Best Stack Poems
The Restaurant Menu has a picture.
Three golden brown Pancakes
A large corn colored slice of butter
Melting on top running over the sides.
Griddle Cakes doing a Nathalie Wood impersonation
Drowning in a sea of thick maple syrup
Cartoon like ribbons of aroma rising upward.
The old man made them every Sunday morning before church.
Which he never attended
Black hair slicked back
Partially stained white Dago-Tee
Cigarette dangling from his lips.
The ash worming longer with each Popeye exhale
From the side of his mouth
Large bowl on his left hip
Attacking the batter with grunts of enthusiasm.
Tattoos on his arms flexing larger then smaller
Giving the appearance they were dancing.
Tatted when he was a Cook in the Navy
During World War II.
I imagined him storming the beaches of the South Pacific
With spatula in hand
"Don't need to cut'em with a damn knife.
Use your fork "
He'd holler wrestling the knife from my hand
Then throwing it into the sink.
Slapping the back of my head in anger
No Waitress wait!
I'll have the Waffles instead
With strawberries if you have them.
Yes, Waffles
We never had a Waffle Iron.
a stack of pancakes
add butter pecan syrup
melted butter too!
A dating site,
I checked out,
found some men,
I couldn't figure out.
Some were sitting,
on their scooter so tough,
some had fish,
talking of their luck.
Some were hunters,
with their trophy held high,
while others talked,
about treating them right.
Now I am shocked,
at what some men think,
talking about bars,
and having a drink.
My goal now,
at this stage in life,
is not big fish,
or a fast ride.
I want a companion,
with his head on straight,
one that believes,
Jesus Christ is the way.
A needle in a hay stack,
I know he is there,
and when I find him,
we'll be a perfect pair.
Pulling covers off my back
Lying in this Winter’s sack
Freezing through another night
Dreading the alarm in sight
Looking for a place to park
Morning rush is still so dark
Hoping for a coffee break
Hurry up for heaven’s sake
Hold on, is this just a dream
Not as bad as it may seem
Haven’t I retired yet
Yes indeed I have, you bet
Back to sleep, my bed is warm
Funny how the memories swarm
Pulling covers off my back
Pancakes calling by the stack
My Maltese dog Short Stack barks wildly at animals on TV
And his reflection in the mirror when I hold him up to see
The hamburger helper hand from commercials gets a loud reaction
Either a real or cartoon animal whether moving or having no action
Dogs, chickens, roosters, ducks even people if on all fours
Eddy the Jack Russell from the show Frasier he totally adores
The family guy dog, Brian gets recognition and so does Cesar Milan
The dog whisperer is his all time favorite show that’s why I leave it on
Barking only at characters with similar animal traits I find rather peculiar
Can he actually distinguish between what is and what isn’t familiar
He doesn’t bark at pictures of animals in magazines, photos or a book
Or even at my computer screen of animal videos or photos that I took
Maybe it is real to him because my television is such a large size
I find him mesmerized by the screen as if truly hypnotized
Adorable and hysterical at times this odd dog behavior state
Although I live alone when the TV is on I have a roommate
A thousand page stack
partially filled with my thoughts
eternally empty
I'm a needle in a haystack
walking about among all
never standing tall.
A stick in an ever growing field of flowers.
never a stalk, never any power.
just a lone discarded weed, but i feed
on your unknowing, my unshowing.
until an unblossoming of a true form me
and a society forced to see me,
and try to be me,
the perfect rose.
This business is not as simple as yes, no
and I know, we both want to know,
how our fate will go.
For every happy start,
it’s not a must,
to have a bad ending,
and for every happy start
it’s not a must
to have an ending.
The continuity is well sustained
if we both agree to obtain,
and abstain,
from all other sort of bargains.
A common understanding.
We may need to talk
but am not sure if we can talk
for we are now stack
in this holly Month.
I know I have been acting strange,
you have every right to protest,
but I don’t know what to say,
for admitting a yes or no,
is not in this game.
Form:
if i drop a dine
to am not blind
still it hard to find
if it roll
it may fold
heave knows
where could it be
mabe behined the rack
it like a needle in a
HEY STACK
Poem about Sudbury, Ontario, Canada
There's a sky that's high
where the chimney's higher.
Where the smoke blooms grey
and the winds are drier.
There's a chimney round
with it's white strobe lights,
calling out to planes
through the days and nights.
With a rim in white
and a stack of grey
In the North we say...
It's our home to stay!
players have been black
even though we blew our stack
will return and be coming back
when we would clamor
he hit my head with a hammer
would still be scammer
we will take a peak
all those things we want to seek
bothered by weather which is bleak
when we want to singg
birds we have heard in the spring
song book we should bring
when we sand a song
we had a page which was wrong
on right page belong
at a recital
each song we sang had a title
singing would be vital
brady we forbade
with a plain which was well laid
him be sure to trade
Stack a block upon a block, you need no reason why
Keep on stacking blocks on blocks until they reach the sky
When they reach above your head they’ll seem so very high
But if they topple over there will be no need to cry
Just stack a block upon a block to have another go
But stack them up more carefully and stack them up real slow
And when you stack them higher than they were before, you’ll know
That every time you try again your confidence will grow
So stack a block upon a block, make sure it won’t collapse
Don’t use cement nor sticky tape, don’t use securing straps
Just keep on stacking blocks on blocks and if there’s no mishaps
This time they may well reach the sky, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps
if i drop a dine
to am not blind
still it hard to find
if it roll
it may fold
heave knows
where could it be
mabe behined the rack
it like a needle in a
HEY STACK
Wooòt woooo
Wooot woooo
Hear my train comin' watch the
Hope spew from that smokestack
Oh watch that locomotion comin'
Round the curve
Wooot woooo she got nerve
See that smokestack shinnin'
Brightly like a BOLT OF LIGHTNIN'
STRICKIN'! listen to her singin' on
The track
I'm boardin' the 1137 to
New York City keep your self
Pretty 'til I get back
I'm tellin' you like it is tellin' you
Where it's at there ain't gonna be
No change in me only charm
listen to my train
Pullin' in, look at that solid gold
Smokestack the engine too see the
Moon Beamin' brimmin' with love
For this locomotive
Don't cry I'll be back one day
Ridin' this bright new train I'm
Goin' all the way yeah! look at that
Smoke risin'
Here i come New York City!
I'm comin' to play at the COTTON.
Sprinklin' trumpet notes everywhere I go
Shinnin' Brightly such like a bolt of
Lightnin' strikin'!
That's the smokestack Jack
Look at that baby function
Woooot woooo
Bye bye New Orleans
Farewell bay bee Farewell
And all that Jazz!
Woooot woooo
A quirky young farmer named Ted
Used haystacks instead of a bed.
His wife in due course
Applied for divorce
'For that was the last straw!' she said.
31.08.19
'Make Me Laugh Limerick Contest Poetry Contest' sponsored by Tania Kitchin
syllable count : 88558