Best Pretty Much Poems
They'll have you believe she was lost to the sea,
But the moon would beg to differ.
She was always lost,
Always looking for which way to go.
Or was that always looking for where she came from?
The moon couldn't really tell coming from going;
To a celestial body both look pretty much the same.
She wanted to be found asserts the moon.
Or was that to be seen?
She had confided at every turn,
Every phase,
I see you,
Do you see me?
I am but a sliver today, how about you?
A crescent, that's exactly how I'm feeling too!
I see you,
Do you see me?
No, not this moonless night;
I don't see myself either.
I see you,
Do you see me?
I see you.
I know you see me too.
You are the full that fills me.
She was not lost to the sea insists the moon.
It was not the sea that swallowed her
But my reflection.
18.01.03
Composed for Gregory R Barden's
Water and Sky
Now I ask you this
A more common name you will not find
Cities have thousands of them
Small towns have at least one
Why pretty much everywhere you go
You will find a Mr. Smith
Why once in china
In the middle of nowhere
This old Chinese man came out of his hut
Shook my hand
Said , Ni Hoa me Mr. Smith
I was truly and duly shocked
Being a Smith, he made me tea and served me lunch
Go to any hockey game and I will tell you this
In the stands
There will be 1000's and more
of Smiths, Mr. and Misses and all manner of Smiths
Why even the Montreal Canadians have one!!!
Now if you turn around, there will be a smith behind
The odds say this is true, and thankfully for all,
To hold a door open
To help an old lady across the street
The Smiths are gods angels
Lending a helping hand
Love and good cheer, you know a smith is near
Now you may ask me how I know all this to be true
The answer is quite simple you see
I know a Tim Smith
A kinder man you will not find
A family that loves him
Friends that appreciate him
A tavern that knows him by first name
Someone who always buys me a DRINK!!!!
A man of loyalty this is for sure
What else explains a Blackhawks fan?
So I tip my hat to my friend Tim
I raise a glass of good cheer and salute
To a family man of honor
With a heart of gold for those lucky enough
To know Him
Cheers
I grew up in Middletown, where everything was pretty much average.
Every house, every car, every mom, dad and every kid were all
just about the same. Except for Paul Locke. Paul was the only Jewish
kid on the block. But that wasn't what made him different.
Paul could eat dirt and seemed to enjoy doing so. Someone would say,
"show'em Paul", and he would. Sand, red clay, loam, dust, it didn't
seem to matter. Paul would reach down and grab a handful, choke it
down and then laugh uncontrollably at his accomplishment. He was at
his best in those hot July and August days when we hadn't seen rain all
summer.
Thinking back on it, I don't believe I ever saw him do mud.
I suppose even being different must have its limits.
Give Me Your Best James Tate-Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Space Cadet
11/03/2016
Everyone at one time or the other have had a good time.
The world is round, the sun will rise, and all think things are fine.
For some of us in America that pretty much is true,
Are we really having a good time? When are we going to realize the sky is not blue?
There's a quite haze hovering over our dear planet.
It's groaning, rupturing and spewing out it's anger, it's a warning we just don't get.
The earth is being drilled, dug into, for it's natural resources.
So what happens? It fights back, hurricanes, tornadoes, and bad weather of course.
Earthquakes, rumbling worldwide, polar ice caps shrinking,
Don't know about you, but it gets me to thinking?
God formed this planet for us, not for us to rape it.
He made this paradise for all of us, to find the Holy Spirit.
Having a good time? At who's expense? God's of course.
He gives us love, wisdom, and of course we make matters worse.
We should be grateful and thankful He lets us even have any harvest,
Anything we can have, if we follow His lead, that's the Lord's real request.
Respect this world and all that is in it.
For it given to us from God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit.
Reap our harvest, return to our Christian Roots and values, see and hear.
Having a good time in the Lord's world, no war, no pestilence, no hunger, and
especially we have no fear.
In a perfect world, I think we would get to be the age
we looked and felt our best.
I’d be in my 40’s, and I would have stopped aging.
Calories would not mean a thing.
Perfect bodies need no rules
of when, where, how or what to eat.
If I wanted a Cinnabon, I’d have it,
and then I‘d have one more.
Haagen-Dazs would inhabit my freezer.
Boxes of Lindor chocolates would adorn my pantry shelves.
Doritos and cans of nacho cheese dip would be there as well.
I’d have a man who pampered me.
On weekends we’d go dancing.
In summer we’d be on jet skis,
partying with friends, and lazing about.
Wait! It would be a perfect world.
All year long would be like summer then.
Probably I’d be on an island.
Yes, in a beautiful home on a beautiful island.
In a perfect world, people do what people want to do.
Me, I‘d not be working!
Robot people would clean my house.
And since I would be rich,
there would be no poverty in a perfect world.
I mean, I would not want the guilty conscience
of being rich while others would be poor.
Everyone would have to be
pretty much the same as me!
I suppose the folks who love to work
would still be working.
Folks like me would be writing poetry.
But wait! What would I have to write about?
There would be no sacrifice, no pain.
Where would be the heart in poetry?
No injustices to speak out against either
if all were free and living in ease.
If we stayed young and didn’t age,
nostalgic poetry would be a thing of the past.
If everything were beautiful,
could we appreciate the many things we had?
We wouldn’t know how good we had it,
If we had no misery to ever write about.
On further thought, I have come to this conclusion.
In a perfect world,
there could be no real poetry -
only pretty little posies in an already pretty world.
What then, I ask, would be my purpose?
Written Feb. 14, 2016. Note to Catie: Not sure if this is exactly free verse. In a short time, this was all that could come to me, but I enjoyed reflecting on the topic!
A Tribute to Golda
It was a clear and bright sun shining morning in May.
As I came out my front door into the breezeway,
I saw coming toward me an enormous gray dog with eyes of pure gold,
The most exquisitely beautiful canine one could ever behold,
With a calm gentle presence and peaceful demeanor;
The look in his brilliant gold eyes assured I had nothing to fear.
It was love at first sight and I hoped he would stay.
Never mind the impediments; I’d find a way.
My toddler son climbed on him like they’d grown up together,
As I seriously pondered the prospect of whether…
Absolutely not, said my husband, a cat man,
And nixed the idea before it began.
Weeks later, a litter box and cat food mysteriously appeared
On the sidewalk, out of nowhere; we thought it quite weird.
With the next morning’s sunrise, we figured it out.
The same coat of gray and gold eyes left no doubt;
The same being who before as a dog had been spurned,
In a more acceptable form and presence had now returned.
Bounding out of the bushes with a commanding meow,
A little gray, gold-eyed kitten my husband had to allow.
In her life as a cat and formerly a dog,
She was my brave and wise Golda who would go on to log
More than one rescue of our subsequent pets.
In defending attack, this courageous gray, gold-eyed feline was as fierce as it gets.
Note: Golda saved the life of my Chow-Chow puppy when she was attacked by a big dog that
came at her from across the street. Golda came out of nowhere with claws out, sending the
dog scurrying with his tail between his legs. Another time she rescued our little Siamese
youngster, Meowli, from the neighbors' dogs by jumping on their head while Meowli ran for
cover. Golda stayed with me for 12 years, longer than the husband cited in the poem, and
then when her time and her work was done, she just disappeared pretty much as she had
appeared. She was a beautiful, long haired all gray Persian with brilliant gold eyes. When not
rescuing other animals, she had the same calm, gentle and peaceful demeanor as the dog who
showed up that morning and left when he knew he was not welcome to stay.
7th place winner in ~Somewhere A Pet Is Waiting Contest~ sponsored by ~A Rambling Poet~
Can you imagine our beautiful world without war
Our life's would be so peaceful and tranquil
Until the end of time war will exist, I think
Rest in peace all you brave, courageous fighters
An affair of honor, bravery and valor was yours
Games of strategy, like a game of chess, war games
Every flag waver proud of country and military
In surprise attacks the dead lay broken and shattered
So, a thousand years of history taught nothing
An adventure for the young, no just a power game
Beyond weapons and strategy is raw reality
Evil military battles raging in so many lands today
To the war dead we say thank you, thank you
Thank you for sacrificing your life for us and peace
Every war is about bodies, the more the better
Resolving a war is pretty much impossible, I think
Will war never end in our lifetimes, doubtful
On television we see it roaring on endlessly
Really war is the dumbest way to resolve a dispute
Dead military men and women- we grasp you to our hearts
_____________________
December 19, 2015
Acrostic
For the contest, _____________is a better word
Sponsor, Verlena S. Walker
First Place
I always thought that I was like my dad.
People tell me that I look like him
So, I just suspected that we were similar.
He doesn’t show much emotion
I don’t show much emotion.
He’s got blue eyes,
I’ve got blue eyes
He only has a select few friends,
I’m picky with my friends.
He’s funny,
I hope I’m funny.
I’m quiet and reserved,
He’s extroverted and sociable
But I’m at my best when I’m with people.
I’m open to people,
He’s super skeptical of people
I give a lot to people,
He gives a lot to those he loves but not really to those he doesn’t know.
I’m afraid to be alone,
He’s pretty much always been on his own.
Maybe we aren’t that much alike after all.
The saying opposites attract is true for him and I
But perhaps it’s the opposite for my mom and I
We don’t really look alike,
But we do the same things,
feel the same emotions,
still mine are on a much deeper level
For example, I could’ve only known a girl for a month
things end and I’m heartbroken.
It doesn’t happen all the time, it’s legit only when I put a lot of time into it.
The same goes for my mom
she gets over things she didn’t put a lot of time and effort into easily
but when something does
and it doesn’t work out
she takes it hard
we might not show on the outside
but on the inside
it’s like we are lone sailors in the middle of hurricane
trying to lock down the hatches
calling for help,
but just wanting to someone to understand us.
Which is funny,
because I’m 5 shoe sizes bigger than her
yet her shoes don’t seem to hurt my toes.
She always wanted a relationship with her older sister,
I’ve always wanted a relationship with a stranger.
We are so much alike that I tend to get annoyed with her
because it’s like talking to a different version of me.
I’m sorry for not recognizing this earlier mom
It turns out I’m just like you,
And I love it.
Sail most by north, by west the least,
until the moon sets in the east.
There, in a sea the colour of custard,
ye'll see the Ile de Deux Sans Mustard
where locals speak like buccaneers,
calling you ‘me dirrr' and us ‘me dirrrrs'.
Their pirate accent's quite inexorable
though, than ours, their grammar more is flexible.
They appear to verge on being mammalian,
a little bit like South Australians
(I'd never for the sake of mirth
deride the folks who come from Perth).
Hard left, first manatee you see,
or right, your choice, you're free as me
(it's nix to do with politics,
a pox on all elected plicks).
Sail till the sea turns sweetest violet
and there you'll spot the cutest islet
(had we to rhyme with ‘sweetest red'
it'd be a continent instead).
Here, when poetry is long dismembered,
lies the place of rhyme remembered.
Yes, you have come upon a land
that any poet would think is grand,
where almost everybody aint
any kind of ffffflamin' saint,
but seldom use the worst of curses,
when they converse in freeish verses,
or communicate in playful rhyme,
pretty much whenever they feel like it.
I have taken many walks through this great and lovely land,
I have walked through her deserts, on her mountains and her sand.
Many are the people I've met along the way,
Each carrying the bond of love for the U.S.A.
With skin of many colors; and ethnicity differs too,
But they're as much Americans as me or you.
We have a common flag, and one President to lead;
And equal opportunity for all to learn to write and read.
Traveling through most states, their laws are pretty much the same,
The state I'm about to enter looks like the state from which I just came.
People love their families- husbands, kids, and wife,
And there is great appreciation for the freedom in our life.
Immigrants arrive and step upon our shores,
To partake of liberty's freedoms- because we have wide open doors'
For some this 50-state union is the land of their birth,
Every patriotic heart thinks this the best nation on earth'
Religion is an area in which not all agree,
But I'm guaranteed the right to worship in the manner best for me.
Some folks may be soft-hearted; others tough as old shoe leather'
Yet, when disaster strikes, you'll see Americans pull together.
Our states are separated only by map-makers lines,
The common values we share are ingrained in our minds.
The Church is also a single body with members far and wide;
Each one is looking past the obvious and seeing Jesus inside.
The Church has people in every separate nation,
And God's people can be found in each denomination'
We have a common leader: Jesus is His name'
And He sees each Brother and Sister as being exactly the same.
Just as in America, it's the people who make our nation;
Likewise it's the Christians who make the Church' Now, that's a Revelation'
Arthur Ball (H.S.L.P.)
September 18, 2005
Crawling along the sidewalk,
his tiny legs wiggling along
with his wriggling, squiggly body,
he creeps me out!
If he survives the elements
or the stampede of hard-soled monster feet
upon his too-soft squishy body,
he will perform a disappearing act!
Spewing sticky strands
from glands near his mouth,
he twists himself into an ugly shell
hidden and hanging from a common twig.
Shedding skin, he slowly reveals
his chrysalis self.
At last,
his inner beauty, that rare beauty in disguise,
will have changed before our amazed eyes
into the colorful radiant wings
of a splendid butterfly!
Written Jan. 4, 2016 and pretty much my only free verse so far this year!
He left home when he was barely thirteen,
Said he got tired of getting beat, by an old man that was down right mean.
Said it might have been different, had he done something wrong,
He said shoot I ain’t perfect, but I know when I don’t belong.
He said momma left when I was just nine,
She said she couldn’t live with a man who wouldn’t choose her over moonshine.
And after that it was hell to pay,
Cause he’d get drunk dang near every day.
So I kind of figured I’d get out while I could,
Cause the life at home sure weren’t no good.
It’s been pretty rough out here, but I’m finally learning my way,
Picking up cans and bottles pretty much makes up my day.
Well I’ve been on my own for a little over three years now,
Don’t know what happened to my old man, don’t really care anyhow.
Went by the house once and it was all boarded up and had police tape draped cross the door,
You can bet I wasn’t going back in there that’s for sure.
Shoot I appreciate the money, what’d ya call this an interview,
Shoot mister there’s a lot of kids out here like me, and this was the only thing they
could do too.
My paper is always turned so people don't judge;
because yes if it's vertical my work will be smudged.
With the other I've tried to write;
but man it just doesn't look right.
When I bat on that side
the ump runs to hide.
I can't even start on that foot,
my balance pretty much kaput.
And do not get me started on that 'right-handed thinking;'
to grasp that logic's like being on a ship that is sinking!
So over the decades I've often had to interject,
that being left-handed is the obvious 'correct.'
It is hard living with asperges
Everything is black and white
Nothing is illogical
Day is day and night is night
You can not read emotion
You don't want to cause commotion
All you want is love and understanding
Not grief and people just demanding
It's hard to show compassion
It's the mind too a fashion
It's not lack of empathy
It's just that you cannot see
It's not a tantrum that's occurring
It's the mind that is over tuning
No point in saying get over it
It won't help just make us want to fit
We know what is right from wrong
To a point of an OCD
It's pretty much autism in form
But not knowing what is the norm
As a carer of someone with this fate
Show understanding and not hate
It's hard to know what to say
It all depends on that day
No negative vibe or attitude
This will make them clam up
Plenty of love and gratitude
They be at the top of the cup
So stop and think and wonder why
What has made them start to cry
Thier is a reason in thier head
Try and resolve this before bed
Now this isn't in every case
Before you screw up your face
This is just sufferers that I do know
I just want to help and show
A Bible thumper how sweet the sound,
That means I’m in search of hallowed grounds.
That means I was lost but now am found,
And know the meaning of Heaven bound.
That day His blood was spilled upon the cross,
To bring salvation and hope to all who are lost.
Father forgive them for they know not what they do,
Even to this day those words still echo true.
I pray for those who laugh and curse His name,
For one day they must answer for their words of shame.
There is not a lot I can say except I believe His word to be our greatest gift,
And know that His return will be mighty and swift.
I pity those that don’t believe an take His name in vain,
For upon His return it will be too late to take part of our Saviors reign.
For upon that day they will be cast away to suffer in torment for evermore,
I just pray they open their eyes before it is too late and see what they all have in store.
Bible thumper, holy roller that pretty much describes me to a tee,
I love the one called Jesus and know He died for me.
Should you ever choose to cross over that line,
I’ll welcome you as a friend if that is not being too asinine.