Best Lugging Poems
As Miss Luby watches from her window
a moving van backs up
the driveway across the street
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
its warning cry has a beacon-like effect
on the neighborhood
arousing interest from all corners
everything suddenly shaken awake
Even the squirrels stop, stock-still
save an occasional flick of the tail
Miss Luby's cat, also
watching from the window
pauses momentarily, paw suspended
before continuing to clean herself
And one by one, the other inhabitants
invent clever ways to investigate
without seeming obviously interested
Miss Luby's next-door neighbor, Fred
flits outside to water the plants
in his front flowerbeds, distractedly
soaking the sidewalk instead
While dotty old Mrs. Pappadopoulos
puffs along, pulling her little Pomeranian
up the street for a “walk”
slyly turning her head, rather owlishly
as she passes by
Silvia, Miss Luby's other next-door neighbor
is still in her housedress and can't go out
so she sends her three beastly little boys out
to play, knowing they will get the inside scoop
and sure enough, within forty-five seconds
they have accidentally-on-purpose
sent a toy airplane across the street
and spend the next half hour retrieving it
following the new neighbors
in and out like so many
playful puppies
Not to be left out
of the hullabaloo, the hoity-toity
housewife from two doors down
high-steps out to size up the new arrivals
over-casually strolling with
her beautifully bundled babies in tow
putting on quite a show
suddenly disappointed
realizing they're just common-folk
not the kind she wanted to know
All the while, the new neighbors
exhausted, amble in and out
of their new home
staggering
under stacks of small pieces
lumbering along
awkwardly lugging larger ones
A teenage boy
silently glides past on a skateboard
giving side-eye to the boring, middle-aged
couple- as he is nearly hit by a car passing by
driver distracted by the moving van
Drinking drugging, chug a lugging,
Cruising down the poncy street,
Drunk a 40 cats a hugging,
Look out 4 this ***** on heat,
Brain a thumpin, blood a pumping,
Dogs a humping, jelly beans to eat,
Cant get me car outa park,
So brain dead I cannot speak,
Flashing forth in me v6,
On the footpath, sometimes creep,
Uh oh downed a letter box ,
Postie he will surely freak,
Blue lights flashing, they in fashion?
Sirens blaring, dodge concrete,
Off the walls it seems I’m bashing,
Police-e-man I’m yet to meet…
Today, it is a sunny Thursday morning in April, and my body
aches like it does when a rainstorm hits, and I am regrettably
bitter about it because in this very moment in time,
I am still waywayway too aware
of this world.
My horoscope tells me that it’s about time to get rid of some of
the baggage that I’ve been lugging all around town with me.
But (apparently) I haven’t quite
figured out where to
put it all yet.
And it’s times like these where I try to fool myself into thinking that
I’m actually good at things – regular things that other people
are especially and typically ordinarily good at.
Like, writing poetry or scrapbooking, or bigger-deal-things like
showing up to work on time.
And I’ve been waiting to tell you this without blinking for once,
and I’ve been actively searching for that relief everyone keeps
saying is buried deep in that one place that’s also hidden
underwater somewhere. So if you could feel the
blood in my veins, you’d know what I mean.
I’m anxious to feel the exact moment when the morning sunlight
hits your cheek and your irises slowly dilate with the rhythm of
your heartbeat, and I would memorize it all so perfectly,
you would’ve thought it was just a simple feeling
to give away.
But it’s impossible to sneeze while keeping your eyes completely
open and I may be just a little pessimistic about some stuff
every now and again, and I know that it’s been
a really long while since we’ve touched,
but you still look the same to me.
IMPLODING REALITY
Silent scream
wildly flapping of wings unseen
around this crying head
where eyes are no more
and mouth a wide silence
where ears hear only madness
while mind is anywhere but sane
Violence throws me out of bed
every night on legs that collapse
forgotten they don't work
lugging, tug drag into
that corner
they fly around
cursing me
lashing out
insane
insane
Eyes unsee, ears unhear, mouth unscream
imploding reality
If I am insane
Why can I describe this
so vividly?
***
January 3, 2017
A wonderous day, we're
Busy little bees buzzing,
Circling round
Dandelions, daisies, and
Early meadow rue, wild-
Flowers with open arms.
Gems, open blossoms,
Harmony of colors.
Incredible, arousing
Juices of fragrance
Keeping us busy
Lugging it all back to
Mommy in the beehive.
Nice that the wildflowers are an
Open diner,
Pollen for the asking.
Quick and easy, we can sit and
Rest on their open blooms and here
Summer right
Through
Until early autumn.
Veering in an out
Wings and body's
Xenogamy of
Yellow pollen traveling along a
Zigzagging path
6/3/2022
'Bee Creative' Contest Info
Sponsor Matt Caliri
xenogamy
[z?'näg?me]
NOUN
botany
fertilization of a flower by pollen from a flower on a genetically different plant. Compare with geitonogamy.
Yesterday I found myself slumped
into the saddest of trenches,
for no particular reason
other than a new moon cycle.
Instead of flopping myself
in my studio’s armchair to write,
I drove to the mall for an outing
probably more expensive than
what a therapist would charge
for an hour in his armchair.
I wandered into the shoe store—
something about leather
which grounds me, whether
the flimsy strapless heels
or the closed-toed pumps or walkers.
Already lugging two bags, I meander
into the lingerie store for silk
to accentuate my only remaining
middle-age curves, skipping over the thongs
and hesitating at the push-up section.
I try on four or five pairs of underwear
to accentuate my butt area,
the part of a woman which shares the
secret of her fitness, that I work on
each morning at seven.
I arrive at the boutique who sells my favorite
blouses, gather some more bags, walking out
with an almost terminal case of rope burn,
until I finally decide it’s time to head back to my car.
On my way I stop, smile, and realize
there’s no better way to fight trench warfare.
Symbol of mass transportation,
crucial as a pair of wings;
I wonder where we'd be without it
in the broader scheme of things?
It's hard to say just how we'd cope,
or how we'd get around.
I must confess a nagging fear
we'd stay right on the ground,
go no further than Cro-Magnons
dragging women by the hair,
as they forage in the jungle
lugging trophies to their lair.
Our trips would be restricted
to the tribes across the marsh;
we'd just better hope they're friendly,
not belligerent or harsh.
The prospects weren't too sanguine
that we'd subjugate the land
until the wheel's invention
guaranteed our upper hand.
Left lost luggage at a station,
One piece of flotsam at sea,
Never to feel integration,
Everything drifts endlessly,
Lugging a suitcase of sadness,
Yearning for someplace to be.
Every morning, I steal longing glances at the most spellbinding creature I have ever cast my two eyes upon,
Her skin is pale and lifeless, wearing a peculiar looking amulet draped across her neck,
I cannot help myself to stare, as she engulfs her lunch meat in only a few vicious bites like some sort of evil spawn,
Whenever I cross her path, I feel like a deer in headlights; turning into a nervous wreck.
Her alluring features of dark hazel eyes and fire truck red lips call to me from across the office,
At the call of my name, I scamper towards my desire like a cowardly pup,
My heart begins to pound out of my chest, her pointed ears perk up and I remain cautious,
With music to my ears she exclaims, “You are my date to the Halloween office party tonight,’ I just thought I would give you the heads-up.”
With long black finger nails, she carves her address into the palm of my hand,
I glance down at the blood oozing out of my fresh wounds and she playfully smirks,
With a sloppy lick from her magnificent tongue the wound seals and I am ready to give her a wedding band,
The fiery hot blood I feel thrashing around in my veins every time I touch her, feels like exploding fireworks.
That night, I arrive at the address that may potentially scar my soft tender flesh,
Before I can knock, a clawed hand grips me tight lugging me into the front hall,
I am immediately blindfolded and I hear her deep growl, “My dear, I just need a moment to refresh.”
The room is cool and damp, I scurry to remove the blindfold to become aware of my surroundings above all.
Unfortunately to my defeat, I hear the jingle and sharp pull back of chains restraining me to the stone wall,
The warm breath and droplets of fallen drool on the back of my neck make me shriek,
Not a soul can hear the disgraceful, desperate cries and pleas I begin to call,
Now I know why people say to never date your monster of a co-worker, as she kisses my cheek.
I flail and bash my arms and legs trying to desperately swing and knock her off her feet,
I feel her filthy nails ripping into my chest,
In a soft growl she mentions something about my blood being sweet,
With a deafening howl the horrid situation puts my body to rest.
September 25, 2018
Scary or Spooky poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
6th Place
My Phone
I've just been down to Tesco to get some shopping done,
I never go with money cos I have a little fun
You see it makes me snigg*r when I hear old ladies moan
'What was wrong with money,' as I Pay them with my phone
I went off to the countryside to see some lovely views
I also liked the country sound of bleats and quacks and moo's
A bloke lugging a tripod let out a little groan
As I stood right beside him taking photos with my phone
You should keep up with all the news my father said to me
You can get it from a newspaper or see it on TV
He snigg*red and he chided in a most sarcastic tone
When I told him if I want the news, I Watch it on my phone
Was driving in to central London later on that day
My dad said take an A to Z, don't get lost on the way
If you're like me you know you will be wrong direction prone
I said it doesn't matter, I've got sat-nav on my phone
Took my grandad to the library, there's a book he wants to read
He's always liked his fancy fish, there's some he wants to breed
I told him how to do it and produce a guppy clone
And if you're wondering how I knew... I read it on my phone
Sailing on a pleasure cruise, booked it up online
Suddenly a wicked ocean broke the liner's spine
Treading frigid water, foghorn having blown
I wish there was a lifebelt app loaded on my phone
Stuck on a desert island, no signal, battery flat
No Google, Facebook, Instagram... Don't think much of that
Tired of eating coconut at washed up wobbly table
Dad stuck my phone under its leg to make the table stable
My dad near drove me bonkers fidgeting with string
And tying to the end of it a small bent metal thing
To crack another coconut I hit it with a stone
Then dad went off and caught some fish... didn't need a phone.
We made a kind of Barbecue and gutted all the fish
We cooked the fish on skewer sticks and what a tasty dish
I asked him how he got them cos they really tasted fine
He grinned and said, that's easy son.....
I got them all online
From lugging heavy boxes in a distribution place,
To taking pinewood coffins to a so called place of grace.
From melting from the heat from six till half past three,
To eating currant buns and drinking nice hot cups of tea.
From hassle from the bosses; there are far too many of them,
To driving around in solitude, with no one to shout your name.
From stitching machines and printing machines on the shop floor,
To making personal enquiries at some brand new prospects door.
From being driven crazy by the boredom of the job,
To have the joy of being able to earn a few more bob.
From the pittance of a wage that was forever small,
To a salary that makes you feel almost ten feet tall.
From the humblest of positions, in a factory set-up,
To driving bones and bodies to the hospital make-up.
From this most unusual tale, I'm sure you've got the notion,
That if you leave the factory, it's sure to be PROMOTION.
Even a funeral assistant gets twice as much or more,
Than all of these workers on this factory shop floor.
So Neil we wish you all the best in your new position,
There won’t be any hassle because it's just DEAD opposition.
Robert Cartwright-Davidson
U F O is a W d o p u y t r e s a d f g h k l k m n b v c xz q?
Feeling ill cam be understood to be akin to laying down upside down on a constantly rotating piece of grass that moves so rapidly that ground cannot really fathom a place to stand still. But stillness is not stagnation nor is it syllables stalling for stillness is often likened to a giant hexagonal bee swarm rotating royally signalling to jester fish that the top of a yogurt reads the same as the top line of a paragraph but minus the full stop. Equations equipped equatorial effluent efflorescent elephant. And a stripey square ball rolled away in a hexagonal formation before jumping into the swimming pool. Bowl then. But only wearing a bowler hat. Great. Now that is done the items can be imagined to be interested in inkwells'. Fantastical news for ten z frames, a beeswax curdle, a shrinkable curry, a curriculum carriage, and a force ten thousand gale singing a pleasant hymn. Loudly. While practising gymnastics with a fork lift truck and a lorry in a leotard. Z organizationally Z at forty one knots knitting ro eighteen balls of wool lugging loaded leaf loaves. X
i give because i can
it makes me smile more than i know
i inspire another to do the same
hopefully the gift of charity will grow
when i was lugging a plastic junk bag and a worn backpack,
i thought i was worst off than others
i thought only of myself and cursed my sisters and my brothers
i used profane language to whine, complain, and moan
wishing that i could win the lottery or even be approved for any type of loan
however when i would walk into a library or store,
i would repeatedly witness one that was struggling more
signs upon signs were waved wildly in my face
yet i chose defiance and sung 'me me me' all over the place
one day i saw a man one cold day after a particular plasma donation
he asked me if i could get him something to eat or just a cup of water
my head told me to tell this man to go somewhere
but God told me a story through this man and disciplined my heart
i go inside and ordered my food like i would normally do
i went back to the man and gave him a cup of chili and the cup of water he asked for
he immediately began to cry and thank me passionately for what i did for him
it was then that i was humbled with a lesson like never before
ever since then i have taken many a look at myself and my life
i realize through similar happenings that i did not have it so darn bad after all
i hope what i continue to give will save a like or inspire a smile....as long as i am breathing....and all the while....
Symbol of mass transportation,
crucial as a pair of wings;
I wonder where we'd be without it
in the broader scheme of things?
It's hard to say just how we'd cope,
or how we'd get around.
I must confess a nagging fear
we'd stay right on the ground,
go no further than Cro-Magnons
dragging women by the hair,
as they forage in the jungle
lugging trophies to their lair.
Our trips would be restricted
to the tribes across the marsh;
we'd just better hope they're friendly,
not belligerent or harsh.
The prospects weren't too sanguine
that we'd subjugate the land
until the wheel's invention
guaranteed our upper hand.
Woodbury, new jersey home
to me self since birth
my very late mother
(bless her long departed soul)
slaved and toiled
per accursed penury and dearth
tried her darnedest
to create happiness while on earth
would be livid with rage
at lack of neighbors’ manners
if spirit of said deceased
returned to this home and hearth
so let this poem serve
as springboard to communicate anger
for whatever
this literary effort might be worth.
this aged body of mine creaky,
nearly out of steam,
and well nigh lost track
of countless times auld lang
cos sine and concomitant excitement
filled past and long distant childhood
waiting for ole saint nick
to careen down chimney flue lugging
that humongous and bulging sack
or going out hunting
(when this area mostly woodlands)
awash with fauna and flora
and not unusual for pop to bring home
a buck sporting many tiered rack
caught in the cross hairs of firearms
seemed like gendarme of the pack
now, which memories flood my noggin,
akin to overflowing waters o the Merrimack
especially disconcerting with hostility
from youths politeness to lack
spouting expletives with flip of the bird
to us older folks who cough n hack
similar to staccato machine gun fire
in terms of that barrage of flack