Best Relocate Poems
A single red, heart-shaped balloon isn’t enough
So I splurge and buy fourteen adorned by cupid
I tie them to the chair of my beloved “Hot Stuff”
To think mere balloons might please him would be stupid
So I search and search for the grandest tea roses
His favorite warm colors are all blended in each
His desk they decorate in striking poses
Hope these will do the trick and his passion beseech
But then I remember his strong chocolate craving
Godiva treats I purchase and spare no expense
Set beside roses, surely he’ll be raving
He’ll be home in an hour; I can’t bear the suspense
When the door opens, I am wearing a teddy
The Valentine card he takes with a gloomy look
When he sees his desk, he wails, “Enough already!”
And he doesn’t even try my straps to unhook
How puzzled I feel when he says, “We have to talk”
No, he hadn’t forgotten this lovers’ holiday
Into his small closet he suggests we should walk
He seems so depressed; I’d expected a hooray
Piled high in the closet are all occasion gifts
Gaudy Christmas sweaters and tons of chocolate hearts
He can’t find his clothes and between us grows a rift
To sort through this maze, he would need a detailed chart
“Take all this stuff with you and please just leave my home
In fact, I’ll pay your expenses to relocate
And be sure to take that hideous garden gnome
Make it snappy, will you? I have a date at eight!”
*For Joyce’s “Emotional Response” contest
Odd bird stands out among the seaside flocks
Taller, leaner with red stripes round one eye
Squats in the sand, oblivious to mocks
Opens his beak, emitting a strange cry
Gulls spread their wings, rise high and relocate
Odd bird remains, doesn’t take to the sky
Acceptance by others is not his fate
Solitude is all he has ever known
Feathers unruffled, he lives without hate
One of a kind, this bird has no clone
Staying true to himself, his strength is shown
On a temperature perfect evening, while kids play and run
I am sitting in a gazebo under a slowly setting sun
Unexpectedly, an insect appears in my line of sight
like the stereotypical tear flowing from a man of might
Watching; it saunters around my feet
Is it afraid of my presence? Should it be afraid of me?
Have I become afraid of it? Paranoid are we.
Is this the feeling the great and defeated Goliath felt?
Intrigued by this encounter, I think what an awful hand this bug was dealt.
For I have now become judge and jury; The gazebo is now a courtroom
The insect moves beyond my feet and closer to me
My nerves all rise.
Perhaps I could crush this being
like a foot to a grape, its ending would be red
On the contrary, it's possible the insect just wants to be fed
Perhaps I'll relocate the bug without the shedding of slime
It would be hard to justify such action, consider the scene of the crime,
Perhaps I shall agree with its innocent plea
and leave it alone to let it be...
The latter I chose for who am I to decide
A splatter of a death for an outdoor being, being outside
Upon leaving the courtroom feeling justice was served,
I was unaware the insect was being observed
Compassionate was I, like a god being merciful to a sinner
but it was soon caught in a spider's silky web for dinner...
Written March 19, 2017
Perhaps you have a friend that came into your life for just a season. And just like that, that friend had to relocate for a very good reason.
I really do not recall that there was much we ever had in common.
But without a doubt, I loved when to their home we were summoned.
Whenever my wife and I were there, I hated when it was time to go. He and his wife are most precious, people we are proud to know.
Several years ago when they decided to move away, I greatly opposed. I later learned theirs was a selfless move, and I was selfish I suppose.
It was in a study group that I got the news about our friends leaving, And we each took our turn to pray about the reality of their moving. I even recall a few sincere words I used in my prayer to The Lord. "If I were you, I'd simply tell them to forget about it Dear Lord".
I suspect that what Louie and I had was something I never had before. My conversations with him were rare, the kind I came to love and adore.
I saw in Louie no trace of mask or fake, but pure unadulterated genuiness. We often disagreed and had heated debates without any duress or distress.
I have seen Louie once or twice since they moved away to Lone Star State. I miss my friend Louie, especially the way we orchestrated those debates.
031720PoSp
Just two lonesome doves lost in a field full of grain
if one flies one way the other will be lost in the wind
oh, but how those doves wanted to be free but were so scared
holding onto each other until the bitter end
Just a little longer they thought, and we will be okay
no one cared what happened to them in those days
when one cried out the other one fell to the ground
it seemed no one could see what their needs truly were
So they thought it best to relocate them to a better place
have you ever seen doves cry as they hold onto a strange life
their hearts still beat the same, but now they knew what lonesome meant
and night after night they untucked their weary heads looking to the stars
Two lonesome doves dreamed of how things should be
softly they cooed the others name alone in the dark
oh, but the price of the cost to be free was ever-so great
don't ever think one doesn't share the pain the other feels
That field full of grain felt like nothing without the one that they loved
lonesome dove coos go out each night praying the other will fly to them
lost in the wind they have to be, doves have a forever kind of love
until that day, we all watch the tragedy when two doves cry
Inspired by:
Ray Lamontagne Let it be me Lyrics
Oh no she is in her mp3, help us Lord! lol
She's highly sophisticated and full of undefiled wisdom
Yet a crowned Duchess in a paradise kingdom
Quite a beautiful angel flying with black wings
Covered in gold jewelry and precious things
She dresses like the women of ancient Egyptian class
Her wealth is generous and her money grows like grass
She loves orange scented candles with dark room flame
She rules thirty legions of soldiers and Bune is her name
Her comely warrior voice can wake and relocate the dead
Her armies of soldiers gather around the cemetery
She is brave and deserves a princessly crown on her head
Her facility of speech and flair for words is legendary
A beautiful queen to be treated with respect and honor
Instead of blasphemy,wanton abuse and fictional horror
Surgery waiting room clocks move very slowly.
Pages in the books people brought with them are read over and over again without the reader ever knowing what it is they read. Magazines are picked up and put down again without being opened. Windows are looked out of without the view outside ever being seen.
And, the clock hardly moves.
If fish could be described as pacing back and forth, that is what the angelfish in the oversized aquarium appear to be doing. People sit in one chair, get up, walk around and sit in another chair, as if that one will bring them better results. Bathrooms are entered and exited and the faces reflected in the mirrors within look more worried than the person looking at the reflection had hoped to see.
And, the clock has barely moved.
Hands that are seldom held are being held by friends and family. Hugs that are seldom shared are being freely distributed. Vending machines are being stared at for minutes at a time, but items are seldom purchased.
And, the clock remains the same.
Each new person that enters the room attracts every eyeball wondering if that person’s loved one is in better or worse shape than the one they are waiting on. Then, the eyes return to the page that has been read fifty times; the magazine that remains unopened; or the window that looks out to an unseen scene. Cell phones ring. Strangers learn the story of other strangers through one sided phone conversations.
And, the clock appears to have stalled.
As surgeons enter the room, everyone listens for their name to be called. You watch other families converse with the doctor, gather their belongings and relocate to other rooms with slow moving clocks.
Once you hear your name, your anxiety heightens and you learn the status of your loved one. You gather your belongings to sit vigil by your patient’s side to be there when they awake. Upon leaving the room, you glance one last time at the waiting room clock and notice it has skipped ahead seven hours.
You leave the few remaining anxious strangers behind and hope to never have to see that surgery waiting room clock ever again.
Peace, your absence is annoyance.
Annoyance in our hearts and on the land,
On the land, we want to discover you.
You hide yourself in your whereabouts,
Whereabouts preserving your existence.
Peace, your nonappearance is frustrating.
Frustrating, as we ignore where you have gone,
Gone forever out of the land, out of our hearts.
Our hearts madly desire to meet you,
You are needed desperately, peace!
Peace, you are missing in our minds.
Minds dominated by wars and hatred,
Hatred widowing mothers.
Mothers crying for their orphaned children,
Children regretting the killing of biodiversity.
Peace unfound on the land, for gone forever!
Forever, back you’ll relocate among us,
Among us we'll welcome you.
Welcome you as needed for your absence,
Absence causing profound disarray.
Disarray in hearts and on the land. Peace, we need you!
You make us speed to find you, peace!
Poem by Ndabuli Mugisho
The House That Jack Built 3
Frequently we youngest four gathered bottles that were strewn in ditches,
And along the railroad track,
Then glide our feet over well-worn steel rails on the journey back.
We'd exchange empties for jaw-breakers and bubble-gum at Rose’s General Store,
And whenever I agreed to sing them a song,
We’d be given ice-cream cones for the deed that was far from a chore.
On the way home we’d pluck dandelions, buttercups, and daisies,
To present Ma with a colorful bouquet,
I’d add to it a rose or two if a certain neighbor was away.
If walls of home had open eyes and listening ears of course they’d witness and hear,
The muttered complaints and landing though faint of many a fallen tear.
Still, there was no television to carry us to places no child should go,
No boob-tube attempting to make us believe in all that just wasn't so.
We’d no telephone enslaving us in idle prattle-prat,
There was no couch-potatoing, no pigging out and getting fat.
We weren’t saints and some of our shenanigans surely caused the structure to tilt,
Yet we somehow felt all safe and secure in The House They Say Jack Built.
Then one day city slickers arrived at our door,
Said soon we would be living in Farran's Point no more,
The house where Ma had birthed nine,
Our Haven of Liberty that rested amid Willow, Maple and Pine,
Was part of some Seaway Power Project and Jack's House would be torn down,
And we were forced to relocate , to leave our delightful riverside town.
Gone would be the tall, proud trees, wild berries , rolling hills, winding creek and close friend,
Gone the canal that ships sailed through never would I cheerfully view again.
Gone the long tall grass we'd run through barefoot ,
After a swim in the River we cherished dear,
Gone the smiles from the faces of the Lost Villagers as eyes tried to hold back each tear.
by Joan Donnelly Ellis
Note: Farran's Point Ontario, Canada was a small riverside village. It was one of nine villages relocated before USA & Canada flooded the area in 1958 (St. Lawrence Seaway Power Project)
Church on a Cliff by the Ocean....
.
.` ~.~ `; t
. . II
. TT
. \\l// . /OOOOOOO\
. `l ' . . He speaks
. l__________________________________________________ Peace be still__
The storm clouds roared and waves below grew violent. Death had flown to town with a powerful vengance. People gathered to pray on the grounds of the church by the sea....
The cliff has erroded and the church sits precariously above. Years and storms have
taken its toll on the cliff revealing stark danger. Fears of mudslides
and collapsing stones by the forces of nature...Made the
town folk relocate five miles inland to sound footing
Leaving the cliff church abandoned and perched
awaiting its certain destruction. Three
generations have come and gone yet
alone on its perch it waits... ` ;`
;
Revival opens the doors again
Bravehearts dared to `;
sing praises
in the church
by the ocean
Perched high .. ~ ^ ~
on a cliff! ~~~ )}~~~
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Contest by Constance LaFrance Church by the Ocean
By Doris Culverhouse
9/28/2011
I reach out by sight
To pull the sky to me
I gaze far into the distance
Willing destination
Mentally hoping for someplace else
Feel the newness in my bones vividly
In discomfort, I want to bring the sky to me
From the other side
By imagination I can change my mood if I can relocate
Change my position or destination
And so my mind travels beyond limits
as I wish for new sky
I didn't find her
in a mensa meeting
we never talked
about quantum physics
and i never asked her
about her IQ
of course i meet her
in an irish pub
telling the truth
she is striking pretty
blue eyes
round butt
beautiful boobs
but that's about it
one day she told me
"when it rains
it gets wet"
and the other day
"somebody has to do
something about this guy
Hitler
he is really-really
a bad ass"
at the very end
she asked me about
the cave men
"why the government
doesn't move them
to affordable housing
at the projects
and give them welfare
and mass health"
and more stupid ideas like this
every day
until i left without notice
to relocate to another universe
with creatures who talk
after they think
about stuff
and common sense...
We lie to ourselves over and over again.
but it is at all to relocate the blame.
If we can’t trust ourselves who can we trust?
He was born for his blood.
Jesus Christ …
He is like no other sacrifice.
His pain is greater than birth pain,
far beyond groin pain.
The strain of humanity rested on his brain.
The offering is from everlasting,
before the fathers of the Israelites,
before feminists claimed that men believe
the source of chaos lies with women.
Blood was predetermined
before lips blasphemed;
women are the spring of complete perception,
and life.
Is he or is she the source?
“His blood is the stream of life,”
a wise woman once whispered to me, her baby boy.
I have watched mortal tongues
mock their creator’s wisdom.
In Eden, Adam sinned with his wife,
and assigned to her his fault,
and the blame continues …
but not forever;
it shall end in due time.
Who wants to be exalted above God?
Who declared that
the means to my existence is other than God?
Blurred is our vision,
elusive is our hope.
There is no child that is born without God or man.
Why is it that claims state woman to be the source of life?
If today’s woman is objectified whose fault is it
if she esteems herself as the source of knowledge and life?
The silicone, the Botox is all her choice.
Who is forgetting who is the origin of life?
Before pharaoh enslave the Israelites,
and way … before the flood
God WAS and still IS …
the source of life and love.
TRIED
VIALS
FISHY
IN
THREE
LIMBO
trapped between life’s choices
it’s been that way
too long
frozen firmly in the middle
a nowhere place
so wrong
the rollercoaster races
it’s lows and highs
ebb strong
weighing up all outcomes
consequences
prolong
promises lie unfulfilled
of pasture greener to
belong
what pulls us so to live in
‘home of free and land of brave’ ?
why resident ‘Green cards’
to us all with ease they gave?
© Kim van Breda—May 2014
(Our family have been trying to relocate to the USA from SA for the last 5 years since receiving our Green Cards.. it has been a really difficult place to be... in between here and there. The job market is really difficult to crack.)