Best Registry Poems
For the love of Lippy I've done it all...
And I would do it all again
For my heart, for my joy, for my friend
Oh what a world you got me into!
Some days so long and hard, I thought I'd never make it through
Except for knowing that at the end of the day, I could spend some time with you
We weathered the disasters and wrong choices... mostly mine
But we've reveled in our successes, in our friendship and in our time
So many places, so many changes, what a life we've shared
You've done what I've asked, you've mastered your tasks
And for you I will always be there... as you have been there for me
When my mind is blood red and my heart is stone gray
You stand before me pure white
And your mane dries my tears and your coat soaks in my sorrows
And your eyes always reveal "The Light"
Given to each other by one greater than us who knew what we both would need
Never a truer companionship than with you my faithful steed!
From long lazy rides in lush green fields on warm bright summer days
To tranquil wooded trails and dusty old roads, you've carried me all the way
You saved my heart, you saved my mind, you saved me from it all
And I owe you my life, I owe you the world for answering my call
For you I do it all...
Always in my heart I know you'll be, no matter what time brings
For it cannot separate two spirits joined
Or the memories that make their hearts sing
Together we answered the call
For you my wonderful friend... I did it all
-Alias Pluto Lela
Lipizzan registry #XL007
2-12-81 to 2-9-13 -served as therapeutic riding horse
Twenty-two miles to the Roslyn mine.
Two blocks beyond, ten headstones you'll find.
All dated the same the registry claims,
though the wind, the ice and acidified rain
have disfigured and stolen the names of those souls.
My tears they might wash and reveal some of those
but are wasted. They run down my nose.
The #4 Mine blew out in ‘09.
Now ten graves lay neatly in line.
Each man skipped the Army to work underground,
found eternal peace and never were found.
Twenty got out, then the fan house she blew
from an explosion of black damp allowed to accrue.
Ten lives disappeared in the dust and the fumes
And in the dark they were buried like in Brigadoon
I left by the toll road, crested the pass,
crystal streams from Lakedale my compass.
To a sacred valley of aspen and ash.
Ten decades to heal now, tears looking back.
historylink.org/File/9182
and images.findagrave.com/photos/2020/49
/19026379_61b0f05c-4e3f-4938-82d3-5f06c999da64.jpeg
But later that night the girl tip-toed out,
And went down to the registry desk.
She picked up the ledger, poured through it all,
There was something that she had to check.
Back upstairs she went, content to wait
Her quarry had not yet arrived.
He loved was awake, and smiled at her
The kind the makes a man feel alive.
She smiled back and asked for his name,
She’d forgotten to ask in the rush.
He said ‘Clarence Stone,’ and out came her gun,
And she pointed it straight at his gut.
She said,’My name is Ellie-May Burton,
Sent out two months ago on this path,
To track down a Stone who ran to the west,
Hoping to escape our wrath!’
But he heard a catch in her harsh tone,
And in her gun-hand a slight shiver.
He couldn’t forget the warmth of her touch,
So one final chance her did give her:
He nodded and said,’Then fire away,’
With a coldness that made the soul quake.
The gun fell from her hands, and she lit out,
Running from the hotel without break.
Come morning he road, pointed northwest
Unnerved, but his decision remained,
To return to Kentucky and die in a feud
Was a choice not made by the sane.
In the bright prairie light a rider appeared,
A familiar woman on a mare.
She rode up slowly, face red form tears,
No weapon upon him did bear.
He moved closer slowly, hand on his gun,
But she said,’Clarence, there’s no need.
I’ve been thinking all night on what I’m to do
Of the future and of dark deeds.’
‘Of a good man who stood, fought by my side,
And put on a fine show in bed.
Yet my family demands, for forgotten crimes
That I put a bullet in his head.’
‘Perhaps it is best, what you’re doing now,
Riding out a free man to the wild.
To be ride of the hate that has put kin in graves,
Since the days when I was a child.’
‘They say that a woman needs a good man,
And the good men need themselves a wife.
I may not be so good, but I think you and I
Could ride out and build ourselves a life.’
Then she went silent, he waited and thought
Of the chances and of the risks.
But the pain in her eyes told the whole truth
She he rode close and planted a kiss.
They moved out at a trot, both realizing that
Amongst the worst you sometimes find the best,
And to this very day countless Burton-Stones
Are scattered all over the west.
I come here often, stop,
and from the river bank, watch
the ribs of an old wreck break through
the surface on an ebbing tide.
After all this time it still seems
to crave for breath, to air
its last remains.
Whatever past it has
no longer resides in living memory
but in a paragraph inked
in a shipping registry sunk
deep in the basement
of the Maritime Museum,
or is somewhere forever becalmed
in a photograph,
time frozen on a sepia sea.
But this morning I took it in,
gave my mind
to its hollowed out hull
and let imagination
lift it from the mud and make
it whole. I sailed it
out of the suck of time
and set it upon an open sea
and as its sails billowed
across my mind, I got the sense
that throughout all the wear
of passing time,
it had been waiting for me.
Limerick: Once Japanese Robot lied about its age
Once Japanese Robot lied about its age
To an American Robot under age
At marriage registry
Paid haemophrodite fee
That night in shed they locked jaws in mad glad rage.
One said: “If only I knew your true old age
I would not have stooped so low to engage
You in pédophilie
Despite the reduced fee!”
Said the other: “Shut your trap. Open your cage!”
All night they toiled without oil or French vintage
Pungent fumes coursed through finely wired visage
Love counter showed much glee
-Unusual degree-
Neither side of Pacific need take umbrage.
Hiroshima Nagasaki sheer mirage
Robot lingo spout like Zen-type soul adage
Nuts bolts screws a-plenty
War rights out of country
Robots join dumb Robots in Atomic Age!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Marriage – our commitment for LIFE as husband and wife
It wasn’t a leap year when I proposed to you
But I'd got down on one knee, as it’s traditional to do!
We organised and paid for our own wedding day
This meant we had control and could do it ‘our' way
We got married two years to the day from our very first date
Both of us bubbling over with excitement, we just couldn’t wait
My hair was perfect, make up and manicure too
I wanted to look absolutely beautiful for you
The dress was of pretty peach, not a formal wedding dress
I’m not one for fussy frills and flounces I must confess
You wore a charcoal coloured suit and looked so very smart
Our vows committed us forever – I love you with all my heart
After our registry office ceremony we had a lovely meal
A carvery for close family and friends, the venue was ideal
We held a huge party for 300 guests later on that night
Our wedding day was perfect everything turned out right
The wedding night was spent at a beautiful local hotel
On learning it was our wedding day they really did excel
They upgraded us free of charge to their honeymoon suite
With champagne and chocolates and fresh fruit to eat
Edited and submitted to love poem contest
Sponsored by Heidi Sands
Contest My Wedding Day
Sponsor Olive Eloisa Guillermo
02~25~16
Ram followed “Indian Giver” as poet
By entering a poem in contest
Results declared by sponsor
He was not a winner
Took back his poem from the contest.
Sponsor wrote don’t mind withdrawal
I have used your poem after all.
Thanks for your entry
Help complete registry
Good luck to use it for other call.
*****
Dr.Ram Mehta
This is not personal write. It is purely fictional:
I was inspired reading on the term"Indian Giver"
and have tried to draw essence and humor from it.
There are two popular etymologies for this term for a person who gives a
gift only to later demand its return. The first is that it is based on an unfair
stereotype of Native Americans, that they don't keep their word.
In the other popular explanation, the term doesn't cast aspersions on
Native Americans, instead it echoes the broken promises the whites
made to the Indians. Neither is accurate.
==============================
Seventh place win in
Contest: Indian Giver by P.D.
With respect to digestion, we talk of two fates
The absorptive and post absorptive states.
Think of a meal as earning a wage.
You may use a bit but you’ll save some, if sage.
And the ratio is something you always must gauge.
It can certainly change as one does age.
Up to four hours after a meal
Before your insides are resting from their zeal
Insulin is governing lots of the chemistry
In your body’s energy registry.
It promotes glycogenesis, glycogen production
The storage of glucose, a major reduction.
Lipogenesis will also take place
After a meal at an increased pace.
And of course, protein synthesis also increases
As your body builds up new pieces.
But after four hours, post absorptive will dominate
And glucagon is the hormone that it will nominate.
It will cause the breakdown of things that were built
So that sources are available when you need them to the hilt.
It promotes glycogenolysis, the reverse of the above
Because now your blood glucose might need a shove.
Lipolysis, too, is also promoted
Proteolysis as well, just as devoted.
While insulin and glucagon both promote their actions
They also inhibit the other’s reactions.
Today wasn’t a good morning at all for Hassan,
a victual merchant in Baghdad
Thirty four customers got killed by a suicide bomb
A jihadist Arab wearing an explosive vest,
proclaiming to be fighting against the west,
ended up only murdering his own people
The sun rising on the eastern horizon
cast a bloody pale
Screams and sobs, weeps and wails
Ambulance sirens blaring ... death is a hard item to sell
Innocent people shopping for meat, dairy, nuts and fruit,
in a tragic transaction bought the farm
The sign outside the market said half-off,
it didn’t mean exiting with half a leg or one arm
Somehow, Hassan in dust-covered anger survived
He was one of the fortunate few to make it out alive
with every body part intact, except his calm Iraqi mind;
it keeps expanding and contracting
in violent, kinetic convulsions a million times
from such a vile, humanitarian crime
Anxiety fruit flies hover over unsold crates of apricots,
seething vengeance
ferments the not bought bottles of apple vinegar
Mass killing is always bad for business —
a lot of potential repeat customers will only
come to the open air stalls one time
Nobody wants to buy ripe pomegranates, fresh goat milk
and vintage premature dying
Terrorism is bad for consumerism,
fanatical death wish ain’t good for the merchant gift registry
Not when buying a bouquet of flowers becomes a morgue delivery
Suicidal shrapnel kisses don’t welcome tourism,
foreigners eschew dying on vacation ... death ain’t an easy item to sell
Prayer vigil purchases of screams and sobs, weeps and wails
Hassan says business has been bad
ever since that fatal, holiday dawn mourn
Only rueful disaffection comes
with the bagging of the cabbage and corn
ANGER MANAGEMENT
I must clean my bare-naked window,
For my eyes have seen a nasty affair.
Surely Monica can't be that bimbo!
I wipe my eyes, can't hardly stare...
My boss thinks i'm calm, anger free.
I shuffle him through my new place.
Up here the air's so clear... but what do i see?!
I rub my eyes - once, twice. No not her face!
"What! Get off my sister!", in haste I scream.
Is that my best friend? Can it be?!
I must wake up from this nasty dream!
My eyes...my eyes...with rage...i can't see.
My boss on edge of window cliff,
He visualizes a raving lunatic.
His face freezes, he looks mighty stiff.
He thinks i'm lovestruck or mighty sick.
In the end it all turns out fine, except for
Me, for i'm back in the anger management registry.
But my best friend and sis love each other forevermore.
We all hug... i'm fine knowing they have chemistry.
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
Point of view, Ross, on the tv show Friends
Climate of the heart, disapproving to the greens
Over its dead body is kindness a deal
Living with the mind covered in dark blanket
Dangerous and terrible is its close interactions.
Body full of energy but entirely bloodless
Loaded with the carcasses of passion and love
On self alone is its temperature warm and welcoming, as it
Opposes the existence of opulent personalities
Dos and don’ts, all marked in the registry of gruesome actions
Eyes nourished with veins of demonic temperaments, then
Deeds in so much stain, yet carried out in utmost normalcy.
Shaking she was,
that cute bike courier chick,
in a lift at the registry
flipping a trip.
I could see she was in
adrenaline's grip.
Nearly run over,
through no fault of her own;
to this sweet rookie
the ropes must be shown.
My sarcastic advice
to the packed Otis delight:
"Silly girl,
the big guy
IS ALWAYS
in the right!"
Angus and Morag decided to get married
Twenty years together – too long they had dallied
So off to the registry office they did go
To book the wedding and get on with the show
Angus being a canny Scots man
Said lets get this done as cheaply as we can
If we limit the numbers there will be a reduction
Oh Angus please learn the art of seduction
He paid for 6 people at a reduced fee
Angus rubbed his hands with glee
Just Angus the groom and Morag the bride
Would stand together side by side
They wore nothing special on their special day
Angus did not want fuss it is cheaper way
Ailsa and Isla their two teenage daughters
Hamish and Jeanie their other supporters
The wedding breakfast was held at Maccy D’s
Six Big Macs and fries, 2 cokes and four teas
Hamish was happy to pay for this meal
He’d got a voucher for a 2 for 1 deal
I felt really sorry for Morag that special day
Hamish hadn’t always been this way
When they met Hamish swept her off her feet
But now he’s got control of the monthly balance sheet
I haven’t stopped smiling since I read this great news
No better daughter in law his parents could choose
His mother didn’t have to buy a new hat
I know she will have been pleased about that
Jan Allison
1st April 2014
Submitted to Any Poem Goes # 17 Free Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Poet Destroyer A
I’ve got a flat tyre.
Congratulations, hope you’ll both be very happy.
Can you fix it?
Are you going to a fancy dress party?
I’m getting married, Sherlock.
Wow, kept that quiet, who’s the poor sod.
Nigel, and I’m in a bit of a rush, so if you don’t mind.
Leave it to me, that’s what us ex’s are for. You wearing a Basque under that dress.
Is that any of your business.
Just making the usual ex’s conversation, don’t lose the garter.
Yes, it is traditional, now can you get a move on.
Can’t get the wheel off, but not to worry I’ll drive you there, wherever there is.
It’s the registry office.
Okay jump in, where’s the honeymoon.
Skegness.
You’re joking, it’s freezing in Skeggy at this time of year.
His mum died there, so it’s a sort of goodbye.
So he’s a mummy’s boy then.
He’s not a mummy’s boy, it’s just a nice thing to do.
Do you want me to walk you down the aisle?
Why the hell would I want you to walk me down the aisle, plus, there isn’t an aisle.
Just the thing ex’s do for the one they love.
Don’t you start, just get me there?
Okay, but don’t cry when I start crying.
Piss off.
Four hours later, the phone rings.
Could you come and get me?
What do you mean come and get you, you’re married?
He’s brought his mum into the bedroom.
Well you did say he’s a mummy’s boy, so he carries her ashes about, think it as something old.
She isn’t in ash form.
Jesus, tell me he didn’t get her stuffed.
She isn’t dead.
This is brilliant, only you could get married into the Münster family, send me the photos, so I can show them to the guys down the pub.
You just get down here and pick me up, this is an emergency.
Oh! I don’t know, I’m sort of liking this marriage of yours, it’s slightly weird, but in a good way.
Do you want to see what I’m wearing under this dress?
That is blackmail, will mummy in law approve of this kind of talk.
Last time, do you want to see what I’m wearing.
Bombing up the motorway as we speak.
My face tells me nothing. Not nothing but nothing useful,
the complications of ageing humorously but not how to avoid
injury.
Permanent injury is a now popular cliché. At this age any injury
could result in pneumonia, pain in bitterness for your peers,
your jury.
What a headache I have! And never forget injury provokes
at best only pity. Friends are merely friendly, they belong to the
majority.
They forget your name and so should you, who are you? Even you
don't know for sure. In relation to community, no change was noted in
the
registry.
Still, man's mercy, economy's ecology, there's some joy in being small,
some joy in staying strong, and keeping death before you without
perjury.
Unsafe to run the wind. A big stick might hit your head. Then
the hip and heart and head will hurt, all three. Un-
fortunately.
I like a strong wind. Dangerous to go out in. As a fire or flood.
I like the way we are at risk, not a risk-averse weasel. A carnivore,
very hungry.
Pay money, take chances. Yo's an elegant contraction of you.
Cool. Message from street to board: mongrels rule. Democracy or
tyranny.
Scared to die? Why? Take appropriate measures, descend through
meditation. Be empty, rest. And to your friends and sons be as
gravity.
Tired of death. It's what it is. Let's play sports, have sex, kayak
to the huckleberries, fish for marvelous fish, live a wonderful life, give
generously.
Done blowing, O wild wind? Not yet? So be it. I lay my head
in your felt hands. The motion of the branches, evolutionary branches,
are my
guarantee.
That's all folks, 7:30. The sky is clear, the crows are out. The clouds
are with my mood commensurate. I should shout, having lived
prodigiously.