Best Porters Poems
I'll never forget the date, the nineteenth of November
It's etched firmly in my mind, and I'll always remember
It was the day that I had my spinal decompression surgery
And hopefully it would put an end to over a year of misery.
I was struggling to walk, and it was depressing for me
And it was especially frustrating for all my close family
I couldn't go cycling or for walks in the countryside
I just wanted to stay at home and from the world hide.
My journey started with physio, but exercise caused me pain
And I couldn't help but wonder if I'd ever be the same again
My MRI scan showed trapped nerves at the base of my spine
I opted for surgery and the surgeon reassured me I'd be fine.
I arrived at the hospital and was under the care of a surgeon
A renowned Consultant Spinal Neurosurgeon, Mr Faizul Hassan
They put surgical socks on me, along with a hospital gown
Then a porter arrived at nine o'clock to take me down.
They put a mask on my face and then I went to sleep
And it was a quarter to one when I was woken by a beep
A nurse then asked me if I wanted a drink of water
And I thought I'm having an op, maybe I'll have it later.
But I'd had my operation, and I didn't feel any leg or back pain
I was so relieved I'd had it done and I could live normally again
The porter took me back to ward one and the nurses were there
It is their kindness I'll never forget and their excellent care.
And all the surgeons too who performed my operation
They've given me my life back; for them I'm full of admiration
And all the porters, admin staff and auxiliary nurses too
They all play a vital part in making dreams come true.
I'm recovering at home now and post op I've got slight pain
I'm so glad to have had it done; I have plenty to gain
My three daughters and my wife are now looking after me
And I consider myself lucky to have such a caring family.
In a fortnight I've got to have staples removed from my back
Then my back won't feel so stiff, and I'll soon be back on track
And I've got to take it easy for a few months and watch what I do
No heavy lifting of any kind and in six weeks return for a review.
Written on the 23rd November 2023
Dedicated to all the staff at the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital in Birmingham. UK.
FRED
Fred the farmer he bought a new tractor
The milk maid he wanted to attract her
He said you wanna ride
So she jumped in beside
Said tis slow can't it go any faster .
SAUL
In ancient times the killer Saul Porters
Was better known as the 'beast who slaughters'
Folks heard a victim shout
Saul was seized and knocked out
They hung him and cut him into quarters.
JOHNNY
An old gunmaker called Johnny Aled
Was testing one of his guns in his shed
The firing pin jamned
He said I'll be dammed
Shook the barell and it blew off his head.
CHARLES
A two timer by the name of Charles Fring
Was with a hooker in bed doing their thing
Thought he'd switched off his phone
Then heard screams and a moan
Twas still on and his wife heard everything.
MING SO
A hammer thrower from China, Ming So
At the games it was her turn to throw
She swung it around
Her feet left the ground
With excitement she'd forgot to let go.
RANDY MONK
There was a randy old monk from Biscay
With others wives liked to romp in the hay
With a smile and a grin
Said free loves not a sin
His Abbot didn't quite see it that way.
WOODCUTTER
There was a woodcutter from Tralee
Showed no mercy when hacking a tree
But the tree fought back
And in the attack
Broke his jaw, lower back and left knee.
TRAPPER
Into the woods he went hunting for bear
By sheer bad luck disturbed a grizzlys lair
Ran down the hill in fear
Smell of bear was quite near
Caught his foot in another trappers snare.
Written 25th August 2019.
(It was 1860 when the English poet Robert Browning
stumbled upon an interesting artefact as he walked
through the city of Florence. It was a file of documents
from an old Italian criminal trial, and he would turn
this material into his masterpiece, "The Ring and the
Book".)
The Old Square Yellow Book
It was the kind of day they call a "stallion"
in Florence, with white sun, surpassing strong.
And it was noon. (In June, to be precise.)
The Englishman came strolling aimlessly
(or was it?) through Piazza San Lorenzo.
And, just as now, a market crammed the square
and foamed around the statue's marble plinth.
Here, plaster busts, there, flaking picture-frames,
and Garibaldi portraits (way back then,
in eighteen-sixty, they were giving birth:
Italian nationhood was in the air).
The tall "inglese", drawn towards the stall
which offered prints and books, picked something up.
He shouted "shop", and put one lira down.
The book was his. He managed to ignore
the girls, a-squabbling over tasseled shawls,
those burly porters, drenching head and neck
in Giovanni's fountain, braying mules,
cacophony and chaos all around,
to read his book. His blood knew, right away.
At last, he'd found the raw material
from which he'd quarry one great masterpiece.
One foot propped on the railing, near the step
which leads down to the fountain by the church,
he read, engrossed. Then, with a sudden laugh,
he threw it in the air, and caught it, safe.
What was it? Well, a book - but more than that.
It was the record of some long-dead trial,
some murder case of many years before,
with statements, pleadings, longhand notes. In this
authentic tangle lay a human tale
of fierce emotion, rich psychology,
if he could tease it out. So off he set,
re-reading as he walked, feeling his way,
along the narrow Giglio, then the broad
Panzani. Via Tornabuoni next,
so long and straight, down to the river.
He passed the Strozzi Palace, crossed the bridge
they call the Trinita. When he reached home,
the cool Felice, there was not a doubt.
His whole life's labour lay there, in his hands.
Let me tell you a story of my night journey;
After a hazardous trip from a far off state
With drooping spirits and waning energy
I alighted at the station to catch the night train
My heart besieged by memories of my home, left behind
Like a drop in the ocean
I quickly merged with the buzzing crowd
In the blinking light of platform lamps
I saw a huge crowd- the young and the old
With baggage heaped on baggage, patiently on wait
Time slouched on at snail’s pace….
At last hearing a long drawn whistle from far
I looked out and saw the train coming, snorting noisily
And halting with a screeching sound
The real ordeal begins as one lifts his suitcase
And pushes his way along with all strength,
Between bags and boxes and people,
And the porters running after you to carry the cargo
Finally I got into the train and occupied my seat among strangers
My mind plagued with fears of thieves and molesters
It was my first journey alone at night
I don’t know when I fell into a deep slumber
It was with the sound of * ‘chai…chai’ that I woke up
The inviting aroma of brewed tea entered my nostrils
At last I have reached my native soil!
I am heading home, every step and every inch
Drawing me closer and closer to my sweet haven
My heart began to pump quicker
I felt like a marooned mariner
Suddenly cast ashore by a rescue boat!
__________________________________
*‘Chai’is a local term in our language for tea !
April. 19. 2022
Form N- Narrative New Poetryy Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
Topic- Journey
Shed a tear for those deceased
In COVID’s agony and pain,
Shed one for their bereaved
Never to see loved ones again,
Then spare a thought for those
Who daily risked their lives
Doctors, nurses, ancillaries
All Parents lovers husbands wives
The para meds, the porters
All who make the service run
Remember them in prayer
For the service they have done.
Emotionally bruised and battered
By death’s daily dealing
Those whose lives are dedicated
To caring and to healing.
Spare a thought for those
Overworked and underpaid
Never to be forgotten for
The contribution they’ve made
I bet they really appreciated it when
We stood and clapped our thanks
They probably think of it every time
They have to queue at food banks.
( very recently Nurses have voted to go on strike after, in real terms, suffering pay cuts over the last few years)
I am the engineer on a hell bound train
and I finally know it.
Curiosity drives me on to see how
destiny will end it.
Ignored good advice going into the station
but was much too proud to accept it.
Paid full price for the ticket and knew
right then that I had blown it.
Saw the passengers get off, one by one,
some invited me home, no time for it.
Watched the scenery turn to badlands,
good hint, but I said, "screw it!.
Porters and crew got off somewhere
and I was too engrossed to spot it.
I am the engineer on a hell bound train
and I always knew it.
Curiosity drives me on to see how
destiny will end it.
We take care of the tenants in the buildings where we work everyday
but the owners can't seem to comprehend that we don't make enough pay
as porters, handymen, supers and those who man the front doors
we're just trying to survive in a city which we can no longer afford
We mop their floors, walk their dogs and taxis for them we procure
we fix their sinks, deal with their trash and do so much more
we're not asking for a lot but what they want to give us is a crime
we're just trying to live in the city of which we devote our time
Born and bred New Yorkers or Immigrants from every country
we work hard at our jobs and deserve decent salaries
we came with a contract proposal that was justified and fair
they then came back with some bull s*#t with figures from out of the air
Living in the city in the midst of the struggle and strife
living in the city we're just trying to build a life
doing the best we can with what little we have got
it's now time for the RAB Board to get up off the money pot
Living in the city just raising our families
living in the city with sub par salaries
to the RAB Board we don't want to hear any more of your hype
do the right thing or 32BJ will definitely call a strike
Migrant workers and street children
Tarek Hasan
I do not sleep on eyes
Early action is away on leave
I have the luxury of back pain.
I did not question my race today
Abroad my identity?
Most of the walls are stained the conscience of the question
Minded as unwanted, what is the worst?
There is still the heart of the depression fall down.
Logo people tarite torn sail the way,
Common goal pursued by the will-o'-the-wisp
Children in memory of the way up the wall of the picture .
Children born faceless way, why?
Why is he silent, still did not answer
Human cruelty, not their distant
They are hated, god luck on the way out
There's still retired, their running play.
Sometimes the station the station never seen Mohakhali, Jatrabari, Gabtoli intersection,
Look out the rotten dumps to drain the water heater,
Sometimes the traveler exile
Sometimes money Sadarghat two porters.
The way they address their shelterless
There is no guidance on the identity of their birth,
They are sitting next to dumps
The smell of rotten rice spread on the nose,
When fatigue, happiness nest don't find
Do not fall asleep on the way to the park,
I space where foreigners with them.
Hard job labor malicious belly
I went down the road where there Pedestrian
Is next to the trash cans at them,
Nonra afternoon sat down with hand-goody
it does not smell like an owl.
There is no identity of their birth but spent the day
And so what I have received,
What is the way I walked Logo
Lived my life the ultimate curse.
When fatigue overheating on the labor body
Not finding the shadow of the vacation home
Fall asleep by the side of the road, with the head of bricks
And they do not mind, I
And do not be sad whisper, not torn,
I am a migrant worker, my identity
Today, the street children.
pen and pint in hand
four porters in and counting
might be all she wrote
Michael F. Lewis
7/17/2013
Flowers climb the branches
exhibit their full blossom
flowers visit drawing rooms
They visit temples
and then they vanish.
defying fixed shapes
rivers hasten to no destination.
carrying countless goals
roads get lost in a maze.
Unceasingly
I stand
holding the selfsame earth.
Many couples came under my shade
and rose to ecstatic heights
of imagination,
tired porters
put down their baskets
by my side
and slept out dreams
like lives of longings.
children who hopped branches,
left as they grew
carrying mementos
to remind childhood.
Wild winds’ whirling clusters
whispered a while
perching on my leaves
and raced towards horizons
chasing sky,
chicks hatched on my branches
grew wings and flew out
carrying tiny lives,
travelers who arrived
passed out from exhaustion
but they came round under my shade
and carried themselves away.
Many a time
slogging me through the day
the sun sought to chase me away
from my standing position,
rain battered me into water
threatening to wash me down,
storm nearly blew me by force
by melting me into air
somewhere like itself.
Rays carrying rainbows
could not stay with me
sounds of Naumati band and
monotonous conch-shell drones
rose in sky by turns
and faded somewhere.
Traveler living in a distance
four days from here
before leaving home
thinks of relaxing under my shade
and catching up with his journey,
birds herald the spring
resolved to hatch on my branches,
roads part to meet here
in case they got lost,
dusts and shriveled leaves
take a breather behind my leaves
escaping chasing hurricane.
soil a muddy flow hit by rain
turns to its essence holding my roots.
lightning dancing with winking eyes
continued to tempt
thunderbolts played threat games
clouds acted as though
they were splashing water
to wake me up.
Never did I feel like
leaving this place
and walk.
---
Translated from Nepali by Prof. Abhi Subedi
They stood there by the shadows
Two vagabonds should you call,
One was a man of honour
The other a mongrel small;
The winter sun was setting
Twilight had crawled overall,
The north wind clamoured and howled
Dark clouds had suffused their shawl;
Few townsfolk shuffled about
Hurrying with chores of their day,
But none caring to glance at
The two who stood by their way;
Horse-drawn carriages laboured by
As did porters to the quay,
None had the time to stand by
Caught up in their worldly fray;
Ignored stood the wanderers
Who once had home and hearth,
Their lives blessed with plentiful
For it had both joy and mirth;
But destiny had beguiled
Now they were ever in dearth;
They needed food and shelter
But could barter not its worth;
The two sought caring glances
They sought for a helping hand,
Pleadings a gentle flourish
Like sea-shells upon the sand;
Yet, dusk felt their suffering
Bats feted them to their land,
Stars cajoled from a distance
That Venus would wield its wand.
Huddled upon a doorway
They made a grievous sight,
They stood for heaven's mercy
Their state a piteous plight;
The north wind seemed relentless
It rumbled with all its might,
Snow-flakes heeded their pallor
And left them shrouded in white;
A snow-owl spied them at dawn
Hunched at the doorway below,
Their reverie lay frozen
With desires none would know;
The mortal world had cared not
With compassion's running low,
But nature had been kindly
Having buried them in snow.
The owl mourned their tragedy
Sadly hooting at the sun,
It resounded like a dirge
Alas to hear, there was none!
***********
You can tell our almighty creator
I’m her biggest winter hater
Turn up the heat, turn on the radiator
I’m leaving the north sooner than later
Taking my wife and my daughters
Way down south to clearer waters
Going to stay a while at the Latin Quarters
Sipping on wine and tavern porters
Spending our days shopping and prancing
Relaxing at night dining and dancing
And when the vacation comes to an end
We’ll make sure next year we’ll do it again
Monday nights
Are India pale ale,
Tuesdays
Stouts & porters.
Then comes
Whiskey Wednesday
& seven –
Tawny death
In slow sips.
You wonder
How it comes:
Sudden
Moonshine,
Stinging & harsh
Or in Canadian mists,
Buffalo traces, wild
Turkeys
Feral as forests
Or soft & rummy--
An easy sweet
Slipping to nothingness,
The last liqueurs
Liquid as eyes
Seeping silently
Through rye rivers
Rapidly rushing
Toward night.
Welcome to the hot seat our new president
where pressure and strain are the porters of your office
you might have got our mandates
but our minds are filled with clouds of uncertainties
Please number one citizen, concentrate
and avoid any form of foul play
remember that we are not a herd of cows
being directed without a say or question
Challenges have got big mouths on us
but we hope your solutions will make them bow,
we are not interested in you impressing us
or any of your steps to make us marvel ‘wow’
So don’t achieve little and shout so loud
or stay too comfortable in your well protected house.
If you spoon feed the little doubts in our hearts
we will run rout to ensure you vacate the throne
but we wish you well for the good of the Nation
and hope in the end, we will stand in the glory of accomplishments
~
Picture yourself in a boat on a river
sailing along with the moon in your eyes
Following dreams found to make your heart quiver
with tangerine trees and marmalade skies
Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly
counting the words in between all your sighs
Seeing her face and it captures you wholly
a girl with kaleidoscope eyes
Follow her down to a bridge by a fountain
with waters so clear as your sprits arise
Climbing each step up a marzipan mountain
where rocking-horse people eat marshmallow pies
Everyone smiles as you drift past the flowers
wearing the wings of a young butterfly
Tickling tulips on top of the towers
that grow so incredibly high
Picture yourself on a train in a station
where magazines offer a travel surprise
As luggage arrives in your imagination
with plasticine porters with looking-glass ties
Suddenly someone is there at the turnstile
your heart skips a beat in the autumn sunrise
Dreams all come true as she sends you a smile
the girl with kaleidoscope eyes
~
Inspired by the poem Strawberry Fields Forever written by Jennifer Proxenos
Her use of Beatles song lyrics woven into her wonderful poem intrigued me.
So I thought I would try my own using lyrics from The Beatles,
Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.
The first and last lines in each stanza are from their song, in order