Best Strapping Poems
Earth element of wind, elusive to exploring eyes,
a gaseous, gusty ghost, she gyrates- gallops gallantly.
She bashes, bends, and bobs the branches of each bush and tree,
and chases, circles, curls dry fallen leaves so agilely.
We hear her bellow, bawl, and bluster when she's feeling fierce;
soft sounds of swishing, stirring- sighing when serene and tame.
With solid, staunch, and strapping strength, she soon can shift a house
within a raucous, raging, raving, reckless, hurricane.
She cools, controls, composes in the sultry summer heat,
forms wild and wheeling waves with whitecaps on the widespread sea;
a force that's fearless, frantic, sometimes, feeble- frail, she flies,
impermanent, intangible, she soars invisibly.
This ghastly glimmer of great ghostly gumption rushes by,
a force that is not sculpture, shadow, silhouette, or shape.
We feel and hear her apt and awesome atmospheric breath-
until she plans her fast, flirtatious, feathery escape.
March 18, 2016
~1st Place~
Contest: 2019 Poetry Marathon Qualifier's Final Placement
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Judged: 04/20/2019
~1st Place~
Contest: 2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 22
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Judged: 03/08/2019
~1st Place~
Contest: Elements Part 2: Wind
Sponsor: Brian Davey
Judged: 3/29/2016
*Alliteration, Rhyme, written in Iambic Heptameter,
14 Syllables, 7 feet per line
Stepping past the crater towards your door,
I am reminded of warm days
surrendered in flowery abandon while
brushing against cool veins of
leafy promise, requiring only the slightest
compassion for the flow of life.
The scope of our crusade sings bitter,
like absinthe in a Fanta bottle;
tangs of anise and wormwood persist
within ether's truthful vision
resisting factory flavors in a curtain,
velvet reminders of flesh.
Lap your moistened shape. You dissolve,
my expectant sugar cube, no longer
made jagged by expectation or campaign
but fragile again, doughy in
blissful rapture upon my snacking,
curling up in a fetal calm
until we flow once more with the surge
propelling us entangled yet
unencumbered, finally breathing our
amniotic potential within this
spiritual umbilical making my stomach
spin within these tugs of finality,
despite my carpenter's heart yearning to
mend or create. Do arrogance and
industry compel mankind's devastation? Such
a question drifts unanswered as I
kiss your wrist before strapping on my boots
to hurl my blood into the fray.
I’ve been raptured by the ecstasy of our bliss.
A peerless and unique love shared with affection
and to think it all started with one longing kiss,
giving us a divine and finesse connection.
For our adoration is complete perfection.
Our rendezvous first started midsummer in June.
An acquiesce guarantee to safe dedication.
I’ve always been attracted to your hymn’s attune,
and grateful for your sweet God-given creation.
For you bring to me a passionate sensation.
Gallivanting into the depths of our promise
to each other’s souls in sickness and in poor health.
I will always be committed to love’s abyss,
need not materials nor precarious wealth.
For there are no wrongdoings or moments of stealth.
Nonchalant I say to you, “can we love all night?”
Pleasure beyond measure within your strapping arms.
For I never knew blindness ‘til you gave me sight,
and dazzled me with all your sweet debonair charms.
There are never feared warnings to farewell alarms.
You free me from the wickedness of hell’s defile,
show me fortitude and honor when by your side.
You’ve given me a life that’s faithful and worthwhile
as you saved me the yearning of wanting to hide.
I see your strength in me, your valued treasure pride.
So I lay here and think of how you love me so,
you quench my thirst, saturate me in love’s esteem.
For I shall never say adieu nor let you go,
our love will always be richly cherished, supreme.
You will always be lover…my sweet daydream.
12 syllables in each line
Best Rhyming Poem April-July15, 2018 Poetry Contest
John Hamilton
May 7, 2018
I am dating a young woman and we are deeply in love. However, no matter what I do sexually, she never achieves ****** so we decided to ask a sex therapist for advice. The therapist listened to our story and suggested the following;
"Hire a strapping young man and while the two of you are making love have the young man wave a towel over you, as though he is fanning you both. Make sure he is totally naked and she can see his manhood as he fans you both with the towel. That will help your wife fantasize, and should bring on a full-blown ******."
We went home and followed the therapist's advice. We hired a handsome young man and he stripped off and enthusiastically waved a towel over us both as we made love. But it didn't help and still my lover was unsatisfied and frustrated.
Perplexed, we went back to the therapist "Okay" he says, "let's try it reversed. Have the young man make love to your wife and you wave the towel over them."
Once again, we followed the advice. The young man got into bed with my lover and I waved the towel. The young man really worked with great enthusiasm and my lover soon had an enormous, room-shaking, screaming, ******.
Smiling, I dropped the towel, tapped the young man on the shoulder and said to him triumphantly...."NOW THAT'S how you wave a towel, son!!"
03~12~2014
dadickerector
Santa challenged Jesus,
his words were cold as ice;
"I bring toys and happiness"
"I love this festive life"
"I travel around the world,
bringing lots of cheer"
"I have my own shop,
with strapping reindeer"
"I can fly up a chimney,
with a finger aside my nose"
"My elves are working daily,
with bells upon their toes"
"I have a huge mansion,
beyond the North Pole"
"Everybody loves me,
from the youngest to the old"
"I can see the naughty,
the nice and witty too"
"Tell me, dear Jesus,
what exactly can you do?"
Jesus answered quickly,
And this is what he said,
"I can heal the sick,
and even raise the dead"
"I can walk on water,
make a blind man see"
"Your elves are my disciples,
who follow faithfully"
"You say you have a mansion?"
"My Father has many"
"My children's humble prayers,
are answered by me"
"I can turn water,
to the purest of wine"
"I can cast out demons,
to the lowest of swine"
"I can soothe mighty seas,
I can feed the multitude"
"I gave my life for sinners,
you're one I must include"
"I was born for a purpose,
do not forsake this cause"
"Without my resurrection,
there'd be no Santa Claus"
"I will have the final word,
prepare for Judgement Day"
Santa bowed to Jesus,
he began to weep and pray
Santa visits once a year,
Jesus is twenty-four seven;
Ho, ho, ho, and mistletoe,
won't get you into heaven
Merry Christmas!
people stood behind the glass
staring at him with gnashing teeth
intent upon his death.
He saw red, angry eyes absent of all
Thought except vengeance,
Yet, in those eyes was a spark of
questioning-
As he was stared down by those ripe
with revenge- why him? He still
couldn't understand
His every move felt worse and
worse.
the people behind the glass looked
like monsters.
Lacking clarity, he still didn't
understand when two uniformed
men took him to a small room.
the room where all the most horrid
and evil people were seated
Luckily they were on the other side
of the glass! He knew they would
hurt him bad if given the chance
The uniforms pushed him down
into his own chair, strapping him in
tight- still not understanding why.
Looking up he saw the evil faces
started to grin-
Oh! It was just a joke all for him!
They weren't mad!
He sat there feeling better, smiling
and starting to say hello -
He heard a buzzer
And that was the end.
A. Green
Written for the many innocent
souls on death row.
Tears of joy flowed down the mother's eyes
When she held the emaciated baby in her arms
Looking more like a skeleton than an infant alive
Two frail pounds of flesh, God's alms
She saw a survivor in him, as he lived through the night
She fought alongside him, it was their fight
It was her smile he got, and some say her gait
It was her strength, that helped him punch above his weight
Ever mischievous, with lips ready to smile
But willing to work hard, and walk the extra mile
Mother watched with pride as he achieved small milestones in life
For a while she could forget all the troubles and strife
Her boy grew up to be a strapping lad
He gathered accolades and it made her glad
She saw his transformation from frail to strong
To see further successes, she did long
But her boy wasn't born with a silver spoon in his mouth
Despite trying his best, his career did go south
He fell by the wayside, though he tried to go ahead
His efforts to gain success, got him failure instead
But the mother still smiles hiding her tears
Her boy is her pride, and all that she fears
Is that he doesn't lose heart and hopes he strives harder
And gets all the happiness and blessings he can gather
The mother still prays though God didn't answer her prayers
She prays for her boy to be happy and never have tears
Though the whole world may see her boy as a loser
He will always be the one she loves, always a son to her
Baby blue skies extending forever
through verdant valleys
and hugging mountainsides
Eagles glide gracefully
on a butterscotch breeze
captivating lost feelings in me
Oh to soar so solitarily
away from pain strapping me
in to a dreamless scene
where windows are tinted and freedom's only hinted
A glazed gaze away from the day
into a peaceful sun
the futures begun
On top the evergreen it twirls
swaying in the silence
one drop at a time
My mortality,
I once deemed far away
For I was young and strapping
But winds of time cause thinking to sway
Bringing thoughts to bear of my eternal napping.
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TOM WRIGHT
Brother Larry,
When young, mortality,
Scarcely garners many passing thoughts,
But winds of time metamorphoses our thoughts
From what was, and is, into what will be.
The greatest decision we are called upon to make in life
Is the acceptance or rejection of Jesus.
This determines where our eternal sleep will be.
You did a superb job at Sister Irene’s funeral
A job that we could never have done;
Hence the reason that God gave differing talents.
We pray that everyone in attendance
Has taken a hard look at their life.
We are so proud and thankful
For the young man that you have become,
And feel privileged to call you our nephew.
God Bless you and your family
In all that the Lord leads you to do.
O, dear poetry, how old are you?
give me a glimpse, The Story of Sinuhe
the art just might predate literacy,
before the birth of the written word, BCE
Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor the eldest fictious
the Epic of Gilgamesh on papyrus
the world’s oldest love poems, verselets
Homer’s ancient epics
Compositions made for spoken word
I finally found out from all I’ve heard
what my dear poetry means to me
the love of artistic lyrical spontaneity
learning of words using them expressively
or impressively, excessively, whatever it takes
with poetic license, there are no mistakes
Works that lead to electric elucidation
with rhythmic flow, meter and alliteration
my primo priority is; my poem pieces make sense,
with rhyme and my love for classic cadence
having the quality of amatory ambiguity,
steered adrift with ominous obscurity
strapping images of suggestive metaphors
I’ll write to inspire as do the troubadours…..
Born the daughter of a Lemhi Shoshone chief
she was captured by the Hidatsa in her teens.
And sold to the Mandan Missouri River tribe
where she met and married Toussaint Charbonneau.
A French Canadian trapper and a trail guide
Charbonneau was familiar with the region.
Meriwether Lewis and William Clark spent a
winter with the Mandan waiting for the spring thaw.
Toussaint and Sacagawea were hired as their guides
and in 1805 they set out to explore the wilderness.
While on the trail she gave birth to her son Pompey
and strapping him to a cradle-board they trudged on.
A strong woman and a gifted interpreter
known for her perseverance and resourcefulness.
Bird Woman helped to persuade many native tribes
of the peaceful intent of the expedition.
Once a canoe capsized jeopardizing all of
their valuable possessions and journal entries.
Yet she saved the logbooks of this epic journey
including the navigational charts and maps.
A legendary figure in history she
was indispensable to Lewis and Clark’s trek.
And today She’s honored on a golden dollar
a rare coin issued by the United States Mint.
Walking up the hill
Head on straight
Strapping on gloves
Sitting on the gate
Clipping in the petals
locking up the brakes
leaning
standing
sweating
shaking
waiting
and then
Slam
Summer nights in Centerville, sleeping on the top bunk bed;
A transistor radio playing low, lying right there near my head.
The Big Red Machine was in their prime; those boys could sure play ball;
I fell asleep every night listening to the play-by-play of Joe Nuxhall.
I entered my life of puberty with Charlie Hustle running to first;
Davey Concepcion turning two and Joe Morgan with a speedy burst.
Johnny Bench throwing out would be stealers, Pedro Borbon with a bending curve;
All happening on the summer of my first kiss – once I finally worked up the nerve.
With Tommy sleeping in the bed below – nary a care in the world,
George Foster launched an enormous shot while I tried to figure out the girls.
Jack Billingham was striking them out – an apt metaphor for my chances,
As I fantasized about dating girls while two bases Ken Griffey advances.
Tony Perez was still strapping them on; Don Gullet piled up some wins;
Cesar Geronimo owned center field while my hormones multiplied within.
Coming of age in Centerville, back in nineteen seventy-four,
Meant listening to the Cincinnati Reds while thinking about the girl next door.
He fiddled
with his foreskin,
pulling the taunts over
The tip of his nose,
it still stung, from when
Gary Mother****in' Jackson
(a strapping lad who insisted
this should have been his middle
name, after taking up a pool
job one summer)
Had pushed him, rather
abruptly into the bushes,
and those branches
Feeling like hands, poked
and prodded into the depth's
of his skin and he'd walked
Through that day, red and
welty, like an overgrown zit.
She measured only five foot tall,
With her stooped shoulders, even shorter.
Towered over by her strapping son,
My mother and each other daughter.
Grandma came from sturdy stock.
On her own strength, she relied
To raise her five young children,
After my grandpa died.
Mother was only six years old,
She could barely remember when
Her daddy died of consumption.
That’s what they called it then.
There was no such thing as welfare,
So Grandma was left alone,
To find a way that she could raise
Her family on her own.
Opportunities for women
Before the First World War
Were almost non-existent.
The wolf was at their door.
So my grandma took in washing,
Ironing and clothes to mend.
The enormity of her labors,
I can’t even comprehend.
I have pictures of her and her family,
All so neatly dressed
In crisp white dresses and starched shirt,
Attired in their Sunday best.
Did her children know her sacrifice,
How this woman had to strive
To see they were fed and sheltered,
And to keep them all alive?
My memories of my grandma,
Are when she was old and alone.
She was frail and ill but managed
To face life on her own.
She had her little garden,
And planted by the moon.
She bragged that no one in the town
Was eating fresh peas so soon.
I never heard her grumble
About her difficult life
Or that she had been a widow
Much longer than a wife.
My grandma had the steely will,
That has made this nation grow.
Without her kind, we wouldn’t have
The ease that we now know.
So when ever the days are rainy
And I’m feeling sorry for myself,
I start to remember Grandma,
Take her album from the shelf.
Surrounded by life’s luxuries
Of the kind she never knew,
I wonder at my grandma,
And the way she battled through.
She barely knew of radio,
And would have been enchanted
With television and its wonders,
Which we take so much for granted.
Grandma was a true pioneer.
Her road was long and rough.
Her granddaughter should be ashamed.
To claim she has it tough.
I salute you Grandma and love you.
I was proud to call you Gram.
And no one needs to tell me that
You were of sterner stuff than I am.
Debbie: Perhaps we could have another category such as "Provider"
.