Best Skids Poems
I know that I’m not perfect, just go and ask me wife.
At times she’s kind of said - I’m the bane of her life,
but on her better days she wouldn’t trade me for a thing,
and sometimes she has even thanked me for the ring.
Sometimes I overlook a mite and pile clothes on the floor;
leave a beer can in the lounge room or forget to shut a draw.
The toilet seat might be left up; grease in the bathroom sink,
and of course I cop a barrage - “Don’t you ever bloody think!”
I put up a slight defence I s’pose to save me on the skids,
I reminded her I’m not as bad as either of our kids,
but remarks like that cause suffering; the vote goes three to one,
so I had to do some crawling for the damage that I done.
The crawling that I had to do is behind their Mother’s back,
but once again a big mistake saw her leading an attack.
In a request for gaining brownie points I should have chose a cat,
but the kids insist they wanted me - to buy them a pet rat.
We snuck this rat into the shed and they both named it Brad,
but our female ‘Sergeant Major’ went completely bloody mad.
She really stuck the boots in; especially into me …
making promise of a firing squad if neglect soon came to be.
But both the kids then promised to satisfy their Mother’s rage,
that Brad will be looked after; well fed in the cleanest cage.
They pampered Brad for two months - treated like a king,
then the novelty wore off - Mum was doing everything.
So at the dinner table Mum declared she’d had enough.
Maintaining to our children that it has got too tough.
He’s too much work for one and because that one is me,
he’s going to have to leave and the kids did half agree.
Then Mother added furthermore, “I’m sick of his daily mess,
and right now I note he’s eating, and drinking to excess.”
Me eldest boy then quietly spoke, by adding “Mum you’re right,
if he didn’t eat and drink so much, he could stay is that right?”
Mum responded firmly, “Correct, he could stay for evermore,
if he had used better manners and cleaned his mess off the floor,
now go to the shed and grab the cage, and in the car put Brad …”
“Brad!” Me youngest ‘fella’ bawled - “We thought you said Dad.”
The sound of baroque fills the air
the lively beats one can hear
as senses reel to music sweet
elves dance upon imaginary leaves .
The orchestra reaches crescendo
shattering crystals of chandeliers on high
staccatto beats .....the doe skids across the icy field
as snow cascade down from cypress trees.
Violins squeak ...Trombones blare
mandolins vibrate the inner ear.
The harp thrills......soft ripples along the narrow stream,
fish jumping into sunbeams.
Cymbals clash , a metallic crash...splintered timbers caught in lightening flash
A silent throb...the music dims... a cool beeze flows over the hills
soothing, drawing all into a warm embrace
calming the spirit , slowing the pace.
The music wanes...... delicate snowflakes stuck to window panes
A Grand finale......twitching nerves that long for solace.
Silence now as the music stops.
Peace follows music sweet.... into dreams.
Baroque music lives on....do not weep.
Sleep now ....sleep.
January’s chill at last relents with the slant
of a Spring sun.
Winter’s secrets buried beneath the snow
hum your songs along rooftops,
across crystal threads,
beneath oceans apart
where clouds circle the mystery
of you
from powder grey to scarlet red ...
... where the universe skids on a cant
and rains your truth in petals strewn about a
solitary path.
And when I could not follow,
you left me
standing here
holding your crimson tears in my palm,
colours bleeding in the summer rain.
I was minding my business, taking my time,
Ridin’ Ol’ Bess from the West Miller Mine
When all of a sudden, (weren’t nothing’ I did)
Bess started buckin’ and she hit the skids!
I was pitched off her back like a sack of no worth
To land near the meanest dang rattler on earth!
His tounge was a-flickin’, tasting the air,
His eyes clouded over, like a blind man’s that pair.
He was longer than Bess with a full twelve-inch girth,
My mettle dissolved to a pitiful dearth.
His head raised up proud, his tail even prouder
And that buzz just kept getting louder and louder!
His mien was aggressive and I was a wreck
So I pulled out my shooter and aimed for the neck!
Now I hate killing creatures; God’s watchin’ and all,
But he had my number and was dialin’ the call.
His head is still there, by the side of the trail
But I took the rest home, even that tail!
His meat fed me supper, yep, top o’ the line.
His hide and those rattles? A hat-band so fine!
OBSESSION OF SOAPS
obsessed with the daylight hours
specifically the graven-image afternoon
like high place dungeon towers
calgon’s commercial didn’t “take me away”
but a clever string of soaps did the trick
yes ~ for three “wholesome” hours every day
like following a clever treasure map
i lived for “all my children”
Such lovely drivel and maple sap
for health’s sake visited “general hospital”
after all, i have only “one life to live”
where i delved into the incredible and impossible:
clever tales, like candles in tunnels
where danger lurks, and romance,
with abundant pleasures, funnels
stories old as time itself ~
they were my sweet craving
on a lovely built in shelf
kept me sane until they drove me insane
a drip drip of sand through an hourglass
i envisioned myself with false teeth and a cane
only when my husband and kids
began to refer to them as “my soaps”
did i realize my life on the skids,
and like a potion i’d been pedaled
did i remove the suds from my eyes
in my lightbulb-brain, it was settled!
who wants to see a gravestone:
“HERE LIES MY SPOUSE WHO LIVED FOR HER SOAPS”
7/21/2017
Contest - Obsession
*True so many years ago. I don’t watch them anymore :)
Me: Say Charlotte, is your story true?
C: It’s fictional, now are we through?
Me: So are you rich from telling yarns?
C: I’ve got nice threads, but live in barns.
Me: Are you a speedster in disguise?
C: I took a spin; I won a prize.
Me: So what’s your sport now, with your size?
C: Baseball, I guess, ‘cuz I catch flies.
Me: Do you take trips by ground or air?
C: I went by truck, seemed pretty fair.
Me: I hear your love of school is big?
C: I learned to spell and saved a pig!
Me: I hear you were a diplomat?
C: I once coerced a nasty rat.
Me: At this point, what’s your great concern?
C: I’m losing it; I talk to ferns.
Me: So is your life now on the skids?
C: You ever kept a thousand kids?
Me: Surely your life’s not been a dud?
C: You’ve clearly never sucked fly’s blood.
Me: So you’re concened with mental health?
C: I often try to hang myself.
Me: What helps most with life's flow and ebb?
C: I sit a lot and surf the web.
—————
(Inspired by Charlotte’s Web by E. B. White)
FIRST PLACE WINNER
for ‘a conversation with a fictional character’ Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Natasha L Scragg
Submitted 2/4/22
An Ice Fishing House, Abandoned, in Need of Repair
That same shed waits
by the trees.
Waits on its skids
for the lake to freeze,
and the for the creaking
joints of bickering
stoop-shouldered men
as they push it out to the center
of a pool of glass.
It houses the stories of fishing
in winter, pulling sustenance,
wriggling, through chiseled
portals into another realm.
Old men would wait
like death, slow,
their breath
turning to steam
until they could abduct
their prey from the world below.
Trout would flop
with the thickness of a muscled fist,
striking ice like distillery rage unhinged.
They would twist and corkscrew,
mottled black and silver slapping
the frozen pane of the lake,
waiting for suffocation to take them,
as the old men drifted up in
the steam of twice-warmed coffee,
and the willow-the-wisp exhalations
of ribald stories, retold, and finally forgotten.
Butter Fly
the butter
~* *~
* *
* *
fly
that flied away
that broke
the heart
that put to skids
the board on skates
the kid o
\ /
p q
\o o/
~ ~ ~ ~
his head in the clouds
~ ~ ~ \ * / * \ * /~ ~ ~
he
skates
away
…
he
forgets
…
for his grandmother
this butter fly’s under lock and key
"BLACK CAT"
SILENCE
prowls on soft paws
with sharp claws
Cutting up the
Middle Road
Dark shadow moves
SILIENCE
In absentia
Empty Absynthe
Puncture wounds
Cold wind blows
Over tracks
Skids softly
like warm
gants de Suède
on
Poets’ Row
Rat goes
Rat goes
Red scream
scarlet ribbons
LIFE
flows
Le Mort
blushes colour
a trite persuade
different streets
different gutters
Torn canvas sheets
contained between
prison bar margins
Drafts on the floor
crumpled
Blue fountain
Heart bursting
Love and Hate
Grows
Save Our Souls
Save Our Souls
Sins
Sisters of Mercy
and
Salvation Army Sargents'
Tambourines
Communion
Nibs lying next to
Garbage Bin
Finally Ash Felt
Rain on her
Bitumen face
Black Minx
Fur Pelt
Unfurls lazy stretch
Glass eyed
Minx
Back Alley Dreaming
Bad Luck
Bad Luck
Rolling loaded dice
blood boiling steaming
Brush strokes
Like glyph a glitch
Like glyph a glitch
Familiar mirror
Walks through Witch
Yesterday
Screams
Like glyph a glitch
Repeat curse
Repeat curse
Black Cat purring
Never lose
Hold tight
Pearls in Purse
7 Devils Dreaming
Sleepwalking
Graffiti Warning
Black Cat
Witch
Glebe
Last Stop Station
Rehearse a
Hearse
LIFE
Glyph a glitch
Reverse
(Lovejoy-Burton/May 2018)
1. Hanged Man
https://www.biddytarot.com/tarot-card-meanings/major-arcana/hanged-man/
2. Death
https://www.biddytarot.com/tarot-card-meanings/major-arcana/death/
3. Temperence
https://www.biddytarot.com/tarot-card-meanings/major-arcana/temperance/
4a. Glyph
noun
a pictograph or hieroglyph.
a sculptured figure or relief carving.
Architecture. an ornamental channel or groove
4b. Glyph
https://www.thoughtco.com/what-is-a-glyph-2086584
5. "Black Cat"/Ladytron (Translation)
http://songmeanings.com/songs/view/3530822107858716200/
6. Silience
http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/post/49792543182/silience
7. Seven Devils
- Is a Solitaire card game.
- Seven Deadly Sins
- The Seven Devils of Mary Magdeline
- Florence and the Machine, Seven Devils
8. La Morte, Le Mort, La Mort
Le mort = dead man = un mort, a dead man
La morte (with the e on the end) = dead woman, une morte = a dead woman
La mort (no 'e' on the end) - death; as in the concept of death
"Steamboat is a-comin' 'round the bend!"
My! Oh my! The wonders it might portend,
As it stopped by sleepy towns along the Missisip',
Dodgin' stumps and wayward rafts on its monthly New Awlins trip!
Its arrival was heralded by the town drunk who had nothin' else to do,
And the denizens who didn't flock to the wharf were very, very few!
The steamboat 'General Custer' was indeed a spectacular sight,
With fancy-topped stacks and palatial pilot house painted red and white!
The pilot rang the big brass bell, then folks began a frenzied rush.
The first mate let fly some dirty words - 'twould make a teamster blush!
He had ten minutes to lade his cargo and didn't suffer fools gladly.
Passengers scrambled on and off the boat fightin' each other madly!
There was a colorful parade of characters disembarkin' from the boat:
There came a preacher man clutchin' his Bible wearin' a black frock coat;
A soiled dove slithered ashore much to the delight of the local swains;
Followed by a shifty-eyed gamblin' dude with intent to swell his gains!
Drays, carts, horses and men vied for space to unload their freight,
Fightin' and cussin' and the mate hollerin', "Hustle! Hustle! It's a-gittin' late!"
The pilot rang the big brass bell and the steamboat was on its way agin'.
Til next boat, the drunkard is on the skids agin' guzzlin' his jug o' gin!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
My nose is itchin', company's comin'.
Land sakes alive, as I live and breathe,
haven't seen you in a Coon's age.
Lookin' fat and sassy.
We're fair to middlin', barely gittin' by.
Livin' hand t'mouth, kids drivin' us up th'wall.
Uncle Sam bleedin' us dry. How're y'all farin'?
I'm on the skids, man, boss on my case.
Tossed out on my ear.
Ye gads and little fishes.
Ain't that the way, yah giv'em an inch,
they'll take a mile. You'll wind up
with your tail draggin' your tracks out.
Well, buck up, boy, every cloud has a silver lining.
Rome wasn't built inna day.
Don't give up before you start.
Where there's a will, there's a way.
Keep your chin up, time heals all wounds.
Don't sweat it, man, it'll all come out in th' wash.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
Put on a happy face, fake it, till you make it.
Stop monkeyin' around, actions speak louder than words.
Go out there and knock 'em dead.
It's every man for himself.
Let the chips fall where they may.
Thank you Daddy for taking Jane and me to the circus
He took the bumps fast along Broadway; we giggled and laughed; it was a great day.
The bustle, the hustle, the poor old men. I said “Dear Daddy can’t we help them?”
They’re just like those guys on Castle Hill in number too great drinking their swill.
Castle Hill was off limits when I was kid; one block over they we all on the skids.
We entered the circus; saw my favorite clown, Emmet Kelly, was always so down.
I knew in my heart his non-comic frown and wondered if he had lain once on the ground.
Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t all that precocious, I loved the lions, oh so ferocious.
My first cotton candy, popping cracker jacks, my eyes grew big at the high wire acts.
There were men on cycles, ladies on horses, strong giants with super-human forces.
I guess I forgot about Emmett and bums, on the way home to sweet sleep I succumbed.
Kathryn Collins
February 2, 2014
For there abide beef, pork and chicken
and the greatest of these is bacon
hot sizzling crispy to the tongue
satiating succulently scrumptious bacon.
For bacon curries no favor
plays the field tempts the stoic and saintly
slides into gustatorial beds
romps with tomato and lettuce
hangs out with eggs, hard boiled and soft
mocks the ten condiments
bathes in the sinful seven
is prideful
lusts after
the last greed filled bite
of gluttony
provokes the envy
of slothful
greasy lust.
Ah, bacon
you grease the skids
of dietary destruction
stalk the fat cells
of cellulitic cravings
tempt the tendrils of scent
with your aphrodisial aroma
inducing a pheromonal fling.
Oh bacon
you promiscuous panderer
curvaceous little porker
I believe
I trust
I lust
in and after your truth.
John G. Lawless
©11/2/2019
The Perfect Circle Plant was where most kids went to work as a general rule,
To begin a life of donkeywork upon graduation from the local school.
I dreamed of things far beyond the horizon like visitin' Rome or Istanbul,
Not a life of drudgery in the plant or plowin' corn behind a ploddin' mule!
I suppose I could've gone to work there, married and had a flock of kids,
But such a mundane life would've driven me to booze, landin' me on the skids!
They made expansion rings and such for airplanes, ships and tanks.
Not for me! I chose the Air Force! For that I've always given thanks!
While I enjoyed the beauty of Bermuda (where I 'fought' the Korean War),
My peers were waitin' for quittin' time, performin' their borin' chore!
I reckon they made about five bucks an hour turnin' out expansion rings.
I only made a hundred bucks a month, but it paid for my youthful flings!
I just couldn't see myself turnin' nuts and bolts and payin' union dues,
Or catchin' hell from the ol' lady for stoppin' by the pub for some brews!
While I was dinin' on steak and sippin' Tom Collins' at the Plantation House,
My pals back home were eatin' meatloaf and listenin' to their spouse's grouse!
I hasten to say that the Perfect Circle Plant provided my friends with needed work,
But operatin' a planer or lathe eight hours a day would've driven me berserk!
Should I have taken Dad's advice and hired on at the plant had I to do it over?
Nah! I wanted to get off the farm and leave the county 'cause I'm an avid rover!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
God Sends Promises and Love
God sends rain, snow , all kinds of weather
sweet love that brings us all together
A miracle or two when we so badly need it
gardens of fruits if we but weed it!
God gifts our lives with our sweet kids
pulls us up when our lives hit the skids
Brushes us off with gentle mercies divine
blesses us with good food and his wine!
God sent love by way of his Savior Son
miracles of love not to ever be outdone
Rainbows showing promises very sublime
a reward of love and eternity in time!
God stands the Rock that meets our needs
Forgives us of even the most wicked deeds!
Robert J. Lindley
07/28/2014