Best Saturdays Poems
Her childhood stories bring tears to the eye
They’re of her overcoming difficulties
In an abusive family life
The subjects in racist societies
Molestation and racism are two reasons why
Traumatization had caused her to be MUTE
They ban books for the harsh reality they deny
Through reading literature, she becomes astute
And expresses her pain and sorrows
Poetry was her outlet and therapy
For writing and better tomorrows
Categories:
saturdays, books,
Form:
Rhyme
saturdays
hockey night in canada
~ phone best stay silent
Categories:
saturdays, hockey, people, silence,
Form:
Haiku
On Saturday
they say
heaven feels closer
penetrating cigarette
smoke
a poser forgets that the
choke
is universal
mercurial
and shivering
as the buzzard circles
a carcass deserted
but tolerated by
those determined
and quivering
but the faithless
push past the putrid
and dwell on what’s heartless
they transform the scene
and taint the evidence
in between
they chum up the killers
fisher’s of recompense
and kings of the wondering
as souls puncture the
cigarette smoke
to attack the clanging clock
made of slag wastage
gleaming black
against the
Saturday sun
Categories:
saturdays, people, places, social,
Form:
Free verse
I remember those Saturdays in the park
We picnicked and played the live-long day,
As I recall, nothing seemed ominous or stark
I remember those Saturdays in the park,
Softball, horseshoes, badminton ‘til dark
Seems life was filled up with fun and play
I remember those Saturdays in the park,
We picnicked and played the live-long day.
Written April 2, 2022
Categories:
saturdays, childhood, fun,
Form:
Triolet
I think in curls that bounce in the near-Spring sunlight
and brown eyes that burn with a wisdom expanding years unknown to me.
Brave face.
Shrug it off.
This flush of red sells me out
When lips meet flesh and soft words meet eardrums.
My knees no longer exist.
My mind no longer exists.
I'll hold on to this obsession til the sun rises
(or until he speaks my name again).
My logic has failed me once more,
and my heart remains the victor.
Categories:
saturdays, dream, love, me,
Form:
Free verse
Funerals on Saturdays
In a hall or a tent
a priest or pastor is sent
to lead
and the sacred book to read
for a homily
to comfort a greiving family
for its beloved is late
friends to this may relate
carried are heavy coffins
as we eat muffins
whilst runs a sad-tear
because of fear
as we mourn
the death of a one once born
listen to the crowd
singing so loud
even those who passby
are saying their last goodbye
as all lament
a painful heat's dent.
Drencho POET Loads
Categories:
saturdays, death, death of a
Form:
Narrative
There’s a farmers market near campus.
A young couple has a pizza oven on a trailer.
They make a breakfast pizza - bacon, mozzarella
some egg and green peppers. It’s SO crispy and delicious.
ALL I had to do this morning was say “breakfast pizza!”
and six of us were ready to head out fifteen minutes later.
Let’s wax poetic, shall we?
There are some young ladies who live in a dorm
sometimes it seems like they only have studies
but once and a while on a Saturday or Sunday
if we have our druthers, we get out, in swarm
and find ourselves some pizza-like brekkie.
.
.
Songs for this:
PIZZA by Oohyo
Le Breakfast Club de Paris by Gabrielle Chiararo
Categories:
saturdays, friendship, fun, happiness, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
There won’t be mail on Saturdays;
The P.O.’s cutting back.
Surprisingly, the news was met
With very little flack.
For fewer things come in the mail;
Most pay their bills online,
Although the mailmen still deliver
Whether rain or shine.
A very distant memory
Within my mind holds sway,
Of postal workers showing up
Two times in just one day.
Perhaps I just imagined that
But it’s not all that strange,
Another fine example of
The ways that things can change.
This new rule won’t affect me, though –
I’ve had a little peek,
And luckily, my birthday’s in
The middle of the week.
I’m sure that in the years to come
They’ll cut the mail again
And so we all should celebrate –
Five days of mail – amen!
Categories:
saturdays, life,
Form:
Rhyme
On a Michigan farmer Saturday
in August,
anticipating tomorrow's evangelical Sabbath,
When late summer vacations
invoked sanctified house cleanings
more unusually light,
Heading outside after lunch
into this spectacularly breezy
blue billowing
discontinuously cumulus cloudy
in-between radiant sky blue
infinite wonder
Into this awesomely long leisurely afternoon
becoming one of those special kids
sent out to rediscover solitary play
while Mom clears HER kitchen
to fill grateful mouths and noses
with impossible fragrance
of Sunday dinner rhubarb pie
or fresh strawberry shortcake,
whipping vanilla or banana cream
while boiling sweet yellow corn,
baking mac and ancient cheddar cheese
for this evening's pre-dusk compline dinner.
On this first summer celebrating Saturday
of low humidity
and temperatures predicting September 70s
Out past our red barn
and past its barnyard lily pond
and into golden stubbled hay fields,
sheared sexy contoured face
of my temporarily uncloseted gay imaginings
hoping for YangGod's grace face
smiling in sabbath of sensually healthy return
Continuing on
to private green cool woodland
to nakedly climb a favorite tree
skin to naked bark,
full-bodied embrace
of this fabulous shared EarthLife
transparent
and open
and breezy free with God's inclusive hope.
Out to play
and pray
this day
and month
and vacation
and re-creation
will never end
Or end,
if time must continue,
in moonlit radiant peace,
night dreams
of asking into perfect summer Sabbath.
Categories:
saturdays, creation, earth, farm, health,
Form:
Free verse
brushstrokes across canvas of mine
flow smoother and mellower with wine
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Categories:
saturdays, art, creation, fun, night,
Form:
Crystalline
Just relaxing,
safe and sound.
Not being a
poetry hound...
Ravioli was truly
nutritious...
Free of worry,
Tis so delicious!
Today, both body
and mind....
In search of serene,
still, spiritus.
Let go, surrender to
inner calm...
No rush, just nectarine
sweet....soul-balm!
7/31/2021
-1-
Categories:
saturdays, peace,
Form:
Rhyme
Saturdays Smell Funerals
Weddings are scarce
Funeral are all over
Coffins are famous
Countless deaths
Our friends die
Our loved ones depart
One by one like flies
On Saturdays are buried
We remain lonely
Tears have become friendly
Smiling is rare
Only mourning
Lamenting experience
Happiness is drought
Our hearts have become a desert
Because of funerals
Saturdays' sad occassions.
Drencho POET Loads
Categories:
saturdays, death,
Form:
Personification
old spaghetti westerns
and john wayne flics
what better way to spend
saturday afternoons
weekly shoot 'em ups
where at the end
cowboys and their horses
ride toward a dusty sunset
AP: 3rd place 2025, Honorable Mention 2025
Categories:
saturdays, appreciation, fun,
Form:
Free verse
I’m bloom to consume more than a few words on this paper to presume/
I pick to pitter patter playing on a plum/
Planning a ploy on a punk as I’m plotting a plan for the plot/
In a tight spot or not my light will burn hot/
I spite a slight stop as I o jot and stay in tip top shape/
Shaping this hip-hop state or shaving my flip flop of hate for my ways/
Skipped and slipped in slop sideways sometimes on Sundays most times Saturdays/
As I’m next to Saturn in a daze/
I host mines to hex who’s in whatever pattern to spatter and phase/
The placid aspects as I inspect man her sass pecks/
With assets to add sets to flesh/
No bad bets or frets to fetch/
Don’t flinch that flash will flex facts/
No regrets in fact in retrospect no more regress or recess in the process/
Just to redirect pushing towards progress and rewards to reword and report/
I’ll import my hymn sport for my sordid assorted words/
That sore did spurt as the pore’s forced to ponder/
In her orange corsage looking for pooriage in her poor triage/
As I’m up a tree gosh /
She needs to be free from the pleads to heed/
I didn’t breed a steed but instead I brought a verbal stead from my head/
Seek to keep it protected like PC protection for a mac book that pro tech dude did.
Categories:
saturdays, cool, crazy, creation, desire,
Form:
Rhyme
In the morning we were fresh and alert.
Taking an art class every Saturday
So we could go up on the teacher’s pay scale.
There were three of us. Marty, Katy and me.
We found a restaurant that we adored – the Pier.
Their food was amazing, and they would bring a pitcher of margaritas.
The pitcher was only eight dollars, and we looked forward to it
More than the food.
We became charming, hilarious, beyond witty by one o’clock
When my eyes were so blurry I could barely drive back to the class.
The afternoons were filled with our loudest ugliest laughter.
I would catch Marty’s eye and we would go off into huge gales.
After a couple of weeks of this we began to order two pitchers.
Sometimes arriving back at the class a bit late.
Laughing at the teacher’s consternation.
None of us passed, but it was so worth it.
And our work was hilarious
And we became fast friends.
I still catch Katy’s eye at a faculty meeting
And we both begin laughing remembering those Saturdays!
Categories:
saturdays, drink, drug,
Form:
Prose Poetry