Best Sitters Poems
(A Co-worker)
Stop hatin' on me you ole crow,
Why don't you give me what you owe-
Me and that is respect you old coot,
Don't you know that I know that crows
Only pick at the best fruit,
It's as if you can see my future better than I can,
That is why you are acting like a twisted fan,
All out of control and down right vindictive,
Usually that kind of behavior is indicative,
Of someone who is jealous hearted and bitter,
Misery loves company and baby sitters,
I wish you would quit slandering my name,
You have had your fifteen minutes of fame,
Stop hatin' on me you ole coot,
Don't you know that I know that crows
Only pick at the best fruit.
Hashish smoke trails her
along a dusky corridor
Aka the hall of fires
where mirage chimeras unleash
Encumbered with hands splayed
her crystal ball lumens
wires ghostly apparitions
mnemonic attachments
What mystery ensues
a phantasmagoria
of horror nudging
the demonic
Sitters drenched
in profuse sweat
fainting one by one
Alas unconscious
their fate met?
Coroners couldn’t ‘ve clarified
Described as an arctic chill
bolting across the sector
through each limp body
claiming mortality
As icy temps rise
Hypothermia responsible!
for the fatality, for their demise
Latter days professing onto
recordings of a gathering that took place
confessing that a séance
performed by a mysterious woman
in a trance—was the case.
The
Moon is waxing
First quarter crescent
The beckoning begins
Nodding, gurgling
Opening realms unseen
to the naked eye
Madame
Mystic, psychic,
a beguiling storyteller
and Medium
Down in a cellar, along with a Ouija
volumes of her writings discovered
delving into société espirita
The Goldilocks of the occults
Esoteric subjects,
a burgeoning interest
Astral travels,
unexplained laws of nature,
powers latent in man
Madame channeled
ascended masters
The Voice of the Silence
The Two Paths
The Seven Portals
"gifts" from the specters
This time Madame stands
to receive between intervals
and only he is seated
Warning him of dark spirits
a dimension outside
of our physical time-space reality
shadowing, making absence
of light a necessity
To invoke them
another nod
Continues unabated
Reveal the truth!
By sacred decree, by order
Behind the phenomenon
details of schemes came to light
Denounced as Black Magic
she was no longer to fright
Marked as a fraud
it all a façade
The moon is waning
Third quarter
Summer love, a man, a woman, conception, a new born
Ring the bells, amplify megaphones, bugle the cow horn
The ceremony begins, baptism, cries, holy water
From two one, family, father, mother, son or daughter
A priests blessings, proud grandparents, proud parents, birth anew
Hospital papers, a birth certificate, much to do
Tears from parents, tears from baby, tears from all, tears of joy
Breast fed, nipples, milking mothers, changing diapers, oh boy
A songbird sings, rock-a-bye-baby, lullaby's at large
Aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, sitters take charge
A pacifier, a cradle, corners of stuffed toys
Hanging crib toys, singing toys, jingling bells, rattling noise
A new generation, of life, all this, in summer love
A woman, man, baby, a family, from god above
The ballerinas, dressed in pink,
Adorable, you can't help think,
All rush to where their teacher waits,
Where music wafts and resonates.
The grown-ups must remain outside
Where covered windows seem to hide
Whatever lessons might be taught.
(Attempts to peek all come to naught.)
The moms chit-chat, comparing notes,
(Which cereals get all their votes).
The grands and sitters sit alone
And read or focus on the phone.
When class is over, spirits high,
She demonstrates the butterfly
And how to point and flex her toes
While standing in a ballet pose.
Now slippers off and sneakers on;
Another lesson's come and gone.
We dress and take our dancer home,
The star, today, of Nana's poem.
So much effort
goes into feeling well...Man,
I’m exhausted! There’s nausea
from supplements, the squeak
and throb, Just One More Rep!~ exercising…
Man, I’m exhausted!
As much effort
going into relaxation – rush to get
things done (always a backup of
things); shuffle schedules, get sitters
for the animals – Man, I’m exhausted!
Even love, the chores, the cards,
the gifts, the emotional lifts...honey-does
seeming to have endless reserves,
never running short on pantries of
exhaustion.
Someday, probably, I’ll
wake-up, unpleasantly surprised
and find myself either stoking furnaces,
fluffing angel wings while polishing
the backside of clouds – Man, give me
a break!
Ouch!~ finally something I asked for….
No matter what they say, life can be true hell,
i learned the hard way...
dont trust sitters, you dont know what they do,
when you turn your back,
keep an eye on your child;
check their weight and for a single bruise;
ask your children about abuse...
dont trust people,
it seems they always lie,
and even with the very best ones,
your friendship will soon die,
we only have a moment in this life,
why waste it? why not give it a try...
dont trust boys,
but oh its hard to say that one,
as i very much so trust my man,
but recongnize the difference between the two,
a man will respect, a boy only hurts you...
dont take drugs,
not chemicals, not pills,
dont smoke weed,
withdraw gives you the chills,
no matter what they say, all drugs are addictive,
i learned the hard way. . .
dont smoke ciggeretts,
oh gosh and please dont chew,
they arent the worst habits,
but it looks bad on you,
dont ever cut your skin,
not by your own hand,
when you look at the scars,
they seem worthless and hard,
they make you wanna scream,
trust me you dont want to bleed,
dont hide your tears,
be proud that you feel,
let the world see your pain,
because your not alone, no way,
and when you start feeling weak,
up you must speak,
no matter what they say, you gotta speak up,
i learned the hard way. . . [i know guys, its really tough]
dont let it bug you,
if it doesnt feel right,
stop what ever it is,
before it fu*cks up your life,
whether family or friend,
or someone you dont know,
the bad must finally go!
dont slack off,
youll get way too far behind,
so far back,
that you cant even change your mind,
your choice will be made,
cause you decided to sleep that day,
dont let go of your dreams,
are you kidding!? are you crazy!?
their all you have left,
their all you really need,
so close your eyes,
dont expect it to come true,
and dream. . .
listen, life isnt easy,
and this isnt all my advice,
but pay to it,
just a little of your mind...
THE PASSION OF CHRIST
A Confrontational Poem by Atsu Adaletey
The Passion
Of Christ
Is a Mission
With Thirst
The Passion
Of Christ
Is a Vision
With a firm Decision
The passion of Christ
Is faith in Action
Not a Risk
For Experimentation
Is not to take pride in church mansion with air condition
It is to step out, reach out to those poor souls in a hopeless condition
It is not to take pride in your smartphones during church service
It is to fear the Lord for his greatness and to revere Him with some level of discipline
It is not for church sitters
But for church workers
It is not for crowd-driven souls
But for kingdom-driven souls
The passion for Christ
Now replaced with the passion for lust
That which ignores the essence of the Trinity
The passion for Christ is not for high hills who are reluctant to jump in His praise
The passion for Christ is for flat feet that humble their reputation and position for His praise
The passion for Christ is not for make-ups that fake His praise
The passion for Christ is not for make-ups that denies
the soul from true worship
It is for souls who truly understand what it means to worship Him in truth and in spirit
It is for those whose skin deserves some whip
It is for those whose palms receives some nailing, embracing the pain of sacrifice in worship
The passion for Christ is for “wanna dos”
Not for “wanna sees”
Show me your phone and let Jehovah show me how much time He spends watching over you
Show me your expenses and let the creator who gives you life showcase your offerings and tithes
Tell me how old you are
And let Him tell you how many “minutes” you are left with
Tell me how busy you are
And let Him tell you how free He is
The Passion
Of Christ
Is a Mission
With Thirst
The Passion
Of Christ
Is a Vision
With a firm Decision
The passion of Christ
Is faith in Action
Not a Risk
For Experimentation
It is not for church sitters
But for church workers
It is not for crowd-driven souls
But for kingdom-driven souls
Where is your passion?
In Christianity
or Vanity
?
Reliving Upside Down
by Odin Roark
The Jungle Gym geodesic glistened,
Afternoon showers dripped,
Languorous droplets fell,
Saturating sand below,
Just like then.
Bench of parents
Reflected memories old,
Stroller wheels struggling,
Obstinate sand as obstacle,
Giggles and screeches
From canopy covered pram,
Bumpy ride for my brother,
His laughter, sheer joy.
Fathers,
Mothers,
Sitters and nannies,
Attentive to children’s every move.
So many eyes saw me
Atop the dome’s iron lattice,
Hanging by my legs,
Seeing the world upside down,
Shouting, “Look at me, Grandpa!”
He didn’t notice this day,
His sudden slumped body,
Dropped the half eaten sandwich
To the ground.
Part of me wanted not to upright my view,
That safety of abstract vision so foreign then,
So understandable now,
So strangely comforting then,
So painful now.
I now straddle atop the bars,
Thinking thirty-three years haven’t made it easier,
Save the bench now replaced
The sand succeeded by concrete,
The tenders and watchers now often of different purpose,
Staring at me not knowing
I’m anything but a nut case.
Some of us just discover
Life’s remembrances
Sometimes prophesy what is to come.
Some, like me, will realize
Their whole adult life is programmed upside down,
Its sophisticated induction lures escapees
Into free-for all playground-workplaces
Where capture so often comes by way of
Pills,
Powder,
Liquid
Needles.
I smile.
Swing down to the ground,
Throw an embrace to Grandpa’s bench,
Look up and shout…
“Reliving upside down moments of love is okay.
Really…
It’s okay.”
A brand new car gleams with silver and unblemished paint
Never belonging to anyone else brings its own desirability
Virginal, it might be called…longed for but never driven
Lovely girl with her makeup just right
Yearned for and desired by men
She chooses you, requirement virginal
Everything about a new vehicle cries out for purchase
Little down, guaranteed and under warranty
It’s tuned to perfection
Beautiful hair, glowing skin
Smiling with perfect teeth, matching figure
Her life geared toward marriage and family
Oiled with expertise
Mirrors adjusted and radio playing
Seats smooth as leather with that new car smell
Her guaranteed…must please her man
Keep the shape, cook the meals
The feelings…mutual, emotional, and sexual
Once the car gets on the road, things may change
That first ding in the car door
The rear ender that wasn’t your fault.
Three years in…two children later
Hair shaggy and skin pimply
Smiling but with cavities shining
Leaking oil after the too close curb
Radio lost its antenna only static
Smell is now of smoke and bodies
Five years in…three children now
Lost her guaranteed warranty…new car purchased
Newer, younger, and more desirable
Trade her in…get the best deal for the money
Wives and cars…hmm
How does this equate
God is the only man in her life
Work, children, and baby sitters
How will she pay the bills?
Parked in the garage waiting, this woman
Worried, alone, and struggling, this woman
Someone else will want to sit beside this beautiful woman.
My friend Meg was leaving for a week-long vacation
And struggling hard to provide for her congregation:
With a horse, two dogs, one cat and a bird
You might as well say she had a whole herd
I arrived just hours after Meg made her escape
To find yellow feathers all over her cat’s face
One dog had dug a hole ‘neath the backyard fence
The remaining Rottweiler growled angrily on the offense
Out in the barn a horse was giving birth to a colt
So I tried to call her vet but was placed on endless hold
I attempted to reach Meg; her cell phone was off
“Don’t feel defeated,” I chided myself with a scoff
A circus was in town and gypsies answered my cry
Now from their trapeze, I often fly quite high
Luckily Meg’s fine horse needed no birthing aid
And the bearded lady got the Rottweiler caged
The missing dog returned, at least that’s what Meg said
She claimed to understand how I had simply lost my head
But as she hurled balls at me, sitting on the dunking bench
Meg muttered words I didn’t know (they sounded French)
The clown suit fits just fine and at least I’m not confined
In the sanitarium for pet sitters who’ve surely lost their minds
* For Sharon Tidewell's Pet-Sit Panics Contest
~PANIC from the DOGS POV~
They left me yeah..woof ME! woof!
Love that car! grrrrrrrrrr
Blankie where’d my blankie go??
Mommie!!!!! (howl)
Daddie !! (Howl) (Whimper)(Simper)*
Who’s that Lady, I smell her…
NOPE not MY Mommie!
(The discarded pup chases its tail)
(howl) (growl)*
Gonna HIDE! yeah..yup HIDE!
NOPE~ ~ `dope*
Gonna EAT! (bark) (bark)
FOOD! hey Lady FO O D>>>>>>>
I GOT Kisses
(a giant pink tongue slobbers
with drool toward the puppy sitter!)
OH NO!!!! I smell CAT (grrrrrrrr)
(howl) (bark)
FOOD? cat? Kisses for food
(What’s a dog to do?)
Kisses and food YEAH!
(Can’t get out to get CAT!)
Gimme gimme HERE pretty sitter kisses for YOU!
Awwwwwww, you so nicey sitter!
I luv YOU!
( giant, pink, bubble- gum,
tongue licks on sitters facie!)
(Sniff)(lean)(cuddle)
I think I luv YOU TOO!
What? CAR????
Mommie!!!!! HOWL, prowl*
(scratch door)
One more kissie sitter lady!
Mommie’s HOME!
*indicates internal rhyme
Our drive started out like any typical summer trip into Philadelphia. Both buses rolling down the highway loaded with screaming teens, eager to reach their destination in a hurry. Rush-hour traffic was heavy, the white lines hidden beneath watery mirages that lifted only briefly beneath underpasses. The skyscrapers were barely visible through the thick haze of summer's heat. The skyline had the appearance of night and day clashing off in the distance. You could smell the rain approaching.
along city streets
slight breeze carries aroma
food and wet pavement
Once the children were safely inside, the buses continued to 30th street station, the only place the city allows buses to park free. The windows were all still down and the roof hatches open as the skyline grew darker. A light show was off in the distance and approaching quickly. The homeless people were now entering the train station in hopes to stay dry and earn a meal or some quick cash.
almost homeless
young girl wears a sign
on the corner
Inside the train station a young family sits on a bench awaiting the arrival of a family member. The benches line the hallway with vendors tucked in the center isle. We sit across from the young family, facing them as an elderly gentleman approaches them. In his arms he carries a sketchpad and a piece of charcoal. The little boy, probably about 10 years old, has grown tired of sitting by now, and his teenage sitters seem agitated by his silly games, the mother in frustration hands him money for a sketch.
with quick hands
he carefully sketches
to perfection
The oldest sister now amazed asks for her's as well. The man sketches her picture to a beautiful black and white replica. The mother refuses to spend another dime and sends him away without paying. Behind us sits another elderly man. He seems to be carrying on a very intelligent conversation with himself. This amazes the children for their final hour and fills them with much knowledge as they slide in to listen.
an old man speaks
as he looks to his right
just his cane sits
The last train has now entered the station and the crowds of people are disappearing outside. The storm has now passed and the sky left a permanent black with the coming of night. We headed outside to the buses to begun our return trip home.
on the street
two yellow buses
filled with rain
In a clash of burgers and biryani,
Manchurian with Russian fares so many,
All else that watch the fun
From fence with just bread-bun…
To guess who’ll lose, who’ll win,
It’s too early a scene,
Seems, burgers might lose their ‘reserved’ penny.
______________________________
Happenings |04.09.2025| humour, world, war
Note: A proxy war is going on in the world, the western developed countries versus the so-called south, call it a global power and the pretender hopeful, or NATO, QUAD and BRICS, SCO. Obviously in this ditty, burgers, biryani…., represent their countries. And then there are some fence-sitters. It seems, USA today has to contend with its President more than anyone else.
Threatening Boy With Twin Knives
The latest shocking video clip in What'sapp is going viral ....
Featuring an angry little boy facing off his grandparent...
In his hands were a pair of kitchen knives, one in each hand....
He screams in frustrated anger directed at his grandfather...
Standing his ground in a most obstinate manner...
As the old man tries to disarm him with a long bamboo pole frayed at its end...
This is a very extreme case of a family with gadgets and money aplenty...
Electronic gadgets and computer games as baby sitters...
Unlike old times when TV was the live-in maid and baby sitter...
But TV dramas, movies and series are approved for viewing audience...
Unlike all the violence, blood and gore in addictive electronic games....
Seriously, if there is no violence or criminals elements...
No way such electronic games will have a captive playing audience...
So many games promote senseless slash, gore and kills galore...
Try watching, you will be shocked at trigger happy violence and more...
The electronic human player is denied healthy human interaction that's available ....
Only if they get off their butts to indulge in physical games with buddies ....
Little wonder these grandparents are confronted with this boy monster ...
Whose character has been digitally altered and social values distorted...
You see the anger inside him, and in the obstinate stance in him...
And the adult folks are left wondering if there is something wrong with him...
Little knowing that the major fault was in how they have raised him..
On a diet of excessive and unfettered access to electronic games .....
That has molded and shaped his very character into an anti social monster...
What later will be filled with squeals
And peals of childish laughter,
In desolation thus reveals
What comes before and after.
The vacant swings, with chains unclasped,
Hang waiting, so forlorn.
The silver slide, unoccupied,
Gleams dully in the morn.
The jungle gyms or monkey bars
Seem bare and incomplete.
They’ll only come alive when tamped
By scores of tiny feet.
The benches, ever patient,
Bide their time, unsatisfied,
‘Til that moment when some sitters
Will enjoy what they provide.
The meat of day will change it all –
The park will thrum with *****;
But in the empty hours
It’s as silent as a monk.