Best Standing Room Only Poems
The west winds of springtime
Brought forth April showers
That rained on the pavements
Of Southwick for hours.
It was standing room only
And full to the brim
As people sought shelter
At the old Tabard Inn.
A man with a top hat
Sat staring in space.
There was illness and sadness
Etched deep in his face.
A man with a fob watch
Was seen swapping gold
For a bottle of whisky
Before facing the cold.
A woman sighed deeply
Then laughed with a guest
While sipping tap water
And winning at chess.
There was no chef so no food
Since that dark violent day
When the innkeeper watched him
Being stretchered away.
So the sailor (being followed)
Missed having his tea,
And drank five pints of real ale
Before leaving for sea.
Having been a journalist for the past forty years, now ready to make my final accord, I had to cover this one last story. My days have been long, and my shuteye has been short. In a small village with a population of a few hundred people, I stopped in the only tavern there to interview some of the patrons. The old rustic looking place had every window broken and no doors left standing. Seeing the faces of the patrons when I stopped in almost told the stories of what they have been witnessing the past few weeks. Most everyone seemed to be shellshocked and afraid. Little talking and silence filled the atmosphere, with the exception of some loud outbursts from the tavern's owner. "Free brew for everyone" he continually shouted! As you can imagine, there was "SRO" (standing room only). So, that being said, it was easy for me to interview most everyone. Everyone had their own versions of what they had witnessed, yet they all seemed very similar. "Death and destruction, death and destruction, death and destruction over and over. I went through a box of tissues hearing their sobbing stories. Again, the owner shouted out- "Free brew for everyone" he gave it out until every last drop of his unique home-made beer with cinnamon and cocoa had been drenched from his kegs. Never had I ever tasted such a fine beer before. it was sadly enjoyable, because I assumed it would be the last of it made for a very long time. "What do you call this wonderful tongue-taster I asked the tender/owner" He replied- My friend, I call it "Death and Destruction"
it was a fine beer
sadness and tears filled their mugs
death and destruction
Bar is standing room only
Poetry reading
Hopefuls and veterans make the scene
Rub shoulders
Drinks in hand
Crowd at the bar
The place closes down
Quietly people move
Like silent shadows
Leaving
Without saying goodbye.
Nighttime
Second Avenue alive
Young people congregate
Hustlers stand on corners
Neon lights twinkle in the night
A few street people
Sit in a doorway
Huddled and lost
Hustle for change
Something to eat
Playing music that only the stars can hear
The beat of the city goes on
Never stopping
Undiminshed
Only the vastness of night
Reminds us
That we belong somewhere.
Some days the trouser snake wont sleep,
he has a simple mind, to take me to the place
men like, that rests with womankind
And in a dance when only twenty, tight
trousers were the rage, young waist and
body pressed to mine he popped out of
his cage
His size increased to take the stage while
girls at side did giggle, to see this creature
kick and jump, to ‘Beatles’ fiesty jiggle
So I sat down while he stood up, I cursed
and swore to kill him, while maiden fair
with thighs of gold pretended not to see him
And later when I walked her home, and asked
her for a date, she answered yes and coyly said,
”Don’t forget your mate”
I find myself sprawled on the floor
Frantically trying to gather the pieces
My heart has been shattered
Jagged, sharp, crimson colored shards
I lay wounded, unaware of my surrounding
The surface is hard and cold, a slab of granite
A crowd of onlookers, strangers stop to stare
They gasp in disbelief at the spectacle
I have a front row seat, standing room only
The sunlight has pierced my soul, I lay exposed
Heartbroken, abandoned, dignity is out the window
I'm holding a bloody big chunk of my heart
I tell myself, breathe in, breath out
I close my eyes, so that I may see with clarity
With eyes closed, the view is breathtaking
Healed, healthy, vibrant and alive
Still with my eyes closed, wide open, I see the crowd
They begin to applaud, then quickly disperse
I become the lone witness as my heart heals itself
As the darkness explodes into sunlight, triumph
Delete sadness. Insert hope.
I hear someone in the crowd singing my song
~Rick Berry
aboard the 71, about halfway down the left side
i sit facing forward, heart leaping as he embarks—
he’s on the way to the grocery store,
or his sister’s house,
or work, but he’s running late;
standing room only
he grabs a handle facing me.
he catches my eye and i his,
waves at me with all five fingers and
i wish to hold them in mine, trace
the outline of the bones in his hand,
look into his eyes deeply,
see what’s true;
two stops later, a seat opens up on the right—
one row ahead.
dark, curly hair.
i take measured glances,
don't stare don't draw unwanted attention.
i want his arms around me,
to look into his eyes some more.
he disembarks.
I'm immobile by deafening chants of my fans.
Mounted on a grand stage draped in humiliation
The arena is packed standing room only
Murmurs of insults produce a grievous boom echoes in my head
You, Me, Someone, Anyone Say Something!
Slashed to pieces by your taunts
Pummeled, pounded, and mauled seeming to erase my exsistence
Cornered, trapped held captive by fear
My cries go unheard ashamed of my weakness
You, Me, Someone, Anyone Say Something!
Branded, labeled gripped daily by hail storms of fist,
bruises, scrapes, stupid, ugly, gay, punk, B!t@#.......
Scar me to the depth of my soul.
You, Me, Someone, Anyone Say Something
Bullying is no longer only on the big screen, it's in our faces
Don't downplay it until it hits home
We are losing to many young lives to BULLYING
The final ACT is.................. DEATH
YOU, ME, SOMEONE, ANYONE SAY SOMETHING!
That’s The Way These Things Go
by Edmund Siejka
I was in a bar
By myself
In one of those places that I hadn’t been to in awhile
And yet still recognized
By the turn of a chin
Or an occasional nod.
The place was busy
The music got louder
When the bartender bought a round.
It was standing room only
But I spotted her in the crowd
The same warm smile
Even white teeth
Brown hair bordering a face
I must have kissed a hundred times.
Someone once said to know someone does not take years
It just takes seconds to realize
That you belong together.
Impulsively I called out to her
True, I was angry when what we had slowly ended
And yet
After all this time
Something inside of me needed
To reach out and hold her again.
We spoke
Our talk was brief as brief can be
Just a hello with some words
Thrown in.
She said,
Too many things had happened
So, she left for the West Coast
Made a new life for herself
And was flying back the next day.
Holding my arm
She kissed me
Surprised,
I stepped back
Our eyes meeting
For the shortest second
And then I knew
She was saying goodbye forever.
Still
I don’t know why
I guess there was no real reason for it
But my heart jumped to my throat
When she walked away.
Suddenly feeling alone
I searched the crowd
Drowning in the noise and empty voices
Wondering why I came here.
Attorney General William
Barr black marker in hand
kept promise to censor vital
details of Mueller Report
swift as Usain Bolt candidly,
grandly, lustrously, roundly
youthfully blocked out more
rapid than an elegant eland
vibrantly, regally, magically,
and gracefully skirts borderland
which favored topography
constitutes grassland or woodland,
far more pleasing to observe,
than reading adulterated brand
of aforementioned compilation,
distillation, edification, fortification
zeroing questionable activity
upon head of trumpeting brigand,
whose arrivistic, bombastic, caustic,
demonic, electric broadband
outsize ego still convinces
me, thee commander in chief
delegated one or more chargehand
perhaps while delighting as
gourmand savoring chateaubriand,
where his best buddies imagined
themselves in seventh heaven cloudland
every so often taking siesta sans repast
or golfing with grisly handicapped clubhand
non verbally communicating,
in viz sub bully taking a peas zing
cues from presidential high command,
which coterie (i.e. den of thieves)
manipulated social media with nefarious,
insidious, deleterious, et cetera
analogous to "FAKE" contraband,
maybe even milking innocent cowhand
unwittingly planting GMO electronic
bugs amidst future bovine fodder cropland
to allow, enable, and jackknife demand
that moost every eligible voter tricked
induced by virtual reality dreamland
with sinister motive for thee "Apprentice"
rule his kingdom, and expand,
realm asper Medieval days
declaring himself chieftain of fatherland
and/ or North American motherland
where naysayers guillotined
by uncontested firebrand,
who without provocation
very likely bomb into Stone Age
formerly edenic, lush, verdant
geography into flatland
rendered hostile, poisonous and uninhabitable
nonetheless radiating for miles with gangland
forced labor tilling barren, desolate, fissured
landscape erecting unsightly grand
standing room only (cause he know Shylock)
terrain (reign) vast highland
manor as poobah, and husband
to his only heiress, the former
a kooky monster from foggy bottom marshland.
I read the news today, oh boy
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,
The fox in is charge of the hen house
Gates are secure but the creature is inside
Feathers fly in helter skelter patterns
“You’ve got to crack a few eggs” is heard
as those who see the commotion, scramble
A dozen or so duck the falling shells,
raining down from straw filled verses,
bland but obviously first in the pecking order,
hoping it all would be over…easy
While over on Broadway a church mouse sings off key
to a blindfolded audience
waiting to applaud until the curtain goes down,
so not to be seen greeting late arrivals
with luggage and tickets
hoping the next show is not sold out
for this standing room only presentation
Fortunately three, maybe four seats still remain unoccupied
as stale nachos and sticky floors beckon
The lights go down and the band strikes up
a rousing intro to what should be a good show,
at least that’s what the old reviews said,
“It was 20 years ago today,
4 stars, brilliantly directed, the best choice
for your daily intake of long haired culture…”
When a tuxedo with a smile and a black carnation
makes its way to center stage
and begins reading backwards,
“I buried Paul”
Boos ring out from the crowd.
“We came here for poetry!” was shouted in unison
But it just kept on, “Number 9, number 9, number 9”
The audience ran for the exit doors (stage left)
and as they hit the streets looking for something better
they encountered a walrus
wearing a sandwich board sign the read,
“Turn me on dead man”
Meanwhile, back at the chicken coop…
In crowded spaces, falling down:
Toward the sky into the ground,
And always landing "out-of-bounds"
As I lie awake on sleeping sounds
No room to dwell in Heaven's Hell,
No lies confessed, nor Truths to tell
The Demon's region, and Poets in legion-
Oh! My words, forever quelled!
The type of place you hear about,
The locals tell you ‘Go check it out.’
The walls trap echos of laughter,
haunting the outdoor heaters long after;
It could be a break up that leads you there,
or the desire for a shot or an ice cold beer;
That’s not all that happens when you find it,
conversations become the addictive habit;
Music fuels the vibe at 2 in the morning;
Come last call? You know you’re not leaving;
People come together, no longer strangers,
turn up the rhythm, we are a force of nature;
A lot like the cars in the parking lot,
packing standing room only at this spot;
You can’t get this press from a promoter,
Just one night; you’ll fall hard for Coasters.
* Sol * * Double Springs Sacred Harp Singing is where voices blend in a harmonious accord We practiced a trio a harp to share Sherburne shape notes rise from the covered Time has flown as we reach the edge of town Little songs everywhere filling air so sweet jumping from the wagon feet hit the ground running ahead never missing a beat Picnic tables a woman holding her child A man nips he thinks no one is looking In church standing room only yet all smiles A flirt in church He’s on the wrong footing he keeps taping the woman on her toes Song leader takes center square grace bestows
I awkwardly, ineptly, and submissively fumbled thru life...,
whereat purposefulness rarely gained traction
Fatherhood (half my life time ago)
bolstered reasonable rhyme
manifesting itself before
these myopic bespectacled eyes.
Infancy, babyhood, and Childhood
evidenced, noticed, and witnessed
adequate basic provisions,
and no shortage of food
engendered dynamic cohesion
allowed, enabled, and provided
"mama's boy" imbued,
and attempted to compensate
being socially withdrawn
posting and answering
personal classified advertisements,
(while marital vows
long since pledged),
now in hindsight such risqué
communiqués juvenile and lewd
sense and sensibility
of healthy emotional, mental
and physical natural maturation
social withdrawal did occlude
invariably classmates found
lack of responsiveness rude.
Additionally, yours truly
never field tested
self reliance skill sets,
but rather overstayed his welcome
livingsocial with parents
at 324 Level Road,
whose patience he sorely tested
ofttimes giving rise
since hashtagged as
dad's infamous midnight lectures
heavily referencing expletives
which vituperative ultimatums
extemporaneously delivered courtesy
paternal linkedin progenitor of mine
when the doomsday clock struck twelve
allowing, enabling, providing
standing room only
promising colorful denunciatory epithets
assaulting, cannonading, firing...
exploding character assassination
verbal thermonuclear bombs squarely
lobbed at unemployed sole son,
his/him offspring afflicted then (three
plus decades ago and now)
with debilitating anxiety/
social panic, palmar hyperhidrosis,
body dysmorphia, and
irritable bowel for starters.
I (a rather meek individual)
stood still as a statue
silently weathering such
blistering, calumniating, excoriating,
fulminating, haranguing brickbats
upon a rather docile doodler with words,
who essentially internalized
torturous barrage vacuous warnings
to shape up or ship out,
which mother and father dearest
doled out their version
of abusive traumatic boot camp
survival mode qualified
as invisible contusions, fractures,
infarctions, lesions, obstructions
and ruinations upon psyche.
In Niagara Falls Canada
Visitors come from all over
To visit this popular site
In the Niagara Falls area
A Niagara Falls site packed
The Lady of The Mist is here
Always a line up for the tour
Rain or shine -people come
Tourist dressed in rain capes
Wait for their tuen on the lady
When The lady of The mist tour
begins
Only a few can go- Standing room only
When she gets closer to the falls
Everyone in their capes
Get soaked by the waterfall
It is part of the fun