Best Piled Poems
My confession
I murdered them all
impostors
claims of poetic devices
when the evidence was only
rants piled upon rants
A circle of praises
made the courts dizzy
the frauds committed
only added to their notoriety
under oath
all their poems shattered
The judge looked me in the eye
how do you plead sir
"Guilty as charged your honour"
I here by then sentence you to 19 days
you must pay for each crime
one day for each scoundrel exposed
At the window, palms under my chin,
such beauty I see, out the frosted pane,
I was mesmerized, it showed in my grin,
so picture perfect, the snow covered lane.
My daydream was dashed, Mom called from the door,
"time to brave the cold and clear the sidewalk,"
grabbed my winter coat and boots from the floor,
I hate this chore, but knew not to back-talk.
"Don't slip on the ice, watch out for the plow,"
I hear, as orange shovel meets concrete,
shouldn't the county have this done by now?,
this takes all day, with snow piled up in feet.
Why freeze for allowance, I'll never know,
yet, I still find myself shoveling snow.
November 18th, 2014
Sara Kendrick's contest - "Jobs"
No
A small little word
And yet so hard to say
It tempts me to say
Maybe
Maybe I can make it work
I so desperately want to say yes
It hurts
Crushes me
To see you disappointed
Those times when I have no time
When I am stretched to the limit
Commitments
Piled
One on top of the other
The important less important things in my life
When I have no energy
No extra to give
No way of knowing if I'm making a mistake
I say no to give myself a break
Some space to breathe
Sometimes no
Is meant to protect
No you can't go
To that party
Spend time with that girl
Hang out with that guy
No I won't change my mind
Even though I have to be the bad guy
No is a declaration
That I care for you
I want only the best
I want no harm to come to you
No is a tool I use to strengthen you
No you can't quit
You must finish what you start
There is no better feeling
Than seeing you succeed
Those times I said
"No, you can do it on your own."
Even though I desperately wanted to help
No meant I trusted and believed in you
You can do more than you think you can
No one is more proud of you
I wish you to know
The power of no
When it comes to a girl
No really does mean no
When you are put in an awkward place
You don't have to say yes
Choose your no wisely
No I don't want to go
No I don't want another drink
No I have somewhere else to be
No I will not let you treat her that way
No you cannot cross that line
No I deserve better than that
Yes, no is a small little word
It can change your path
Give you time to breathe
No, opens up possibilities
To choose
The yes
That is right for you
Yes or no
I believe you will choose wisely
Even though no
Can be a hard word to say
You wake up to commotion, throw on some clothes.
Outside you see some bloody bodies piled on the street.
People are screaming, running in all directions
away from oncoming military trucks and tanks.
Your heart is pounding; your mind shouts
what should I do? Where should I go?
You can't head back home because now
soldiers have headed there,
collecting folks and dividing them into groups:
Men separated from women,
the elderly from the young, boys from girls.
Trucks are filling fast with the different groups of people.
You look all around and see only confused and mortified faces.
The fact that all these others share your emotions
is your only comfort.
A woman breaks loose from a line crying out for her son.
A shot rings out; she collapses to the ground.
You can see one small group of people have escaped -
perhaps unnoticed - beyond a fence in the near distance.
Another group have all scattered, and easily seen,
they scramble toward a store.
They fall randomly when intermittent shots from the soldiers' guns fire out.
You stand motionless, knowing soon you will be tagged
by soldiers herding people into trucks.
Will you try to sneak toward the fence or will you remain as you are
to face your frighteningly unknown fate?
Are there more tanks beyond the fence of which everyone is unaware?
Won't those racing for their freedom eventually be caught?
you must make the decision while no one seems to have noticed you yet:
Freeze or flee?
April 2, 2019 for Laura Loo's
'Favorite Poem From Last Week (March 31-April 6, 2019)' Poetry Contest
March 21, 2022 for
A Brian Strand 1094 Poetry Contest
Another year has come - chillingly -
and more chillingly for me than in decades heretofore.
I watch it ranting from my window as I recall. . . .
The year already past had tugged me from those tame and toasty days
when I lay face up to sun
dreaming that my summer would never end.
It brought me to this winter when it withered up and died,
but half a century and more of memories
had fallen for me by now.
Like pretty crystal flakes they fell, drifting through my mind -
places, events and people.
Oh, those people I looked up to in my youth -
fallen as the snow!
How many pretty snow flakes have melted now away?
Only my memories of them remain. . .
memories now piled up like snowdrifts in my brain.
Yes, the newborn year has arrived.
Just one month old and already, it has lost its crawl.
This infant’s aging process parallels, on the larger scale,
that fleeting span of time known as life -
a time that all the living undergo.
The new year carries on (as must we all) to soon complete its cycle.
Let it bluster. Let it wail. Let it rattle at my door,
for soon enough, all signs of it will cease.
Written 2/12/11
Now used for 'A STRAND (1061)' Poetry Contest
Gettysburg Hauntings
When General Meade met General Lee
At Gettysburg in 1863
Sons of the South battled Northern brothers
And neither side has ever recovered
Fifty-one thousand lives lost in three days
Of a summertime swelter, July haze
Souls rose not to heaven from bodies piled
On blood-soaked battlefields spanning 40 miles
An on-scene photographer moved fallen men
To snap better images with his lens
Hats off to Alex Gardner if you please
Today picture-takers’ cameras freeze
At a large bouldered site called Devil’s Den
Sharpshooter hid, killed unsuspecting men
Travelers at night on Pennsylvania roads
Claim they see soldiers, hear cannons explode
A century after the Revolution
United our states to wage war as one
Virginians were forced to choose blue or gray
Mason Dixon Line divided that way
If only Tom Jefferson’s wise notion
Had not been struck from the Declaration
Slavery, the impetus for war and hate
Would have been quashed before State versus State
Gettysburg might have been a peaceful farm
Where soldiers had never succumbed to harm
But restless spirits, faces pale and gaunt
Never retreat from their Gettysburg haunt
Our nation’s darkest hour plays out each night
And passersby still marvel at the sight
Where sons of the South battled Northern brothers
For neither side will ever recover
It was the last year of high school and there was a lack of beaux,
But then I got an invite. Whew, that was close!
So now the Prom was coming and I was going to go!
Mom gassed up for the city, headed out with me in tow,
Big stores all hunched together on a tall and scary street,
One dress along a rack with just repeat, repeat, repeat.
But Mom found a creation in an entirely different place,
Moulded tulle and satin, fairy dust and moonlit lace!
I thought she was kidding though the thing was just my size.
I was worried; fairy tales don't often turn out to be wise.
And the price tag is ridiculous! I said Mom take a look!
She plunked it down determinedly, tore a check out of the book.
That left a lot for me to do. My looks are commonplace.
New makeup and new lipstick; how about new face?
Silken shoes, a tiny purse, it's a lot of stress
Just trying to live up to this fantastic dress!
Rhinestone droplets dangle dangerous from my ear,
My long hair piled up high. How much taller I appear!
Prom night came...Poor Tommy! I was done up to impress.
My hair swept up, my makeup on, long earrings and the Dress!
He stood there in the doorway, uncertain in his tux,
Black tie, stiff shirt; this is getting all too much!
The corsage he held between us was carnations glowing red.
He looked up cautiously and ventured; "Is that you, Bo?" he said.
Once there was a little cabin in the forest
where lived a most incredible hermit
all animals birds and creatures flocked
to him, surrounding him with their trust.
He lived a simple life dedicated to helping
those in need. Each day found him looking
out the wounded healing them with herbs
he gathered then making them into potions.
His cabin was just one room, a bed and table
with perches for injured birds, straw scattered
on floor for the various critters seeking help
none were turned away all that could be healed.
One day his door remained shut, the hermit
was ill, a stag managed to open his door
finding him in bed racked by a fever and cough
all day animals and birds helped bringing berries
A squirrel bathed his fevered brow and piled up straw
many animals cuddled up to help keep him warm
slowly but surely he started to improve to all's delight
He looked around at the worried faces of them all.
His strength returned thanks to the creatures help
and he collected hay, nuts, corn, berries for them
and spread out a banquet that was fit for a king
they all ate and made merry dancing in the clearing
We will now leave him and friends in the forest's peace
with butterflies and bees to keep this kindly hermit company
Nervous as a harried hen, Mom was in a dither
Would wedding guests be kept away by the winter weather?
My cheeks so rosy from the sting of howling, bitter winds
White lace and pearls, car door opened and a young girl stepped within
Fresh mums adorned the altar of “Our Lady by the Sea”
Blue bridesmaid angels led the way; John waited lovingly
Vows exchanged as God smiled down, crystal kisses danced in air
The reception band played merrily, all invited were there
Many guests remarked they’d never seen a happier bride
At midnight John took my ring-adorned hand, we ventured outside
Snow drifts piled ‘round the cars, Great Nor’ Easter just ending
My mate high on love (and champagne), wheels on highway spinning
Pulling into a gas station, trying to get a grip
Still in my bridal gown as the dipping temperatures nipped
The station attendant ran out and smiled, he’d seen us reel
But we were laughing and trading places behind the wheel
My tipsy spouse in a tux, truly a sight to behold
When we reached our new home, I carried HIM o’er the threshold'
For John's "Winter" contest
A single red, heart-shaped balloon isn’t enough
So I splurge and buy fourteen adorned by cupid
I tie them to the chair of my beloved “Hot Stuff”
To think mere balloons might please him would be stupid
So I search and search for the grandest tea roses
His favorite warm colors are all blended in each
His desk they decorate in striking poses
Hope these will do the trick and his passion beseech
But then I remember his strong chocolate craving
Godiva treats I purchase and spare no expense
Set beside roses, surely he’ll be raving
He’ll be home in an hour; I can’t bear the suspense
When the door opens, I am wearing a teddy
The Valentine card he takes with a gloomy look
When he sees his desk, he wails, “Enough already!”
And he doesn’t even try my straps to unhook
How puzzled I feel when he says, “We have to talk”
No, he hadn’t forgotten this lovers’ holiday
Into his small closet he suggests we should walk
He seems so depressed; I’d expected a hooray
Piled high in the closet are all occasion gifts
Gaudy Christmas sweaters and tons of chocolate hearts
He can’t find his clothes and between us grows a rift
To sort through this maze, he would need a detailed chart
“Take all this stuff with you and please just leave my home
In fact, I’ll pay your expenses to relocate
And be sure to take that hideous garden gnome
Make it snappy, will you? I have a date at eight!”
*For Joyce’s “Emotional Response” contest
I would practice each day without satisfaction,
longing to capture the moon's oratory.
DeBussy, God, help me, I should say that I'm sorry!
Though my fingers were nimble, I'd lose concentration,
and fumble along with a grumble and sigh.
Provoking the chords, that should tumble and rise
into a glorious, exquisite river of mist.
But, when thumbs went adrift, beyond the abyss,
I'd return to the first bar, and start once again.
-
I'd retrace every note of the measure and time. And time after time,
I'd assault a B-flat, where a C-sharp should chime.
All my hopes and my schemes came from this longing to please.
My dreams to succeed, and to offer this gift.
To grant her the wish.
The rapture, to swoon, as I played 'Clair de Lune'.
My mother's favorite. -- And I aimed for the moon
__
I remember my mother with dishes piled high,
soap on her nose,
calling out from the kitchen.
“That time, much better!”
Or my dad, in the dark room, Walter Cronkite, his companion,
calling out from the shadows,
“I think now, you've got it!”
Tonight in the dim light,
I'll watch how the moonlight,
slides over the piano, sliding over the keys.
It seems that the moon knows,
that time cannot stand still.
That years come and the years go.
But the tune, is the same tune, and the moon is the same moon.
And DeBussy still winces in the place I called home.
I am a flake of winter snow
on cold and driven wind.
I've been cool drops of rain so slow
from darkened clouds unpinned.
I am the sting of frigid sleet
that makes one's skin so raw.
I've been the course of waters fleet
as winter yields to thaw.
I am the face of ice-bound lake
which hides its life beneath.
I've been the tossing waves that break
and tides which time bequeath.
I am the snow in drifted row
piled deep before your door.
I've been a river wide and slow
to live on and explore.
I am the waters flowing still,
perpetual as time.
I've been the earth's unbroken will
still granting life, sublime.
I am the Waters
11-14
The sun rose in the west today – or, perhaps, I was standing on my head?
I went to a funeral for my very best friend, but the chap wasn’t even dead!
Said he wanted to be eulogized while drinking a pint of beer.
I think the things we said about him, weren’t exactly what he wanted to hear.
“He was, or is, an egotistical old bastard – doesn’t surprise me in the least,
that he wants to attend his own funeral service – God, what a horrible beast!”
And that, my friends, was from his Mom; the best friend a boy ever had.
“When finally they put his body in the ground, I think we’ll all be glad.”
Egad!
Global warming took a holiday, as the snow piled up real high;
that bugger for whom we passed the plate, took out his wooden eye.
The casket was full of cold cuts;
The bartender doubled as the priest;
I took another shot of tequila,
while the sun started setting in the east.
The ladies started undressing;
my organ started to rise;
I played Beethoven’s “Requiem”,
with it pointing to the skies.
The only tears that were shed today belonged to the corpse who was still alive –
His ex wife sang that old Gloria Gaynor tune, “You know, I will survive!”
The next time he throws a party for himself,
I think he’ll choose a different theme –
And maybe the people who come and get drunk
won’t be so awfully mean!
Nervous as a harried hen, Mom was in a dither
Would wedding guests be kept away by December weather?
My cheeks so rosy from the sting of howling, bitter winds
White lace and pearls, car door opened and a young girl stepped within
Fresh mums adorned the altar of “Our Lady by the Sea”
Blue bridesmaid angels led the way; John waited lovingly
Vows exchanged as God smiled down, crystal kisses danced in air
The reception band played merrily, all invited were there
Many guests remarked they’d never seen a happier bride
At midnight on Christmas Eve John took my hand; we ventured outside
Snow drifts piled ‘round the cars, Christmas Nor’ Easter just ending
My mate high on love (and champagne), wheels on highway spinning
Pulling into a gas station, trying to get a grip
Still in my bridal gown as the dipping temperatures nipped
The station attendant ran out and smiled, he’d seen us reel
But we were laughing and trading places behind the wheel
My tipsy spouse in a tux, truly a sight to behold
When we reached our new home, I carried HIM o’er the threshold
*For an Angel's contest!
Among a stand of pines I lived my life,
blissful in the ignorance of my own fate.
Tall and proud, my fellow trees and I
stood along a ridge that overlooked a lake -
its crystal surface mirroring our beauty.
Underneath big sky
and seeming to lean against a mountain,
we reveled in the gifts of our mother nature.
Oftentimes we felt the breath of breezes at our backs
and cooling downpours in the summer heat.
We saw and heard the scampering of squirrels and rabbits;
We watched as deer and other woodland creatures
stopped to drink at the clear lake or came to visit us.
Birds of many sorts serenaded us both day and night;
Crickets, bees and other insects came to see us too.
Seasons came and went.
Still young, I kept growing on the south fringe of my stand.
This winter as new snow glistened on the ground,
there came intruders to our happy spot.
Wielding axes, two men chopped me down.
Now I stand alone, uprooted and separated from my stand.
No birds adorn my limbs.
Instead I’m wearing garlands of garish gold
and big red bulbs are hanging from my arms.
No moon or stars of night shine above me,
but a silver plastic star is tacked on top my head.
I’m suffocated by this too-warm room
with blinking lights everywhere around me
And myriads of gifts brightly wrapped
piled high and pressed against my trunk.
No longer one of many, I am one alone
And the lovely stand of which I was but one small part
has been replaced by an old and rusty stand for Christmas trees,
a stand that now contains me,
for I no longer stand as one part of a whole.
Rootless and wondering what will become of me. . .
I pine.
Written 9/15/12 for Debbie Guzzi's "Stand" Poetry Contest