Best Pegged Poems
There was a time when I was young
To share an era that begun
From music to the fashion trend
TV shows and history
Fads and other mysteries
I saw them all as time moved on
From classic pop to rock and roll
Bill Haley and the Elvis craze
And four years in my Air Force phase
But Jitterbug still hung around
The big bands had that unique sound
Time moved on to start the clock
European cinema
Fellini, Bergman made the mien
And Japan added to the pie
To film The Seven Samurai
Brando, Newman and James Dean
newly captured on the screen
Television's Golden Age
All the programs set the stage
For Gunsmoke and the Twilight Zone
I love Lucy, I married Joan
TV tubes were changed a lot
Wrestling shows were really hot
Mantle, Mays and Robinson
Took baseball to another rung
The coonskin cap and hula hoop
Duck tail hair and snapper soup
I wore one with a thick pomade
And ate the soup that Momma made
My fashion sense left much to judge
As if I had good taste for fudge
Pegged pants with a six inch rise
Ladys skirts were different then
Lengths that came down to their shins
Three inch higher was a sin
Still dirty minds existed then
In Belgium back in 58
I saw an exhibit on that date
The Sputnik with a cute stray dog
was launched so high up in the air
Before the U.S. could get there
Then the race to conquer space
McCarthy hearings, lives destroyed
The Cold War was our only plight
The Commies kept their nukes in check
And Castro entered on the scene
There were no hot wars left to fight
Days still continued as well as night
I share a new millennium
But today the future's not so bright
No more long hand, the laptop's here
Facebook and Twitter have conquered our sphere
The death knell has tolled for how life was then
Rekindle your past and live again
Ralph Sergi February 19, 2015
Decades by Kelly Deschler
Mister Joe, poet, jangles loose change in his pocket,
Jogging memories and garnering thoughts as he walks.
For Mr. Joe's brain washes, tumbles and dries,
his gems of thoughts in hourly cycles, with riddles, jingles and rhymes.
Each wash-up, extracted, pegged, and hung up to dry,
To taunt and flap jangles for him, his readers and strangers near by.
Mister Joe's charm icons are processed, mulled over, distilled and wrung out for meaning within.
His jangles find meaning in bumps on smooth paper, read as Braille.
His jangles arise from stones skipped over calm smooth waters,
yielding meaning in the creases and ripples created.
His jangles rattle his sleep awake each night, with sky rockets of images and flashes bursting.
His jangles are a empowering, rewarding, revealing, enlightening,
and sometimes troubling and haunting, but can't be undone.
His jangles are his rhyme and reason, his friend and confidant, his mater and aether
His jangles are really what he's all about as a poet,
as a miner and peddler of ideas, and as a prophet and revealer.
Mister Joe's charms jangles the minds of his readers
His words cast nets to trawl up memories and concepts,
lured within the reader's mind with word play and twists.
Seas of dreams and memories are netted, prodded and poked
To yield twinkles, sparkles, hums, grunts, and nods of appreciation and delight.
His jangles finding meaning and echoes with links and associations, never before conceived nor considered.
Mister Joe's catch of memories once jangled, are returned to reader with care
Embellished and enthralled by meaning, relevance, word play and twists.
The reader now has new jangles to add to charm bracelet on wrist, or to jingle with loose change in pocket.
Mister Joe, the poet, and his reader, now walk and dance with jangles, jingling echoes within.
"Tightropes of the Three Graces"
Tightropes
for hanging clothes
on a line
each piece
pegged wooden
held between closed fences
misfortune's breeze lifts
sleeves like covers
pointing the way home
books and their pages
for The Davenport dancers
all's well that ends well
scene perfect
imperfect fortunes
throughout their ages
the balancing act
seeking Life’s rhyme
saving fates in stages
odd numbers
are never easy,
never graceful
the balancing acts,
tightropes
of the Graces
saving fates in 3 stages
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
mlb, klb, llb
Édouard Bisson , French Pre-Raphaelite
“Die drei Grazien”, 1899
Hans Baldung, German Renaissance and Mannerism
“Three Ages of Man”, 1541 -1544
“Three Graces”, 1539
Sandro Botticelli, Italian Renaissance
“The Three Graces”, 1485 - 1487
"The Flipside"
We write
our hearts out
we pull
the catch back in
slowly,
they read,
we think,
too fast
swallowed
in the hollowed out
hallowed hearts measured
ounce per ounce
we write
our hearts out
stamping footprints
obstinance turning
ourselves
inside, out
stone washing
ourselves
inside
out
written on
lines
wrung out,
expelled
pegged left
hanging
right
left
without
missives,
no doubt
on the flip side
of eternity
gravity
grounds us
toes
touch the ground
neck and face
upwards
downwards,
still life
breathing
eyes watching,
reading, waiting
the mystery
we believe,
or, we sit still
debating
the earthly
volume
a boulder
pulley drawn
backwards
forwards
backwards
in quarters
we are quartered
like poetry
we are,
washed
in clouds
inside
out,
we are
on the
flipside ;
waiting
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
She has strong shoulders and hands,
able to bear any burden
carried by a man
She possesses a firm mind,
a steely resolve that bends
to no Y-chromosome kind
Yet she retains the heart of a woman
My woman is she,
her man is me
The heart of this woman
is the bravest heart
I've ever been blessed to see
She has sturdy hips and feet,
able to move mountains
of entrenched sexist disparity
She keens an unbreakable will
Mistaking her femininity as a weakness
will leave you always fighting her uphill
It's a battle you can't win,
because you already lost
before the conflict even began
She had you pegged right from the start,
a macho bully ... not very smart
Get you unfocused, upend your apple cart
Diminish your ego and you will meekly depart
Did I mention that my woman has the biggest heart
The heart of a woman like her,
can't be dominated by no man
She gives her heart to me freely,
just as I give mine with loving reciprocity
Yes, she has the heart of a woman unchained,
my warrior woman she will always remain
I was young and innocent and I only had eyes for you
You were my constant companion the whole day through
But you fell into a puddle and mum hurried you away
I was oh so sad, I cried and cried so much that day
I found you hiding from me, high up on the washing line
Pegged up by your ears, but my teddy now looked fine
When I look through old photos its plain for all to see
‘Lying on teddy’ you really meant the world to me
21st June 2015
Penned after looking through old photos of me from aged about two
My teddy bear was called lying on teddy because I used to lie on him in my sleep and he went from a cuddly round bear to a flat bear
I share thy chains oh Farah!
in my hands and heart they hurt.
I share thy stains from afar
for my skies are red and tears fill my pot
I feel the frailty of thy fatherland,
in my heart lays the fallen palestinian.
I feel the fratricide in thy fatherland;
the innocent bloods speak to me: a nigerian
Though my hands are hanged
to the cross of continental border
yet my pen is pegged to thy prayer pad,
together we can end the yellings in yonder
I share thy shoes oh Farah!
walking in the hope of a bright future for all palestinian,
I share thy ship, sailing from afar,
cruising with the compassion of a noble Nigerian.
the dogs were happy
did not have to dig deep
in bomb craters and
makeshift graves
they licked at pulverized bones
and liquefied brains
slurped up the proceeds of war
and roamed the street
sluggish and flatulent
saliva dribbled as well
from the industrial military complex
fused joy with sore fingers
from counting the money
Dmitri wondered
what had become of his folks
and where the flowers had gone
before he pegged his rag doll
to a skull bone that floated
in a sewer of lost hope
his young soul was confused
with reality and fake news
and yet his scarred mind
was never far from revenge
as he waded through carnage and destruction
he found remains of his pet
and smeared a bloody reminder
on his feverish forehead
picked up a land mine
and bode farewell to one of his arms
because the weapon exploded
never one to cease with belligerent ease
TOOTHLESS in 1927
Toothles her tail began to switch,
Tuppy said “you’re too old, just stay a bit,”
Tuppy rode away to where,
A knocking stick a Roo would snare,
Roo hides pegged upon the ground,
Pounds shillings and pence, to be found,
From whence.
She galloped down the boundary fence ,
Clubbed a Roo right out of sense,
Got down then to skin this Roo,
Who sprang right up and bit her too,
He grabbed her close and then,
Jerked up a foot to disembowel, when,
Toothless cleared the fence,
Toothless took the Roo by the throat,
Strangulation the intent, I quote,
Death did then commence.
Kangaroo would seem very nice,
Docile friendly, but watch twice,
If his female is in season,
You could be clawed, bitten and slashed,
And Skippy might.
Don’t let your dog in water with,
Old Skip will drown him till his stiff,
But Roo’s out there in millions are,
Springing bounding fences ha ha,
And following the grass Tom Tit…
Toothless was an old greyhound female used for catching Roos on the bound….Don Johnson
I'm up then down, I'm all around
I'm unpredictable is what I've found
So my life path number is 3
I think.. hmmm yeah, this sounds like me
The class clown, who loves mankind
Too busy dancing, to walk a straight line
Painting the world with my vibrant thumb
A humble bow for the talents brung
Although I love this number three
And in ways it pegged me perfectly
It's clearly who I'd like to be
But the number seven divides me
The seven is in my soul
It describes my heart's desire
The remains of my inner coal
Precededing my 3's grand fire
It's who I am underneath
Behind my mask, before my flask
More "me" than you'll ever see
When I give in to the seven inside
Those around me gasp
Who is this person that runs to hide
Over a simple social task
They don't understand
I don't think that they can
Two toxic vibrations
Dwell in one man
A snowball in Hell
Yet here I stand
If you wonder what it feels like inside
I'll try and help you see
But brace yourself for a bumpy ride
The life of a 7, dressed as a 3
I wonder if fate had me pegged all along life’s path. My sagging smile and breasts, still lifting though depressed. My husband and I adapt to the grandparent role, understanding only now the heavy hearts of our own grandparents. The fate of the aged is fine wine, elephant wrinkles, forgetfulness and dying relatives and friends.
On the lighter side, I remember Laugh Ins’ fickle finger of fate. Now it’s pointing at me. The other day, when I walked down the stairs, with creaky knees and ankles, I told myself, “walk like a twenty year old,” then again as I became unbalanced, “fall like a fifty year old.” And there you have it - all the joy, wisdom and heartiness of late.
6/25/2018
A row of jazzy underwear
Wafts gently in the breeze
Pegged to the clothes line
Strung between two trees.
A garden brolly provides
Shade from the evening sun,
Chickens scratch the earth
In their wire netting run.
The cockerel struts his stuff through
The chicks of this years hatch,
Beans and peas and potatoes
Grow profusely in their patch.
Veggies for the table
All home grown
In what I've always wanted
A garden of my own.
Discarded children's toys
Are scattered on the green
But the kids are in bed
Quietly sleeping so not seen.
Blue Geraniums are covered
By wasps and bees and flys
Flitting to and fro for pollen
All sights restful to the eyes.
A summer Friday evening,
A whole weekend ahead
Stretched lazily in my lounger
In my hand a glass of red
Contemplating life, counting
All my blessings one by one
Hoping the rest is as good
As as that already gone.
In my little country garden
Resting in the shade
My loved one by my side
I've really got it made.
Next week is round the corner
For now just living for the day,
This gentle summer breeze
Blowing all my cares away.
Introduction.. An excerpt from a speech by Mr Keith Campbell 1969, On the need of a referendum on joining the 'common market' the people are discussing it up and down
the land every day, they want the opportunity to express their views. If they are deprived of that opportunity they will resent the fact. For Parliament to tell those people that while they may have their views, they will not have any chance of expressing them and that this momentous decision will be taken by members of Parliament alone, regardless of the opinions of the people, would be a piece of unforgivable arrogance.
Britain 1965, Leyland's factory doing fine,
40 percent of cars, go onto U K road
Bought from British steel, goods in trains of loads
Defunct in 1985, a proof of industrial decline?
Once upon a time the Rolls Royce brand
Was made and homed within, Brit-ain..
Now owned, and sold by another land
Here is well shown again, the markets gain.'
Swan Hunter that towered the mighty Tyne
Gave work to generations, of thousands ten
The pound was 'pegged' interest rates to climb
Bank of England was to be broken then.'
Of course this all could be dis-truths
A load of baloney, where is the proof?
That's what others no doubt will bray
Statistics.. Statistics, but come the day..'
Founded 1967
Imprisoned by clammy apron strings
She squats amidst domestic disorder
Dirty dishes, smelly household linens
Blackened pots and foamy dishwater.
Hastily, she conjures breakfast on the table
While vigilantly eyeing the baby's cradle
A highly- strung neurotic woman
Nursing ghosts of high dreams and aspiration.
A docile victim whose world revolves around
The see-saw whims of her bossy husband
An egoistic peacock with a deficient IQ
Whose brutal hands are his magic wand.
...Pegged on the wall stained by grease
Hangs her college degrees.
"Genus"
taxonomic
classifying worth
separating the yolk
from the white
like poets pegged
on a line to dry
still and wet
behind the ears
years slapped
heartily away
and back into
the shore
like tides
to bare feet
hear them cry
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)