Best Pipe Poems
In the twilight spirits come to play,
listen closely to what they have to say.
In the early dawn, they will sit with you,
and greet the sun that shines anew.
As our sacred pipe gets passed around,
through billowing smoke, some prayers are found.
A ceremonial tradition that honours all things,
come join with us as the Great Spirit sings.
Enlightenment comes when you open thy heart,
it's never too late to make a new start.
Beings from the stars will you lend us a hand?
To help unite this Earth across every land?
Pipe Dreams
Though I have a woman’s heart; it pounds with
dragon’s fire. Curled about the core of self,
I have lain in wait for Asia with claw, and horn.
Linked-locks and keys have spined beneath my hand
upon the tourist’s rails of China’s Great Wall where
builder’s bones rattle for redress upon the wind.
It is not China’s Long but Ryu ’s heart which pounds.
This was no place, no place for me.
Paper boats zhezhi have blessed my dreams. The
Divine Wind eases my way across a sea of longing
to Nippon. My two-chambered
heart can have but one loyalty—
I say no to the soldiers,
strident in beige and red—
Senkaku’s waves buoy me.
Buddhist temples waver mirage-like in
a gray-white haze of frankincense, the scent
of ever after, lays about me.
For links of love and family, are stronger,
than those of coercion and the gun—I will
island shelter—refine remnants—separate myself
from clay become porcelain—
beneath tori arches; I walk.
A stream in Kyoto
a bronze statue of a ballerina
dancing on point
within a circle
of gnats—
First Published in the Spring of 2017 by Illumen
INDIAN PIPE
(The Corpse Plant)
in the shadows
in the shadows
teardrop eyes
Like bagpipes they play, somber tunes of fear,
as doves do weep, as flamingoes bow down.
A ghost plant dirge, doth tremble dusty clouds.
The bells, they ring, intensely sing, slow-deep.
in the shadows
in the shadows
teardrop eyes
Like wax, their silhouettes a frozen mask.
A countenance, thus drained of chlorophyll.
The vampiric cold parasite craves night -
A leech, among the beech, with lovers scars.
in the shadows
in the shadows
teardrop eyes
A cold and clammy touch, doth turn a corpse
an inky black. A translucent pale ghost -
don’t touch, nor handle plant, nor creep too near
its eerie soil, nor step, upon its grave.
in the shadows
in the shadows
teardrop eyes
Original date : 5/11/2017
YOUR CHOICE FLOWER VERSE,any form ,any theme Poetry Contest
Brian Strand: Sponsor 6/23/2019
The pipe major at the front led the way
On this cold and windy St Patrick's day
He was six foot and well built
A freak gust blew up his kilt
The crowd cheered at his manhood on display...
The Pipe
(irrigation)
I am a city girl,
I have never,
until now…
Ridden a horse across the desert,
held a tarantula for longer than…
five minutes,
used an incubator to raise chickens,
helped keep track of puppies (twice),
cut tails and sewed them like material.
keep fish in a pond, raised just to eat,
and my garden is not organic,
it is simply blessed.
I bought, fixed and "care for"...,
my Own John Deere…Riding Tractor.
This is not a boast.
I have crawled under houses,
into attics, painted barns and chased a PIG!
The rooster would not quit crowing.
The altogether too close neighbor did the same.
Oh…
and the rain was coming down
in the middle of the front room,
inside.
While on the outside…
I, was knee-deep in water.
Not from above, although he lent a hand.
The corner of the yard. That mysterious place.
Behind a tree, a stump and two bushes.
It came from there, like the flood of Noah.
Now a gaping hole, where the river came to visit.
Fast and slow, in and out everywhere.
The middle of the night…
The top and I, do battle.
Cold and merciless… I shake, freezing.
I will win. Stop the gush, in a rush.
I am a city girl…
But I am a warrior.
A living tree has been planted to symbolize a life which has taken snuffed out, slained
in his prime.Detectives haven't solved the crime.Future basketball star where are you now
heaven or purgatory.Your soul needs to rest,shooting hoops,doing lay-ups sweating,running
passing stop,go dribble,dribble,stop! screech, halt!. Running the back streets on the
late night tip trying to survive on the wrong side of town, travel, stop, play offense
is weaken only to live a hyped pipe dream,his defense is down and he knows they have
come to gun him down so he decided to run to the other side of town.Do what it takes to
become a superstar on to lose his soul. Everyone asked was he in the dope game no one
really knows living lies that didn't get him far only to live a false pipe dream. Was
he playing the role of a double life to eventually be "X" out of the game no one really
knows his soul still lingers in death park. Listen it is late, it is dark neighbors
continue to mourn the ball player's lost.Neighbors can still hear the basketball hitting
the back board in death park.
More to the point
What is your crack pipe?
In the heavy storm
Of getting a grip
On life
One could be excused
For looking for a way out
An escapism
Some people keep busy
Some people spin out
On all sorts of things
So
Where is your crack pipe?
I stand on the cliff’s edge and look down,
The falling stones, I hear their resound.
I close my eyes to feel the winds embrace,
I sense its touch all over my face.
I’m alone,
No fear...
The white waters pound the rocks below,
If I fall...
Who would know.
This is my selfish experience
My life is of little significance
The coward’s way out
I feel the wind moving about
Its blowing on my back as if to say jump
It would be all over in a minute with a thump
But like something invisible keeping me on
Though I see the happy things in my life all gone
I decide not to do it, to step away
Then a sudden scream I heard, aimed my way
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I slip over the edge with my face all screwing
I scream and start to bawl
“Urrrrrh!!!!! Arrrrrrrrrrrsehoooooooooole!!!”
The fear I now feel racing through me veins
And the pain I'm about to feel rushing through me brain
I helplessly lash out at the cliff edge
And manage to grasp hold of a protruding bit of veg
I’m brought to a holt like a snap of a whip
Then snap, crackle and pop I’m moving again to finish of my trip
I hit the rocks with a promising thud
I punch the air and say “Thank you me Lard”
Well I was air lifted to hospital with, a dislocated shoulder broken ribs and two leg bones,
If it weren’t for that hiker I would be ok walking home...
Ps some where amongst that bit of veg
If you ever climb down you'll see me teeth stuck on the cliff's edge
It is rare when a woman is interested in a ball game.
However, your excuse for going is pretty lame.
There is not a single fact of baseball you know.
You could not tell Babe Ruth from Joe DiMaggio.
And that fact unfortunately is just the beginning.
Each part of the game is not a “quarter”, but an “inning”.
Chalk this one up as another hair brained scheme.
The goal you wish to attain is a pipe dream.
That is a concrete fact nobody can deny.
You wear expensive clothes hoping to catch their eye.
Many women would like to be a ball player’s honey.
After all, they do make an awful lot of money.
Here is something I have to point out that is true.
Not one of these players will be interested in you.
A wispy finger tickles the air
But a breath exhaled
Chases it away
All that remains now
A sweet scent in the air
And now it's time
For another puff
On the pipe
In our lives filled with lofty goals,
We may reach for much beyond our means,
And as interest is piqued and grows,
We sell wisps of notions as our pipe dreams,
Yet while news breaches concerned factions,
Of those who would off-hand discount our plan,
You may well consider these actions,
To be the final throes of a desperate man,
Watch me rush headlong at windmills,
Listen to my brave and salient battle cries,
For with nothing I easily afford the shills,
This puffery of pipe dreams which may sink or rise,
Take account of what may be lost,
Incredible credible reputations,
So to me the onus is tossed,
And I afford pipe dream facilitations,
But as prospect becomes tangible,
And peppered pipe dreams begin to spin,
Overt liability then manageable,
The need for my Quixotic services thin,
The writing’s on the wall distinct and clear,
Yet I long for the impossible it seems,
Where I keep the company of the grand seer,
And remain the nexus of fantastic pipe dreams.
- Before I get too much bad press here I want you to know
the term ‘Puffery’ means to build something up with flowery language.
An isolated glare
From across the room
Suggest me to conclude
It will be on....very soon
We sit and stare
As you lightly tug
The ends of my hair
The sensation of your lips
Makes it extremely pretentious
To resist the infatuation
That wants to erupt
Deep-seated on the inside
Like a physician
You began dissecting
My complete anatomy
I’m now enrolled
In your school of your sexual academy
A robust thrust
Of unadulterated lust
Zoomorphic characteristics
Now this carnal game
Is becoming quite sadistic
Soulful sounds
Yes, this the way
Grown folks...get down
One exuberant tear
I cried
After all of that
I feel unoccupied
Another part of me ceases to exist
Because my flesh
Just could not resist
Exotic bliss
There was once a thin plumber named Stipe
Whose large wife always nagged with a gripe
She was constantly bummed
For each time that he plumbed
He came up inches short with his pipe
Well, he asked and he asked her to hush
Still, the scolding continued to gush
So he fit his wee shlong
With a pipe, extra-long
And the nagging was gone with a flush!
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Limericks" Poetry Contest, Joseph May, Judge & Sponsor.
(Syllables counted at HowManySyllables.com)
The team of Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein displayed prowess.
It seemed everything they produced would be a success.
There was triumph for some Broadway shows nobody could deny.
They included “Oklahoma”, “State Fair”, and “The King and I”.
Two more melodious plays that were absolutely terrific
were the widely-heralded musicals “Carousel” and “South Pacific”.
Along came an attempt based on John Steinbeck’s novel “Sweet Thursday”.
The plot was set in the California town of Monterey.
“Pipe Dream” opened on Broadway in 1955.
Many also expected this production to thrive.
Despite receiving nine Tony Award nominations,
for this musical, the critics had some reservations.
Problems resulted, and the show was a financial flop.
After only about seven months, they decided to close up shop.
However, some renewed interest has evolved into a revival.
It looks as if this show may yet experience survival.
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
Robert Pettit
Historical
Up goes the smoke
As I light up this
Piece of a dream
N0----
As I smoke up this dream
To later awaken to the reality
It's all a BIG mistake!
And while I have this glass pipe in my mouth,
I finally
I slowly
Kill myself as I die
Spending every damn dime
On a little white rock
Call cocaine
My lady
My *****
My god!
So there
I said what was on my mind
And said loud enough
For the world damn world
Can hear me good
And I just can't stop
I can't stop!
If dreams was a race horse
I would bet you every time
And every time I
Would loose every bet placed.
I'll even loose my mind
If it takes me there
Then I would had a hell of a trip
So that I can come back
To tell you my story.
Hit me again
Light it once more!
I wanna take a hit
On my glass pipe
Sucking it like never before
Cause I don't give a damn
I just wanna feel good
And ease that pain inside of me.
The white lady got me hooked
High as a kite
And on top of the world
Until-------
I crash right into reality
Again and I fall
Face down
With the devil laughing
In my head
As I hit the glass pipe once more.
Your dreams are up in smoke
The end of
Your life
As you smoke up hope
Smoked up your life
Into the air higher and higher
Until you just won't come
Down right away and then
Suddenly
CRASH!
Crashing downward
Spinning in the air at first
Then crashing down
Hard
Into pieces broken up.
Then you realize
You are somebody great
And greatness is in you.
Walk inside that door
where dreams unfold
And dream
And dream
And dream
And then dream some more........
January 2006