Best Regulars Poems
Everybody, and his brother
Stopped in, at one time, or another
Not for the greasy hash browns
Or the coffee, with a half a cup, of grounds
They weren't there for Ruby or Ruth
Whose numbers were in the phone booth
At night when the honky tonks closed down
It was the only place open in town
The regulars sat at the back
The bar was reserved for the hacks
Nobody ever stayed very long
A blue plate special or a jukebox song
The burgers were extra greasy
Waitresses a little sleazy
But there were always people around
It was the only place open in town
My mom, warned about it's reputation
My dad, more concerned about damnation
I used to go there, from time to time
Back when a pay phone was just a dime
On occasion wound up in jail
And one might say, I've been through hell
Anything one needed could be found
It was the only place open in town
We saw the smoke, from miles away
Heard the fire trucks, early that day
Everybody not working, went to see
The roaches and the mice run free
When the honky tonks closed that night
Everybody had to go home tight
Cause before the old cafe' burnt down
It was the only place open in town
Looking back, had some good times there
Just sit by the window and stare
Reflections of places and faces
Kinda like a memory, oasis
Life was a whole lot slower
I was a wild oat sower
But anytime, one wanted, to hunker down
It was the only place open in town
by Daniel Turner
I love to see your name there on my page
delightful lines you write to please my heart
It matters not what gender or what age
Each one of you has place inside my heart
You come to read each little simple rhyme
and yet therein you find some precious thought
You gift me with your words and honored time
How can you know the joy that you have brought
And so I must now share my heart with you
these lines I write are windows to my soul
the truth is there, though in embellished hue
I need your love and care to make me whole
To those who read my words each night and day
Please know that in my heart is where you'll stay.
Eileen Manassian
Jenna’s Saloon on Soup Creek
Tania, Deb, Kim, Constance, Belle
Darlene, Connie, Paula as well
Work for Jenna in her saloon
Waiting on tables in fine tune.
Singing as customers are served
All things abnormal are observed
The gals listen to what goes on
Reporting all to Mayor Tom.
The saloon’s a place to relax
Where the regulars meet and chat
With plenty to drink and to eat
A night at Jenna’s is a treat.
Sheriff Koplin, David the Ranger
They watch over any stranger
Who is maybe looking for loot
Or someone they may wish to shoot.
Onto trouble, sharp as a knife
Is gambler Milton, faster than light
Deputy sheriff Michael Tor
And Prospector Pete on his horse.
Of Blacksmith Rees rogues be aware
He's got ultra hot furnace where
They'll find themselves burnt if they dare
Bestow folk mischief or despair.
But hey ho when the day is done
Everyone is out to have fun
Laughter, singing, it’s never bleak
At Jenna’s saloon on Soup Creek.
*+*+*
1st September 2022
There once was a bunch of nice poets
Who always wrote glowing comments
They remedied my rhythms
They helped with my haiku
They are poetry soups, super hero's
inspired by jans rainbow poem
Crisp Spring day
winds gusting
birds on beach
The West End
where Artists aspire
to live their dreams
Strolling Boardwalk
regulars pass by
enjoying rhythm
Daily excursions
through turmoil
and jubilant feelings
Fog rolls in
under a sprinkle
Ocean in a tempest
Sun breaks through
during lackluster afternoon
children playing
Cell phone rings
friendly voice
amidst chaos
Baseball season starts
America's pastime
frigid eve
Another dawn
breaks monotony
anxiety pesters
Spring snowfall imminent
insomnia strikes
Is it natural?
A child is an angel
my flesh and blood
sleeping peacefully
Video games galore
when you hang
with a 14 year old.
He woke and he got down on the creaking knees
He didn't know if God listened but tried
His grandson was in a coma and God was asleep
But he said the prayer but was afraid of the silence
God was the great politician in the sky
And his son Jesus would listen to the poll
When there was trouble God was the first name
Grabbing his coffee he humbly turned to God
In his eyes it was humbly but he loved the sugar
As he sat stirring and sweetened thoughts
The prayers flowed with his coffee
"Maybe God only listens to the regulars"
And he definitely wasn't one
It was years and God was famished
The whispered prayer ended with death and the anger
"Why did you not take me"
"I have lived and gladly would take the grandson's place"
The pastor warmed up and the sisters hummed
The cup spilled over as the prayer of the faithful
He became a hugger and he covered each drink
And the Irish believed in wake and liquor
He hugged the people tight and the salt became a scab
And God left him there with his drink
Akmed and Saleem where regulars in the neighborhood
Full of smiles and Arabic charm
Now they seem to all have but gone
Seems the young ones like to preach and fight
Nothing at all seems to work out right
Well the summer was hazy, the sun so hot
Gardens blooming, butterfly’s with champagne wings
Sunflowers making their journey on high
Kissing the sun, as the baker’s bread made us sigh
Then one morning the evil returned
Akmed and Saleem would make us dread
The beheaded slaughter, the bloody thirsty lust
These terrorists would not stop, no matter the fuss
The carnage was bloody, leg and limb lie all over
This battle was lost, before the morning was over
They destroyed all that was left in their tornado’s path
No mercy or begging would make them see the math
Tears flowed from my eyes
Sunflowers sliced and murdered
Beheaded in wars’ lustful pain
Those damn ISIS ones must bow in shame
It’s autumn
The crusades’ are over
We lost this bloody war
Those fanatic squirrels surely will be back for more!
It’s your anniversary so
you’re thinking steak
but your wife wants ramen
so you go to a nice place
and order the fancy ramen
which comes with radishes
cut up to look like rosebuds
and costs as much as steak.
You slurp away with
the best of the regulars
until a gold crown falls
from a molar into the ramen.
Seconds later another
gold crown falls off as well.
The next day the dentist says
you need new crowns.
The old ones won’t fit.
He tells you the new ones
will be made of zirconia.
They'll cost $900 each
cheaper than gold
he says in consolation.
In shock you ask him
what do the homeless do.
He says there’s no ER
for dental work but
he’s heard about
a retired dentist
must be in his eighties
who goes into the city
one Saturday a month
and does charity work.
He needs help
your dentist says.
And more folding chairs
in the waiting room.
Donal Mahoney
A very, very Merry Christmas
From Jester Jack to all my sweet Soupers friends
Really must say youse guys are the greatest
That this humble old poet
Has ever had the pleasure of knowing
Year after year, some come and some go
But you regulars who stick around
It is especially rewarding and heart warming
I have friends all over the world
What better way to promote peace and joy
Than through the love of poetry
Merry Christmas to all my sweet Souper friends!
© Jack Ellison 2014
It was another River Sharks game as we've done before
Things pretty much the same in walking through the door
Just a very lite crowd as you could sit wherever you want
Place never really got loud except after the mascot's stunt
Yeah, we were regulars been there and we've all done that
We seen our share of errors as there my son and I had sat
When a foul ball came upon this day right to his very seat
As two twins made their way but then turning in sad defeat
Offering the two the ball, my son said, "here you can have it"
So cute and not that tall the little pair were shocked quiet a bit
Slowly taking it from his hand then running back to their seat
I just thought that it was grand in my son doing such a feat
Then over came an attendant saying they saw what he had done
In the message he had sent they did something special for my son
So when the next bat broke then that player had signed his name
This is the gift of which he spoke that made it such a special game
Now among all my memorabilia that broken bat shines!
For my friend Ahmad, who requested a poem about hummingbirds :)
No hummingbirds
Nowhere hummingbirds
What the eff are hummingbirds?
Birds, the world is filled with flocks
They have the weirdest names
I am NOT playing games
No regulars like sparrows or hawks
(screamers) Anhimidae
I'm asking you, what are they
(magpie goose) Anseranatidae
Are they fowl, or birds of prey?
(ducks, geese, and swans) Anatidae
Do we eat them, yay or nay?
But no hummingbirds
Nowhere hummingbirds
What the eff are hummingbirds?
Birds, there's small ones and real big
Birds that fly and birds that run
Birds you eat , or keep for fun
SO many birds, it makes me sick
(megapodes) Megapodiidae
Are they straight or are they gay?
(chachalacas, currasows, and guans) Cracidae
I even like the blue and grey Jay
(guineafowl) Numididae
Hand their juicy bits on a tray
But no hummingbirds
Nowhere hummingbirds
What the eff are hummingbirds?
You wanted a poem about hummingbirds
Well here it is my lovely friend
Do you know how much time I spent
Investigating your silly hummingbirds?
WHERE I LIVE THERE ARE NO HUMMINGBIRDS!
***
February 6, 2017
I have a bistro in Tuscany surrounded by fine dining and wine-
“La Rosa” is where Tony married me and I just had to make it mine.
The Tortellini is the most favorite dish of all on the luscious menu-
Surrounded by many beautiful fountains with an extravagant venue.
Of all of Italy’s restaurants mine has the greatest chef-
Mario makes a delicious lasagna but was born mute and deaf.
He traveled all over the world to find an amiable destination-
We welcomed him with loving arms, he has the most dedication.
Our pastry chef bakes the most delectable desserts in all of Italy-
His pies and confectionaries are recipes from his Nana in Sicily.
Customers arrive for a romantic date as they will wait for a seat-
They drink Merlot and snack on Ricotta Crackers as a yummy treat.
We have a few regulars who sit at the same table every afternoon-
They laugh and flirt with my niece Maria whenever she walks in the room.
The food is really pricey but every Euro paid it is definitely worth-
For every one who dines at La Rosa leaves in happiness and mirth.
Sponsor: Silent One
Date Written: September 19, 2016
The front bar of the Criterion is filling up,
It’s after five and the patrons are filing in.
Placed orders echoing off the old timbers
Vying to be heard and adding to the din.
The Grand Old Lady proudly plays host
As she looks out over the muddy Fitzroy.
Thirsty travellers mingle with the regulars,
Escaping the heat with a time worn ploy.
The nubile young bar staff are soon kept busy
As the chaos of orders are shouted out.
Pots and schooners, Bundy Rum and XXXX,
Of their burning thirst there can be no doubt.
The old burnished timber balustrade
though hints at an earlier time of splendor.
An era lost in a more genteel age,
When the old lady was of years more tender.
There’s a Dining Room and spacious Saloon,
Public Bar and upstairs rooms in which to stay.
All retaining their charm of yesteryear,
You can imagine just what they would say.
They’d tell tales of the customers of old,
Of the dusty drovers long on the track.
To the bar to slake a hard earned thirst
Before again mounting up to “get on back”.
Of the bullockies breasting up to the bar
Still cursing that cranky old lead beast.
In language blue they summons the barmaid
And soon settle in for a liquid feast.
Floorboards ringing to the thud of hob nailed boots
As the thirsty stockmen venture into town.
Today their pockets are full of promise,
Tomorrow hangovers they need to drown.
They’d recall long ago warm summer nights
With the polished chandeliers shining bright.
When the silver cutlery was out on display,
And well set tables made for a grand sight.
When gentlemen and ladies on the town
Took pride in appearance to look the part.
When crinoline, whale bone, lace and shift,
Were well placed to land a gentleman’s heart.
And assignations conducted furtively
In consummation of illicit affairs.
All in the rooms overlooking the city,
at the top of those carpeted old stairs.
I’m sure that today’s equivalent games
Are still seen daily by those left in charge.
The same scenes repeated by a new crowd,
The same desires on their faces writ large.
will it pass this way again?
nobody knows because the community
library
has to many paperbacks and the clouds
to many sins.
will twain swirl in the rain?
will steinbeck hit the deck?
will it pass?
will a folk singer from the north play the
harmonica
piss into a gutter and give some simple
remedy?
Now there is baptist marmalade in the
sun.
Now there is rye bread in the oven,
but in a cafe on main street
there is still.....
black coffee.
white porcelain cups.
thick calloused fingers.
all the regulars gathered there just like
every other day.
an old tv flickers over the counter just off
to the left of a
warped mirror that has labor union and
mason stickers
from the early 90s on it.
Customers are like bouquets of flowers passing through our twenty-four hours.
Breakfast, lunch, or dinner all 365 calendar days guaranteed for a full twenty-four seven.
“Hello Sir”! Welcome to Waffle House America’s favorite place to eat!
Some say we are the closest thing next to God's Great Heaven!
We have a confusing language of our own, the blabbering towers of the real “April Showers”
Service with a smile that has walked the many hard-earned extra tenths of miles,
Nothing computerized with files, just organized by our own genuine unique styles.
Waitresses are serving with hard enduring time and each crosses over a mighty fine line,
Master grill operators optimize a divine talent marking your plates perfectly aligned.
Friday and Saturday nights the party train arrives blessed coffee to the many lips we’ll revive.
Regulars and irregulars you’re served just the same, pardon me did I really get your name?
Loud ones, quiet ones, and even the picky ones strive to come back to us,
Here we bring back the basics of being alive.
Scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, diced, peppered, capped, or topped?
So do you want them “All the way or just partly aflame”!
Young, old, or different at being indifferent just being sane,
Especially when the “Waffle House Way” is to say the first “HELLO”!
“Morning Mam”! Can I get you your usual or will you be having something different “TO GO”?
Brief moments of insanity with the moods that walk through our doors,
Thank God for every single one of those Jukeboxes!
The quality of service opening an eye to the sly foxes,
We’d really be in trouble if we sold liquors!
Foreign, military, and even civilian are in and out,
Our servers are like the gold stored at Fort Knox.
So what can we get you today that you haven’t already had before?
“The Waffle House Way” America shouts!
It’s like being home because that’s what we are all about.