Best Restock Poems
The words of the Zulu coconut,
a once coveted souvenir
from an indulgent visit
to festive Mardi Gras.
As our hero speaks
two mice nibble
unobserved
at his
coat.
"Beads
were slung;
doubloons cast.
Grasping tourists
seized the trifling throws.
Floats advanced in the queue
krewes tossed their tokens wildly.
Prize gifts are meant to be given.
So I, Zulu, went from hand to hand."
Meanwhile a mischief of mice emerged
to attack Zulu's varnished coat.
As they quickly devour him,
his paint began its work
within their stomachs
to do the same.
Zulu's last
witnessed
speech:
"Far
better
to restock
the soil of earth.
Better to be spent
as nourishment to some.
Better still to end this life
by sprouting as a seed of hope.
Better than this: "paint may be toxic."
I went to a cheese and wine party on Saturday,
where huge platters of cheese were on display.
There was Gorgonzola and creamy white Brie,
I devoured huge chunks with a glass of Chablis.
Danish Blue, Mozzarella and Swiss Emmental,
of course I had to try a sample of them all!
I declined Edam and Gouda, I find them too waxy -
and the last time I ate them I was sick in the taxi!
Soft creamy Camembert and blue Roquefort,
went down a treat with a glass of vintage port.
Crumbly Cheshire and Cheddar were so divine,
and tasted heavenly with red Beaujolais wine.
I’d chomped through all of the Stinking Bishop,
our hostess had to restock the whole dish up!
Then I munched little cubes of Monterey Jack -
if my doctor saw me he’d have a heart attack!
When our host carried in a blue Stilton in a truckle,
I loosened a notch on my now straining belt buckle!
I admit blue cheese can smell like men's sweaty socks
but ripe Stilton and crackers, this cheese simply rocks!
Write a poem about Cheese Contest
Sponsored by Barry Stebbings
FICTION POEM FOR CONTEST
11/12/18
I can sing you a lullaby that could comatose an insomniac
Like the landing of a butterfly a rose would welcome this contact
My voice sprinkles her with relaxation the sandman could'nt match
Her eyes twinkle with admiration like birds when their eggs hatch
The soft aroma of vanilla intertwined with jasmine fills the air
A few coronas as a summers night wind blows through her hair
Time seems to stop as if a deity entered the scenario
Those eyelids drop as a cello escapes the stereo
Her pillow overjoyed exhaled feathers that would shame a peacock
A sparrow was deployed from heaven with such a divine restock
A sleeping beauty in a trance only broken by pure intentions
A dream with visions of romance she'll probably never mention.
Sha'ntez Jefferson
10/23/12
Lobster Fishing
It was still dark when I arrived at five o’clock
I commenced the day by going to the wrong dock
I was a little concerned that I may be late
When I arrived they were still loading bait.
The boat started up with a thunderous sound
You must stay the channel so you don’t run a ground
Next you head into the safety of the bay
Everyone’s quiet with not much to say.
As we turn the corner the sun divides the sky and sea
A blend of orange, purple and blue explode in front of me
The sea starts to pick up and the boat gets tossed
A peace grows within all else is lost…
You pull the traps up in what’s called a set
You winch them on board to see what you get
My job was to restock the bait
It seemed kind of an ironic fate.
It was pretty hard work yet so much fun
Me, the boat, the sky and the sun
We had a pretty good catch and turned to go back
The auto pilot planned our course of attack
On the way in you wash down the boat
It cleaned up quite well with water and soap.
As I view around me as it was time to go
The sea put on its own picture show.
When we returned to the river the tide had come in
All of the lobsters had been placed into bins
The boat was too tall to fit under the bridge
Like smooth sailing and then hitting a ridge.
We had to unload the boat so the catch wouldn’t be lost
Our pride and a little work was all that it cost
When we had finished it was time to rest
Having comfort in knowing we did our best.
We cleaned up and had dinner to end the day
This is my lobster tale of today
Everyone found humor in what I had to say
Then we said goodbye and went on our way.
When I got home I fell fast asleep
I dreamed of a bottom far too deep
It was a long day and I needed to rest
The lobster became someone else’s dinner guest.
Lazy Flossy Squirrel.
Shove up, shove up come on move on
it's very cramped and nothings done.
Summers over and the cold winds blow
I feel it's cold enough for snow.
So shove up move on, or help me please
restock our food inside these trees.
Get them ready with berries and nuts
no if's or why's not even but's.
You'll want a feed before you sleep
so bring your share and bury them deep.
Shove up move on that's what I say
I've been fetching nuts all day.
I've had enough Squirrel Flossy
it's because of you that I am bossy.
Squirrel Flossy I had to shout
If you don't like it then please move out.
I have no time for one so rude
we need to store our home with food.
Cause when the snow falls and it's really cold
you'd wished you'd listened and done as you're told.
But hey ho if I'm bossy Miss Flossy and what do I know
Remember when you're hungry who it was
that warned you so!
Perhaps creating too many companies
would use to much of the world resources
yet investing in farms would grow more crops
Perhaps creating more companies
would use up the world's resources
yet perhaps, what we need most, is entertainment
Even during the war
they realised that their troops needed fun
even during war they realised
to have a settled army
you need entertainment
stimulate the troops to keep order
perhaps we need a certain percentage of our wage
locked in to providing entertainment
employing the unemployed
for jobs that create an entertaining world
why should we waste money
and get nothing in return
We focus on profit
and yet what we need most
is to focus on life
perhaps
what we need is companies,
that improve the world's resources
our sea's depleted of fish
perhaps fish farms
would be the path to take
we already have salmon farms
perhaps investing in more
would be a good idea
perhaps it's solar power
that creates the greatest growth
investments can improve the world
working together investing every week
we could build farms
to restock our oceans
we could build farms
to feed the starving people
creating jobs so they can afford to buy
we could build solar power
to create a cleaner air
we could create desalination plants
to turn our deserts into farms
we could rebuild the forests
to create a living home
as human beings we could see
the problems we share
as hurdles to overcome
Perhaps other people
have better ideas
hope they lead to a better world
There comes a time in one’s life
That you have to take stock
Regardless of stress; despite any strife
Love, pleasure, passion and joy
Always be sure it’s the real McCoy
You will need to restock
so many things yet to strive
But with God in your life
and love on your side
take all anguish and suffering in stride
don't let it break you
always move on
for God gave us his one only son
Today, my wife is having company
First, there are some tasks which she needs from me:
to sweep the drive and to trim back the tree,
to check trash cans in the house are empty,
vacuum the carpet, restock the pantry,
mop tile floors and scour grout on my knees,
dust under tables and backs of TVs
wash windows in rooms where no one will be,
and clean nooks even a mouse wouldn't see.
Soon, guests arrive prompt at quarter past three.
"So glad you could come, " I say tiredly,
"I'll be asleep if you're looking for me."
8/25/2016
And here you are
on the end of a smile
that doesn't seem to fit
your face, caught
in the startle of a flash,
still and ageless
after all these years.
I wonder what thoughts
were in your mind
when the shutter clicked
to hold you there,
a wafer of who you were
back then, set free of time
to surface here, unchanged.
I will never know.
Each image now
a closed book revealing
nothing but its cover or,
at best, by luck,
a small, unexpected
glimpse of something more
caught in an expression
or in a look of the far way
reflected in your eyes.
Love always reaches back
to redeem what it can
to restock the treasures
stolen from its stores
by time.
And years hence,
will there be someone
looking at a photograph of us,
deciphering the pose,
seeking out a message
written in our eyes.
Will they see something
hidden in an old photograph
left there by chance, a sliver
of who we were, a little bit
of bone to replenish what
remains of us in their
reliquary of love.
Wouldn't it be great to win a small prize,
So I can restock my stationery supplies.
I first write it down,then I type it up
I make lots of mistakes, then I rip it up.
Just when I think I've got it just right,
I knock over my coffee,
It's been one hell of a night.
At last it's all finished,
I've got a pile in the bin
If I don't win a prize,I will pack it all in.
I don't need a lot, just paper and ink,
Oh and a litre of correction fluid I think.
Now I'm going to the post,
I say this with a smirk,
If I can win a little prize
It's got to be easier than work.
If you think this is a begging letter,
Of that there is no doubt
If I could say I've won a prize,
I would have something to shout about!
The Dishwasher’s Loaded
The dishwasher’s loaded,
The plates are all used,
The cups are all dirty and the plates all confused.
My clothes are all ragged,
My shoes scuffed and worn,
I’m in need of no revamp to replace all that’s torn.
The hoover is silent,
The dusters lie crushed,
The paintwork is cleaned and the TV’s been hushed.
My tanks are all empty,
My vehicles SORN’ed,
The MOT’s need update and insurance informed.
My mortgage has run,
My tax is all paid,
My bills have been cleared and ‘For Sale’ signs displayed.
The drawers are all empty,
I was running on fumes,
The past is all gone, each small bit consumed.
You need to reorder,
To restock the shelves,
You need to invest and replenish yourselves.
My race has been run,
My round had been played,
I shot level par and four birdies I made.
No need to cry,
No need to regret,
The world keeps on turning, it does not forget.
©Keith Murphy
If you care to look in your cupboards,
You might doubt being out of bed,
As all you will see is red.
If you rush to the bathroom cupboards,
For something to keep you out of bed,
You may start to wonder if you are dead,
As all you find there is red,
If you dare to open more cupboards,
You may well end up under the bed,
Where you will find only more red.
When you have opened all your cupboards,
And established you are indeed out of bed,
Proof that you are alive not dead,
But have cupboards full of tape that is red.
Now will you clean out your cupboards,
When you come out from under the bed,
And stop acting like a bureaucrat who only uses tape that is red.
If you care to restock your cupboards,
Instead of going back to bed,
You will no longer think you are dead,
Your family will be well fed,
And you will no longer be seeing red.
Nineteen stiletto armed assassins
Lay in wait upon my roof,
While nineteen of Santa's reindeer,
Prance up there with stomping hoof....
A fearsome racket,
Nineteen decibles loud,
So busy is it up there,
It blew away each cloud
How do I get out?
I've had my nineteenth beer,
Nineteen more,
And I'll have no fear...
I know, I'll wait till nineteen o'clock...
Surely they'll be sleeping then,
And I can go out and restock...
But, darn, I bought too cheap an alarm clock,
This one only goes up to twelve,
And makes an annoying tick-tock...
Maybe I can on-line order
An alarm clock that goes up far enough....
Only problem is,
How do I pay for such stuff?
Then, that 'ol Bell brain kicked in,
And figured out what to do;
I took my magic marker,
And cardboard and some glue,
Remark the numbers
the way I want them,
That'll work just fine!
Well, maybe I had too much wine,
And not enough to eat,
For nineteen hours I tried,
But could not do this feat...
I couldn't spell, or remember numbers too well,
Oh, I guess I'm stuck here,
The curse of dumb Tom Bell.
Cupid caught your arrows in mid-air
See he needed to restock
But what's this I see
I think he left one for you and for me
Should I call you by your name
or may I address you more affectionately
Café Musings
Same seat, corner, window, back to the outside.
Lost in a time warp of whimsy, voices, half thoughts,
overheard chatter. She is tall, stately, impatient.
He is rumpled, unshaven, fumbling for his change.
He is invisible to most, she is obvious to all.
What funnel of diversity directs them through
the door and why? Loud voices wishing not to be heard
bathe in smart phone glow, smiles, scowls, tears, latte.
Shifting their weight they pour the coffee,
attempt to smile, know there is no clock
but look for the time, wipe the counters,
restock the donuts, muffins, and thank yous.
The funnel never seems to empty, the door never
to close, the nameless, shapeless, shadows pass
through the humming drone of discordant sounds.
Same seat, corner, window, back to the outside.
John G. Lawless
Cafe Musings
1/27/2014