Best Padlock Poems
I glanced out my window watchin' kids plod along to school today.
I recalled my school days and how things have changed along the way
I watched the little fellers hunched over with their over-loaded packs.
'Tis a wonder the little dudes don't develop a twitch in their sacroiliacs!
I wore overalls and shoes that I was told by Mom I'd better not scuff!
Nowadays, kids are sportin' Rebok shoes and all kinds of fancy stuff!
If they don't have the latest and greatest, they're bound to pitch a snit!
Appearances mean everything even to kindergartners, on the face of it!
To begin school in days of yore, I was required to supply a pot of glue,
Couple of No. 2 pencils with erasers, ruler, ink and a ruled pad or two.
Wrapped in a newspaper for lunch, a baloney sandwich and apple for a snack.
When my grandkids showed me their list of supplies, I nearly had a cardiac!
Included were - a backpack, Rigatoni noodles, crayons and composition books,
A cell phone, calculator, protractor and for reading, one of those fancy Nooks,
Facial tissues, scissors, a ruler, colored pencils, pencil sharpener and erasers,
Elmers glue, Ziploc bags, a ream of paper and plastic dividers to use as spacers!
One change of clothes in case of accident to include underwear, pants and socks,
Disinfectin' wipes, three-ring binders and a padlock for individual locker locks!
I am caused to pause and ponder how we "oldies" got a solid education,
Sans all the geegaws and fancy frills that are now required for graduation!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Call it alliteration or pun,
It is more than that ;
I write about my beloved sparrow that nests
on mountains and tree tops
just like the eagles of the north ;
Oh,sparrow! ,your arrow penetrates my narrow heart
deeply to make it shallow,
sending sparks through my body .
Call it alliteration or rhyme it is more than that ,
Sensation and blood compete for a race
through my veins and arteries ,
When I set eyes on you,
Air gushes into my lungs like a flowing stream,
As you open your mouth to speak ;
Your white enamel teeth shine more than the morning sun;
The synchronized movement of your body
sends signals to the synapse of my spine,
Which reverberates emotions to the hypothalamus of my brain,
How can I cope with this ?
My sorrow fades ,my pains vanish
When I got touched by you ;
Oh ,sparrow! Oh, dear!! How dare you
Incapacitate or incarcerate my thought ?
Thought of not falling in love with any damsel ;
not being fooled again ;
The padlock of three years unlocked in seconds ,
Which makes me sing songs of songs to Utopian lady ,
You faith strengthened me and your courage boost my ego;
I will continue to nod to your
Lyrics and dance to your music .
Call it alliteration or pun ,
You are not far from wonder land ,
Sweet sparrow sent to shake-off and shame sorrow ,
My unfailing love ,I unfold and unleash unto you….
1-17-2017
*A valentine poem dedicated to all lovers….
Tenacious ichor tells entire construction
Divulges puerile battles during idle procedure
Relic compiling spotlight show seduction
Library ivory tower truth siphoning beseecher
Adapted lady adorns princely throne
Padlock hammocks tween valuable threads
Warm cove cocoon moors love's loan
Imbibing cover only, for information dreads
Mould folded within her novel costume
Pacifying massage, limbs lubricated levitate
Elephant keratin tusk thrusts impromptu
Smudge of shame fades chalk dust archaic
- Fifth September
Fabricating Sculptor
I walk this twisted path of life within a cloud of doom
and death is my perpetual incessant companion
we are never bathed in the glistening sun but in shadows
and there are scars on the roadmap of my journey
for I am lost in a sea of graves and engraved names
why must I travel this dark road, yet, I also know
it is what it is . . .
sometimes, a thread of sun finds a way to my soul
and I remember all the happiness and the promise
the sweetness amid the dregs of my yesterdays
O, so heavy are the growing chains of my grief
and the padlock is rusted shut forevermore
or is it ???
in the wind my hair is a flowing golden river
and I have dreams of flowers and butterflies
yet, when I wake the darkness and gloom is waiting
and drapes over me like a black cloak of weeping
a mask hides the broken heart within my sad eyes
it is what it is . . .
my soul is weather-stained with years and tears
and I hold a pen dripping red blood from deep within
yet, fluffy clouds sail across the azure blue sky
and I hear the melody of a thousand birds calling me
can I throw off this cloak of grief- yes, it is possible
or is it ???
_______________________
November 24, 2020
Poetry/Free Verse/it is what it was
Copyright Protected, ID 11-1307-167-24
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, It is what it is..............or is it???
sponsor, John Lawless, Judged 22/12/20
First Place
Take My Hand in yours,
Lets Run in Green lushed Fields,
Lets go canooing ,rafting in Rivers,
lets swim naked in Crystalline Streams,
Lets walk in Gold Fairy forests,Pen poetry,
Write a Love Story,called 'The Poet and Me'.
Lets have a picnic under the shade of tall trees,
Lets Smell the Freshness of Wet Velvet Leaves,
Lets follow the path,Climb up the Highest Mountains,
Lets reach the Grey Smoke,the tent at the peaks.
Lets lie down on Rich Reddish Silky Brown Soil,
Lets watch the Healing Spring ,steaming and boil,
Lets make love On a Carpet Of Coloured Flowers,
Lets here the Sweet Sound Of Bells,Ding Dong Hours.
Lets rest On an Ivory Hammock,swinging in breeze,
lets drink the Sweetest Honey of Bees.
Lets play in the Snow,Lets bask in the Sun,
Lets take a journey, to My World of fun.
Lets go over the Rainbow, Get lost in Our Fantasies,
Lets open Our wings,fly On White Cotton Clouds Puffy Dreams.
Lets Open the padlock,to my Secret Magical Land,
Lets escape to the place Of Eden,Just hold On to my Hand.
Let Me Show You My World,Let Me take you with Me.
I've got a locket ,and inside there's a Unique Silver Key.
Charma
"To soar in the wind, to dip and to glide . . . "
and be detached and apart from this life's reality,
where past sorrows shroud my remembering;
I have sealed the heavy door of the past.
Oh to flutter on the edge of dreams,
to tremble and hover, grasping the peaceful and happy;
in my imagination I float and drift,
like a breathtaking butterfly with gossamer wings,
but then, but then . . .
the cold fingers of the past come creeping,
monsters and sorrows of the long ago:
painful memories are screaming and shattering my soul,
the beautiful lost in the carnage,
oh the tears and the weeping eternal floating sadness.
The heavy door to the past is bolted and secure,
impenetrable with a padlock and thick chain;
where anguish and bliss entwine in an endless battle,
and my happiness died long, long ago,
but from time to time,
a whispering, beautiful single memory finds a way;
from under that weighty door locked and chained,
and I crush the sweetness to my weeping broken heart.
___________________________
April 28, 2013
Poetry/Free Verse/I Would Like To Fly Away
Copyright Protected, ID 13-1105-660-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Marathon 2019, Mile 12
Sponsor, Mark Tuney
Second Place
Like a bagel with no hole
Like a flag without a pole
Like a singer with no soul
Like a furnace with no coal
Like a gangster with no moll
Like a quest without a goal
Like a bell that cannot toll
Like a super with no bowl
Like a yacht without a keel
Like a car without a wheel
Like a con without the spiel
Like a thief who cannot steal
Like a key that will not turn
Like a log that will not burn
Like a boss who isn’t stern
Like a skill you cannot learn
It’s a pen that leaves no mark
It’s a dog that cannot bark
It’s a silence in a lark
It’s the padlock at the park
It’s a great big open space
Like there’s nothing any place
It’s an ass in a horse race
It’s the blankness on my face
It’s the words I wish to write
That refuse to see the light
And I worry that my plight
Is because I’m not that bright
It’s the words unthought, unsaid
It’s a veil that can’t be shed
It’s the blackness in my head
It’s my muse…
I think she’s dead.
hi I'm Baxter Belknap Mandible IV
the Ninth Earl of Burneydick
I'll be heading your inner assault team
would you like the wine list
we have a nice Retaliation 666
somewhere over the rainbow
where every two-bit overheard whisper is an omen
and other vile statistical deceptions
where the big wheel spins like a drawbridge ratchet
but it never stops too many numbers
and the future continues to remain hypothetical
in degrees depending on the reading
an experiment in capitulation and submission
it was the War of the Parasites
but when has it been otherwise
this is a mathematical demonstration
bold as a distillery padlock
that insanity is the flip side
of merely more insanity
that would be Mandible IV driving
his dream hearse down memory lane
smoke from burning bodies
badly needing a wick adjustment
apparently fogged his lens
the horrors of the world are entertainment
weather permitting we'll visit the ruins
and insist upon representation
in the government Pilgrim Travel Advisory
you see the difficulty
serenity having been proven
a monstrous violation of reality
pause
every idea is a unit of measure
another pause
the pixels swirled and another
unholy vision drifted past in the tide
riveted to my screen
and it's trauma etched engrams
picked up on my middle finger antenna
in the last act you find out why
good bad and maybe mostly maybe
just trying to be more numerological
be certain of your conclusions
or call them something else
sure people's faces can be read
most are possessed by a mad hunger
or acts of cosmetic genius
proving it's more than brain chemistry
they told me that self-creation has its dangers
lots of mockery out there in hammer land
but there's no mocking your best efforts
kept them off my back for a while
set free for the propaganda value
and still always curious
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Pushed off a cliff,
Down a flight of stairs,
Lying shattered,choking,
In a pool of my own blood.
Defiled and degraded,
Knowing nothing of myself,
Other than my name.
I lay on the cold marble floor.
Absurdly,I thought that I,
Had achieved a state of grace.
Though trampled and gasping,
For I had obeyed my vows.
I castrated myself for my other.
Even sending him other women,
When my maturing femaleness,
Was not ripe enough for his seed.
A quarter of my life was spent,
Not in a blessed union,
But in self imposed imprisonment.
This man was my warden.
Kept confined by his passions,
Illusions,and masterful cruelty.
I had turned the key in the padlock,
And would never use it to flee.
My fate was sealed.
First by my wounds,
Then by the executioner.
Who would be called me.
Wannabe escape artist Ed's first trick
took place in a tank of water
Tied up with chains.
Wife swapped padlock key.
Also final trick.
Mother Africa,
Gather your sheep like a good shepherd.
Teach them morals and guide them rightly,
Educate them on African Values and culture.
Protect your sheep from the hynas and lions
That parade more in the forest of life to kill.
Remember the community begins at home.
I know you are not irresponsible like the Goat
Who has three breast but gave birth to four kids;
What will the fouth kid suck if others are sucking?
Guide the boys to stop looking at the Ladies lustfully,
The girls must bring their husband home as it is
Stated in the tradition of Africa, no under tree love.
Cover your children with your wings like
Mother Hen covers her chicks against the kites.
Do not go loose in front of the young minds;
For when mother cow is cropping giant grasses
Her calf watches her from behind the scene.
Act like the mother you are not like a child you're not.
When a child misbehaves in your presence,
Hit him with a rod of correction and bring him
Back to your side with a sweet flavoured left hand.
Educate the ladies how to close their legs while sitting, and the boys, you must not leave behind;
Teach them that Africans never pregnate a lady before they marry her and the younger ones,
Tell them that Africans don't put their trouser
on their waists.
See her in skimpy skirt and drive the skirt away from her waist, African women don't wear skimpy skirt.
Those whose wrapper always untie because of civilization, padlock the wrapper to their waists.
Those boys whose pants flip up and down publicly,
Tie their pants with ropes to their waist, Africans have a face to preserve and protect in days to come.
She lust after money when in love and lost her value, show her what love means to Africans.
Father Africa, leave all not in the hands of Mother,
Bark when you needs to bark in front of your sheep.
Roar like a wounded Lion when the sheep goes wild,
All should not be left in the hands of Mother Africa
Nature has made us two, two together, two hearts beating as one can preserve many lost dignities.
You and you can save the you that stray away in shame.
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved 2016
Moving from left to right Cancer day and night Cancer the day heaven
Witnessed the pain women experiencing, suck their bellies the chemotherapy
Machines drank hundred thousand souls shaver from their hearts personifies by the scent of Cancer.
The air we breathe break to air pollution because of Cancer, the scent of
Imagination polluted by cancer they can't deny death is everywhere because of Cancer people lost their happiness to cancer.
The day earth descends to call upon you were aback serial killer
I blame you for denying my generation to smell pure air, you're too bad to
Take innocent souls from us, why you allow us nagging at you, don't you
Ashamed how invincible you are, look how ugly you're in my imagination.
I preferred to see you suck any
Individuals that banks our resources to foreign bank accounts, the
Thundering of Cancer may padlock his mouth; I know you're so powerful of drinking their imagination to maggots
People were happy in there, gardens until they heard about you, you torn
Thousands life apart to concept of apartheid, you denied us the opportunity
To lactates our kids then the breasts of women no longer the pyramid of Egypt the smile on your face rouged our destiny to languish under bigger chemotherapy machines, because of Cancer to cashew taste the limbs you took away never forgiven you.
Mind you Mr. Cancer to our coffers are empty you aren't right to leave these
Greedy individuals from escaping our lands passing through your mouth open without catching their brains, their actions are greater than Adolf Hitler wall.
The freedom you jeopardize to prosthetic Cancer to innocent guts cries
In silent pain to itself, you attacked that person indefinitely as well you
Control their hope no more to smile with friends or siblings under your
Sandal and you continue weeding their hope from recuperation.
I once had a boss called Mister Reviere
Each lunchtime for ages he'd disappear
What he was found wearing
Kept everyone staring
Oh my, the padlock was stuck by his ear
Contest : Single Limerick Contest: Horrible Bosses (and more)
Unplaced
I drink poetry and excrete it in my imagination to the taste of soup, inspiration in my gutter of sky, the farces run the barn of wood crawling fingers, digging deep into the fury velvet twilight map the location
Entertainer decapitate loyal crew to the kingdom of kingpin round morning blessing brother meek of submerged answers never to be repeated to the third person singular, but lukewarm of appetite detached morning mum.
Line of angry dull pin the sharp hap to the loot of moon pointing straightforward to the faded Antilles, Western Indies scruffs of limitless anchor of my days to that thwart of subliminal good to go.
Smiling moon to the center of the sky peep into my prison of imagination, padlock to the gallows mistake shaking the dignity of arrow to the cloak the tempest banana republic to repugnant whistle sound
The kilos of rhythms backed up my pant of pain to till sunshine yet to blame the belated from the bereave lure to deputizes the post of ray to tray of mishaps, the din of lion claws of fun rub truth leaning side by side sip the peg of life to the smile of hyperbole.
The sharp thoughts quick under my pillow from voices of an Island crying to trembling hawk jog of bug nails sound decontrol of hail night and the root of thief.
Languishing inside a cell(his demons) so fierce
and punishing; isolating loneliness pierce
the core of his misery. Every so often,
he feels claustrophobic, as if inside a coffin.
Many hours have passed, and he's been calling
out to no avail. His hands, bruised from pulling
on the padlock. His throat, hoarse from screaming
unheard. It's a hellish place! His spirit, depleting.
At nightfall, the scintillating ray of right
shining in, steals away. Near fight or flight,
he screams, and screams; there's no hope
for a rescue, and he's struggling to cope.
But he's not looking at the four walls trapping him closely.
There are cracks on one side of the wall; kicked forcefully
the wall will come crumbling down like a house of cards.
Kicked forcefully, it will shatter like glass shards!
I wish for him to break free like a fledgling in maiden flight;
to break free and soar up, up and away like a kite
I wish for him to knock down the wall of his prison
and break free, tasting the air like a Phoenix risen!
FEBRUARY WK 3 ANY FORM,ANY THEME,UPTO 20 lines
Sponsored by Brian Strand(Winner: 1st Place)
Date written and posted: 10/01/2016