Best Pounder Poems
A seething summer morning in the oil boom trailer park
Oral Roberts on the radio with the gospel told by Mark
The reek of raw petroleum is everywhere around
We little oil trash urchins play marbles on the ground
He drives out here most every day around the hour of nine
Checking all the trailer windows for a little cardboard sign
He parks the canvas-covered truck and dons his leather vest
Throws a tow sack o'er his back and shows his Sunday best
Down the drive comes Danny, on his mighty motor bike
Hanging on the handlebars, his bigger brother Mike
The engine makes a ton of noise, a dandy double stroke
Two baseball cards and clothespins, hitting every spoke
Our ragamuffin gang was gathered, just waiting for the time
To contrive our evil strategy and carry out our crime
“The iceman, the iceman!”, I hear my sisters say
“Y'all be quiet!”, I hiss to them,” You'll give us all away!”
The iceman sidles round the truck and casts the canvas back
Scores a hundred-pounder block and cleaves it with a whack
Tongs the icy burden to his back and laughs at what is left
Chunks and chips of frozen jewels, the targets of our theft
We want so hard to play it cool and act like we don't care
All our mouths fill up with drool and it's tricky not to stare
The iceman winks his eye at me and hides a little grin
Then walks up to the trailer door where mother lets him in
The moment that the door slams shut, the bandits make their play
With eyes lit up, we whoop and shout like kids on holiday
We suck up all the chunks and chips and with our bellies iced
We swagger off to brag about our frosty jewelry heist
It's true we didn't have a lot, perhaps enough to just scrape by
But the visit from the iceman was like Christmas in July
And when I pass through oilfield country, it never ceases to amaze
How the scent of raw petroleum brings back those icebox days
January 30, 2013
her quarter-pounder eyes
edged with charcoal
coaxed me inside.
her round succulent body
i savoured hungrily
as from table to table she rolled.
a small gherkin green nose
sat on lips of tomato sauce
surrounded by a cheesy smile.
as my fingers touched
i knew it was
burger love.
Here he comes again
The keyboard pounder on the loose
Sure wish he’d learn to type
Without the finger abuse
Or overuse of
The Backspace key
Don’t smack me
I didn’t lose your pictures
You should have backed them up
Before you opened that attachment
And invited that worm
Into my circuitry
You bum
Go get some medicine
And wipe that nose mist
Off my monitor
That’s disgusting
Don’t open that file
Here comes that Trojan Horse
You’re on your own now
I just don’t care anymore
Hey, who are you
Where’d my user go
What’s that CD you’re shoving in me
My memory
My memory
My mem…………..
Hello
Welcome to Windows
© 2015 Earl Parsons
Someone said I could probably write
About furniture and kitchen utensils
And still put a funny twist on my poem
So I'll try to live up to my potential
You must possess a strange old noodle
To know how my crazy brain works
Observing the simplest things everyday
And giving them a twist and a jerk
Sure ain't no genius but ain't no dummy
So here's my attempt at appeasing
Cathie and I own this beautiful credenza
With imported china quite pleasing
Our living room set is a joy to behold
So comfy and inviting it beckons
I hear it calling for my afternoon naps
Most likely I'll give in I reckon
Now what about our lovely canister set
A charming addition to our counter
The colourful pillows on our comfy sofa
Can certainly be a heart pounder
Bet you think I've gone over the edge
But whenever I'm challenged in kind
I quickly respond and delve into my brain
Where oodles of rhymes I do find!
© Jack Ellison 2012
I found a flounder,
fifty pounder!
iin my vegetable stew.
He ate my carrots.
He ate my peas.
And he ate my broccoli, too.
I like my flounder,
my sixty pounder!
I think you'd like him, too.
He ate my tatters.
He ate my beans.
And now he weighs seventy-two!
So if you hate to eat your vegetables,
look closely in your stew.
there just might be a flounder there,
eating your veggies for you.
.
Here by the bay
I lay and pounder
Sun rising and setting
I dream of dreams
Of knowledge of kings
Of divinity of Gods or higher beings
Of a love; sweet and gentle-
of a Female kind--If you dont mind.
Here by the bay
I lay and pounder
All day I do wonder
Here by the bay
I dream of a girl
So very sweet and totally gay!
To kiss and love
To hug and snug
To enjoy and lust
And to be comforted til dusk.
Our internet freedoms
Say quotes?
Say Facebook pokes?
Say avatar Say hashtag,
My computer handbag?
Or smishing, dishing or instant phishing?
Our musical freedoms
Say princess of pop?
Say queen of hip hop?
The king of orgasmic rock
Who got writer’s block?
Or the Fab four, the king, say how to sing?
Our gourmet freedoms
Say double whopper with cheese?
Say double quarter pounder please?
Say 12 piece meal with 3 sides
Cheese burger with fries?
Shrimp toast, shrimp egg, shrimp halls, or shrimp balls?
Our television freedoms
Say you think you can dance?
Say a geeky romance?
Say Australian idol
Or celebrity survival?
Got talent, Bogan hunter and the struggle street punter?
Our literal freedoms
Say greenie?
Say bluey?
Brickie
or schoolie?
Cobber or dobber or jaw breaking gobber?
Our medicated freedoms
Say candy man cartwheels?
The back alley deals?
Say ripped with ice
When you name the price?
Knocked out with the burnt out, washed out, drop out?
Our freedoms were cried for, died for,
Romanticized, and politicised for.
They’re songbirds, they’re poets, and dark night sky comets.
To be questioned and spotlighted not hidden unsighted.
They’re sublime with a rhyme for all your lifetime,
To be sung from the tongue of that defiant young.
The pyramid is an ancient tomb
But for soul it is a womb
Build from lime stone slabs that together perfectly fit
This construction was quite engineering feat
I sometimes wonder
When ancient world I pounder
Ten thousand years ago Magi walked the ancient world
And if one travels their footsteps would secrets unfold
They prized Lapis Lazuli more than gold
And believed secrets to life it would hold
As the sky shines with thousand stars
The Magi by looking at them and planets like Jupiter and Mars
Destinies of man and Earth they tried to foretell
And I wonder did the leave something like the pyramid as well
Pyramid not of lime stone yellow brown hue
But made of lapis lazuli royal blue
And maybe instead of soul looking for divine place
They left something more tangible like ship that travels in outer space
The ship that to whole spirit and divinity including Omni-verse
Is what the ship that exchanges time for speed is to our known universe?
its funny how you mention my plethora of girth
this coming from Mister looks like hes given birth
whose idea of excersise is lifting a fork
while drinking straight gravy and munching on pork
See, working at Mcdonalds aint a problem, its true
coz further down the menu they make salads too
so dont even try to give me your flack
Mister Quarter pounder with fries, choc shake and Big Macs
Mister bucket of chicken with pride and with flair
who can eat the whole lot and not want to share
Mister cheese sauce on salads runny eggs and a steak
so dont even try to mess with my weight
i loves ya big brother, Mister 200 plus pounds
you say uv got looks i say thats profound
last time i looked i can run down the street
Mister tries to look down but cant see his feet?
so the next you try and mess with my groove
remember big Mister i got all the moves
so dont try to beat me, it'll end up the same
you may have the looks, but bro ive got the game
A 'Good Old Days Market' sign seen
With arrows that point to the scene;
There hidden by wall
Of stone, very tall,
I ventured and found behind screen,
Some tables with items arranged...
Such irony...somewhat deranged!
There spread out in view...
Still wanted by few...
Remains, by new tech, now estranged!
Typewriters galore, 'modern' style.
Old telephones that you must dial.
Flip cellphones that close...
Eight-track videos...
Oh, such a 'nostalgic' junk pile!
Some huge V H S movie cams,
The weight of two five-pounder hams.
Fax senders...hand fed...
Received...in hands read,
And heaps of outdated programs!
Old Apple computers, diskettes;
Recorders with lots of cassettes.
Fat TVs with tubes,
Old Kodaks, flashcubes...
Those 'good' old days? Gone! No regrets!
Sandra M. Haight
Hold on to that which sets your spirit at ease
For me it's glittering ocean seas
And a slightly salty breeze
In the shade of dancing trees
Think not of the workplace freeze
And the fatigue that haunts your knees
Think of the water's tantalizing tease
As if saying come into the water please
Where you will laugh and wheeze
In your imagination are all the keys
To hold onto that which sets your spirit at ease
For me it's glittering ocean seas
And perhaps a quarter pounder with cheese
Throw myself onto the beige softness
I indulge into the hungry cushions
Feeling light and relieved in my feet
I touch the soft floor delicately
I turn the chrome tap and pour the unwinding lavender
Pounder in my kingdom its perfectly filled
My home is my castle
My castle is my feets making
Finding your life at crossroads one day
Instantly turns you into a destiny’s prey
Toils and troubles never cease to hurt
Stupefied,you bear all the brunt
Its only solace that your injured soul seeks
Every character is perceived with greyish streaks
Deluged by an immense choking feeling
You see your life crawling and reeling
Your senses numb and heart afloat
Not even one painful shriek escapes your throat
Crooning you wish to disappear back to your shell
And shut the world that is living hell….
Looking out for a way to sneak ??
Pause and pounder…don’t freak
Search around and you shall surely discover
Numerous ways to win and conquer
Pick up your pace and don’t dither
Now is the time to act…don’t let your faith wither
Let conscience be your cynosure and lead you on
With hope in your eyes just wait for the dawn
We shall plunder your ship
an old ship of our line.
Dare you fight
This, Ninty-pounder might.
On your trail were
our sloops alright.
Ahoy says my lieutenant.
We have you in sights.
Fifty four on two decks
Like a corvette’s disenchanted ride.
Aligned are our sails as fear dragoons
A point to the starboard parallel we fight
Waving whites
Tarry awhile,
Gunners at ports
Drown main mast and smile.
Where are the whites?
There, She- pirates in tights.
Heated balls, crackling: our main mast, alights.
Holy cow, not a single shot, there goes our defense without fights.
Midshipmen running blind
Armored beauties, capturing, our might.
Quickly sir, tossing uniforms we are travelers in fright.
Cutlass’s here shining blades there, we see no way to flight.
Down on your knees say’s this sleaze size;
Duly chained and cuffed learning to be this pirate’s prize.
Again I am at my favorite coffee shop, sipping cappichino wanting
to write about something other than you.
Wanting half-heartedly to move to a different page in my life.
Needing someone else to fill that void you have left.
When I shut my eyes, you are there.
Small things constantly remind me of you.
Like Fate whispering to me from another plane to hold on a little longer.
At night my head fills with hazy dreams of us.
As I lay alone at night staring up into the dark,
your smile flashes infront of me.
I cry and reach out for you yet wishing that you are happy in your place in life.
I swim in this oceanic thought drifting out with the tide of a reality that I wish were true:
You, in your study working on another book, typing away.
Contenence of seriousness and contemplation= logic
Muscles of your jaw tense, your eyes moving in time with written lines
as the light of the screen highlights your face.
You lean forward as if to extract something from your works.
Hesitantly you begin to type again. Read what is there,
digest the phrasing, grimice, then fiercely press the backspace key erasing
forever that paragraph..
The frustration in these obsene lines.
I sense that you are stuck.
Leaning back in your highbacked leather chair staring at the screen.
Fingers arched in a prayer that your muse will come and bless you with a few lines.
To complete a thought.
As they move forth and back over pursed lips...Your concentration, to save an ill-fated ship from the clutches of a diabolical empire,
is such that you do not notice me standing in the doorway.
For the moment, I prefer it that way.
I take pleasure in watching you work,
pounder the course of the universe and not realize that you are being observed.
As I did when we were in the desert.
When I was on guard duty with the 240 Bravo that you taught me how to use.
I would watch you walk away from the TOC,
hands clasped behind your back, head covered with your booney cap lowered watching the ground. Puzzlement over the actions of the day.
Still, you have yet to see me standing there watching you...........