Best Nervy Poems
Elections are less than a week away
And all the candidates have something to say.
With nervy tenure the ads were on the wing
Tossing the dirt as far and as much as they could fling.
When the signs are all up with their names posted there
I always say..."Voter, Beware!"
It's not their programs that they'll try to move
But the largess in their pockets that they'll try to improve.
I won't say I'm not cynical about election day
I work as a judge during that crazed fray.
Candidates all quote Washington, Jefferson, and Lincoln for sure
It would be better for us, if they knew who they were!
Nervy quiz night fun,
I've farted so I'll finish,
Stop at nearby Gents.
Looking back, so long ago
Comes recollections of an Airforce Show
Cathy and I were scheduled to sing
entertain Service Men, that was our thing
Out in the crowd of a thousand or more
One guy kept staring, a trait I abhor
Soon we wound up, under heavy applause
nervy guy followed, WHY? 'Just because!'
"Judy, I need you to sing in my band!"
"I need your number", then stuck out his hand
Well......Music is big in New Orleans
plus the former jerk was upsetting my dreams
Who knows when or where we both tumbled?
but it's been 52 years without a fumble!
1/28/16
contest - In Love
Cathy/Judy Singing Keesler Airforce Base '59
Oh to the whoa, Honey, today I saw a trio of funny!
Walking the street, my blink did many times repeat,
mercy be, I did see three furry cats wearing hats.
One cat was quite curvy, two chunky, but sturdy.
Curvy was all a-curtsy in a flat, wacked, black hat
that on top popped a nervy, floppy drunk skunk.
I don't think nervy knew or gave skunk any thunk.
One of the chunky cats was pure funky to look at
for his hat seemed to have been picked at
like a muskrat laid splayed on a slat from train splat.
The third in the herd on that quirky street journey
was quite the brat-cat, a tweet putting on a show.
On this cat’s head sat, to my dread, a wee placemat
that was threaded in a somewhat hazmat format.
So, my honey-bunny, not for love or for money
could I scat catalog three felines in asinine hats,
but I worked at chit-chat with the quirky cats
and was agog to learn through our dialogue
that their names were Dog, Frog and Hog!
Now, let's go eat fishes to stretch our britches.
We bear bunnies must avoid tight pant glitches..
Confidently
The door swings open, to the furthest reach of its hinges
Air set alight by her presence, the crowd is drawn
Swinging her arms without a care, they are boundless
With steps that echo, evidently faultless and proud
Cutting swiftly through the waves, the masses part instinctively
The vague war cry dominates, even when it doesn't connect
Refusing to settle, for any lesser impact
For she will march triumphantly, through the shackled masks
Comparable to puppets, they are but ghosts in a machine
Hesitantly
The hinges part way, as the door creeps into the room
Conforming to the heard, with a silence that shall not falter
Arms rigid and cutting through the air, he is curbed and confined
With a muted pigeon's step, evidently nervy and fitful
Hit by the torrent, subjected to an eternity of abrasion
Voices resonate and surround, but this one stays muted
Venomous and yet withdrawn, he refrains from making an impact
For he will trudge regrettably, through the unending exchange
Comparable to puppeteers, the others seem confident and free
Seated in a corner to my left
Were travellers who appeared to be deaf
I knew not who these men were
And their purpose I have no true care
Slung over his shoulder, one rose to aim
At the conductor amassing her claim
Tut-tut! Bullets marched, making peace with her neck
In desperate haste, Les masses went berserk!
With my mind acquiese and body nervy
The prospects ahead were quite scary
Two more to the roof...tout l'argenterie clattered
An untimely error by my fidgety created
In the quiet of my carrel, three breaths from sight
A sheer bystander in another man's malice
Scribbling my death song away from the fright
To recount, mon amour why we will never have Paris
But before the end of this lengthily horror and me
In merest simplicity and pitiful hope
My dearest Naina, should this get to thee
I pray the heavenlies will make us a new home
---------------------------
Inspiration: French train shooting of August 2015
& The spur of Naina's dare ??
Xerox copier sounds raise my eyebrows
wondering if he’s photographing unclad organs
like another time?
Beware zealous dismay from your justifiably
Quickly vacating nervy, kinky gentlemen!
written November 5, 2021
for "Alphabet Soup" poetry contest
sponsored by William Kekaula
Hear O maiden, on whom desire springs forth
It brews mine soul, chiming taste after port
Have thou detour, pursuit never will cease
Inside dungeon, dwells memoirs begging peace.
Not once does sole eddy whispers’ depart
Birds dance at lightning’s amazing glory,
Nervy morose obeyed deadly loch art
Baffle tongue shields the shame of thath fury.
Autumn for willow vale, bright morning frost
Exalts unto thy blossom: chilled breeze toss.
Adieu for day, thwack wilt kindle cost,
Extreme snide flits; Dank! Flout insolent loss.
Once again, thorn manifest lover’s hope
Outre’ wish from her behest painful pop.
So which is the more valuable,
Our good friends or our lovers?
And just where does the difference lie,
In truth or under covers?
When waves of darkness swamp your boat
And you are feeling lonely,
Is clarity or warmth preferred
Or do you crave life only?
When tears fall in torrential burst
And hope seems mere placebo,
Do you recall God’s promises?
(Dare to expect a rainbow?)
To peel life’s onion also tears
Our eyes, though understanding
Can sometimes show the heart of things
And humbles our demanding.
And sex and sacrifice there too,
A multi-layered model,
With service as a binding glue,
Precursors all to waddle. (1)
Is friendship then the heart of love
Or is that topsy-turvy
And love the heart of friendship born?
Disputing God quite nervy. (2)
And does it matter which is true,
What puts you through your paces?
A simple answer to our quest,
One coin with different faces.
Brian Johnston
March 11,2015
Poet's Notes:
(1) I am using the word waddle here as an indication of a child just learning to walk, an unsteady gait that reminds us how immature the human race really is emotionally.
(2) When the Bible says that God Himself is Love, one could assume that this gives Love a higher status than friendship, but I question that idea in this poem, though I am not sure myself of the answer. Still I stubbornly cling to the idea that true Love and true Friendship may in fact be indistinguishable from one another.
The TCM channel caught my eye
playing movies termed "film noir"
intriguing movies where someone lies
and theres a body lying on the floor,
The old black and white movie draws me in
with Bogie and Bacall or Stanwyck and MacMurray
murder mysteries with shadows and grins
where the villain is calculating and very nervy,
A love triangle where three is a crowd
the villains conscience is put on hold
where my rapt attention becomes aroused
seeing the poor victim lying lifeless and cold,
I want to scream watch out they have a gun!
as I'm transported into the movie scene
feeling like I should get up and run
helping the naive victim out of their bad dream,
Its always too late as I can't realistically help
but I know that the bad guy will eventually get caught
with a detective or third party gaining facts that will melt
the "amnesiac" villains story they haven't yet bought,
The villain sometimes ends up dying too
or sometimes getting "cuffed" going into jail
either way these films make me want to chew
not only on my popcorn but on my nails...
6-27-17
Dedicated to Kyle, my son ... my smile
I recall many unique meals of special appeal
but one dinner replays on a fav memory reel
that I shall never forfeit or agree to forget.
This meal was years ago yet still remains clear.
I will not err as I share about this meal so dear:
1. One box of complete HELPER contents
2. Two six-ounce cans of tuna that to item one are lent
3. One can of lima beans as chosen by ingredient number four
4. One eight-year-old son excited for cooking fun
Once ingredients were gathered and patience near battered
from repeatedly explaining all preparations while choking
frustrations at ingredient four's refusal to voice them over
and over for maternal perusal, it was time to pretend with
a bent peace of mind that cooking could begin. I know,
because this is when four said with nervy ease, 'Out the
door until I'm ready to serve. Please.'
While waiting, cardiacs were avoided so dinner wasn't aborted
before four, smiling grand, served the tray held in his hands.
All dismay was forced to abate while viewing the plate.
Four's enthusiasm should not be parent zapped
just because he served unknown brown and red crap.
A smile was forced as he explained that he spiced it up
by adding his own creatively thought up stuff,
Chocolate Sheen Beans and Cinnamon Bazooka Tuna.
... CayCay
July 31, 2019
The Unlocked Creaky Gate
The giant iron gate creaked
At the touch of my feverish hands.
Without permission
I unbolted the unlocked gate.
Sweaty forehead, numb hands,
Iced feet, my stomach tightened,
The palpitation of the heart
Grew loud and clear
Like a death knell echoing.
Strange isn't it?
Dragging my frozen torso
I walked on the grey cobbled pathway
Quickly turning round the shroudy hedge way,
Wondering what drew me here?
Trespassing into unguarded private property
Was not my forte.
De routing beyond the boundary of time,
Especially when I was hard pressed
With the temporal affairs,
Made me more nervy and jittery.
Which lesson of life was ahead
Before the daylight shut out of my eyes?
An invisible hand held my pain awhile.
The heart went back to its pocket,
Calmness transcended over the nerves,
The blood uncurled till the body warmed.
In a flash, without the blink of an eye,
Both hands lifted me off my herculean feet-
Since when had I become so light?-
Whispering,' I have your missing piece of heart'.
December20, 2015
Contest: Any Poem
Sponsor : Broken Wings
What this contagious smudge?
Spreading in their walk of life
With that fondness on its look
And behaving in us too august
From its stockpile and reserves
As everyone keeps impatient
And nervy well at his seconds
A mutual support it's to bring
Metrics at the edge showing up
Definitive to blend irregularities.
A beautiful painting to figure on?
Fancy vignettes out the color wheel
The artistry steadfast to the dogs
Not suspicious by its wall bricks
By most minors well foreseeable
Shrinking the grid lines as young
Such a thirst needing no drink
Hungry! Enthusiastic to starve
Canvas tensed up for buildings
Their thoughts then getting stiff.
How the streams match a channel?
Probably an invention off the orbit
Once in a while without likely set up
Soft scales splitting her shoulders
Unto offsprings of a foreshadow
Which are likely to be fully grieved
Creating gradient on last designs
So as to weaken no nail stepped in
Grounded fruits rising to their trees
Plenty of happiness everyone needs.
Tinsel, Tinsel
Fun is the principal
Sparkle gold
On show
The best form of fun
I and thou cat does know
When it's cold outside with bitter snow
You give my cat
An elegant golden attire
It mingles well
With her coat of silky fire
Bringing to throne
Evermore
Her furious, playful desire
So much wound
Crawling along at speed
With a belly to the ground
Causes, the rest to look and moan
What a whale of a groan
Bombarding with heads
While leaping, catching threads
Dust of golden tinsel
Upon the rug it sheds
So I
Shall vacuum up this mess
Then, with humor
Watch thy playful kitties quiver
And shake thy nervy, eager legs
With such laughter
What's thy need for meds?
Written by Sarah Linklater
15/04/15
Swimming in mire of memory,
Searching the fish of forgetfulness,
Those are not the good days;
Nervous eyes will get attacked,
Leaving residue of a small heart,
Beat the soft cheeks like egg;
Hands smack the sensitive back,
Infernal, Thrashed till tears,
Suspense of demonic destruction,
Climax of nervy showers,
Bringing noises of home to job,
Ruthlessly pulling off frustrations;
Child became a punching bag;
Explanation of sparing the rod,
Rooms; never to go torture spaces,
Chiron of Greece will feel ashamed;
His passions going for putrefaction,
Witches with too many potions;
Heating the young blood for evil;
Then go home riding on brooms,
Satisfied without such education;
Sweated a lot digging deep;
A metallic coffin from hell,
Burying the days of horror,
Don’t exhume those days.