Best Plaque Poems
Some sounds like the noise of bees
Hovering around the atmosphere
Or like rain drops on our roof tops,
I opened my round window
The window of my hut,
I wanted to know
Why my sleep won't mellow,
All i saw was sorrow
As the atmosphere turned green.
The cassava farm was over shadowed
Banana plantation feebled,
Apple orchard struggled
Yet their efforts stifled,
Lemon grass for mama's herb withered,
Rose flower shattered and our
Groundnut farm tattered.
Suddenly,the green army fled,
Tears exuded from my eyes
As i sputtered in pain,
Mother filled with melancholy,
Father tore his heart in grief
Villagers hope captured and crippled,
So their travail displayed as
Everyone mourned over
The locust plaque.....
BY: CHARLES MELODY (LIGHTNING INK).
There is no disease
As deadly as a man's hate...
No cure like his love.
Timothy I. Brumley
Do Not Play with Plaque
We prefer that you do not play with plaque,
Or much more decay soon may come back;
Even if your gums and skin are both porous,
Come to dentist office and join their chorus.
They there become monitor and regulator;
Did use both dental floss and a stimulator;
Breathing fresh air is the best substance;
Bad breath brings on much repugnance.
Before magnificent mornings pass us by,
Brush all beautiful teeth am sure to try;
Perfect example like to and always set;
Love at first sight when dentist we met.
Same to assistants and receptionist applied;
For all of their support have heavily relied;
So each morning mouth wakes up smiling,
And now my nice teeth am never defiling.
Do brush up and down and sideways to;
Between teeth floss through and through,
And then in the end you can hardly wait,
To use gum massager before we masticate.
Mouths do exceed each standard and form;
Dentist said set and established a new norm;
On our teeth, actions control ware and tare;
Shiny and still look gorgeous everywhere.
James Thesarious Hilarious
Retired Veteran and Poet
https://www.poetrysoup.com/member_area/edit_my_poem.aspx?PoemID=710531
1908
Last day at school for me
Some thirteen years Ive had
And Im going to be a farm hand
Just like me dear old Dad
Here now its Mr Peters
A silence falls over the class
'Registration' he says as he does every day
I am Williams and always called last
Boys first as always he starts,
I know it off by heart,
Abbot, Brown then Carter,
Cartwright and Cathcart,
Edwards, Jones and Needham,
Penny, Potter, Ryan
Sadler, Seedhouse, Setters,
The Smiths both John and Brian,
Taylor, Tonks and Tromans,
Walters, absent he,
Watson, Wigg and Wilberforce,
Then Williams, thats me.
1915
We'd never been out of the county
But here we were grabbing our chance
With butterflies, rifles and bayonets
Here we were heading for France
We crossed on the good ship bravado
Yearning for war stern to aft
Back slapping loud gallows humour
We were young, we were keen.... we were daft
1920
My sister asks if Im going to see the plaque
Then quickly says sorry
I just mean do you want to go
I tell her yes and dont worry
Its cold, my sister holds my arm
'Here comes your teacher' she whispers
'A fine day for it Williams' Peters says
'This must be one of your sisters'
'My wife' I lie and he buys it
I hear someone giggle behind
He tells her she must be a very brave girl
To marry a man who is blind
I swear at him spitting my venom
Like a serpent cornered and trapped
But a voice speaks over a megaphone
And everyone cheers and claps
We are moving along at a shuffle
People queuing to look at the plaque
My sister describes the ornation
Upon cedar wood names carved in black
'What does it say?' now I ask her
And she read me the words that she saw
To those of this village who gave their lives
for their country in the Great War
Read me the names I tell her
And slowly now she does start
Abbot, Brown, Carter,
Cartwright, Cathcart
She hesitates a little,
She is crying a little as well,
I say it doesnt matter
She is finding it hard I can tell
The list is very long she says
And though so much I care
The very best thing about it is
That your name is not there.
The lone star rolls up on the little rock
From his state of my way, highway ego
He scoffs at the inconvenience of a road
And at the X, tells me which way my bow ought to go
So I sat and saw
How I could have my twinkie and eat it too
How I could have legs like stilts and still
Trip over a high school sized pebble in my shoe
What's one girl's opinion gonna do?
His praise of God is best done through boast
As a man full of air, with no son and no Ghost
He cries out "Jesus!" In vain
And is only Christ-like in name
There is no err in his ways,
Only existing sin is taking blame
Because it's his charges that kill him
Not the verdicts made in His courts
I am glad to spend one day in his house
So I can be glad for the thousands elsewhere
I don't need some secretary
Telling me my shortcomings made another man sick!
his illness was bred by being on-fenced for the freedom of his ventilations
In acting sour while believing he's forced to be sweet
In choking on his Freudian horror
While maintaining to appear so perfectly neat
So I sat and stared
At a man claiming to be ignored in one facet
And rear-kissed in another
At a man who dangled expectations above head
And likely hid secrets from his brother
At a man with a wall of success
And yet a man who can prove
That even in excellence
You still lose
What's one boy's opinion gonna do?
At Last a Candid Memorial Plaque
By Elton Camp
At the park I saw an astonishing sight
A different plaque was really a delight
I stood agape and read it for a minute
“Joe Bucklesby hated this park & all in it.”
For never before in my “borned days”
Have I seen anything other than praise
“Moe Morris was everyone’s friend.
It’s so sad that his life had to end.”
“Mildred Murray was a kindly soul,
One who had a heart of pure gold.”
Like a funeral service, none will tell
“Fred was a rascal who resides in hell.”
Joe Bucklesby is a man I never knew
I have to wonder if what it says is true
A park surely can be a nasty place
Visited by folks who are a disgrace
I wish that the reasons why he hated
Could be, in detail, somewhere related
He left a bronze footprint on the sands of time
Was he an honest man or some ball of slime?
I have up over my door at home,
a plaque that's sure a dandy.
The message that it sends to me,
has really been quite handy.
I've had this treasure many years,
by mother it was given.
To commemorate the path I'd chose,
that would lead to heaven.
The message there most aptly put,
gives this room some class.
For of Christ I am reminded,
when through that door I pass.
It Reads:
"Christ is the head of this house,
The unseen host at every meal,
The silent listener to every conversation".