Best Red Faces Poems
On the starting grid for the zimmer frame races
Ready to put themselves through their paces
No cheating girls - don’t go tying shoelaces
Or there will be embarrassed red faces
Lined up on the starting grid
Prize is a cuppa and a quid
ON YOUR MARKS..
GET SET
GO SLOWWWWWWWWWW
But off like rockets charge Ethel and Flo
Wheel to wheel at the very first corner
Ethel cuts in - she should have warned her
Flo gives her a knowing look
No cheating Ethel – you’ll get a right hook
They cross the line together - I’m glad I didn’t bet
Sandwiches, cake and tea is all ready and set
Best of friends they sit and enjoy a chatter
Who’s first past the winning post – it really doesn’t matter!
16TH April 2015
Anacondas crush to pieces
Bisons sport long shaggy hair
Cheetahs are the fastest species
Dolphins leap into the air
Elephants have large incisors
Fennec foxes, ears like Spock
Great white sharks unnerve the divers
Hyenas are laughing stock
Indris is a type of monkey
Jaguars are fast and strong
Kangaroos are tall and clunky
Llamas' necks are rather long
Mandrills have red-bottomed features
Newts can grow an extra limb
Ostriches are speedy creatures
Polar bears just love to swim
Quetzels are ablaze with colour
Rattlesnakes subdue their prey
Sloths show life could not be duller
Tawny owls sleep through the day
Uakaris have red faces
Vultures scavenge on the go
Wild boar live in diverse places
X-ray tetra brightly glow
Yaks lock horns when in a fight
Zebras' coats are black and white
Now you'll know just who is who
When you visit London zoo.
22.02.20
Abecedarian Contest Poetry Contest - sponsor Caren Krutsinger
Abc Contest Poetry Contest - sponsored by Allright Poet
Apache, the Ndee, "the people" of Arizona and other States
Blackfoot, the Siksika, whose painted red faces we can relate
Cheyenne, the Tsitsistas, meaning relatives of the Cree
Dakota Sioux, the Dakota, meaning little snakes in Ojibwe
Euchee, or Yuchi, are the "children of the sun"
Fox, the Meskwaki, eventually native to Wisconsin
Gros Ventre, strangely named "big belly" by the French
Huron, with their above allies left many a tribe wrenched
Inuit, the Eskimo, this tribe with the snow
Juaneño, from the Sunshine State around Orange and San Diego
Kickapoo, with their linguistic code, unique called "whistle speech"
Lakota, like the Dakota, speak with similar tongues they teach
Mohawk, "People of the Flint" from upstate New York
Navajo, is now the most spoken, where extinction has not gone berserk
Ottawa, "the traders" their name lives on in their City
Potawatomi, "fire keepers" one hundred speakers, my hearts in pity
Qwulhhwaipum, "the prairie people from beyond the mountain range"
Ryawas, by the Missouri River where they no longer reign
Shawnee, meaning "southerner" were are far ranging tribe
Tonkawa, "they keep together" but only a few still reside
Ute, of Colorado and Salt Lake valley fame
Victorious the ones who remain to this day, whilst the V has no name
Wiyot, and its last native speaker, died in 1962
X, xenophobic they would be, to the ancestors of me and you
Yavapai, from Arizona, are the "people of the sun"
Zuni, like all the tribes above, fell victim to the white mans gun
.
The True American.
Pub in Yorkshire with stout and ale aplenty.
Red faces sweating with alcohol's influence.
Singing fine songs in reverie and ecstasy.
Salivating at arrival of that succulent essence.
Tender juicy slices of beef covered with gravy.
A splendour when touched by crispy bubbling pudding.
Roast potatoes smiling that wicked grin for tongue's activity.
Forks and knives clatter in haste for that delight of tasty supping.
Drowning that deliciousness with ale.
Rhyming lyrics midst throng of patrons' happiness.
Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding you made me hale.
I will visit you often and celebrate tummy's warmth in merriness.
Apache, the Ndee, "the people" of Arizona and other States
Blackfoot, the Siksika, whose painted red faces we can relate
Cheyenne, the Tsitsistas, meaning relatives of the Cree
Dakota Sioux, the Dakota, meaning little snakes in Ojibwe
Euchee, or Yuchi, are the "children of the sun"
Fox, the Meskwaki, eventually native to Wisconsin
Gros Ventre, strangely named "big belly" by the French
Huron, with their above allies left many a tribe wrenched
Inuit, the Eskimo, this tribe with the snow
Juaneño, from the Sunshine State around Orange and San Diego
Kickapoo, with their linguistic code, unique called "whistle speech"
Lakota, like the Dakota, speak with similar tongues they teach
Mohawk, "People of the Flint" from upstate New York
Navajo, is now the most spoken, where extinction has not gone berserk
Ottawa, "the traders" their name lives on in their City
Potawatomi, "fire keepers" one hundred speakers, my hearts in pity
Qwulhhwaipum, "the prairie people from beyond the mountain range"
Ryawas, by the Missouri River where they no longer reign
Shawnee, meaning "southerner" were a far ranging tribe
Tonkawa, "they keep together" but only a few still reside
Ute, of Colorado and Salt Lake valley fame
Victorious the ones who remain to this day, whilst the V has no name
Wiyot, and its last native speaker, died in 1962
X, xenophobic they would be, to the ancestors of me and you
Yavapai, from Arizona, are the "people of the sun"
Zuni, like all the tribes above, fell victim to the white mans gun.
Waving poppies, ruffled by the summer breeze, look up
At the deep sky and warm sun, pillows of clouds gentle
Contrast to the green below and the scattered red faces
With soul black eyes. Children’s voices ring like distant bells,
The sounds of happiness and the pleasures of life, undisturbed
By thoughts of harm.
But the flowers of the forest have no arching sky above
Only cold shadows and pools of dark water, with wriggling
Worms the only life. No laughing children lift the heart
And bring a happy smile, the distant bells a sombre cadence
That tolls for thee. No bright poppies shine in this decaying
World, only their soul black eyes.
And the lone piper plays his sad lament for
The Flowers of the Forest.
Knocking on doors,
Collecting wood,
Penny for the "Guy",
All was good.
Catherine wheels,
Whistling rockets,
Treacle toffee,
Stuffed in pockets,
Every neighbour,
From our street,
Deadly rip raps,
Dance at your feet,
Charcoal spuds,
Potato pie,
Kids with sparklers,
And big bright eyes.
Dancing flames,
What a sight,
Teenagers with air-bombs,
Gave grannies a fright.
Trays of Parkin,
Black Peas galore,
Bonfire Night,
Was never a bore.
Rosy red faces,
From the heat,
Toffee apples,
Sticky and sweet.
Gloves and scarves,
Welly Bobs too,
Hat and coat,
We had a good do.
Kids of all ages,
So much fun,
Glowing embers,
The night was done.
They always said I was "special" or useless,
full of excuses, slow to learn but my wit had a quickness,
so I decided to embrace my uniqueness,
and look at me now leaving people speechless.
They challenge me and their ego decreases,
they think I'm an easy target all blonde and simple,
but I can tie laces and pull down bridges,
leaving red faces on all those people.
I'm just a nuisance that you cannot silence,
it's just the written word it's not acts of violence,
offensive, I've mastered the art of deliverance,
I went from special needs to the rank of brilliance.
I'm an example of how evolution is impossible to prevent,
I don't have a need for revolution, I don't give up and reinvent.
I'm this generations arrival of something different,
and what that means is anything but insignificant.
It's just the basic nature of our creature,
the arrival, the stay and the retreat,
a rotation of stature and main feature,
allowing the old to take their seat.
I've realised that being different is a gift
able to move you above the competition.
It's a rare dynamic thought process that lifts
out a unique idea missed by everyone.
It's a natural advantage to protect from sabotage,
that has an exceptional outcome way above average.
I don't need to hide out of sight wearing camouflage,
I have the right tools and ambition to build my own bridge.
I write rhymes but it was never predicted,
people thought my brain was restricted,
I always allowed their insults to inflict,
listening to put downs meant my mind was tricked.
Then I stopped listening and my confidence lifted,
and found that being unique also means gifted.
Many remembered by history were not deemed ordinary,
I guess "the odd kid" grows into the extraordinary.
Creating their very own original story,
billions lived but they stay in the memory.
So, I guess, with a self belief that could be me,
and if not at least the illusion makes me happy.
POTD 29/3/2018
“One more word, just one more word!’’ before I start to break,
I feel the anger rising up, I tremble and I shake.
I try to think it’s not their fault, their only little kids,
But it isn’t enough to stop the anger breaking through the lid.
I leap to them with vacant eyes screaming “that is it!”
Grabbing at their little arms while I curse hiss and spit.
Dragging them to their bedrooms, throwing them to the floor,
Storming out to get away, slamming at the door.
Next I’m in my bedroom, my head held in my hands,
Trying hard to calm myself while I figure out a plan.
“Help me someone, help me please,” I mumble quietly,
“I just can’t take this anymore,” I pray to god, I plea.
10 minutes pass, the storm has gone, I’ve realised how I’ve been,
The calm makes me aware of this and guilt has now set in.
I slowly make my way into the quietness of their rooms,
Their little red faces wet with tears from their mother’s angry fume.
“I’m sorry darling for hurting you, I just got really mad,
I never meant to make you cry, or meant to make you sad”.
I hug them tight and tell them that I love them very much,
Hoping that their still comforted by their mothers touch.
“I need you to be helpful, I need you to be good”,
“Ok” they say in solemn tone, with hope they understood.
Wiping away remaining tears of the sadness that had been,
Hiding every single trace of the anger that they’d seen.
Now once again all is well, this feels a happy home,
Motherhood is oh so sweet when the angers overblown.
It’s all so unpredictable, when push comes to shove,
One day it fits so perfectly, the next it’s hard to love.
The trials and tribulations of motherhood, I’ve had,
Some days it comes so easily, some days it seems so bad.
I used to think I’m teaching them the ways and how to be,
But as time passes quickly by I cannot help but see,
That their the ones teaching me, in many ways then one,
They’ve taught me of a selfless love that comes from being a mum,
Self control is what I lack, they’ve taught me how to see,
If I don’t control my anger, my anger controls me.
So next time that you feel you just can’t take it anymore,
Don’t grab their little arms and shut them out behind a door,
But realise there’s a lesson that their teaching you right there,
And hold them close gratefully, with tender loving care.
Two cowboys hungry and exhausted
weren't ready to challenge the canyons ahead;
one complained, " We need water! " The other yelled,
" We must be vigilant and alert,
we need sleep! " Indians are treacherous and wild! "
They wait for us towards sunset! "
" I agree," The one with ginger hair streaked with some gray
said. " It's unwise to ride in the dark! "
And reaching for their bags, they exchanged, " Goodnight "
and laying on large blankets, they snored away.
" John, wake up! I hear noises! " Billy whispered
with trembling in his young voice,
but He replied," A cowboy shouldn't be afraid
of anything but of those crazy Sioux with painted, red faces! "
" There are canyons ahead of us, danger
won't stalk our journey to California and it is a long ride indeed! "
" Billy, forget all the fright, get some sleep! "
He nodded, but with a doubtful look, he wished something on a star.
A cacophony of sounds, all jumbled together
Random notes, dissonance everywhere
Violin bows saw the air lazily, effortlessly
Then furiously, chins pressed hard to instruments
Flautists' lips wistfully poised above the holes
In a flash, diving deep into spritely melodies
Trombonists' brass bars sliding outward, then back inward
Deep tones scale upward, peak, descend again
Trumpeters' cheeks bulge outward, double-chins aflame
Beet-red faces, fingers marching, horns tootling
Cymbals clang and clash! Drums beat and boom!
Clarinets clamor... A cello... An oboe... The conductor's in slow-mo.
All this, prelude to a performance quite grand
To the concert forthcoming -- Strike up the band!
Is there any escape
from noise?
A crash, a rattle, a spoon in a cup
No rest for the wicked
Insistent buzzing piled up
Blaring horns
Lighted signs
Engines screaming in ears
So many angered red faces
Social media fears
To sit idle and quiet
Zazen tonic for nerves
An improbable concept
Driven on life’s oil slick’d curves
To slow
To ponder
To throttle it back
Oh, to step off of pavement
Rip out thick knotted phone jacks
But too much is this burden
Our man made bundle of sticks
Tied up with blood ribbons
Taking selfies for kicks
Not to know is too much knowing
Plagued by asking such questions
Turn thoughts off with pop-ups
Start the binge watching session.
Silver bells
Soulful kids play merrily in busy streets,
Iridescent glow on little red faces,
Longing to buy favourite candies,
Vibrant colours of frills on trees,
Eventually it is Christmas time!
Remember those last year gifts?
Bells rhyme with dancing melodies,
Evening decor is worth a cherish,
Love this fragrance of festivity,
Loud will ring the silver bells,
Songs will float till midnight hours.
Written Dec 18th, 2015
Christmas carols- poetry contest
By Kelly
Awarded 3rd place win
Why when leaves are dying their glory grades of green, red and gold adorn the world
yet when humans die their skins already start to fall apart; blue veins deepen,
brown liver spots increase and mauve red faces show pain and denial, hope or
acceptance of their fate yet no outward glory? We will be remembered by History, for a
time, by God if He is in His heaven for all time, as the leaves are trodden underfoot -mush.
Gone now is all reason,
as if she needed any more
A princess awakens lonely,
just like in days of yore
Her prince left much earlier,
through a gargoyled secret door,
Its passage led to lower levels,
walls curved round toward
Gone now is all reason,
as if she needed any more
The stable lad followed him,
and came back covered in straw
No idea how he got there,
she turned to face the floor
And as her gait grew longer,
ghostly figures start to show
Gone now is all reason,
as if she needed any more,
The kids lay in bed ailing,
red faces appeared galore
Instead of firing the embers,
she powdered up her nose
Children rolled on hills outside,
taking turns as well as goes
Gone now is all reason,
as if she needed any more
The butler cried silently,
for he knew each of their flaws
As the princess regained her poise,
the prince came out all gay
Reading the paper smiling,
“I see war’s declared today”
In the end there is no reason,
makes more sense anyway
Fresh eggs taste best for breakfast,
when the rooster’s on a tray
They all sat down and mimed,
no one dared give the game away
When masquerades seem over,
charades are simpler to play