Best Out Of The Way 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.
*Been posting some heavy stuff lately. Time for a bit of levity.
"Hey babe, you're never gonna believe this. Crab fishing in Alaska has been cancelled for 2023."
"I don't understand, dear."
"Well, according to the paper, all the crabs have 'left the building.' It's crabs no mo."
"But where did they go?"
"Ahh, that's the mystery, indeed. Some are blaming sockeye salmon, whatever the flip that is. But I have my own theories."
"Sigh. here we go..."
"Yeah, I figure the little buggers finally figured out that not getting out of the way of the sweeping net is really sucky. Or maybe they all went on strike and decided that ending up on dinner plates was a crappy way to go. Then again, it's possible that alien visitors sampled the tasty crustaceans and transported the lot of them to their home world. Of course, the prevailing conspiracy theory has it that a certain former president with a craving for crab monopolized the fishing industry in Alaska and hoarded them all in ginormous freezers at his Florida resort. All I know is, I'm gonna miss our seafood Sundays. Shrimp and lobster just ain't the same without a complementary pound or two of crab legs. I really believe the end of the world is here."
"Poor, poor baby. By the way, seafood Sunday is on this weekend. I was able to snatch up a few dozen pounds before they all did the Elvis thing."
"Seriously? Kewl. Crab Armageddon will have to wait. Hey, have you noticed the price of beef lately? There goes my Saturday steaks on the grill. I've got some theories on the present crisis..."
"Yes, dear."
Rudolph the reindeer has a red nose
Now why is that do you suppose?
Well it’s not real, it is a red light
That Santa switches on at night.
So what's the history I hear you say
Well concerns were raised by the F.A.A.
Because one night Santa fell asleep
And didn't hear the warning beep.
A jet was heading for Santa's sleigh
Woke just in time and got out of the way
So a law was passed that anyone in flight
Display a light when flying at night.
In the official report that's what it said
But don't believe the news you're fed
The first witness and on oath he swore
Said a man so drunk he'd never seen before.
They let him off with a stern warning
And not to drink 'till Christmas morning
He kept his license on one condition
That he display a light on every mission.
Off shopping he went to buy a red light
Found one in a store 'twas big and bright
Spoke to the elves as to where it would go
They all agreed at the front on show.
They tried it first on Rudolph's head
But it dazzled Santa with its bright red
But on his nose it looked just right
And glows so brightly in the night.
Rudolph asked “what's in it for me"
Cos he felt silly, but would wear for a fee
So a bonus he gets and double pay
Plus extra rations on Christmas day.
Written on 6th December 2018.
I hear a little girl laugh
and see her sweet face
recall the days of play
the sweet cuddles and kisses
then, I am taken to her name engraved
and remember my sisters death
in childhood . . .
I can hear a baby crying in my dream
and it is my baby
in the dream I am running
on a path that leads me to his grave
engraved, baby boy son of...
and I am weeping again
as I do each time
my fathers death rocked my world
I was not ready daddy
going to his work shed that day
I sat with his tin cans of nails
and the dust that floated
writing a poem of this shed and dad
and in that moment I found my poetic voice
I could talk to my mom on any subject
we were mom, and friend
oh, how I miss our adventures
driving out into the country and getting lost
stopping at out of the way places to eat
shopping and going for lunch
so many things about my mom to love
when she was facing death the doctor asked
do you want to turn off life support
with tears I said yes
I have dreams asking my mom
for forgiveness
it was me mom, I was the one that said do it
now, she is another name engraved
oh, grandma, I miss you every day
you are the reason that I am a writer
for you said write it, write it for the world to read
and I did grandma and I do
rest in peace dear soul, your work is done
and in my dreams my cats with angel wings
visit me with their sweet meows and kisses
we had to leave mommy
we were just on loan from heaven
oh yes, I am plagued with memories
some deeply sad
others beautiful ...
Emma was a pretty girl,
And was pretty wild.
She never minded what people said,
Nor did she mind her mother.
Mornings when she left for school
She also left her books,
Everyone would look at her,
And also gave her looks.
She loved to comb through magazines,
Yet never combed her hair,
Her dad thought she should step it up,
So she’d step in puddles.
Now Emma wasn’t really bad
She just had had bad habits,
Deciding to turn her life around,
She turned right on the street.
Now as the child was trucking on home,
She saw a truck come at her,
The driver was screaming “Are you mad?”
It seemed he was mad at her.
She stood and watched the truck tip
Heard a tip, get out of the way.
The driver jumped out and flew in a rage,
While thousands of pies flew through the air.
As the pies began to land
On people and on land,
They all turned red, orange and blue
Emma almost felt blue too.
Now as she stood there looking sweet
Tasting the sweet from her dress,
Absolute anarchy went down
As people bent down to delight in a good old fashion pie fight.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
10.13.2014
Plenitude of Pies Contest
8th
It is a dazzling display of brilliance, this conglomeration of constellations from different skies above as many different seas. I look at them, and feel the spark within my being. So, like a wounded soldier from the battlefield of life, I take little tentative steps, slowly but surely getting back the hang of walking with my poetic words after having been paralyzed for years. Gentle souls warmly welcome and offer as crutch a kind note or two, and not a few offer a glass of their own wise concoction when my throat and thoughts seem dry.
a little star blinks
with millions in milky way ~
words flow from a quill
I start having fun and develop new friendships, and as my own unsure steps strengthen with each passing day I continue to soak and absorb the light from the sun and glow from the moon and stars thousands of miles away. I realize that in this artworld no less than the creator has pioneered and trailblazed by the masters of years past, there is a place for all who dares to put down thoughts, fantasies and dreams in words and puts them out there to share with everyone.
fledgling butterfly
hitched a wagon to the stars ~
words form into poems
A lesson this experience brings me is that with all the glitter emanating from each brilliant star there lies within a heart battle scarred, just like me… some maybe more than others. Those golden stardusts are but byproducts of myriad encounters common to this life’s journey. If one finds herself in the trail of a hurtling comet, one should not be dismayed, but get out of the way for it is nothing personal. Odd but true, that sometimes it is the comet’s panacea for the pain nature has ordained. However, so long as I do not set out to cause undue disruption in someone’s sky travel, I should not allow the comet, or any star for that matter, to dictate my direction. I have my own path to tread.
stars come out at night
brighter after a wild storm ~
poems take new brilliance
13 November 2015
Creative Haibun Contest
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
Some inventors and scientists, they have both said
That science fiction books put ideas in their head
A novel that was written by Arthur C Clarke
Gave Tim Berners Lee the necessary spark.
The communicator in Star Trek that was fantasy
Martin Cooper of Motorola made it reality.
Beam me up Scotty, well that’s not here yet
Research is being done and they’ll crack it, you bet.
The news pads from the movie 2001
Now everyone has a tablet for online fun
Remember talking HAL, I’m sure you all do
Computer giants researched it and made it come true.
The movie Dick Tracy where they talk on their wrist
Now the smart watch is another to add to that list
Men dressed as robots in old movies you see
Now robots build cars, no longer fantasy.
Artificial intelligence now it can change your life
Any shape any colour, you can have one as your wife
But research and tech gadgets, are we moving too fast?
Mankind might become just a thing of the past.
Take for example a factory with two hundred men
Now all you need is a robot and a workforce of ten
But it’s not something new, just look at history
Job loss came with the intro of the Spinning Jenny.
Ray guns and flying saucers at area 51
They try to tell you that nothing is going on
No need to panic it’s a research facility
Whilst making space age weapons for the military.
And films have inspired the creation of drones
Controlled very easily from an app on your phones
X-Ray drones are the ones that bother me
Wear a swimsuit in the shower because they will see.
Robots that can think will outwit us one day
We’ll just be a nuisance and be put out of the way
Science fiction for many is just fantasy
But it inspires the great minds in creativity.
March 7th 2018
For Science Fiction Contest sponsored by Deborah Guenther Beachboard
He comes rolling around
I hear the wheels, I know the sound
Everyone clears out of the way
Except me, I stand my ground
With a smile and stay
We talk and laugh and debate all day
Drinkin coffees and sometimes cafe laities
Now people look and see him there
I see only a friend who loves and cares
Autistic they say, yet I am blind
I see only a man who is strong and kind
Now I may be a fool, but that's ok
With a friend as that, I got lots to say
I tell him this and I tell him that
He tells me stories, and that's a fact
Now I may not be the most patient man
Yet he, is one who somehow understands
As violins play he dances and sways
Dreaming of times where enfants joued
Knowing the world has its cruel days
He kept his smile, through spring to may
In life's sorrows, we both sit in silence
As times keeps moving and slips away
I am not a detective or a sleuth,
but what I write about is only the truth.
You are not going to like what I have to say,
but the truth has to come out some way.
September 11, 2001 is what I am going to talk about.
Now you don't have to believe this, but just hear me out.
Many people have come forward about the attacks.
They are physicists, and Ivy League teachers with facts.
They said when I saw them fall I was a little weary.
They said the building came down in a pancake theory.
This is impossible for it to fall that fast and that way.
They fell faster than free fall speed, something was moving it out of the way.
They mentioned the crash in the field,
and how no metal was found to yield.
Its a proven fact that 14 tons of steel can't vaporize.
The only way it can is by an illusion to your eyes.
Well lets say it did vaporize by the heat underneath.
What type of fire melts metal and leaves people's teeth?
That is how the passengers were identified.
Still not believing me, or on my side?
It took the fighter jets 80 minutes to get there.
Why did it take so long going 650 mph in the air?
This part might give you the chills.
The jets were confused because they were running the exact same drills.
Yes, two planes were hijacked and their target is the twin towers.
That is the exercise they were running in those fateful hours.
So now what about the plane that flew onto Pentagon's lawn?
No one knows, all the video tapes were confiscated in 5 minutes and are gone.
Where was Bush Sr. during this whole ordeal?
He was with Osama Bin Laden's brother getting a meal.
They were caught on video tape four blocks away.
When he was confronted about this he said “uummm...I have nothing to say.”
There are so many facts I am leaving out of this tryst.
If you want to see the evidence then on youtube watch 9/11 zeitgeist.
Hamilton, Ontario,
Is a steel making town.
You can hardly tell it,
When the sun goes down.
The slagpiles glow as the big furnace throws,
Another batch of ore.
Big ingots sit on the railway cars,
Behind the big steel doors.
They call this place DeFasco
One of the largest in the land.
It has dirty little secrets,
Buried in the sand.
Something happened one autumn night.
I'd heard the older men tell.
The shift boss heard someone screaming.
It came from the bowels of hell.
A father and son were working,
Breaking slag from a big ladles spout.
The young man couldn't get out of the way.
When the molten metal poured out.
The molten metal mixed with the mud,
To make a sticky muck.
By the time the father turned around.
He saw his son was stuck.
The boys workboots were on fire.
As he was buried to his knees.
Even his asbestos clothing ignited.
He begged to his father,"Please,"
"Put me out of my misery,
I know my days are done."
His father pushed him under the slag.
He killed his only son.
They found the old man later that night,
Running circles in the rain.
They say he never spoke another word.
They say he'd gone insane.
Sometimes during my coffee break,
I'll sit and I'll think a while.
I often find myself wondering.
Just what's under that pile.
They call the place DeFasco.
One of the largest in the land.
It has dirty little secrets,
Buried in the sand.
Note; I worked at the DeFasco Steel mill in the early nineties, and was told this story.
My ideas bounce off my words echoing the future onto the page
As my clarity begins to age
Into a rage
Where water doesn’t flow
But sprays
You attempt to duck out of the way
As I attempt to say what I must say
But instead I spray
And there it lay
Messily across your face
My image of this mental place
You struggle to wipe it clear as I heretically steer
Through this commotion of gasoline emotion
Riding on metallic sharks
That are surfing on cascading sparks
I cast my vision down below into the lake
Catching my words becoming humming birds
flying as ripples in my wake
They elegantly twist and curve in every dimension in space
But only one in time
Forwards
Towards
The jagged shores
Where we of every kind
Must forfeit both body and mind.
Form:
AT THE BUS DEPOT
Faces and suitcases with little rumbling wheels.
The seat is hard and littered with yesterday’s paper.
How can these moving actors know how it feels
To be old and no longer a ticketed escaper?
Faces fade past - abandoned at the end of the day,
And suitcases are piled in a corner out of the way,
With little ceremony thrown in the baggage space over the round
Rumbling wheels of each escaping Greyhound.
The seat next to every dark window is filled; and it
Is hard to wave a cheery farewell to a stage unlit,
And littered with unfinished details.
With a regretful breath I recall
Yesterday’s family get-togethers, kids’ parties and noise:
Paper roses, children’s games, plastic toys.
How can these faces care about fault or blame?
Moving to every other city you can name,
Actors waving through windows, waving and no one seems to
Know how to live alone. It’s hard, it’s empty,
It feels like a dream gone bad, the black blues,
To be part of yesterday’s theatre reviews,
Old , unneeded, socially undesirable, unwaveable,
And no longer economically viable, without
A ticketed reason to exist here in the depot.
Escaper no more.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written by Sydney Peck
Entered in Debbie Guzzi’s Contest “Et Cetera”
My word is my Gold
No ifs nor buts attached
A spade’s a spade
A joker’s a clown in a circus charade
I think carefully before speaking out
Knowing my feelings maybe bias
I censor my mouth
If need be
And Up against a Wall
I’ll tell it like it is...
Never being disrespectful
Sometimes the truth may get you killed
I avoid all kinds of liars
For where there’s smoke
Surely there’s fire
Certainly, Misery loves company they say
So if it's looking for a Victim
I'm getting Out of the WAY
My Voice is my SOUL
What I Choose to say I hold
My Word is my GOLD
My challenge was not issued there! My challenge was issued here!
Which was why you threw me off, when, first, you ran in fear.
You, who had the reputation of being the best to play this game,
"destroying" all of your challengers, while gathering all of the fame.
But, maybe all of that fame went too quickly to your head,
As your audience ate up ev'ry word that you had said.
Respect for your battle skills was immediately reserved,
But, now, I have to wonder was all that respect really deserved.
As I stated in my "ODE," this is a game of speed and wits,
Where the strong throw all the punches, and the weak take all the hits;
Where a real poet accepts a challenge, no matter how many dare,
And is always ready to battle anyone, any TIME, ANYWHERE!
The last point, that I just made, is the one that you should read,
Giving it all of the attention, that it really needs.
I decided to step up, but you decided to run and hide.
I guess hiding is much easier, than swallowing your pride.
Ev'ry request that I made to battle was met with an excuse,
Which made me think that you were really trying to dodge all of my abuse.
Are you afraid to get embarrassed, or of losing all the fans,
After proving that you are unable to meet all of my demands.
If so, then you "officially" forfeit your claim to greatness,
Because any such claim, to me, would be considered weightless!
The number one spot is "officially" up for grabs,
So, now, the scientific minds are working in their labs.
"THE DOZENS" is the name of the game that we will play,
So, if you do not have the balls, then please stay out of the way!
But, if you do decide to play, accepting the fact that you just might get pinched,
Make sure you come alone, leaving your "boyfriend" on the bench.
I entertain the crowd, but from the crowd is who you run.
Therefore, your reign at the top is "officially" done!
Now, to more "worthy" opponents my focus has been shifted.
So, turn in your little crown, since you are obviously done with it!
“Do you like yabbies?” Barry asked. I replied “Are you sick!
I’d just like to ask you; now is the Pope a Catholic?” …
So we headed off across the ranges, where Barry’s cousin Ray,
had a dam that’s full of them on a property near Yea.
There’s no sophisticated fishing gear that we needed to get.
Just a stocking, string, piece of meat; plus a wobbly old scoop net.
The dam was quite a big one with tussocks growing ‘round the rim.
Within an hour I had scooped a bucket filled up to the brim.
We knocked off to have some lunch and to have a beer or two.
but in that hour we sat down we knocked down quite a few.
When I resumed my ‘yabbying’, my head’s spinning like a top,
and then I saw a frightening sight that made me quickly stop.
A big brown snake was sunning, between me and the dam.
The beer had made me brave enough to give this bloke a slam.
I picked up an old dry limb and gave it one tremendous whack;
it squirmed and twisted in death thro’s; then lay dead upon its back.
Barry claimed I was a hero when he’d seen what I had done,
not many tackle brown snakes; they slide faster than we run.
“Is that so” I said to him, and was sobering ‘quick smart’,
watching Barry in his stupor pick up the snake and play his part.
He opened up the mouth and then he got out his pocket knife.
Put the blade behind a needle fang, “Here’s what takes your life”.
Then said “I ought to skin him; it’s prob’ly worth a ‘pretty pound”.
Then just for fun he grabbed the tail and swung it ‘round and ‘round.
“Be careful mate!” I turned and ran; making sure, I’m out of the way.
“What’s the matter?” Barry laughed. “This mongrel’s had its day.
I‘ll show you something else” and held the snake behind the neck,
then put its head into his mouth; then he gave it’s nose a ‘peck’.
Barry seen that I was nervous; that he held me in his palm.
He watched me flinch and shiver when he wrapped it ‘round his arm.
“Ah that’s enough” he grinned, but I reckon he’d been rash,
then he swung it high into the air. We watched it fall and splash.
Barry laughed, “That’s ‘gunna’ give the yabbies quite a feed”.
Then something happened in the water that Barry didn’t need.
We turned to walk back to our strings - Barry’s face turned ashen grey.
It took a while reviving him when the brown snake swam away.