Best Staples Poems
Who'd have thought words make them react like this,
failing to see my wit, just the unattractiveness.
An eye for crudeness that'll overpower the humorous.
I'm sure within their brain a tumour lives.
Has your face ever felt the force of a fist?
It'll twist your perception like a contortionist,
because offence and pain aint two of the same.
One requires staples so that the blood's contained,
the other's just a thought you'd rather not maintain.
I get that neither are a source used to entertain,
but at the end of the day crudeness aint pain.
Offence is just a nuisance you choose to refuse,
it aint a scar, a cut or a bruise.
Scars are something you can never remove,
but when I got mine I made jokes that amused.
So can you help me now please and give me some clues,
when I'd been hit by a knuckle duster I was less confused.
Do you really feel pain when I'm crude and rude?
Please explain how words upset and leave you offended.
How does it feel and how do you end it?
Is it just simple natural sounds that you can't stand?
Compare that to soldiers losing limbs and can't stand.
If this is you I've just one thing to say my friend,
your life is easy if words drive you around the bend.
POTD
5/7/2018
Age gracefully…that’s what I’ll do
Going to ignore the lines, how about you?
Inner beauty is what really counts
I happen to love my drooping mounts
Absolutely no Botox or fillers for me
Another varicose vein, Yipee
I’ll learn to love myself, no matter what
I will forever have my untucked gut
Graceful and elegant, that’s what I am
I will tell those cosmetic companies to scram
Lip plumping or lipo…no darn way!
And as for my hair…I will let it go gray
Facelifts are for the weak, you know
I happen to adore the feet of the crow
I’ll snub my reflection, chuckling a little at me…
For shunning pricey moisturizers provides me with glee
I don’t need any convertible or flashy car
My beauty shines really brightly, from afar
Who cares about the rolls, seeming to multiply each day?
No staples for me, I don’t care what I weigh
Dark circles make my eyes look cute
And those saddlebags are really a hoot
Juvederm and Radiance ….what a waste
On this mug, parentheses DO have a place
Lasik-I sincerely think not
That bifocal look is certainly hot
A new boytoy-There will be none of that
Though I’m sure he’d dig my charming back fat
The bell, oh no, I don’t mean to be crass
I guess I dozed off in Algebra Class
I must have been close to 40 in that frightful dream
And I was just about to let off a really loud scream
Nevertheless, my dear friends, I do so solemnly vow
To go off and age gracefully…at least for now
That's right...no need for the third degree
I promise to not get my first brow lift…until I’m at least 23
I'll never forget the date, the nineteenth of November
It's etched firmly in my mind, and I'll always remember
It was the day that I had my spinal decompression surgery
And hopefully it would put an end to over a year of misery.
I was struggling to walk, and it was depressing for me
And it was especially frustrating for all my close family
I couldn't go cycling or for walks in the countryside
I just wanted to stay at home and from the world hide.
My journey started with physio, but exercise caused me pain
And I couldn't help but wonder if I'd ever be the same again
My MRI scan showed trapped nerves at the base of my spine
I opted for surgery and the surgeon reassured me I'd be fine.
I arrived at the hospital and was under the care of a surgeon
A renowned Consultant Spinal Neurosurgeon, Mr Faizul Hassan
They put surgical socks on me, along with a hospital gown
Then a porter arrived at nine o'clock to take me down.
They put a mask on my face and then I went to sleep
And it was a quarter to one when I was woken by a beep
A nurse then asked me if I wanted a drink of water
And I thought I'm having an op, maybe I'll have it later.
But I'd had my operation, and I didn't feel any leg or back pain
I was so relieved I'd had it done and I could live normally again
The porter took me back to ward one and the nurses were there
It is their kindness I'll never forget and their excellent care.
And all the surgeons too who performed my operation
They've given me my life back; for them I'm full of admiration
And all the porters, admin staff and auxiliary nurses too
They all play a vital part in making dreams come true.
I'm recovering at home now and post op I've got slight pain
I'm so glad to have had it done; I have plenty to gain
My three daughters and my wife are now looking after me
And I consider myself lucky to have such a caring family.
In a fortnight I've got to have staples removed from my back
Then my back won't feel so stiff, and I'll soon be back on track
And I've got to take it easy for a few months and watch what I do
No heavy lifting of any kind and in six weeks return for a review.
Written on the 23rd November 2023
Dedicated to all the staff at the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital in Birmingham. UK.
Along with cadent rhythms of the day,
night crawlers hum like bees around a hive.
Black shadows stretching longer, curve and blend,
to splinter into shards below the bend
Earth swivels axis arms to catch the sun,
and reaches through the depths of sheer chiffon
In languid dusk, a moment we can trust,
to know it will return another day
The sky creates a rim embossed with gold
colliding where cloth staples red to gray
beyond the shade that drapes across the hills
with purple stardust heavens will unfold
But now is time to let light drift away
Our world with weary voice must say so long,
With great anticipation, heads will rest,
tonight when all the tasks are said and done
________________________________________________
Entered in Contest:
'PREMIERE CONTEST NO 145,ANY FORM OR NONE,ANY THEME,UPTO A MAX OF 20 lines' Sponsor Brian Strand
I must admit that I ain't very handy with hammer and nails,
And am hopelessly at sea when figurin' technical details.
As to fixin' things with fancy tools, I haven't a clue,
But I'm a whiz at usin' duct tape, balin' wire and super glue!
Tho' it's somewhat unwieldly and it sure ain't too ornate,
Balin' wire can be used in an emergency as hinges for a gate!
'Tis perfect for securin' the droopin' bumper on my automobile,
And for supportin' the saggin' muffler, balin' wire is ideal!
No doubt you'll bond at least two fingers together, 'tis true,
But, Oh! The myriad of things to be fixed with super glue!
'Tis good for repairin' artificial teeth when in a pinch,
And for mendin' broken shards and earrings, 'tis a cinch!
How can we ever thank the feller who invented duct tape enough!
It holds the universe together! Life without it would be tough!
It'll patch anything, gag a spouse, keep a man's toupee in place;
Why! It was even used to repair Apollo 13 in outer space!
With these marvels of the modern age I can tackle any situation,
Fixin' things with simple application and heady innovation.
Why should I be thwarted usin' nails, screws, staples and such,
When duct tape, super glue and balin' wire are my sturdy crutch!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
I walk the street.
The street of The American Nightmare.
The moon is gone, no stars shine tonight.
The smog and ash are too thick.
The homeless gather to stay warm in their alleys.
Among them lie broken bottles, broken boxes's,
broken boards, broken dreams, broken lives.
The sidewalk is cold cracked concrete.
The gutters are filled with filth and the tears of many.
The streetlights are dim and tilt and sway,
like the minds of politicians.
The houses hold within them the hearts of the,
hopeless and the helpless.
The Market sells the Grand Illusion of the,
Capitalist.
The park is empty and forgotten,
like the wallet of the common American.
Yet, still I walk.
I am not afraid!
[May 1, 2013 S. Staples St. - This poem turned the tide of my life for the better]
Written: February 26, 2025, for Antony Biaanco Contest
*************************
City hum drifts through spurious ways,
teeming in a wild, woody ward.
The jasmine vine twists down to
a jagged sill for a moment before
sinking into a cool, katabatic pit.
Early rush-hour sounds—farts and snorts—
cram the air, moments blending
into the drive-by without a stroll,
as rain-soaked, worn stone slabs
Mark the corner store—
where you used to grab milk,
soap, or other staples.
The chill of an icy night—
gives way to a sun-kissed morning glow.
Sitting at my desk, chatting on the phone,
canceling appointments for the boss.
He’s staying a little longer in Honolulu,
musing over which states—
the neighbors moved to.
Do they remember how
crabgrass took over?
The streets are empty except—
for a fridge that somehow
made it to the avenue,
lingering there,
its story is low and uncertain.
Does this questionable life count?
We can’t amend it,
it won’t yield precious plums,
only a mournful structure,
shadows lurking,
and worn trousers that tell tales.
The horizon lies obscured—
by haphazard highways,
stretching into stark,
barren spaces,
where even the flowers have wilted.
Countless scorched dreams,
strained savings,
and buried letters—
linger in forgotten corners.
The fire hydrant no longer
cries out for the world.
"Honky Chateau" continues to compel—
as it meanders the sporadic streets,
streets cloaked in anonymity—
and emptied of life.
The dwindling dirge of
a forsaken place hangs heavily,
with dreams dangling—
in line for food stamps
and community cheese.
Buildings shatter, splinter, and crumble—
crashing, crushing, collapsing
submerged with rivers of fire within.
Crisis tamed,
calamity curtailed,
the police stroll in pairs,
collecting discarded shopping carts.
Dust gently falls—
as yesterday's laments hush
the pigeons to sleep,
mold mingling with the memory—
of barbecued ribs,
those hardened bones
left since last year.
Haiku 81
yielding to the blade...
arc traced on his left forearm
surgeon’s staples
We'd made a dawn start that day, following in his footsteps, as
apparently Jesus used to get up early.
Our group had gathered for a reading, and to pray, along with
fruit and cereals our first staples of the day.
The good Lord had gifted us a painted morning of Coeruleum blue,
and a warm spiced breeze flossed my smile.
I turned and watched the city for a while.
Amidst the pink and beige jigsaw of the old city, the Dome of the rock
had caught the morning rays and was now bragging about it,
shamelessly blinging,
competing with the shouts of Minarets
and Church bells ringing.
Few things can compete with an Israel morning, but you did.
Perched like an Owl on a low wall, cross-legged, your head moved
from side to side, scanning the mount, sharing our glass,
drinking the moment.
You wore white cotton, an arm hung with beads, an evil eye bracelet
and what looked like a Kara, glistening.
Styled by the Gods, with three quarters of a straw hat
wedged in the bricks.
And then I found myself before you,
Lord knows how, and I was trying to remember how my mouth worked.
Your head cocked to one side you watched me for a while
then nodded me a soft hello, and finished with a smile.
Ice broken, we gathered intelligence- you, a 'gap year Guerilla'
on a global reconnaissance , armed with just a shoulder bag and a credit card.
Me, a lapsed Catholic with an empty soul, seeking a childhood faith long discarded.
A shout from the tour guide burst our intimate bubble and I retreated,
backwards, gesturing, as if in the presence of a Shah.
She waved back, almost lost her balance, and a gust of wind would
have placed her gently among the sleeping of the Kidron
if she hadn't grabbed her hat.
And that was that.
I went back to the wall that evening, and the following morning,
I don't know why- she'd be bathed in the rose of Petra by then.
For a short time I was bereft, and stood, fittingly, before the
Basilica of the Agony, and then sat on our wall,
to watch the chosen wake up.
I think my soul woke a little, just then.
For God had left me with a little bit of love.
Unrequited, but worth hanging on to ,
worth building on.
It's been thirty five years, and in those occasional quiet places
I still think of you
For contest 'Love in a far off place', sponsored by Frank Herrera
22nd July 2015
"Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it." - Confucious
All she could see were her scars.
Painted perfectly upon her chest like
a river flowing to her sadness.
Scars are proof of pain and pain is
proof of sorrow. No sorrow could
compare to the sorrow she held
deep inside after the mastectomy.
Slashes across her chest where her
breast used to be. Little lines from
the staples that crisscrossed each
other and lingered under her arm.
She fought the fight of breast cancer
and it gave her strength but it also
brought loss of self-esteem. She
never thought she would face such
a tragedy at such a young age.
He held her closely. He laid his loyal
head upon her chest and found
beauty in her scars. They represented
the determination to fight this
disease and she won. There is something
about those scars that gave him a
sense of wonder. She had been his saving
grace and those scars were her saving
grace. They are a prime example of the
fire she was burned from and the healing
of each burn created a miracle. Disguised
under each line from each incision lies a
story. Each story tells a tale of triumph.
The chemotherapy and radiation just
weren’t enough. This disease could have
taken her life, and it did not. Instead, it
gave her hope for a brand new fresh start
with a future of joy, she could carry on with
her little family of three.
See, everything can hold beauty if you
just have faith. All the darkness has light
and all the sorrow can be turned into
happiness. She felt her scars disguised
beautiful marks of a life force energy
that gave her the gift of a vigorous
confidence. Her courage revealed fortitude
as she finally accepted her struggle with
death as a pathway to healing.
Dedicated to all my friends and family who have faced breast cancer. I am in awe of your strength and courage. May peace be with you on your journey.
Beauty In Disguise
January 4, 2017
Silently bathed in avocado,
you soaked in the fragrance of a blanket
At midday, crunched your teeth
into something sweet and yellow,
no flower still no pretty petal;
I’ll make our evening coffee, I’ll make amoretto.
Why is it you liked amaretto
so much? As if the melted avocados
weren’t enough, to stare at petals
in the dark, stained blanket
etherized beneath a star shine yellow
Stare, as I stare at the white crevice: your teeth
that are your smile, your teeth
that become stained with the last sip of amaretto,
stained with our silence and the color yellow.
Like the silver knife who’s blade slips through the avocado,
and I wish for more minutes in a day to sit on this blanket
And more staples in this life to puncture the heart of a petal
Its mushy translucence conveys innocence, oh petal!
How I’d much like to forget and sink, or clap, my teeth
in rage but here upon this blanket
exists no rage. Here is where we sip our amaretto
And can think of nothing but the next bite of avocado
When, failing words, failing thought, a yellow
taxicab honks distantly, barely distinguishable from the yellow
buzzing bee in my hair. Swiftly landing on a nearby petal
whose delicate arms, the juice of the avocado
gently outpours from gaps between our teeth,
lover. Lover of the sky, lover of chocolate, and amaretto.
Lover asleep on cushioned soul of the yellow blanket
baked in brilliance from the sun, yellow blanket
under our footsteps, under our yellow
bodies painted in the sensuous scents of amaretto
with gum like innocence floating over any petal.
Don’t get me started that I need to brush my teeth
When yours are green with Avocado
and leaf, like the print on the blanket, yellow like yonder petal
whose strong scent reaches the taste of my teeth, stained coffee yellow
from the over-indulgence, avocado, amaretto.
Over the years there have been many game shows and some are standouts.
With sport things like baseball, football, basketball, golf, it a good combination.
The game shows of the 50's staples on the game show channels.
Have the makings of the treasured memories that bring us to like our Mom’s perfume called “Channel.”
Things from the past trigger so many of the fond memories.
These game shows have stood the test of time, almost a half century.
Let see Bob Barker started out with a show called “Truth or Consequence.”
That it was a popular game isn’t of question, re-naming a whole town in New Mexico, From Hot Springs leading this game show to its final destination.
Another game, which comes to mind “Candid Camera” not really a game show, a first start I think for what is now reality T.V.
For your enjoyment this was added along with the games shows, another shakes my thoughts, “It’s Your Life” a star studded tribute to a family member or celebrity.
Another first in realty T.V., the memories I see’
These memories are just as vivid today as yesterday.
Some are still among the last standing game shows “Jeopardy” is a main stay.
I sometimes feel that Alex is my long, lost Uncle or something.
The game brings all categories known subjects and teaches a little about important things.
This is what the Holy Bible teaches and professes. In a game show there are dares and challenges.
The legends of the Bible like Sampson, David, Ruth, were all heroes some were even inspired by the Angelica’s.
This only was for real, they played a game of sorts, were commanded by God to show them His will.
And the Book has stood the test of time all through the ages, and is among us still.
If we as humans played ferociously with the intent of studying the Lord’s road map,
The Holy Bible takes you places you could only dream of. Life wouldn’t be a trap.
Loving, caring breath of the Holy Spirit could come upon us all and the real game would begin.
Playing with Our Lord in His Paradise, playing for a better life in Our Savior’s Kingdom.
So enjoy. There is still another game called the “Wheel of Fortune.”
So spin away, win your cars, trips and vacations.
But remember this playing with Our Lord not paying attention to His laws and
edicts.
Will only yield you a life of faltering, the game will be over, and you might be standing outside of Our Father’s precinct.
In our late teens down at the pub
we talked of things we liked.
Rock 'n roll,brunettes and blondes,
Mustangs and Norton Bikes.
Time's moved on and things have changed
and all of this has led
to talk of laying paving slabs and weatherproofing sheds.
Instead of worshipping our favourite bands
like Slade, Led Zep and Bolan
I now find that I hold a torch for the eldest of the Nolans.
Greasy skin and acne were the only things to blight us
long since replaced by varicose veins and rheumatoid arthritis.
The book of life we all must learn has reached the centre page
the staples coldly telling us that we've now reached middle age.
Still, if life is but a long hard race, the TT if you like,
I'm thankful I'm still in it and I ain't come off me bike.
Second Period Ode
Michael, Jaydin, Jin, Ashley, Andre, Ametriyus, J’Maine, Amari, Beijae, Morgan, Dr. Corbin and Mrs. Tobey
O, backpack with your books and pencils and things,
You weigh a ton, but you are my wings.
You carry my stuff wherever I go
But sometimes I wish
That you could stay home.
You are the hump on my back,
Like a camel in the desert.
In reality you are my treasure.
You carry my dreams to the ocean of knowledge.
You’re my path to success,
My key to college.
You used to be shiny and new
but
now you are heavy and dirty too.
With duct tape and staples to keep you together
You are full of promises and hope
And I’ll keep you forever.
I hate you now, you did me wrong
I did you till the cows came home,
My friend called and said, ‘’she was through with you’’,
And I was jealous because, "I was weak, and didn't
Have the wherewithal to walk away.!
Now my best friend is leaving me with you.
Leaving me to crave you all alone.
I should have been gone...
You took away some of my ‘’top of the list folks’’-
With your too sweet facade, and I still held on.
Why did I stay? It was your sweet
Soothing ways, comforting me,
Calling me from out of my sleep to rendezvous with you.
I have lost my taste for you.
I am trying to get away from you.
Large portions, ‘’too much sugar for a dime’’.
Killing myself for the desire of you,
Addicted to the thrills you bring.
Sweet thing, I want to hate you.
Sugar, I am trying to hate you it’s simple
I heard that once I let you into my system, you’ll start to cohort
with the enemy and promote cancer inside of my temple.
Sugar, I am done with you; unlike my friends;
I am not willing to die for your, sugary appeal.
Word is you cheat, you like to sneak around inside,
Of once healthy snacks, and cause heart attacks,
Causing joint inflammation and arthritis pain.
Crippling me as you hide in eatable staples,
Appearing as safe. I will spit you out at the table!
I hate you now sweetie- trick no good ...
Don't care that you’re refined:
Never again “knowingly “will I swallow you:
Only for you to consume me as a killer treat.
Sugar" I am dumping you for honey,
And ‘’ my honey can go in raw’’.
‘’ my honey’’ will keep my company
And I won’t even miss you at all.!
Sweet Thang…