerhouse candy bar could be had.
How I savored Walnetto caramels so delectable and chewy,
And choc'lit covered creams, delicious but oh so very gooey!
I quivered with excitement openin' a box of Cracker Jacks,
Anxiously lookin' for the simple prize, never mindin' the snacks!
Alas, such simple delights that I enjoyed as a lad are now lore.
I reckon tastes have changed - such things don't abound much anymore!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
In the light of autumn skies,
one might sense this blind turbulent endeavour,
raptures veering like some wanton thunderstorm,
behind dark moon frost allure,
amber leaf vortex among bemused grey clouds,
gust-ridden disco blue hue,
tumbling high jinx from skyline moist beams,
damp rot urban shed cluster,
nomad squatter plight,
so at odds with pending freeze,
summer folly red blaze passed,,
heatwave immigrant rues latent scorn,
a strained close quarter riddle,
never ending once an everlasting phase,
now deep chill month outlier,
sunshine and wet portent’s quaint platform, eccenteuc tide or mere blot, mud-splattered ocean grazing bleak ink stain pier, lone wolf lifebuoy weeps,
shifting sand element's interval
I have loved the best
In my tenure as a blue-eyed boy
Injecting zeal and zest in my quest.
I have bestowed care in my romance to attest
To the enduring power of joint joy
I have loved the best.
I have sacrificed ego-tripping to request
My partner to dole out her lifebuoy
Injecting zeal and zest in my quest.
I have striven to rise to my romance crest
Where in my partner’s convoy I scaled the Savoy
I have loved the best.
I have pondered my romance roadmap to digest
The degree and depth of complacency to destroy
Injecting zeal and zest in my quest.
I have committed to my soulmate my life in earnest
To rid romance of recidivism as a preferred ploy
I have loved the best
Injecting zeal and zest in my quest.
not the banyan trees
dried twigs hold the dragonflies
often carefully
few fallen feathers
form firm foundations for Finch's
fantastic furrow
a leaf on waters
becomes great lifebuoy
for a drowning ant
17 August 2021