Best Shoves Poems
"A Silent Song"
Mirror Mirror on the Wall
Blessed or cursed
Morning shave
Coffee please
Write a verse
Remembers last night’s dream
Grabs a napkin, spills his spleen
Shoves it in his pocket
Walks to work
Sits at his desk
Carries on as usual
Chats on with the new study,
he’s on a roll, softly flirts
Quietly, silently, it always works
Groundhog Day that’s the worst,
Where’s the breaker to dive under it all
Every now and then a Tempest is called for
A heavenly thunderous squall
Just to shake it up
Move through the strung out long day pall
Cover his mirror with her fog and all
All the while
He’s talking it up, little work day dramas
Meetings minute cutlass pen thrust
Business as usual, balls to bust
Still underneath it all he’s thinking the stories frame by frame
She whispers out of nowhere ethereal in his brain,
“The best story is yet to arrive, it’s only the middle of the day…
maybe some gold glitter, a Llama and a Toucan that sashays?”
Empath on his knees by midnight
He’s writing melancholic love songs
The words are tight, verses short
Not long, he’s thinking Turtle Doves and short skirts
That won’t work…
scrawls it out, writing’s gone with the wind,
The best words for the story don’t take too long
He listens to some music, thinks of her and sings a new song.
Mirror Mirror on the Wall
Dreams flourish dripping words
black on white her familiar screen
pounding faster like raging horses hooves and heart beats
bleed vibrant colors mystic legions of wars and lovers
a foreign sovereignty her mind and wily covers her pageantry
Her eyes the windows of her world
Wings beating flying free
Cages broken, horses hooves hearts racing
She follows him on another shore a dream by sea
Praying prophecies
Empath on her knees
Two very different minds
Free to be
(Lovejoy-Burton/Feb 2018)
Music/ Paolo Conte, "Sparring Partner"
https://youtu.be/tzjdY5rmpCA
A wrestler whose first name is Bill
Wears tights (but he’s over the hill)
He shoves down a sock
To enhance his cock
It sure gives the ladies a thrill!
Now Bill’s a really proud macho guy
And keeps grey hair at bay with black dye
Even though he’s a man
He wears lots of fake tan
And baby oil is in constant supply
For Phyl with love from FC xx
05/06/17
The Playbill for the 9/8/01 show at Godspeed Opera House falls from my palm to the floor. Here I sit, with a drugged hangover but alive. The last thing I remember is a suicide note in the Underwood typewriter on my desk, beside an ashtray of Blanche's lipstick smeared butts. Putting back on, the bifocals that had been dangling from one ear; I frown. I can't remember arriving? A phone's ringing; I stumble toward the tone. Odd looking thing, I think, as I bend over. The note taped to it says; it's a cell phone? "What the hell?" As I flip it open, I'm tackled. My heel slips on a broken pencil; I'm down. "What did you do? You bastard," he bawls, waving an airline ticket in my face. Looking toward him, I notice the stage still lit. He grabs the cell phone, "What the hell is this? You a commie spy?"- The 'phone? screen?' says 'Fred go to the opera house by midnight or you're both dead.' The curtain parts revealing a pool of blood: a chord is struck.
It's midnight accordin' to the ticker. I have a moment's relief before my arm's wrenched behind me. I'm cuffed. There's a shout from the lobby and the sound of sirens. Lifting me, he shoves me to the wall; locks me to the door pull. The theater hall appears empty except for us. Through a door, he charges. "Back here guys." The SWAT team arrives. "Smells like the dead in here Marco's, where's the body?"
"Ask him. Take him out and open some damned windows will ya." Two of the gorillas toss me on the porch under the moth laden lights. Just when the cop was about to kick me in the head; a woman screams. The coppers run inside. I hear a crash and a half dozen clod hoppers trompin', then through the door rolls a single gold earring. I scream "Blanche!!!!!!"
The crew hollers CUT-PRINT-It's a WRAP. I smile as Blanche saunters out.
Muffins, Doritos and Cheetos, Oh My! (A Bulimic’s Tale)
There is a hole in her core she must sate.
So, she drives to the grocery store before it’s too late.
She steers the cart in search of junk food.
She spots a case of cupcakes that can ease her mood.
Powdered donuts on a shelf she can reach.
Next, she chooses Bottled sodas, she packs up five each.
Muffins, Doritos, Cheetos, Funyuns and Snickers she will par-take.
She must not forget about the Little Debbie snack cakes.
Once the cashier starts scanning her vittles,
She starts to feel a tingly rush form in her middle.
She pays her fee then rushes to her vehicle parked afar
Then unloads the groceries on the passenger seat of the car.
As she sits behind her steering wheel.
She appraises her edible saviors, then makes her appeal
She starts with the Snickers shoving them down her throat,
The empty void inside her fills as she lets out a choke.
The Funyuns and muffins are next on her seat.
She devours them in seconds, puffing up her cheeks.
Doritos, Cheetos and snack cakes are inhaled like oxygen,
She is slightly starting to feel whole again.
The cupcakes are the last morsels of her stock
She washes them down with the soda she bought.
When the food is gone she observes the food wrappers in her space.
She glances in the rear view mirror but fails to recognize her face.
Powdered sugar and Cheeto dust crusting around her lips,
A sob escapes her chest as sanity begins to slip.
There is one more mission she must forgo
Opening her car door, she shoves a finger down her throat.
Vomit is released from her belly’s lair.
Stomach acid and bile sting the night air.
She appraises the regurgitation splattered on the concrete.
Then senses the empty void is gone, her task is complete.
The spool of twine grows thicker
with the winding up of days,
the garden vines, yellowed, hug the ground;
the air, intoxicated with over ripened fruit,
grows loud with strident voices, the insects' final song.
The cooled night breeze shoves us gently toward the fire
and the love-large harvest moon bends low to kiss her dying child.
Copyright, September 6, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
The Play Bill for the Godspeed Opera House fell from my sweaty palm to the floor. 9/08/01. I’m still alive; it’s a miracle. Pushing my bifocals back, I frown. I can’t remember anything after arriving at 11pm.? A cell phone rings. I stumble toward the buzz; bend over to look for it, when I’m tackled from the wing. My heel slips on a broken pencil; I’m down.What did you do? You bastard,he bawls; looking toward the old theater house’s stage. He grabs the phone, retrieving the last message— Fred get to the opera house by midnight or you’re both dead.
the curtains part
revealing a pool of blood:
a chord is struck
Seems I’m alive and after midnight too. I had a moment’s relief. My arm’s wrenched to my back. The pain’s hard to ignore. I feel cold metal; he shackles me. There’s a shout from the lobby and the sound of sirens. Lifting me, he shoves me to the wall fixing the cuffs to the door pull. The theater hall is empty except for the two of us. Through an open door, he charges.We’re back here guys. It’s clear.That moment alone was all I had. The SWAT team arrived. Smells like the dead in here Marco’s where the body?“Ask him why don’t yah. Take him out and open some damned windows will ya. Two of the gorillas toss me out on the porch for a closer look under the moth ladden lights. Just when the cop was about to kick me in the head—a woman screams.
The Play Bill falls from my sweaty palm to the floor
September 8, 2001 and I'm still alive; it's a miracle.
Pushing my bifocals back up my nose, I frown.
I can't remember the play at all?
A cell phone rings. I stumble toward the closed doors.
Bending over, I'm approached from the wing and tackled.
My heel slip-rolls on a broken pencil; I'm down.
What did you do you bastard, he bawls.
the curtains part
revealing a pool of blood:
a chord is struck
My arm's wrenched to my back the pain's hard to ignore.
Arms back, I feel cold metal, he puts on shackles
From the outside, there's a shout; a cop's siren sounds;
he lifts and shoves me to the wall.
She rides into town with a storm as her steed
With clicking ice spurs, and rattling reins
With somber delivery and the bleak look of gloom
Bursting with pride as the old year must end
She shoves her way into the house out of spite
A dooms-day gray cloud, who brings her own blight
Leaving a trail of footprints and mud
Building a nest out of leftover crumbs
Flapping her wings and spinning the clock
Strutting her youth at the stroke of midnight
She stalks on wet feet, with some snow on her boots
She shouts out the news that your taxes are due
No care in the world that she makes us feel blue!
Her windows are dark, and her doorway is bare
She holds a firm grip, till the end of her stay
Yet, slowly and surely, against good advice
Intrudes like a flood, as she watches creeks rise
At last comes the sun, to shoo her away
To thaws her cold grip, and her frown of surprise
With remorse, she announces... it's time for goodbye!
______________________________________________________________
"Excuses: A Feminine Experience"
by: Eric L. Boddie
Oh how do I Love him....let me count the ways
But I'm tired of lying to my friends....he's just going through a phase
He works so many hours so if I just get home on time
Why do I have to choose the same time as fighting to occupy his mind
All I want is his Love....let's just get the record straight
If he hadn't been through so much, I wouldn't have to see his hate
If I didn't look so sexy while in the path of other guys
If only I could see that "I Love you" is just another of his lies
If only I could be everything he wanted in a girl
One day he will see just how much I compliment his world
If only I didn't chew so loud when I'm at the table
If I could just be more understanding, he could be more stable
They tell me I should leave, but my Love says I should stay
When he says "Baby I'm sorry," he'll get better is what I Pray
Every time he hits me....pushes or shoves
I have to forgive him....just to prove my Love
Ladies please break this chain....
Romeo Jaxx had a friend for a fool
So he never thought "Baby's in love."
He fought for his rights
and he slept through your dreams
With his self-centred wolverine paralysed
Drove out of the camp on a bright summer's day
waving last weekend's pass-out goodbye
Phoned Jenny, then Julie, who never complained
Filled his tank, with the world running dry.
Throws off the fatigues now, just too tired to fight,
He will walk to the beat
of another man's drum
sometimes valour's the best part of sin.
With a grin shoves his ring
on the pawnbroker's manicured thumb.
Now this story splits down three parallel lines.
My version, the truth and your lies
You saw him conversing with 12-year-old Jim
in myriad tongues, his back to the wind.
I found him saluting a girl in Key West,
Where admirals croak and malingerers lie.
We both know he broke each old, weary taboo
Well, salmon will leap
when they're straining to die.
Maybe Romeo Jaxx is of much sterner stuff
And never was swayed from some destiny's path.
Straight as a die
but the die is now cast,
the cast are now blind
and the blind are aghast.
Our Romeo sees that there's no one ahead
don't tell him, there's no one behind.
(continued from part 1)
What is innocence
that little boy
whose pulling his toy
with it’s broken wheel
Do you think he doesn’t know that the price of that crack needle
Could buy him a meal?
Do you think he doesn’t, know
that that beer bottle
Is why he bares the bruises on his skin
Is it why he has to force himself to grin?
Is that little girl sitting with her perfectly coifed dolls
Singing to herself so she doesn’t hear the screams
Doesn’t she scream in terror
as her father bursts into her dreams.
And shoves her mom crashing into her little table.
Does she have to dream, to live her fable
And even then,
is she able?
Do you wonder what she is thinking
as she struggles to push the head back on her doll
or is it a way for her to merely, ignore it all
Are you watching with 20 million other viewers
A drone in your living room, a slave to a box
A fly in a web of airwaves
Do you think your government is doing the same
Or are they filling up
Graves
is there an agenda being played
as our minds are swayed
Is this distraction as innocent as it seems?
And that epidemic….An epidemic of having too much food
Begging someone please!
stop us from eating I cant see,
my knees
like it’s the bubonic plague
like we’re dropping like flies
An epidemic!
Could we build a memorial and carve on its stone
5 million died this year
from an this epidemic alone
we could… if we replaced obesity with
starvation
Is it ironic that the fat kids stomach looks just as big
as the starving ones.
What is innocence
Is a boy who just wants to spend time with his grandpa
He doesn’t understand
As his grandpa takes him by the, hand
And leads into the bathroom
To show him the darker side of man
That in that moment he’ll have to grow up
Faster then he planned
Faster then he can
What is innocence
Does it exist in this land
From the time were born
We stripped down, bought and torn
From violence to ****
We’re watched and mimicked
Our lives just a gimmick
To get in our little kids heads
Where innocence treads
To take away their bliss
The only thing that they were born, with
What is innocence
Does it exist anymore
Or in this day and age
Have we closed that door
Forever more?
Thoughts of Wind
The capricious wind forever plays,
Rolling tumbleweeds
Toppling old trees,
Resting to a breeze.
Mysterious wind comes from where no one knows,
Look to the sky, unseen it blows
Black clouds leaden with rain,
Then it is gone, silent again.
Wind is the witch that is jealous of traffic
It shoves even cars to and fro,
And ruins hair and raises dresses,
Only to suddenly go.
Tornadoes torment wind’s natural inclinations,
Tearing, shearing the earth of construction,
It cries torrents as it was forced to do
Unthinkable chaos.
Then there is the wind that is the mighty angel,
Blowing the earth, planting its food,
Whistling, whispering, or breathing softly,
Without it what would we do.
They fled their land to find safety
instead, they found
cruel life wherever they lived
They've lost everything
because they're that way
Their aspirations crumbled
and they lost all their aspirations.
Something I strive
to be among the shattered
in honor of the broken
Thinking about all tears that would be shed
their world caves over them
their optimism turned into terror.
I wish to be with splintered people
the face-to-face challenge, people
the unseen, unheard, uninvolved
The type who strives to lurk in shadows
couldn't you trust me?
Why do they need not be alone?
Why must they weep to sleep?
All hope is lost to them
only darkness prevails
Alas, act in a purely unfazed manner
not having everything handy
They attempt to comprehend.
leaving from one paycheck to another
cheering and clapping sans graceful motions.
They weep until their eyes dry.
entirely on their own,
they can only wish for brighter days.
when they could find solace
As their emotions hardened into stones.
I am neutral about skin color
or their perceived sin
or their need to be flawless to win
I start with sight and sound
despite aspects or ground
should never be, where they're found.
Modern stupidity in innocence
stupidly that shoves them to survive
Fair pretense and pure all
illuminating blind minds
Luminousness of noble ideals
may aid the underprivileged
or bless, the broken-hearted.
To heal their wounded souls
to bestow hope to the desperate
to promise salvation
to wipe away their tears.
I am overwhelmed by such a plight
who can grasp their insight?
or even sense being near the site
they may offer love I could not bestow.
Ultimately, we are all flawed
suffocating, we stagger
costumes and snob jokes
Victims of other people's poking
no one's heart is empty.
Complexity creeps into our minds
may rush if others approach
each unspoken and broken
For the sake of finding
excluded role hiding
cruel passion ridding
Need to see well where you're sitting?
Written: October 22, 2022
THE HAUNTED HOUSE
The dark shadows flicker, hapless waves crash —
against the abyss a lover’s hopes dash.
Latter years, melancholic, dressed in black,
arrival of the vampire’s curse - I’m back.
A Victorian castle with misdeeds.
I sweep the grounds. Small feet kick away weeds.
An imposing door knocker — my heart beats
stealing my breath...I faint as the door cheats,
opening by itself — wispy fingers,
like frost outside the house, the chill lingers.
Awaking to old decrepit beauty —
timbre of a music box on duty.
I pry at doors, webbed windows — none will jar.
I’m locked in with whispers and dust...no stars.
A heavy painting with traversing eyes
further freezes my blood — he resents goodbyes.
I know this, but why? Why?! Wind from the cliff —
I’m screaming...falling. Those ghostly fangs stiff.
Reminded, I trek up the long staircase.
It’s intrical railing like woven lace.
Hypnotic melody — the lover’s bait.
Face of gloom — at the precipice, he waits.
He sinks his lusty teeth into my neck,
throws me down frightful stairs. I’m at his beck
and call — his revenge for forsaken love.
Each night we kiss at the cliff and he shoves.
This castle of curses and vengeful ghosts.
Ever dusk to dawn, it’s nightmare I host.
8/15/2018
2nd place/multiple placements
Sponsor - Dear Heart
Contest - The Haunted House
Tribute to t.v. show Dark Shadows
It's easy to set the goal, and even put the process in motion, but continuing to push forward through struggles and frustration can require a shove to help draw out that emotional leverage. ~ Leigh Wilson
Emotional happiness is a goal everyone would like to reach
but attaining that destination is not something anyone can teach.
The use of leverage is a viable solution to ignite the flames of fire,
ones to use as sparks to light the way to have the life we desire
There are several emotional concepts that I label after reflection
that can motivate us and others to live life without objection
Pride is usually thought of as a trait for which we shouldn't strive
but it can also prove to be a useful tool that can keep hope alive
for it can take a look at goals that were achieved or things done right.
A point worth making; it opens a window giving slivers of foresight
Joy is an emotion everyone feels when a goal is accomplished
Any lever can be used to amplify an advantage that can be wished
Something as simple as talking with others can make joy a reality
It's a resource to change a behavior or attitude; not a hyperbole
Hope allows us to have expectations of a life that we find fulfilling
But life often pushes back with frustrations that could use distilling
That's when we pivot, as a lever to make struggles less intimidating
By facing problems head on, seeking solutions, instead of placating
The fear factor dwells inside everyone when feeling uncertainty
or an immediate threat, but it can be levered with a bit of diversity,
a change in some areas of our lives where we experience less stress
The more advantages we can obtain, we'll feel threats much less
Anger is perhaps the biggest obstacle to having emotional well-being
but used as a leverage, it can be used as a key that allows the freeing
from threats that we experience, disrupting our sense of independency,
enabling us to feel self-compassion and toward others with clemency
Then there is the prospect of shame, used to encourage and persuade
ourselves and others to avoid an action or a decision, wrongly made
when we, or others might find out about a socially undesirable action.
Leveraging devices give gentle shoves that lead to emotional satisfaction.