Best Shingle Poems
Streaks of pink 'cross morning skies.
Land shaded lemon; last star dies…
Lightening blue spreads far and wide,
a half red sun. New dawn’s arrived.
This living desert yawns and wakes.
A foreign sparrow flits and takes
what morsel that darkness denied
to night feeders who now hide.
The sun begins its golden rise.
Shadows bear before my eyes.
Range of mountains now in view
look purple hazed and crumpled too.
A gentle breeze blows cool and soft.
A drifting hawk soars past aloft.
A static call echo's the morning.
Somewhere close, the first days warning.
There's golden bloom on mulga's face,
saltbush combines in shadow space,
a rabbit warren mounds the sand!
Three's company seems hand in hand.
The rugged hillside carved away,
gorged and furrowed brown and gray.
Eroded sand displays the shale,
where layered seams look to impale.
Tufted grasses dry and withered,
amongst that broken shale that slivered.
Stand out quartz already bright;
The rising sun turns glistening white.
A different swallow, black and white;
blue backed wrens dart out of sight.
Sunning now on walking tracks,
lay together; shingle backs.
And now the scene spreads far and wide,
to struggling wattle; sheer cliff side.
On closer look near at the base,
three kangaroos take a two-step pace.
Stillness lingers, there's an unknown call,
what bird is that? I love them all!
And the red plain grows beneath blue skies,
as the living desert welcomes sunrise.
Circumstance encompassing around and flowing as the mill race in turbulent rolling curls,
Surges.' Forth to flow; and fall, visions issue with or without portent,
to my observation and my limited discernment.
Also fate makes it s call and then falls a power,
as do the oceans rearing ramparts downwards smash
On sand or shingle strands by night, by day, and twilight hours,
whilst magma as incandescent fire spouts and high hurled, red
In-veined opals show a pastel field green & blue
glistening inside more verdant hues, liquid colours flow as golden day
Ignites and shines, faint breaths of spring essay its designs
then retreat as the atmosphere chills, to threats of snow and sundry ills.
©Joe Maverick 18-2-2011
The dawn doth come too soon my love
Once more we must be apart
And I shall wait all day for you
To return, and warm my heart
Your beauty beyond comprehension
Seems to glow from within
I sit in hushed contemplation
And wait for the night to begin
So at last you come back to me
Pulling my soul as the tide
It's clear as the freshly washed shingle
Our love, cannot be denied
Then as the night grows old, once more
And draws near, that moment of strife
When it's time for you to leave me again
Sweet Luna, the love of my life
1996 when any music styles created became instant hits
To much R&B, rock, rap and any other genre that fits
I remember waking up early, to see my mom say hay hun
Well, she thought that but truth was I was waiting on sailer moon and pokemon
Walking to the bust stop is in good memory like yesterday
Jump the fence then take the cut and hide out until the bus rode away
I still can smell the summers I shared with my loyal crew
Entire days of hide n’ seek, manhunt, freeztag, and any other thing we wanted to do
Once I argued with my brother because he had taken my favorite color
Not just any color, but this was the green ranger, and he could’ve chose in any other
We settled this the way all things were handle back then
Paper, rock, scissors, any many mighty mo best 2 out 3, and over and over again
That contest weren’t based off skill or talent within, but somehow we thought the winners
were the real men
I won the contest of men and then we would begin, every neighborhood kid chose a fictional
character to be
After selections were made the battle royal start and quickly in and in catastrophe
Johny Twisted his ankle, jasmine was cut with a roof shingle, and then there was I
Thoughts of Ohh man I’m the greatest power ranger ever before my mother would use her
belt to make me cry
Im whipping you out of love she would say
I would think I love you to so is it possible we could turn this in my favor the other way
Then the days would fade
And rest for another day 1996 chaos in craze,
Just like yesterday, yep those were the days
Sweeping time under the carpet
Is a time consuming chore,
Like spring cleaning
My consciousness
Upon a shingle shore,
Or picking up the seconds
Strewn along the cutlass beach,
Where the moments linger sadly
Like a daydream out of reach.
Spending hours of contemplation
Where the forest meets the field,
Where the larks rise
From the meadow
Just before the day is sealed,
Can be such an exaltation
In the sheltered heights of time,
As elusive words come slowly
And create another rhyme.
Casting petals to the river
Throwing coins into the crowd,
Just two softly borne illusions
That the seasons have allowed,
In the nest of all creation
Where the eggs of time are hatched,
Moments flutter with emotion
Just before they are dispatched.
Then they twine with every minute
And the minutes turn to hours,
As the course of life is flowing
Through those changeless hanging bowers,
Then the hours cast their garment
At the ending of each day,
Like a wordless golden manuscript
With nothing more to say…
If we were a beach
then you would be the sand, diamond warmth,
and I the shingle underfoot.
If we were a pen
then I would be invisible ink,
and you a permanent marker, fluorescent.
If we were wine
you would be the vineyard, the grape, the wine list itself;
I a bottle unopened, left corked.
If we were a theatre
I am the playbill of a show cancelled and unseen;
you, the stage in spotlight: golden, applauded.
I the tile and you the whole mosaic
for us as a Roman floor;
I a shattered pane and you the handle
with us in the shape of a door.
As clothing – you a shiny button, me a thread to be snipped.
As hair – you a photographed trend, I a ponytail clipped.
If we were a couple,
Then you would be blind.
If our love was a tape,
I’d forever record, pause and rewind.
If we were a cake
you would be the fingertip licked icing
and I a batter filled lump.
If we were a body
then you would be the heart
and I the blood you pump.
Little wavelets played across the lake
Dancing their way towards the shore.
Such pretty patterns did they make
As the heightening wind created more.
In a hurried rush, across they sped
The ones behind pushed those who led.
Their destination finally reached,
They crashed, upon the shingle beach.
WINTER
in
anger-
whips up the waves,
pounds the shingle
shore
SPRING
in
action-
brings to life
and feathers its
nest
SUMMER
so
lazy-
rests the soul
and flowers the
land
AUTUMN
so
mellow-
scents and sounds
in the harvest
home.
A mackerel sky fillets the village
then hides it in a breezeless blear.
Heads poke out of net drapes
sniff and fish behind trawling curtains.
Shopkeepers brace for
wet dog splatter and spray
for slopping boots and salty puddles.
On the sightless sea
far beyond the shore and shingle,
lost fog horns are lowing deep
like colicky cattle.
Later, misty reeks will be scoured
from groggy docks.
Hauling hands will rope together
tide-tossed tubs,
then tired feet trudge to taprooms
where the brackish parts
of codgers and young alike
can be oiled and quenched.
The Mechanic
Frank Halliwell
Sam was a gynecologist,
But he'd done his last swab,
For after ten long years, he had
Grown weary of the job.
So he took down his diploma,
And the shingle off the door,
To seek a new horizon for
His talents to explore.
Now trees and shrubs were not his style
He'd shun those jobs botanic,
But wheels and gears might be the thing
..He'd be a car mechanic!
So off he went to take a course
To learn how someone solves
Why cylinders go up and down
While gears and wheels revolve.
He graduated at the top,
The hero of his class.
His marks were of the highest
Any student had amassed!
To-morrow was the 'practical',
The very final test,
And each and every student
Would be straining for his best.
An automotive engine was
Spread out along the floor
And he had just a single hour
To make that engine roar!
Sam was the last to take the test,
The head judge waved okay..
A wrench was slapped into his hand..
The test was underway.
His fingers moved at blinding speed,
His moves precise and neat.
And long before the closing bell
The engine was complete.
He nodded it was ready and
A judge switched on the key.
The engine roared without a miss
..Sam was the top trainee!
He was awarded record points
The reasons obvious!
When asked about those record points
The coach explained it thus:
'I've never seen a job so slick,
Without one washer lost,
...Or seen an engine rebuilding
Performed through the exhaust..!
***
The beach at Orca Praia – Funchal Madeira
The powerful deep blue ocean
Expends its tidal force
Pounding down upon sea pebbles
With thud and smash so coarse
Watching from a vantage point
From the horizon to the shore
The lines of sea swell building up
Growing bigger more and more
Low, rumbling ocean rollers
Waves curling with such symmetry
Then the breakers quickly form and crash
Tossing up a plume of spray of sea
Incessant surf on shingle
Swash, swoosh and susurrate
With that endless marine motion
That will never dissipate
The waves break up and flatten
The tidal rush now gone
As the pebbles roll and rattle
Against each other as they tumble on
The roller spent, the wave now dead
Or that is what it seems
Then the backwash slithers downwards
Sluicing pebbles like big grey beans
The unending flow and ebb of tide
Today a calm but restless sea
Incessant waves wash and whoosh
So soothing it can be
But at other times she’s not so kind
Or benign to beach or land
Dashes disastrous desolation
With a fury on rock or sand
But for now I stand and wonder
At Mother Nature’s gentle reach
And watch and taste and listen
To the ocean on that basalt beach
In reservoirs, far underground,
where stalagmites are sometimes found.
In lakes and ponds and puddled pools,
in mist and marsh and snow that cools,
I hide beside my sisters.
In issuing springs that sparkle bright,
on stony slopes of shade and light,
to flowing streams that twist and turn,
past meadow banks of grass and fern,
I glide beside my sisters.
In river reach with rippling flow
‘tween rush and reed I always go,
to delta mouths both deep and wide,
which seas contest at every tide,
to glide beside my sisters.
In raging rapids torrents race,
or waterfall’s tumultuous pace,
in storm lashed seas, which crash and break,
on shingle shores that white waves rake,
I ride beside my sisters.
And who am I that rides so free,
who glides and hides so easily;
a mermaid in the salty sea,
a naiad or a white kelpie?
A water nymph you just might see,
me ride, beside my sisters.
It was Christmas Eve, not a soul made a sound,
And not so much as a mouse could be found,
The children had hung their stockings on the hearth,
As a quiet, peacefulness gently fell upon the Earth,
My family were all asleep, their heads full of dream,
Of Santa's arrival with his eight reindeer team,
Father in his nightcap, slept soundly in bed,
And Mother in her nightgown of green and red,
When all of a sudden I heard a commotion,
And jumped out of bed with a curious notion,
I ran to the window and pulled open the curtain,
I thought it must be Santa Claus for certain,
New fallen snow shone bright below the moon,
Giving the illusion of daylight in mid afternoon,
I looked out my open window despite the cold,
When a sight met my eyes, wonderous to behold,
A lively, old gentleman aboard a great sleigh,
With eight tiny reindeer leading the way,
As quick as a bolt of lightning out of the sky,
He called to each one as they rocketed by,
"Now, Donner! Now, Vixen! Now, Dasher and Dancer!,
On, Cupid! On, Blitzen! On, Comet and Prancer!,
Leap up to the wall and onto the rooftop,
Dash away all and let us make our first stop!",
They flew through the air with much ease,
Like dry autumn leaves on a sudden breeze,
The reindeer landed so smooth and swift,
Along with Santa and a sleigh full of gifts,
I heard their hoofs pawing upon the shingle,
And joyful laughter from that old Kris Kringle,
To be continued in Part 2....
Team Work
alteration between success and failure
astuteness to win challenges
ability to direct individual accomplishments toward organizational objectives
ability to work together toward a common hallucination
drive that allows common people to attain infrequent results
distinct obligation to a group determination
different commitment to group efforts
to divides the task and double the success
adeptness to work together towards a collective vision
ability to direct individual accomplishments toward organizational objectives
hush-hush that makes common people achieve special outcomes
create the innovations that defines our professions
moving forward together
group of many hands but of one mind
the fulcrum in long term achievement
accomplishments of an organization are the results of the combined effort
gulfs the chore and doubles the success
the power of the team is each single participant
is to lift a shingle with more limbs
T.E.A.M. = Together Everyone Achieves More
As we slept, in the depths of winter
in the dead of the night,
cold temperatures and icy wind
moved in with howling sounds.
Piling up snow drifts over the ground,
we wake up at dawn to a magically gifted playground
of a sparkling crystalline carpet of snow.
Taking away the sun's warm glow
silver icicles hung bonded to the peaked
shingle roofs as dripping water froze.
Dressing warmly, running outside to play
delicate feathery ice flakes,
dusting our faces, making our cheeks rosy red.
Snow spades are dug out of the shed
to clear driveways and sidewalks.
Pushing and shoveling,
spreading the snow aside.
Chattering teeth, tingling fingertips,
feeling the bite of cold—
it is time to go in.
The warm fireplace draws us near its charm.
Around its cozy, gold ember crackling fire,
away from the cold
It's a welcoming bathing warmth of comfort.
Snow is calling,
"Come and chase my snowflakes around,
or turn me into a snowman,
or ride that thrill on the sled down the snowy hill."
We bundle up and run outside to have some fun.
Even snow angels join in the fun.
We would love to be out all day,
but the sun is running out.
Time to put aside the chores and fun.
Our spirits need to slumber.
To do it all again tomorrow.
12/1/2016