Best Propeller Poems
i wait at the river for the cry of the loon
from below
in the muck
reeds
grow tall
there are no lips that will draw music
from these clarinet dwellers
i stand under the brightly lit dusk
nearly motionless
the moon above is glued in place nailed in to its spot
holding on to a piece of the bedtime sky
the little dipper reminds me of a rocking chair
my favourite star shines just a little dimmer
time passes
does so
uninvited
its metronome beat replaces the soundscape
of an otherwise musically crowded air
a hand descends from above
cuts the trapped moon down to a sliver
leaving the twilight mostly blind
i'm getting old
still even my worn out senses
are aware
of the days
aware
of that single golden eye
of its rise
its set
its endless loop
quiet is my flow of sand
stressed beyond reason
my lungs want to burst
my brain explode
my emotions are stretched passed their limit
my chest fills
my chest empties
the choice was
has always been mine
i have not lived the life i was gifted
i'm frozen
i'm hot
like a statue baking in the unforgiving rays of Sol
wide awake in the after dark
with all the usual players
the wolf with his cool stance
dressed in a zoot suit
snapping his beatnik fingers
wooing the maiden night
the lynx with a fluid stride plays
the ground like bongo drums
negotiates the air like brushes on snares
a choir of flyers lend their songs
there is a chasm of nurtured colours
engulfing me in its rich deep tones
having stood here longer then i know
i inhale my time in tiny puffs
i am void of the sanity i once possessed
i happily dismissed that blurry concept a long time ago
it is you know an overrated attribute
time moves with a second hand like a plane propeller
i live every moment as fully as my strength allows
all the living at the river and its surrounding land
add their breath to the natural air of the eventide
i breathe in the chill of the nightfall air
and i
i wait at the river for the cry of the loon
September 28 2015
armand
Bibbety Bobbity bunny went shopping with his mum
She bought him a pogo stick so he could have some fun
For other bunnies had teased him about his enormous ears
Poor Bibbety got so upset he’d run to his mum in tears
Now he’d got his pogo stick he’d bounce around all day
Couldn’t wait to show off and hear what other bunnies say
Some bunnies gathered round him to see what he could do
He gave one ginormous bounce and into the air he flew
Bibbety Bobbity bunny had bounced oh so very high
He left the earth’s surface and landed in the sky
The other bunnies shouted for him to come back to land
But Bibbety went zooming high, he was feeling oh so grand
Hopping on fluffy clouds of iced pink cotton candy
Bibbety thought life in the sky was so very fine and dandy
For now his long floppy ears acted as a propeller
He became a bunny helicopter, oh what a clever fella
Bibbety Bobbity bunny thought he could have a little fun
By dancing on the rainclouds and blocking out the sun
Hopping about on misty clouds made him want the loo
There are no toilets in the sky, what should poor Bibbety do?
A stream of rabbit droppings falling from the sky
Could really hurt someone if it hit them in the eye
So Bibbety grabbed his long ears and made a bunny nappy
He floated back down to earth and he was really happy
Bibbety’s pogo stick just disappeared and his flying day is over
He now just plays in his garden and nibbles sweet spring clover
10~20~15
N/A in contest judged on 05/21/16
The city of Prague
In a different world
Its centre ripped
The whole world heard
Its now separated by
Canyons so deep
The day it happened
To hear a country weep
Beautiful buildings
Fell away
Architectural delights
Toppled on sway
But the city recovered
No bridges to be seen
Ingenious in genius
Sky Gondola's reign
To cross this great city
From north to south
Over the gaping rift
Above the canyons mouth
Gondola shaped
Zeppelin for lift
Tiller propeller
Propulsion shift
Sky taxis
In ariel flow
With their lanterns lit
Like glowworms glow
This sight i view
With my pal Jules Verne
Inspires his writes
As generations will learn
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy4.php
The Minions
Minions Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
A versifier indeed, crowding the tiny city dwellers,
above the rest flying with the strongest propeller.
In day he disperses many tiny pieces of torn up paper,
at night he sits on his throne as an intimidating dictator.
The little people do as told following the confused story teller,
after all, they were treated as undesirable city dwellers.
If they don't run past the finish line they get reprimanded,
If only they knew following him was never recommended.
Early afternoon he leads them to a walk in his park,
little does he know when running they wish to disembark.
The dwellers know better than to follow him in his maze,
the more they learn of him, the more they feel crazed.
Some stay and some go, but no matter what the decision,
there is so much conflict, the town turned into a division.
Separated qualifications in regards to frugal injustice,
There may be more than one leader, a dedicated accomplice.
Beneath the caves and in front of the chair of the monarch,
he leaves trails of empty promises leading into his landmark.
Finally the city dwellers learned that it's time to be righteous,
and the look upon their faces was stunning and priceless.
The old versifier ended up living to an old age of grey,
he wondered why in the end they didn't want to obey.
Date Written: February 16, 2016
by Dawne Zacharias
He came to me in tears
A plane of thin weightless wood
Fit together by a center groove
A propeller with a rubber band to wind
“Where is it?” I asked
He pointed, “over there” was his whine.
"Show me, my brother," was my love this time,
Then I saw it, bobbing and floating in the middle
of the muddiest, smelliest, most opaque pond
that stretched for a hundred yards or more
“Please get it” he choked, with tears running down his face,
I knew I couldn’t reach it with a branch and
what I would do for my little brother....
what in the world was I thinking, no way am I going in there
I rolled my eyes, as he grabbed my arm, “please” he cried.
As I entered, the mud began to rise above my ankles, then
my washing days had just begun, sneakers, socks, pants...
my knees, waist, then shoulders, cold enveloped me
my walk was pointed in one direction
his bobbing plane now just a few feet away,
one last step and I’d have it!
I could hear my brothers shouts of delight
as I held his plane over my head, he
danced on the edge of the pond, an Indian dance
I could feel his absolute joy in this 25 cent plane,
I smiled and shouted, “ I got it.”
Rhyme Time III - Death (12/2017)
The foe, their ship, it must be found.
The engine stirs, the pistons pound.
The decks vibrate, the tone, that sound.
On the horizon a singular mast
Alter our course n' make us fast.
Prepare the decks, prepare to blast,
And deny the foe an ocean so vast.
Increase our speed, begin the turn.
Spin the propeller, churn n' churn
Our guns will fire, their ship will burn
Our bow moves forward chasing her stern
Now in range, our radars slew
Balanced n' deadly, our guns do too.
We fire our shot; our aim is true.
The dead are many, the living few.
Their bodies now bob in crimson foam.
It is my ocean, not their home.
Now turn n’ steady, more sea to comb.
It is my destiny the waves to roam.
The foe, their ship, it must be found.
Woke up one morning
It felt just like any other
Or at least so I thought
I guess I was young
I was naïve
I felt a bit restless
My pockets penniless
And my girlfriend was cheating
But that was nothing
Nothing compared to what I felt
When I learnt later that morning
That you had scaled up to the skies
It was that dreaded day at the end of November
You left for us ever
But every time I close my eyes
Your image starts to materialize
Slowly and painfully I now realize
I realize I will never see you again
But many a night I fail to sleep
As I try to wish away the pain
They say men don’t weep
But it’s hard to hold back these tears
Oh how I miss my big sis
She taught me not to doubt myself
You taught me how to walk tall
How to believe in myself
Self discipline, self confidence
She was the turbo drive of our family
The front propeller
Our umbrella
A mother, aunt, wife and sister
I get my solace from The Book
And The Book says
A good name is better than sweet perfume
And the day of death better than the day of birth
My heart still hurts when I think of you
I miss you sis we all do
I never knew I could ever feel this way
I look into the future and all I see is emptiness
RARELY
I WRITE MY NAME IN FULL
IT WOULD APPEAR
OF ME
TO BE
POMPOUS AND PRETENTIOUS
TO DO SO
FOR THEN WHEN YOUNG
I SAW
MY NAME IN PRINT
RUDOLPH JON RINALDI
HAD THE SYMMETRY AND POWER
Of A NEW SHINNY AIRPLANE PROPELLER PROP
BUT THAT WAS THEN
WHEN I WAS YOUNG
AND NOW IN AGE
IT SEEMS
TO BE
OF ME
TO HAVE
THE BEAUTY AND SOLIDITY
OF AN OLD ASS
Elmo Elmo was an elephant seller
He kept a white elephant in the cellar
He swigged all the bottles
Down a hundred throttles
And was turned into a big screw propeller
Elmo Elmo (C) rajat kanti chakrabarty
2014
Victory*…
…genuinely triumphant…
is and can never be achieved alone
since it needs a driver, propeller, motivator, instigator.
Grateful am I
for my victorious life-phases
brought by enablers… significant, remarkable
who have helped me become who and what I am today.
My first human drivers are my parents
who exposed me to life’s wondrous beauty;
I have siblings constantly cheering me toward good success;
There are my teachers who are mentoring me along truth’s jubilation.
Authorities guide me
to utilize overcoming courage;
as well as biblical precepts that instruct
in facing challenges gloriously, winning peacefully.
Most importantly, I have the best
and indeed the perfect victory-Driver…
though sometimes mysterious and unfathomable
…yet He is always miraculous; yes, mightily omnipotent.
He is GOD Himself---my Saviour and Lord
Who conquers my failures and hoists me up
from falls, making me a champion by His grace
working in my life so as to become others’ victory-driver, too.
*1Corinthians 15:57 But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
June 19, 2019
1st place, "Driver of Victory" Poetry Writing Premiere Contest
Sponsored by Julia Ward; judged on 6/26/2019.
Old pelican
Perched atop
A railing at the end
Of Sunny Isles pier
His wings spread
His body teetering
In a salty breeze
As if in mid-flight
Stationary
But with all the motion
Of the universe
Rushing about him
Like a propeller
Whirling
And steering
In the currents of the sea
Yet absent a ship to thrust.
Dances with eagles in skinny oxygen
Silence is regal, time is an abstract
I humbly look up, at your majestic existence
So still, so cold, so proud, but so much like me…
So timid in the slap of the Northern winds
So in love with love
So much shaken by earthquakes of Human Nature grinning in colliding
plateaus with deep faults.
In the blind of darkness I only have your secret, inner warmth
Lava of our Souls perforates geological barriers,
Layer after layer of memories of past lives…remember?
Our underwater games, the Raising above our Black Sea level
The playful puffs of steaming magma cooling off dreams into Reality…
I see dances of eagles shooed by a deafening propeller
I float in a basket above you: I AM THE QUEEN OF THE WORLD !!!
…and I can fly in the eternity and beyond!!!
You remain smiling coldly , nostalgically still, endlessly Majestic
As I become smaller, and smaller, and smaller
In a minuscule Black Hole where mountains become Gods
As I turn into a still, cold, and proud abstract
in the Rotunda of my childhood Gardens back home…
for John's Contest
< iron propeller
sitting entrance to driveway
slowly turning blades
like the hands of time on clock
longing for extra seconds
Hummingbirds buzzing
red gold blue and green headed
just waiting for turns
to capture it's own bountys
succulant sugar water
Written By
Katherine Stella 9/13/2011
Entry For Francine Roberts
The View-A Tanka Contest
G.L. All
MY MODEL PLANE
Way back, when I was 12 years old,
I built a model airplane with my Dad,
It was a great experience, but most of all,
We spent some time together, and for that I was glad.
The plane was built from balsa wood and paper,
With a rubber band running from propeller to tail,
It was a labor of love for about 2 weeks,
When we finished it, it was time to exhale.
It was displayed in my room on top of my dresser,
This was not just considered a toy,
But this was a project that I was proud of,
And I considered it as my pride and joy.
Well, about 2 weeks later, it was moving day,
From our 2nd floor apartment on E. 8th St.
We drove about 5 miles in our ’49 Plymouth,
To our 12th floor apartment on W. 5th St.
The only way I could protect the plane was,
To put it on the rear shelf of the car,
I guarded my model, made sure it didn’t move,
Even though the trip wasn’t really that far.
Well , I got my plane home in one piece,
And displayed it in my brand new room,
But I was told by my Mom & Dad to continue working,
So, unpacking my stuff I resumed.
One day I had a bright idea,
I wanted to see if my plane would fly,
So I turned the propeller, the rubber band twisted tight,
And what happened next made me want to cry.
I turned the propeller 1 last time,
And the plane then snapped in 2,
Then I thought to myself, Oh my God,
What the hell did I just do?
I never saw my Dad laugh so hard,
And there is just 1 thing left to say,
A promising career as an aircraft engineer,
Came to an abrupt halt that day.
On bed I lay, just staring at the ceiling
And watching the fan rotate damply
Like the propeller of a wounded plane.
Bedridden for three days by fever.
The rotation of the fan makes my head
Goes round and round with eyes
Popping out like the nose of a clown.
I lay coughing like hags do
As my chest explode with insistent pain.
So I sat trying to fix my gaze
But the world seems to be blur
B'cos am famished due to loss of appetite.
Nothing seems to be able to run down my throat
So I thought I needed a lubricant
Bt that idea was too absurd.
So there I lie, like a mannequin on display
Trying to cover the stinking cave of my mouth
As I filled the room with foul aroma.
I tried to rectify errors in my health
So I started eating "mushrooms".
Surprisingly, there I lay till this day
Dilapidated and in despair.