Best Sported Poems
This seasoned evening
sported a full faced
Orange Kool-Aid moon.
Fully aware it was a marvel
it shot me an arrogant wink.
Not once but twice.
I think i heard it laugh.
It certainly flashed me an impish smile.
Not much different than my own.
No camera could ever capture
a moment this precious.
This needed,
words-
the heart of my imagination.
I stepped inside.
Pen in hand,
iPad at my right side,
laptop in front of me,
desktop computer behind me,
electric typewriter on my left side
I was ready.
I only hoped I would be able
to express in words what
I had experienced.
I penned this.
This seasoned evening
sported a full faced
Orange Kool Aid moon.
Fully aware it was a marvel
it shot me an arrogant wink.
Not once but twice.
I think i heard it laugh.
It certainly flashed me an impish smile.
Not much different than my own.
09~11~2014
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Contest Name: Best Poem of 2014
It had been a day full of miraculous detail.
Freezing rain played the ground like a kettle drum.
Trees snapped and flowers curtsied
before engaging in a pas de deux
with blades of grass on the stage
of this summer eve.
Our erupting blazing star...
Sported a set of yellow barn doors sorely in need of a paint job;
Closed shut with a heavy metal rusty lock seeping a golden shade;
Upstaging the blue sky and creating its own distinct wash
to signal the break of day.
A curvy curved river flowed naturally through
the mountains into a water colored sunset.
The moon waited patiently offstage with bedroom eyes
anxious to make her entrance.
And I,
Well - I just stood motionless,
Hoping to absorb it all;
Hoping to never take this planet for granted;
A non opiate
I like to call
Organic Ecstasy.
And not a sign of men’s hands anywhere in sight.
14~12~2014
Maurice Yvonne
The congregation eyed him skeptically
Long hair, a beard and sandals on his feet
Beyond his exterior they’d not see
This rambler had just come in from the street
He blessed himself with the sign of the cross
And joined fully in each hymn that was sung
It was soon apparent it was their loss
When he greeted God with a gentle tongue
“Lord, You sent Your Son to roam on this earth
His hair was long and to some seemed unkempt
And when He preached, insults were often hurled
But He was not repelled by their contempt
“And so, Lord, I seek forgiveness for these
Who cannot see beyond the clothes I wear
I’ll not be put down by those I displease
I ask for forgiveness, make them aware
“That Your Son sported sandals and a beard
I ask You judge them not as they judge me”
When the mass ended, the man disappeared
At heaven’s gate his name’s on the marquis
Some of the congregation dwell below
But the homeless man now sits by God’s side
For he had chosen love’s path to follow
Appearances he did never deride
*For Jared's "At First Glance" Contest
They hung around the beer joint with the finest Western wear
with thumbs tucked in their belt loops and such a studly air.
But those boots weren't made for stirrups and were polished to a sheen,
and on those fancy cowboy hats not a sweat stain could be seen.
You could be sure they hadn't spent much time around a branding pot,
for the only brands they recognized were ones on stuff they bought.
And if they ever passed the time just musing 'bout their spread,
it'd be the one around their middle or the one they put on bread.
Just a bunch of cowboy wannabes in a modern masquerade,
but they drove the biggest pickup trucks that Detroit ever made.
The beds were big and beautiful without a scratch or scuff inside,
'cause the only thing they hauled around was a horse's big backside.
As they stood around outside the joint, in a smart-ass state of mind,
in pulled an ancient pickup with an old horse trailer hitched behind.
The truck an old green Chevy, year 'bout nineteen fifty-nine,
with two high wooden sideboards stacked with hay bales bound with twine.
Out stepped a skinny hombre, with steel-blue eyes and bandy legs,
but he had a rippling six-pack while all the boozers sported kegs.
His cowboy hat was sweat-stained; high-heeled boots were dusty gray;
he kicked off a chunk of cow pie, then he grabbed a bale of hay.
He was mighty parched and dusty, but he wouldn't quench his thirst
'cause you're not an honest cowboy unless you water horses first.
The pack of fools gave out a hoot, yelled "Hey there, Texas Pete!
Get yourself a man-sized truck and take that geezer off the street!"
As he finished with the horses, up walked two ladies smokin' hot.
The cowboy promptly doffed his hat, while the posers there did not.
The cowboy got a long admiring look and the rounders just a sneer,
as the sham was so apparent when a real cowboy was near
They flashed the dusty cowboy a big ol' smile 'bout ten miles wide...
Said "Honey, would a gent like you care to escort us gals inside?"
He winked, then gave the trucks a look and spat a stream of juice.
Said, "Boys, y'all's might be bigger, but mine gets a sight more use."
My wife said our sex life, ”Is always the same…”
“You need to spice things up, and rekindle our flame”
So I got onto the net and researched lots of stuff
I took tons of notes and soon…I had enough
I went to “Trickie’s Tricks” with a list a mile long
I even skipped around, humming a naughty little song
So my wife came home from work and entered the scene
I sported a mankini and mask…she started to scream
I chased with a feather in one hand and whip in the other
She dashed from the room, crying loudly for her mother
She slipped on the rose petals…the candles fell to the floor
I reached for massage lotion as she darted out the door
She left me hot and bothered, much to my chagrin
Whatever I do, I feel I just can’t win!
So next time… I’ll ignore her rebuffs
Tomorrow night, I’ll whip out the cuffs
A Proper Walk
Is it something that I said or simply sad?
My refined lady lost her shoes today
By the way, she had no cloths on either
Point of fact, she was naked, head to toe and then some
No one had to know, she had no attire, not a stitch
On the walk, down the road at dawn, with just a yawn
A fire or some calamity I assumed
Had taken her by surprise and with it her outfit too
A mystery I should not mention and put to rest
Panties were consumed as well, I guessed
Such things should not be discussed
Perfume and a smile were all she wore
I wished her a good morning
You look lovely but aren’t you a bit chilly dear?
We strolled along the avenue hand in hand
I sported my Desmond Merrion and new wool coat
Nothing changed as we strolled on the block
Tip toed delicately on a wooden fence
Talked about the weather being brutal cold
Avoiding un-pleasantries, underwear
And other matters naked in the air
Her new look was stunning under the morning sun
It would be inappropriate for a gentleman like me
To discuss what she had on or not
But her hair looked oh so lovely and she is so shy
She smiled in delight, on sun beams and fragile fences
Shaky, as we played and danced away
Money was getting extremely tight
And jobs in town were few
McGee was out of work for a while
But his faith in God was true
McGee was often seen
On his front porch praying loud
By his atheistic neighbor
Who was sure and quick and proud
He daily thanked The Good Lord
While counting on his rosary
For his wife, his family, and his friends
Then humbly asked for some groceries
“There is no God” the neighbor baulk
“McGee is just a fool,
"But I have a scheme to end his dream
And can do it, without being cruel "
So the neighbor went off on a shopping spree
Down at the market in town
Then returned with bags of groceries
On McGee’s porch, set them down
Then he hid himself, behind a bush
And waited for McGee to come out
And when he did, McGee saw the food
And Praised the Lord with a shout
But the neighbor appeared from where he hid
And claimed credit for buying the food
Thinking McGee would have to admit
That God was merely a ruse
When McGee heard the neighbor,
He lifted the bags, then sported a crooked grin
Winked at the sky and spoke to The lord
As he turn to the door going in
You not only got me grocery’s, My Lord
For which I thank you each day
I see you're Mighty clever too
For making the devil pay
Yesterday, I took out my new quill pen and
a bottle of ink.
I sat down at an antique table,
lit a half-burned candle and dipped my quill;
I wrote on a yellowed pad of calligraphic parchment.
Swiftly jettisoned into the past as,
the room began to change;
the table appearing to be brand new,
sported different legs.
The candle sat burning in a silver holder
instead of a cheap aluminum one.
This had happened before;
this visit to the past and
I had found an ancestor there.
This time, I found myself;
a writer in a past life;
penning olde English…
imagine that!
Black Sheep
Her beleaguered parents, had it
with her.
That daughter and her mouth,
forever causing a mighty stir!
They went to downtown
Chicago,
To see Dr.Zhivago, hoping this
might quiet her.
But no, in their daughter, it was
more like an intellectual stir.
She stopped going to Mass
and left the Catholic Church.
Her Father weeping, he was
far more than hurt.
That spunky young woman
dropped out of college.
Then, in the dead of winter,
eloped to the West Coast in a
Midwest blizzard, she happily
left, without their knowledge.
Yes, she became part of the
50's Beat Generation.
And the "Tune In, Drop Out of
Work Nation."
Both parents, several years
later at a total loss, when she
sported a huge peace symbol!
And an Indian headband,such
a zany daughter, looking always
for a new struggle?
She finally settled down, moving
to the West Coast.
Where they found out, she was
having far more fun than most.
They wanted her back in the
boring Midwest!
Alas, she had fallen in love with
the gods of individuality and
wildness.
The Black Sheep found ultimate
happiness you see, in being
beholden to no one.
She, the Black Sheep, found her
home, heart, life and her love,
most assuredly!
Under the glorious, amber lights
of the Golden Gate Bridge on the
wings of a sea gull!
She, in her free and glorious state,
baptized him....poetry!
July 14,2019
10:30 pm
Entered in Anthony Slausin's Contest..
"Black Sheep"
There once was a silly Billy
Who fancied a certain filly
But horsing around
He suddenly found
She sported a bigger willie
Put on a happy face
when I release taut fingers
from your pallid cheeks.
Promises and empty lies
are sported clichés
that spoil a silenced vocabulary.
A quieted understanding we've
vocally committed to;
barks a matted-jackal’s constitution -
perceiving morose consequences
of blind subservience.
Put on a happy face
and fetch me dinner.
Ever flickering nuances,
once ignited a Brigadooned morning sunrise -
where woolen-blackened comforters
backlit our sordid differences.
Now, our prom attire has been burned.
The carnations, the orchids - have perished.
The beguine hasn’t begun.
It has ended.
Finalized and fortunately forgotten.
A pale orchid-colored icepack,
for your left eye,
would match your handbag and shoes
quite nicely.
Put on a happy face
and lint-guard the
disheveled derelict.
Forever falling forward, we've suddenly landed.
No need for saline solution anymore;
I cry when I hap hazardously laugh.
A silenced vocabulary realized the words
tryst and trust was separated by one letter;
why or you…or me, for that matter
completes the unfinished symphony.
The disenchanted beguine
floats into a tear-filled
Cinderella dank nightfall –
as I stare into the cornea of a
brittled pink carnation.
My hand, like a fringed strop,
needs to remove the strains of
a “Mea-Culpa” leitmotif and flog
the iniquities of one’s self.
Put on a happy face, goddamnit
and tell me
why you’re gone!
Toasted marshmallows is a perfume
created for misguided Girls Scouts.
Fervent mongrels who refrain from selling
photo-pressed carnations and
poisonous orchids - dumbly courtsey
when idiotic
adolescent daydreams prevail upon
the blatantly obvious.
Thirteen stitches
and a numerous array
of callous welts
reprised our endless beguine.
Passion is said to perish in embers.
One last charcoal
for us
to eye and envy.
A burnt carnation.
A scarred, trembling orchid.
The smoldering remains we'll inhale -
when this lost and lonely
soldier removes the
smudged greasepaint from
his broken fingertips and eyelashes
to painfully and pitifully
put on a happy face
just for you.
it was the week after Christmas,
the one when fate had granted me my fondest wish,.....
(a lustrous, ruby-red, Schwinn bicycle that sported a basket in the front, and a bell to ring.)
On that cold, late December night, I'll always remember how suddenly the sky was stained by the color of alarm
My young mother leaving her warm bed at three in the morning
without tying her robe, rousing us all with calm haste
Deep red reflections seeped through mud-splashed window screens
as she shooed us like sheep, down raw-grained stairs.
She pushed us from behind with her two hands,
out the door, and onto a frost-slick back porch,
into the wee hours of early light.
By then, wide-eyed, we stood and watched the fire from a safe distance,
as it consumed our garage. And, my bike.
From the frame of the doorway, and the top step's narrow slat
she enveloped me in her folds of chenille to keep me from shivering.
The cool of her hand on my shoulders,
watching my dad in his attempt with a hose,
to douse the inferno,
all the while, in a faltering voice, warning him to keep safe.
Sounds of sirens wailed in the distance
When I looked up into her face, with anxious eyes
I remember her soft, reassuring voice
"Hush now, don't cry"
"Everything will be alright."
I don't remember much after that,
except looking down, at her bare feet
turning blue in the cold
_____________________________________________________________
When Philadelphians wanted to see a basketball game,
the “Warriors” was their first team’s name.
They had several players achieving great fame.
Familiar names included Joe Fulks and Paul Arizin.
They were joined by Tom Gola and Wilt Chamberlain.
However, it was in the year of 1962
when the NBA franchise packed up and bid adieu.
The only professional team Philadelphia would know,
moved their operations to San Francisco.
Therefore, Philadelphia was without a team for a year.
However, the Syracuse Nationals relocated here.
In the City of Brotherly Love, they took a new name.
The “Seventy-Sixers” were now playing the game.
They traded to bring Wilt Chamberlain back.
The offense sported a formidable attack.
Among the big names that were playing here,
were Chet Walker, Luke Jackson, and Hal Greer.
The city’s basketball fans were in seventh heaven
when their team became world champions in 1967.
My parents’ repeated refrain -
“Money doesn’t grow on trees.”
In my dreams, a lush tree grew
with leaves of high numbers,
nothing under a twenty.
On our 25th Anniversary,
our church threw
a surprise party.
After the pot-luck dinner,
a gaily wrapped gift box
sported a top slit, waving
a bit of green. As we pulled,
a chain of bills roped up
through the slot, coiling
ribbons of green.
I had seen “Money Trees”
as special occasion gifts,
but for the one and only
time, we experienced the gift
of “Money in a Box.”
Resurrection Sunday
Written: by Tom Wright
For Easter 2016
The Cross, the Tomb, the Resurrection,
Often Easter thoughts stray from these events.
But the most important message to me,
Is Easter and what this Holiday represents.
It isn’t about eggs and chocolate bunnies,
Or in the finery that might be sported.
But an empty tomb that should say it all,
For Jesus’ body was from there transported.
Jesus is alive and has ascended into Heaven,
And at the Father's right hand He now sits.
Thereby making intercession on my behalf,
From my earthly transgressions He acquits.
That is why I've invested all my hopes in Him,
Shock and grief sets in as I mull the cross.
For from there comes my strength each day,
He took to the cross on his back, my dross.