Best Overcrowded Poems
predictable pairing
like plans and lovers
two sparrows fly, flirt
wing beats hyped
to dull the scent of overcrowded news
in spring air, grinning
scrappy species
two birds that pitch and swoop
an operatic flow
their sheen of relatability
braided together
a courtship gallantry
in circled bolts
when two birds fly about you
suspenseful joy
like an untroubled sigh
re-directing thought
seasonal movement
a flight of promise
that opens to the sky
In Nineteen ninety-six, our son and wife, Majors
In US Army, moved to Izmir, their new base.
As usual, whatever place they were assigned,
We flew to visit them as well as dear grandkids.
So off we went to spend two weeks in Turkey, this
Outstanding country we had never been before.
So much to see at Ephesus—Metropolis
Of Antique Age; The Stadium, the Harbor Bath,
Basilica, the Marble Road, Heracles Gate—
All ruins now. Were sad to see these wondrous works
Of art and architecture now in disarray
And strewn about on fields on which they proudly stood.
Of varied striking sites in Pergamon, we saw
The City Walls, the Aqueducts, Acropolis,
The Temple Dionysus, that of Trajan too.
So many ages, periods had ruled this place,
Artistic wonders, structures turned to ruins—works
Of Persian, Greek, Roman and more, in pieces lay.
Besides the many ancient ruins visited,
We were amazed that many locals spoke our tongue.
They did their best to make us feel so much at ease,
Were gracious in combined Mid-Eastern/Euro style
Of hospitality and types of food they ate
And served, like cheese, tomatoes, olives of all kinds.
Izmir, a city mixed with culture old and new,
Like modern shops and open markets, outdoor stands
With fish and meats on ice, yet weighed on modern scales.
And women with fine bread on plates held up on heads,
Who walked the streets in morning, dressed in peasant garb;
Yet working business women wore more modern dress.
We ventured to the famous city, Istanbul,
Surprised to see the many high-rise buildings there,
And streets so overcrowded with their vehicles;
Large offices and business centers everywhere—
Ladies with fashion boots, purses and western dress;
Big contrast with those living back in country hills.
Such history surrounds this ancient, distant land;
So many varied cultures ruled their sacred world.
Museums filled with artifacts from centuries,
Safeguarded and in view to honor and behold.
This trip shall always hold such special, vivid thoughts
For us to cherish and remember for all time.
Of course, this one-time trip was many years ago;
We're happy we had ventured then instead of now,
For times have changed; such unrest grows within our world.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Memorable Vacations
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Judged: May 8, 2015
Iambic Hexameter
Overcrowded prisons,
brings joy to early released criminals.
Taxpayers may be happy,
but there's predators at playgrounds,
rapists at bars,
stalkers, stalking,
violent hooligans back at matches,
abusers contacting their exes,
jealous lovers beating new spouses.
Mobs on the streets,
will only bring mayhem,
unless vigilantes rise,
whilst the police hide.
Who will protect the traumatised victims?
Sniper hid vapors
tend to always bullet strike
with stealth air carrier accuracy
Silent noxious assault
pierced the nostrils
with oxy painful inhalation,
of the non-ventilated third degree
Deadly gaseous arrows
hit the overcrowded banquet room target;
and killed a-many healthy appetites,
with an alarming,
depressed tongue rate-of-mortality
Hurried footsteps exiting
is all the flatulent evidence I would need
to likewise proceed ... very quickly
Some intestinal terrorist
was dropping
lite ranch dressing bowel bombs,
most heavily
And the near-suicidal rush to escape
has gag damaged many throats,
most indiscriminately
I don’t cruelly mean to turbo fan
butt-of-joke rumors
with word-of-mouth rapidity
But ... it really was
a silent butt deadly graduation affair
And I say this,
with the utmost, stiff upper-lip respect:
Scented air peace
from an anonymous tip identity
This upwardly mobile yuppie —
Troll emoji catphish-ing bottom feeder
harbors no low-brow,
high school dropout insensitivity
Burned out dreams
Lights strung above this out of place darkness
create shadows of an invisible existence
Filaments of glowing hopes and wants
droop towards empty heart beats
I am alone in this overcrowded nightmare,
checking the time on faceless moons
Floating in no particular sequence
like sentries on broken boundary lines
An endless runway of lifeless orbs
dot the landscape in Morse code warnings
As I turn away in a curved defiance,
unable to accept the words touching my eyes
And still, glistening drizzle falls from overhead wires
reflecting each tear drop of dampened descent
For even if I wake, screaming as the night disappears,
she will still be gone, like every other burned out dream
Once the First Nation people owned the land,
from one coast of Canada to the next coast;
the mighty warrior is now just a ghost.
The people rounded up no matter what band,
put in Indian reservations to be controlled;
with unspeakable restrictions still untold.
Even in 2019, the housing is still badly planned,
homes poorly constructed and full of black mold;
overcrowded, no clean water and in winter cold.
The people make a health and education demand,
eggs $15, jug of juice $26, veggies, meat rotten;
these are people the government has forgotten.
Suicide deaths -this I don't accept or understand,
the government brag about helping refugees;
I am pleading, help the First Nation people, please.
Once the First Nation People owned the land,
then people rounded up no matter what band;
even in 2019, the housing is still badly planned.
The people make a health and education demand,
suicide deaths- this I do not accept or understand.
___________________________
April 3, 2019
Poetry/Rhyme/I Don't Accept or Understand
Copyright Protected, ID 1129-897-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Protest Poem
sponsor, Stephen Pennell
Second Place
THE GAME OF SOCCER!
Stadium overcrowded by
hooligans and fans
Cheering waving flags and
clapping their hands
Players on the field they’re
ready to start
There goes the whistle it pumps
up their hearts
Adding strength to the ball and
kicking it high
The ball travels overhead how
beautiful it can fly
Over center field and still it
goes strong
Pass received with ease and the
player runs long
There he goes for his
opponents goal
He dribbles through each player
he’s on a roll
He takes the shot and curves it
by
The keeper dives for it far and
high
The goalie misses it the balls in
the net
There’s a moment of silence
and no regrets
The winners jump for joy that
win was a must
Opponents heads tilt down low
they leave in disgust
A player’s life fulfilled is playing
world class
To be playing all year long on
the rich green grass
Play with heart, that’s the real
answer
Of how to play the true game of
soccer
Africa my beloved continent
Beautiful and attractive, many
Came as visitors yet their aim was to
Dig gold and platinum
Everyday they dug to reach her belly and they
Flee back to feed their own blood and sold us her the remains
Gold jewelry, we buy from them. Question is
Have we done enough to protect our mineral resources
Instead of preserving them
Jealousy and greed overcrowded our judgments
Knocked each other for blood money, in exchange for what?
Lavish lifestyle our colonial had to offer, we
Moved from Ubuntu our African core value
New dawn sets but we failed to see the light because
Oppression impaired our vision
Pain we suffered taught us nothing for we did not
Quit selling our minerals in exchange for ammunitions
Re-unite Africa and fulfil the dream of African reminiscence
Shun greed, slavery mentality. In solidarity let me and you fight to
Tone down corruption and
Undo damages implanted by our colonial
Viva African renaissance viva
Winning this battle calls for unity and mental strength
Xenophobia and racism will not be chronic diseases any longer, i'm
Yearning to see a better Africa for all human race, with
Zest I shall wait in anticipation for Africa's 're birth.
It’s so bright on these islands
it feels like they must be nightless,
that with just 24 hours to a day,
there’s more than enough light
to go around.
The light floods water,
making it disappear,
so boats levitate,
their anchor lines making them
look like realistic
boat-shaped balloons.
There is so much light,
it spills over into your body
and floods its innermost recesses,
so that the dark inside
is pushed out,
made homeless,
and has to take up
temporary residence
on your skin.
And the more time you spend there,
the more light your body drinks,
and the more darkness
is evicted from within it.
You spend a week, two, on these islands,
looking more like the locals by the day,
until you reluctantly go home,
where the air
isn’t overcrowded with light
and there’s space for the light in you
to drain back out gradually,
so the dark that’s been camping
on your skin can
finally seep back inside your body.
No place like home,
the shadows sigh happily.
Not necessarily how you feel,
your mind still in a place
where there is a surplus of light.
The train approaches in the distance
Through a tunnel we gave birth
The chimney smog marries the low clouds
Of increasing heavy traffic and haze of garbage fires
Red roof tops absorb long wave radiation
The neighbourhood’s listening to the world
Through aerials and satellite dishes
The potholes feel like exploding landmines
As vehicles detour onto the pavements
People stroll in the middle of overcrowded streets
While children play soccer and drive brick blocks
Through new eyes,
Everything still looks the same or worst
Who will drive the train of progress,
Who will pilot change?
The township must be demolished!
It symbolises everything wrong with us,
Stagnation, procrastination and assimilation
The corners are occupied by gangs of ‘nyaope boys’
Who have made it their career to be unproductive
It’s a gaping sore of apartheid’s legacy
That will never heal, not in a century...
It is on the periphery, a dumping ground
Not prime land earmarked for human habitation
Through new eyes, we must have a clearer vision
A landscape with a lush vegetation on the horizon
No amount of money can ever buy a slum,
The infrastructure of a safe neighbourhood and good sanitation
When the very same people who seek to improve it,
Don’t reside within it and merely claim it to be their roots
No RDP can ever be a beautiful home, through new eyes
No amount of Shoprite stores will make it look right
No township will ever evolve into a City proper
I repeat, demolish the township!
In "The Shootist", J.B. Books is not feeling up to snuff.
He has cancer. What are the concerns
of a man dying.
To die
commensurate with the way he lived his life.
Books dies in a gunfight.
McIntosh dies in the desert, under a broken wagon,
fighting Indians.
Norman Thayer will die of heart failure
by the side of his wife, Ethel.
Two police officers
die investigating a stolen moped at a gas station
in the Bronx.
One buys it between the eyes, the other in the back.
The killer out on early parole
from a manslaughter rap.
The DA blames the judge, the judge blames the parole board,
and the board says the jails are overcrowded.
What should I be doing, old turtle.
Devote myself to re-order the world
or crawl off to a lonely spot and preserve myself.
We are trying
to educate everyone to their individual capacities
and see that all are fed, clothed and sheltered adequately.
Because the suffering of one citizen makes suffering
for another, the slow death of one sometimes makes
the sudden murder of another.
There is this
black rock we live on and its lovely mantle of green.
It is all that is perfect. And everything of it is
perfect that respects its integrity. On the subway
I was amused to find, hidden in the confused
mass of anonymous, bleak graffiti, unseen
by the studied, expressionless passengers,
in pink, delicate script, vertically written,
the word *****.
People are the element I live in.
The world is pushy, we are bone,
the numbers of us overwhelm.
It is going to be hot again soon
and the Bronx will actively resent it.
Books dies in Carson City,
only two or three people will miss him at all.
He died alone as he lived,
with his enemies.
Metropolis…
a cackling cacophony of confusion
energizing some and enrages others.
Concrete and steel giants,
loom forebodingly over the masses;
blocking out gifts of the sun.
The maze that tires me from constant searching;
why am I here in this overcrowded and hopeless abyss?
The bang-clang trucks and trolleys,
beat out their metronomic, one…two...beat
and the drone of engines,
sings a tired ballad of the modern world.
Cities are the lairs of bad-tempered dragons;
harboring too many precious trinkets.
Vulnerable souls are the noonday snacks,
devoured by cold-blooded sharks.
I
First period each morning she meets their languid sighs
Their low moaning at new tasks to be undertaken
She must be upbeat, no matter her personal woes,
In her crisp, clean dress and comfortable walking shoes
She steps briskly around the room with encouraging
Words, smiles for the underprivileged girl so needy
A hint of special affection for a wayward lad
A hard taskmaster some former students have averred
True, indeed, she has high expectations, she demands
The highest quality of work from her young charges
Same she always brings to her overcrowded classroom
Where she allows no insult or bullying others.
II
She faces some difficult parents who seldom know
What transpires in the average classroom teachers' day
Threatening, browbeating, and some will even threaten
Throwing up angry hands in defeat, she never does.
She does what is necessary to help them succeed
Her main objective is moving her students forward.
III
Planning and improvising, then she will implement
She will go home to care for her waiting family--
Convincing, she will console, and likely she transports
She will cook, do cleaning, shopping, sometimes pays the bills
After the family is settled down, she begins
Her preparations for the next day in her classroom
And, a teacher does all of this on the lower end
Of the pay scale in most every school district I know.
Time passes slowly as I wander the streets
Gas and food prices soaring high
Cars towed into the middle of the night
Foreclosures stealing neighborhoods ,
Soup kitchens provide free food
Jobs are scarce, illegal immigrants are not
Overcrowded tenement buildings with attitude
Drug lords , gangs and pimps, decaying city ruins
Gun shots heard everywhere, bodies litter the streets at high noon
Nature pounding on the doors of civilization
The line between man and beast grows thinner
Storms rage thru the night , the end in sight
Time passes slowly as I wander the streets
I WISH I WEREN’T A PENGUIN
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
I wish I were a penguin in a warm protected land
The sunny Galapagos islands, where I could lie and tan
Compete with marine iguanas for a visitors attention
Where guides are paid to be alert n offer me protection
Yes, that’s the location that I’ve always envisioned
Not in this desolate place where I am duly imprisoned
Yes, you guessed it, I’m here in the south Atlantic
Any venture out to sea becomes so problematic
Seas here are overcrowded with voracious eaters
Claiming the right to consider penguins as feeders
Orcas, leopard seals, great whites always on the prowl
One misstep and you’ll find yourself in their bowels
Fortunately, I’m not an emperor nor am I a king
They are giants, I’m just a little black n white thing
They are hardy meals for those insatiable types
But I’m so much quicker I cruise right past the bites
When its time for me to eat and I have to take a dive
Launching myself off the ice, I hope I will survive
Here’s more bad news winter here is brutally cold
Tempts below zero, ice on your nose, a sight to behold
Oh. I forgot to mention we have accompanying gales
So strong and persistent we’re blown about like sails
This environment is no place to grow old and content
I want a new existence and a life better spent
I decided a long time ago what I wished to be
Live in the tropics as a humming bird, a Colibri
Sucking sweet nectar all year round
I can get it easily even when hovering upside down
What about my colors a mixture across the spectrum
I’m getting hungry now, I think I’ll go for a swim