Best Locally Poems
A breathtaking panoramic view fascinated my sight into the offing,
As the sea gloriously shows its precious treasure magnificently floating;
Making me wish to be an albatross to hover and hop around;
On those beautiful islands highlighted by a single beauty named, James Bond.
This place is known originally and locally as Nail Island,
It’s one of the best tourists’ spots found in Phang Nga Bay at Phuket, Thailand
A prominent tall stone coated with green nailed unto the sea amidst the others,
Which you and I will surely be amazed by its spectacular beauty and wonder.
Sightseeing trip is priceless while on your way to its exact location,
You can pass by at the Monkey Caves with golden Buddha - another real attraction,
Taking a convenient long-tailed boat as you finally tour along the bay,
Stop by at floating Bin Laden Village to complete your day.
Aug. 2, 2013 12.30am
Note:
I've visited this place once & it's really beautiful. To view the pictures, you can google it or watch the movie of James Bond;))) TY
Third Place
Contest: Latest Poem
Judged: 8/14/2013
sponsor: My greatest poet, PD
Categories:
locally, beauty,
Form:
Rhyme
In little towns the big events are locally presented,
and every family in the town is usually represented.
Shopkeepers shut their doors when a pioneer curls his toes,
and if someone’s up to mischief, then everybody knows.
Every sporting club is well supported, right down to the wire,
they are the social hubs of towns to set the youth on fire,
through footy clubs and netball clubs combining into one
to sing and dance the night away, promoting local fun.
Of course when youth is mixed with party love can fill the air,
so Cupid’s firing arrows through the hearts of those who care.
This sometimes leads to earnestness when love gets in the way;
the town is now preparing for there’ll be a wedding day.
There’s heaps of preparation from the family of the bride;
flower girls and pretty maids to stand right by her side.
There’s the minister and invitations; the caterers are right.
All the groom must think about - “Are you coming to the bucks night?”
It’s half past five and dawn is breaking; we’re coming back to town.
God knows who is driving but their foot is going down.
There’s nugget, sauce and butter, smeared over everything;
the bucks party is over now - it’s ten hours ‘til the wedding.
And now coming up behind us is a mass of flashing light,
when a siren started blaring; we thought it better to take flight.
We shot around some back streets trying to lose this cop,
then someone with a drunken slur, said “I think we better stop.”
Popularity is not the word that I would say is spoken next.
This angry cop took any plea completely out of context.
He wouldn’t listen to a word that’s said, repeating “That’s enough!”
before I heard the second click of a closing set of handcuffs.”
In a cell back at the station there’s a pall of doom and gloom.
And there’s a hint of panic when it’s mentioned in the room,
by the cop who indicated strongly that by giving him some flack,
we’re gunna stay locked up until his Sergeant arrives back.
I made every kind of plea I could, but this cop avoids my dreading.
He said “Young lad you’re lucky; my Sergeants at his daughters wedding,
so he’ll be in a good mood when he greets you in this room.”
“Don’t bloody count on it” I said - “Because I’m the flamin’ groom!”
Categories:
locally, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
Think globally, act locally,
The desert shall rejoice
And blossom as rose,
Man has been endowed with reason
With the power to create
So that he can add to what he's been given.
But up to now he has only been a destroyer,
Rather than being a creator
Forests keep disappearing
Population keep increasing.
Rivers dry up
Landslides occurring from the top
Glaciers are melting
Water is vanishing,
But shame on humans
They aren't improving.
Wildlife's become extinct
The climate's ruined
Everyday the land is growing poorer
And the crops are growing uglier,
Make it a green peace
Thats the point
But what to do,
We are just lost in a woo.
The poor tread lightest upon the earth
The higher our income
The geater the outcome,
The more resources we control
The more havoc we wroke.
What would the world be
Once bereft
Of wet and wildness,
Let them be left,
O'let them be left.
Long live the weeds and the wilderness,
Kindly be possessive towards the environment
After all the destructions,
When we will be left sans of (sans- Pronounced sone meaning without)
Every natural beauty
All that remains for us
Will be of no utility
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
With a pink hotel.
A boutique, and a swinging hot spot,
What have we done to the earth?
What have we done to our fair sister?
Ravaged and plundered and ripped her and did her.
Stuck her with knives in the side of the dawn
And tied her with fences and dragged her down
I think that i shall never see,
A billboard lovely as a tree
Perhaps, unless the billboards fall,
I'll never see a tree at all
Its a sincere request in the end from my side,
Save the Environment, save our Mother Earth!
Categories:
locally, nature
Form:
Lyric
We follow the river
Along the Taff Trail ****
Where will it lead me
Somewhere beautiful without fail
We pass Llandaff Cathedral
With Epstein,s statue's within
Cant say that I like it
But thats not a sin
We keep walking for miles
My dog Tilly and me
Soon will be at a castle
Used in films u see
The name of the castle
Is Castell Coch
Whose translation reads
Red Castle of course
It called locally as
The magic castle
Looks so mysterious
As though ready for battle
The rooms arent big at all
Carved small animals adorn the wall
Been sanctioned for weddings
Though numbers must be small
Time to turn back
Homeward bound
Along the manmade track
To the mighty rugby ground
Where voices echo
Hymns are sung
The 6 nations contest*
Has begun.
Come on Wales The reigning grand slam **and triple crown ***champions
*wales, ireland, scotland, england, italy and france, battle it out annually against each other in Rugby Union.
**Grand slam is where you beat all the other teams
***Triple crown is where you have to beat the other 3 uk teams.
**** the river running through Cardiff is the River Taff, that is why we in Wales are called Taffy's
Taff Trail is 50 miles of track between Cardiff and Brecon through countryside and over mountains.
PLEASE GOOGLE. Castell Coch hopefully you will be impressed.
Categories:
locally, dog, journey, nature, slam,
Form:
Free verse
Yogurt.
"I begin the day buying yogurt in a small favorite grocery store."
Not pizza, nor gatorade.
Bananas
although they are imported from afar and grown in monocultures.
Attract fruit flies in August.
Peaches
locally grown with rainwater. I ate all the farmer's peaches alone
stacking them by the railroad tracks.
Water --
rainwater, tap water, distilled water, carbonated water, spring water ?--
deep gulps, infinite sips.
Nuts
in moderation, or not, unsalted, raw, replacing chips. His bowl
of filberts, almonds, walnuts quiet weekday mornings.
Edible plant parts --
roots, leaves, stems, flowers, fruit, buds. In olive oil
or butter.
Potatoes --
look online how best to prepare. Baked or fried. With a little
fish or meat.
Tea and honey,
play and prayer. Swimming and running,
talking quietly.
Bread?
Bread's possible as the Bible. Each is liable
to bloat us.
Wine and dandelions.
Dandelion wine's Ray Bradbury's story. Cans in a pantry, books on a
shelf
to the end of time.
Pasta
we used to call spaghetti, never noodles. I wonder if I can remember
how to make
grandma's sauce.
Tomatoes --
cherry, grape. Grab God's eye
going by.
Categories:
locally, bible, day, flower, fruit,
Form:
Verse
No one seemed to take much note at first.
Old-timers on park benches passed a comment or two,
Somebody wrote a letter to the local rag,
but no one (who mattered, that is)
really seemed to mind.
Of course, you will always have
your bellyachers and woolly romantics
with nothing better to do than whine
about the way things are going, -
the loss of bird life, the silenced dawn chorus,
the vanishing English hedgerow,
you know the sort of thing.
The leaves began falling long before autumn.
"Funny," they said, "curious," "that's one for the book."
This was all very interesting for botanists,
environmentalists, chemists and the like.
Such words as "pollution," "soil erosion"
and "deprivation" were bandied about,
but no one was much the wiser though
the experts were agreed on one point.
"Photosynthesis provides the basis of all life."
This was interesting but nothing like
as interesting as the favourite for Ascot,
the football results, the Top of the Pops,
the late night thriller or the FT index.
All that changed.
Foresters and timber merchants became concerned
about the decaying cores of many trees.
The government became concerned, too,
(not so much about the fate of the trees as such
as about the effect the scarcity of wood
was having on the paper industry and inflation).
Then the doom-watchers caught the scent
and there was talk of an imminent ecological collapse,
but the man in the street still
passed it all off as the usual load of rot.
Then Kew Gardens, Epping Forest, Central Park,
the Everglades and the Bois de Boulogne
went the way of all wood.
A tramp, locally known as Nat the Nut,
was found in the village cemetery gibbering,
Before being bundled into an ambulance,
he was heard to say:
"With these very ears I heard 'em groan,
and this is what one of 'em said:
'Tonight we are dying, yew and I,
and the morrow sees us dead.'
And the willows wept in the valleys
and the trees on the hills pined away."
When the harvest failed,
the church bells tolled
for a woe no man could gainsay,
for none doubted then the trees were lost
or held it was only they.
Categories:
locally, angst, autumn, humanity,
Form:
Elegy
I lived in a rural area until I was twenty years old. My home was adjacent to a farm where corn was grown and locally sold. Maples and pine trees clustered across from the uneven country road. I can still remember fragrance of flowers and pine that smelled so softy pretty. This pastoral scene was not far from the city. Only a few houses were near. Occasionally was spotted a rabbit or deer. A small number of cars passed. In the evening, their lights, amidst pitch darkness were cast. Unforgettable was the sight of fire flies blinking with their evening light.
A stream ran along a group of trees; a place forbidden, but as you know, that is exactly where children go. It was a few yards from the only childhood home I’ve known. My brother placed a board across the stream below. I was coaxed to go; moving cautiously slow. I trusted him; that is why, I still try. Not too far away was a little general store. The size did not matter, for there were candies and goodies galore. My sister and I engaged in all sorts of talk, as we took this freeing countryside walk. The threesome could sometimes be found playfully leaped around, and picked blackberries when seasonally found.
The house was quite small in size, and of three bedrooms comprised; my parents’, the one shared by my sister and me, and the other, for my brother. The dwelling still lives in my unconscious mind; I’m still there in dreams, where reality is blind. Arguments blemished the space, with memories stuck fast in place. There are also glimpses strong, where laughter belonged. That was the place where a dog named, Brownie, was born and lived thirteen years. My sister, older brother and I, with the saddest of tears, placed his large white tin bowl over his memory site. His name on the bottom; I was assigned to write. About two decades ago, the house was taken down without glory; part of my bitter- sweet childhood story. A spiritless group of professional offices now stand, on grounds, that once was my family's home and land.
09-04-15
Categories:
locally, childhood, home,
Form:
Rhyme
I’ll tell ye now of the lovely Selkie,
She married Dingle man Cagans
For a short span of time, then returned to the sea.
Near Kerry’s land of goblins
He found her drowning in his net one day
With his strong hand he saved her life
And took her Selkie's skin away,
He wanted her for wife,
The man then married this seal-woman
She’d be his true lover
She become human and shed her seal skin,
His love had won her over
Oh boys, but her true home was the sea,
The waves and tides of the Bay
She’d leave if the chance came to be free
But, faithful girl, she stayed.
Cagans one windy winter morn -
In his nets trapped far from shore -
The end, he feared. But then he mourned
The loss of his darling more.
His cries like waves broke in her ears:
She changed back to seal-form
Then she swam right fast and quelled his fears,
And he was saved from harm.
Says she, “ I’ve lost our home and bed
But I’ll always swim near you.”
“Then I never will sail from Dingle,” he said,
“But swim out each day with you.“
And every day they were seen in the bay
On the sea or near the shore,
A-catching fish and always at play
Till one day they were no more. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . Now, a dolphin’s come to Dingle Bay
Fungie’s made it his home.
He’s never left us, but decided to stay,
Never more to roam.
………………………………………………………………………………………….
NOTE
Dingle Bay is famous for a young bottlenosed dolphin which appeared at the mouth of Dingle Harbour in 1984. In Dingle they say it is Cagans swimming always. Christened "Fungie" by the local fishermen, the dolphin rarely ventures far from the mouth of the harbor, a fact that has baffled scientists and specialists. A simple explanation given is that at the time of his arrival, the body of a young female bottlenose was washed up locally. Dolphins are thought to show great fidelity in their relationships, and may only have one mate for life. Dingle is also famous as the location for three movies: RYAN’S DAUGHTER 1969, FAR AND AWAY 1992, THE FIELD 1993.
Categories:
locally, mystery, day, home, day,
Form:
Ballad
The best pineapples are grown domestically.
They come from the Aloha State of Hawaii.
However, you can't buy them locally.
The fruit in cans may come from Central America.
Some come from Southeast Asia.
So, if you live in Alaska,
or any of the states in the continental forty-eight,
I have to tell you something that won't sound great.
No, you can't find Hawaiian pineapples on the grocery shelf.
If you want the real thing, go to Hawaii and get them yourself.
Categories:
locally, business, food, fruit,
Form:
Rhyme
I was born at the tail end of the Goldhawk Road
Which runs through Shepherds Bush
Like an artery,
And in the mid 1960s,
Served as one of the great centres
Of the London Mod movement,
But I was raised in relative gentility
In a ward of nearby South Acton
Whose vast council estate
Is surely the most formidable
Of the whole of West London.
Although my little suburb
Has since become
One of its most exclusive neighbourhoods.
My first school was a kind of nursery
Held locally on a daily basis
At the private residence
Of one Miss Henrietta Pearson,
And then aged 4 years old,
I joined the exclusive
Lycee Francais du Kensington du Sud,
Where I was soon to become bilingual
And almost every race and nationality
Under the sun was to be found
At the Lycee in those days...
And among those who went on to be good pals mine
Were kids of English, French, Jewish, American,
Yugoslavian and Middle Eastern origin.
While my first closest pals were Esther,
The vivacious daughter
Of a Norwegian character actor
And a beautiful Israeli dancer,
And Craig, an English kid like myself,
With whom I remain in contact to this day.
For a time, we formed an unlikely trio:
"Hi kiddy," was Esther's sacred greeting
To her blood brother, who'd respond in kind.
But at some stage, I became a problem child,
A disruptive influence in the class,
And a trouble maker in the streets,
An eccentric loon full of madcap fun
And half-deranged imaginativeness.
("Born on the Goldhawk Road" is a versified version of one much reproduced in various forms throughout my writings, although it bears little resemblance to its original, which first glimpsed the light of day in around 2002. It's undergone much modification since then, including the alteration of all names of people and places for the solemn purpose of privacy.)
Categories:
locally, culture, england, history, london,
Form:
Free verse
I found MESHELL lying on the sand
With a ROSIE glow on her skin
She wanted it to turn OLIVE brown
But she looked like a roasted chicken!
We wandered into the JADE WALTER
EnJOYed a swim and a long paddle
Then went to find her beach towel
Where an eNORMAs man was straddled
You’re taking the MICKEY I told him
Give MESHELL back her beach towel
He said don’t be so picky … he was quite CURT
I’ll HARRY on back to my fowl
He lived locally with his maiden ANT
And he scarpered back home to his GLEN
If he’d touched MESHELL I would DEC him
I can’t abide RANDY predatory old men!
I’d seen him on his TODD at the Karaoke club
He was very ANDY behind the MIKE
Wearing ripped GENES and RAY bans
He’d BOB around then go home on his bike
Contest What’s in a Name
Sponsored by Viv Wigley
11~11~16
Names used...Meshell*, Rosie, Olive, Jade, Walter*, Joy*, Norma*, Mickey, Harry*, Curt, Ant, Glen, Dec, Randy, Todd, Andy, Mike, Gene*, Ray, Bob.
* poetic licence used with these names
Categories:
locally, beach, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXVIII
for Suzanne DELANEY, in appreciation
(Prelude: CAN THE WRONG MAN BE RIGHT ? ABSOLUTELY !
If only he were NOT guilty of the self-same crime !
For instance, here in Europe, acceding to « nationality»
status can be quite ludicrously irrational: those migrants
even "totally ignorant" of the host country’s culture
and official tongue obtain their "citizenship papers »
sooner or later, while clinging desperately to their
own culture and country to the exclusion of their hosts’- some more fortunatethough enjoy « dual nationality » and therefore DUAL rights to LOYALTY ! And talk tough once they take over responsibile positions in society. And the
ones on whom the latter prey most of all are precisely
those « other» less fortunate migrants at their mercy !)
IF ever I had a country, a country NOT « wholly" put together by
either IMMIGRANTS or REFUGEES, you see, but by conquering
IMPERIAL ENSLAVERS on the backs of blacks and
on those fleeing from hunger, from religious
intolerance as "indentured-labourers », mainly, you’ll agree
WHERE the indigene was routed and rounded up into
RESERVES through superior "fire-power" by the
COLONIAL and local ARISTOCRACY
AND where TAXES and LEVIES imposed by the « Foreign Power »
drove the locally-born MASTER to revolt against the MOTHER
COUNTRY
Until the whole CONTINENT united « nation » after « nation »
to become the foremost mid-twentieth century « COLONIAL »
SAVIOUR of the WORLD country
Only to find its internal structure and economic power usurped
by other NON-NATION constituting ethnies
AND one-by-one take over from the original WASP founding PATER
FAMILIAS confederacy
Yes, then, I’d keep the NEW-COMER from wagging his/her tongue or
shooting his/her mouth tout azimuth - despite the legislative mandate -
as though he/she were the backbone of the nation or from attempting to
take over my « dear » country as if it were their « god-given » patrimony
Even if I never ever had no country stuck together with spit and elbow-grease to look like a pyrotechnically-powere Bollywoodian jamboree
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, July 22, 2019
Categories:
locally, america, anti bullying, betrayal,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
My shopping excursions to the local marts are very rare indeed.
My dear spouse does the shopping, I only go when in dire need.
I have no interest in fostering the foreign imbalance of trade,
Therefore, when I shop I want to buy things American made!
Why, nowadays one can tour the world and go on a shopping spree,
Without leaving the county or crossing the billowing sea!
Since most things come from The Czech Republic or Paraguay,
The Peoples Republic of China, Japan and even Uruguay!
I can live sans everything French, especially their cheese and wine.
California wines and Wisconsin cheeses suit me just fine!
I'm desperately trying to find a locally-owned shoe store,
Where I can buy American shoes, not those assembled in Ecuador!
Alas, my turkey for holiday repast is imported from Old Mexico.
I'd much prefer that it be bred and reared here in Colorado!
Can anyone tell me where I can buy American made attire?
Seems all the labels read, "Made in Laos, Thailand, Belize or Eire!"
The plethora of stuff continues to invade our sacred shores,
Inundating the shops and marts, overflowing their cash drawers.
Even the paper upon which I scribe was made in a place called Texas,
But I reckon I can brook that, since with them we have a tenuous nexus!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Categories:
locally, confusionme,
Form:
Rhyme
Christian Children's book signing benefiting WORLD VISION
Saturday, Dec 22 2012,
8:30 AM - 12:00 PM
Caldwell Public Library in Noble County
517 Spruce Street
Caldwell, OH 43724
Call: 740-732-0065
You're invited to Christian Children's book "Blueberry Jam" Book Signing. 1/5 of the proceeds of the author is to sponsor World Vision Children in desperate need. Please join us! Author Lucinda "Cindy" Cayton, present with her pen. Locally, she has published writings in the Around the Square monthly publication of the Journal -Leader of Caldwell Ohio. The book sells at a special price of around $12.00 and will be on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. Books and order forms will be available.
For order information you may call for details an additional 2.95 USPS shipping fee for out of town orders.
Categories:
locally, children, happiness, on work
Form:
The old ruin sat near the brow of the hill
it had been there for centuries forgotten
none now knew for what purpose it had been used
not even the elders who had many suggestions
A not unattractive looking building of stone
and that in it's self only added to the mystery
for these stones were not locally quarried
the nearest place being over 170 miles away
Yet here they had been dragged, then hewed
wrestling them into place quite some task
an imposing building nestled in the hillside
and the views surrounding it post card perfect
Inside was airy and light with most of the roof gone
a strange hearth in the corner of the main hall
large enough for a man to walk into upright
Bread ovens built into the walls and a sitting niche
This was all that was left apart from one roofed room
in here it was dry and warm even a single trundle bed
admittedly very rockety but still it was usable
I decided to camp out the following night, it would be fun
The following evening I climbed the hill as the sun set
tonight it would be a full moon, already the air chilling
I settled in with my few belongings and lit the fire
soon it was roaring, with crackles, hissing and spitting
It was a fine clear night and the heat wonderful
so I made up a bracken bed in front of the fire
I laid back enjoying the stars and a comet shooting past
lazily I slipped not realising into a strange sleep
I found the building restored though it's use still not clear
only a long table and chairs in here, beds in the rooms leading off
then a man came into view, he did not seem to notice me as he passed
he stirred the pot cooking on the fire and set the table
Soon more men came in and sat down to enjoy a hearty meal
I realised from their armour that these were soldiers
so the ram-shackled ruin had once been a lookout post
I woke in the morning well rested remembering my dream
As I walked back down the hill I looked back at it
drenched in sunshine it seemed to gleam a wisp of smoke
curling up from the chimney it looked as if once more alive
not an old forgotten ruin moulding slowly into the landscape
I used the word ram-shackled recently and it struck me as a good theme
for a poem so I wrote this.
Categories:
locally, house, moon, night,
Form:
Epic