Best Stop Dead Poems
~*~
Close your eyes
To your surprise
Wake up never recognized..
Time beyond the looking glass
Nonchalantly travels past
Without a single question asked..
Judgmental eyes stare in vain
A victim of a curious brain
Begin at the beginning then start again..
Like falling down a rabbit hole
With no control
Inquisitiveness starts to take its toll..
Smiling felines and parties with tea
Shedding enough tears to fill a sea
Back to the door without a key..
Big and small and big again
Decks of cards march like men
Remorseful innocence not knowing where or when..
Painted red roses lined up in a bed
Screams from a sovereign "Off with her head"
Once ticking hands abruptly stop dead..
Have I gone crazy?
Am I insane?
“Curiouser and curiouser!”
Again and again........
~*~
For..Dream On Free Poetry Contest Details
Debbie Guzzi
There is a woodpile in my in-laws’ cellar, and some coal, but other rumored things also.
And it has been there a long time since anyone tripped down these broken concrete steps.
Maybe twenty or thirty years; we inherited this home a long time ago.
We have sold it four times on contract,
which has fallen through again.
My husband is not here,
He cannot take it.
But I can, so I take a couple of steps,
Until I get within a foot, when I stop dead as
I can smell the mold through the three-inch door.
The rumor is that there are treasures down there.
I do not know. We were never allowed near this cellar door.
Now I am sixty-six, so technically old enough to go down into this cobwebby den,
But I can smell the mold through the door.
So I back up and rest in an old lawn chair, left by one of the people who thought they
were buying the house before they decided to desert it.
I can still smell the mold, so I back up a bit further, the sun on my face, my feet leaning against a gentle lavender clover.
I am terrified of mold, as I am an asthmatic, and mold could trigger some awfulness in me.
So here I sit, staring as others wander in and out, poking among dusty things
That are disintegrating as they are being brought out into the sun.
Other relatives are coughing; trying to breathe as they haul green and brown stuff out,
Most indistinguishable as real things at first or second glance.
Most needing a power washing, that would completely decimate it.
Maybe she had the right idea, one says, pointing at me, as I lie here, soaking
Up the sun rays. I take off my shoes and push my toes into the clover.
Then I turn my face up, letting the sun hit my nose.
Are you kidding? A teenager yells. This treasure hunt is great!
She runs back down the steps to haul out more loot that her prissy mother
Will never let her take in the car, let alone in the house.
I know because I am prissy girl’s mother.
So here I sit, in a falling-apart green lawn chair, watching the show.
Thinking how my mother-in-law is probably up in heaven laughing, as she too
Smells the mold through that cellar door.
TWIN BUILDERS
Took a break from years of research
And worked in a small town building a new church.
Local priest there resembled me, so they said.
Old ladies in the post office would stop dead
And tell me about their addict-son in court.
Folks out of hospital would thank me for my support.
So I went to the old church one day to see this guy:
Once seen, I could understand the reason why:
Holy Mackerel, he had same hair, eyes, height -
Everything, including my coat and jeans too tight.
First thing he said (after “My son” ) was
How tired he was of people asking him the cause
Of their leaky roof or how to extend a room.
I said anybody can help fix buildings; but only some
Can help fix souls. How strange that we two
Were both busy building up the church anew.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Entered in Matt Caliri’s Contest “Doppelganger”
Walking along from the public house late that night
My lantern giving just a little light
My thoughts as I walked, was I very late?
The time unimportant the year eighteen thirty-eight.
A scream I heard, from a far off distance.
Commotion coming my way, do I make a stance?
A lone figure running towards me, I stop dead in my tracks.
Do I move aside or run away, or even turn right back.
My lamp is only a candle; its light is very dim.
I see a tall figure with glowing red eyes; he is tall and very thin.
With a hooked nose and ears, those look as if they are pointed
He bounds past in the lamp light, with a hood and cloak appointed.
I know not what it is, but to me it looks very evil.
Wrapped in cloak with hideous looks, I am sure it is the devil.
The mob that is chasing it, finds me standing in their way
With cudgels and with pitchforks, but they let me have my say.
Satisfied it was not me, the chase begins once again.
I join the mob in the chase; my heart begins to feels the strain.
We chase the devil along a dark narrow path hoping it makes a gaff
We catch up and corner him, he gives a demonic laugh.
The devil turns to the mob; he’s trapped by a fifteen foot hedge.
His laugh rings out his claws are drawn, silver talons, light glistening on the edge.
One of the mob shoots at him, but the devil opens his mouth wide.
Blue flames and fire shoot from it, blinding the shooter, who steps aside.
The devil leaps the hedge with a great agility
I am aghast with fear and shock, a demonic laugh reaches me.
We stand not knowing what it was, will it be coming back?
A voice from the mob, whispers you know what…
That was spring heeled Jack
Spring Heeled Jack was seen during the time of Jack the Ripper in the streets of London in 1838.
There's a moose a loose with a duck on his back!
If you see them stop dead in your tracks.
Do not engage, for they will fight back.
The moose made a slingshot out of his rack.
If you are naive and turn your back;
Moose will sling duck hard and fast.
Popping your butt with a very loud crack.
Leaving you with a duck stuck in your quack.
The jealous wife
Just an ordinary day
Lost in my own thoughts
I think of you
What happened to us?
Where did it all go wrong?
I take a walk into town and stop dead on my feet
I see you, with a woman
Kissing, like you used to kiss me
In that moment, my world fell apart
I knew nothing would ever be the same
Somersaults churn in my stomach
I feel sick, I hate you, I hate her
I want to slap her for being so beautiful
Enticing my husband away
For destroying me, my life and my family
You stood beside me
At the altar in front of all we know dear
Professed your undying love for me
I believed every single word
We were so in love then, I adored you with ever fibre
But you changed
Became distant and quiet
Denied that anything was wrong
But now I know where you really were
Your mind thinking only of her
You caress her long golden locks
With hands meant only for me
I want to rip her from your arms
Tear her hair from its roots
But my feet remain glued to the ground
I see that it’s too late now
There is no going back, no second chances
You betrayed my love, my trust and my soul
I cannot forgive you ever, our bond has been broken
Our marriage is over, of that I am sure
She can have you, your dirty washing and bad moods
She can have the pleasure of wondering where you are
If you mean what you say with such tenderness
If you have more secrets, like she was before
If you’re making a fool of her, like you did me
You made me look an absolute fool
Kissing another woman openly in our town
Family and friends at every corner
Plenty witnessing your adultery
Do you have no shame, or want to get caught?
Knowledge is power my love
I won’t be the last one to know
Of one thing you can be sure
You have just lost everything dear
I refuse to be made a fool out of any more
There once was a donkey called Tommy
Who the kids all thought was funny.
The icecream van he would reach,
when giving rides at the beach.
Then stop dead 'till they all got a lolly.
I frown into the mirror.
What happened?
Yesterday, we were newlyweds.”
"Fifty years ago," he says.
“You lost half a century.”
There's my husband, slouching
in the recliner, thinning hair,
frayed collar, expanding stomach.
A slow smile spreads across my face.
I sidle over, plop into his lap,
and sling my arm around his neck.
"Remember Great Falls, fishing
in the Missouri River until sunset,
A & W root beer in frozen mugs?
“How about that May snowstorm
in Yellowstone, or camping in Canada,
our sleeping bags zipped together as one?
Or Holder Lake, Bird Woman Falls,
and fishing in a stream no wider
than this chair we’re sitting in?
“Remember our two parakeets,
perched above everything we owned
in that forty-nine Chevy coupe
on the trip home to Missouri?
Or the car, stop-dead in Roundup,
Montana, leaving us stranded
for three days, waiting for parts?
“”I remember that sexy redhead,”
he says. “What happened to her?”
“Not sure, but I think she ran off
with a pot-bellied old man.”
Stars moving in the night
A strange happening, a strange sight!
I watch in trepidation or puzzled freight?
There's something else out there beyond the night.
A cold stillness fills the air
I see them moving now as a pair
They seem to stop dead in mid air
Stars or something else yet unknown?
I see the pair blend into a single moving flare
I see the light change from white to blue
A mist surrounds it, shone by the moon.
The blue light moves away
I know it's not human or of our age
It moves so fast vertically
Disappearing instantly.
my feet punch the dull, rugged pavement as I slink down the cool quiet night with only the harsh stale lamp to highlight my way ahead. A presence is felt as the hairs on the back of my neck come to a stand my heart unconsciously increases in speed, my eyes dart from shadow to shadow as the darkness flies around me, mocking my every move. My pace quickens as I attempt to escape the nightmare, they are chasing me now snatching at me with there thick claws. I've been forced to a sprint. as they draw closer I can feel the cool of there pace against my back as I lurch forward out of there reach. Ahead is a never-ending blanket of silent blackness. I close my eyes and stop dead in my tracks as the darkness engulfs me. It swallows me whole, the suffering has ended.
It’s Maysville Kentucky’s own,
Laurie Ginn writing her poetry.
Snuggled down in the hills,
There’s no other place to be.
With an active happy life,
Her heart overflows with joy.
She loves our Heavenly Father,
And has two 6’2” teen boys.
She has a love for nature,
Being in the midst of conifers.
Hiking deep in the woods,
Is a spiritual experience to her.
Sitting outside under the stars,
Illuminated by the fire’s burning logs.
Listening to the beautiful music,
Created by the crickets and frogs.
No on can leave the campfire,
Until the fire burns out naturally.
For she can stop dead in the road,
Amazed by the beauty of a tree.
With a freedom to love and give,
She aids church and disturbed kids.
And when her music is turned up,
To turn it down she forbids.
Her words flow like the Ohio River,
Poetry Soup showcases her skills.
Her inspiration is all around her,
Nestled in the Kentucky hills.
________________________
This poem is for Laurie Ginn,
a fellow souper and friend.
For her suppotive comments...
The gauntlet run I stop dead, astounded.
How can the dreaded deal have been done?
Songs sung low by thin, wispy, wire lips
Carry the melody of my demise.
All eyes stare up in the night sky.
An amazing red moon stares back.
All these questions, but no real reply.
Red moon, red moon, who are you?
All thoughts of creation stop dead in their tracks.
Cosmic awareness is beginning to show itself.
It's hard to focus on the truth in the cracks.
It's even harder to understand books on the shelf.
All visions are becoming untangled.
Life's awakened realization is in the blood moon.
All sight will be strangled,
The truth shall unleash itself soon.
DEAD END STREET --WHY do dead end roads Exist
"Are you my enemy, if you’re not my friend?
Alternative exit without exit should be posted dead end
When “Google” tells you turn right at the bend
Daylight night time Run Johnny Run gets dark at ten
~
Its GPS systems “Google” shows and tells you the road there
Maybe curb site lodging house in front of thee
As connecting when they actually do not trail, where?
I fell off the rugged deep end plummeting free
~
Keeping wheels on the road round, round you go
Rounded end to facilitated to slow, flow on cul-de-sacs
I driving off the freeway, spinning my way to and fo
Up down alleys down yield, slow, stop, dead end signs surface
~
Disconnected streets filled with trash cans, homeless and police
Crimes and gangs’ darkness rends why do dead end roads exist?
Limit through-traffic in residential areas.
Conjure up visions of quiet suburban bliss,
Curb line barrier curbs sidewalks houses meet barriers
Far removed from dangers and noisy high-speed traffic
~
One with low wages and no hope of promotion
No speeders, skate boarder, permitted on the shoulders
Cul-de-sac deadlock stalemate blank wall blind alley
Catch me if you can you can’t I am running blindly
~
Short street with a bulbous end, or even to the end just a portion
Why do neighborhoods have dead ends?
A long road that is a no-through road and terminates abruptly
All those speed bumps, curbs, Cul-de-sac deadlocks not our friends
~
Dead ends are added to road layouts in urban planning
To limit through-traffic in residential areas no one carrying
Is the dead end a road or street, an alley or sidewalk meet
No through road or no exit road,
Is a street with only one inlet or outlet?
When you come upon a dead end"
11/13/23
DEAD END STREET Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Lawless
Morning arrives, out of bed, coffee beckons,
Pass the hallway mirror, reflection directions.
Stop dead in tracks, return to check the vision
Looking weary despite night's invasion.
Closer inspection of my face
Hair receding but not stopped intrusion
Out of nose and ears, a forest is flourishing.
Need a shave without question,
Vision seems to say you have permission.
Now I realise there are two voices,
Mine I recognise, other not so sure.
Younger man's voice still no recognition
When you signed up for this adventure
Did you believe there would be no questions?
While I struggled for an answer,
Questions flowed from the asker.
Looked around, no one watching,
Decided to join in this session.
When I talk to myself,
Questions are usually answered
With the sense, that makes me happy
This face to face has now turned ugly
Now the vision is of a younger man,
Struggle to understand recognition
I stand in awe at the happening,
Laughter comes from the younger man
I now stand and listen
Life's lessons are being given
Mirror becomes mist covered,
I lean forward and begin to rub.
I freeze and look at two visions
Mam and Dad stand before me.
Ask the questions you did not before
Could not speak, tears flowed
Awoke in bed, it was just a nightmare.
Lay there with the scenes fresh in my head
Kitchen calls, coffee needed
Pass the hallway mirror without a glance
Return to mirror coffee in hand
No vision now seen, not even me.