Best Nickle Poems
My earliest recollection was being placed in a Coca Cola cooler in a Barbershop in Virginiatown Ontario. I heard the sound of the Nickle being placed in the coin slot. Then an eager little boy opened the top and peered in with twinkling blue eyes. I wondered which one of us he would choose? His tiny little hand reached towards me and guided me through a metal maze and yanked me out. He popped my top with the opener on the side of the Red machine. I wonder if that is how I got the name "Soda Pop". He held me close to his chest brought me over to his chair and placed me beside a stack of comics. I watched as he jumped up gleefully onto his chair.
He grabbed me with his two little hands and put me up to his mouth. My orange fizziness passed over his lips, onto his tongue and then down his throat. A big toothy smile and an orange coated tongue. I felt his little tummy bursting until a big burp and a giggle gave him relief. Even after my orange had been consumed he seemed to enjoy the texture of my glass as he rotated me in his hands. I remember him turning me upside down and peering at the room through my base. He liked the way I played with the light. When he was done he placed me in a paper bag with his comics to take me home.
To be continued...
"Love Me Or Hate Me" ~ Says the Limerick
I am only five lines written for fun
Mocking someone with foolish words of pun
Love 'em or hate 'em
You praise or condemn
A poetry form some call "hit and run"
Some think of me as inconsequential
To the haughty I am nonessential
It's a thought I refute
And would gladly dispute
Cuz nothing I say is confidential
I read Jan's limericks about Tess Tickle
But did you know Tess spent her last nickle
Buying new underwear
Cause she hadn't a spare
She kept leaking in some sort of trickle
Tess had a good friend with the name of Neve
Cheated by keeping aces up her sleeve
She thought she was smart
Until she got caught
That taught her it doesn't pay to decieve
And then there was the one they called Maisy
Made faces that caused her to look crazy
One day her eye got stuck
And she looked like a duck
So now everyone calls her Miss Daisy
There once was a gal whose name was Mary
Wore wings pretending she was a fairy
Then I swear on my word
She flapped 'em like a bird
And started singing like a canary
Heard them tell about a gal named Sally
Made money hanging out in the alley
But then she got greedy
With those who were seedy
It was curtains in her grand finale
I used to know a chesty lass named Pam
She had to tote them around in a pram
Then had an operation
A booby castration
I heard she now goes by the name of 'Sam'
Did you hear about the one called Yvette
She can't remember and started to fret
It made me want to cry
I can't figure out why
Umm.. umm.. I'm too old and tend to forget
WARNING: The following poem is a figment of the author's imagination and deals with fictional characters.....MEN! ;) (THIS IS FOR FUN, MEN, SO DON'T GO AND GET ALL HUFFY AND PUFFY ON ME!)
Fickle fickle…men are fickle
Get the women in a pickle
Sweet talk sweet talk…how they tickle
Treat a treasure like a nickle
Chat up chat up and then lie
Sugared bites of ego pie
Flirty flirty….brew a storm
Dissipate then like the norm
Riding riding on her wave
Naughty naughty to the grave
Feel up feel up where he can
Make her think that he's a….MAN
Swagger swagger, what a sight!
Thinking he's got dynamite
Tries to see how far he'll get
Up to third base is his bet
Fickle fickle, fizzle….pop
Mess with me, I’ll make you drop!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Never was good at humor! This is as good as it gets with me!
Great dark sky weilding stars
Clouds of light cast blankets
Heaven’s wild midnight brushstroke
Upon the Earth Man lays content
Eye’s wide pools staring
A gaze of ancient mortal questions
He let them free
Thought caged Butterflies
Dance amongst Comet pathways
Fledgling mind adrift
In firmament’s endless depth
Tutor of the blind apprentice gnostic
Eyes perceive yet are fooled
Hands outstretched in Cosmos touch
Vast ceiling of scattered Sun’s smiling
Wink across century space
Dying Fire light winking back
Connections of elemental brotherhood speak
Voice without language
Crossing the Desert without vector
Vespertine prostratus wakes
Back aches from damp grass beds
Earthly wind born sway
Bathed in Moon’s wan light
Dance until the morn’s dawn bringer
Cockerel stirring rousing singers
The Man stands up
Dazed in confusion of lunar radiance
World of colour washing silver shadowed sight
Water to toast the day
A humble thank you to the Night
©David Nickle Read
2014
over the table
I sat waiting to die.
all I can do is look
at a table covered in
newspapers and
collection notices.
I looked deep into the
shine of my nickle plated
gun,took a deep breath.
as life slipped away,
I realized that the clock
struck midnight.
and
I
starved
for death.
WARNING: The following poem is a figment of the author's imagination and deals with fictional characters.....FAITHFUL MEN! ;)
(THIS IS FOR FUN, MEN, SO DON'T GO AND GET ALL HUFFY AND PUFFY ON ME!)
Fickle, fickle…men are fickle
Get the women in a pickle
Sweet talk, sweet talk…how they tickle
Treat a treasure like a nickle
Chat up, chat up, and then lie
Sugared bites of ego pie
Flirty, flirty….brew a storm
Dissipate just like the norm
Riding, riding on her wave
Naughty, naughty to the grave
Feel up, feel up where he can
Make her think that he's a….MAN
Swagger, swagger, what a sight!
Thinks he carries...."dynamite" ;)
Tries to see how far he'll get
Up to third base is his bet
Fickle fickle, fizzle….POP
Mess with me, I’ll make it drop!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
A repost. My Muse is still on holiday in Greece. Can't write for the life of me....but I miss community. So...here it goes...
WARNING: The following poem is a figment of the author's imagination and deals with fictional characters.....WOMEN! ;) (THIS IS FOR FUN, GIRLS, SO DON'T GO AND GET ALL HUFFY AND PUFFY ON ME!)
Fickle Fickle - For Every Man in a Pickle
Fickle fickle…. Broads are fickle
Get a man into a pickle
Sweet talk sweet talk…. Yes they tickle
Treat us lower than a nickle
Chat up chat up does belie
Gives us bites of ego pie
Flirty flirty… grows the storm
Disappears like the norm
Riding riding is her wave
Naughty naughty to her grave
Touch up touch up where she can
Making sure that he’s a man
Swish and sway, what a sight
Thinking she is dynamite
Tries to see how far he’ll go
Gets to third base, she says no
Fickle fickle, fizzle…. Strop
Mess with me, I’ll make you stop.
In Response to Auntie Eileen Ghali
For her Fickle Fickle poem
We cook it ! Feel your tonsils tingle!
Add mayonnaise, lettuce, a pickle.
Lost both tonsils at ten
so can I ask you when
my change comes to more than a nickle?
I searched for a Penny
So I could hear her thoughts
Sadly there weren't any
My heart was left in knots
Perhaps a wooden Nickle
Or maybe a thin dime
Would help me in a pickle
So this girl could be mine
I was determined to pass Buck
For he seemed to have her ear
He possessed that Irish luck
So I cried in my green beer
This girl I wanted to hold
Was enamored with his gold
"Penny for your thoughts"
"Don't accept any wooden Nickles."
"All he had was one thin dime"
"The Buck stops here"
"Luck of the Irish"
"The one who has the Gold gets the girl!"
Avant Garde declarations of flawed misunderstanding
Ethereal hand's star cast thought's scattered materialised being
From under stones crept
To kindle fires of imagination's spawning grounds
Turned over in tumultuous caverns of repressed understanding
Unbound suddenly as spring leaves answer a sun's call from a hundred light years distant
Feeling crosses dread chasms with invisible bridges having no descriptive language to flaw their being
Under stars knowing by being under stars
Become my brothers outside of time's fantasy born gasp
My eyes know you over centuries in microseconds
Depth forgotten I reach out to hold you in my palms
And for a fleeting heartbeat's moment I hold a universe in my arms
Nails scratching a ceiling of light
The earth beneath me rises to a firmament's elemental haven
Drawn to sky alive
Laying inside the space between
Brink of countless worlds
Mirrored on grass by ancient paths
By fire cast by fire's hand
Kalimba tones underline music's word of finger etched peace
White flower in fields of midnight silver
Glowing through memory screaming parallel truths
Searching through countless lifetimes for bridges
A path to close the gap
I found it in the mirror's face
Dark lakes of highland dreams touching skin to a traveling gleam
Still pools on ancient roads holding timeless light
Reached out again for star's caress
Soul communication's shout
You are the bridges
Minds of walking life
Our transience quantified
By wandering stars
©David Nickle Read
2014
I met the old gent as his last nickle was spent
In a seven card game of stud poker
You could see he had skill by the straights he could fill
He never even needed the joker
He lost just the same and said he knew who to blame
He'd had an unwelcome guest since last Fall
Lady Luck had dwelt in his guest house as he dealt
But in Autumn Bad Luck had come to call
He said he ain't won since this Bad Luck had begun
And he tried all he knew to make him leave
Still he stayed in his house just quiet as a mouse
And then laughed at the chaos he could weave
Well, I left him there with the trials that he must bear
And moved on to card games in other towns
Now and then I heard that there had been no new word
'Bout the fate of that gambler's ups and downs
One day if you please in a town they call Notrees
I met him again in a game of draw
He cleaned us all out, left us all with no doubt
He had gotten rid of his only flaw
I said how'd you do it he said nothin' to it
I watched TV until Bad Luck got bored
So my unwelcome guest thought that it would be best
If he moved down the road in his old Ford
2/24/2017
In the pub reading poetry,
marking pages with cigarette papers;
Wandering the voyeur through their dying thoughts.
A Jet sheen Crow perched upon a verse,
shining black stranger in dreams of ink;
They publish the soul’s dance.
Naked hearts beating in the baking solar eclipse,
darkness breathing ancient fire,
searing light from the eye’s glacial halo,
frozen land of a broken gaze;
Torturing those expectant.
He can’t always smile,
love drinks blood from the tap of mercy,
fooling the jester into ringing bells;
Herald of the coming treason.
Naked death breathing life into Winter,
the sap rises,
banishing imagined demons from the human condition.
All for the dawn of a sleeping phantom’s end,
where we worship with a smile,
that which we blindly condemn,
with eyes of frozen fire;
Eternally burning memory.
©David Nickle Read 2015
All Rights Reserved By The Author
big fat greasy cheeseburgers
big and fat
fat and greasy
1/4 lb.
1/2 lb.
1 lb.!
just give it to me good
Come to daddy!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!
Big and cheesey
Fat and greasy
Big and greasy
Fat and cheesey
Cheeseburger!
Bacon?
Yes, I hope it's not taken
Pickle?
Of course, it's just an xtra nickle
Extra cheese?
Are u kidding? Absolutely...please!
Mayo?
not today, i'll have a french fried potato
grill it
broil it
fry it
just let me eat it!
“Never trust your life behind a cheap gun”
- Annie Oakley
Annie, has a heavy heart.
But also a light heart
one that shines in the sun.
and regardless light or dark,
Annie’s bright heart will spark
and spin out a round, whistling like a song being sung.
With only moments notice,
before most prepare to know it
She showcases its essence in one single sentence.
But a statement to render us speechless
Pierced as a whole.
All of us she reaches.
Standing there alone
with her gun.
She splits a playing card at 90 yards
without care.
Plugs a nickle in the middle
flipping through the air,
and with a single shot, puts out a candle flame
without disturbing wax a drop.
The hammer and trigger are stock,
and cherry is the handle.
Handmade, crafted, shaped
like herself, to perform in dust and rain.
Tooled as a saddle and Gold washed in a barrel.
But Annie's gun is a mystery.
And what's more
when she points her heart towards anything
or chooses to use it for our amusement
Her targets are always attained.
Somehow by her grit, grip and will,
we're left in awe, and even a little afraid
of Annie's heart of iron and steel.
Afraid of the way, she owns the stage.
Holds and keeps her gaze on the straight away,
as we ourselves stare down the sight
she'll let fly the first of bullets loaded that day
With five more, soon on the way
“Never trust your life behind a cheap gun”
she'd say.
And each round fired off
takes us back to a younger age.
The image of the dying past, laying to final rest,
The old west
and the way things used to be.
To see those cards split at the neck of the king.
Lit cigarettes gently whisked away
from the lips of her husband, sitting
blindfolded, or asleep
She alone stands with Sitting Bull,
A dying breed.
For us watching those bottles break
Our hearts too, shatter as much as they
having never seen such a scene
as we've seen today
they scatter
with the ashes in the breeze.
skinny children move quickly outliving
the shadow of their slim suicides.
running and skipping they celebrate lent
with
the soles of their feet creating samba
daylight vigil's on every corner.
now the ash of gods presence floats on
the
water through the navel of the city.
the drain pipe priest charge a nickle
for a bottle, over time some called it coca
cola.
but still a dark skinned gutter punk jesus
races
through the broken streets with all the
other
holy youth.
they wear pink and orange flip flop
sandles
annoited to speckled shades of crimson
by
a bleeding grapefruit that gets kicked
through
folded cardboard box goals.
the sun is setting now in the streets of
sao paulo
and in the parks on every bench the old
wait
in their tabernacles of wrinkled days.
They sit quietly to watch the pigeons turn
to gray grail.
With a coronation of lanterns on
their heads in the late evening
they speak parables in such
strange tounges.