Best Midwest Poems
perfect rows of corn
thoughts are evenly complete
dreams flirt in green skirts
Vast Nebraska sky,
sienna-hued droplets
meld together
forming dusk’s tapestry.
Towering meadow blades -
cool as creamsicles,
stroke my weary head and
tickle my naked frame.
Soothing northwest breezes
leaving Manitoba,
slither through
a nebula of stars -
gathering miniscule
buttercup petals.
I see them
being spun into
a feverish night waltz,
whilst my body lies drenched
underneath the nocturnal shadow play
of placid moonbeams.
I reflect upon the evening’s
natural merriment -
my private Midwest massage;
therapeutic services
not rendered on the
sticky isle of Manhattan.
Judged an outstanding member of your community,
Only shows how erroneous some people can be!
How were you getting away with all that for so long?
Neighbors not suspecting you doing those things so wrong?
What horror transpired when they found that evidence;
All those bodies found buried under your residence!
You engaged in clandestine homosexual acts;
Nefariously murdered and can’t deny those facts
Exemplary of evil in those killing attacks!
Guilty as charged on all thirty-three counts you were found;
All victims’ families pain and suffering abound.
Capital punishment was not good enough, no doubt!
Your lethal injection death was your easy way out!
I am not expressing my personal opinions on controversial subjects such as the
death penalty or anything else here. This is just my first attempt at an acrostic
poem that was written in 2004 on the tenth anniversary of Gacy's execution.
Shining sun and thunderous rain
Bear, bison, and whooping crane
The blowing wind and falling leaves
Blooming bulbs and honey bees
Winter, Summer, Spring and Fall
Hardwood trees growing tall
The rivers great and creeks so deep
The golden crops of summer wheat
Ozark Mountains and prairie grass
Carp, paddlefish, and large mouth bass
Whether waterfall or large rock cliffs
These are a few of the Midwest gifts
Tornadoes of the Midwest Quintain (English) a.b.a.b.b
Multiple tornadoes touchdown in America’s Heartland
Storming in one after another in succession,
Hitting so hard, Oklahoma City could not withstand
Crushing the buildings to flatten by the wind's transgression
Storms getting stronger and stronger in progression
Twisters were born in the area called tornado-alley
When cold air from the north blowing down into the Midwest
Collides with the hot air flowing up from the southern valley
Thus giving birth strong twisters, that local residents detest
Families and benevolent societies have to restore the city without rest
written by Dr Ko Ko Thein (a) Dr Mya Thein
Salt Lake City.
The magnolia
The frontsman of the spring
The pear is jealous
The sun rises in a watermelon sky
Green leaves welcome the newborn light
shivering in the crisp air
Watercolor wings amid the blooming blossoms
flutter in the breeze
The verdant high hills and gentle ravines
awaken to the Meadowlark’s chorus in Nature's melody
Bite Size Poem no48 Poetry Contest
she couldn’t get a tan that would make the grade round prom time &
so off to the cancer cocoons she went,
cooking herself crisp &
as orange as barbecued chicken---
after the prom & all of the
comments on her appearance which
beef up her ego,
she decides that this look has to be the one that stays &
on & on
the routine continues throughout the year
cooking herself
until a perpetual nonhuman glow
emits from her body 24/7 &
at home, at night,
nobody needs a night light anymore,
because she can lead the way through the dark
like a light stick that has just been cracked
before being flung around at a rave---
inviting all the basal cell cancer, squamous cell
carcinoma & melanoma,
she goes to sleep displeased with her natural beauty,
bathed in a tangerine tint &
dreams of better days when she can walk in cali
with her head held high.
Exit gate C opened up,
And the followers flood
Turnstiles overcrowding,
And fallen ticket stubs
A namesake for the estate
Just off of 23,
On the way to my place
In the southern United States
We've been distant,
More than I envisioned,
But I invent connections the whole drive down.
I think in 2014,
when I was 18 or 19,
A midwestern soundtrack
For late night soccer and drinks
Triple C highs
And Red uniforms in extra time
World Cup in the breakroom
In between classes at school
Another cup of coffee and a bet in the pool
I didn't know much back then,
I only liked the color red.
I didn't know what the number on the sleeves meant.
Exit gate C opened up
A capacity influx
And the following crush
Now a cup match, memorialized
For the 96 that died,
Guilt heavy in my heart,
For a shameful valuation of life
I think, sometimes, that you catch me staring in your yards some nights.
But I just need to relate,
To some degree,
A measure of pain
Briefly, I commiserate
Before the rest of my complaints
Turn into the same songs I heard on darker days
But this distance isn't quite so great
When put into context, the hours spent awake-
You and I, writing similar lines
I can lie on my bed,
Close my eyes and project
I can see the Midwestern home project store,
I can see the terraces of a stadium filling up with more,
I can see 23,
The same way that you can see me.
Clyde Pucelli was known as The Rembrandt of The Great Midwest!
He was an itinerant painter, esteemed as one of the best!
With his brushes and well-blended oils he'd render a masterpiece;
His fame spread since he specialized in hues of white and cerise.
He traveled in an old shay with his faithful horse Dan at the helm,
Brightening the households of Hoosier Land, Clyde's singular realm.
It took a couple of days to complete a painting then he'd move on,
Leaving folks to marvel at his handiwork long after he was gone!
You'd be surprised to learn he didn't do oils to display on a wall;
No, he painted ramshackle barns, outhouses and sheds, that's all!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
There's a white saddled horse,
and not a cowboy in sight.
No lasso to take him in,
to his stable this night.
There's a red bricked saloon,
with no man to tend bar.
Not an order to be taken,
only a half smoked cigar.
There's a bright yellow inn,
each room is now untaken.
no rest under moonlit skies,
or mornings to slowly awaken.
There's an old sepia Hoosegow
with no judge or jury of law.
Not a soul to be condemned,
or a crowd to stand in awe.
There's a faded teal gospel mill,
with not one granger praying.
This place welcomes silence,
as the literature starts decaying.
So the next time you are near,
skip over our town on route five.
For even though you are welcomed,
You will never leave here alive.
Outside "Clio" history lays
simply on cobblestones ways
Between its bricks just stays;
an hourglass, measuring days,
It sees the beauty in each worn stone,
a story etched, with a life all its own
Within the cracks, it settles in layers so deep,
there's no need for grandeur or fame or sleep
Symbols of freedom, pure, simple, and true
The Omaha stones shared with me what they knew
Her whisper throughout my soul was voiced so clear,
"Wilson & Washburn" took hold of my heart damn near...
In every sand, are storeys, of lives lived, of dreams, of moments made of gold
"When I am dust, hopefully, someone writes of what lively stories I behold"
Let's go ice skating, like when we were kids!
We skated indoors at the Chicago Arena.
My leather brown case with peacock satin
interior,
And gold locks that shined like the morning sun.
Those figure skates, polished were my pride and joy.
The Arena was huge and had its own organ.
So proud we were to skate to real music.
I was so unsure of myself, my parents hired a trainer.
Clarence was an experienced and gentleman and
par excel lance.
I learned to not be fearful.
We skated for hours....my cousins, friends and I.
Those were such special, dear hours of learning and
friendship!
Falls and spills,we thought, golly we are skilled!
At real ice shows we were admired costumes and how they
went so fast...
.....Alas, the decades have, too!.....
The Zamboni of life cleared all of this away.
A wondrous memory of many loved winters past.
How much this heart wants to bring back the joyous ice skating,
the days of fun, companionship and young, free, laughter!
~Thanks Mom and Dad~
11-15-2020
NOTE ..I FOUND NOTHING FOR ICE SKATING WHICH THIS IS ABOUT.
Dark tornadic skies
batten down the Oz hatches
twisters by the score
Jumping Jehoshaphat’s! It is a down home true hillbilly hootenanny!
They are jiving and whirling, and the accordion is a twirling!
I run to find my square dance dress which no longer buttons.
My boobs are hanging out like Jane Russell’s but I do not care.
The cousins are in town, and with them that Arkansas whiskey humor.
Grandma is playing the jug, and Brother Willy is thumping his foot like a rabbit.
The hootenanny brings in all the neighbors and we begins swinging and sashaying.
The caller is screaming “toss your partner high in the air!” I get carried away.
Little Louie hits the ceiling and his head splits open. The cousins laugh.
We got a doctor in this house? More laughter. The caller keeps calling.
We keep dancing. Little Louie runs sobbing off to his mama.
She puts a couple of band aids on him and we all keep jiving. The cousins are here!