Best Memos Poems
I was rushing a project, due at 6,
With a messy top, I couldn’t resist
Arranging trays with photos of my man;
Such thick debris, a whole clean-up began.
A jar of expired tea spilled on my chest
Now, this made me shake off a lunch hour’s rest.
My hands pulled out scarves, lotion, and fake gems
From a drawer filled with old beauty items!
Then, I checked a pile of discs that was needed
Yet my eyes found notes, memos never read.
By 4 pm, job mates helped me wipe out
Heaps of litter, junk mail pouring like spouts.
Oh deadline came while I froze on page 1,
Knowing the boss would demand a rerun!
Sara Kendrick's Today I Accomplished
5/18/2015
Copyright 2014 A.D., ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
By Thomas Lam Hsi Andress (TLH ANDRESS)
THE 'AUDACITY' OF DISCLOSURE!!!
Thomas Hsi
1 second ago
This VERY SONG is the VERY REASON that I KEEP HOPING that LOVE WILL ONE DAY...'MAYBE'...FIND ME...as 'SHE'...finds...ME! After I was 'DELIVERED' by 'URSULA'...on APRIL 23, 1959 A.D., as a 'LILY-WHITE' MALE CHILD, but raised as an 'ASIATIC,' though I would go on to BECOME A MENTAL AND PHYSICAL 'SUPER-MAN' in that I would accomplish so many 'AMAZING' things in my 55 year-lifetime ( 70 mph 'ACCELERATED-RUN,' 378 lbs. 'ONE-ARM' DUMBELL CURL, 878 lbs. 'ONE-HAND' DEADLIFT, over 300 'ORIGINAL or IMPROVED GOURMET-QUALITY' FOOD RECIPES, 'WORLD'S FINEST POET, POETIC LYRICIST, ATTORNEY (AVVO-DISTINGUISHED, 14 OF MY 26 MEMOS WOULD GO BEFORE THE UNITED STATES SUPREME COURT, WITH THE 'SUPER-MAJORITY' OF THE CASES BEING DECIDED ALONG THE LINES IN WHICH I HAD CONCLUDED), VALEDICTORIAN AT EVERY MAJOR UNIVERSITY AROUND THE WORLD (based on 'Test Scores' at the University of Southern California and the University of Hawaii), the 'WORLD'S HIGHEST LSAT-TEST SCORE,' the 'WORLD-VALEDICTORIAN' LAW-GRADUATE (as McGEORGE SCHOOL OF LAW was the 'MOST DIFFICULT CLASS EVER FOR THAT PARTICULAR YEAR,' 'ORIGINATOR' OF THE PUBLIC ADDRESS, PORTABLE, RADIO-DEVICE WHICH WOULD LEAD JAPAN TO DEVELOP THE MODERN KARAOKE-MACHINE, and lead SOUTH KOREA TO DEVELOP THE HIGH-DEFINITION TELEVISION, 'MELON-STYLE' DRINKS, the 'SOLELY-RESEARCHED, WRITTEN, EDITIED, COPIED, AND DISTRIBUTED' 5 and 1/2 PAGE COMPRESSED OUTLINE FOR DETERMINING WHAT A CONFORMING AND NON-CONFORMING RESALEABLE LOAN IS, along with a PROPOSAL FOR DAWN FINANCIAL, where the 'EQUITY-VALUE' OF AN OLDER-HAWAIIAN REAL PROPERTY INTEREST, could be REALIZED UPON BY RELEASING THE BUILT-UP 'EQUITY,' the development of a 'PROGRESSIVE-STYLE' BETTING SYSTEM at the WHEEL OF FORTUNE and ROULETTE TABLE (first used by Me at the MGM GRAND HOTEL & CASINO in RENO, NEVADA), 'DEVELOPER' OF THE 'FAST-OUTBOARD-MOTORBOAT,' with a 'SCOOP-VECTOR,' the 'MULTI-DIRECTIONAL SCOOP-VECTORING-SYSTEM,' the 'SWIVEL-WIND-FAN-SYSTEM' (with various 'FAN DESIGNS,' including the 'MULTI-DIRECTIONAL-OBLIQUEST-DESIGN,' a 'PROPOSED-DESIGN' for a SPACE-SHUTTLE which solves the 'O-RING' PROBLEM.
Moby Dick, geometry, physics.
Study every subject everyday.
Homework is an indicator of future success.
Success is not necessarily happiness but it helps.
Freedom is to formulate your own definition of success.
Happiness is an imaginary tree, its own reward, and a fact.
Facts and fiction may be memorialized in memos or found in dreams.
The story starts thus: Each summer the honeysuckles and the
huckleberries . . .
The web is that extra brain we've all been dreaming of having.
Like jumping 4 meters or flying without a plane.
To fly like that must one first have homework?
Some say yes, some say don't. It depends on how you vote.
Happiness is what happens when everything that happens
Fits the time perfectly and it's all out of your hands.
Not exactly. You don't let go of the steering wheel while driving fast in
the passing lane.
You look left and right and check your blind spots.
Homework is an introduction to everything you're not
And all you do not know. It's supposed to help you learn to know where
you want to go before going where you have to go.
Otherwise you end up on Ulzana's raid
Bleeding, without a bandaid.
All the achievement in the world won't relieve your loneliness
Or satisfy your sexual longing. What girls are like behind their eyes.
Survival, procreation. That's all there is to love.
But the loved one is the one who can be trusted with your life.
Whether Christ or your wife. The Muslim moms.
On my walk in the woods I come to a sitting spot
Above a small gorge cut by a stream through hemlocks.
Here someone has left a statuette of the Buddha and the flags you see
Flapping in the wind at sky funerals.
This is a pretty good place to sit quietly and think about homework.
1. When Satan was an Angel:
He discovered fault finding easy in the Heavenly Society.
No reason to put forth an effort to improve,
Just dis.
2. When the Sky-Boss wasn't around
He would slip memos to hes fellow workers,
"There is no union,
Nothing to coordinate the wants of the Winged Servants.
3. He claimed the Heavenly Chorus sang off key:
And sounded like it was suffering
From a case of group herpes.
4. He reminded everyone:
As often as possible,
That the Holy He created women as a lesser species,
:After all, Eve did come along as a side issue."
5. Wherever God asked,
"Are you working?"
Mr. D. would always answer in the affirmative,
Gut, his task was too often centered on group diffusion.
6. The final straw in his disposition:
Occurred after he had constantly complained to the Almighty
That the thermostat was set too low,
"I can't stand the cold up here! Why don't you do something about it!:
Low-level office drone,
you move cautiously in the corporate hive
Never bringing any attention to yourself,
especially when the pink slip memos fly by
The queen bee of your department,
protects her workers very well
Although from time to time,
she has a tendency to raise living hell
But you never challenge her authority;
you keep your head down, and your voice low
With five more years to a solid pension,
quietly pushing the papers is the prudent way to go
Make no waves,
utter no dissident voice
Management is always monitoring:
so even when they're wrong,
you say they've made the right choice
Keep pushing the papers,
let your conscience live to work another day
on company pay
Don't examine the papers too close,
do exactly what the company say
You ain't a fearless whistle blower,
you're just a low-level rung on the management ladder
A middle-aged balding guy with a bad bladder
So you keep pushing the papers,
'cause everybody ain't brave like Karen Silkwood
Meltdown of a nuclear reactor from faulty parts
the company sold, which you knew were no good
But you pushed the papers on through anyway,
'cause it was time to punch out at the end of the day
DON’T ANSWER THAT!!
That sound!!!
scratchy, tapping,
drumming,
at my door.
Unseen presence
silenced breath
scritching, scratching,
lightly tapping,
memos on
my unlocked door.
Reminders -
trembling moonlight -
distant daybreak,
far from sight,
dreams commandeered -
Pirate flags –
angel wings
lost in dark clouds,
tapping, tapping,
ever-rapping,
dead of night
or noonday napping,
rhythmic rumor
growing stronger,
knocking,
slowly knocking,
Life’s tick-tocking.
Last knock
cold knuckled rap
of “death’s” demand.
John G. Lawless
12/15/2015
Oh! That anguishing moment! When I craved to cry,
And pour my tears, like monsoon rains, on some grass dry;
A bit away, hence, from the madding crowd, I went,
To soothe my grieving heart; give benevolent vent...
A hard hand hit my shoulder and commanding, said:
You're a man! Should not cry! Calm! Courage! Go ahead!
We, in our culture taunt, tease, torture girls, torment,
No shame? Showing off before strangers? You pretend!
Go! Wipe tears Apply talcum on your plastic face!
Lest those around judge you an empty broken vase!
Our girls, hence, tie pains like ghosts in their sari-knot,
Paint their faces with multi-color smiles, a lot.
Children! Gems! Never cry! If cry... Bad boys! Bad girls!
Satan is making home in you! His freedom whirls!
Why do angels crave things, like beggars full of greed?
Why, like dramatic artists - fussy tantrums breed?
God's watching like a hawk! Behave! Be virtuous!
Your movement should be angelic! Care! Courteous!
Yet, deaths, dangers, droughts, floods earthquakes for many years,
Have made us shed, like rain torrents, abundant tears;
All who gently hushed up feelings like shut memos,
Have melt into tears as though from lavas or snows;
Seeing harsh callous actions if we do not cry,
God's creating such rich tears has no purpose high.
Dogs cry. Horses cry. Birds, flies, and reptiles cry too,
Feelings, like dew-drops, fill and fall when we're in woe;
Sentiments secrete like wild streams within our hearts,
Full-fledged; flow like fluent falls; finely flits and flirts;
Stopping these, is, like building dams over rivers,
Wherein - water waves; caves; crashes; ripple-triggers...
Holding tears may be raw romantic! Dramatic!
Yet, its nature is to flow and fall full frantic.
Brain stressed; heartbeat skipped! Breath blocked! Body traumatized!
Muscles, nerves, and blood vessels stiff antagonized;
Nature has ways of venting pain and suffering,
Thwarting this is, just like her freedom plundering.
18 August 2021
This or That, Vol 5 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
I.
I don't observe
the day between
the summer solstice
and a midsummer's eve
anymore
I've abandoned the rituals
that commemorate
a shift in season,
my over-ripening years
and celebrate
my sickening sense
of hope.
II.
By day, I could apply
a defensive membrane,
an anti-cancer cocoon
to protect me
from the shrapnel spewed
from a blooming sun
but night permeates my skin
and wishing stars curl up beneath
like a thousand tumors
challenging fonder memories
with disappointments
and memos about
shrinking days.
III.
Midsummer crepuscules
open sour-lighted wounds
and drip watercolor ghosts
down the sky
leading my desire back
down
to withering earth
and into an arid darkness
blistered
with promissory dimes
and a thick, weeping moon
that can't forget how to cry
over nothing.
IV.
I still crave so much
the hope
of quickening molasses
and the warmth
of long, rum fingers
from fermenting skies
but the sun-poisoned aches
of famine and fullness
always alternate
a layer of sun
over a layer of sin.
V.
I'm contaminated
by an anonymous hunger
that spoils the wine of day,
and curdles the milk of midnight
I reap
love, laughter, happiness
the crops of heaven
but they never satisfy
always turning tides of emptiness
on my tongue
erasing summer sun
with doomsday shadow.
VI.
Give me the gift of Heaven,
a contentment sterilized coma,
a throne in the cusp of Gemini and Cancer
and I might wish instead
for a pyre in Hell.
Henry’s Rust Bucket
He had managed the steep rise from a valley to his home and sat on the small
stoep. Another koppie towering ahead, he looked straight forward and counted
his blessings. One, by one he wrote a list of thanksgivings, carefully folded the
scraps of paper, then crumbled them up and darted them into a corroded pail of
collection. Always a good shot, it filled. A little water still in the bucket, ink
smudged and ran its course as thoughts nudged each other and the sludge pot
thickened. Soon it was far more full than half empty, the cache of paper-mache
almost burst from its seams. When memos and ‘done it’ notes oozed through a
hole at the bottom, scraped through and lifted his mood and the bucket, Henry
the cooper hardly kept up with the fill. The tub rose and time passed so slowly
that it turned in rebuttal, as the container had been really a scuttle for carbon
and coal, a near enough copy to hold passion and fire. So, elevated and so
imposing it became that it shaded the koppie. ‘Enough is enough’, I must move
on and rise to occasions. Remember the past and the present.’ Thus, he changed
perspective and stood on the bucket. It still had a hole and his steps had gone
rusty, but now he could touch the mountains again. Henry had so much to be
grateful for, even with a half empty bucket, that just one or two ‘post it’s’ would
have surely sufficed. ‘Never late than not ever’ he exclaimed, ‘I must fix the hole
in my bucket, gratitude list will only get me so far’.
Contest New Year 2018 A Better Production
Sponsor Kim Rodriques
The pix so scattered, young and old
some of fond memos, long ago
ageless encounters, some so-so,
the wall seems cluttered ~ overload!
Pix can come down ~ be changed, we grow
and those forgotten, in books fold
are somehow keepsakes ~ to enfold,
as mind's grow weary ~ nail's still hold!
But then, in truth, the space still shows
of missed concerns, life can't control
no mention of words left unsaid
or spoken harshly ~ lost ~ love's fled!
The solace in my mind retreat
an empty yearning not complete
the total outcast of defeat
in cruelties bounty ~ numbed repeat!
Where are the moments we can't meet
in truce, not agitation's ford
will someday sit and stare ~ impede
the joyful interlude's accord!
Forget the wall, to my own feet
must make an effort to be bold,
that friend, or loved one, years not seen
will once more cherish ~ time not scold!
My living wall, I know will keep
it is my mind ~ needs the upsweep!
Sing a different song
The neighborhood rotting by day
Air not fresh like was years back
Green nature gone and not to cattle’s belly
That’s why I will sing a different song
The young no longer stands for the old
Fumes oozing from nostrils is their norm
Ladies nakedness now a stripping business daily
That’s why I will sing a different song
The leaders need new memos not written speeches
They read maybe they too don’t understand anymore
Money cant buy character maybe seminars will do
That’s why I will sing a different song
My learned pals are gone to white man’s palace
Their wealth and education, now a waste to society
Scared they will be reaped apart by the hungry society
That’s why I will sing a different song
The northern region, the NGOs hub growing
Dying, hungry and fighting each other
Someone should preach peace louder than the aid
That’s why I will sing a different song
Its been said before but wonder who listened
This I press again, the walls not yet full
Your space still empty for all have to unite
Lets fight the dragons and sing a different song
Embracing this low and calm fumes
Adopting these reserved maneuvering skills
Rehearsing my lines daily…hoping to perfection
I wish to be the extra prototype when the curtain rises up
I will majestically bow to the jury…doubting their frown
Here with me…will compose the best speech
With my specs; you will see an intelligent poet
Yet with my hands you will lay an author of the future
Now we are a little far away from the spotlight…
On the road we are pedestrians…of course Christians
Now we weep, now we creep out with terror
Last night I saw the fellow; he was a sad veteran
Weirdly he seemed killed already only that he wasn’t berried
Poor soldier; dead already just a moving corpse waiting for
An open grave…
So much I had wanted to tell him…when I stared at him wobbling
Zonked, I couldn’t help a tear from falling
The war had consumed so much of his good smiles and the blissful memos
When he embraced me…he whispered to my left ear and said;
‘Do you know how to pull a trigger aah!?’
I answered no…you should learn son as he sighed with discomfort
The was ache in his left leg…I loved him much he died the next evening
It’s always like that for me…
I am rehearsing my agony…so hurting
a pomegranate’s
split vulnerability –
chinks in the armour
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
an autumn sunrise –
a bird’s melodious song
breaks the morning hush
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
September memos –
sporadic lightning scribbles
on congested clouds
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Dear Tracy,
I never expected you to go
Not even anticipated your leaving
I am disturbed by my lonesomeness
Wishing you as a true friend
Were near
I never thought to write letters
We just lived for a tomorrow
Not ever even telephoning
Popping in was okay
I never expected to hear your voice through wires
Never knew those plans were futile
Never thought we would weaken
Our heart of love
Never dreamt we would be season’s apart
Never did we dream of a yesterday
Nor licked memories bare
We never bargained for this
We never dwelt on reflections
My loneliness is obvious
I weep as I write
For hurt I was
When life turned sour
And bitter became I
When I knew
The power of love
Hate
Dejection
Loneliness
Memories
Aimlessness
Pent-up frustration.
If only memos kept!
Forever,
Comfort.
before going to bed it is to be checked thoroughly
if there lays any carbon-paper under the bed-cover
now-a-days some upstart pelicans become so
disobedient it can not be assured if they come
to know the whereabouts of the blood easily
from the copy of the heart
then they distribute the delirium of the high-heel moon
by writing cash-memos at the gate of the locked-out plant
the hundreds of thousands of white clouds
also drink the whirl-water of love
they touch to feel the freshness of the habitat
they touch to feel the can full of smiles
after the explosion they touch to feel
the bier of the deodar-birds
covered with tamarisk plants