Best Sitter Poems
Flickered fingers;
Can't dial ringers;
Telephone calls;
Babies cry and crawls;
what do you do?
what do you do?
When their diapers fall?...
6/8/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2020
I once sat a pet for a good friend
He said "come and take it easy"
The Jacuzzi and food never ends
Just until I get back from Belize
I said " You got it, I'll do it"
I had met Spot, he was cool
But, within an hour I was bit
Pulling him out of the pool
I had just got him into the car
I knew I needed some stitches
The hospital wasn't that far
He started barking in high pitches
I decided to leave him there
So I put him in the back
He fought me like a bear
He was on full attack
Bleeding from both legs now
I rushed back to the car
I turned when I heard a "growl"
There he was wanting to spar
I jumped up on the hood
He circled on around
I climbed up to the roof
To get to higher ground
The neighbor had just pulled up
I saw he was going to bite her
She used her Mace on old Spot
Yelling "are you the new sitter?"
I'd go to church
Every Sunday
Often find myself there
On Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Friday
oh! what am I but just a glorified Church goer;
A modified, glorified, pew sitter;
Oh! God, help me, Lord;
I don't wanna be just a pew sitter;
Praising you inside this church building;
whom am I but just a forgiven sinner;
I should be more than a pew sitter;
When I leave a church I should be a soul winner;
Not just a holy than tho! Christian just chilling;
oh! what am I but just a glorified Church goer;
A modified, glorified, pew sitter;
Oh! God, help me, Lord;
I don't wanna be just a pew sitter;
I need to be the church, be uplifting;
Be a witness, be forgiving;
Feed the poor, help the elderly;
Be the eyes, hands and feet of God;
Be all I can be;
oh! what am I but just a glorified Church goer;
A modified, glorified, pew sitter;
Oh! God, help me, Lord;
I don't wanna be just a pew sitter;
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.
I marvel at your balance,
And how firm your buttocks be,
Seated on a narrow perch,
With cheeks so splinter-free.
You never make your mind up,
That is no easy task!
And dodge every question,
No matter what is asked,
You’ve mastered indecision,
You’re an expert of unsure,
You understand the points against,
As well as all those for.
Your skill is really best shown,
When presented with a choice,
You “um” and “err” with greatest ease,
With an irresoluted voice.
Your opinions are a mystery,
Locked deep inside your mind,
Shinning jewels of insight,
A richer treasure you won’t find.
And so you wisely keep them,
All secured away,
Just so you’ll never lose them,
And your property they’ll stay.
So I really must admire,
Equivocation,
And recognise it as a type,
Of thoughtful conservation.
I've got a sitter called Mub,
a boring hitter in a bum-
the crisscrossing of falling things evaporate with me,
as I'm seeing,
savoring moments of feelings becoming beamed,
but I get back after a whole thing,
sauntering-
and rock climbing-
and coarse rhyming,
blasting um' all off but still needing more timing.
Many people have houses that are filled up with ghosts
And the problem they cause is the huge shortage of hosts
For there aren't many willing to tolerate that
Which is where I ride in with my ghost buster's hat.
It was long, long ago when I started to read
All those books about demons and statues that bleed
I became fascinated with all of that stuff
As I learned they were more than just hoaxes and guff.
But I slaved through the years learning everyday skills
While contenting myself with vicarious thrills
Till the time has arrived when I don't need to work
And I'm doing the job fearful owners will shirk.
For a modest retainer I bed myself down
In suburban locations, or sometimes in town
Which the families fled to preserve their own lives
When the husbands at last were convinced by their wives.
And I'll care for the place while concocting a plan
To evict all the 'tenants' just as soon as I can.
All my methods are those that have worked in the past,
From kind words to hard music that's of course set to blast.
In response to your unspoken question I'll say
That the ghosties occasionally come back to stay.
Which is how come "retainer" is the word that was used
And of gouging my clients I won't be accused.
I watch her sleeping a helpless rose without me
Like a man watching her sleeping wife
Her life looking innocent and scary
I then change diapers
She hates diapers
But she cries when you don't remove them
And mourns as you remove them
Just like her mother
Then we play games together
I act her age to win her love
I prepare meals and feed her
Like my bride on the wedding day
With these forty years i am making soon
Her twenty years makes me that
Her baby sitter
Sitter of the wee,
titan tamer of babies...
let them scream, cry, and drool
I cannot be uncool-ed.
Tick-tock the hours by and by,
as terror this child may try...
armed with diapers and wipes
we learn potty 101.
Pee in the tub,
poo he smears and rubs...
on the floor; in the trash,
count to 10 think of the cash.
Give me, I want, now, no,
how they demand so...
tantrum if I do not comply
deep breaths I shall not cry!
Flinging pea's, splashing potatoe's,
like a mashed tornado...
almost time to go to bed
at least that's what the mother said.
Sweet silent relief,
rest so very brief...
oh the daemon wails
away I go to re-sing him tales.
Jingle jangle of keys,
I jump and prance with glee...
parents return finally
away quickly I flee.
Never again shall I brag,
of taming the wee devil...
as I shrink back in vain
when I hear his wee baby name.
3/4/14
The Sitter
There it is
Sitting in the old wicker chair
Grinning its foul slavering grin
It moves nothing than its face.
Every night it appears
Until waking and shaking
I reach for the pull light string
It then evaporates at pace.
I will take the chair back
With its eviction will go the glob
Never more to appear
With its evil sneer
Its cynical jeer
I will not fail in the execution of the job
I will not ever again fall into the snare
Of buying an antique second hand chair!
My hemorrhoid
cushion
looks a lot like
our black cat
curled up
on my recliner
So, I am
always
worried about
sitting
on her
Although
she would
be soft.
The Sitter
Nothing disturbed the tranquil air,
The tick, tick of the time-worn clock.
The sitter in the wooden chair
Not hearing the gentle, gentle knock.
An old, old man by the broken door,
Breathed in the still, still air.
The sitter looked but did know
The man who entered there.
‘Who are you?’ the sitter asked,
‘I am Memory?’ the man replied
As the quiet, quiet sitter gazed
Upon a face once recognised.
Memory, seeing no thought to share,
Lingered a short, short while
And the sitter in the wooden chair
Smiled a faint, faint smile
And the clock measured the stillness
As the man left the calm, calm room.
And the sitter sat in silence,
Alone in the still, still room.
Barry Stebbings
22/04/2016
worn-white zafu,
dented permanently
and wryly receiving
my bottom and my word
"permanently."
It shows impressions
from my demanding waitings,
just as my mind does.
Ah! The problem.
The Sitter
They rushed me in.
I had no time to prepare.
Talk they said.
Entertain.
We will not be... long,
it was a song.
Fear.
My first response.
Prayer,
should have been.
In the end,
adrenalin and panic
gave way to remembered
moments with my own mother.
Shadow puppets on the wall.
A pen to draw...
even more on hands...
All laugh.
All around.
A telephone joke,
that changes as it moves along.
How silly?
A single piece of paper,
turned into a time machine for the fingers,
and a rocket to the moon.
Ripped apart a snowstorm.
Torn apart... coconut strips to feed monkeys,
in the far islands of Coco-mo.
They left to have fun,
but had no idea;
that the real stuff was still at home.
Funny faces,
secrets, and whispers...
whiskers on cats,
and dogs that swim laps.
Life is better here than there.
The beginning,
but never the end.
Gray hairs on my zafu...
Incense, all but dust...
I'm running out of time
to run out of 'me.'
I'm running out of trust
that I might ever see
a world without me
from a place within
without me peering
out.
Gray hairs on my zafu...
Incense, all but dust...
The light is low,
this I know,
and there lies
the Problem.
Get a sitter Daddy said.
Mom tried the four they knew.
None would come back.
We had played the trick on all of them.
We are identical twins.
One of us would yell “Sissy is running away!”
The sitter would chase them from front door to back door.
Once the twin was inside, the other twin would lock the back door too.
Both twins in.
Baby sitter outside.