Best Neck Of The Woods Poems
Last July I was going west, looking for my pot of gold. I rode into a sleepy little town, Soup Creek was it's funny name. The dirt street was bare, it was a very hot July day.
I stopped in the saloon to wet my dry throat, when outside gun fire broke out. Sheriff Koplin said, a new hombre just rode into town. He is nothing but trouble, wish he would stay in his neck of the woods.
Mayor Tom said, I will settle this once and for all. As hombre computer drew to take a shot, Mayor Tom whipped out his two guns. You are going down, as the guns filled with ink were unloaded. (bang~bang) Mayor Tom said with a big smile on his face, ink will always win over you hombre computer.
Date Written: 12/21/2022
"Poem of the Day:12/23/2022"
And
1 Place
Who is your best PS poet or poetess Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
Note: The Soup Creek Story Lives On.
Through charcoal ash covered sands of time in history September 11th, 2001 we'll never forget
Brave men and women quick to help without thoughts of regret
So many watched on t.v, faces streaming with tears
Some prayed like crazy for loved ones hoping no one would confirm their greatest fears
First tower struck, struck fear in our hearts
Still, communities held together while some worlds felt they were falling apart
Thought to be an accidental fluke was the first 767 that crashed
Approximately 18 minutes later as her twin tower was struck it was clear an attack was being lashed
Foundation of buildings built strong to last
Still couldn't withstand heat from the jet fuel among impact of the blast
Brave men and women worked hard to evacuate and do what they could
Meanwhile, there was trouble at the Pentagon in their neck of the woods
News came that among the World Trade Center the Pentagon was also hit
People collapsed as standing structures did to silently prey where they sit
Yet, another plane crashed in a Pennsylvania field
Passengers aboard didn't make it but died as heroes with their battle with terrorists they didn't stop or yield
Where were you on this devastating day?
Where ever it was I hope you were among others who did pray
The world is still turning
For loved ones lost, some are still yearning
Permanent smokey images sketched of falling debri and structures burning
Lingering thoughts have hearts and stomachs still churning
Nothing could have prepared anyone for the destruction and heartache to come with those four flights
Light a candle for lost innocent brave souls, heroes, and survivors on this night
… well I had a hell of a ride
won’t go to heaven but paradise needs fire
goods innings they say
but I am more of a Rugby man
plenty of tackles tries and drop goals
I sought resolve in defeat
a few yellows but not once a red card
never understood why it is called sin bin
and wore my jersey with pride
now it’s the corpse dress
innocent and bloody
at the same time
never immaculate but
high quality fabric
some of my battles were silent
no major wars in my neck of the woods
a few forests burning and now I join the fertile soil
I was conceived into this life
as I want to leave it
with fun merriment and passion
no medals in my urn
a few achievements
five children to my name
a wonderful wife who shared my journey
the reaper is not as grim as could be
no pain a last breath exhaled
nothing more to say
than I love you
who is to know I might see you
at the other side of somewhere
I would not change a thing if I could
because you who mattered most
gave me the honour to be loved
my seeds are sown
the harvest in store
sandalwood torch handed over
the party may start
as soon as my ashes have flown
into the unknown certainty of infinite essence …
24th April 2021
Most times, there was just the three of us Most times, we would escape without a fuss
It was a 'Back of the Bus' kind of experience Actually, it was worse, because there was 'no Bus'
It's like this: In my neck of the woods, there was a big PLAYGROUND, but one built just for 'Whites Only', and
we were Black. It wasn't that we didn't know, nor that we couldn't read. It's just that we wanted to PLAY, and
did not really care about anything else. We knew that if we were caught, the three of us would have to 'kick up dust',
because someone would run us off. That PLAYGROUND was equipped with the strongest swings, merry-go-round, and sliding board.
I tell you, kids were born to PLAY, and when that time came, and the coast was clear, fear of racism disappeared. In the minds
and hearts of Dennis, Johnnie, and myself, the 'spirit of PLAY' appeared and we, like gangbusters, rushed to the great forbidden PLAYGROUND.
Growing up in The South during the 50's was a bitter-sweet experience; but today, it's a little sour, but mostly a very sweet memory.
061321PSCtest, Playground, Shreya LN. 1P
Please take a vacation
to our neck of the woods.
Perhaps you’ll move here
and lose your worldy goods.
The tsunami like waves
over your body will wash.
Likely to submerge a carcass
after drowning. Oh gosh!
The solar eclipse makes for
one dark and ominous day.
Historically made people get
on their knees and pray.
The lava flow will turn
your body into a cinder.
Whatever’s in its’ way
burns like a match and tinder.
So if you’re ever thinking
of pushing God’s raith.
A visit here will most likely
test inherent “BLIND FAITH.”
*FOR BLIND FAITH CONTEST
Bouts of lightning flashes,swirls
And lightens up the pitch, black night
Of our neck of the woods
Tailgated by stealthy footsteps
Of growling, grunting, moaning and roaring thunder,
As in gnashing and grinding of canine
As rain, like beads of sweat, acne and goose pimples
Break out on my forehead and entire body,
Sprouting like yam tendrils from the earth;
meandering as water in rain gutter
From a million hair follicles,
Teasing my entire body
And finally docking by hook or crook
Like a boat at it's embedded tributary
Between my negritude toes
I google in consternation, bewilderment
At your obstinate attempt
As pestle on bits of grain in motar
To pound a defiant, renegade earth
Back against the wall in rope-a-dope
To submission and surrender
Powerful strokes of koboko whips
Descending from heaven
As plague upon pharaoh and his kinsmen,
Drumming endlessly on thatch roofs
And corrugated iron roofs alike
Concocting rhythms more intoxicating
And damning than heavy metal music
Images of African women
Resiliently scurrying, shuffling,
Between thatch huts and drooling rain;
Scuttling to retrieve rain water in pails
And ebony children
Drenched in rain like weather beaten bats
Savoring every drop from the whinning sky
Rain,
I yearn for your spirit
But dread your fiery, fury,
Flash and flood
Come rain, soak me in your mist;
Drape me in your dew and moisture
Rain,
Your ghost evokes succor and misery!
Once upon a time there lived a very small caterpillar. She was quite shy, meek, and timid of small crowds. She would even go out of her way to avoid confrontation with the other insects until one very important day. One day she saw danger coming to her caterpillar environment and so she had to go out on a limb in order to get the attention of all the other insects. She had to make her presence known and forget all about her shyness. She even had to dress a little bit differently and carry a different tune in her heart. She had to help the rest of the caterpillars see that there was true danger on the horizon. She needed to show them what the future would bring.
A certain amount of time had passed and small tragedies began to happen in her neck of the woods. The branches of her tree began to shake and the apples all began falling from the trees. She tried to warn everyone up until this point in time, but no one would pay attention to her. Now her popularity grew and half the insect population came to hang out on her branch of the tree. She could not rest day or night. She was barraged with requests to speak to the other insects.
Soon enough the weather changed and the leaves began to fall. It was now autumn time and a mighty gust of wind came and took them all up. Up, up, and away to a mightier tree than they were perched on before. It was the mightiest oak tree of all. It made the tree they were previously perched on look like a small sapling. Once they arrived atop the new tree their entire existence began to change. They were now safe. They had solid shelter. They also had a view like none other.
What is the moral of this story you might ask? The moral of this story is that it takes a small meek caterpillar to accomplish great things! It also takes a brave caterpillar to go out on a limb to ensure the safety of the rest of the community. And thirdly, if you want to do something mighty for your community you must imagine yourself carrying out the task even before the opportunity presents itself.
Jeremiah 17:7 But blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD, whose confidence is in him.
How 'Bout Stoichiometry For A Conversational Hook?
Nary a clue exists about
the relationship between
relative quantities of substances
taking part in a clean
(non GMO contaminated)
gluten free reaction,
or forming a mean
compound, typically a ratio
of whole integers umpteen
place holders long proudly,
(albeit microscopically)
swaggering analogous
to a prideful
home coming queen
walking with her beau
appearing much older looking
than a latte (drinking) teen,
the third word up above, (affright
full looking, isle
lid lashing sorely,
trying, torquing, and
testing vision, i.e. eye sight),
where with insight
red left to right
across conventionally,
sans persons write
ting, and/or read
ding English, who might
live within neck of the woods,
how zing this knight,
where the whirled wide webbing
haint so bright
this smart aleck (comprised
fancy title), excite
ting immediate uptight
reaction came to "light"
just in the nick of time
to spur a sprite
lee chary reader to take
pro nouns hubble flight
(at what the ĵ** -
in reference quite
understandably to multi
syllable chemical airtight
romance masquerade),
this barred bard did write
unfamiliar word, which undoubtedly
triggered consternation,
and fierce urge to bite
and/ or sentence this "FAKE" cur,
who whiz unable to height
ten interest toward me senseless
poetics with supreme delight.
Let me tell you a story...
It has not happened often in our neck of the woods;
I can remember only one time we've had snow on Easter.
The Ohio River had flooded earlier
that March of 1964
causing many disruptions in our lives.
Our town had a floodwall which protected
its low-lying residences from damage;
but my aging grandmother had to evacuate her area
and come to our home ten miles north.
This flood was second only (in her lifetime)
to the disastrous cost and destruction
triggered by a 1937 deluge.
Her visit was haunted by the memory of
severe damage to their home and business
twenty-seven years earlier
during the worst flood ever on the Ohio.
She worried the whole time - re-telling stories
of how folks had taken sick with scarlet fever and pneumonia.
How they had to stay with higher-ground relatives
and the back-breaking clean-up after the water receded.
They had just bought a new square grand piano.
She told of how they put ropes under the
legs and hoisted up it to the ceiling to
protect it from the water damage.
This was the first time I ever remember
her spending any time away from her home.
She and my grandpa ran a small grocery store
and made their mark in the community
by also selling homemade ice cream.
Just prior to the era of swirling soft-serve,
Tom's Ice Cream was known for miles around.
When grandma finally returned to her home,
the damage was more than her eighty-five years could bear.
My German-immigrant granny died on Good Friday
and was buried on the following Sunday, March 29, 1964.
I remember well, we had a light dusting of snow that Easter,
a kind of heavenly eulogy
marking her entrance
to eternity.
April 22, 2022
Sponsor Constance La France
Contest Name Form N - Narrative - New Poems
I chose a family theme
Hello. My name is Spring and I make an appearance every year.
People have often made comments of me like, 'Spring is in the air'.
For Daylight Saving Time, many will say 'Fall back and Spring forward'.
Well, they can say that, but sometimes I am early and other times late.
Sometimes, Old Man Winter hangs around too long, taking up my 'air space'.
And sometimes, I can't wait to 'Spring forward', attempting to push him aside.
That's right my friend, there is more going on up there than meets the eye.
And when cold clashes with heat, especially in my season, there's always
trouble in the sky. And usually, when there's trouble in the sky, it's not long before there's trouble on the ground. I might show up before I am officially
due or I may come after I'm due. It's another way of saying that I might be in the air but not on the ground in your neck of the woods. I may be in the air, but you do not see, hear, or even feel me. You take this winter of 2019 for example. I don't rightly know what's going on out here, and I don't know how long Mr. Winter is going to last, but things are definitely much different.
Anyway, I want to say that each of us seasons has to show up and do our job, and I'm hoping that, as you might be also, Mr. Winter does not overstay or infringe upon my responsibilities. I have to show up on time to restore life, create beauty, and get things growing again. I can't do that if Mr. Winter wears out his welcome, and it is absolutely unthinkable to try pushing him around because he's much stronger than I. So whereas I might be in the air, I might also be there cold and covered in snow, just waiting my turn.
03052019PoSoupContest, Spring Is In The Air, Emile Pinet
Yesterday the temperature was 111 degrees in my neck of the woods, and today is much like yesterday except for a degree or two on the down. Don't we just love those weak cooling trends? The forecast promises a week's supply of 100 plus days in secession. This is the first major heat wave of Mr. Summer, and Mr. AC reluctantly went on this morning in the 9 O'clock hour. Mr. AC looked at me questionably and said, "Are you sure about this?" I said to him, "Of course I am indeed sure about that and I'm counting on you to faithfully execute your God-given duty of keeping us cool".
Mr. Summer never ceases to live up to his name, often bringing massive wild fires and lots of pain. Man-made cooling and few if any power shortages are what I'm praying for and expecting until Mr. Autumn arrives.
Mr. Autumn and Miss Spring are two of my favorite friends, and every year I look forward to them. Being very aware of Mr. Summer's actions, Mr. Autumn is pleading for some relief, but is patiently waiting his own season. Mr. Autumn promises faithful delta breezes cruising through the central valley like a luxury ocean liner docking port to port. He will bring color filled leaves bathed in beauty, falling from the trees like snow flakes in Mr. Winter 's world.
Mr. Autumn speaks to us with the spirit of gratitude in the language of harvest, of reaping, and the scales of balance. He bridges the gap of hot and cold, rendering solace to our souls. Mr. Autumn knows no greed. He speaks the language of a feeder. He's a giver and not a taker. He's indeed a God send.
081620PSCtest, Serenity Awakened, Regina McIntosh
No matter unseasonably
blustery March like weather
prevails across my neck of the woods
(Southeastern Montgomery County, Pennsylvania)
and across the main body
of these United States of America
particularly original Thirteen Colonies
global warming alive and well
and promises to return
with a vengeance
after station identification.
Find out pertinent ice age accouterments;
gear up as soon as possible
with suitable and necessary arctic trappings
by accessing without delay
https://icetrek.com/equipment-guide.
Researchers used data on Earth's orbit
to find the historical warm
interglacial period that looks
most like the current one
and predicted that the next ice age
would usually begin within 1,500 years.
Now back to regularly scheduled program
donned and trumpeted as poetic blurb.
Incumbent onus warrants immediate action
to stem tide of global warming
or erect breakers to thwart dire crisis,
cuz figurative and literal tsunami
in the offing gathering strength.
Plethora of humans (think overpopulation)
directly linkedin to planet Earth dire strait
re: environmental catastrophe, née debacle
teeters along brink tipping point inevitably
pitching civilization headlong into oblivion
*****sapiens (minus those living off grid)
admirably self sufficient unto themselves,
perhaps ecological intentional community
while yours truly, one guilt ridden wordsmith
laments impacting minimal carbon footprint
(courtesy these thankful little feet size nine+)
nonetheless psychological torment wracks
lovely bones garden variety/generic human
specifically comprising complex edifice me
Matthew Scott Harris riven with loathsome
abomination, constipation, indignation, et al
mustered, tethered, yoked into capitalistic,
commercialistic, consumeristic ditto et alia
versus altruistic holistic, simplistic again re:
call synonymous words regarding contrast
between belching, exhausting, and polluting
(naming three adjectives describing impact
predominantly nsync with prophetic albeit,
profit oriented profligate, profane paradigm
unleashing immense global carbon emissions.
(CONTINUED)
THEN ONE DAY THE KINGDOM REALIZED THE LIES OF THE SCORPION KING
IT WAS ALMOST TOO LATE AS THE LIVES OF MILLIONS WERE BEING
DESTROYED
HE STOMPED HIS GNARLY FEET AND SNORTED A LOUD SNORT
“SURELY I WILL WIN THIS BATTLE!” HE THOUGHT TO HIS LONELY SELF
THEN THE EARTHWORM CAME BACK TO SAVE THE DAY!
HE ARRIVED WITH A MILLION OTHER WORMS
HE DEVISED A SYSTEM OF TUNNELS AND CAVERNS BENEATH THE GROUND
AND THEN THE INSECT KINGDOM WAS ALLOWED TO ESCAPE
THEY BURROWED AND THEY BURROWED AND THEY BURROWED
UNTIL THEY ALL REACHED THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD
THIS WAS A LAND OF PROMISE AND FREEDOM
A LAND WHERE LOVE RULED THE DAY
IF YOU EVER HEAR OF A SCORPION KING IN YOUR NECK OF THE WOODS
SIMPLY HUNT HIM DOWN AND SMASH HIM WITH YOUR FEET!
HE IS THE EXACT REPLICA OF SATAN AND HIS MINIONS
HE IS THE LOWEST LOW LIFE AROUND…
HE IS BENEATH OUR FEET!
JUST USING A LITTLE METAPHOR TO EXPLAIN THE PREDICAMENT THE EARTH
IS IN AT THIS TIME. I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS LITTLE FABLE.
GOD BLESS THE EARTH! GOD BLESS THE EARTHWORMS TOO!
8-20-14
Full moon in the sky, curse of the werewolf on the rise
And the poison runs through his veins and then
The man becomes the beast once again...
FULL MOON OVER WEREWOLF going in for the kill
Tearing through the mountains and hills, on the heels
Of his next bloody meal, all the stories you've heard
Are true, so please don't go out tonight if you don't
Have to if you value your life 'cuz there is a FULL
MOON OVER A WEREWOLF tonight...
And across the country side you can hear the
Tormented howling, let that be a warning for the
Curse of the werewolf can happen to almost anyone
In any neck of the woods, I sure would hate to
See it happen to you...
Evil comes in many forms and this one is the Devil's
Pet, FULL MOON OVER WEREWOLF hungry and
Starving to death...
Full moon in the sky, curse of the werewolf on the
Rise!
be it london, nyc, paris or
your own neck of the woods
paved with the memories of
many before (whilst many will follow after you),
a private jaunt
just when it begins to come down
(not cats & dogs yet
but that spit rain that reminds you that the storm just might be
coming),
can allow the mind to wander &
as the pavement starts to take a pounding,
you can finally appreciate the surroundings---
the crowds scurrying, the puddles forming &
the umbrellas painting a nylon sheath o’er our heads---
the graying of the cityscape makes for
emotional evenings that illuminate feelings that might have been
hidden in the shadows of the sun,
as the exodus from the parks & the streets
sends people flocking to the restaurants, the cafés & the movie theatres,
so that together
they can bask in the glory of
what those festering in sunny california or heatstroke prone miami
may never encounter quite the same.