Best Moped Poems
He despaired. He was despondent and desperate.
He was impelled to violent action but restrained from acting out.
He had finally given up. He had lost all hope.
Disheartened and dispirited his will had collapsed.
Lacking confidence or courage, depression defined him.
He languished in gloom and grieved in lament.
He succumbed to a wretched tribulation,
a miserable melancholy, so forlorn was his ordeal.
He anguished over his prospects, so painful was his worry.
Desperate and wholly dejected the criminal faced his judgment.
As justice was served he fretted, ruminated, chafed, sulked and moped.
Now he faced the torment and ridicule he so easily delivered.
Finally he too understood the meaning of despair.
Time on and Time off
On and off and on again,
That is the carousel of life,
When it spins round and round,
Till the dizzy heads fall off,
Time on and time off,
Till those little girls grow to be old
And discover love,
And they feel so much better than before
With broken hearts,
And cigarette burns on arms
Laying on kitchen floors,
That had just been moped with red blood.
Time on and Time off,
Over and over and over again,
That drunken buffoon has nothing more to do,
But drop dead in his lazy boy chair
And die.
While his girl,
(who once pretty and pure, now dead inside and out)
Brings him his lunch,
And watches her blood drizzly slowly into the stainless steel sink.
My dad is bigger than yours she said.
It made me mad; I wished she was dead.
Took my anger to my Uncle Ned.
He started laughing, happy instead.
Most serious now, sick in my head,
Ran to my cousin, Goofball named Zed.
He chased me off, his face spitball of red.
With laughter shaking his feather bed.
I decided to sit in my little she-shed.
Devoured Ritz crackers ‘til I was fed.
Refused to talk to my Uncle Ted.
Who was spitting a story about Brother Ed.
I rode off on my purple and pink Moped.
Had an accident, needed bandage and a med.
The nurse who helped me was named Mrs. Ked.
Beautiful, she was a recent newlywed.
My dad is bigger than yours she said.
I was shocked for a second, but then I read
A book, settled down, no longer in my head.
Seeing the humor of Ed, Zed, Ned and Ted.
In "The Shootist", J.B. Books is not feeling up to snuff.
He has cancer. What are the concerns
of a man dying.
To die
commensurate with the way he lived his life.
Books dies in a gunfight.
McIntosh dies in the desert, under a broken wagon,
fighting Indians.
Norman Thayer will die of heart failure
by the side of his wife, Ethel.
Two police officers
die investigating a stolen moped at a gas station
in the Bronx.
One buys it between the eyes, the other in the back.
The killer out on early parole
from a manslaughter rap.
The DA blames the judge, the judge blames the parole board,
and the board says the jails are overcrowded.
What should I be doing, old turtle.
Devote myself to re-order the world
or crawl off to a lonely spot and preserve myself.
We are trying
to educate everyone to their individual capacities
and see that all are fed, clothed and sheltered adequately.
Because the suffering of one citizen makes suffering
for another, the slow death of one sometimes makes
the sudden murder of another.
There is this
black rock we live on and its lovely mantle of green.
It is all that is perfect. And everything of it is
perfect that respects its integrity. On the subway
I was amused to find, hidden in the confused
mass of anonymous, bleak graffiti, unseen
by the studied, expressionless passengers,
in pink, delicate script, vertically written,
the word *****.
People are the element I live in.
The world is pushy, we are bone,
the numbers of us overwhelm.
It is going to be hot again soon
and the Bronx will actively resent it.
Books dies in Carson City,
only two or three people will miss him at all.
He died alone as he lived,
with his enemies.
Spirited knights from a long ago age
Were transported to this century
Seeing as they had no foe to engage
They moped around aimlessly
Before their doldrums turned to rage
They sought out a job agency
That would strive to find them a good wage
Due to the knight’s urgency
But the hitch in this new age fable
Of which this story is based
Was the shocking headhunter’s cable
That proposed jobs in hazardous waste
It seemed they’d be worth their mettle
So their talent agent thought
Since they sported all that metal
Punctures would be less than naught
As their first foray in this career
Was not what they beseeched
Since hospitals for these cavaliers
Contained a plank with a leech
But they learned to remove harmful gear
Plus organs the size of a peach
And swabs and gloves and what others fear
Like sharps washed upon the beach
One day Galahad’s nose turned runny
Because his health turned frail
Yet what happened wasn’t too funny
When a needle slipped inside his mail
He cried out to his god
I think I’ve reached the end
There’s a germ infested rod
Dispensed in my rear end
Oh, for crying out loud
Yelled Lancelot to his friend
Stop acting so highbrowed
That little prick will surely mend
Yet while the knights gathered around
To strip Galahad’s chain link
They loudly sang to drown the sound
As that knight put up a stink
So the moral of this fable is
That lands on the other side
Albeit fences or era’s ‘tis
Not always greener far and wide
3/10/14
For Francine's Tickle My Funny Bone contest
Since July the elves and reindeer, even Mrs. Claus have been on Santa's back!
(Al Gore's prediction of meltin' snow nearly caused him to have a panic attack!)
It seems that try as he might, Santa encountered problems at every turn.
He's becomin' somewhat burned out and reachin' that point of no return!
Mrs. Claus berated him day and night for workin' just one day a year,
Insistin' that he get a decent job, get off welfare and off his fleshy rear!
She'd like to spend winters in Bermuda, the Bahamas or Kiribati,
But noooo, he goes gallivantin' all over from Argentina to Zimbabwe!
Don't know what's got into the reindeer but they're feelin' mighty morose;
Perhaps because of all the fame showered on the one with the shiny nose!
They've moped about, eatin' like army mules gettin' fat and slouchy.
The cantankerous beasts have made Santa terribly tense and grouchy!
Those good for nothin' elves went on strike causin' a slow down in work.
They're tryin' to form a toy makers union causin' Santa to go berserk!
Such sloppy work! Talkin' dollies counted cadence, "Hup, two, three, four!"
The toy soldiers cried, "I want my mama!" as they marched off to war!
Despite problems at The Pole he'll trim his beard and don his crimson suit.
He'll "Ho, Ho", eat dozens of stale cookies and be dusted with tons of soot,
As once again he'll mysteriously soar through space with the reindeer towin',
Delightin' boys and girls around the world with the toys he'll be bestowin'!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
In Carolina there is no helmet law
As my girlfriend complains, all I hear is blah, blah, blah
She is still stewing over me buying all the accessories in the catalog
I tell her to bow down to me, I am now the Big Bad Dog
I am now sportin' my new leather chaps
Up side the head, from her I get a smack
I will mark a new territory the Hell's Angels would fear to tread
Looking hard and ridin' dirty on my Moped
At this point, I tear the sleeves off my blue jean jacket
She tells me to stop trying to Mac It
I smile with my Gold tooth displayed
She tells me I need help, she drops to her knees to pray
Then she asks me if I stopped taking my Meds
I tell her I really love you, it's a Two seater, we can both ride dirty on my Moped
I tell her I haven't shaved for Five days
She says she sees the peach fuzz on my face
I look at her and tell her I am a 15 year old trying to make it in this dog eat dog society
Either get on or get out and miss my noteriety
She says she's had enough and besides it's almost curfew
So I depart to the trailer park and pick up that floozy Gracie Lou
I tell her to hang on, it could get wild, I am what they call pure white bread
She grabs my waist and is ready to ride dirty on my Moped
It can't get any dirtier, a trailer girl that smells real bad
I look back and recall, this was the best summer I ever had
She passed me, I thought, on a moped
Clad in a Muslim garb and covered face
Leaving behind the flavour of a smile
And hurried on towards an edifice ahead
I watched in awe and wished I had seen more
Then as she approached the edifice
The foreground turned into a lawn
Upon which she trod ever so serenely
Her garb unfolding into a bride’s train
That stretched a hundred feet behind
But she turned not and I saw naught
Of the beautiful nymph of Mombasa.
Godzilla Dreams
My little dragon is growing up. I do believe he’s just had his first crush.
In his cave with a sign ‘To Enter, Beware’, are Godzilla posters everywhere.
And he talks about her non-stop, all day long, Godzilla this, and Godzilla that.
This morning he mentioned contacting her so…Yes, he wants to bring her home.
Now, this did not make me a happy song, Dragon and Godzilla, together in my yard!
I sat him down to explain, his precious hopes, were only pipe dreams, in any regard.
The only communicating, he had done, is talking to TV screens and horror shows.
The Godzilla he saw, and the Godzilla he’d find… might be two very different kinds.
Like with any kid, this did not go off well, for he packed his bag and flew to Tokyo.
Yep, as you guessed she’s a treasure there… and a great big whooping movie star.
Every time he tried to talk… she blew him off, so as not to disturb, her next photo op.
But suddenly she became very interested in him; he’d be the new bad guy in a film.
She trounced him left, and she trounced him right, but never did he get a talking line.
She pushed him here, and she pushed him there, till he fell hard hurting, everywhere.
The buildings he landed on had sharp edges, till cuts and bruises were his final fate.
Then payment was a single kiss, lack luster at best, yep, a really fake movie star kiss.
As promotional time came around, again, he was pushed away, from every newsman.
Now our dragon is very self-centered you know, so with tears in eyes, he came home.
For days he moped around the house, as we all took turns… trying to cheer him up.
I got him his own photo layout in a magazine, the talk show circuit ruled supreme.
His heart was broken, but he’s a spirited thing, with lessons learned, important things.
What we dream, and what we think, we want, are not always the reality given to us.
He was just glad, to finally be home, and to leave the movies and Godzilla far behind.
He may not be the kindest thing, but he’s loved by all, and here the kisses aren’t fake.
Here, his faults will be tolerated as he grows up, yes HERE, he’s family, to one and all…
He’s back to the dragon, I did know, as we sit at the lake, in time out… What else?
In London town this fast food flows
This Pizza ready, one - to - go
On my moped your hot meal glows
Ready and waiting to earn my dough
Pizza man, oh Pizza man
Hurry my Pizza as fast as you can
Top it with onions, peppers n, sauce
Deliver to me on time of course
Dodging through traffic, my engines running
In and out, like a yo, yo, humming
This Pizza man is on the road
Tearing down streets with his box loads
Pizza man, oh pizza man
Hurry my pizza as fast as you can
Top it with onions, peppers n’ sauce
Bring it to me cuz its my main course
Here's my order for my clan
Large Margherretta, yes deep pan
Four garlic bougettes, two cheese cakes
Don't forget the salad and ice cream flakes
Pizza Man, oh Pizza man
Hurry my order as fast as you can
What ever you do don't be late
I don't want it cold, and please shut the gate
© Copyright K.C.Leake January 1st 2014
There once was a girl name of Faith,
Who was filled with beauty and grace.
She was lovely to see,
Each move poetry,
But she never gave in to the chase.
Now Faith had sister named Hope,
Who tried hard with her sister to cope.
She vied with her sister,
To attract the same mister,
But he didn't like women who moped.
Next there was dear little Charity.
Though sweet she was void of clarity.
Filled with innocent charm,
She entranced and disarmed,
All who met her found her a rarity.
Now there was an old man of great wealth,
Who it seemed was in declining health.
He did woo each sister,
Seemed this shameful mister,
Was a master of romance and stealth.
Each thought he was hers sincerely,
But the way he behaved was a parody.
He romanced Faith and Hope,
Each one hoped to elope,
But he died and left all to Charity.
A single mom, no one wants to be.
But there came a time, when there was only three.
For a brief while, I moped about.
Then I sucked it up, and did without.
I made a promise to you right then.
I'll be by your sides til the very end.
Day by day, we'll take this quest.
In my mind, you deserve only the best.
So smart and creative, you've both become.
More proud I couldn't be of either one.
My princess and knight, you'll always be.
I can't wait for you to grow old with me.
I hope that you will never say...
"My single mom, did okay."
But instead, you will shout with a voice filled with sound..
"My single mom, is the best around!"
Shirley Brown was a very beautiful girl,
And her brunette hair
Hung down her back
And as the wind blew thru the window,
It waved around. It waved around.
She was making sandwiches,
And was packing them with fruit,
And two massive bars of fruit
And nut chocolate.
She lit a cigarette, picked up the basket,
And with a nod of her head,
Waved her hair backwards
And walked out the back door
Into the alley where,
Propped up against a fence
Was a blue mini-moped.
She mounted the bike,
And with a little trouble, started it.
And the rider made a sudden jump
As a horn blew behind her,
And a leather jacketed youth
Sped by on a butterfly motor-cycle.
People turned away
And the music blared on
And the youths talked on.
Then, a park keeper came
But the youths took no notice.
"What are you kids doing?"
The keeper shouted,
"I've had complaints from all over,
Clear off, wilya,
This is a park,
Not a meeting place
For all the Beatniks in San Francisco."
John Hemmings started dancing:
"Cool it, grandpa, get on,
Get going, don't bug me!"
The kids had gone too far
And they knew it.
Some of them turned away,
As the radio blared even louder,
Litter was scattered everywhere.
"I ain't chicken of dying,"
John Hemmings then said,
"We've got to go on,
ALL RIGHT! Who are the crumbs
Who want to chicken out at this point?
Just take your bikes and go.
We're free people now.
Nothing can stop us,
We'll rule the streets,
The young people will triumph."
He was perspiring wildly
And his black hair
Hung down his back.
It waved around. It waved around.
("For all the Beatniks of San Francisco" is based on extracts from one of my earliest
existent pieces of fictional writing, dating from when I was about 15 years old.)
August Forenoon
There is a sale on in the dress shop bathing trunks reduced up
to 40%. It has been a good summer and few local people have
died but the price of coffins stay the same....
So beautiful a forenoon, I drove on my moped to visit a carob tree
I used to sit under when lonely
Its thick branched protected me from the world. Under it now
two elderly women -on their knees- picking sweet, black beans.
The small farmers around here have aged with me, the women
looked up and smiled at this elderly, permanent tourist on his
round; he is like a hasty brush stroke on the canvas of eternity.
On green vines hung juicy grapes tasted one it was like an explosion
of natural sweetness that filled my mouth with yesterdays pleasure,
they are ready to be harvested and made into wine, not for the rich
but for the local people to drink with their stew.
The Complete Nick Armbrister Poetry Collection Volume 3 1996 - 2013
Copyright 2014 Nick Armbrister
ISBN - 978-1-326-06538-6
my poem based on true events, out of my book
Beware
Brit gal went on hols to Thailand, wanted a good time. What she got was hell. Riding a moped down a road, something went so wrong. She hit a minibus while going fast, whose fault was it? Was she on the right side of the road? Catapulted thirty yards in the road, thud!
Mushy head time. A Brit cop working with his Thai colleagues saw her. Her head smashed in, brains spread onto the road. Still alive and very conscious she asks for her parents, crying her last tears. Then she’s gone.
If you go to Thailand remember the poor Brit gal and her fatal accident. Don’t drink or do drugs and ride a bike or moped and wear a helmet.
Beware!