Best Stowed Poems
Lace hankie tucked inside her jacket sleeve
Hard candy filled the tin beside Mom’s purse
Gray mournings, nature’s gifts for those who grieve
At times when it seems nothing could be worse
So many dresses filled her closet space
And most of them I’d sewn by hand for her
I folded them as memories gave chase
Recalling the fine fabrics Moms prefer
Her perfume bottle nearly stood half full
Its fragrance still brought thoughts of Mom to me
And when I packed her scarf of finest wool
A teardrop fell that only Dad could see
For as I stowed Mom’s things, my Dad looked on
He knew I’d pack again when he was gone
*January 3, 2020
Autumn's dream of a country road
Where houses are few and moving slowed.
Leaves are turning gold_ red_ burgundy.
Inside a warm home apples are candy.
In a barn or cellar cold winter foods quickly stowed
Against winter's coming and inches snowed.
Autumn dreams of snuggling nights when windy
Breeze carries tune;close by snacks_ hot chocolate handy.
Contest: Autumn's Dream
Sponsor: ^Rick Parise
Click on:
"About This Poem"
Crew of scoundrels, scalawags
Skulls and crossbones, on her flags
Hull held low by money bags
The fruitful Pirate's Lady
Upon her splintered deck they rove
Safely anchored, hidden cove
Her belly stowed with treasure trove
The faithful Pirate's Lady
Treasure hidden, booby traps
Clever riddles, cryptic maps
Soon to return, to ivory caps
So fleet the Pirate's Lady
Sails at full, for seven days
On east horizon, looms her prey
They intercept with cannon fray
The frightful Pirate's Lady
A Sonnet in
~ Iambic Tetrameter ~
At age eighteen he fled his home
Could barely wait, despised his town
To see the world all on his own
He'd wear a smile, no more to frown
He traveled in a makeshift way
Hitched rides in vans and sneaked on trains
When desperate, he stowed away
At times got drenched by gusts of rain
Two years he spent pursuing dreams
Grew wiser as the time crawled by
Found out that life's nor peach nor cream
For home and hearth, began to sigh...
Came back and knocked on his front door
Discovered that 'twas 'home' no more
It occurred by carelessness and mere happenstance.
If I could move, I would stand and perform a victory dance.
Dropped behind the washing machine, sliding down the back.
I am a solitary sock and my color is black.
I lost my partner a few months ago,
paired with another, in the drawer to be stowed.
We didn't get along, entwined and rolled together.
He smelt like dirty feet, especially in hot weather.
I caught glimpses of my old mate, while hanging on the line.
Called out greetings to each other, he seems to be doing fine.
I noticed a small hole, frayed across his tip.
He said the left toe nail was badly in need of a clip.
I've been stuck behind the machine, all covered in dust.
At first happy with my freedom, now leaving is a must.
I know in time I will be found, like Roger, the blue.
He told me about it once when we were doubled in a shoe.
We socks are always blamed for going missing in the wash.
But human carelessness is usually the cause of our loss.
One more thing about us socks, and this is a fact.
We don't like to be folded and rolled, we like to lie flat.
Sinew torqued and bowed as he pressed the weight
Of drudge claimed goods to be stacked and stowed.
The lady claimed that his omnipresent proclivities
Would neither build strength of character nor stature.
Laugh, she did, as she knew the wolverine has left the den,
To build his muscle with more willing obstructions.
The starving dog follows the master who feeds him:
And she, the mistress, always leaves flesh on the bone
so, i got to thinking
about all those words
planted in my language
where fertility grew them
to leave and stalk and pod
the farmer's words scatter
my fields like seed on clod
watered by thundering flashes
awash, fertilized and germinating
progeny seedlings, my own growth
in some time-lapse photography
writhing their creamy roots
into earthy loam and droning
on through a summer daze
into fruits of sweaty labors
on humid chlorophylled days
silks sultry green, stalking me
through rows and rows as far
as i can see, if i squint
the farmer, suspended in time
stands with his hands in pocket
or on some implement toed to soil
and surveys life's prospects
for this season, before the
days bake the green back into
the humus and the cornucopia
spills the field and orchard
this verse of the farmer's song
picked and stowed away cool
eyes closed now, ears gently
strain to hear, worldly phrasing
come from where? my larder
or some ancestor gleaning meaning
and dropping it into her apron
to carry home to hungry minds
to feed them something of today
and sustain them through a fallow
solstice and the chilled breeze
any cultivation harvested over
picked clean and harrowed flat
nearly time to plow it under again
while the farmer gazes the horizon
and sips something in his cup
© Goode Guy 2011-08-22
This sentience where mortal notions dwell
may hide the moral goodness stowed within,
‘tis but a quandary choosing which to quell
when weighing what shall qualify as sin.
The mortal mind may lend to tepid thought
when contemplating ending all mankind.
And, even though morality sees fault,
it still may find its premise misaligned.
For neither goodness nor for evil’s sake
does death consider scruples in its quest.
It thus, depends upon what lies at stake
that puts our mortal morals to the test.
Though rationale attempts to find its place,
this paradox may end the human race.
‘Tis through resolve I harden to withstand
inane commissions of the human mind.
I question why, but fail to understand,
then search for answers that I’ll never find.
I scan these thoughts where evil bides within
then wonder where inside the goodness dwells.
I search in vain to validate the sin
but pray to God divinity prevails.
To reason why is but a conscious fault
that binds the scruples to a moral heart,
for questions why forever may be sought
that never let their clarity impart.
Be not dismayed, the answer is at hand,
as innocence receives the mark of man.
Our path from Eden changed within a breath
when destiny was taken from God’s hand…
and, in an instant, now I am become death,
the destroyer of worlds - deified man.
To be a god that holds the devil’s lease
has placed the weight of Earth upon my soul.
‘Tis but a curse that undermines the peace
as self-destruction seeks its fatal goal.
But treachery left nothing to conceal
when twisted threads of silence came undone.
Now trumpets sound to breach the seventh seal,
for mankind holds the secrets of the Sun.
The apathy of God unleashes fire
as devastation cedes to man’s desire.
Memories often come to mind
through anything that we may find
perhaps, collected in a box
stowed away as time tick tocks
A jewelry box to be exact
is what exemplifies this fact
and as I muse in reverie
I see how much it means to me
A tiny , simple band of gold
bestowed when I was one year old
enclosed in my first birthday card
still lovely now, though a bit scarred
My first initial ring is there
on Onyx, Silver has such flair
the perfect thing I speculate
for any well dressed boy of eight
And then for graduation day
a lovely diamond came my way
it sparkled so to maximize
the gleam of pride in grandma’s eyes
I”ll not forget that Tiger’s Eye
a Christmas gift, the last goodbye
For grandma left us all that year
a sad reminder resting here
So many gems commemorate
the years of love that I restate
they shine as if to speak to me
reflections of my history
The box is full of thoughts renewed
but mostly full of gratitude
with one to add when I retire
I think I’ll buy a Star Sapphire
NOT For contest, wrote this on the beach today and realised I'd wrote over the 20 line max, thought I'd post it anyway.
What follows reads like a tall fishy tale
How I nearly died in a force ten gale
I had hired a boat with my family
For a blissful ten days out on the sea.
All was going well and then came a storm
For this time of year it wasn't the norm
Told the kids to get inside; also my wife
What follows is true, I swear on my life.
A lightning bolt hit the side of the boat
I prayed to God that we would stay afloat
Disaster had struck and the electrics blew
And to get safely home I hadn't a clue .
Now all the family were getting frantic
We were adrift and I tried not to panic
I said "We'll be missed help will come along"
Then I could hear it, a beautiful song.
Looked down into the water and to my surprise
Mermaids swimming I couldn't believe my eyes
Seven beautiful girls all with long hair
I was in shock; all I could do was stare.
One pointed to the side at a coiled rope
Was this even real and was this false hope
Then she motioned again and said to throw
They all grabbed a piece and began to tow.
I must have dozed off and the next I knew
We were being helped by the harbour crew
One said "No power, you came to the docks
And how the hell did you avoid the rocks"?.
My family had slept through it all too
The sea was calm now and the sky was blue
Everyone called me hero of the day
Couldn't find words didn't know what to say .
I held back telling them the true story
It wasn't me that should get the glory
I thought of the rope and how we were towed
On boats side it was coiled and neatly stowed.
How can I forget, I owe them my life
Also my two kids and of course my wife
Mermaids are real I hope you believe me
I saw them that day swimming in the sea.
Written 23rd September 2019.
She was an estranged angel
On the backbone of a boar
She never put her hair up
Was a missile without a war
She broke a wild stallion
With the motion of her hips
She stifled a chameleon
With the color of her lips
She drowned a hundred hearts
With the ocean in her eyes
She never stayed for dinner
Had a trick bag full of lies
She's the chairman of your love
It's the least you stand to lose
Reinvested into futures
The kind you'd never care to chose
She shone just like a savior
To a crowd of men like me
In the dark and dreary alley
She convinced us we'd be free
She locked our souls together
With chain of solid gold
To wander through the streets
Starving, in love, and cold
On rainy nights she'd tell me
Of the millions she would make
We pounded solid granite
Until it'd crack, until it'd break
She delivered forty hammers
On a bull, without a sound
She had hundreds of 'em stowed
Somewhere buried in the ground
We bore our chains and sang it loud
We wrote a thousand songs
God save your children's virgin eyes
From seeing such a throng
She promised me the world inside
A thimble she'd unhide
Upon completion of a house
Built on the black hillside
She promised me so many things
I believe I did lose track
But if I could somehow free these boys
they'd sure be headed back
To living simple there in town
No vixen to demand
Just a table for to drink at
And to play a couple hands
But the hand that feeds the bread
Now riddled so with grubs
Would never be allowing that
A world with beds and tubs
Her power is a mighty thing
That crushes bone and brow
It brings one to believe it right
To stumble, kneel, and bow
We're just too worn and sore
To ever execute our coup
Best rest until the morning comes
There's plenty of work to do
It was the best of tines; it was the worst of tines.
It lay, distraught, in silence on the road.
He came around the curve, saw it too late to swerve;
the puncture caused his front tire to explode.
A silver-plated fork, her lineage was perhaps York;
a heritage of which she’d long lost track.
Her dreams as ballerina, faded like her patina;
now, pits and scars festooned her neck and back.
Her mind played back her fall, the horror of it all;
despairing life, she hoped it would end soon.
At first, upon a dare, burlesque with the flatware,
to end in shame, pimped by a plastic spoon.
Not wanting to be saved, she’d crawled out on the paved,
and waited for the crush when all went flat.
But in that car’s careening, her life took on new meaning;
an unexpected blowout saw to that.
For there, just up ahead, a kitten, surely dead,
was spared as the man slammed upon the brake.
Once stopped, he now could see her mewling pitifully;
he gently scooped her up to calm her shake.
Then, trying not to swear, he wrestled with the spare
and stowed the blown-out tire in the boot.
That’s when he saw her, mangled, her tines all at odd angles,
a fork that placed them all upon this route.
And so with certain care, he also placed her there
beside the kitten, on the padded seat.
Now straightened out and polished, she watches York demolish
the breakfast that her tines scooped out to eat.
—————
for the Metrical Tale Poetry Contest
sponsored by Hilo Poet
written on 01/03/2022
The aria of the sunburst slivers of the sky,
entwined with the cadence of your ivory feet,
winding on the pearl-rolled silver sea shore,
carves the rhythm of your footprint sculpture,
only for a beguiling while,
until scraped by the surge of time tide in spate,
stowed in the depth of the stratified memory,
they are all fossilized since.
I’ll make a sapphire sea of desire in my heart,
its golden beach, a shimmering crystalline face
will radiate the dissolved patina of yearning.
From the mystique mist of azure
the rise of an angel I’ll see astounded,
walking drenched in the crimson aura,
the twilight sky drizzling.
I’ll congeal my racing surf of heart beats,
the aching waves will return unbroken,
your footprints will remain engraved unwashed
on the silent sands of the stalled time,
until I reach you, enthralled,
following the mirage of the tantalizing trail,
the lure of your attraction.
Written : January 19, 2020
Contest : Favourite Poem From January 2020
Sponsor : Julia ward
Somewhere in Paris, there's someone
Saying, "I just hate this place so much!"
I thought I'd surely love it here
But now again it's not enough
Somewhere in the Bahamas
Making sure the blinds are drawn
A maid is busy folding sheets
But what she wants is to be gone
It's a burden being restless
To find that great new place to go
Now you're here and stowed your gear
Is it enough, I don't think so
I'll tell you now, no place is right
If you need some piece of mind
It's not a place, but a person
Your poor heart, aches to find!
I’m Out of Here
(lyrics to be sung by a man about a bad girlfriend)
You tell the world we’re the greatest couple,
but they don’t see what I see behind the scenes.
Your love is just pretend. You always get
your way, and you keep getting it by any means.
There is no give and take – no compromise.
My feelings are irrelevant to you.
You asked me for a love song, pretty please.
Well, I’ve got one about a love untrue.
Yes, “Darling dear,” I’ve had it up to here.
It’s time at last for me to hit the road,
so listen up. I need no backseat driver
nor any of your stuff in my place stowed.
Chorus: I’m out of here; I’m out of here.
My truth I’m no more hiding.
Find yourself another fool.
My coattails you will be
no longer riding.
So there’s your song. I wrote it just like that.
What say you about my little ditty?
Karma is a witch, and you know what?
She’ll find you, and things will not be pretty.
Just try to find another guy like me -
some guy who isn’t lazy, mean or shifty.
I gave my all while you gave nearly nil -
well below the norm of fifty-fifty!
You are a leech that burrowed beneath my skin,
but there are many fish inside the sea.
I’ll be going fishing for a good one,
and in the meantime, I’ll be living free.
Chorus: I’m out of here; I’m out of here.
My truth I’m no more hiding.
Find yourself another fool.
My coattails you will be
no longer riding.