Best Steinbeck Poems
We harvested the grapes in late autumn
when ripeness of love was at its best,
but deceit in the time of maturing
changed the passion to wrath and unrest.
Acerbic vinegar replaced sweet wine
and richness of flavour ceased to be mine.
Betrayed was the pledge of a tender vine.
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Syllable count: 10-9-10-9 10-10-10
Rhyme Scheme: a b c b d d d
Novel: Grapes of Wrath (John Steinbeck)
Contest: Titles of Novels
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Placed 3rd
© paul callus ~ 10 June 2016
Categories:
steinbeck, betrayal, lost love,
Form:
Rhyme
We farmers are sliding deeper into the hole.
The drought has caused a devastating dust bowl.
Unlike the Joads who moved out the California,
this family wants to keep its feet in Oklahoma.
Failures of the crops has really been a pain.
Can’t the Almighty be merciful and bring rain?
What we see is another dry and desolate day.
The only thing we have left to do is pray.
If the rain finally comes and brings an end to this,
the very ground we walk upon is what I will kiss.
Based upon the novel “The Grapes of Wrath” by John Steinbeck
Categories:
steinbeck, family, rain,
Form:
Rhyme
I have found what I consider a great prize:
In an oyster was a pearl of enormous size.
The villagers have all flocked around me.
This great jewel is what they have come to see.
This could bring my wife and I some money.
Now, I can see a future for our baby.
However, my once friendly neighbors hate me.
My wife and I are victims of their jealousy.
They are trying to get my pearl out of trickery.
Having no value is what they want to convince me.
For medical care, they demanded I pay.
My baby got very sick and died the other day.
Bad luck and misfortune have hounded us all the way.
This pearl is unlucky and not welcome anymore.
I will throw it back into the water where I found it before.
Based on the short story “The Pearl” by the late John Steinbeck.
March 15, 2013
Categories:
steinbeck, adventure, grief, wife,
Form:
Rhyme
Once there was an end of the war in sight,
they built their John Steinbeck ship,
hoisted the Ayn Rand flag
and sailed to the promised land.
Upon the honeyed shore, there she was,
their old enemy, milky arms wide open in welcome.
Blood and spit dripping from her mouth, she said,
kindness isn't a two-way street.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: 17 / 11 / 2016
Categories:
steinbeck, allusion, immigration, journey, perspective,
Form:
Free verse
I wish Cesar was here
now
Someone who know how important
farm workers are, giving them a strong
voice,
You got to see this empire
and how it has exploited all the life
that built it,
And all the money spent to fight needless
wars,
And all the reasons why the rich invest
all their money in stocks and bonds,
And maybe try working in the fields
just for a day
And they grow wild flowers and
when the honey bees come in
they sing aleluya
just because they are wild
I just wish you trouble yourself
to know, that they know
that they are no different
that you
Aleluya Aleluya Aleluya
tell me about math
tell me about
all this life in the universe
I just wish
you cared enough to
worry about thee
Like Cesar, and John Steinbeck
did.
Is that even possible
Trust me when I tell you this
Aleluya yes it is.
Peace!
Categories:
steinbeck, america, analogy, anniversary,
Form:
Choka
4 matches left
for John Steinbeck @ Annabel Lee@of course E.A.POE
Chickens; a roaring rooster
An old house filled with flys
and many bugs
Many Mexican neighbor
Friend
no water no elec
No Amends
Romans 11: 29
" For the gifts and calling of GOD are without repentance"
Cold beer sometimes-mostly hot
and a cheap cigar
Romans 12:9
dissimulation means Hypocrisy-Scornful-psalm1vs1
Noise heat sweat no work no shower no money no respect
NO REGRET
nO FAMILY NO CHURCH
A FEW RARE FRIENDS
I WILL NOT USE
Enlightenment
I AM embedded in a bunker on the front...
Know I Love You and all the little Children too...
I do not like Zealots who work for money!
I like people that work for GOD
Categories:
steinbeck, baptism,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
In youth I learned to jump
First off steps, then rooftops
Spirit of adventure
Nurtured in the heart of a child
Preschool acrobat twirling on my head
Grandma swatted my bottom
Repeated words like Tomboy
Never learned to be ladylike
Catholic school discipline
Uniforms, religion classes, daily mass
Never satisfied with any accomplishment
Even the nuns called me “perfectionist”
Blessed with storytellers in my family
Dad and sis would send me to dreamland
On the wings of a unicorn
Or Shakespeare’s amazing plays
Family and friends I hold dear
Each has influenced my thinking
I learned to offer support in troubled times
And to thank God every day for special people
Unable to have children
The most crushing blow
Accepted at a young age
But rued for a lifetime
Lover of Jack London, John Steinbeck
From Jack, I found adventure
From John, I learned compassion
Dickinson’s poetry touched my heart
If I can find a way
To make a friend feel joy
Then this is my mission
Comforter, nurturer
November 16, 2020
For Silent One’s “It's a part of me - Life and the perceptions and philosophies you hold Poetry Contest.”
Categories:
steinbeck, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
She was half past metrical
quarter nonsensical theatrics,
bordered south of burbled oddities,
fashioned herself enigmatically stated
whorling an overly zealous lexicon,
recklessly aimed for macrocosmos
bust a rhyme on defeated asphalt,
whereupon she never ceased to
waver from gumption's potential
'tween vast illusions of poetry
“The writer must believe that what he is
doing is the most important thing in the
world. And he must hold to this illusion
even when he knows it is not true.”
John Steinbeck
Categories:
steinbeck, crazy, hyperbole, identity, muse,
Form:
Free verse
John Steinbeck won the Nobel and Pulitzer prize
For his stories about struggles of the common man
His novel “The Grapes of Wrath” will bring tears to your eyes
As a family in the Great Depression seeks new land
Although Shakespeare’s comedies are still enjoyed today
Romeo and Juliet’s tale of star-crossed lovers
Grabs the reader’s heart and renders so much dismay
A powerful cathartic relief is discovered
Comedies give laughs that last only for a moment
While tragedies often leave a deeper impression
The characters and their stories seem far more potent
They stay with us longer and lead to introspection
Although we delight in O’Henry’s witty stories
The impact of tragedies remains with us always
*For Dr. Ram’s “Tragedy Is More Enjoyable than Comedy” contest
Categories:
steinbeck, on writing and words
Form:
Sonnet
“A dying people tolerates the present, rejects the future, and finds its satisfactions in past greatness and half-remembered glory.”
“A strong man makes a weak people. A strong people don’t need a strong man.”
John Steinbeck (Nobel Prize 1962)
for the DEAD in the Struggle for EELAM
I
Ages from now, let it not be said:
Blood spills only as brother dies.
Ages from now, let not peace be bled
By chances lost now in sighs.
To the high nor low slams the door
To him who seeks the Law and more.
Take, take the Golden Mean way!
Truth your only key, don’t ever slay!
Where the elephant roams un-tethered free,
The familiar myna will echo carefree
Words of yore buried in sacred memory:
One breed, one species carved in ivory.
No greater fear simmers in the lowlands
Than the stealth of brother against brother;
No higher disdain festers in the highlands
Than vengeance lying in wait for the other.
II
Think not of the promises made and broken,
Think only of the time lost and forsaken.
Every hour, every day, a life blown or taken;
Every month, every year, a people woe-driven.
To the high nor low slams the door
To him who seeks the Law and more.
Take, take the Golden Mean path!
Truth your only key, never the lathe!
Think of Prince Paranirupasingham who to succour
King Jayavira’s queen, to Kandy, fled his throne:
Abandoned to court intrigue, schemes and wiles encore:
A princely retreat, a physician’s penance alone.
First governor, then regent, the last Jaffna King Cankili
Learnt best the conqueror's cruel art of slaughter;
Then, fired by the local converts' iniquitous treachery,
Revolted too late, his head the butt of lofty laughter.
Think of C.P. Ramanathan the island’s cause to defend
Sailed over choppy seas past wild submarines
To raise the nation’s flag in the court of the Empire’s den,
His homeward chariot drawn by one peoples’ teens.
(...continued in Parts 3 to 5)
Categories:
steinbeck, political, brother, lost, people,
Form:
Quatrain
will it pass this way again?
nobody knows because the community
library
has to many paperbacks and the clouds
to many sins.
will twain swirl in the rain?
will steinbeck hit the deck?
will it pass?
will a folk singer from the north play the
harmonica
piss into a gutter and give some simple
remedy?
Now there is baptist marmalade in the
sun.
Now there is rye bread in the oven,
but in a cafe on main street
there is still.....
black coffee.
white porcelain cups.
thick calloused fingers.
all the regulars gathered there just like
every other day.
an old tv flickers over the counter just off
to the left of a
warped mirror that has labor union and
mason stickers
from the early 90s on it.
Categories:
steinbeck, absence,
Form:
Blank verse
The Library (Words to the Wise)
Shhhhh! No talking strictly enforced!
Most folks abide, except children, of course
And those who can’t read, don’t care, or don’t want
Goof off in the corners, or sneeze
As sharp, darting eyes of librarians haunt
Do you think you can do as you please?
The wisdom of giants exudes from the walls
Words that amaze, mesmerize, and enthrall
Lie untouched, undusted, forgot, and unseen
For racks of harlequin romance
Replaced in small minds by pulp magazines,
The classics have lost their last chance
Mindless amusement is what the world craves
Poe and Lord Byron must cringe in their graves
Dickens and Tolstoy and Steinbeck don’t matter
Now Paris and Brittany rule
All lost in celebrity gossip and chatter
The true kings and queens look the fool
But one in a thousand sees past all the fluff
They pass by the newspaper comics and stuff
To linger and learn from some eloquent master
Igniting a dazzling epiphany
A small step for culture to detour disaster
And rise above kitsch and banality.
Categories:
steinbeck, education, on writing and
Form:
Clark Griswold, what a dumb fool you are.
Who wants to drive across the country in a car?
California from Chicago is a bit too far.
You were duped by a car salesman’s chicanery.
That Wagon Queen Truckster is so damned ugly.
Was your traveling worth it to see the scenery?
The trip cost you too much of your money.
This escapade was a big burden on your family.
How you went to such extremes.
The park’s closing got you angry, it seems.
Have you ever read “The Grapes of Wrath” by John Steinbeck?
If you read this book, you would not have made your trek.
Based on the film "National Lampoon's Vacation"
Categories:
steinbeck, family, holiday, travel,
Form:
Rhyme
As death mimics love itself and clutch a throbbing heart,
kindling consolation to savor flight, farther and farther
beyond the inner yelps released as vibrating soar easily,
stimulating stress to execute its portion and naught idle,
merely trounce its climatic claim with an uttered gasp.
Exhale nor inhale as a soul embarks anew venture upon
a road that seems less traveled, albeit, a much-traveled
road, nonetheless, deliberating back to that grey hued
frame, thoroughly placed in peace, smiling at once was a
vestige of their former self as hands clasp naught wave.
The hours, the days, the years, all appear as if time itself
is naught placed on hold, but practically be nonexistent,
then again, seeing the circumstances unfold, obviously,
one will be able to grasp that there is no other direction
of a skyless opaque mist, except a harmonious presence.
As distinction advents and all be so unique and naught
strange, more and more a glide into the everlasting light
and that the glorious manifestation established hereon,
whereby, one came upon Steinbeck as he was sitting by
vines, beaming, as he was writing, The Grapes of Mirth.
Categories:
steinbeck, death, destiny, happiness, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
What is time?
But a rotation of the planets,
A love gone to the wind,
Or a setting of the sun?
Sometimes we can’t tell the day,
But by the bottle we drink.
Or the books I read,
…Plato, Steinbeck, and old Walts leaves.
What is art?
But a set of statements,
An aesthetic feeling,
Or a theory on communication?
And other times I sit in the wind,
Nostalgic story’s swim in the chaos of thoughts.
A world of energy measured by mass,
To the speed of light,
…Have you ever seen God?
Or a rope strung to the choking of seeds?
Submission,
Submission,
A world I don’t want to keep.
Do you know what it is to hurt?
Love burnt to a gravitational hole,
Failure that sticks like a parasite
…to the bone.
Loss of light,
Loss of touch,
Loss of comprehension,
It hurts so much.
Here we dwell where time has no meaning,
A court of the gods,
With a promised feast
Consumed by gluttonous dogs.
Out in the hills we roam,
Lost like infantile, mad children.
To a hunt of tragedy,
Is the mistake of Cephalus.
Can you feel the cold chill,
The rains of pain?
The wind is our home,
And a soft mad echo
Speaks to us,
…what is it saying?
What does it mean,
To be?
Standing one with nature,
Crouched by a river,
Can we interpret the drones
Of a suburban family?
They speak of regulation,
And hold a working class hero
As the sweets of moderation.
Doesn’t the road of excess
Lead us to the palace of wisdom,
And can’t we say truth
Is but of a relative nature?
But behold,
I believe in a long
Derangement of the senses
To
Obtain
The
Unknown.
Though, What is life?
Art, poetry, a figment of the imagination.
The skeptic concludes
To a weak will.
The artist spins a love
Of
Degradation.
The contemplative
Reaches the of height of formation.
The meaning,
What is reason for the meaning?
A will, a thought, a spinning of a thread,
Or,
The fabrics of dread.
Two paths, one entity,
A system from a creed of deities.
Can you speak when I say,
“Reckless abandonment,
Deranged lonely nights,
Failed plains inside the mind.
So useless to try,
The common misperceptions of what’s right,
And the twinkle of tears gone by,
…Welcome to life.”
Categories:
steinbeck, philosophyworld, love,
Form: