Best Shirley Poems
releasing me - of minutes, hours, days - of being bored,
as age creeps into my bed, and what is left, is in my head
- providing nourishment for my soul – my spirit being fed
by looking glass images, images that slip through the crack
in my day dreams, my nightmares as my brain, I rack
for images, memories, experiences - that lay dormant in a stack
upon stacks - waiting to escape the boarded up shack
that has been the villages claim to justify its existence.
The grounds, the foundations, reasons to take a stance
and say yes, yes there where days when I knew romance
and as ever the fool, no one around to kick me in the pants
as all has become history, – fourteen thousand pages – turn a leaf
and you will find that this one’s life is far to empty, far to brief.
In it – between the covers of seventy-eight – can there be any relief
from all that has been laid before you ?, can there be belief ?,
in what is before your eyes, as you look into what is laid before
you, as I reach in, grab at, touch that slow closing door
with hope that it will be possible to get a glimpse of more
before my soul, my spirit, my essence takes wing, begins to soar
beyond this plane, all the pain I have known before.
In here – these lines – I feel the loss.
Upon this stone – know – I see no moss,
for on here, I offer no direction,
just many hours of histories reflection.
Empty- I feel in this alone place.
Emptiness - I see in this aged drooping face.
Where is ?, that I might seek to go ?,
to gain wisdom, to learn what I do not know
of a world of spirit, of soul, of a fine mind.
It seems to me, little hope to find
- among humanity – the true essence of woman kind
as she entombs all- such waste – leaving all behind.
Oh !, if only the fickle hand of fate
could lay upon these drooping shoulders, in these arms, a mate
that in ones darkest hours, a soft glowing light, shine
upon this old soul and in the light of day be mine
that would share on a world , not to compare
with anything like my world of despair.
The hour has passed, the rest are in decline.
The minutes that remain – with stain, are mine.
There is little I see, that will make life fine,
for the ephemeral time left to me, little will shine
through as I look into the black, storm cloud ahead
that rage, stage battles, assassinate instead
Steal clothed in velvet, her love was strong and sure;
Her touch, soft and warm, held its own allure.
Inspiring all through kind actions to help out anyone;
Recalling the words of her Lord and the examples of His son;
Leading us down the path of Love and service to others
Every movement that she made, was a vision of “Mother.”
Years of emulation, knowing I'll never be everything that Mother was to our family.
Acrostic Mother's Day Poem Contest
the spirit in my head, this my brain is constantly feed,
and in all likelihood, will persist until I am dead.
All possibilities seem to have gone to waste
and that is all these eyes seem to be faced
with as I ran the race and with many, raced
through life without much thought and in such haste
to meet up with family, all whom I once called friend
as I reach out, reach into the ether only to end
with all these vacant words, an empty soul to send
on its journey across time and space, hoping to mend.
by offering – little more than inundated memories
to appease, lift me from the grave, past the trees
where souls, spirits hover, know the hand that frees
grief, regrets from all they rage against in tempest seas.
Oh !, what a waste it is, for me to be enraged
by the fact that I am locked in age – caged
by times passing, with all my thoughts – staged
for - who knows ? - for those who wish to see
what I was, what I am, what has become of me,
projected into space, an understanding of what be
the essence, the answers to my spirit, my soul
for anyone who cared, could come to know.
I do wonder ?, how life could be for me, if not fraught
by black clouds, heavy shrouds, battles to be fought.
I wonder how life would be ?, if upon a beam - caught
up by the light, exposed to all – what I have sought.
That light – pure, honest, can only shine upon the tale of me
in words, beliefs, feelings, that in the end, all can see
that everything written, has always been about me.
For that is who I am ( me, myself and I ) for the world can see,
as can all those who have known or tried to touch me.
For there is little more for me to show, or for you to see,
then what’s before your eyes - laid on heavy by me.
There will come a day when all is shown.
There will come a day when all is known.
There will come a day when all is shared.
There will come a day when all is cared
for, all are cared for, all will be cared for
with an open heart, no longer a closed door
to greet, just unconditional love. for evermore.
What we have here !, ?, is.
Prophecy ?
The heights of insight ? The depths of insanity ?
The curtain has finally come down on this play.
B. J. “A” 2
February 18th 2006
Shirley, BEEEEE You !!!
This days light, has come to a glorious end,
with it, it brought some memories of a friend.
Lady Snow, was belting out – whispering in my ears
of days winging by – memories , experiences of bygone years.
I have reached in deep – knowing – I created your tears
as your world of doubts, of insecurities, of fears
hung onto a desire for me – for my passions fires
fires that have lead me to beds and to funeral pyres
upon which I have burned and burned, yet never learned
to be compassionate, empathetic for the passions earned.
Only for the touch, the feel, a fleshy meal I yearned
for, a talking in tongues to that deliciously sweet pink
- Mother earth laying beneath a furry, forest floor – and think
of all who gave, all who needed, and realize !, to my grave, a fink.
I, sometimes wonder ?, about all those who gave much to me’
I wonder what they feel ?, – think – if at all and what they see
in what once was- that made up the moments of what would be,
now nothing more than experiences committed to memories hoard
where they are all stored - in remembering, would they be boars ?
Some will remember, some will forget, some will deeply bury.
I am left, can only wonder ?, - in the end - will they carry
fragments, flakes of my soul, my spirit, me, with them to their end.
Will they ever wonder ?, will they ever know ?, I was just a friend
or will they see me as empty to them now as I was empty to them
so long ago, a time of once shared intimacies and fun, when
we were so care free, before we moved on to things different,
and new for me and you and what we once had, was sent
into the caves of history for which there would be no rent.
I do wonder what was in your mind, what you were able to find ?,
as you thought of me, did you find that I was very seldom kind?
For all these many years – tears for what was left behind
- all of life’s pleasures, with – all, from time to time, fill my mind !
B. J. “A ” 2
February 18th 2006
Shirley, I am ?,
more than the sum of this black, cold stone – believed.
Shirley, there is more to me than I have stated – perceived.
Surely I am more than that ? Shirley, I can be retrieved
from these thoughts, these memories of, and finally be relieved
of the guilt’s, the regrets that for years, plagued my day
with all that was laid before me, what I let slip, silently away.
Thoughts of, memories, forgiveness is what I most pray
for all who, like you, my heart, my soul, my spirit did lay.
Clouds fill the skies, shadows fill the eyes, nothing more
is capable of slipping out of, or into my steeled door.
All there is, walks, talks, sunsets caressing, kissing a sandy shore,
this is all that this old soul, this young fool, Mr. cool, looks for.
Shirley, you are able to see the gate, opening into my yard,
and know, inside will grow, many an inadequate word this bard
will lay upon the page, trying to express, what comes so hard
to one who knows, a poet he is not but an infinitesimal shard
of a holographic image projected across time for you to see,
to understand, beyond what it was, I was thought to be.
Shirley, some truths come to light, casting shadows of me
on the face of space, that might reveal the real deal, set us all free.
Shirley, digging into passing time’s, shifting sand,
with a crystal clear hour glass in one’s hand,
will ? - be the test of my wasted time – stand
among the faded, veiled memories of friends,
or will I ?, having reached out and touched the ends
of all, find there is no one left who defends
what is left of my life, left of y name,
to tell or to listen to the stories of my life’s game,
or will my life come to an end as it came ?
Does it really matter ?, Shirley, it will be the same
as it has always been and will always be for me,
a vaporous image whispering past – nothing to see
of what once was, what I am, or could be
and so, off to the lands of our beginning – the sea,
where all ends up some day, to play and be free.
This one has rode the wild winds of chance,
from birth , to living life, to deaths solemn dance.
Somewhere ?, among these adventures, enjoyed some romance
that offered love, passion – communion to enhance
my days, nights, dream filled, memories hoard
I’ve met a friend on Poetry Soup
Who really tugs at my heart
She is caring , sweet and kind
Her poetry heartfelt , funny and smart
We are very different in age
But very same in heart
She is such a genuine being
Which I sensed from the start
I feel a motherly connection from her
Through a screen and distant miles
She possesses something special
Which just makes my heart smile
I wish we could get together
Over a coffee or a tea
I would give her a huge cuddle
Chat and laugh for hours happily
Santa sacked Rudolph and all of his herd
In his new jet pack he flew like a bird
His suit got ignited
And he’s just been sighted
Roasted and naked... then, guess what occurred
He crash landed, coming down hard
His beard and his dangly bits charred
Giving children a gift
Gave his spirits a lift
But after all this he’ll be barred
A passerby gave him a sock
He wore it to save us from shock
But a fluffy manhood
As a look, wasn’t good
So somebody gave him a frock
The next day he called Rudolph early
The reindeer came back but were surly
Still wearing that dress
He failed to impress
And that’s why they now call him Shirley
Flagship Shirley,
Her tea was always curly,
And she ran with Pedicure Pete,
Who sang a little ditty,
And wasn't very pretty,
And painted all the lips upon her feet.
Shall I be silent while around me roars
Agony older than the night's darkness
Where wrath against innocency pours
Hunted only for God's milk of blackness
Listen to the baying fox, untethered hate
From primal jaws foaming: the hot chase
To villify, demonize, denounce, denigrate
And eradicate the ***** from honor's place
Shall be silent against this new madness
This churning xenophobic pyre of acid lies
This new Titanic of wasp loving happiness
Unclouding the old Babel at brim of skies?
Give me neither heart nor tongue if I stay
And quiver before the garrot of my race
Give me neither space nor legs to run away
From the incense in my blood for this place
I shall not let them lynch her alone, I will
Not allow their ancient demon to rise alone
And make new hells for us while I am still
The panther that dusky nights here enthrone.
The lynching ends and no boot licking clan
Or President will make the victim guilty feel
No apologies restore life to a quartered man
We are the intent of the new xenophobic zeal.
Remember her then, remember Shirley Sherrod
Remember her, my mother's daughter, my blood
For though your scorn leaps like lightning's rod
Be careful of the water, but wary of the flood.
I shall not be silent, nor shall I groan in pain
And tumble with the clanking chain. Mark this
My numbers now, and think fore you dare disdain
Our reasonable right to be and to co-exist.
The old school bell would ring out at the start of the day.
Chalk on blackboards, shirts and ties.
The school colours of green and gold.
Crowded classrooms, with very little room.
Lunchtimes were spent in classrooms,small and crampt.
No kitchen, the meals brought in.
Meals served up by Mrs May and Mrs Coles.
Dinner ladies Mrs Turner,Mrs Burd and Mrs Bolt.
Four classes, plus one held in the village hall.
My class of thirty seven, tables in long rows side by side.
Janet and John books then Peter and Jane.
Classroom Assemblies were the norm'.
The headmaster Mr Collier strict and stern.
There were very few facilities.
Mrs Bird,Mr Scott,Mrs Collier and young Mss Ball.
And Pre National Curriculum....
The children having separate playtimes.
In the tiny playground, there wasn't much room.!
Outside toilets, cold in winter.
Morning break;children drinking milk out of a bottle with a straw.
The long hot hazy summer days
sports day held in the farmers field across the way.
The three legged race and the egg and spoon.
Children running, jumping, having fun.
And then the important news...
We're soon to have a.... Brand New School !
satires and beer and skittles mixed with rhyme- Shirley's poems make my day
Won first place in Who Flips Your Trolley Poetry Contest sponsored by Bobby May
Laverne and Shirley
their fame in the main had come early
retiring at twenty
they had thought their residuals would have been plenty.
She was very cute with her curly hair and dimples.
The lady who I'm speaking of was Shirley Temple.
She starred in Curly Top and Stand Up And Cheer.
She starred in 60 films during her fabulous career.
It was so sad and tragic when she died in February of 2014.
She was the biggest child star that the world has ever seen.
(Dedicated to Shirley Temple who died at the age of 85 on February 10, 2014.)
Rocky squirrel flew through the air
Safely landing precisely where
He wished.
Caught glimpse as Shirley squirrel
(Herself in front of car did hurl)
Was nearly squished.
Rocky had warned Shirley before
Admonition Shirley chose to ignore-
Cars can smite
Such events reveal it's not merely heuristic
Fatalities by car is greater statistic
Than fatalities by flight
Shiela shrugs her shivering shoulders,
Shows she’s shunning her short shower;
Shy she is, but so shocking for Shirley to see
Shouting at her, “I should swim in the sea!”
Shirley’s shrill sound says, “No shampoo?”
Shoes off and shades on, sisters should go…
Sheila and Shirley swim swiftly side by side
Shouting, “Salty and spooky are the sea tides!”
Shirley and Shiela shake, swim, shudder, shake
Shiela says, “Sea tides shut and shift our shape!”
Suddenly, sisters are off without slippers on the sunshine,
Sharing shovel, scoping sandy seashells at the shoreline.