Best Staved Poems
In the Land of Opportunity
Entitlement reared her pretty head
Without a backstop to plain bad luck
Social Security's safety net was spread
Next came the 'War on Poverty'
Food Stamps and ADC
It might have staved off hunger for a bit
But dependency was galvanized, and (yes), obesity
Today there is unprecedented help
for anyone who will only yelp
Free computer classes, GED, ESL too
Guaranteed Job Training programs in high schools
and community colleges, Yahoo!
Yet the percentage of those working has gone down
and dropping most free classes reigns supreme
Seems that 'giving away the farm'
won't bring back the American Dream
It's only one man's unscientific perception ~
but 'teaching a man to fish' still passes inspection
__________________________________________________________
ADC = Aid to Dependent Children
GED = General Education Diploma (Equivalent to High School Diploma)
ESL = English as a Second Language (for immigrants and their children)
Categories:
staved, career, education, money, usa,
Form:
Rhyme
CLEM POTTS AND THE MOON
not a pleasant sound
combining potts with the moon,
but, farm girls had learned
clem potts, in his rustic way,
was quite the village dreamer
lord of the haystack,
when the field was night-flooded,
the cows all asleep,
was he crooning his love theme -
clem potts, wily moon-schemer
her name, clara june
was the prettiest filly
with clem all aswoon
she’d met clem potts at the fair
where he’d won the ‘dog-eat’ fest
forty chili dogs
the last one nearly come up
he could still taste it
the beans, the hot tomatoes
belch without puke, the test
and, by god, he’d won,
had staved off hurl tornado
stored the big rumble
that churning away inside
mixed with green bile and the rest
he was quoting keats -
the moon-streaked straw in her hair -
thinking not those chili dogs,
about to brush clara’s cheek,
bent on a roll in the hay
clem said, “i love you.”
lord when lips formed the last word
clem’s gut did a flip
and the poor young clara june
turned blue from the blast, then gray
If your name is Potts I must apologize, so too if Clara June.
Categories:
staved, humor, humorous,
Form:
Tanka
Yesterday, was an adolescent,
while we where the innocuous fluorescence that lighted up the floral hopes of the sun and transformed it's smile, into a cheerful full moon.
The sky was always brightly dressed up with colourful fireworks, and sometimes it looked overdressed, due to; too much colouration of fireworks lightning outburst.
This graced up our hearts with excessive Christmas diamond feelings.
The environment, was always busy with traditional Masquerading, carol carnivals, religious activities, youthful vigil, commitment vigilance, less happiness on clutches, less money impetuosity, less darkness but more rituals, less churches, less hunger and thunderous envy, less death, more tottering and loitering from mango tree to mango, invading people's gardens for fun.
Back then, the rich neatly did; car racing, house racing, bicycle racing and duck hunt and also watched black and white television,
but all we enjoyably did, was hide and seek, played draft and ludo game, beetle hunt and most importantly; native fowl hunt, because we didn't have to go the markets to buy native fowls, they were plenty not owned fowls to save our black and white hunger.
We also bought plenty things with just one naira note, and the balance kept coming, and we never stopped buying until our pockets purged.
Although, the money was surely more than enough to waste,
but as kids, we never got staved of spending,
this is because everything we saw, looked like waterfalls from heaven.
We took so many childhood risks; we sneaked out of school, and engaged in far journey to other States, to attend trade fairs, without money on us to shop, the only money we always had in pockets, where transport fair, which we have saved for weeks from our feeding money.
Me especially as a teenager, I preferred the forest behind my school than the classroom, because it felt to me, that I understood the language of trees, birds, and crickets, more than that of my classmates and teachers, this made me choose, 'George of the jungle', 'the gods must be crazy' and 'Going Banana' as my most adored movies.
I thunder so sadly,
because never again shall all this youthful moments and feelings, breeze by again like a born again wind.
Categories:
staved, timemoney,
Form:
Free verse
From East to west enslaved in chains
To work the fields, make tracks for trains
They sang their song antiphonally
To dull their day, hide misery
Those blues notes hit in wailing tone
And words about the heavenly home
Their doleful sounds had paved the way
To blues and jazz in later day
Rhythms and chords became complex
Joplin’s ragtime was a great success
For well practiced piano on old upright
Those old time rags are still a delight
New Orleans was where it began
In ghettos for blacks with time on their hands
From morning to night they developed their skills
On trumpets, sax, it staved off their ills
Mastering their instruments with deft virtuosity
Jazzy riffs marked by smart improvisatory
The Mississipi paddle boats chugged their way
Aboard, the sounds of jazz in full sway
Entertaining, with a sense of pride
Scat singing, cross rhythms, boogie and stride
And took their art to far off places
Strutting their stuff, no airs and graces
White bands were now beginning to swing
Inclusion slowly becoming the thing
With time to go, but heading that way
In church, brilliant gospel helped them to pray
Spirituals continued to highlight their plight
Fair treatment becoming within their sight
Jazz continues to wow one and all
In different forms to really enthrall
Miles Davis and Matt Dennis both just the same
With jazz in mind, they played the same game
Blues and jazz have impacted new sounds
As popular as ever its music abounds
Categories:
staved, slavery,
Form:
Light Verse
Blue is the colour, blue is the period, blue is the mood
As Pablo's mind sunk, on the meaning of life he did brood.
The death by his own hand, of a friend that was close
Left Pablo the poor artist quite depressed and morose.
His feelings from deep down within his soul
Could only be expressed by his brush, his goal.
To show how he hurt and affected was he
He painted the guitarist, the one that could not see.
A blind beggar stooped and cold, a guitar in his hands
Not strumming just there, muted background looking bland
Muted colours of blue that makes one feel so cold
Of the half staved, freezing guitarist, that looks terribly old.
The oil tends to blend on the panel lacking some colour
To express his heart weary soul, his colours ever duller
The guitarist is stretched, elongated, looks almost dead
All the feeling of Picasso in his life, this picture said.
Look at me, I am starved of love money and bread
No colour in my life, perhaps I am better off with the dead.
A reflection on the times on society way back then
The hopeless, the wretched, Pablo caught with his pen.
On the bland background of blue, a guitar painted dull brown
The guitar in his hands, the player blind with a sad frown
Was he a symbol that the blind have inner vision yet can see
The dejection, the poverty, the misery of times lost on you and me.
His period of blue lasted three long years before it was then spent
He changed his style with his moods as his emotions were pent
A poor artist who suffered with his moods as we all can do
He expressed them with pen and brush, much the same as me and you.
© 23/01/2013
Contest Entry.
The Old Guitarist By Pablo Picasso
Categories:
staved, art, blue, blue,
Form:
Rhyme
Bounce
on the dead
ending
in dread
no morals saved
great profits staved
Categories:
staved, africa, allusion, america, environment,
Form:
Acrostic
If you fight with fervent heart,
roar of lion from your part,
perhaps true kindness will impart the vengence of a Goddess staved,
the moon now red with the noon's dead,
in your heart I'm sure is dread,for this rite you were not bred,
many times an oracle told: men from feet made of lead
are mercenaries poorly fed; in countless meadows they have bled,
will they toil loyal,paid by your moldy bread?
So go, my foe of woe,wear the royal robe to toe,
and drink the wine bitter slow,
I am Lord of the sword,a righteous king of the horde,
of many Gods I've implored
to smite this monger to the floor,
not for thirst of the gore
but to have a legend's lore,
to protect a People free with me,before you perish it will be!
The priests posture purely now at the front ranks with faces skyward
petitioning to consecrate,
as the cavalry concentrates hard on their horse's fate
feeling the trumpet's terrible,seething sound,
a wilting wind softly weathers the seasoned infantry's instinct
from gaze to green ground,
while they infer the jarring armor jangle of heavy horsemen,
sufficient to strangle reluctance to prostrate,
a low thunder thumps my ears,my spirit leers across,
limbs like gears I raise my battle axe ahigh,
Tepid tepid rain,from whence you came
not the curving cloud but from the adversary's frame,
the color of the warm rain is the magenta stain
of enemy's brain on my horse's mane,
the Bishop busies as assassin,an orthodox art that has always been,
your Knight is nigh,about to die,
J.A.B. Part Two -
Categories:
staved, war,
Form:
Epic
On this peaceful land where we live comfortably
with the neighboring villagers sharing the sun and moon,
stars and clouds, winds and waters, rains and snows;
we sow the seeds on the field, wander in the wilderness
to spot the games to hunt in the changing colors of the flowers
in the time of bloom and fruit and revolving seasons
One day, from the east, crossing over the great sea,
the white feathered gluttonous bird flew into this peaceful land
and took our land by force; the bird cruelly pecked us with his avaricious beak, cold-heartedly tore us with his sharp talons, kept pushing and shoving us eastward, and this vicious cycle drove us into tribal wars and at last, Illini
to extinct.
And this moaning butte throwing its shadow on the water
atop of encircling cliffs is the Starved Rock, the site where
the great tragedy took place, all Illini tribesmen lost their lives.
The water of the Illinois River mixed with the tears of the people
who lost everything in the east via this legion for further west,
now moans to ease the spirit of Illini wandering around
the Staved Rock, which is still hungry, in the evening glow
as a soundless requiem.
The water flows embracing sorrowful Rock where:
the mother jumped into the water holding her beloved child,
the village elders who collapsed while upholding tribal pride
followed by the war cry of the warriors who grabbed tomahawk and fought but, alas, fell to enemy’s hand, now is telling the story of their last day
it becomes whirlpool in the very middle of the water.
When the streams small and large come together the following paths
meet and form a pool on the top of this lonely butte on the other side of the river, and dashes into the basin of the waterfall;
some of them fall rapidly into the steep ravine with heartrending cries
some of them drift like slow moving time in deep sorrow
some of them descend to the rocks of level stratum one by one
singing a funeral dirge.
The spirit of Illini drifting along the river
carrying so many sad stories touches the tourists’
heart; stepping on the site of the tragedy
makes tears stand to casual sightseers;
the grief-stricken stories raise the ripples in the river
and leaves a lingering imagery in the eyes and ears of the travelers
Categories:
staved, america, pain, people, river,
Form:
Narrative
Slow released relief from powder coated tablets.
To an ache which seems to never go away.
When I’m fighting to survive each hour, each day
I will take whatever comfort I can salvage.
My veins once rich with vital fluids
My skin once not so deathly in complexion
The recipient of my fixation
Turned inward on what I’m consuming.
For a few moments of brief relief
I’m condemned to greater sufferings.
There is a line you should not cross, and I
Have recklessly passed it countless times.
For what little anguish I have staved
Away, I have matched in dirt for my grave
Categories:
staved, abuse, addiction, introspection, pain,
Form:
Sonnet
In olden times things were saved or repaired
Old dresses stitched, boots and barrels staved
Worn-out clothing used as rags
No plastic wrap or bags
People believed in “A stitch in time saves nine” dictum
“Use and throw’ was a distant dream
I was the versatile commoner, the flour sack.
Branded with different names,
And stamped with names in purple, blue and gold
String sewn on the top pulled and seen.
Children used me as a school bag.
A man’s pillow, woman’s sleeping gown.
Or even a mail bag, or shopping bag
Constantly ready to serve, young and old.
All the time, at all the places.
Now lying in a deserted bunkhouse in a range
Still preserving the things of my master-ranger.
==========================================
Date 11-23-13
Dr. Ram Mehta
First Place win
Contest: Whatever Happened to Flour Shacks by Judy Konos
Categories:
staved, inspirational,
Form:
Personification
They say it did not happen
That we did not really see
The horror's and the sadness
That the Holocaust would be
They say it's just not true
That there was never any plan
To kill every boy and girl, woman and Jewish man
They say they were simply, casualties of a violent war
But the proof is there for us to see
In what they had in store
There are pictures of the death camps
Of the survivors thin and pale
Of the ovens that were fired
And the smell of death so stale
In the mass graves that littered the land
In the experiments that they documented so freely
In the letters from loved ones, long gone
In the asset's seized
And to the victor went the spoils
As the Jewish people died, staved and toiled
In the concentration camps
With names we should always keep in mind
Auschwitz
Belzec
Bergen-Belsen
Buchanwald
Chelmno
Dachau
Flossenburg
Majdanek
Mauthausen and Gusen
Ravesbruk
Sachsenhausen
Sobibor
and Treblinka
Like letters of the alphabet
Should be stored in memory for all time
Yes, they try to say it was not real
That it was all a lie
That six million Jewish people did not really die
But the simple truth lies waiting for the world to find
So remember our history
Pass it down your family line
Our children now so far removed from these tragic times
Need to have reminders
To ensure that they don't develop blinders
To the evil that filled the land
And of the dictator Hitler with all his mass destruction plans
Yes, it did happen
No matter what they do or say
History can never be erased
As long as we remember it that way
So for all the lives and families that the Holocaust destroyed
We must continue to remember the suffering and the pain
So we can be prepared should such evil call on us again
Lest we forget
And others will die
As evil is the only thing that could tell such a lie!
Categories:
staved, death, life, loss, death,
Form:
I was blinded to the autonomy
Of the actions committed in the time
Moonfall hesitated, and did not see
Malice in the eyes that were naught to be mine.
The crescent curves of a smile's sliver;
Indecision of skin, rancid and smooth;
Plush sentences congeal as I quiver;
Thoughts so careless, teeth dripping wir'y sooth.
My sight could not pierce nightfall-scathingly
Battened down were my mind and eyes, depraved
by sour medicine dreams filling me,
Unwillingly, with satire not staved.
The birr which I painted your portrait with
Disenchanted my world, a cause for death.
Categories:
staved, allegory, angst, devotion, life,
Form:
Sonnet
A breathy sigh that moved the air
encircled us with lusty flair.
Its sweet and tender brush of love
Left unsaid our intention there.
Some deep and thoughtful bold assertion
Drew us closer into it's glare
And staved away intrusion of all others
Lest they disturb the passion bared.
And sweet the savory music flowed
Around, about, above, below
Until we floated on the brink
Of true love's kiss and knowing wink.
Love speaks to us on deeper levels
Where mere words can not communicate.
How strong the pull of your embrace
And sweetly tinted kiss upon your face.
Each breathy sigh wafts through space
No matter where you go from me.
My heart knows each step you take,
And when you think of me
Every breath is shared with you
Every moment of love in tune;
Each sacred dream we share together,
And hope for futures yet unplanned,
Caress the air with sweet perfume
To pull us closer back together.
Because our love remains strong and true,
I dare not take a breath without you.
Categories:
staved, devotion, kiss, love, relationship,
Form:
Free verse
As I awoke this morning with
an urge to write
of nothing in particular, I thought
of endings I have written of before.
and of the many times nostalgia
that I hated as a youth, settled once again
upon its throne of reverie
and I, weak-spirited, would welcome it
again, my mindless old reward
for having staved-off dying
one or two more years. This flimsy
basket filled with tear-stained baubles
still so comforting, how cliche-worn...
No! Centuries not yet come or gone,
will tremble in the wake
of one last handshake that I made,
one final, intense gaze into the eyes
of someone you might never even know,
go in the archive of creation--
and its opposites!
Those, too, were hands that engaged mine,
focused eyes upon a moment
binding me forever in the sweep of history
as breath and cataclysm each prevail
and joins the line of march.
Comfort indeed that here is not
the arbiter of truth. Here I am fed,
and the uncertainty is my sustainer.
I too tremble with the dawn, and in
my sleep-logged mind I trace again
the little moments when I sighted Paradise
and quickly left because it was
too much. Now they are gone.
I no longer see these last things
in my basket, yet I know they live
somewhere. I sense them,
feel their strange intensity
and stranger still, their fortitude
revealed in my prophetic daydreams
of a life beyond the grave.
Or then, perhaps, an astral prophecy
of now?
~
Categories:
staved, nostalgia,
Form:
Free verse
We knaves had orders both explicit and dumb:
Scare the blazes out of a management bum.
Thunderstorm weather rocked wide Prince William Sound,
Feisty gales pouring rain all around.
My partner and I took our overseer
In a tiny smoker craft quite rough to steer.
Motoring south, mighty gusts drove us to shore
We staved off sandstone rocks with long wooden oars.
Back to the channel against gusts we did plow.
Our passenger sat white-knuckled in the bow.
We rounded the curve of our wind whipped north shore
To enter Danger Island Strait's tidal bore.
Roller coaster billows rose twenty feet high
Then dropped into wallows roofed only by sky
At bottom our boat swirled among kelp and rocks
Our passenger appeared as a stunned ox.
Through the passage stood our island’s south cliff face
Pacific waves raged, clawing cliffs to deface.
Our passenger’s eyes set to leap into space,
My partner asked about a smooth landing place.
Sad faced I said, “High tide is still hours away
No place for our boat above the surf today.”
Our passengers’ face seemed as if borax bleached
Praying our tiny craft was soon to be beached.
We rocked and rolled daring Danger Island’s sway
Then motored up our channel, heading camp’s way
We fought the frenzied wind and staved off the rocks
Our management friend quietly clutched his socks.
Nodding, we grinned sideways as if to gloat
As we bailed our boat simply to stay afloat.
But when ornery orcas bumped our frail boat
One gave us the eye; we croaked cries from tight throats.
Our urban client raced to the cook tent door.
While we pulled our craft above the tidal bore.
When we got to the tent for our rum and tea
Our client had downed high proof rums one, two, three.
Categories:
staved, animal, boat, drink, fear,
Form:
Rhyme