Best Sours Poems
Peace all my life,
then it soured.
Just went away.
Sours slowly,
ignore it.
Fool, it conquers
like cancer.
Fool, it wins,
like death.
I realize it's too late.
Can psychiatry work?
Too expensive.
Relax and listen to soft music
till night comes.
We make believe,
go through the motions of love
but I'm dead.
Worst of all:
I cannot pray.
I can only
Look at heaven.
And hope.
Maybe I’ll find peace again.
The price we pay for our freedom is not contained in a man’s wallet,
Nor is liberty a currency found in a female fancy Gucci pocketbook.
It’s not in anyone’s liquidity portfolio investment bank records,
Nor is it contained in anybody's “Wall Street” premier trust fund accounts.
Reverently, the price we pay is not derived from ensuing wealth.
The red blood of freedom travels naturally in our veins—immutable!
Freedom has been ordained from creation in the lives of all people.
Liberty runs from heart to heart, inspires from soul to soul—sours like an eagle!
It’s linking parents to children, brother to sister, displaying courage.
Generations standing on the shoulders of generations—a fighting refuge!
The price we pay for our freedom and liberty—will never be free!
Historical accounts tried; produced no detailed cost—"It’s a sacred decree!”
The price paid has clearly left budgets—fragmented and unbalanced,
Red poppies blooming in the fields of courageous remembrance!
It has triggered aching souls, caused running nostrils, and weeping eyes.
Ladies wearing dark veils, and men black suits—great spirits that never die!
Uplifting hand and heads under the moon and sparkling stars at night.
Courage inspiring life in delight to continue the fight without—fright nor flight!.
Many look forward to more significant liberating inspiration to come.
Brilliantly embracing the shining new embolden golden rays of the rising sun.
Such a priceless premium runs in our veins and precious arteries.
The price paid for liberty and freedom is entrenched in our hearts naturally!
A nosegay is just a bunch of flowers
The 'Gift' is a bunch of special powers
A day is just twenty-four hours
Lemons and limes are a pair of sours
A poem is a group of words that rhyme
(At least they do some of the time)
Larceny is just a petty crime
Dirt is just another name for grime
To come out on top is to be the best
To act the fool is to jape and jest
To badger and annoy is to be a pest
Taking a nap is taking much needed rest
To press lips together is to enjoy a kiss
To yearn for someone is to really miss
Trying to find the meaning in all of this
Is to realise I'm just taking the...... !!!
Splashes of pink from the flowering Crabapple....haze through
the sturdy square of lemon yellow glass - framed in Knights's Armor
....at parade rest on my porch.
Inside on the ledge, my Christmas Cactus welcomes Spring....with
bazookas exploding triple pink perfections in every direction!
~~~ these are my favorites ~~~
~~~ rising from the soil~~~
~~~ shaped in glass ~~~
When I'm pink, sound disappears
....and comets are late for tea
Perfect prisms of lemon light my intentions....prevent my escape
Sometimes, I wonder how long it will last....before the lemon sours
....the cactus only bristles....and the crabapple is bitter, once again....
....dedicated to AG....xxxooo
A covert curtain raiser pulls a string and marvels at an epic scene
Though parsimonious in essence the stage appears rather obscene
Black cross and pitch dark raven on bold charcoal sable tapestry
Ragged clairvoyant who twiddles cross bones by Caron's decree
The program had promised naked clarity and seductive treats
But now no bodies couple on the wooden floor in satin sheets
The truth however fresh from history's and other sad cohabitation
Sours moist appetites and threatens voyeuristic contemplation
A simple box white as true innocence depicts death's surrender
Rusty nails large as serrated daggers stick out of wood and tender
For anyone's guess as to who holds the moribund mortal keys
And for what the final will and wish decides to bequeath
Maybe the dramatist shows kindness after the transmission
Once champagne flutes held council in one last rendition
For when audiences in deck chairs recline on the Titanic
But the fool's vessel succumbs even when Satan is manic
Spectators wait on fleshy bums for anything to be told and relieve
The grandstand platform from misery far too mournful to conceive
But while the actors carry on with epilogues and future insanity
There is no second act and no dress rehearsal for humanity
10th April 2020
What good is done in carrying a grudge,
And nursing wrath o'er long?
The past is past, what's done is done.
Stop singing the same of song.
To cogitate on what was done,
Will bring you naught but worry.
It irritates and sours life,
To sit and feed your fury;
So put it down and just move on,
You'll feel much better for it.
Suppress the memory of wrong,
It's best to just ignore it.
Just think about the here and now,
And let the past stay buried.
You'll be surprised how good it feels,
To drop that rock you've carried,
For so long it seemed to be,
A part of daily life.
We were meant to live our lives,
Not endure it dragging strife.
Andrew ordered a stripogram, Kay
To visit him on his birthday
When he opened the door
Sixteen copper’s he saw
They cuffed him, then took him away
After questioning for many hours
In the police car oh how he cowers
There’s one thing I’ll bet
He’s been covered in sweat
His birthday bash pizza night sours!
The Epstein files are in the press
Now Andrew’s life is such a mess
As his recent arrest
Surely made Andrew stressed
He’s guilty, but he won’t confess
I’m hoping royal succession can
Be removed from this vile man
I’m “Throne out,” he will moan
“The loo’s my only throne”
All royal titles flushed down the pan!
Born American, sixth generation of great-grands all German,
not much liking sausage or sauerkraut, English speaking all the way,
except the Germany of my ancestry was fought over and broken
so I’m a bit of France, Germany, Poland, Hungary all the Holy
Roman empire, dissolved down, fought over, egotized, horrified
and remade Into some new state where English is as common as German.
We share a love of flowers in the face of cold and rain, I drink less beer
and wine, meet up somewhere, anywhere around the world on a beach.
From my parents and grandparents, I know to serve up too much food
seven sweets, seven sours and drink and whirl the night away to a band.
Hardworking sorts, unafraid of a little dirt, loving dirt, the turnover
and young sprout brought to fruit, wearing overalls and then washing up.
To sit before a pressed linen table cloth, served up on the finest china,
the cha in my father’s name, the uff da, and other exclamations.
The morning rosaries, the blessed churches where we give thanks for all good
and the setting aside of pride while we work together to make our food.
Sure there are aprons for cooking. Shorts for summertime. A dive into any pool.
What do I know of being German, not much, it's just somewhere in my roots.
Self-Identity
The large question mark
points to a wish
a longing to find
our real Identity..
Not the identity we found
in childhood years
which lingers for most..
In years as children
we discover a self
separated and ready
for a life
with promise and color..
When this life sours
when we intuit
another identity
seemingly out of reach
our path of discovery
need be continued..
Teachers and guides
are there for us
to pursue and search
for the Identity
we somehow know
is made of a
peace and happiness
not satisfied by worn
childhood knowing..
A teacher's message
if heard correctly
will point to our
new Identity and
will also caution
against a pedestal
for the teacher
with beliefs to anchor..
Almost home..
Waiting for that
morning resonance...
False promises and bold faced lies
From leaders we call men,
Too foolish, vain and unwise
It’s the election blues again.
Feign to believe the web they weave
With patient ears we listen,
Future balanced if they achieve
From deceitful eyes teeth glisten.
In principle, fate is our blame
Yet in our selfish pride,
Our judgment shadows woeful shame
Behind scapegoats fail to hide.
Ballot fiends they all may be
Watching poll numbers, plus or minus three,
What will their victory bring to me
After January twenty-three.
Subsidized youth sports, gun control
Child care dollars galore,
A policy a day, and truth be told
Campaign gifts are a chore.
What matters East-West-South ‘n North
Is that we get it right,
While opponents bicker back and forth
By cable, bus or flight.
Success depends on unity
Without it we’re a wreck,
While one side suffers mutiny
The Grits give Tories heck.
The separatist Bloc` says “Let us go”
Demanding sovereign freedom,
White margarine and one-tongued-signs
Does Canada really need them.
The answer is, quite simply, oui`
We cannot tear apart,
Instead, honor all with dignity
And make a brand new start.
While men debate with pointed fingers
On issues big or small,
Our neighbor’s fear of terror lingers
With plans to build a wall.
Five billion they shall not relinquish
While bring East to peace,
Infernal war fires ne’r extinguish
Diplomacy for lease.
Denying partnership in war
To Iraq we didn’t go,
And up in space where eagles soar
Again we said “Oh no”.
Canada is not the States
Their future is not ours,
While Bush comments on us, berates
His future quickly sours.
When we look back upon these days
In golden years of life,
Will mirrored lakes obscure with haze
Too thick for sharpened knife.
Or does the future hold great treasure
For Canadians, one and all,
With strength and courage beyond measure
Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall.
Like years before, each voter chooses
With hopes and dreams of change and glory,
But in the end there’s winners and losers
Different writer, same old story.
Scott Goldsberry
December 30, 2005
Housekeeping acrostic/therza rima
How Ruthie Stone had to abandon
One place that she only called home
Upon her Aunt Sylvie’s rebellion
So now she rides on her own
Every day she treats as a challenge
Kindling her attachment alone
Every hour since she has parted
Even through the years has passed
Proneness to stay lonely and quiet
In her own soul is attached
Now those dear reflective hours
Go with her while taking her time
While her old abandoned home sours
Every time I turn the radio on I hear a feller's plaintive song,
About his achin' heart and how his woman done him wrong!
How they once held each other close beneath the harvest moon;
Now, he sits alone caressin' a beer at Cudahey's Diner and Saloon!
He found his woman hangin' out in honky-tonks at the edge of town,
Consortin' with the local rabble tossin' whiskey sours down!
Never mind that she caught him with Hildebrun at Clyde's Greasy Spoon!
Now, he sits alone caressin' a beer at Cudahey's Diner and Saloon!
His woman tells him to stop his gamblin' at the Pot O' Gold Casino,
And if he doesn't stop and toe the line, she's headin' for a split in Reno!
He wonders where his charm has gone that once made her swoon.
Now, he sits alone caressin' a beer at Cudahey's Diner and Saloon!
He feels a pang of guilt for not providin' the kids with decent shoes,
And blowin' the grocery money on the horses, cigarettes and booze!
But can't a feller have a little fun without her ragin' like a typhoon?
Now, he sits alone caressin' a beer at Cudahey's Diner and Saloon!
He stops at Cudahey's after work and drinks until they douse the light.
He cries on Bubba the barkeep's shoulder unloadin' on him every night.
He feels as if his woman thrust through his heart a very sharp harpoon!
Now, he sits alone caressin' a beer at Cudahey's Diner and Saloon!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 3 in Paula Swanson's "Play Me A Cheatin' Song" Contest - May 2011
Actions please us deeper than just words-
though teasers talk up promises so made
with words that sound like songs of pretty birds;
the music's sweet, but sours when pledges fade.
Words flow smoothly, soothing heart and mind
with hopeful thoughts that all too soon escape.
These words that tease are truly not inclined
to fill those hopes that never will take shape.
Actions do please deeper- words just tease
to simply stoke a fire that's never lit.
Just empty words for vows that float away-
from shallow talkers who will not commit.
So disappointed when words stand alone-
that only tease with promises not met-
to then accept the letdown we bemoan
by sham neglect- the sad result we get.
July 19, 2016
Contest: Motto Matters
Sponsor: Natasha L Scragg
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Note:
The origin of this phrase in its earliest known
appearance (with the exact wording it has today)
is in a work called the Melancholy State of Province,
1736: “Actions speak louder than words and are
more to be regarded.”
However, the idea of this phrase goes back even
further. For example, Michel de Montaigne, who
lived during the 1500s, expressed the following
in one of the essays he wrote:
“Saying is a different thing from doing.”
Reference: google.com
Number 15 rumbles a regular route,
Whining about the dew-drop hours.
A friend used to hang on and shout,
"Top-of-the-line!" Sucking fruit sours.
Underrated, invaluable, civil necessity.
Removing debris for the wasteful Whos.
Salting and plowing the frozen density.
Protection from plagues of pesty refuse.
Garbage to be his last embrace.
Toxic weight on asthma lungs,
While indulging a smokey taste.
I say, "Shoot it all into the sun!"
RECORDS OF PAST HISTORY
The past wasn’t all that great and the so-called “achievements” - say -
Of the past pale when we compare them to our capabilities today.
Egyptians built the fearsome Great Pyramid weighing 6 million tons in 20 years;
We dump 7 million tons of rubbish every year in the Atlantic without fears.
Moses parted the Red Sea for a while to allow escape;
But the Soviets made the Aral Sea disappear entirely from the landscape.
Moses also made the Egyptian Nile turn red for hours -
The English chemical industry constantly turns the River Tees red, and sours.
History’s important Punic Wars sadly killed 160 000 people in twenty years,
But US road accidents kill the same number in only 4 years - no tears.
More EU harvested grain is burnt weekly, to combat low-price fear,
Than a whole year of growing in the mighty Roman Empire economic sphere.
5000 people ate fish and bread with Christ : there were left 12 baskets of good food.
5000 can eat with McDonalds with no good food at all, just business shrewd.
Great Wall of China used to be most important cultural object seen from spaceflight;
Now that’s nonsense, it is in fact Las Vegas at night.
We have been capable of eroding the Acropolis much in forty years.
How much erosion from two millennia of great civilizations? Nowhere near!
Every fifteen years or so, one meteor impact can destroy 80 million trees;
We remove that from the world’s forests every week with ease.
Yes our civilization is a world beater
Not just a record-from-the-past repeater