Best Propellers Poems
Resounding echoes awaken the child
demons in the attic beckon unto him
stark fear grips his Vick's laden chest
shivers vibrate rusty springs of down
footsteps creak closer upon loose floorboards
while steamed filled pipes play taps
a somber teddybear snarls
causing the world to be still
foolish nuns, God doesn't want to "get me"
the sting of a ruler splinters a left hand
blood spurts upon faces of laughter
evil little boy too wicked for a mother
affliction runs in the family
Florence became flop because she always fell
polio never whipped her ass
just abused her now and then
she healed with a smile
Even humility has its price
Jimmy Dean wore sunglasses
maybe his eyes were bloodshot
or maybe he was a child of an alcoholic
and they became part of his attire
degenerate eye disease, masturbation
spattering or battering
does it really matter when you can't see
or understand the difference between ADD and ADHD
Psych 101: Crack can be Prozac
Iron gates surround a new residence
protecting the innocent who peer from outside
rehabilitation means refining bad habits
like those on the outside who have mastered them
twelve years of bars and games people play
provide an education unto itself
seclusion can be the deciding factor
between murder or suicide
self righteous judges choose life
recidivism is a revolving door
of vicious cycles with no engines
only propellers called co-dependants
or co-defendants, take your pick
life repeats itself over and over
only the circumstances change
yet the merry-go-round stops
when the flowers are arranged
Why are most tombstones gray
scared, afraid to die
are you saved?
from what, ourselves
you can't hurt me
Bob Shank-Nov. 30th, 2006
My friends come home draped in flags
I pause at the edge of the airplane door
Facing a tunnel leading me to a muffled joy
Strangers tell me I am related to them...
I deny a woman with three kids... her kiss
My friends are slipping in trucks with flags
They are loaded and back doors explode shut...
..............................................................
I wake up in a trench of blood and clean pillows
The same woman from the airport next to me
Peacefully breathing...and I thought she was dead...
I think I am finally home, fans are not propellers
Camouflage doesn't bear swing sets in backyards
My friends' helmets, guns and boots line up in my head
Patrolling with weapons made of aluminum foil
-------------------------------------------------
There is too much silence for a dead soldier walking...
I think I FEEL the kiss of the woman with three kids ...
SENSITIVITY
They’re all ignored by us, but they have feelings too :
A black gravestone in New York, down in the world,
Recalling its halcyon days as a part of
The impressive strata at Palisades Park.
The statue in the museum of Androcles and the Lion
Daydreaming - oh, for the good old days just lying sunbaked
On the beach surrounded by
Fossil shells and shrimp at Sables d’ Olonne,
With the feet of the famous resting gently on you.
And the marble fireplace in our living room -
He can still see in his mind’s eye
The Carrara quarries in bygone days…..
Why, some of his great-grand-daddies were
Hacked out of there and taken to Rome for the Via Appia.
Oh yes, stones have feelings too.
My carved ship-of-the-line from Nelson’s navy
With her masts and spars and decks and cabins
Lies awake at night thinking of her days
In the pine forests of Norway; and next to her
This old cedar jewellery box, with intoxicating
Smells of the coast at Prince Rupert
Where she lay on the beach for weeks
Before the saw mill changed her shape and sent her to me.
The new sapele door in our hall spends hours
Wishing for his buddies in the jungles of Uganda
Where the ants would tickle you
Half to death with their constant scurrying
Up and down your branches, building this or that.
Listen closely and he’ll boast that some
of his relatives ended their days as propellers
on German zeppelins, I kid you not.
Everyone has to feel special.
And what about those unassuming steel forks in my drawer
who can still tell stories
Of their days as iron ore in Finland,
And how their brother Ernie became
A bumper on the President’s limo (supposedly).
Or my wife’s copper bracelets with their pathetic tales
Of being shipped from Cyprus
and remelted into ingots in Bimingham.
I have overheard the wings of a 747
Recollecting in the hangars at night
How their existence as bauxite in Jamaica was so idyllic,
“Wit all dat reggae and smokin’ and god knows what, man.”
They too have their memories.
And, man, de smell in dat hangar!
LIVE FOR THE CHEERS, DIE BY THE BOOS
"If you live for the cheers
you'll die by the boos"
Ephemeral joyful pool of tears
exterminate joy and invite foes.
Deceitful applause and wrong peers
are both companions of fools.
Don't live for the world's cares.
Apply your mental tools,
the cheers are thorns over the years;
So, rather be alone than in twos.
"If you live for the cheers
you'll die by the boos";
Same cheerers, being your propellers
will slate you on totem poles.
Refuse to live by the cheers
and focus with the eye of bulls.
VickManuelPoetry {VMP}
Copyright©26thJuly2022.
We flew through the air on a refurbished plane,
the shakes and the rattles sure gave us some pain.
But we were the ones who fortune had named
to spend years Far East with our dad’s army game.
The journey exciting, we’d not been before
to a place where the winters did not foul our door,
so with overcoats changed for our tropical clothes
we boarded the plane to where God only knows.
With propellers screaming we tore on our way
and rose in the air as the ground dropped away,
though creaking and groaning the plane struggled on
though both the wings flapped as we flew to the sun.
British Eagle, the airline that carried us away,
a turbo prop plane that had long past its day.
But that’s all our army could ever afford
when transporting dozen of families abroad.
Though night time in Turkey, at our first stop,
was not really the place where we found it too hot,
when we landed in India, some time around noon,
I think that it dawned what we’d be facing soon.
As we walked down the gantry to this foreign place
I thought the plane’s engines blew hot in our face,
but as we walked away the hot stream still blew strong
and it soon became clear t’was the wind all along!
But soon we resumed on our creaky old ride,
like sardines in a can we were packed back inside
and as Singapore rose in the sky like the sun
our new life in the tropics had really begun.
From a plane that just made it, next day was a train
with another full day of rough travelling again,
with seats made of wicker on which we would ride
and bunks made of wood crammed with people each side.
The view as we trundled down the track for that day
was worth any discomfort the train threw our way,
plantations and jungle, bananas and palms,
made this glorious Malaya a world full of charms.
Four years in Penang with its warmth, sun and sea
changed not only my life but the essence of me,
though it’s now fifty years since I had to depart
this ‘Pearl of the Orients’ still lives in my heart.
Ivor G Davies
The last few agonizing moments aboard the ill-fated Titanic,
Were no doubt filled with horror and unabated panic.
She slipped 'neath the waves to settle on the floor of the sea,
To create a watery grave for 1500 souls who rest for all eternity.
I dreamed that I descended to her resting place 13000 feet below,
Where eternal darkness reigns and deadly currents ebb and flow.
As I neared her eerie hulk I felt that I trod on hallowed ground,
Taking care not to step on the many personal items lying around.
There were many poignant reminders of life on that cluttered floor;
Ladies shoes, leather caps, crystal wear, china and so much more.
I saw the two massive outboard propellers in the distant gloom,
And the towering mast lay upon the deck where it met its doom.
I entered her interior and viewed the once magnificent dining room.
Remains of fine china and silverware were scattered in the eerie tomb,
Reminders of exquisite dining by the beau monde on her maiden cruise,
And nearby the beautiful reception room where the elite met to schmooze.
I awoke from my dream with a start and later upon reflection,
Mused upon the 'unsinkable Titanic' and man's strive for perfection,
And concluded when man in his foolish pride doth egotistically exclaim
That his schemes and follies are indestructible, he is doomed to shame!
Entry for Rob Carmack's "Dreams Contest"
I Am /A Dandelion
I stem out to a beautiful flower dressed in yellow,
with a milky latex that runs in my veins.
Omitting a fragrant perfume of my own.
As the night falls, I close and slumber till sunrise.
Like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly,
I’m standing tall with downy white feathery fine hair.
As a gentle cool breeze whispers with a kiss,
I surrender my fruit to fall into its hands.
Swept away and drifts like little propellers with the wind,
like a thief in the night whisking them away over long distances
Out to their lovers as they mate with the rich brown soil.
©By: Eve Roper 5/3/2015
Dandelion late Middle English: from French dent-de-lion, translation of medieval Latin dens leonis ‘lion's tooth’ (because of the jagged shape of the leaves).
Contest : Picture Yourself as a Flower!
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
first time I took an an airplane it was dire
two propellers flying the sky of stench
oozing the land of a deathly earthquake
bodies telling the story of unknowns
as ten years old couldn't understand all
the drama and operettas I laugh
the flies and worms the need of survival
was happy to meet Paris
a city I was told and not a son of Priam
but a prayer we made it safe to casablanca
and next to Orly a nightmare of wish
as the tilt of a flipper will hardly nourish
at the corner cafe and mohammed the corner store
owner will hump me with the promise of candies
behind the counter as I
all could I see was sweets
and pants never falling down
but the shame lingering
and a loaf of bread was a total success
and my mother sent me back
as pennies hard to find
told her my story sharing a bed
hush your brothers need you
to put a meal on their plate
and that is why I ever long for a *****
as how could you do **** to me
your little one
I paid a buck for a Buck skin Coat
I watched a Duck, duck the propellers of a Boat
I’ve seen the Tears ; of Tears in my Heart*
I See the Caribbean Sea Tear my Life Apart
To be Cont.
I know ; very bad of me , I Dedicate this to myself in Celebration of going back to school
For a bachelors’ Degree in English LOVE YOU ALWAYS and FOREVER, YOUR Eternal Liege…Harry
More than twelve hundred souls
Meet their watery grave.
German U-boat patrols
Spark a fatal shockwave.
This echo of the past
Resounds throughout history.
Rousing war unsurpassed,
Deadly shroud of mystery.
The empire aids Cunard,
Loaning millions in pounds.
Lord Inverclyde toils hard
On deceptions unsound.
They hide admiralty
Within their merchant fleet,
And in reality
War barons plot deceit.
Famed cruiser so agile
Brings home the Blue Riband.
Propellers prove fragile,
New designs would respond.
While retooling the craft,
Gun mountings are installed.
Hidden away most daft
Down where the ropes are hauled.
However they decide
To switch their new design.
Large cargo holds shall hide
Munitions in her spine.
War with Germany starts
With land mines and blockades.
America builds parts
While Britain launches raids.
The Isles become war zones
With no sure passage back.
Submarines would throw stones
To sink the Union Jack.
So Daniel Dow protests
This British smuggling ring.
The prior chief suggests
Attacks these loads will bring.
A German message warns:
"Huge risk at British sea!
If allied flags adorn,
They'll be hacked to debris!"
Captain Turner is picked
To lead the merchant ship.
"Speed shall avoid conflict
On this momentous trip."
Voyage two hundred-one
Departs Pier 54
Under a watchful sun,
Fresh ammo in her store.
Steaming toward Fastnet Rock,
Bowler Bill seeks advice.
Three ships are sunk in shock,
Warnings are confirmed twice.
Posting double look-outs,
They ready the lifeboats.
Bill secures a black out
While taking careful notes.
Thirty miles from Cape Clear,
The vessel enters fog.
Weather thwarts so severe
The captain slows their slog.
The periscope spots them
As orders are passed down.
One button shall condemn,
Destruction all around.
The Old Head of Kinsale
Watches the missile glide.
The bomb shreds to assail
Those weapons stowed inside.
He loved skateboarding,
driving, parties, and friends.
He had a big heart with big dreams,
till late one night it all came to an end.
Walking home one night,
the lights hit him with great force,
rolling impact could bring.
In front of his house is where he lay.
Big propellers came,
took him away.
He put up a fight but the lack of blood,
took his helpless life.
Family and friends gathered,
as we watched memories on the screen.
The tears, anger, disbelief,
hurt, and love arose once more.
Leaning on the rail,
Clasping a clutch bag of dreams.
Sea spray blends with tears.
Propellers churn memories,
Of Love betrayed and submerged.
In the twentieth year on the 11th day of the first month
I saw a vision and the skies open up before me
As I stood facing the south direction the Sun began to dance
In colors of light
The Sun moved to the right and then the Sun moved to the left
The Sun moved higher in the sky and then the Sun moved lower in the sky
As the dancing continue pastel lights of pink, green, orange and blues
Formed the shapes of wings below the Sun like a heart held in someone’s hands
The wings around the Sun gyrated like propellers hoisting up and then lowering the Sun
The soft light colors invented the first circle around the entire orbit of the Sun in the order of clockwise
In the opposite direction of the clock a second circle of the same soft gentle lights developed on the outer portion of the first circle around the Sun in effect what I saw was a wheel within a wheel
As the wheel within a wheel spun and stop and spun again the beautiful lights and colors grew dimmer and brighter
In Ezekiel's version of the spinning wheel he saw four cherubims with four faces: a lion, an ox, an eagle and a man
But in my vision a cherubim had the face and strength of a lion who held the baby Jesus in swaddling clothes
My cherubim then throw the baby against the temple of the Holy of Holies because Jesus second coming will not be as a man but as Judah the King of King and Leo The Lionhearted
The cherubim looked at me with fire in his eyes and then pointed me to the East and to the rising Sun in the Springtime and spoke of the Twin Gemini Gates
And he said remember your time in the garden and do not miss it again
As the wheel in the wheel become one wheel and the colors grew harder to see and the wings under the Sun evaporated into the thin air and all returned to normal
I said I must remember..
On the twentieth year of the 11th day of the first month
I saw a vision and the skies open up before me
PLEASE SAVE US MANATEES
By The Poets Listed After the Poem
Practically perfect people in speedboats tease us manatees.
Long ago, as “mermaids,” we could swim the seas free as the breeze.
Even though propellers have replaced natives' canoe paddles,
A manatee's underwater world need not leave him rattled.
Swimming slow through shallow waters we're not looking for a fight.
Each one of us is trying to live free from this man-made plight.
So we glide below the surface in our one-piece swimming suit.
As we splash along, with no G-string thong. Wow! That's really cute.
Vibrations we send you, saltwater salutations please heed.
Endangered you call us we're thrilled; safe passage is all we need.
Under shallow sea my little calf died fish hooked in her feed.
Scar so deep by human's deed, my baby gone in red-hot bleed.
Months of cold weather, inland, slowly, we travel warm rivers.
Allure of warm waters, drifting, feeding, no chilly shivers,
Now, the government wants to remove our protective label.
As if toxic foe and loss of mild winter was a fable.
Tell our painful story now, by written word or moving song,
Each passing day our prospects dim-our future may not be so long.
Every person can take part. So, one and all please share your heart.
Save us manatee take action now. Search the web; find out how.
CONTRIBUTING POETS in alphabetical order: Charmaine Chircop, Carolyn Devonshire,
Robin Gass, James Marshall Goff, Barbara Gorelick, Sean Kelly, Ruben Ortellao, Patricia
Prescott, and Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
I would like to dedicate this poem to Carolyn Devonshire, whose favorite animal is the
manatee.
Link to SAVE THE MANATEE Action Group.http://www.savethemanatee.org/action.htm
http://www.savethemanatee.org/talte.htm
http://www.savethemanatee.org/ta_miami-dade_mpp_8-09.html
First, I was a horse,
proud, fierce, untamed.
testing the texture of one continent,
competing with the winds and tornadoes
to achieve the ultimate granular vortex,
testing the manhood of the Cheyenne,
twisting the blistering ropes of the Sioux,
defying the white man with bared, scornful teeth
and a rusty, booming cloud of contempt,
rearing up disdainful hoofs at his challenge
of a lumbering smoking iron donkey
trapped on it's molded rails.
Then, I was a plane,
lithe, lightweight, defined.
with a body DaVinci once dreamed of
and a clear canopy
of tense eyes and sweaty, twitching fingers
on the throttle.
Soaring high over another continent,
beaten down by polished black boots.
The elegant, rich roar of Rolls Royce,
The searing steel death of Browning,
clamping together to mete out
justice and liberty,
higher and faster than any swastika propellers.
Then I was a car,
with clean lines and a pure promise,
born of optimism and innovation,
first brought forth under a steel sphere of the world.
My lean, youthful frame and bristling energy
beckoned to the untamed young,
bringing elation and
the whoops of warriors
as they pony up precious pennies
to slip easily into my low slung, leather saddle
and pick their soundtrack
and flick my fresh rubber hooves
across the next horizon.
Their nubile females in splendid mating colors
ponytails wagging their eager assent
in my ever growling breeze
as I assault their narrow strips of tar.
I have thundered through untrod dust.
I have been caught only by men like Remington.
I have sailed above exploding black skies
and landed farm boys safely to their futures.
I have raced through muggy summer nights,
blaring out my rebellion to a rock and roll beat.
I am freedom in flesh and hooves
and wings and guns
and canvas tops and pinstripes.
I am what Art should be:
I am versatile.
I speak in a thousand ways
in a thousand forms.
I please the eye and thrill the soul.
I am ..ME.