Best Roofing Poems
Dad had threatened for some time, to reclaim the land behind the shed,
where rubbish over many years, had stockpiled but now instead
of being easy to be shifted, blackberries, docks and thistles grow,
entwining history of ours… and you know we didn’t know.
Mum cracked the whip one Sunday, handing out the different tools
for us to shovel, fork, pick and slash; of course she made the rules.
We weren’t to stop until the rubbish, had been cleared and left to show
a barren space to be landscaped… and you know we didn’t know.
Johnny parked the truck close to where we’d easily load the tray.
First we had to slash blackberries, to open up a pathway.
Old fencing wire and bent droppers, we pulled and tugged. The work was slow.
Plus bits of motors, old oil filters… and still we didn’t know.
The ‘Old Man’ knocked a stump out I can’t remember being a tree,
it disintegrated into pieces; white ant workings I could see.
Plastic pots and old fuel drums, onto the tray we heave and throw.
Just on half the plots been cleaned up now… and still we didn’t know.
A concrete trough and a mattress spring, mesh from an old birdcage.
A kitchen sink broken in two and a pushbike at some stage.
Sardine tins, a barrow bowl, and a seized up mower that won’t mow,
now there’s just one corner left to clean… and still we didn’t know.
A stack of roofing iron near the fence; the last that had to go.
One by one we dragged the rusting sheets… and still we didn’t know.
Dad picked up the final sheet, and then he quickly threw it down again.
His face was white and ‘cripes’ he shook… we ‘bloody-well’ knew then.
IV
A soul was broken to make room
For dusty halls and labyrinths.
A gossamer, nylon bed-sheet shroud
Enwraps the remnants of that mind.
And no excuses can be made;
This disease does not justify that one.
I do not sleep deeply, I do not wake easily,
I dream of cities built on sand,
Next to the swelling sea.
Oh, they should have lasted.
Why should they fall?
I dream of timber horses,
Brought between those city walls.
We should have known; we should have known better.
III
But, I am not an honest mystic;
Beware what you ask of me.
I will show truths within the liar's tapestry.
But, you will not believe; no, you cannot believe.
II
I howled for my motherland
When the mutiny began.
I heard the cry of treason; heard the cry and ran.
I saw blood be spilled,
Some of it my own, then
Felt the rest boil, that this could happen in my home.
I saw the battle through, until the very end,
Then wished the traitors pardoned,
Because they were my friends.
I
I cannot tell the difference
Between the sleeping and the dead,
So, I will dole out blankets, and keep the kettle on.
The streets are cracked and dirty,
And they all appear the same:
Shattered glass and roofing tacks
Where I place my bare and weary feet.
I don't want to go on.
But, I must rebuild; I must rebuild.
I have no grass to lay,
The trees and flowers will not grow,
So, I shall use nothing, but mortar, brick, and stone.
It's not the same; it is not the same,
But, I shall call it home.
No need for Elmer's
Or the strength of Super Glue
The silver tone of Liquid Nails
Or that Gorilla from the zoo
No Scotch, Packing, or Duct tape
To wrap tight what's loose
None of that so called sticky stuff
For this boy will do
No 10 penny or roofing nails
To hammer all this through
No Quick Set or Rubber Cement
So that things don't move
None of that stuff seriously holds enough
At least not 100 proof
When all I need is love
For me to be stuck on you
At home the sky is male
running ceaselessly
up there above our heads
The sky speaks at home
In the midst of its haste
it closes out the shine
of the bright yellow sun
The sky speaks at home
One day it came around
as if offended by the gods
in an instance of fury
it changed its mood
from a brilliant shiny white
To a dark frightening black
It knocked on the roof
of Aunty Nene’s house
and took with it
the antique roofing sheet
The sky speaks at home
Sometimes in the sky
a heavenly battle ensues
when the shine of the sun doesn’t give in
to the approaching train of rain
leaving the dwellers on land
watching with mouth agape
The sky speaks at home
Here and now
away from home
where land and space
contrast that at home
Here and now
away from home
a sea of endless friable grain
adorns the land
taking the place of the lush grassland
and the mangrove
known at home
Here and now
away from home
the sky mimics the land
bald most part of the year
showing the halo
of the bright yellow sun
Here and now
away from home
the sky is still
never telling
if it’s male or girl
Having driven away all elopers
up there above
and cracked open the shell of the clouds
up there from above
The sky
exposes all beneath
to the light of the sun
Here and now
away from home
the sky is meek
in its quietude
In the dark of the night
and the twinkling of the stars
the lights of Jupiter
and of Venus
and Mars
smiles down at all
Here and now
away from home
the sky is bare
keeping an eerie silence
a stillness that speaks
Here and now away from home
stillness speaks
up there in the sky
All in all
at home and here
on and on
the sky speaks
in its own way
THE BALLAD OF MA POSSUM
Roofing like a penthouse floor,
Tis not a haunt but Ma's snore.
A wombatic possum in appearance,
Being nature's pinup is her arrogance.
Her distintictive, brush, bob tail, loss,
reputedly, respected as the boss poss.
Hearing her grunt and fight,
echoing a freaky still night fright.
Oh!, nightlife beware,
if Ma is anywhere.
trees n eyes in the wood
is part of Ma's family hood.
Scratchings at the door,
signals to eat, until no more,
Possum busters have done their best,
But Ma thinks, tis a game and quest.
With her teeth and claws,
makes furnishings with any trapddors.
Characterise, personalise or humanise,
big booted, smudged lipstick and pearl,
smokin cigars, no sweet little girl,
tough and ready to roll,
she aint no possum doll.
A pet possum sage,
outliving the legends of her long age.
Rapturous noise from the sky;
makes dark clouds to shed crocodile tears,
as heavy wind blows,
sand,paper and polythenes fly and float
all through and through...
Many roofing sheets beat the drum
like a loud dirge;
The roads sweep clean as
the breeze whistles along,
And the heaven..opens!,
As rain drops heavily...
thorough bath for the trees in the forest,
the cars packed in open spaces in the cities,
and roofs of buildings.
..And some air pollutants dissolve to form solutions.
The hard soil opens to swallow these
drops hungrily and the dead hidden seeds
spout out and new cotyledons appear,
dry swamps become living marsh lands,
Breathing and stilt roots of red and white
mangroves are now active and alive.
Mud fish and cat fish dance for joy;
praying mantis prayers answered as
the frogs and toads hop and croak
for coitus with their females;
ducks and ducklings waggle their tail feathers
as celestial aqua touches their bodies;
Tilapia and grilse synchronize together,
while dogs and goats run for shade.
The chameleon licks drops of water with its retractable
tongue,as the Mole prepares to build with soft clay;
Farmers burn incense to the almighty
for these drops;hoping for a better harvest;
Continuous raindrops turn into
avalanche of water; flood!
fast-moving water sweeping through the city;
coast and littoral zones overflowing with aqua,
properties destroy,life lost and homes submerge;
Government calls for evacuation.
Contest:"RAINDROPS FALLING" sponsored by Carol Brown
Ask me
Fountain of life word that ran with light.
Peer with life sometimes thoughts bleed.
I only fear words twisted by the tongue clap in mouth.
Reality bite mind.
It Provoke instinct of conscious life.
Life let the truth bleed.
Suffering is the given name poverty.
Eyes strike with fear to see the light.
Sons cry out loud.
Silence is golden.
Poverty is a vibe of a young one.
Malawi poverty is deriving human soul out of rip cage.
Held to breath a soul baby girl sings.
Names rings and eyes sees.
Poverty dumped men with a root of all evil.
That is a jail men rise we need a light.
Our daily bread, we pray to seek and knock.
Look seven to seven every day.
Believe you me life is stoned.
Generation need to step men see the light.
Police derive men to steel white men owns black men seek.
Poverty is punching suffering money is the key.
When do men stand?
Gave him what belong to him.
Gave God what belong to God.
Pain is they all belong to him.
Should me remain poor or strike.
Money is what he own.
Look at the style and life as a whole.
So should Malawi remain the same?
United nation is a name, African union is a pain.
Poverty is a stain.
Flowing of water under roofing.
Fear of safety generated breed, is inheritance accidental.
Where do black man stand.
Spine in a cord is straight.
Nothing but joke John kani said it all.
Men learn to stand.
Head scan thoughts.
Embrace you main brain.
Liberty is spoken let poverty be the curse.
It’s over now black men stand. Stripe until life erect.
I have the loudest woodpecker in the neighborhood!
He starts around 5 am, hammering on the hard wood.
I’ve even caught him at some of the metal roofing too!
I’m not sure what’s up with that, what he’s trying to do?
One thing is for sure, he’s big, black, red and white.
He didn’t seem to like being disturbed, when I was in close sight.
I’ve never heard one this loud, hammering on...with all his might!
No kidding, it’s beginning to sound like a construction site!
Heidi Sands
5/21/21
4/1/17
Flowers blooming
Spaced out or in a tight-knit grouping
All around things looming
In space objects still or moving and zooming
Birds pluming
And other animals grooming
Downloads queueing
Electronics in need of a rebooting
Or powering off, to enable cooling
Below, on and above the roofing
Toxins spewing
And other particulates polluting
Some of which are made for fueling
All weeds were removed by uprooting
Trees and bushes getting a pruning
Especially any areas that are drooping
There's just no excusing
You'd better stop snooping
And assuming
As well as tooting your horn
Or ridiculing the poor
What the hell are you fooling for
When deep down, you know you could be doing more
Ocean life caught by fishing poles, harpooning
Or cage using
Die hard fans rooting
Or booing
Times of booming
And continual losing
Certain insects and people cocooning
Humans continually feuding
Suing
And fuming
As if there is something they want to be proving
Major scale jobs, including
A lot of or very specific tooling
Drugs and alcohol others may be using
And possibly abusing
In the right conditions, water pooling
Near and far from any rocks protruding
Live a life of your choosing
Continue pursuing
Knowledge, and ways of improving
With or without musing
By: Dalton Ogletree
On wooded land and open water, the gale struck hard
Plucking fallen twigs and flowers and leaves and the unwary bird
Caught unawares, a family of cranes about five or six in number
Took hastily to flight from an island and were hurled across the water
Violently shaken from slumber, the trees awoke
And as they swayed in frenzy, thick branches snapped and broke
Still ignoring my instincts, I continued to walk
But the fury of the storm made me inwardly baulk
The greatest dangers posed were however man-made
They were live power lines on poles, strung overhead
And loose metal roofing of shanties rattling nearby
Poised to ride the storm, razing as they would fly
With heart pounding as the wind raged, I quickened my pace
Half blinded and with hair tousled, as the dust stung my face
I could see the rain as it approached, fast across the lake
But despite the extended canopy above, I was soon dripping wet
Whipped by the wind, the rain lashed hard
My neighbourhood was deserted, not a soul stirred
All had taken refuge – even the stray dogs and cattle
As lightning flashed and thunder cracked and windows shuddered and rattled
With wary eyes for falling debris, I walked the middle road
Fearful of lightning strikes stabbing earth like a jagged sword
In an alley, off the road, a glass pane fell and shattered
As the relentless storm raged on, reaching home was all that mattered
I would like to thank you for your visit.
I have removed these poems for a distant future book publication.
I believe we poets, can make a difference
in this world. We live in the 21st century,
we have tools( technology), we have our past, and imagination.
We just don't have the courage, because
I guess most are afraid to fail, to loose money.
All I have to say is we can't take money with us,
when we die. I also say hasn't mankind failed enough,
and isn't mankind worth the effort, our children is worth the effort..
Thank you, and my your God Bless you
John E WordSlinger
My friend Ed was eighty two last I knew,
and had a construction crew.
He was a great guy
and his worldly crew treated him poorly,
Which affected me sorely.
He was an honest roofing and siding sub contractor
who worked with his crew, a positive factor.
Even tempered, humble, hard working and wise,
he labored and ignored the cracks of his guys.
Never complained or answered their slurs,
just kept working and paying those ungrateful curs.
He was writing me up another estimate one day,
When he suddenly looked up at me to say…
“Bob, do you want to know how I get along with all men?”
I said “Absolutely Ed! Tell me your secret if you can..”
He said,
“It’s simple really; I just accept people the way they are.”
It’s been fourteen years since I heard those words,
And thought that over .. as he walked back to his car...
it was the right thing to do
for a world that needed help.
he spoke of his invention,
instead of replacing the roof
he devised a contraption
that shielded the whole
roofing area," the thing
is supported to the house
and it refuses to be blow from it.
it refuses to allow the
rains and snows to
seep into the roofing area!
it is supported by beams that
are anchored to the
surface area of the house
and are too anchored and
attached to the corners of
the housing unit
and are customized to fit!
these replacements can cover
customized homes, sheds, barns
and mobile and recreational trailers.
they make sense for a world that
can't afford to be poor!
Only one room of the home of thatched roofing
Night nest my childhood grew up
On the reed mat, at the cow dung floor
We slept in a line warmly in whole room
With the portion of my dinner, given by my mother
In the evening I came, Grandma’s home ever
Grandma, Grandpa, seldom with my brother
Nights I spent was a book grim brother
Close to the rice pot and two hot curries
Sat for the dinner eagerly by the light of cruet
Hungry amber color painted night touched faces
Taste of dinner though simply and smell haunt
Passed happy and sad days, rich and poor days
Stamped mixed memories in countless nights
After the dinner and betel desert of delights
Mats were laid, the door was ajar till sleeps
Of Kings, princes and heavens the story long
Longed to hear until grandma wants to sleep
Visualized images and in horrible forests
In Grandpa’s narratives, I wondered as a cloud
Once he tells and ends about a demon’s tale
Afraid my feet disinclined of going to pee
Night and dark when light and door were closed
A visual screen through roof’s holes that story plays
Grandma, Grandpa both are my cinematic creators
Unwritten epics of my big world narrators
Imaginary mind and poetic soul me granters
Your place far away and become exiled traitor
Droplets of water hit the roof so hard
I could barely hear myself think
as it washed down dirt from the corrugated
roofing sheets.
The smell of dust hung around like
the scent of incense burning from the altar,
heat steamed from the sun burnt earth like water
poured on hot coal.
From my window I could see empty
polythene bags hovering in the air,
trees swaying to the rhythm of the wind
and animals scampering for shelter.
I took-off my clothes and jumped into
the rain reminiscent of my childhood when
Mother would let us dance in the rain
and bathe us with warm water afterwards.
but now I'm a grown man and all I want
to do is dance in the rain.