Best Mothballs Poems
You look at me so uninviting;
I may have some missing teeth, stumble when I walk, bout' to FALL!!!
Stutter when I talk, but yet I'll still call;
Might smell like ole mothballs or mint or maybe even Old Spice;
You see me and you stare, you're looking at the patches of my skin YES! it's different (maybe diseased ) different;
different colors and wrinkled on my face, the gray in my hair;
Yes you still stand there and stare. . .
I may talk bout RCA, Philco record players you say "what's that;
I might talk bout Annie Oakley, BoZo the Clown, Captain Midnight, you say Whose that;
Well child let me tell you all...
Don't throw me away;
Cause I'm just like you;
Don't put me out cause I'm too slow;
You think I'm in the way and I can no longer grow;
Don't throw me away, place me in a rest/nursing home;
Don't put me away because you think I'm in the way;
I', senior don't talk bout me in front of me I don't understand a word you say;
I'm alive, I have more brain cells and I got all my memory, well;
That's more than I can, say for you huh-hey!
Imagine if I'd treated you such;
But I wouldn't cause I've got God's love in me so much. . .
Love you see
::::::::::::::::::::::::what?::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
So I just suck it up turn the other cheek;
I may tumble but I won't fall;
I may forget something's but not all;
And yes I still eat meat;
Cause I got all my teeth;
Remember your just trying to get where I am at now;
I'm a senior don't throw me away;
I'm telling you I'm history and I'm a part of God's glory wanna hear, come here;
Come here and sit down, I sit in a chair can hardly rise or go anywhere;
You see me and you stare I drive slow you begin to cuss and swear;
I won't do you ill;
I won't act like you will;
I'll take you today......
But I won't, I will NOT THROW YOU AWAY
Dedicated to all Gods people's 60 years of age to 100 years
Thank you for your wisdom, thank you for your life. . .
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. July 6 2015©
For the book Poetry to Bridge Generations University Of Nebraska at Omaha 2015©
This poem also found in 2020 POETRY SOUP BOOK:." PS: IT'S POETRY A BRILLIANT POETRY ANTHOLOGY"
Categories:
mothballs, anxiety, appreciation, blessing, caregiving,
Form:
Ballade
One
Chloee? Yes Reginald!
Why do they call us Dachshunds, Wiener Dogs?
Maybe they call you a Wiener Reginald!
You cut me off at the legs with that one Chloee!
Two
Chloee? Yes Reginald! Have you ever smelled mothballs.
No Reginald it's too difficult to spread their tiny legs.
My that was a low blow Chloee. You wish Reginald, you wish!
Three
Reginald? Yes Chloee! I was at the park with my owner playing
Frisbee. As I watched the Frisbee I wondered why it was getting
bigger and bigger as it came towards me than it hit me.
Four
Chloee? Yes Reginald!
I was just lying down in the park the other day watching a Labrador
chasing his tail an' I thought ain't that amazing how easily amused
Labradors are! Then I realized I was watching the Labrador chase his tail.
Five
Reginald? Yes Chloee! I've written a poem it goes like this.
"Roses are red. Violets are blue. Some poems rhyme. And some don't!"
Six
Chloee? Yes Reginald! I was at a restaurant, I ordered a chicken sandwich,
but I don’t think the waitress understood me. Because she said,
“How would you like your eggs?” So I tried to answer her anyhow. I said,
“Incubated! And then raised, and then beheaded, and then plucked,
and then cut up, and then put onto a grill, and then put onto a bun.
Damn! It’s gonna take a while. I don’t have time. Scrambled!”
The Finale
A Dachshund walks under a bar. I mean walks into a bar. Goes to the
bar and sits down. Asks the bartender "can I have a Budweiser Light
Beer" the bartender serves him and informs him "that will be seven dollars".
The Dachshund pays. The bartender keeps looking at the Dachshund.
Finally the Dachshund yells "What?" The bartender explains "no I'm
sorry we just never get Dachshunds in this bar." The Dachshund replies
"I'm not surprised...at seven dollars for a beer..."
The Encore
Reginald? Yes Chloee! When you cut your nails, do you file them?
Yes Chloee as a matter of fact I do! Pity! I just throw mine out!
Curtains!
01~10~2015
Sponsor: rob carmack
Contest: Daschunds
Categories:
mothballs, funny, humor, humorous, roses
Form:
Burlesque
STARBUCKS AND COOKIE
I sit in Barnes and Noble
Looking at the figure-display over the snack bar
Oh how out-of-place in time they look
Twain
Shaw
Hardy
Dickinson
Hemingway
Have read them all
Out of time
The artist has caught them from middle-to-old age
Twain the Mississippi observer
older than the river
that flame-gray hair
nose-slipping specs
cigar
Shaw the same snowy mass
but older than creation
he contemplates the infinite
Hardy stirs a cup of tea
has just exclaimed
“Wha! Pshaw!
Jude isn’t as sad as that.”
Emily?
Emily sits for an artist
she has a sweater tied round her neck-
those drooping slender shoulders
always protected
but from what no one knows
Hemingway
what’s to say?
he be da man
smokes his pipe
thinking about the slaughter of ‘brave bulls’
“Good fight!” says Ernie
assigning some sort of ludicrous intelligence
There are several more
But I’ll leave them in their mothballs
The question arises
at least in my mind arises
Given their various outlook
would they earn a high place in today’s world?
I doubt it
None of them play guitar or saxophone
The drummer they moved to had an unbelievable
subtleness
I imagine they could get through a work
without need for a dripping drooling bedroom scene
And then why watch anyone use the lavatory?
They obviously didn’t know how to burn film
didn’t need to burn time
Call it imagination
Call it intelligence
Call it sanity!
Categories:
mothballs, life, people
Form:
Narrative
Deep funnels gurgling
From abysmal drums rumbling
Dark caves humming gargled songs
Where light silent falls.
Eddies swirling rise like winds
As bubbles bounce: white mothballs
The winds rustle leaves
Strings of sighing violins
The heart swishing, dance the beat
Of lovers laughing
Footfalls by rivers murmuring
Where the mountains’ wood dove wails
Categories:
mothballs, nature
Form:
Choka
Mesh
Of my window screen
In spring
Licked from the inside by our inherited old lady
She is made of bird bones
White whiskers
Wearing her oversized fur coat in the new heat
Pulled from mothballs
Tongue of sandpaper
Scratches and tastes
I don’t know what
Bitter pollen?
Invisible scents of fellow felines
Hunting shrews from under the garden?
Or lion mares of dandelions?
Perhaps
She is merely savoring herself
In the intricate weave of parallel atoms
Who wants a mirror at this age?
Without ears or eyes in her private world
She finds an in between
Alive
On the inside
And from the outside
My ancient mom hisses
None of your business.
Categories:
mothballs, age, cat, endurance, freedom,
Form:
Free verse
Way back in the nineteen fifties
When Charlie grew out of his toys,
He fancied having an active life
So he joined the Teddy Boys.
He wore drainpipe jeans, a black drape coat
And a shirt with a boot lace tie.
With his crepe-soled shoes and slicked back hair
He definitely caught your eye.
It wasn’t unusual to find him
With a flick-knife in his hand, though
This wasn’t quite what he wanted but
He pretended to make a stand.
Young Charlie was more of a lover
With a record of amorous feats,
And rather than hurting people,
He preferred slashing cinema seats.
So when he began seeing Doreen
Spending Friday night on the town,
He took her to the local flea-pit
Where they cheered when the film broke down.
Now Doreen had plans to catch Charlie,
Dressed to kill she just couldn’t fail,
With stiletto heels and flouncy skirts
And her hair in a pony-tail.
Poor Charlie just couldn’t resist her
And finally asked her to wed.
He bought a stylish suit and proper shoes,
He’d grown out of being a Ted.
In marital bliss some time later
He thought of the freedom he’d had,
With his Teddy Boy suit now in mothballs
He felt that life wasn’t too bad.
With Doreen he’d found some contentment
But thoughts whirled around in his brain,
Growing up had left some resentment
And he wished he could be young again.
Categories:
mothballs, humorous, nostalgia,
Form:
Light Verse
Linux Ubuntu
If ya ever tire of Winders,
with its million upgrades,
Virus making Hackers,
fixing yer hard drives, yes in spades,
Can yer expand yer mind a little,
shift the mothballs, yes in waves,
learn a Linux of language,
where the Hackers do not prey,
cos they don't crap in their own nest,
cos pollution aint ok,
and the variations differ,
ole Linux here to stay,
Dual booting Ubuntu and Windows,
and its never really slow,
been a using Linux 4 years,
just thought you'd like to know.
Don Johnson
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bXvsvi8gIfE
Its just like windows without the virus,
but you have helpfiles if you get stuck, online...
Categories:
mothballs, adventure,
Form:
Ballad
Love isn't just a single word or feeling
Said to tickle an ear and leave you reeling
Nor is love abstract and void of care
But what one envisions and does all year
We convey our love by things that we do
When a loved one is hurting we hurt too
Love is conveyed by deeds not merely said
And connects us all with a common thread
Love is a word some find difficult to say
But it leaves an enormous price to pay
Love means when one hurts us, we forgive
Not five years later to bring up and relive
Love sometimes forces on us a long wait
But love never delegates us power to dictate
We don't have to agree with each other to love
For God gave me what I was unworthy of
What's held in your heart your mouth will speak
So before speaking do a mental critique
love is never idle or to be cast in mothballs
In short, I see love as a servant in coveralls
From Brother Jay's morning sermon
Happy Valentines day
Categories:
mothballs, love,
Form:
Couplet
The door to the bookstore creaks complaining
Books for new and old customers
a small bookstore since 1937
I get symptoms of claustrophobia,
mouse droppings and dust
but, definitely has its charm
Then the smell comes and slaps me in the nose
Mothballs, a strange sweet air
The books are not old, they are vintage
The owner is about 80 years,
an apathetic man with glasses
Little by little, the room slowly fills up
Some buddies with 4-wheel walker
overly tight braces and corduroy trousers
When they nod their heads
it even flies dust out of their hair
They should not buy books,
but have a little coffee break
in the bookstore's back room
10/03/2021
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Categories:
mothballs, age, books, humor,
Form:
Free verse
A Visit by the Mother-in-Law
By Elton Camp
My mother-in-law lives in another state
Her annual visits I most intensely hate
For her daughter, I wasn’t good enough
So, from the old crone I get lots of guff
“To Mother you better be nicer this time.
She will regret calling you a ball of slime.”
Unless wife I obey and welcome the grouch,
Then for two weeks, I’ll sleep on the couch
So I did everything that my wife had asked
My welcome of Mom Bea was unsurpassed
I had a vase of flowers waiting in her room
And I was careful as to how dress and groom
I made sure the yard was all mowed and neat
And practiced the best way our guest to greet
Nothing at all must go wrong on this trip
I was determined not to make a single slip
“Come in, Mother Bea, and stay a long while.
Your visits are welcome and make me smile.”
But I will admit that it almost made me gag
To have to talk so sweet to that mean old hag
“Son, I am so glad to learn you feel that way.
I feel ashamed and don’t know what to say.”
I told her that the problems we had had before
I’d see that they never will happen any more
Our four-year-old son from his room came out
To see just what all the friendly talk was about
“Hello there you sweet little dear, Gram is here.
Into this dismal home you do bring such cheer.”
Joey then ran over and climbed up into her lap
Around him, Mother Bea her arms did wrap
Our son looked at me and so loudly he calls
“You’re right, Dad, she smells like mothballs.”
Categories:
mothballs, funnymother, son, me, old,
Form:
Rhyme
The wind blows through the trees,
Casting shadows on the house,
The only sound to be heard,
Is the scratching of a mouse,
A ghostly moan comes from the walls,
The cool air smells of mothballs,
A scream erupts from a child's chest,
Her mother walks in and presses her head to breast,
Hush now my child she says as she strokes her hair,
Then the thunder roars like a bear,
The little girl falls fast asleep,
Her mother lays her down there is not a peep,
Her mother leaves and closes the door,
And the little girl dreams once more.
Categories:
mothballs, care, child, childhood, daughter,
Form:
Ballad
old novel with the author you
cant quite remember.
we can worry about it later
just like in the old days.
now tealeaf stimuli is twice as light in the city.
the somewhat unfriendly cat in the
bookstore on the corner seems disinterested.
watching a woman on the sidewalk
holding a wet paper grocery bag,
her arms wrapped around the bottom.
the bag is falling apart and the clouds are rolling
backwards.
it will be dark soon.
we are falling apart and talking about heading
south into the high desert.
we pass the time by reading paperbacks that have
been soaked in mineral oil for days and
hardened under the sun.
Some call it scripture.
we feel holy and then a little less holy.
your heavy sweater purchased at
a thrift store, the faint smell of mothballs
still lingering on the thick threads.
the cat has taken an interest in
your side pocket pulling with its claws and mouth.
soon the rain will cough up the paperbacks as well,
everything will change.
Categories:
mothballs, allegory, cat, old,
Form:
Ballad
New Zealand's favourite bird is the Tui, also called parson bird for its ruffled white cravat - it is famously noted for various lyrical songs - consisting of
soul tuning notes - intricate melodies or single beats when bereaved of its mate for life, cheeky flaunting flights near heads in joyful play, even the wingbeats are spirit music -
now when gardening i'm subjected to screeches of rubbish trucks - ' eat your silverbeet ' song and this seasons main choice - the electronic car door opener
i mourn the sounds that used to clear my heart - all gardening day long
electronic beeps
bright tui song in mothballs
natures pure revenge
Written 20 June 2018
nb tui = 2 syllables
Categories:
mothballs, bird, song,
Form:
Haibun
It's a cold dark objective fear.
His face loose folds of jowls,
a sagging half squinted eyelid
and a lopsided woeful expression,
that hides cunning manipulation and brutality.
It's a rancid stench of flies
and faecal matter and musty mothballs,
that clings to the throat and nasal passage.
Entering the box white cottage,
one up one down, dark steps into
an eternity of mundane atrocities
and mass genocide of blue bottles.
A frozen winter, but not bone cold,
the neighbours say he starved and froze,
ate soil with his hands,
stripped wood panels from the wall.
His bulky frame denied starvation,
insanity maybe, greed undoubtedly,
as his hands grasped screw driver, plant pot
and bread knife rapidly stabbing,
bludgeoning, punching with frenzied violence
the face of an old woman.
Force and trauma and a wad of cash.
Now three square meals a day,
a warm room and cigarettes.
His lopsided blood hound face stares blankly
from BBC news.
I think of him at night,
walking across the lawn from his house to mine.
I think of him in the barn,
dank, dirty, a lonely space in time.
The darkness of man gapes,
and sits comfortably outside the window.
Categories:
mothballs, dark, fear, house, murder,
Form:
Free verse
Up and wide awake at three AM
some creature in the attic once again.
Running, tapping, chewing on the wood
that can't be good.
I jumped from bed to listen
mad as he-double hockey sticks arisen.
Tapped the ceiling, knocked loud on the walls
the momentary silence was merely stall.
My dog growled and ran along
to question the intruders attempt to belong.
We listened and we waited
sent mothballs thru the crawlspace fated.
The chase was on up in the attic
and the show itself quite dramatic.
Thru the overhang he quick escaped
that spot now securely sealed with wire and duct tape.
Categories:
mothballs, angst, animal, silly,
Form:
Light Verse