Best Ninety One Poems
waiting
with diaper on
for this woman to get up
off the kitchen floor and
stop bleeding while a man
hovers over her with grimace
and clinched fist
waiting
for our first-grade teacher
to stop crying
over the P.A. announcement
that the president
has just been assassinated
in Dallas
waiting
on the spirit of Christmas
to return days after the news
that mother's favorite song "You Send Me"
had just been shot and killed
a few blocks from our home
waiting
in the backseat of a Packard
for the policeman to stop screaming
at my father as urban soldiers
toss fire from their hands
in our neighborhood just outside of Watts
waiting
at LAX for Wilt the Stilt
to come back and finish
signing autographs after
some idiot just called him a freak
waiting
for the bowtie and scowl
to let go of my arm so I
can shake the hand of
the Greatest of All Time
as he starts his comeback
with an exhibition bout
in East Los Angeles
waiting
with eighteen-year-old trembling knees
for that sheriff deputy
to remove his pump action shotgun
from my temple
waiting
in the delivery room
for the wrong woman
to have my child
waiting
at a motel
for the right woman
to find the time
to slip away
waiting
on the side of
the ninety-one freeway
for a motorcade to pass
shortly after the funeral
of a former president
shamed by the Watergate scandal
waiting
and looking
while holding onto
the entry gate at 875 S. Bundy Dr.
for some sign of what really
happened that night
waiting
along with F.E.M.A. and the Red Cross
for the distraught woman
to come with us to safety
days after the Northridge earthquake
leveled her million-dollar home
waiting
at the hospital
for my first grandchild
to be born while her father
who's been convicted of battery
is nowhere to be found
waiting, waiting
seems like I'm always
waiting
A Psalmody of Psalm Ninety One
God is our refuge, He is our shelter
Kept safe from demons are those who’re blessed
Beneath wings of the Almighty that cares
Spared from the snares of unwanted foul quests.
Fear not nightmares or terrors of darkness
Under presence of angels we’re redeemed
Freed from toxic perils that come by day
All being as seen in heavenly dreams.
Our God sees everything below the sun
The wicked face trial before one’s eyes
What goes around comes back around it’s said
Evil ways will always be recognised.
Those who love as the Lord said we all should
Will never become trampled underfoot
By any human man, woman or beast
Daredevils who tried would land up as soot.
Our dear Lord saves those seeking salvation
Call God by His name and you will be found
The shepherd will always find his lost sheep
From that day on one shall be glory bound.
26th September 2021
A Mother’s Love
She rises with the morning sun,
And starts her day out on the run;
When afternoon, the clock strikes one,
Her day has only just begun;
Why even when she’s having fun,
A Mother’s work is never done!
Her love is given one-to-one,
To ev’ry daughter, ev’ry son;
For even when she’s ninety-one,
A Mother’s love shan’t be undone.
Through all her joys, and all her tears,
For all her dreams, and all her fears,
Through all her days, through all the years,
Her children’s hearts, a Mother hears.
Sweet lullabies, and nursery rhymes,
She sings and reads at their bedtimes,
She kisses knees that made tree climbs,
And kisses cheeks a thousand times.
She teaches first what’s right from wrong,
She builds in them a spine that’s strong.
She scolds them when they tell a lie,
Provides strong faith which to rely.
When cupid’s arrow first flies by,
She comforts when things go awry,
She counsels each child not to cry,
But give it one more worthy try.
And when at last from nest they fly,
She gives her bittersweet good-bye.
The bond between them reassures,
A Mother’s love always endures.
And though a Mother’s work ends not,
It’s through her love what she has wrought;
Into this world each child she’s brought;
Each doctor, lawyer, astronaut;
Not ever has one once forgot,
They owe to Mom all that they’ve got!
Thinking back, so long ago
Remembering things, I've done
Always had a place to go
I would walk a country mile
When I was young, it was fun
Now, it would take me awhile
These old legs can't walk no more
I used to walk with my son
In the park or to the store
That was when he lived with me
He moved- that son-of-a-gun
Alone, I feel so lonely
Yet, I'm old, and still alive
I made it to ninety-one
Hmm... how long will I survive
Will I live another day?
No regrets the life I've spun
Only time will tell, they say
Since the 19th century, she stands looking out to sea
A guardian of the sailor, a survivor of tragedy
The Captain lost his pregnant wife and son and five members of his crew
Now she waits just like her sister when a sailor's return is overdue
Her sister stands in Moss since nineteen sixty two
They stand and face each other across the ocean blue
The Dictator, a Norwegian vessel, aground she did run
Nine people died off the shore in eighteen ninety one
The Captain returned to Norway when his healing was done
In Elmwood cemetery he sadly left his wife and son
On thirty seventh street in Virginia Beach the Norwegian Lady Stands
A monument to all who sail and walk on foreign sands
Nobody could take us on a vicarious journey
like the late science fiction writer Ray Bradbury.
He would place his readers into another time and space.
Words flowed onto the pages with style and grace.
Ray would send us on voyages to the stars.
Readers could walk on the sands of Mars.
We could see the future through a man’s tattoos.
There were numerous scenarios for us to choose.
Children were kept company by a robot grandmother.
That was a short story like no other.
Ray took us to a place where books were banned.
We would often wind up in a fascinating land.
Few have accomplished what Ray has done.
He left the living at the age of ninety-one.
His literary works will always be here to read.
Just open a book and see where it will lead.
RIP June 6, 2012
(This does have some internal rhyme)
In the fall of ninety one
a November morn had just begun
as harbor bells rang loud and echoed
all around sad Gloucester town.
Lost within a perfect storm as
ill winds stirred the teaming sea,
never to return to shore,
instead to God's eternity.
The Navy Hymn from St. Anne's swept 'til
harbor's silent shorelines wept as
each tossed flowers to the tide, like
souls they floated - gently gone
while lifted by the prayerful song
and
with last goodbyes inhaled the sea.
Johnny Thunders… Room 37.
John Anthony Genzale JR, a man that did the drugs and booze,
Not only born to live but ultimately born to lose.
Born in fifty two he loved the game of baseball,
But would never cut his hair that was his little league downfall….
That and his bad dad, but Johnny Volume would soon rule..
Along with the Jaywalkers at Quintano High School.
Then in sixty eight he would go to Fillmore East,
At a bar called "Nobody"'"s"on Bleeker Street
He would learn to drink his Bourbon ice so neat.
Then he was a sales clerk at the Da Nazz Leather Shop,
He would meet some future Dolls, then they were the "Actress"'"s."
But it was just a whistle stop..
Renamed Johnny Thunders after a comic book of the same name,
The New York Dolls were formed
His life would never be the same…
Two critically acclaimed Albums
"The New York Dolls" "Too much too soon"
But both commercially void,
Not enough to buy a Coke spoon..
In seventy five the Dolls broke up
Those trash glams all with attitude ,
Even bands today look back
With nothing but hard rock gratitude.
Johnny then formed The Heartbreakers ,released one brilliant LP
Los Angeles Mother F@kers
Know as L.A.M.F.
What an album I do decree…
Though I still love "So Alone"
A solo of such class..
He drifted here and there,
Then it was alas…
He lasted till nineteen ninety one,
His heroin a complete addiction..
But his death it was a mystery
There should have been a murder conviction!
Many rumours surround his death, I do suspect foul play.
St Peters House Hotel, New Orleans, such a great cliché.
Gangster dealers gave him LSD
Ripped off his Methadone supply..
Pretty sure they killed him,
Such a sad goodbye.
His room number was thirty seven,
It was ransacked of all his possessions,
What is known for certain,
Is there has never been no confessions..
"You can"t put your arms around a memory,
Don"t try don"t try..
You"'re just a bastard kid
And you got no name
Cause you"re living with me
We"re one and the same."
Nice one Johnny..
Sadly missed.
There once was an old man from Thomaston
Who said at the young age of ninety-one
Look at that old man try to walk
Walking straddle legged he mocked
One foot in the grave and one slip, he's done
My father said that to me one day
As I was bringing him back to the
Nursing Home after I had carried
Him shopping for the things he
Liked to have one hand at the
Home..He went in at the home
and asked mother, "Do I walk
straddle legged." Mom said,
"I don't think so, why do you
ask?"...
He was born to Joseph and Delia near Galway Bay,
He lived on a farm and there he would stay.
With Oliver, Kitty, Sean, Gertie and Annamae,
And with Maureen, Eugene, Eamon and PJ.
Two brothers died right after they were born,
But it was Vincent that died one fretful morn.
For Tony had heard the Banshee Wail,
If you're Irish you're sure to know the tale.
The years went by quickly and life was just dandy,
For Tony was strong and on the farm he was handy.
But his Auntie Annie called to say "I miss you dear",
Come to America sure there's nothing to fear.
You can hop on a boat as I once did,
You're growing up now and no longer a kid.
You'll no longer have to spend you're days plowing the land,
I will find you work at this hotel so grand.
Your brothers are here that's lucky for you,
And I'm working on Nan and Curley, too!
So off he went to spend the rest of his life,
And there he would meet his beautiful wife.
Together they have a lovely daughter and five fine sons,
They have several grand and great granddaughters and grandsons.
He would make you a pie for a good cup of tea,
Just make sure it didn't taste like "hare's pee".
He would tell stories that filled us all with delight,
Then played his accordion throughout the wee hours of night.
Throughout the years there's been laughter and tears,
But sadly we had to say goodbye after ninety-one years.
You were such a great man, Tony, we all know it's true,
We will miss you dearly and we will always love you.
Nineteen ninety-one, just four years in,
love's first blossoms wilting, with little peace,
and, straining underneath its fragile skin
resentment, like hot magma, sought release.
A revelation reared its ugly head,
something I never knew from years before,
the cracks grew wider, from them anger bled
erupting skyward from it's ugly sore.
Like through the ceasefire in some no-man's land,
where hopeful birdsong soothes amidst the calm
she introduced herself and shook my hand
a warm 'hello', a smile, and I was charmed.
'Love at first sight' I thought was a cliché,
a fairytale for those more heart than brain,
but must be real, for now I felt that way,
infatuated, giddy, free of pain.
In no time we were lovers, things moved fast
from handshakes to bedmates, blink of an eye,
it all seemed meant to be and built to last
as those few breathless days passed quickly by.
But, sadly, things did not turn out that way,
responsibilities dogged every move
This love affair was but a holiday
and doomed to fail, thus circumstances proved.
Unravelled years ago, I hold a thread,
one end of it still tugs within my heart
reminding me of something not quite dead
that stops us both from being far apart.
But one thought often crosses through my mind
is that she doesn't hold the other end,
a truth I hope that I shall never find
which means this broken heart will never mend.
For contest 'An incomplete love story', sponsor Faraz Ajmal
11th July 2018
He was born in Yonkers, just north of New York City.
This man grew up to be funny and witty.
While working in a luncheonette owned by his family,
with the art of patois, Sid displayed proficiency.
As a funny comedian, he made his presence felt.
Sid got his start in upstate New York in the Borscht Belt.
As a saxophonist, his first job was at the Vacationland.
He became an influential member of the hotel’s band.
With the late Imogene Coca, he was a television pioneer.
On Broadway and in movies, Sid would also appear.
However, alcohol and barbiturates nearly destroyed his career.
A recovery brought him back into entertainment’s sphere.
Over the years, many awards and recognitions came his way.
At the age of ninety-one, Sid Caesar passed away.
RIP Sid Caesar
(1922-2014)
I thank both wikipedia.org online encyclopedia and variety.com for information
I obtained to write this poem.
She's ninety-one, she doesn't get
electronic things and such.
She can mess up any device
with just a look or touch.
Yes, things change as years go by
but Mom's not one of those.
We steer her clear of newish things.
That's just the way it goes.
We gave up trying to log her on
to the computer at my house.
A battle of wills, it did ensue
between Mom and the computer mouse.
It was a war she could not win.
Frustration was the name of the day.
The cell phone was our next attempt,
which also failed in a very big way.
Remote control buttons are covered up.
Only the bare minimum can be seen
because when she starts pushing them all
her language becomes obscene.
So, its a basic T.V. and phone for her.
She really doesn't care too much.
She's ninety-one and doesn't get
electronic things and such.
03/10/2016
Fortunately, this family friendly function,
finds me festive and not feisty in my fifties.
Forgive me if I am not the first
and you may have figured out,
that the fact-finding letter "F"
is my favorite letter
of the alphabet.
There are three thousand words
that start with the letter "F"
to which one hundred and ninety-one
are four letter words.
And like most of us,
coming from a foul mouth family,
I'm pretty sure we used
every one of them.
Now this is not football,
you must be full of fiber and feces
if you think I'm going to fumble.
Now! When it comes to women.
My fantastic fantasies and fascination
of the fine figures of the female form.
My favorite fun-loving fiancée
who I met at a Fountain?
was the final finish of a fetish.
Where I use to
find'em fix'em and forget'em.
THE LONGEST DAY
It’s an astronomical fact little-known
That New Year’s Eve nineteen ninety one
Was the longest the record will show.
The sun set in the west at Heathrow
As our plane to Canada took off, filled with zest.
The plane’s speed built up and sun rose again in the west
And it hovered above the horizon – did not deign
To dip till Edmonton, when it set again.
Hogmanay Eve 34 hours long: bliss for a Scotsman.
Over Iceland some guy in a kilt began
To stride the aisles playing a bagpipe low.
High over Greenland the malt began to flow
Freely from the baggage racks in the plane:
The racks are high, the Scots are higher again.
Dinner over Baffin Bay is a formality:
A slight slowing in the rate of alcohol hospitality.
The Italians wake up over Ungava -
It might just as well be Java -
And begin munching their salamis rather than
Have them confiscated by the customs man.
Bagpipes seem to gain in volume
Eight miles up, over Uranium City’s gloom;
And at last, as the speed drops
And the sun sinks behind the Rockies’ tops,
The “Highland Laddie” falls asleep,
And so does his bagpipe. Not a peep.
Plane is filled with blissful silence
As Canadian Hogmanay makes its entrance.