Best Press Poems
I grew a beard
while waiting for you
it looks more and more
like I'll never get through
My left ear was aching
I switched to my right
This perpetual holding
has no end in sight
I wish I'd have noticed
before such great cost
that your phone number spells out
800-GET-LOST
Though I pressed '1' for English
I am thinking now
pressing '12' for Braille
might work better somehow
My friends have all passed on
my children have grown
while I have been sitting here
holding this phone
Your toll-free number
is anything but
with pulse-pounding migraine
and a pain in my butt
Yes, I was clean shaven
when this number I called
but now I'm all wrinkled
and dammit I'm bald!
My bones they will find
still sitting right here
the telephone clenched
where once was my ear
And your endless recording
monotonous, dull
will be amplified through
my cold empty skull
Broken pencils-
but not broken spirits
He undresses rumor to reveal lies
this is how the desperate man cries,
Extra Extra he tries to sadden ya,
a bundle of rancor rambles from the shambles of his shame
finding form on a page of purely personal pathos
what he can't have he taunts,
flaunts falsehood as fact in commiserating style,
vulgar and vile such as pornographic propaganda
designed to compell despair with poisened air,
what does he care, loyalty he knows not how to share,
decorum just a ditch in the swamp of his heart,
hurt hurt hurt is the mantra of his yellow emotion
a mud temple is his refuge,
burn love, ravage respect, ruin reputation
is the curve in his grimace, the grime in his game,
even the news stands have rejected his rank rubbish,
a character assassinator eliminated by the Poet's assembly,
take your delusional drama to the closet playa
hang it on a hanger of humbled heresy,
your rusty razor shall not go "haymaker" anymore
remain in your "hayfever" brought on by Truth's retribution,
a wedge maker is your legacy, a virtuous man your fallacy -
J.A.B.
Trump's been awarded
the chock full of bull piss prize ...
BUT which seven wars!
Enlightened by God’s truth, abide in His will
While His entrusted tasks you fulfill
Labour for Him, trekking stewardship hill…
Press on, God’s servant*; in His peace, keep still.
Enabled thru Christ’s strength, work for His glory
While claiming His assured victory
Love Him, reaching out to others thru Gospel…
Press on, God’s servant; vanquish guilt’s injury.
Enriched with the Lord’s grace, share your blessings
While giving your best toward fruitfulness’ enforcings
Lead others to spiritual life's abundance against selfishness…
Press on, God’s servant; conquer slothfulness’ cursings.
*Matthew 24:46 Blessed is that servant, whom his lord when he cometh shall find so doing.
April 15, 2019
Trump was playing with Betty Boop
When suddenly he had to poop
- Coronavirus scare -
No toilet paper there!
But FOX News picked up an hot scoop!
every year
he shakes me
emotions
falling
with flakes
inside
this ball
wound up
playing
I'm dreaming
of a white
Christmas"
does he know
i'm dreaming
of his touch?
he sits stirring
his cocoa
while my
thoughts stir
every sip
allures
imagination
yearning
desires
to feel
the press
of lips
inviting
against mine
the flick
of tongue
whispered secrets
against flesh
the feel
of his edges
within
the trace
of my fingertips
the pulse
of his heart
in the echoes
of mine
the rise
and fall
of his breath
in the shallows
of night
as the music stops
i watch him
slip away
as i kiss
this glass
that contains
my dreams
November 23,2019
Stuck in a Christmas Globe Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Bobby May
Now press that button, press it if you dare
Before you do that though, are you aware...
that when you press that button, you agree
That there are thought police; no one is free
Now God forbid that we should talk of s*x
For if we do, we'll be under a hex
You see freedom of speech is just a joke
Now poets with agendas all will "poke"
I wonder what her partner did to Eve
The Bible says to her Adam did "cleave"
Now what this translates to in modern day
Perhaps is worded "Rolling in the hay"
Explicit or implicit, oh what fun!!
Just use a metaphor or "s*x*y" pun
Be careful not to mention body parts
Or you will be "disbanded" from the arts
So, press that button! Press it! Let's all see
What will become of us and poetry....
Eileen Manassian
Tongue in cheek, people....tongue in cheek! At least it's not tongue in .......... Hmmmmmmmm!!!! ;) No, but seriously...I do understand the concern about this issue that has been brought up by TPS about Rules and Regulations. I don't mean to be sacrilegious with mention of Adam and Eve either...a bit of humor with a dash of concern and a sprinkling of sarcasm. ;)
dear mr. electrician
you're a man of distinction
thank you from me and the spouse
for rewiring our house.
you have worked hard
no wire out of place
you toiled and sweated
nothing neglected.
but we will not pay you
and here's the reason why.
we will send a patronising letter
tell you there's no-one better.
photos of your work
will appear in an album
top quality, leather-bound
the cost to you just forty pound.
you don't have to buy
if you can't afford this sum
but the album will be a reminder
of a job well done.
If we were tomorrow’s headline
would we be missing lovers
reported as lost without a trace
or simply declared guilty
by the court of hearts and souls
traitors to the quest of love
have our stories to each other
simply become yesterday’s news
like day old doughnuts
cheaper by the dozen
there was a time my love
when we planned our very lives
on paper napkins
dreams were all that we could afford
the promise of fame and fortune mere gossip
every sunrise a fresh new edition
IRISH
The sound of the presses
While they run at high speed
The reporters and editor
Trying to fill a town's need
The feel of fresh newsprint
And the smell of the ink
Working on broken machinery
Sometimes old and extinct
Trying to meet deadlines
Proofreading as i go
A fast-paced stressful job
But it's work i love so
To see the newspaper
As it comes hot off the press
Taking pride in my printing
For in so many homes it will rest
To leave at days end
And feel pride in my chest
Now the town's got their news
I can go home, get some rest.
Do love...not for prize or reward....
The warrior or soldier goes into battle simply to serve his or her country.....
Like a tax preparer that never touches refund.....
only putting in work just because.....
and would reply, "look! we won!"
Doing a deed from the heart.....
is better than doing it for a charge.....
The recipient doesn't need a receipt when an act of love touches the heart.....
meaning the act was genuine and heartfelt.....
A warmness that makes the heart melt.....
That only comes from above.....
The only One Who is Love.....and knows what love is truly.....
is GOD
How I long for the days of yore when telephone communication,
Was with a living, breathing mortal in meaningful conversation!
Nowadays, when conducting business, much too often I hear,
A mechanical voice spewing perplexing babble in my weary ear!
First, I listen to a litany of their days and hours of operation!
A spiel about their products and a history of the organization!
"Your call will be taken in the order in which it was received!"
Already, I've waited twenty minutes - I feel I've been deceived!
I hear that hollow voice again but much to my chagrin,
The dreaded 'Press This Number' game is about to begin!
Having been offered many options, at that vacuous voice I shout!
I become so irate I hardly remember what I was calling about!
"Press One if you are a new customer -Two if you have an account;
Press Three if you need repair service - Four for a bank discount;
Press Five to pay your bill - Press Six to change your address!"
Lord, I'm losing patience! Help me out of this miserable mess!
On and on it goes ad infinitum like some Gregorian chant!
I'd like to talk to a representative but it seems that I can't!
Ah! At last! A person is on the line but I'll need a translator.
Alas, it's some guy talking funny on the other side of the equator!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Tied for No. 7 in Natalie Fllikkema's "Talkin' Technology" Contest - July 2011
Oh, my precious press, you are my
praise-worthy kitchen helper.
You take a clove of fresh garlic, bland,
and soon it becomes a brilliant burst in
minced, crushed, or creamy paste.
My gentle press, you transform
the wild garlic and tame it in a most
determined and delightful way.
You impart fine perfumery in the air.
You make a delicious marinade possible.
Your actions provide a tantalizing tongue treat
as a succulent addition to marinating
lean red or white meat, or veggies.
Oh, were it not for you, dear press,
my life would be a thankless kitchen
chore, well-intended, but poorly executed.
I applaud your bold audacity!
If you have read one corporate journalism bland adding it's flavor