Best Not Even Poems
A musical throng of 400,000 strong invaded a dairy farm in New York in 1969,
which set fire to the 70’s; but there was no chance of me being there;
I was a good girl, 17 years young; sheltered, not knowing about the real world.
Working in a grocery store 28 hours a week, while
attending my senior year of high school, in my home town of Chariton, Iowa.
There were gang-inspired movies of sheer horror and terror out about this time.
I did not see any except Billy Jack, and the Glory Stompers.
Both traumatized me so hard, I am still terrified of them.
I was making macramé planters, Modge Podge boxes, and latch hook rugs if I could
Get the money; the boxes were expensive.
Some people were pretend hippies, wearing long hair. I grew my hair long
For my yearbook photo, but then was sad because it had looked lots better short.
By 1971, I was married, after being forced to view myself as an old maid
By my peers who had all wed a month out of high school.
I was wearing a large, black, bushy afro, and thought of myself as liberated.
Not even close, honey, the Equal Rights Amendment did not even pass.
By ’74 I had two babies; I remember getting a flat tummy after
childbirth and being insanely unhappy that the new style was maternity-looking tops.
Who made THAT decision?
I was still wearing the hip-hugging bell bottom pants now, but without the wide belt.
Mary Tyler Moore was on TV, shocking everyone with disbelief that a single woman could
Make it on her own, without man, or marriage.
“My Three Sons” and “The Brady Bunch” had been startling pushed out of the way by “All in the Family.”
I had never known the word ‘bigot before’, I’m not sure I ever wanted to.
By ’79 I had my third baby, was living in a large house in Des Moines, Iowa, and was a Girl Scout Troop Leader.
TPS..... PLEASE HELP ME GET BACK ALL MY POEMS.
Some people suffer a lot and some people suffer hardly at all
Some appreciate what they got some wanting what they saw
Why then the difference, and how fair could that possibly be
The answer being too immense for us to even be able to see
Some will never understand and yet others see right away
Some don't see God's Hand while others feel a need to pray
But how could this continue to be and how did it get this way
Perhaps you might not agree but there's a greater power at play
For those who suffer now eternal life will be so much different
And all that daily continual strife all that stuff that Satan sent
You will not hunger anymore but come to understand all things
Oh what the Lord has in store and such the Joy His Glory brings
Comparing eternity to a hundred years, it becomes less and less
In those tears it was He, standing by you the whole entire mess
So small is that hundred years, so tiny now you can't even see
The reason you still have fears is because today you are not free
Matthew 7 :13-14
Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.
I look through old pictures
Just to see a person
I genuinely used to be
Before everyone changed me
I'm not even me anymore
I turned into someone else
Somebody as fake as can be
I tried to do what society told me to
And it's not making me happy
I tried to be someone else
Not an "outcast"
But I'm not even me
Don't give in
Be who you want to be
Or you'll turn into someone you can't stand to see
Trust me
I'm not even me
These broken, shattered pieces of me are aching
My selfish heart cracking and breaking
Can the healing of the rain
Ease your undying pain
Like a brat I helplessly cling to you
Unaware of just what my venom does to you
Until it is too late to take back the sting
To change this monstrousness I have become…this thing
Never once did you really hate me
And alone I never wanted to be
But my deranged mine created a scenario…a belief that you did not want me around
And I pushed you away…shoved you to the ground
And I can never undo this hurtful crime
Nothing can make this guilt and pain go away…not even time
All the pain of missing you...
Not a memory, when I am kissing you.
My cats have decided on this blustery cold morn,
To hide under the covers and stay oh so warm.
The wind keeps howling, making them shake,
While under the covers cozy it does make.
Moving may not be an option for me
For as I stretch the closer they be.
I tried to sneak out real quiet you see,
Buy they caught on quick and reprimanded me.
We all know who rules this house
And today we're not moving even for a mouse.
I stayed up all night writing a ditty
One I really thought was quite witty
When the results came in
Yep, no placement, no win
My rhyme and meter were shown no pity…
For the Contest contest..
Not even an "Amen"
Babies cried, children bled
mother's fell, families splintered,
hymns ended, bibles held
Nightmares became
not something to wake up from,
but something to wake up to
Sunday morning wept dark
neath a bright November sun
as doors burst open
and repetitive noise silenced everything
No time for prayers,
no time to run,
When the smoke cleared
not a sound was heard...
not even an "Amen"
The massacre at the First Baptist Church in Sutherland Springs, Texas happened 3 miles from my home. A typical warm Sunday morning was no more. Heartbreaking and horrific.
Living to love?
Stab me swiftly
In the heart. Where
He watches as its
Red empties
Itself.
The meat tastes like pity.
So he smiles at me with pity,
Holds my hand with pity.
I am his,
In pity.
Enough.
A past perpetuating pity
Has no future for a love.
Remove His scythe.
And the fool, one day, will restore
Until I hurt for his love, once more.
My dear woman, I regret how you’ve been kept,
beaten, held back, silenced and oppressed.
My woman, I confess I am upset,
how they made you bite your tongue when you express.
My dear woman, it makes my world feel blue,
when I think of all the things man’s done to you.
Some people don’t remember, you are the greater gender of the two.
I have proof.
-There’s something I must say,
don’t take it the wrong way,
but I hope everyone knows this humble truth.
That as you lay your head,
on this hospital bed,
the miracle that you are going through.
-Is one not even Jesus Christ could do.
-Yes, there’s something I must say,
don’t take it the wrong way,
but I hope everyone knows this humble truth.
I'd rather have no one,
but you bear me a son,
some say miracles are far between and few.
But all the time my miracle was you.
Some people don’t remember, you are the greater gender of the two.
because what you're about to go through,
is a miracle, is proof,
of a miracle no man could ever do.
i let the silence speak on my behalf
i dont blame your interpretation
this mode was my way of giving you a chance
that you knew me well enough
i desire connection
a touch's satisfaction is empty without intention
i roll along the waves, staring into blue
i can smell the salt, feeling, drifting
despite my isolation
you are still right here
telling me all the things
showing all your colors
deaf to my silence
watching yourself in the reflections of my eyes
making sure you look like what your saying
unsure how I'm feeling
scared to know, thinking i wouldnt get it
thats why we dont have questions
nothing left to say
not even goodbye
Nothing lasts forever,
not even November rain.
Not even the tired old bodies
we are given to hold.
I remember how we spoke
to one another,
way back, a long time ago.
Pontificating like priests
delivering our sermons.
We were boys, though
we thought ourselves men.
Ready to challenge and embrace
everything we had been taught.
How could we ever imagine
that real would be so difficult?
Aging. Living. Dying.
Sometimes,
when it is very dark outside,
I am with you again.
Innocent in our importance.
Immortal without a thought.
It is different now.
Understandable.
We have aged.
This is as it must be.
You'll be one of my pallbearers.
Isn't that a boggling thought?
I'm not even a poet, just a petty rhymer.
When starting a new verse, first thing I do is grab a timer.
And if writing the new verse takes more than five minutes flat,
I say, "Okay, that's about enough of that!"
And then I go back to reading my "How to enjoy your retirement" primer.
Grab some cheese, some crackers, and some wine;
then, sit back and read this rhyming verse of mine.
And if, as you quaff,
you're never inclined to laugh?
Let's just say, it's because I'm an old punster in decline.
Not even an answer
Not even an Answer,
Just one single hard lesson.
One that must have been watching me all day long.
Waiting, there in the shadows
While I picked up rocks in the corrals,
or maybe when I was clearing the sinuses of troughs,
with compressed air and trowel
Not even an answer
Just a cold silence, as the lesson slowly crawled up my leg
biting me with needle tipped feet
Getting under my skin
Running down my spine.
Eyeballing the hairs on the back of my neck with hungry eyes
while they stand up, huddled like sheep in the night.
Not even an Answer
There were nine saddles in the barn
All generations old.
Along with a bit with the letters U.S. Cavalry on the side
1865 I'm told.
Found on the ground amongst the fallen horse's bones.
The arrow tip, long returned to the earth after piercing his heart.
The desert shadows rising and falling with the days and years.
Until it was stumbled upon and brought to hang in the barn.
Not even an Answer
When the barn fell and the flames died
and all that remained were fumes of home and history
The boss asked “What happened?”
But as the wind continued.
I couldn't speak.