Best Oklahoma Poems
Oklahoma just passed an executive order
About the obvious disorder
Of letting men break through the border
Called a women’s bathroom door
Which has always been there for
Keeping out men and furthermore
Those who are men no more
Oh, some may scream, ‘where are their rights?
They’re out there fighting the fights,
To pee with one’s wearing tights.’
Yes, but would you let your daughter
Much too young, with hardly a care
Into those bathrooms alone
With a ‘whatever’ that shaves its chest hair?
And whatever else the ‘whatever’ may share
Is that what you would condone?
OK, may say no to athletes competing
Even if their male body parts were deleted
With women on equal ground
The women don’t need that type around
To race against for athletic glories
Like AI competing with us for poetry stories
But still why does a government
Need an executive order to present
The obvious difference between gals and guys
Even when one or more’s in disguise?
Well, it’s the same old trick with a new bent
Pushed by the bought and paid fed government
They cloud what it means about gender
And try to stuff family morals in a blender
So that when they offer their crisis solution
We’ll bow down to their wicked resolution
Of their digital money and total control
Over all our bodies, minds, and souls
Partially paved by those with a men’s skull
Who can no longer use a urinal
Warm mud between toes
Red Oklahoma shoreline
Summer on the lake
She was a freckled faced child who
dreamed of being loved...
He was nothing but a heartless bastard who hated
everyone, especially us.
She was the protector of her sisters and
stood up to him as tears rolled down her
angel face...
His day of reckoning came one sweltering
Oklahoma summer in July...
She entered the house to the cries of her
mother, begging for him to stop..
The angel child had suddenly become the
protector of her mom..
She grabbed his belt which lay nearby and
swung with all she had...
Blood streamed down the side of his
face and down the front of his shirt...
The only cries now were from him and no longer
from her mother....
I love you, mom...
Your loving daughter,
Sharky
In a pile of leaves
Made into a bed
Under a tree
You lay down your head
To stare at the sky
And dream of a day
The river will flow
And take you away
So gentle the stream
So calm the air
And muddy the water
That takes you there
Stained are your clothes
From the places you’ve been
A constant reminder
Of morals within
A deluded and deranged miscreant.
Rode in a rented Ryder truck,
Sadistically opposed to his government,
He delivered a two-ton bomb.
After parking the fateful vehicle,
With time fleeting and fuses lit,
He fled to his car,
Parked, not far away.
Hearing the explosion, he made his escape,
With a gleam in his eye.
One hundred sixty-eight victims died,
Leaving countless loved ones behind.
April 19, 1995,
A date that lives in infamy.
The guilty one was caught that very day,
And eventually paid his life for the reprehensible deed.
The Oklahoma Ctiy National Memorial
Now graces the ground
Where the Alfred P. Murrah
Building once stood.
A lone American Elm tree
Survived the blast,
A symbol of resilience,
And the will of mankind.
Hopes of closure for the victim’s families
Followed the perpetrator’s death six years later.
But closure will not fill the empty chairs
Left in the footprint of the building.
In the wee hour before customers came to call,
Groceries came to life and had a Cinderella ball.
"Je'taime," purred the french toast to the frozen peas,
"Oh quit your fast talk. I'm southern, If you please."
The peanut butter tried his luck. He felt rather 'hunky'.
He winked at the jelly. She gasped. "You sir, are chunky!"
Lemons and limes provided fragrance. Love was found.
Mr Goodbar married Mrs. Butterworth, their children sold by the pound.
.
the dancing wheat fields
tango with red fertile soil
in great plain's ballroom
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this write is in response to Raul's - Countryside Waltz -
I just watched the SAE video and I'm not sure where to begin. . .
I'm from Oklahoma, it's responsible for all the chagrin in my pen
All this tension is merely misconception of our inception
Please show me one person that chose the color of their skin
Our pigment evolved with our environment, Charles Darwin
In 1963 MLK told us we should only judge by one's character within
Do we not listen or do we just have an addiction with affliction?
Because 52 years later we still can't seem to grasp that we're all kin
It's ironic, black & white aren't even colors, just tricks of our vision
Prick anyone's finger, I bet the color they bleed is sanguine
Caucasian, African, Indian, Asian, why not just Homosapien?
Each one of these is simply a label, let's subtract the division
and come together and grow, addition & multiplication
Anything that suggests otherwise is fiction promoting friction
You are IT, I am IT, this it IT, that is IT, it's called Zen
We're parts of an infinite whole, light and dark, yang and yin
I'm not a psychic or a doctor but I have a prediction & a prescription
If we continue our traditions Gaia will soon issue an eviction
and she won't ask permission before her infliction of jurisdiction
Do you realize our position? We can have utopia or extinction
The world has never been so connected but we lack connection
All we need is admission of our condition, there's no encryption
Let's swallow our pride and direct our ascension with intention
I'm on a mission to paint crystal clear depictions with my diction
This is a poem but simultaneously a prayer, AMEN
Oh, the moon shines bright
In the Oklahoma sky
The prairie wind sighs
will it pass this way again?
nobody knows because the community
library
has to many paperbacks and the clouds
to many sins.
will twain swirl in the rain?
will steinbeck hit the deck?
will it pass?
will a folk singer from the north play the
harmonica
piss into a gutter and give some simple
remedy?
Now there is baptist marmalade in the
sun.
Now there is rye bread in the oven,
but in a cafe on main street
there is still.....
black coffee.
white porcelain cups.
thick calloused fingers.
all the regulars gathered there just like
every other day.
an old tv flickers over the counter just off
to the left of a
warped mirror that has labor union and
mason stickers
from the early 90s on it.
Dusty old dirt roads
Under the blue open sky;
Pastures and prairies.
Hymn of the Oklahoma Seasons (Chronological)
A Monotonic Recite
Bitter reclusive
Comforter of sorrows
Isolated Fire
& Cocoa
A little family goes a long way
Optimism blossoms
with a bouquet of flowers
or a box of chocolates
in life & death
wave at the neighbors
Impatient
Short conversations
Peak ladies fashion
Everybody wants to be somewhere else
Road rage
Bipolar in order
Dreary and hopeful
Restful and playful
Which will it be
Truly the best smells
Prost!
Being born of this red clay
In our states first capitol
I caught my first catfish
Rode horses on the farm
My face was sunshine warmed.
Being born of this red clay
Where the Devon is so tall
Chicken fry my favorite dish
Loving our country charm
The folks here kind and warm.
Being born of this red clay
I hear my mommas call
Bedtime prayers not to miss
As my socks she did darn
By the fireside so warm.
Being born of this red clay
Spring days we did loll
As the Cimmaron did swish
There we found no harm
The summer water so warm.
The night turns to day, it is oh so cold;
The moon is bright and crisp, the sun honey gold;
The forests are brown and leafless, there seems to be no life;
The silent peace within it, no ruckus and no strife.
I love the winter forests, no longer wet and green;
Everything within it, hibernating;
Every once in a while, a small creature will stir;
Sending golden colors up, a flurry and a whir.
Note from Author:
This is a tribute to my Oklahoma home which I sometimes miss very much!
Oklahoma bred,
By the Wichita Mountains;
Gracemont is my home.