Best Newscaster Poems
The asphalt driveway is blackened over by rain
sand bags lie in the corner of the garage in case water creeps in, some sheep scurry in distant fields
Your elephant eyes are locked on the TV; 55 inches of electronic love
I liked lying under the moonlight on summer nights as moths danced towards the patio light I remind myself in melancholy moods, child please don’t cry, every season changes
Your vehicle’s mileage spans out to El Dorado’s grave and back
The snares of your life keep drumming it’s slower now, consistent patters; the TV is staring back at you copper pennies lie in wait beside your remote control, everything has a place with you
If I could tie a rope around your Will I would direct it towards my family, we are hopeful you will see us, and remember tossing your children in the air, serving crepes every Christmas morning and the brick house you lived in with your wife for more than two decades, a pool of tumbling memories without all the injures, it is ok to feel free, to be a part of a living zoo
thunder rumbles past our yellow one-story apartment, somewhere swans sleep unaware of rain
swaying slowly when you stand, I’m starting to realize God balances us all out
cement like air fills my lungs as the newscaster gets soaked by yet another wave
staring blankly, you blink at the angel food cake on the counter and shuffle on, towards the Rio Grande
bones of drowned years clamber past Nevada, Arizona, all the tumble weed states
falling forward we catch ourselves each day, we shade our eyes from the glaring sun, as the dust gathers below the Grand Canyon
you shuffle in and switch the channel, the trumpets settle in my heart as you ask, how did it go today?
This poem is dedicated to Souper Joyce Johnson! “The Greatest Generation” was penned by newscaster Tom Brokaw in 1998 and became a best seller. This generation is defined as people born between 1901 and 1927 who survived the Great Depression and World War II.
The Great Depression
World War II
Multiple epidemics
Assassination of a president
At 80 Joyce picked up her poetic pen
Joining Poetry Soup, way back then
Lifetime of memories and wisdom she shares
Musings from a woman who loves and cares
Surviving life-changing losses
Burying her parents
Losing her beloved husband
And all her siblings
As her century mark approached, a publisher phoned
Seeking to spread the perspectives Joyce owned
“Lifetime Memories in Verse,” a special archive
Joyce’s poems displayed to keep memories alive
History repeats
From past mistakes we learn
Our “Greatest Generation” is disappearing
Tap their wisdom now
*March 9, 2021
For Line Gauthier’s “Poetry as Legacy” Contest
How steep is the slope in front of you
that you see it practically impossible to climb?
How wide is this Ocean
which seem insane to cross over?
Brace up, put your mind together
and just imagine the snow falls in June
and Flowers grow black petals.
Imagine Togo experiences Winter
and Red + Yellow gives white.
Imagine a huge Maize Tree
and a tuber of fresh green Apples.
Imagine Pigs with long wings
and a flock of Goats happily swimming.
Imagine standing under the rain
and not getting wet
Imagine hair grows on the palm
and a Cow walking on its Horn
Imagine February having 31 days
and December, just 28.
Imagine cartoon characters becoming real
and rolling 13 in two 6-sided dice.
Imagine the birth of a fluent German speaking Newborn
to an Arab Mum
after just 10 weeks of gestation.
And a 100km bridge, built with rubber
Imagine an innocent virgin
becoming pregnant with Triplets.
who created the new lives through the internet.
Imagine a Man, getting younger with age
and the cat and mouse peacefully coexisting.
Imagine fire, drying out water when they meet
and pepper becoming sweet while glucose becoming bitter.
Imagine the scent of a perfume smelling from a picture
and a Chest X-ray photo showing the intent of the Heart.
Imagine the best newscaster
as a bad stammerer
and the fastest runner
without Limbs.
Imagine the blind from birth
who's able to differentiate between Colours
and a retrograde existence
where Life starts after Death.
Imagine a Dog as the Master
and man as its pet
or a Camel,
passing through the eye of a needle.
Though impossible,
all can be pictured in the mind
which is the starting point of actualizing all forms of reality.
Since 'never' never exists
and St. Never's day isn't imaginable
your huddle then becomes a mere challenge
and in no time, you'll be at the top of the cliff
as you look down, smile and say
"Difficulty isn't impossibility"
Female Newscaster
Written by: Catherine Reinke
Pretty faces
Boob jobs too
silicone lips
and higher shoes.
***** stars,
contrived
cue cards.
Network news
has gone to fair!
Lying teeth.
Blinding white.
What today
is our plight?
Cleavage low.
Ratings soar.
Cannot let
audience boar.
Murder and terror .
On she reads,
security level
red, orange, yellow.
Day by day
freedoms stolen.
Freedoms lost.
Freedom now
long forgot.
Centerfold women
On CNN,
foxy news and MSN.
Walter contrite
he’s not more.
replaced femme fatal
through news doors.
Buxom beauties.
Youthful cuties.
News once read
by somber heads
now is told
by sexy dames in red.
Seems my husband
to his bed
take those newscasters
he has said
to his bed?
Yes, he said
tight hot bodies
dressed in red.
Give me news
and give it often.
Put Ted Kopple
in his coffin.
Easy chair
a couple of beers
all my news
I want to hear
from pretty faces
boob jobs too
silicone lips
and higher shoes.
The inhumanities of others
brings tears to our eyes
Watching the scenes on the screen
When the newscaster is wanting to cry
Children crying in torment
In pain reaching out for aid
Suffering not in silence
for what price have they paid
We weep together in the rain
Each to their own shower to cry
same prayers, same shame of humanity
Same torment in our eyes
We are tormented because we cant
Useless because we would
Politician we can chivvy
Make peace, if only we could
We weep together in the rain - my Katherine from Wales -by Arthur Vasso
Penned by Seren Roberts
"...Tell me it's true,
we're everything we remember,
tell me memories never fail us, tell me
we take them with us, that I'll take you
with me, and you'll take me...'
--Richard Blanco, "Questioning my Cousin Elena"
Does anyone remember Hans Von Kaltenborn,
or "Moon Glow with Martin," besides me? H. V.,
pioneer radio newscaster, his distinctive brisk
staccato first heard when my father pulled the Lincoln
off the highway under sheltering trees. Rain,
pounding the roof of the car, a small child inside,
the Great War oceans away, and a father,
listening to the reassuring Kaltenborn voice
when all was safe within a car in a rainstorm.
Radio formed us: Dick Martin bringing WWL,
New Orleans, from the ballroom of the Roosevelt
Hotel, to a high school beachside house party--
his intimate modulations and midnight music,
eons before the advent of the big tube. Does
the power of the voice escape you?
Think HITLER.
This was written for sheer fun, months ago!
I did not have the courage to post it then,,,
But I do now…Hope you enjoy this fantasy!
9/30/2023
Now I lay me down to sleep.
I want Rob Schmitt to rub my feet.
I could take care of him, alright.
He’d scream with pleasure in silver starlight.
If I should die, with a smile, before I wake.
Know,he was more delicious than strawberry cake!
Bury me please, next to Johnnie Walker.
He was always with me, such a sexy stalker.
Red, hot and rolling, stud Johnny was he.
I’m truly fed up, with writing about pine trees!!
Prefer a young dude to have a last tango with,
Oh, if only…it would be my heavenly,Rob Schmitt!
*****Rob Schmitt is a newscaster on.Newsmax.com.
Available on PC, iPad or any cellphone.24/7****
After the wind stops blowing
We will pull down the shades
The thunder rumbles past our yellow, one story apartment.
Standing close to the foamy shores
I can hear the newscaster murmur its warnings of another flash flood watch.
I adjust my headphones, picking up a Vogue to pass the time.
Fire, fire around us…
Fire burning from the top of the mountain,
down to the sea surrounded by fire…
Grass, brush, and trees are just glowing ambers…
Fire fighters on the ground while water dropping
helicopter are all around, drawing up water from the
sea, brought back to drop over the hot spots …
Here come the water tankers they are a blessing
between them and the helicopters we should soon see relief…
Such a shame what fire does, and it was that
idiot playing around, like to look at the flame dancing…
Water shred gone homes burnt to the ground
and yet that idiot is still running around…
What justice we should have to put these fools behind
bars, lock them up and throw away the key…
Firestorms are nothing you want to see, and when the
season gets hot and dry who are the nut cases that televise…
Newspaper and newscaster should learn a thing or
two keep there opinions to themselves for all they
do is let those idiots know when prime time to burn…
When property is lost you can rebuild but
when a life is lost they are gone for good…
By Sandra Lea Hoban
©2012
Today is a day I shall always remember
That dreadful, awful eleventh of September,
Driving home listening to the newscaster
Wondering what might be the hereafter,
Thinking about the line that was crossed --
Afraid for our country; mourning the lost,
A day in my life like none I could remember
That dreadful, awful eleventh of September.
Then, horror on the sixth day of January
I shall always remember the terrible spree,
The insurrectionist attack on our capitol
Hard to believe something so lunatical
I feared the ship of state was sinking fast
A group of radical traitors were amassed
At the behest of our defeated president
Minions trying to destroy our government.
Written September 11, 2022
Freudian Slip --- Insight of Lip --- Dane Ann
Gravestone ---Heart- Mark ---Dane Ann
Gall --- Vexing Vixen --- Dane Ann
Happiness --- Bounteous Bliss ---Dane Ann
Hog Sty --- Power Pen --- Dane Ann
Indigent --- Penniless Pauper --- Dane Ann
Insistent --- Relentless Nagging ---Dane Ann
Jerring ---Heartless Heckler --- Dane Ann
Jovial --- Cheery Chirping --- Dane Ann
Sports Nuts --- Crunchy Food, Poetic Mood For All to Read --- Linda-Marie Bariana
Good Vibrations --- Ghostly Groove --- Catie Lindsey
Last Will and Testament --- Dead Bread ---Catie Lindsey
Fine Wine and Spirits --- Wink and Drink ---Catie Lindsey
Agreement --- Words Concurred --- Dane Ann
Argument --- Quite Quarrel --- Dane Ann
Banter --- Chat Wit --- Dane Ann
Care --- Need Heed --- Dane Ann
Conscience --- Scruple Snooper --- Dane Ann
Detective --- Fact Grinder --- Dane Ann
Ducking --- Waddle Quacking --- Dane Ann
Emotional --- Frazzle Dazzled --- Dane Ann
Ship Mate --- Toy Boat --- HG
Gravestone --- Dead Cert. --- Sean Kelly
Broadcaster --- American Female Newscaster --- Sean Kelly
Cold War --- Battle Against Swine Flu ---Sean Kelly
Silicon Valley --- Cleavage, After Breast Enhancement --- Sean Kelly
Hebrew --- Jewish Tea For Men Only --- Sean Kelly
A golden brown wooden fence
Made by the hands of my dad
Trimmed dark green bushes
Leaned amongst the borders
Encompassing the many colors
Bright reds, Dark purples
And mellow yellows
And best of all
A small tree
Able to be seen even
From the window
Of my bedroom
Passerby’s usually commented
“What a beautiful garden”
On a city street, outside a bus stop
Beautiful yards were not common
Hot days while my dad watered the garden
I would sit on the porch
With my twin sister
One day a channel 11 newscaster passed by
Asked my dad what he was doing on this hot day
Said watering the flowers and spending time with his daughters
She asked how old we were
Said we were six
Lady then asked us do you ever say anything at the same time
And we replied no
At the same time
This made the newscaster laugh
Fourteen years later
Still reside on that same city street
Same bus passes up and down
Same passerby’s walk the street
No one admires the garden anymore
Passerby’s use our yard as an ashtray
Maybe because it looks like a graveyard
The golden brown wooden fence is not there
Looking outside my bedroom window
I can no longer see the tree
I can no longer see
Bright reds, Dark purples, and mellow yellows
I am stuck seeing dead grass and cigarette buds
So I planted morning glory flowers
Hoping to bring the beauty that was lost
And bring back the unity and love
This yard showed
This yard didn’t always fit the stereotype
My dad didn’t always fit the stereotype
I didn’t always fit the stereotype
And
Neither did my mom or my sister
GOODBYE MORNING PERSON
Sit up
Stretch
Yawn
Head quite empty
Woozy
No remembered dreams
Before anything else COFFEE!
It’s the cats and me
Squeaky teeth
Sponge bath or shower
Shave
Nothing profound
Just life
Just plain naked
On the avenue (back of my mind) wheels haven’t started
their daily spin
The weather channel (with its mindless music)
A neighborhood feel – what goes on next door in the
WORLD!
Yes! now it begins
It’s a neighborhood thing
Cannot be helped – it starts
An up-and-down-the-block thing
Mentally I’m out the door
There are streets avenues stores a mall
Something is alive out there
The conviction strangely eases
With the first taste I start to function
And function is what it’s all about
ask any newscaster
Realizing this “function” it eases
There is some ridiculous wholeness some sanity
The night? the dream? unreal!
By noon all is GO!
Another drag-ass day
I am this other person this programmed stiff
The morning person is distant
I do not even want to recall that jelly
Some formula has taken hold
has been in the veins all along
Yes! the VEINS!
There are numbers flowing
Problems with no answers
Problems kicked aside
The “ME” has taken over
Unashamed
Fully astrut
Going down the same uniform avenues
Feeling the same guilt same lust
Same unstoppable drive
Goodbye morning person
I’m dancing with an angel
I’m dancing with the devil
The very first day your lips and mine met
We savored the moment, for what came next
Caused a big problem, a big disaster
Bombs falling down, even the newscaster
Had to get a glimpse of beautiful life
Gone wrong, the touch of Cupid and Psyche
I never thought I was not good enough
Even you, my lover, had not enough
You found another lover, but secret
Broke up with her, but still so secret
Only when moving did I find you out
Crying, telling me that all was now out
Happy days are now gone, and so are you
With your new girlfriend, your new girl with you
You meet me at parties, whisk me onto
The dance floor, but I’m not sure our love’s true
I’m dancing with an angel
I’m dancing with the devil
Well, Howdy, Miss Belinda.
I am Rob, Pangie’s hearthrob.
Her TV is tuned to Waco,Texas!
To watch Trump in satisfaction.
That mensch, is who he is!
That’s her next POTUS in action.
Though the Left wants him in traction.
She admires his integrity.
Won’t bend to Woke Satisfaction!
15,000 of all colors in attendance!
We all raise our glasses high.
To America, to have a rebirth of abundance
Best wishes,
Rob, Newscaster
*********************
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3/25/2023