Best Registration Poems
A curious cocktail of odours greets us
as we move in from playground
to corridor, to cloakroom, to classroom.
Beeswax fragrance: freshly buffed parquet.
Brasso smell: base metal turned to gold.
Jeyes Fluid: vapour killing vile germs.
Such alchemy starts our day with clean slate.
Playground cacophony left behind.
Now each sound has discipline, has purpose.
First bell: registration shall begin.
Next bell: proceed to assembly hall.
Lasses stand on round marks; lads on square marks.
Regular rows, parallel precision.
Stand to attention. Uniform inspection.
At ease. Handshakes and smiles. Peace be with you.
Silence pervades as we ponder our sins.
With ramrod fingers Miss thumps on the keys.
Staccato. Left. Right.
'Ride on Ride on in Majesty'.
A short sermon on compassion is served.
Then, school notices: soccer successes
and the listing of scallywags destined
for public thrashing at high noon next day.
Third bell: learning shall begin.
RI lesson. St Paul's Journey yet again.
In silence we colour in his route map.
With crayons on auto-pilot we day dream.
Our apostle arrives in Rome by morning break.
It is a gorgeous spring day, there are greens on both sides of the road.
The smells are fantastic, and my hair is blowing like I’m on a cycle.
I’m actually driving my new purple trans am, windows down, music blaring.
The white racing stripes might have been a bit much, but
Not for me. The sun is beaming on us with magic happy.
BRRRR BRRRR GRRRR
Should I try to outrun him?
He’s gaining on me fast. I glance at speedometer. Swear.
82 m.p.h. This is what happens when I listen to the Oldies.
I pull off, waiting, heart beating fast.
Lanky patrolman pulls himself out of car, gets younger as he gets closer.
“Hi,” I say, brightly.
He says, “License and registration, Ma’am.”
He is carrying his ticket pad, and a pen.
My hands are shaking as I start stammering nonsense.
He studies my license a second, says, “Just a minute, Ma’am,”
Walks back to his car, slides in, sits down, spends an hour or two in there.
I get worried I might have accidentally handed him my big-limit Visa card.
My heart is thudding, as I watch him laboriously walk back to my Trans Am
Who is not feeling so fine and foxy now. “It’s your fault!” I tell her. “You did this!”
“You were going 81,” he tells me. Eighty-two, I wisely don’t say.
“I am giving you an opportunity to slow down, and today, I’m giving you a warning,” he says.
No smile. No expression. He could give a mannequin a lesson in subtle.
I cannot help it. “Why?”
A glimmer of an ant’s smile starts in the left corner of his mouth, for a second, but he quickly snaps it off.
“Here’s the deal, Ma’am,” he tells me. “I stopped this car yesterday, on this same curve. I wouldn’t feel right about giving you a ticket on the same corner, at the same speed after letting your 17-year-old daughter off with a warning.”
In my head I picture my adorable blonde daughter who was wearing white hot-pants yesterday.
As a last hurrah he says, “I’m going to be out here for another two hours, Ma’am.”
We both smile.
This is the best warning I’ve ever had!
A butcher named Richard McCall
Attended a naturist ball.
But at registration,
Due to refrigeration,
His name tag read "Dickie McSmall".
mom
is comatose
tubes hooked up
on life support
words float
above you
they do not sink in
there is no registration desk
for the likes of them
on your own now
a world gone dark
I would like to announce my presidential candidacy.
I would appreciate it if you'd vote for me.
If I were president do you know what I'd do?
Pretty much anything that I wanted to.
I'd have a first class seat on air force one
and an awesome pad in Washington.
I'd play golf all day with the heads of state
and if they brought beer, wouldn't that be great?
I can't wait.
Well there are a great many issues important to me
and so here is my campaign policy;
Legislation, occupation, education, organization,
administration, hospitalization, immigration, registration,
arbitration, equalization, integration, representation,
race relations, housing renovations, space stations, unified nations!
I Will Restore Our Once Great America!
Etc, etc, etc, etc.
Well it's the home of the brave and the land of the free,
and that's the funny thing about democracy
because a vote for me is a vote for me.
*
Again, I'd have an awesome pad in Washington DC
if you'd find it in your heart to vote for me.
*
Resignation registration affiliation with
Other companies.
Instigation not fun to see.
Outstanding subtleties
Nature's nourishing NECTAR needed
Surround sounds astounds naturally
Imagination imagery MAGICAL ecstasy
These are the tides that ATTRACT my attention
More poetry, arbitration prevents LITIGATION
Character assassination
Needless argumentation
CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHTEOUS affirmation
Wasted human nature
Three pointer shots in the last seconds of
The game.
These are the situations that make me
Believe what ever will be will be
The sick the healthy
The convicted WRETCHED the corrected
The movers shakers the claim stakers
The rich the poor
Side by side
Tempestuous tempting tides
STRIDE after stride
Opposite dreams at the ROOT of the NECTAR TREE
It is like a drunk
or addict reaching that 'so called' stopping off point. That point
where one can't imagine life with or without the fix. Writing is like that.
Obsessive, progressive, addictive. A fix. Scribes need it to 'feed the rat.'
Recently I have felt
overwhelmed reading all of the BFAs and MFAs out there, being at most an
amateur ham and egger myself. Writers all strive arduously to organize words
into some form or message that people enjoy. That touches them. That they
identify with.
I've dreamt of hearing,
"Ahh, your words meant so much to me!" And, immediately I fall into
delusional dreams of people swooning. This helplessly addicted novice would
be left to wallow, pro tempore, in the juices of their nouveau riche, yet
auspicious skills? It is simply not like that though, people!
Most of the time
writing is line by line, meter by meter, and word beside word. Then edit,
clip, and rewrite. And all of that to be a novice 'ham and egger.'
Look at
E.E. Cummings, James Agee, Carl Sandburg, Ernest Dowson, Gana Gioia.
All of them capable of writing something complete, abiding, and significant
in less than sixty words.
So significant that
one can return to read and reflect upon the words all the years of a life.
No chance of my ever
writing something compelling like one of those guys? Maybe, I could channel
an inner Dylan Thomas? Perhaps, if I touched the oxfords of Dr. Seuss?
Now, there is a good plan! That Sam I Am, That Sam I Am,
I do not like that Sam..............E-I-E-I-O!
Perhaps, if I had voted for Barack Obama I would be
more sensitive and artistic? All muses, artists, and
sensitive people vote Democratic, don't they? ---
Yes, that's it! If I change my voter registration I'll suddenly
awake one day with all of the angst and existentialist ardor
of Sartre or Dostoyevsky!...........................****, not a chance.
A better strategy might be
to write poetry for all of the right reasons. It is very much worthwhile
expression and communication in our age. It is an accomplishment if
even a handful of people every read the words. Poetry is still important
today. Its benefits enable the author to 'dig the well' of their life experience
deeper with every topic completed.
The words are there. All one has to do is gather them fearlessly!
I woke up this morning,
and then without warning,
I rolled off the bed,
soundly bumping my head.
That was just the beginning of what I call,
my most exasperating day of all.
Here's what happened next:
Got into the shower,
then suddenly lost power.
Stubbed my toe getting out,
causing me to curse and shout.
In the dark I tried to dress,
hoping I wouldn't look a mess.
Lights came back on and sure enough,
mismatched socks and other stuff.
Spilled hot coffee on my blouse,
just as I was leaving the house.
Back inside to change my clothes;
so far this day really blows!
Ran some errands, so far so good,
maybe I should knock on wood.
Called a friend and met for lunch.
While eating I felt a startling crunch!
A tooth had broken - I wanted to wail!
Why couldn't I have broken a nail?
Now I'm feeling mighty stressed;
this dental problem must be addressed.
Dentist saw me right away,
and told me what I'd have to pay.
Tears welled up at his words.
The price was totally absurd!
Maybe I should just go toothless,
these dental fees are way to ruthless.
Driving home I was so distraught,
I didn't stop as I ought.
Police lights flashed in my rear view;
now what am I going to do?
The policeman asked for license and registration;
I started to blubber in frustration.
How could so many things go wrong in one day?
Now I have a ticket to pay.
I made it home without more trouble,
and then I poured myself a double
portion of sweet iced tea,
to refresh and comfort me.
I think I'll just go to bed,
pull the covers over my head,
and pray that tomorrow will be,
a much better day for me.
8/7/16
(Fortunately, this is a work of fiction)
My new husband was a farm boy
who didn't like to roam.
It always took a lot of nagging
to get him to leave home.
But we were newly married,
I hadn't learned all of his dislikes.
I imagined us as travelers
who'd be going on big hikes.
So I was unaware of his sacrifice,
when he asked if I'd like to go
to the Exposition in Vancouver.
He probably hoped I would say no.
But I was more than willing
to go on a short vacation,
and it was more appealing since
we'd be in another nation.
We left early Saturday morning
to drive the one hundred miles.
When I thought of all the fun to come,
I could not hold back the smiles.
The closer we got to Vancouver
and our final destination,
my husband got more nervous
about the thick traffic congestion.
He drove right to the fairgrounds,
and didn't stop at our hotel.
I thought he did it to please me
and perhaps it was just as well.
There were so many great attractions,
we didn't know what to visit first,
and we ate so many exotic foods
I thought we would truly burst.
In the late part of the afternoon,
I said, "If you don't mind,
I'd like to go to our hotel now."
"You're right," my man opined.
They'll probably be filling soon.
we better go and lasso one."
I knew he must be joshing me,
just trying to have some fun.
He kept driving by the nice hotels
with signs "No Vacancy".
He drove on and on and on until
it really frightened me.
"You didn't make a reservation?
I can't believe that's really true.
We'll have no bed to sleep in.
What ever will we do?"
He kept on driving quietly.
Motel rooms had all been filled.
Although it had been a hot day,
I now was feeling chilled.
We were in a dingy part of the city
and were starting to turn around
when he saw a sign that promised
a vacancy would be found.
The registration desk was manned
by a man in an undershirt.
"Money first", he said before showing the room.
I felt like a piece of dirt.
"I think it's a flop house," my husband said.
I didn't like that term.
I though of rats and bed bugs and
it really made me squirm.
There was no way I'd get in that bed.
I chose a big leather chair.
With little to say, my husband laid down.
He was too tired to care.
I knew not what occurred in other rooms,
I heard footsteps and showers.
But you won't be surprised I know to hear,
nothing at all would happen in ours.
Was lonely like a man who sits on a throne,
Who has never felt a kiss on a collar bone.
Feeling departed I found myself at a party
Exploring a girl like she was an African Safari.
She got me writing novels
With a lustful theme,
And taking entire naps without a single dream.
Now when I write poems
I don’t have to steal,
Because the words I can feel
And what I say is real.
She even has me talking to myself
On public transportation.
Driver thinks I’m crazy,
He asks me for registration.
We go through the peaches and cream
As though it was rehearsed.
In the past it fell apart
As though the peaches were cursed.
After a couple years
The peaches became sour;
Tried to spend time together,
But we counted the hours.
My success came from a fear
Of being nobody,
Coupled with a fear
Of seeing her with somebody.
Now I write against time
And to the tune of two clocks.
The words are so important
That I need a soap box.
You light up the darkness
That I could not handle.
In my depression
you were my candle.
I want to end this poem,
But I know your friend is not your friend.
I still struggle with a hope
That you and I will make amends.
Now in a state of mind
Where I’m doing things
On the edge of scary.
The pain you put me through
Inspired me to be revolutionary.
Pain made my words flow smooth,
They seem more Veteran.
It makes me smoke so much weed,
My diet seems more vegetarian.
Must forget about you,
And all the pain you put me through.
I want to revolutionize peace,
So people have to hear me speak;
Ideas permeating slow
Like the broken window theory.
Still thoughts of you make me speculate
On where my mind was at
When your words carried so much weight.
My life is at the age
Where I can truly understand
That love is women’s revenge on man.
Love became a game so cut throat,
It often had me sweating
In a desert with a coat.
It had me in the club,
With a soar throat and singing the blues.
I sung about how reality
Is often the bearer of bad news.
Like a chore
I would often schedule time to ignore you.
Like a child I had to grow up
To realize how much I adored you.
Car Trouble
The car started slow to go as cars go
Silent on the ride it motioned down the road
Leaves could be counted on the trees as I passed by
I counted every one just for fun
The pace picked up and time stood still
There was nothing to be done
It seemed a little odd at first
When the car traveled in reverse
And headed off the cliff into the universe
Falling off I screamed and cursed
Maybe the brakes gave out
Way beyond our system solar making many lefts
And when the auto made a sharp turn right
Exceeding light speed passing planets
I realized there were no street signs or people or roads
Everything was calm and normal in the void
A pleasant voyage but I had to wonder why
The Earth removed itself from sight
From my rear view mirror speeding out
I only paid five dollars’ worth of gas
Screaming past the universe unfolding
Collapsing there in front of me and dads jalopy
It seemed curious indeed
Will I make it home for dinner
Will I be late to the dance this evening
And will my parents be angry at me
The air condition stopped working hours ago
There are only foreign stations on the radio
Space ships pulled up next to me
Orange beings questioned why I drive so slow
Creatures with five eyes laughed at me as they rolled by
Silver androids stopped me for conversation
Space police pulled me over for speeding in wrong directions
For going ten thousand miles per second
In a three thousand speeding zone
They issued tickets for space ship violations
For speaking in a foreign tongue
And chewing gum without a license
And for being an alien without alien registration
Also for Improper lights in a speed of light designated zone
They sent me home with just a warning this time
I told them time had stopped
They wrote me up again for that and driving backwards
As I arrived back in time
Mom and pop stopped me on the spot
I forgot to take the trash out so I’m grounded
No more car or dancing with the stars
There once was a skinny horse name George.
Poor ole soul lived alone in a gorge.
Three fit sheep came his way.
They were traded that day.
Matted, bony, his belly engorged.
Onward He forged, living on the brink.
I’ll save him, one young maiden did think.
Head hung; life was his game.
George, his infamous name.
She prayed; from his needs, she did not shrink.
George would not drink; lips were cracked and dry.
She asked God, “Please don’t let him die.”
Water was his kismet.
Sweet feed filled hope’s bucket.
She cut out mats; whisked away each fly.
Six months later, George was still alive.
Lips were moist; he ate; began to thrive.
With some flesh on his bones,
And relieved of his groans,
The day of her moving would arrive.
The time came when George had to be sold.
Half Arabian, not very old
Registration papers.
The old trader’s capers,
You promised them, the young girl cajoled.
How could he live; does he have luster?
Papers lost; no death by distemper.
Confessions on that day,
The girl went away.
Compassion to the horse did whisper.
New owners bought him, his health still poor.
His price and potential was the big lure.
They quickly changed his name.
Greener pastures, the game.
Star’s beauty became his life’s encore.
© June 7, 2011
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: A Horse Story
Sponsored by: Carol Brown
(Based on a true story)
In this Rhyme I will give a translation of the formation of a nation. Remember this is not a dictation it's just a narration of the creation of a civilization. AMERICA is not only our classification but also our identification. The Country has a place with a registration, through which you will find liberation of information, because the Country holds all of the documentation that will give you an elaboration of your expectation. So go to AMERICA for a precise interpretation. To join you must have a certain qualification of sophistication, individuation, determination and no limitation of dedication. In this Country we are a family of inspiration. We all may work and live in different locations, but together we give this WORLD a certain rotation. See with admiration, consideration, explanation we have cultivation. With taxation and donation of money and gold we give the World hydration. Our secret tech, you could say is the medication for confrontation.
So now I hope we all have an inclination that together we form a population, that is dedicated to all forms of exploration . We are a Generation that if placed in the stars would form the greatest constellation. We are AMERICA under God and that's our proclamation. David Lee Waldrop.
They say you applied
Did you apply or they applied
For you? Now they have supplied.
But have conveniently forgotten
To supply you with the vital kitten
That should take you to their kitchen.
You are mired in grave job frustration
You can`t bother of their company registration
You see nothing but your future jubilation.
Think deeper. Is there something dodgy or straight?
If it`s straight where is their contact info or website?
For all what they are worth, they could be fake
Wait a minute. Your little money they seek to take.
Look for signs of legitimacy. You are wondering?
They want you to be their money laundering….
What? –Mule! Let them do their ‘philandering’.
They mess around on their poor scam spam road
Com`on someone, give me something? A big rod!
Let`s smash them into pulp till they yell, Lord!
Hon, let me discribe for you education
First we begin with registration
It's the first step according
to regulations.
Identifying yourself with the
administration
and rectifying your goal of graduation.
Of course in between there will be classes
and examinations.
But every class is a step twards
matriculation.
Of course there will be some failures
and menstrations
that cause your frustrations.
But keep on striving for the day
when they say
CONGRATULATION'S
And we'll give you,
a standing ovation
( OK Gang, school is about to start and here's a new theme. Back to school poetry. this is the
first but i'm kicking it to a worthy cause. a mother trying to educate her children lets see how
she does with this. Aleera De La Keur the ball is in your court.)ps it could also be about
leaving a high school sweetheart.