Best Spin A Yarn Poems
The Midwife
Written: by Tom Wright
2006
The mind is the midwife that delivers
each thought of man when bidden.
The man who says he's nothing to hide
is the man with it previously hidden?
The greater hurt lies in what we know
Than in things perhaps we don't.
While Jesus sees and knows all things
To spin a yarn to others he won't.
So thoughts the midwife births today
May be decent or perchance verboten.
But either way you can rest assured
They sprout legs or soon forgotten.
Got my eo-eo working
It just don't work on you
When you see me coming
You see my eo-eo too
Got my eo-eo working
I'll bring it to your party
Maybe we can spin the time
Spin a yarn or two
Got my eo-eo working
Looking shiny new
When you make your mind up
Better tell me to
Better make it up
What looks good on you
Do you want a red one
Or would you rather blue
Got my eo-eo working
How to make it last
I always keep it handy
Keep it spinning fast
Got my eo-eo working
The maker said it's free
The maker said it's good for life
Written guarantee
Mine is red
Never make it blue
Always roll it carefully
I'll roll it back to you
She is the queen of words who sits
Serenely at her desk and contemplates
How she can compose to show her wit
And put an end to their debates,
With all the tales she relates.
There was a time when her fecund mind
Whetted by the bloom of youth could bind
Her inspirations, to spin a yarn,
A touching tale so carefully designed
That life’s rhythm would her page adorn.
Her pen is poised, waiting for words
To sing her praise and clear her name.
Her chignon finds rest at her nape, silver cords
There bind. She dreams of fame –
Struck, she whispers ‘life can drive you insane.’
The pen falls plop, on her mahogany desk
She knows now there’s nothing left to risk
Except the stories that warm her heart
And it would only make her sick
If from her they should depart.
Midnight comes and I'm lying in my bed wide awake due to
Anxious thoughts of what will happen tomorrow at the
Staff Christmas party. No doubt the alcohol will flow leading to
Questionable decisions made by myself in order to entertain others
Unnecessarily to cover my true inner self. I am seen by others as an
Extrovert, when in reality, I'm longing to be alone. Ideally, I'd be more
Reclusive than I let on, but the show must go on, and as the office clown, I
Am always expected to do a prank on a co-worker or spin a yarn. I am
Definitely hiding behind a mask, as so many others do. It's easier than
Expressing my true feelings and being who I want to be.
He drifted into town one day.
We didn't ask his name
Or where he came from.
(Some guessed way up north.)
They called him Chico the Wino.
We didn't muse or ponder
That he was some mother's son --
Jack or Joe or Jim or John --
Who went over there
And couldn't go home again.
We didn't know what he did in the war
Or what the war did to him.
We were just boys
Not quite men,
But he let us be his friends.
He was old -- maybe 25.
His hair was thick and white.
We marveled at that
But we didn't ask why.
His skin was smooth and tan
Except for a circle
Where a ring had been.
He wasn't melancholy or grim --
He could tell a lie or spin a yarn
Or joke and laugh with the guys
(Except for his eyes)
We found him one day on his cot
Clutching his last bottle of Muscatel.
In his other hand an ancient tin
Crammed with medals
And one golden band.
Somewhere a mother mourns
For Jack or Joe or John or Jim --
For the son who went over there
And never came home again.
Somewhere a young bride
Touches the pillow where he had lain --
The lover who never returned --
And weeps for what might have been.
The mother's son,
The young bride's lover
Were lost far away
In a violent land
And now Chico the Wino
Has at last found what he sought;
His war is over; Peace is bought.
His name was John Paul Slavens, an old time buckaroo
when he was young, he’d made a hand, knew just what to do.
He had a soft hand with horses, he knew the ways of cow
He treated women like a lady, not like men do now.
He was good with "youngins" and when the work was done
he’d tell a story , spin a yarn, have a little fun.
He was never mean or surly, because he’d come to know
The good book’s always right, we’ll reap just what we sow.
JP worked with us kids, he’d smile the times we’d fail
He’d keep us working and learning, riding the cowboy trail.
And sometimes during the lessons, one of us kids would slip
into a place a cow had been and left her little... "chip".
JP’d laugh when we made a "face" slap his knee a time or two
He’d say, "It’s only grass and water!" as we tried to wipe off that "goo".
Well time moved on, his winter came, I watched Old J.P. die
I know he’s gone to Heaven, riding for the "Boss" in the sky.
Up there the water’s always good, the grass is stirrup high
He’s a happy cowhand, riding in the sweet by and by.
As I’ve traveled down life’s trail, I’ve "slipped" a time or two
And more than once I’ve found myself, "stepping’ in brown goo".
I think back to my childhood with Old J.P. showing me the way
of thinking and working like a cowboy, I can still hear him say;
"It’s only grass and water!" I realize all ain’t lost,
I pick up the pieces, try again, disregard the cost.
The worst probably won’t kill you, tomorrow’s another day,
just pick yourself up, dust yourself off, try different way.
I’ve begun to realize what I wish would go to another
Is just my little trail to ride... It’s all just Grass and Water!
Arranging Words
Arranging words
Tell a story
Like a film noir
Of make believe
Writing it alright
String you all along
With savior-faire
Like a love song
Draw you right in
Like a big straw
Take a joyride
In cartoons cars
All read along
While I spin a yarn
May be about a girl
Or a man of charm
Arranging words
Make a story
Like a film noir
Of make believe
Bill MacEachern 3/19/23
FABLE 1
Free and easy
Works well for me
Spin a yarn here
To fund more cheer
Tell fond story
In words easy
Speak words profound
As thought expounds
Squeak a swift ooze
Watch fable cruise
Hurl the passage
Sign bold message
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
13 July 2015
Singapore
O month
you owned the charm
that gave me peace
if you're far from my heart
please forgive me
You quite knew
my ark is unable to sail
to see your presence
before the permission
I see from your lustre
In your darkness
your room glows
when a castle is dark
let my love shine brightly
and let’s spin a yarn
together.
11 September 2018
Purple Couch
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so
William Shakespeare
It is all about perspective and that is key to heart
Shiny blade of cutting edge, do you kill or butter
pray tell, OH, Sitting knife !
Shall I use my quill and write about you as you are
or spin a yarn regarding you, telling tales to see how far ?
Should I stretch my wenden shades of rose for you,
or strive to see thy point of view !
Interpret me with candor and honesty dear mate,
and please remember this ...
If you hold me to the sun, I will reflect thy shine
if you hold me to the dark, all ignorance be thine !
Perception is key for all of truth's reveal
so may thine eyes be set in truth and see the good in me.
Make haste, adjust thy lens, ... take me to a place of love.
If you’re in the mood for a tale
Please come sit with me a spell
I’ll spin a yarn of sheer delight
Concerning October’s final night
Children dress up in their suits
Parents thinking, “Oh so cute”
Cauldron stirred by a giant spoon
Evil laughter echoes from the room
Goblins called to do their deed
As Vampires prepare to feed
I remember once when I was a boy
My excited heart raced with joy
My friends and I took to the streets
Filling bags with precious treats
All night long running around
Till we hit every house in town
One final house on Graveyard Hill
Suddenly the night was frozen still
As we headed up the crooked path
We heard the evil witches laugh
Too scared to run too scared to stay
Too scared to think too scared to pray
The Iron Gate slammed with a clatter
Suddenly everything was the matter
Lightening crackled in the sky
As across the moon an owl did fly
A silhouette made not a sound
As a fog started to cover the ground
I thought of what my sister had said
“Graveyard Hill is where they keep the dead”
The silhouette stepped through the door
Said, “Greedy children want some more”
Suddenly monsters came out of the brush
As our screams echoed in the midnight hush
Those monsters eyes danced with delight
As they delivered us to the witch that night
As we all prepared to meet our ends
It was just my sister and her friends
Those stealers of hearts;
Untrue were some within the waltz,
Wishful toes so carefully stepped on.
So many a fair maiden dipped in deceit.
Twirling their dreams into dizzy confusion,
As they spin a yarn so sweetly in ear.
Those fleeting embraces ending in a song;
Leading damsels across floors with no beginnings.
(this knight of centuries has met these scoundrels on battlefields,
and was always the one who rode away alive)
Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved
"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."
© 2014 Robert William Gruhn
The optimist said that fifty years is half your life,
but the audience surely knows
that men don't live much longer than
the heyday of their town's proud factory
or the life span of an empire in the modern age.
Fifty-five years down a blind path cluttered with bombshells,
every wrong foot a heaving blast,
brickbats, not lemons rain down on
my tiny comic parasol till
I am left here holding only bent and rusty bones.
This is the part where the optimist will spin a yarn
about weaving a tapestry
from the ragged bits remaining,
the breathless crowd expecting the hero
to run their happy gauntlet again and again,
till the last clod falls.
Still being drank all throughout whatever heat of the day.
Like the boxcar Children Daniel Boon and Nancy Drew being read to the little ones,
Credences' Have You Ever Seen the Rain, and Fleetwood Mack's Songbird, along with a little
Fernando Ortega Nearer My God To Thee, the Braveheart theme along with Eric Clapton's
Tears in Heaven God bless him and warm prayers for Him and his wife playing in the
background to tuck us and all into bed in the evening.
As my wife and I and children laugh yes their smiles filling Her and me with joy riding
high under the moonlight as the new soft evening breezes blowing away teary eyes...
sniffling noses. The stars ascending high up in their joy I know rest even higher in their
hearts. The Sun lying down in the sky auburn clouds rising up to be kissing it floating by
as the many fowl fly touch down again only to climb to new heights to do it all again, the
next day.
And as the Mantis does have the heart to pray and as gentle winds provide the earth just
enough hope to blow the leaves each fall off the trees, shrubs pines and vines. Taken in
by the light, as I think of the Sun... . As the little honey humble bumble be bumbles on
by-here-along-beside-me ... . The mere fact is even as I try I know, purple flowers ocean
tides in-there-fullest of sway... and gravity - in the brevity as I write... and as though
I may try... and can spin a yarn of lines, I guess, as they are far greater these things -
being of God I cannot paint such beauty nor reality, truth... what goodness He radiates
such as this, the very wonder of these-things.
Yes, these are His things I believe of the many, benignity ... .
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AscPOozwYA8
Gather round while I spin a yarn
'bout a young gal, grew up in a barn
With horses and cows, she had her own stall
She loved taking care of them, most of all
She'd feed the horses and milk every cow
Nobody ever showed her quite how
She worked so hard, she rubbed her hands raw
Baling the hay and bundling the straw
Well, year after year she took care of her tasks
Secretly hoping that someone would ask
Her out on a date or some such like that
But she was afraid of men and a little bit fat
One summer day the sky turned pitch black
A tornado was brewing, there was no turning back
It stormed right on in, a-whirling and whooshing, a picture of awe
All her hay swept away, she clutched at two pieces of straw
She hung on to those straw strands with all of her might
As they swilled and swirled, and flew up out of sight
The last folks saw of her, she was high up in the sky
Singin' -- "To heck with horses! I'm a bird; I can fly!"
September 10, 2020
Clutching at Straws Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann