Best Shack Poems
My love, please take me back
To your sweet sugar shack
Sitting on the soft sand beach
Paradise is within reach
Rolling waves crest, so dreamy
Briny air, wafting steamy
Coconuts so full and ripe
Swaying grass skirt, my delight
Taut humid air, tan skin
Dewy lips meet, it begins
Swim southward along the coast
To the sweet realm of my host
Searching in the dark bamboo
For the mythic pink Honu
The enchantress of the sea
My soft kisses set her free
Forest of the straight smile
The fair treasures of this isle
Warm to my tropical steam
Her smiling shell does gleam
Inside her magic seas, you
Swim deeper as I please you
Within your endless ocean
Drowning, fragrant emotion
As the gentle cries go higher
Holy water turns to fire
Passion’s fruit upon your brow
My Pele, it’s our Luau
Your Tsunami drowns the flame
My rogue wave crashes the same
The relentless sea rolls back
Joy resounding in the shack
Honu=Green Sea Turtle
Pele=Hawaiian Goddess of Fire/Lava
4/30/16
© Endorphin Junkie
The roadway's blocked with drifts of snow,
by winter winds that howl and blow.
And ominous clouds clot the sky,
beneath a sallow sun's faint glow.
House calls get performed on the fly,
even though I'm no longer spry.
But a country doctor's no good,
unless he is willing to try.
Experience; says that I could,
but first, I'll gather more firewood.
For nights gets cold when it turns black,
and some have frozen where they've stood.
My tired feet plow a winding track
through frozen fields on my way back.
And yet, I'm prouder than they know
of that baby born in a shack.
(Interlocking Rubáiyát)
3/12/2015
Be patient my soul for your earthly shack will soon be replaced by a mansion in the sky!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
02 August 2017
I adore sweets and that's just pathetic
cos' for ten years I've been diabetic.
When that pie rolls around
or the muffins are crowned
my desire for them grows quite kinetic.
There are wrappers hidden under the bed
and there's leftover banana bread.
Every year I vow
to stop eating somehow.
If I keep this up I could be dead!
So I'll ring out the old-start anew.
I can do it if I think it through.
Throw the sugar away
and start over today.
Eating rabbit food's what I'll now do!
If I Won the Lotto, I'd Buy Forgiveness
I grew up in a one roomed shack
a king size Coca-Cola space
crammed like Marlboro cigars in a pack
a place I ran to for defense
my home which some see as a plight
where my family had to find the right way
it was my bedroom at night
my mother's pantry by day
a lounge where my dad like a doc upon a cadaver dissected
The Star while his kids goggled at Luxor television
I grew up in a shack protected
by corrugated irons walls of a mansion
Old weary & weaving roads to Colva it made me take,
To Mickey’s I was heading after a long break.
The monsoon rains & the heady winds,
Shut down the joint , but the ambiance it reminds.
Opened this joint to yester’s morn,
For the native, traveler or tourist afore he moved on.
Warm is the vibe & cool is the breeze,
The gamut so delicious , are cooked a wee bit of grease.
The thatched rays ,they creep into the woven roof,
The tables are spread out for space aloof.
The people are warm and the ale is cold,
And the clustered guest they are young & old.
As dusk sets in , more soothing the breeze,
The hotelier, he must stuff more beers into his deep freeze.
As twilight sets and the lights come on,
With the heat & dust , its all gone.
The gentle breeze now fills his hall,
As night descends, it’s fun for all.
The lights are dim but the vista is great,
The menu’s lines they wish to be on your plate.
The moon is up and the stary sky deplete,
In walks my girl for me to meet.
The feast was great & precious time spent,
Mickey’s to remember it’s meant.
Without warning
Without reason
Sometimes my visions
Return to an old shack in the woods.
It's mysteries are unaltered
And the unkept years
Still number the same.
Some of the boards
Rest on ones before them
The earth is visible
Beneath it's structure
The support pillows are
Still leaning to and fro.
I again find myself beneath
A large opening
One made I believe
For the air to flow within.
I stretch my legs
With all my force
To again look inside.
But as all the many times before
I see nothing
For there's nothing to be seen
Just the same old worn plank floor
Staring up at me again.
I visit here often
Not knowing where I am
For there is no one here
And nothing to be seen
Expect this old shack and me.
How do I get here
How far do I have to journey
Should I be tired and weary
Or feel rested and chrisp.
I know not
How far I've been
I know not of how far
I've looked within.
Tho many times I've been here
Earthly surrounding I see not
For my vision is limited
Limited to just this old shack and me.
Should I feel as tho I were home
There is no fear here
I feel not as a lost child
There is no loneliness
I'm in search for no one
And I'm here for only a short while.
But each time this illusion
Brings into memory
All my visits of the past.
There is no difference
There is no change
My legs again have became limber
From trying to see what's inside.
Funkin AT THE CHICKEN SHACK – Tony Adamo - 1990
Jimmy Smith was laying down an incredible riff on a wall of kinetic sound that was oozing out of my car radio. I was on my way back from a singing gig at an Indian Restaurant. Saturday night is jazz night in the City by the Bay. On my approach to the Bay Bridge, I could see the fog was cold and watery wet, as it lay low and crept along like solders on night patrol in Vietnam.
I steered my Chevy Nova like it was a priceless Lamborghini the musical transition of thought. No traffic on the B Bridge…2:00AM on the steel span and all was right with me. Jimmy smith with friends Kenny Burrell, Stanley Turrenting, and drummer, Donald “Duck” Bailey were my musical guides for the ride.
I dug deep as I had to slow down. The fog was horror movie thick. Now I had time to think to the 100th power. Sho’ ‘ nuff and came up with Don Patterson, Richard Groove Holmes,Charles Earland, George Fame, Wild Bill Davis, Shirley Scott, Big John Patton, Baby Face Willette, Larry Young, Brother Jack McDuff, Jimmy Magriff. That’s where it’s at baby. The royal bloodline of B-3 players who brought us into R&B, Pop, Rock & Roll and Soul Jazz. Into the swingin’ feature goes Joey “D”. No boundries, no limits.
Bridge:
Back at the Chicken Shack people dancin’ to a kookin’ groove.
Breakin’ out into a funk sweat
Boogie sounds brewin’ from the B-3
Your twisted sister never danced like that
Reuben Wilson and his killer sounds was a stackin’ the beat shakin’ the Chicken Shack down to its feet
(Solo)
(Bridge)
What a beautiful and dynamic management of mind, body and intellect goes into coaxing Soul Jazz out of a fat Hammond B-3 organ. Was it the foggy, misty, jazzy night? Or…was it that I actually got paid to sing Jazz? No! It was Jimmy Smith’s playin’ that was vibbin’ me along the steel rail. The joyous atmosphere that hung in dense textures of musical thought was punctuating my life like bayonets turning to thumb prints on the consciousness of my creative mind. It was in thick reference to the wet fog rippling across the bridge, like fingers on a Hammond B3, Jimmy and me……free to be.
From Tony Adamo's Miles of Blu Cd/ Hipspoken Word
The run down shack
Out in the woods
Boards missing
Graffiti
But that lock on the door
Hasn't stopped anybody
From breaking in through
The windows
What they don't know
Is that you gotta be
A special kind of person
To actually see
What the inside really looks like.
There's more to it than meets the eye.
Near the river Jane,
there’s a little shack plain.
Not much my dear to see.
Come and share it with me.
Bring your little dog, Poke,
who’s the color of smoke.
And a cushion for sleep
that at night warming keep.
The roof doesn’t have leak,
new floor’s pine lacking squeak..
Bed of oak with springs neat,
quilt down comforter’s heat
Job is steady at trade,
where broad sheets are fast made.
There’s employment for you,
live with me plans come true.
Darkish blue, purples and reds,
Strokes of paint dance inside my head,
Evening lights, brushed just right,
I can taste this special night,
Moon far off, fading through this black frame,
Focus geared towards the star lit name,
Mina Mills, written in cursive swirls,
Each letter has a twist and twirl,
Extended road, destination straight,
Longing to know what awaits,
Autumn trees, almost bare,
Colors drip, as I stare,
Below, in the corner, hidden but alive,
a place that exists, though it's been Deprived,
A little shack leaning against a tree trunk,
Broken windows with a roof that has sunk,
Vacant and cold,
Abandoned, and old
Some what misplaced,
In such a beautiful place,
Leaves me questioning the artist intentions,
What was her reason for this subtle mention.
Contest: the picture frame
The cottage was no more than a shack,
But it kinda took me back,
To that place, I grew up and spent me days,
Livin and learnin, its all sort of a haze.
We was poor, but always had enough to eat.
Me dad was hard, and oh, me mum was sweet.
A good combination to raise a lad,
An I was mostly always happy with what I had.
Fishin and explorin just my ol dawg an me,
A good life, as it all come back to my memory.
For a kid not havin much, there's a thing to be said,
He appreciates what he's got, an makes do instead.
Most don't crave more that what they've got.
Ya see, poor kids don't really find they need a lot,
A pole for fishin, a log on which to sit,
A stick to throw the dawg, a few friends close knit.
To keep fit, for fun an exercise a creek to swim in,
But things all change when he grows to notice women.
Then its time to move to the big smoke.
Women aint all that interested in a poor bloke.
They like to be romanced and as you probably know,
That requires a good job to earn a fair bit of dough.
It was time I said farewell, I was off to the city,
Got a job and tried my luck findin a lass very pretty.
Now with the misses an our four kids, life's good.
I try hard not to spoil em, even though I could.
I am a happy bloke, take everything in my stride,
But I kinda look back on that little shack, with pride.
Sponsor Brian Strand
Contest Name A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE NO 1200
March 2023
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night
In my ramshackle torn straw old bed
The mice are chewing my toes
And the bedbugs bite
Elephants dancing in my head
I think to myself
"It's not a bad life I can't complain''
Just as the cat Catherine
Once again wee's on the bed!!!!
????!!!!!!
I just can't understand why I can't get a gurly
Like Mary Sue, I'd wed her tomorrow
That's if she buys herself a wedding frock
And a ball and chain
With an open lock
I mean what gal
Would turn down hunk
Like me
With a large shotgun
A good hound dog
Chickins a mule
And a hog
When I've had a shave and a Bath
Put my teeth in and combed my two hairs
And put on that heerby fancy French perfume
I don't why, but when I walk into a crowded room
Flowers die and the crowd leave the room
Mighty strange these here folk!
I been athinkin, she might like some flowers
Ill pinch them from Hanks's garden next shack
When he's out acourtin
I'll just tell him them pesky O'keef kids
Are at it againnn!
Yes seri I can't wait
To ask her for a date
Oh Hank's back in his truck
And who in tarnation is that?
Only Mary Sue!
That night I had plenty of moonshine
And the hog and my hound dog
Were as drunk as a skunk
He must have a better bed than me
With the headboard Knockin
Against the wall
And those hereby springs a screeching snd creakin
Like a piston on a pickup truck on a bumpy road
Well back to bed again buuuurp
Good night
I'll just wait for the mice to nibble my toes
And the bed bugs to bite.
Small Beach Shack
God did bring light to dawn's early crack
While we were living in a small beach shack
And as the sun in sky had started to rise
Heard seagull screeches and loud cries.
Morning by God was brought back to life again
We said our morning prayers ending in Amen
And another new day we will never forget
Always having much fun with no regret.
God had only given us one big burden
Our thoughts and dreams to be herding
Coming from North, South, East and West
Lived in little beach shack in our love nest.
Day had always started with a new dawn
By evening all of the bright light was gone
God had always known and He had a way
Of tomorrow with love creating a new day.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet