Best Smock Poems

Standing all alone in the woods;
eyes shut, I feel the lilting light.
Sun dodges needles through the crown,
beams land on my skin softly so.
Brisk breezes quicken and rustle.
Bristlecone pines ever sway slowly,
while pockets of air blush my cheeks.
Staying stalwart in meditation,
cones crinkling as puffs roll them
gently...

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They call her big Gina
You'd know if you seen her
She is a toilet cleaner
She wears a white smock
Armed with bucket and a mop
She likes to keep things clean
And is a real scrubber
If you know what I mean
She whistles as she goes
With disinfectant wafting under her...

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Cross my heart, 
Hope to die.
I won’t tell a soul,
That you were mine tonight.
Tucked alone,
In the dark.
With a pillow and a smock.
Painting a picture,
Of the moon and sky,
Upon the canvas.
As the meteors flew by.
This picture was beautiful.
Covered in detail,
Glimmered like the sea,
And in the background...

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Could it be that two city streets meet at a portal
of awakening that leads to enlightenment?
May your next frontier be "Inter-Be" discovery.

Nearly forty years ago on July twenty-fifth,
working in the center city of Philadelphia
I was walking to make a noon business meeting
and noticed a hippie...

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For Vera, Leanna and Leslie

Today in church I was rapt as I listened to the words of the pastor,
As she spoke about the death and glorious resurrection of the Master!
But I must confess that my mind ran amok and wandered,
As I reminisced about Easters past...

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Most of life is spent in
hope for better things yet
expectation of what is to come
or anticipation of what could be
and while this is good, even necessary...
Focusing on the few
more “memorable” moments
misses out on much
of the spaces in-between:

Time with loved ones
time amid others
time to ourselves
time spent...

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His ramrod back, his brill-creamed hair 
and waxed moustache gave him a certain air, 
a certain dash, and a military bearing. 
His speech was clipped. He walked his stick 
with sergeant major's flick.
His corduroys  were always neatly creased 
and Liberty cravat was tucked and...

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Oh, Mother India,

The sacred smock of your cremated children   
Over your revered land, I see

The lamentations of the death-stricken families  
I daily hear

The unbearable agony of your offsprings, in my 
heart, I constantly feel.


Do not despair holy India, for it is not...

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Centurio Romanus sum,
et nolite flere non commovebitur.

I am a Roman Centurion.I do not weep or tremble.
But I have wept some bitter tears before this end of week.
Yes, I have wept some bitter tears hot rolling down my cheek
that wet my bed and wet my beard...

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Something about paint
I absolutely adore!~feeling more
fluid-thinking when wearing an 
old smock, branded with dashes and 
blobs, to my mind each
one a stripe of rank with starry 
splashes my medals – 

like coral reefs 

like florescent algae

a new canvas primed, runny
with liquid motion; I thrust
my igniting...

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The lass known as spring
dons her pretty smock;
blushing pink as dawn,
she merrily strolls
through gardens and fields.

She talks to trees.
They green; some bloom!
She sings to plants.
Beauty bursts forth.

She calls out;
creatures come
together!

She smiles.
We feel

Joy.

April 1, 2019
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
For the Diminished Hexaverse Contest About Spring Poetry Contest...

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When I was just a nipper
My Dad used to take me to the barbers
The Barber would put a board across the chair
so I was higher
and he could cut my hair.

It struck me
how the barber was as bold as a coot
shuffling around in his brown smock
barbers...

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Ask not for whom the bell tolls
Said little fairy bell sitting in the meadow
Among the Prim Roses reflecting, the sun’s glow

The Cow Slips in the rain 
The Lady Smock trips on her train
Ask not for whom the bell tolls

The Snap Dragon bites, the Willow Weeps
The...

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My grandson has a lot of tees
With Mario imprinted.
His sister wears her Ariels,
Her mermaid passion hinted.

Which made me think of certain shirts,
Quite popular back when
I though that Dr. Kildare
Was the handsomest of men.

They didn’t have his picture
But resembled what he wore
And how I wished I...

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Dear trafficker,I am on the run
With face emitting fear
Worn in clothe surged into rag
By the scissors of rape
linen scars
With the screech from angry nails;
narrow escape.

Do not ask why I run
Like a prey dodging the hunters’ gun
from thick darkness I run, in search of sun

I am...

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