Best Straight Off Poems
She sits perched, like a gorgeous gargoyle, upon the boulder
splotched with spots of mint chocolate ice cream moss - the wind tasting
her lovely locks as if it were spicy cinnamon straight off the tree.
It excites the senses (to put it frankly) watching her gaze
pierce the sapphire roof of the world
with a challenge to be met.
Or was it the twinkle in her smile
that shone like polished ivory, reminding me of the legalities
of elephantine tusks, and the slippery slope of falling
for that gracious grin and hallowed hope.
It could just be, she's got a lasso on my heart,
that takes delight in my vertigo - flipping and flopping
much like an oval shaped wheel.
I'd ask her to grease the hinges, or go back to the drawing board,
but to tell the truth - it adds character to the path
digging dangerously into the dirt dutifully
causing a spray of pebbles to the face of normalcy.
It could just be, that letting go ain't in her vocabulary,
reeling me in like a big fish story in one of those backwater
little ponds, that spawn such discrepancy.
I'd say she's a catch, but that would be cheesy
(though that does bring to mind her chef-like tendencies,
plopping strawberries on my tongue with little tidbits
of Wisconsin sharp cheddar)
It could just be, that life according to Miss Ooh-La-La
couldn't get any better ...
... then again it could just be
I'm waxing eloquently.
The sweet girl’s name is Heather
Wispy…light as a feather
She read my first rhyme
She thought it sublime
Her words bring sunny weather
Straight off she made me a fav
My little heart she did save
She liked what she read
My starved heart she fed
A boost to my soul she gave
Oh Heather, this one's for you
You're a sweetheart through and through
You’re eyes sparkle bright
You light up this site
You’re a dear friend tried and true!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Some time ago, I was going through my first poems trying to find something out when I came upon this post from Heather on my very first poem published here, Dying Young:
"Oh, wow, Eileen... This is heartbreaking. I've had thoughts like these before. I am adding this to my faves - and I'm adding you to my fave poets list! You are awesome!"
Today I was reminded of it, and I just want to thank Heather personally for being so kind to a new poetess! How absolutely sweet. :) She is adorable, yes? And with one accord they all gave a resounding...."YES!"
she is the sun...spraying rays of light like bullets into my body and my brain
locked up tighter than a refugee rider on a south bound suicide train
straight off the tracks
swimming in sulfer, sweat pouring off my back
she slays and slashes burns and bashes
she comes divine but leaves like doom
shooting stars that crack the invincible dome
she's the one
she is a star...like a laser beam in my bad dreams
she screams across the universe
she comes like a blessing and leaves like a curse
she's a meteorite burning up my skies
with x-ray vision and an x-rated mind
she rips the disguise off my face and it falls
luna de loco...all alone
she's the one'
she is the moon...hunting me like a warewolf of wicked desire
i can't escape her fury i can't escape her fire
like metal to a magnet and a moth to a flame
she haunts me and hurts me
she's a predator stalking her prey
she crushes my soul and she knows she won
like tornados twisting tons
she's the one
she is the wind...she comes like a breeze with coolness and ease
she whirls around spinning until i fall to my knees
she picks up speed with terror and unholy dysfunction
she's a dragon of destruction
she rips holes in my heart as i'm spun in fear frenzies
she murders the masses behind rose colored lenses
she slays my senses 1000 miles an hour fast in her spiritual blender
wasted and recycled she sweeps me off to hades where her mad flowers bloom
lost in her love forever, now like a napkin i fold
a million times this tale has been told
she's the one
Just North of South Carolina
Is where this country boy was born
All I really cared in those growing years
Was the running through woods kind of fun
Those days I fondly remember
There's no way you can bad mouth the South
With water up to our knees chasing crawfish in creeks
And anything else nature would allow
Even squirrel hunting as younguns
So my Granny could make us a pie
No secret better kept than eating straight off the land
Whether it was squirrels or apples to find
Granny always made delicious pies
Always in church every Sunday
Paying the Lord his due respects
For all that we have and all that he gives
Plus for the forgiveness of sins
Then after church when there weren't no chores
We'd kiss and tell our parents goodbye
They'd not see us again till we heard the bell ring
Come about supper time
There's something that's to be said about being a kid
Growing up down in the South
Where there's no better time below the Mason Dixon line
But that you'd have to find out for yourself
Birdsong wakens me at the crack of dawn
I try hard to get back to sleep until the early morn
Heading for the bathroom I ‘tinkle’ on the loo
On rousing I think its something that most people do!
Straight off to the kitchen and I turn the kettle on
I hear the button ‘click’ then make a cup of tea for one
The toaster pops up and I spread jam on the toasted bread
I always have some breakfast so I can face the day ahead
The radio greets me with news, some happy and some bad
Tragic events across the globe make me oh so very sad
I run the bath and relax then splash in the soapy bubbles
Wash away my cares and de-stress from my life troubles
Then after I get dressed I slam shut the front door
I’m off to supervise exams; it’s a job that I adore
My car engine purrs softly during my trip to work
I sing along to the radio, I sound a complete berk!
Into the exam room hall we creep and get it all prepared
Soon student’s sit in silence – some of them look so scared!
I dash off to the grocery store; tills bleep as they are really busy
The music in the shop is so loud it makes me feel quite dizzy
Soon I am home again and its time to prepare our tea
Steaks sizzling in the pan for my husband and me
I clatter around the kitchen busily clearing up the mess
Carelessly drop a plate on the floor, it shatters I confess
After tea I hear my husband loudly snoring away!!
These are a few sounds I have heard during my day
Sounds of the Day Contest Sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron
06~18~16
I was sitting in my room,
Looking at the stars,
When all of a sudden,
I thought I saw Mars,
I went out of the house,
And looked all around,
I got into my rocket ship,
Straight off the ground.
Milky Way Dairy,
Here I come,
My pockets are full,
To spend on my tum.
Oh, gosh how many
People are here,
Guess I’ll have to queue,
That’s pretty clear
I got out of my ship,
And saw the rotator,
I turned and saw a
Wow kind of waiter,
A strange looking alien,
And laden with shakes,
And to my relief,
I also see choc. Flakes!
The stools are actually ,
Floating in mid-air,
And the waiters mingle
Around, with such flair.
I say to the waiter I’ll
Have a Sundae, Oh
Never mind,
Make that a Monday!
What a menu this is,
And oh what a choice,
After spending my money
I’ll have no voice!
But truly folks,
The Milky Way is a treat,
And you come by Rocket ship,
Such a cool feat!
Take the family there,
And on arrival you’ll find,
A Drive-thru and menu
That’s One of a kind!
So first take a left,
And then a sharp right,
And the Milky way Dairy,
Is almost in sight!
And there in the skies,
And amongst all the stars,
Lies a dream world of Sundaes,
Flakes and Milky bars.
I entered this contest yesterday as a re-post but noticed today it was not on my list of poems so did the necessary.
Re-entry from a posted poem from APRIL 2019
POEM COMPETITION : Nonsense Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Charles Messina
2021/09/12
With your two feet, you’re sure to go
Anywhere from, anywhere to
Though time would pass more than you do
You’re sure that home would welcome you
Steadily sped, along each path
Slowly you move, your breadth in guard
No engine fails or fluids leak,
No rubber burnt, or tyres weak
Through harsh sunshine, better when mild
Or in the snow, not the fierce kind
Anywhere from, anywhere to,
With your two feet, you’re sure to go
With your two feet you’re sure to go
Just hit the road before cock-crow
First, loneliness would be your friend
Till sun would rise from the east end
In race, fast steps, or faltering
That’s what your speed would determine
No refill stops and no car wash
No traffic jams, no police stops
Straight off, you go, steadily so
One pact between you and the road
Just hit the road before cock-crow
With your two feet, you’re sure to go.
I wake up at 7:30 sharp, to
The static of my alarm clock
No discernable noise except for
My own voice whispering, "Today
is The Day."
I could crawl back into bed and pretend
Not to have heard; I could instead pretend
To fall back into my dreams. That way,
I can at least ignore the truth for another hour
Or more.
At some point, but not now, I will have to wake and
Tell you that I don't love you anymore, and hang
Up to the sound of you hating me. And what a shame,
Because you just
Couldn't wait to see me. At last, your Little Lottie will
Prove to be the traitor you never thought she'd be.
I hear the sound of morning, it sounds like daybreak mourning
For the
Promises I made that I can't bear to keep. I regret the day I ever
Said I swore never to leave. I toss and turn until finally, there's no
Doubt that I am awake. I tiptoe through my day as if on eggshells,
Flinching
When you call. I close my bedroom door, throw my pillow on the floor
Take a seat, and learn firsthand the language of goodbye. I stumble
Through my speech, hear you begging me. You don't understand
How I could
Even go through with such a thing. At your house, it must be World War III
But for the first time all day, I feel myself breathe. The weight of you just rolls
Straight off of me, and for the first time in weeks, I can fall fast asleep. And though
Your world
Just falls apart, I become eerily whole, as if I never needed you, not once, not at all.
No offense, but I'm just so relieved, because as of today, June 18th, I find
That I'll survive completely fine
Like fire burning sturdy wood, I won't
Waste your time or mine
Here's another straight off the bat,
some people will construde this as rap.
but its much more than that...
Its a window of opportunity,
my own little immunity.
From the disease which is community.
The conformity is overwhelming,
catagorised like shelving.
We can be bought, I'm just delving...
Deeper into the conditioning,
Cos i heard!! ya wasn't listening.
even tho your just visiting.
Its a day to remember, this star is glistening.
you've been waiting for a supernova.
The death of me, its never over.
Here is where I leave my legacy.
Fear not my recipe,
If followed correctly ya won't worry about the mess that we...
have made.
Eating grapes on the vine while being carried
was once a prime example of hedonism.
Only a king could live like that,
some fat guy with a crown of laurels,
a real Julius Caesar type.
In my room,
the storage spaces are as empty
as the amount of dirty laundry scattered about the floor is large.
On my desk:
assignments,
old plays,
empty notebooks,
drug paraphernalia,
music ranging from blues to punk in formats ranging from cd to record,
pills with my name on em’,
a black wool cap with holes in it,
a 10’ TV I never got working,
and my glass chess set
is broken on the ground beneath.
In the kitchen,
I run my finger lightly down my granite counter tops that dad bought me
creating a large mass of ash on my nail.
I blow what I can into the atmosphere
and save the rest for waking up tomorrow.
In my fridge,
I hold milk
and a large suckling pig with an apple in its mouth.
Occasionally I will bathe the pig in the milk
if that wasn't obvious.
A pig is good and all but I would never eat a whole pig.
I throw out the leftovers.
In my freezer,
I have TV dinners stacked to the brim.
All kinds I’m sure.
I like TV dinners because even though you gotta heat em’ up,
they last forever,
and they come with a tray.
You don’t have to use a paper plate.
You still have to use plastic utensils though.
I kind of consider myself a foodie,
I will eat a limb straight off of a living creature
if I see one large enough.
And what am I
but a typical
American,
college
grunt.
Form:
Baby the future is now.
No belt needed.
When you hold the crown.
When you get home.
You know it's going down.
Roses as you walk in.
Candles lit.
You know I'm about to put it down.
Straight off the stove.
It's your favorite dish.
Hot bubble bath running.
As I kiss dessert off your lips.
Body soaked when you step out.
Damn, you looking fine.
You strut to the bedroom.
I'm about to make that body mine.
I start at your neck.
With a hand on your breasts.
Slowly kiss down your body.
On that inner thigh I carress.
Flip you over and start kissing your back.
Give you a little massage.
I know you feeling that.
Flip you back to the front.
Roll my tongue in between your legs.
I know exactly what you want.
I feel you grabbing my head.
I tell you don't rush baby.
It's better with the wait.
This stache and goatee.
Ain't come from running away.
You crack a smile while I eat.
I don't have to see your face.
Legs clinched around my head.
I know it's time to clean my plate.
You throw me on the bed.
You hop on top.
Start bouncing and screaming.
I know you're about to pop.
I push you down more.
I know you can take it.
Girl that's number 4.
I got your body shakin.
You ask for the doggy.
That's your favorite position.
Switch after switch.
We've done every position.
A true workout.
Both of our bodies aching.
We can barely move.
Our legs are quaking.
Here's another book.
We just turned the page in.
This is the story about real love makin.
Form:
The Toymakers Toy
I thought once Pinocchios strings had been cut,
his wooden body turned to flesh
and he became ‘real’
Yet, I have been cut loose from my strings,
only to be left feeling numb,
and raw?
I feel as though I have landed,
like a twig that’s been thrown by a child.
And am now, Just Waiting
Waiting, to be trodden on.
I was gifted a voice,
by the fairy godmother herself.
But given no volume
Or words to speak.
My ears however, have to listen.
my eyes unable to close,
my control centre never sleeps,
My tastebuds completely frozen.
My vunerable heart,
placed outside of my chest.
With no love or protection,
Just the echo of my masters voice.
The clinking of chains
Secured to my wrists,
clogging My arteries,
And, Starving my veins.
each breath is harder,
like grissle that's been gnawed,
straight off a bone,
By a ferocious beast.
A broken toy,
with a soul.
that is wanting to be real.
To find Giuseppe
and be loved,
not wooden with strings.
I read in the newspaper:- "The police,
Are looking for a young impudent rapist."
I called them straight off- "I'm ready for job!"
But - was roughly rejected by an arrogant snob.
MOSCOW SHOP GIRL’S ANGER
Never knew quite what wind blew up her skirt
Maybe the way I dressed or my shoe’s unbrushed dirt
Like a woman scorned, her fury knew no bounds
Like when the fox has successfully eluded the hounds
The tongue-lashing was the first salvo in her armament
Couldn’t even get a word in to show my disagreement
Oh but the extremes of modulation in her voice tone
Made me glad I could see her and not just be on the phone
For the facial gestures and the eyelash lashes she performed
Were an accompaniment not to miss in her tirade as she stormed
Through Act I into Act II when the hands on hips were a prelude
To a theatrical show that simply had to be viewed
Then the head was tossed several times for effect
And the brushed hair floated around in a circle perfect
I’m sure the audience was rapt and about to applaud
Had they not seen something about her display which was flawed
Her rhetorical questions, her cleft sentences, her exclamation marks
Left no impression on her target, like smiling at a dog that barks
This guy, they thought, must be deaf, dumb and blind
To be so unimpressed by a prima donna performance of this kind?
Maybe he is straight off the funny farm and unaware of her sarcasm?
Or perhaps he has a weak constitution and is about to have a spasm?
They had no inkling and neither did she : the reason for my lack of discussion
Was simply that I didn’t understand her spoken Russian.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ... . . . . . . . . . ..
Entered in Andrea's Contest
SHOW ME THE FUNNY PART TWO
at the mission in the Bowery
when the addict comes in at night
they are ushered through electronic doors that
slam shut like a prison
echoing down the hall &
with few people on staff
they make their rounds in the greater part of the shelter
with walkie-talkies hooked to them
but no weapons or defense tools of any kind
which might allow for those spending their evenings
cleaning the laundry of the homeless &
taking care to the best of their ability
of those that the rest of society has left to die
in the garbage bin that is the piss ridden street---
in the emergency room
where those that walk straight off the street are allowed to
keep shelter,
but only shelter,
they need not even give their names &
they are not hassled by the help---
they remain huddled together
nodding off in a stupor
with the staff checking on this specific room
every 15 minutes
with the hope that no one has drifted off to an overdose---
those with the walkies also have a needle on them at all times
which contains a good dose of adrenaline &
after gratuitous exercises upon being hired,
of shoving the needle into a ripe orange
over & over
(as if this is supposed to prepare you for shoving it in a human being
who has just overdosed),
they are told to be on the ready
for such a moment to arise
when they will need to use it---
upon entering the emergency room,
those who have come in off the streets often,
having no respect for those with jobs & lives that
they can no longer even imagine, or perhaps from a greater disdain for
society as a whole,
they often ridicule the help,
cursing at them,
maybe not even conscious that they are doing so &
it is all in a night’s work to ignore or tolerate these insults
to the best of one’s ability
in hope that they are not struck or physically attacked
because an adrenaline needle & a walkie-talkie
isn’t going to stop someone who has nothing left in the world but
rage.