Best Streetcar Poems
Long deceased actors
‘play-acting
On an unobserved TV
set
blaring from a
vacant living room.
In the kitchen a
widower
tends eggs
splattering in a
pan.
Then came a loud
interjection
from the room
beyond, “Hey,
Stella!!”
sending through him
a trembling pall
memories of his wife
Stella
who had died many
years ago
and never gotten
over it.
Still as a
storefront manikin
till the last memory
faded
he realized what
taken place:
the son-of-a-*itch
burnt his eggs!
Ding! Ding! I
tricked you didn’t
I?
Best seat in the place
puts a smile upon my face
'tis so comfy
softest velvet
the deepest shade of red
I sit back
so relaxed
as I await my treat
I am happy to be resting
my poor old aching feet
Awaiting with pure joy
Escaping is my ploy
Entering a world I love
This world ~ a world of make believe
doth take my breath away
Both dreamlike and bizarre
I watch Tennessee’s Streetcar…
Witnessing fine acting
as characters are portrayed
Some they will play happy
Some they will play sad
I sit inside this grand theatre
it truly cannot get much better
Giving a standing ovation
for 'tis time for celebration
And now for me ~ you see
the greatest yearning for to be
upon that stage ~ an actor's life for me
Written 4th May 2022
Contest A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE
Sponsor Brian Strand
3rd Place
Before Trolleys, the Streetcar
A streetcar could write a book of its own,
It could tell of love and hate.
Young girls proud of their very first job,
Men in ties and suits, their fate.
Ladies in hats and gloves shopping,
Laborers, waitresses in uniforms,
Mothers with babies nursing,
Anyone who rode, rode was the norm.
One time on Hallowe’en, the boys
Played a trick on the downtown line,
The conductor let down the steps for board,
The boys tied their shoes, said “that’s fine.”
It was humiliating for people of color
To have to move that hideous sign one back,
Sometimes they were crumpled all together,
Before Rosa Parks taught us better.
Boys didn’t have cars in those days,
Rode the streetcars to go to the shows,
We wanted to be proud he was “cute,”
He’d slip his arm around you, it goes.
Parents would demand the schedule,
We waited on corners in heat and snow.
Older, we had midnight breakfast at diners,
Waiting for the next one to go.
They rattled along over bridge and street,
Bouncing with human stories to tell,
When crowded, hanging on straps above,
Men were polite, gave their seats to the gals.
Rich and poor alike rode the streetcars,
A drunk man on mine, would say,
Tipping his hat with a goofy smile,
“How doin’ day.”
In the beginning, the fare was three pennies,
Though that didn't last very long,
Still they stayed economical,
And punch cards came along.
Bright advertising on sides and in corners,
Electric lights good for books inside,
Dependable were those clacking old street cars,
Wouldn’t mind another nostalgic ride
Street
streetcar
streetcar stops
doors open... shut
go
Clang, clang, clang, toots a trolley: X-s-teams,
though it's not the same San Fran by the Bay,
remembrance connects, perspective redeems,
sound stirs, 'Mathis', "It's Not For Me To Say".
Maintained posture as my observance probes,
heedless complacency, schemed convenience,
the prate news reader provokes our earlobes,
heroines chat as a girl grasps missed-chance.
Tram's next stop, the conductor ring updates,
abides fixed whiles, a life away smokes forth,
traffic noise flowing, like manmade primates,
shrieks giving birth...streetcar desired...part.
Ding, ding, ding, went the bell; attuned Judy,
"Voices of Spring", scratched slippers of ruby.