Best Stringy Poems
A faceless man is standing in produce.
He’s crying. No one stops.
No one asks him why.
He says the sky is falling
He says it again and again.
He grabs a passerby’s arm
and tell them it’s falling.
The passerby drops
a head of lettuce onto the floor.
A woman in tattered jeans
says the cost of meat has gone up.
A young mother
with a baby in the basket
wheels a cart of formula
and wonders how anyone
can afford to live
while outside a boy in high school
races an empty shopping cart
through the parking lot.
A woman with stringy, long hair
standing near the entrance
plays guitar
and the case is open
for dollar bills and quarters.
A weary clerk brings
in a line of carts
and says the task never ends.
The woman says life’s a show—
Bring in the clowns, she sings.
Displays of Doritos lined
up by the entrance
say buy more—
one bag is never enough.
The clerk stands near the front
and keeps his hands in his pockets
as he watches a wave of humanity
walks in and out the entrance.
The manager looks at him.
Smile, she says.
One month after his lady friend
transferred to another store
he is standing alone
in a crowd.
Categories:
stringy, depression, grief, jobs, lost
Form:
Free verse
There once was a man with spaghetti for hair
It was long. It was stringy, and it flew everywhere
It was white. It was sticky. It collected in clumps.
It was covered in sauce, and meatballs, and junk.
So I went to the man with spaghetti for hair,
And I said, "Pasta guy, could I ask if I dare?"
I said, "Aren't you embarrased?" and he said, "Not at all!"
He said, "Everyone's different. Some are short. Some are tall.
But I'm one of a kind. And I'm sure you can see,
That in this whole wide world there's nobody like me.
And if I get hungry, and there's no one there,
I just reach up and grab a big bite of my hair!"
Categories:
stringy, children, funny
Form:
Rhyme
Dear Santa Claws, for Christmas I’d like a new chew bone; I’ve been a real good dog this year; I don’t even bite the cat, Sheba, when she attacks my head, as I sleep and that’s not easy to do since Sheba has put a lot of holes in my head. I’d also like some medicine for it.
Please bring me a new bed too, as mine reeks of cat urine; Sheba peed on it 5 times last week, while Mommy and me were at the park.
As far as cats go, Sheba is OK but, I wish she’d stop eating all of my treats. Please bring her some of her own. Oh and one of those catnip mice she’s so crazy about, it puts her to sleep for a long time and that’ll give me a chance to play with my own toys, for a change.
Mommy could use a new winter scarf too; Sheba keeps shredding’em with her claws; she really hates anything that has fringe. It gets really ugly to watch. It’s a good thing that I’m such a good dog; otherwise I’d bite Sheba in half when she destroys things…(Does she know how lucky she is…I doubt it.)
If it’s not asking too much, can I also get a new bag of jerky treats? Also one of those neat colored rope bone toys? I love the way the ends tickle my nose when I play with it. The one you bought last year; Sheba tore it up, mistaking the stringy ends for Mommy’s scarf fringe.
You can have my last jerky treat when you come, if you want. That is, if Sheba hasn’t eaten it yet. You can also have some of my water if you’re thirsty but, please be careful not to, leave your face fur in it. Last year I almost choked to death on a piece of it. If you’d like, you can have my last pig ear too. I know all of that work in one night probably gives you a powerful appetite. (Sheba hates pig ears so I doubt she’ll mess with it.) Thanks Santa.
Sincerely,
Butch, The Dog
PS: Be careful flying Santa, there’s some new creature out flying around; his name is “Drone” and he drinks, I think ‘cause he fell last weekend and just missed my head.
Categories:
stringy, animal, celebration, christmas, dog,
Form:
Personification
birdhouse in the wind
stringy light trails of birdseed
discreet squirrels wait
Categories:
stringy, animal,
Form:
Haiku
He speaks for the uprooted.
A man of sorts, a twiggy Buddha.
He who interprets
the conferences of frogs,
the unpublished works
of kestrels and voles.
He’s an advocate for the underbelly
of a microbial heaven, for every kind
of uncouth animalcule.
Ancient is he, yet as fresh as tomorrow,
in green ponds he fishes for sunlight.
He plumps grassy pillows,
quilts nests for the slumbering and slippery,
gardens all dewy meadows.
He speaks for the bulldozed,
the displaced. The native and
the nomadic.
He tracks the sins
of the truculent muckrakers,
the yellow iron caterpillars.
He glides over bogs with the frogs.
Slips between the stringy and tall,
if there are no forested ways
he ambles where the wind ruffles.
He talks to the bears - they tell him
how things are going in the suburbs.
Swimming pools and trash cans,
have still to be negotiated. There must be a treaty.
He is leafy, kits and coyote love him,
Whistle-Pigs chirp like sparrows; blow their noses
to trumpet his approach.
When ducks quack his many sermons
shotguns misfire.
He is a preacher, a teacher to tics and turtles.
He is the bosky bedfellow, not a straw man,
or a hollow man – he is variegated and verdant,
a green man for me and thee
at least for now.
Categories:
stringy, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Crows, bats, witches, haunted houses, goblins, ghosts and me
Pumpkin bread, corn pudding, warm caramel apples my way.
Delicate intricate spider webs between my house and garage.
Holding me in a delighted way on an October day.
Stringy gooey gritty globs of pumpkin slosh on my hands.
As I help squealing jack-0-lantern creators scrape.
Laughter of children coming in waves from leave piles.
Husband screaming at the referee calling him an ape.
Fluffy tailed squirrels chastising each other over walnuts.
Screeching if they think another squirrel has gotten a bit more.
Solid cinnamon roll smells wafting in from my happy oven.
Maize on porch, beside gourds of various colors next to door.
Autumn is here in all her glory, showing us the colors we expect.
Luxurious reds, yellows, browns and oranges showing up in droves.
Cardinal songbirds twitter and trill their announcement of winter.
Magic of fall showing up in pumpkin potpourri and smells of cloves.
Written 10-07-2019
Contest: Give Me Your Best Poem
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Categories:
stringy, autumn, seasons,
Form:
Light Verse
I am going to see the lights.
The glow of the city will make a perfect backdrop to the painting I am envisioning.
Far enough away to see the twinkle of headlights and the shine of skyscrapers, but hear complete silence.
No hustle and bustle.
No commotion from pedestrians.
Just the wind hitting against my windows.
The sound of my breath ricochets inside my ear canals as I prepare myself to begin.
I have my canvas ready, tools in hand.
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
I turn on the radio to listen to my favorite songs for the last time.
I hum along, staring at the city miles away.
The stars shimmer and beam off the pavement below me adding some foreground to my painting.
“It’ll be okay” I recite in my head over and over and over again.
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
My phone is continuously buzzing in the seat next to me.
They simply aren’t ready to see such an exquisite work of art.
I’ve been conjuring up the plan for hours. No space left in my mind for anything else.
This must be perfect. This will define me.
The body position, the clothing, the setting, the light source, the tools I’m meant to use,
everything must be perfect.
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
I open the book I brought along with me.
One filled with self-help quotes and poems about feeling at your lowest but you must persevere! And a whole bunch of “everything is going to be fine”s.
The words on the page bounce up and mock me as I rip them from the spine and scatter the scraps at my feet.
Tears well up in my eyes, causing the lights to become stringy and disoriented.
I slap them away and pick up my tools.
I am all set this time.
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
I crack open a cold can of soda, I saved my favorite for last.
I open the bottle and take one pill at a time,
One, two, three…
I pick up the knife and hold it to my jugular,
the city reflecting off of it onto the skin of my neck,
One, two, three…
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
However, the white glow from the skyline transforms into a harsh red and blue.
My heart sinks.
“Are you okay?” He asks from his window.
I stay still as he says,
“You are safe now,”
“I promise.”
Categories:
stringy, anger, depression, emotions, mental
Form:
Free verse
We don't see the stars as we once did.
We've lost contact now,
we live indoors.
We've lost the mythology of stars,
our ancestors once had.
They were glued to the celestial display at night,
and the stories and omens it told them.
Even when city-dwellers venture out at night,
to gaze and peer up at the night-sky of lights,
their view is dimmed by city lights, so bright.
Perhaps we should get out more at night,
and relearn what the ancients knew,
and what the stars told them.
It makes more sense than what we are told by science
much of which is quite frankly beyond belief.
In one Australian Aboriginal culture,
the Sun is female while the Moon is male.
"The Sun is a lovely old lady called Walu Yolngu"
She arises each morn and puts on her red ochre
this is why the sunrise is red.
Then the sun, sets a stringy bark tree on fire
and carries it across the sky and giving us daylight,
At day's end the sun puts out
the flaming stringy bark tree, and it's night till dawn.
The Moon is a bad person, called Ngalindi,
He is lazy, does nothing around the camp,
and becomes big and round and fat,
like the full moon.
His kin get so angry with his laziness
that they chop bits off him off each night.
So he gets thinner and thinner in phases.
Eventually he dies and disappears
completely for three nights in a row.
Then, he returns as a new full, fat new moon.
His is still, just as lazy, and loses his bits in phases.
This is charming, and makes much more sense
than what we are told in school.
We should get out more at night,
with our torches to read the ancient texts.
To relearn the lovely ancient stories again.
To put the heavenly soul back in the night sky.
There's a lot more out at night.
Categories:
stringy, night, stars,
Form:
Free verse
Flaming steaks and ice cold drinks
you thought good food had become extinct
until you ate here and gave us a nod and a wink.
Appetizers galore with soft stringy cheese sticks, artichoke hearts deep fried
with a taste of parmesan cheese and a dip to please.
bacon wrapped shrimp you might want to frame, seared sea scallops that
make you want to gallop, stuff mushrooms that'll make you croon, escargot
and baked claims as you eat them you'll definitely leave a stain
Ice burg lettuce or romaine with fresh dressing all homemade.
Lobster bisque soup with a deep rich taste if you don't like
seafood try Tomato bisque instead, French onion soup either a bowel
or cup just don't be a glut.
Your auntre is about to start your just warming up
hot garlic bread with a wonderful spread, Chris's secret recipe if he
told you how he made it you'd be dead.
Succulent steaks porterhouse, ribeye, serlion, T-bone and of course filet
add garlic or lemon butter to dip, 'hooray!'
Chicken flew by giving you legs and wings deep fried
want a little less oil try the fresh grilled chicken
fit for a royal.
Hamburger, cheeseburger just choose your cheese and of course
add bacon please. Want an egg on top sunny side up
when you squeeze the bun it will definitely erupt.
The beef is so fresh the cows stopped mooing when
it hit the grill with no sign of stress.
Vegetable melody or a little broccoli please.
The potato why so many things I can do
baked, French fried, homefried or even mashed
some round or shaped like a torpedo.
Baked fish Talapia, Flounder or even Sea Bass
'Oh' so fresh. We have an aquarium in the back,
just teasing we use a pole and bait at our near by lake.
End the evening as you sit back with a luscious sweet dessert
but please don't drool bibs are provided if needed
or even a paper sack on your way out.
Just remember as my Daddy always said,
'You all come back now you hear, friends are like family
and we hold you all dear!'
Coming Soon: The new "Fire and Ice Grill and Pub"
T Reams
Categories:
stringy, celebration, food, imagery, success,
Form:
Verse
My favorite dining place in town is a place called La Baguette.
'Tis a quaint French café and I haven't found its equal yet.
They serve the most scrumptious French onion soup west of Gay Paree,
And it is slurped by discriminating snobs as well as we bourgeoisie!
They serve other grub such as baguettes and burgundy beef stews,
Escargot, pate, salad maison and an assortment of cheese fondues.
And Monday through Friday they ladle bowls of soup du jour,
But each and every day they serve French onion soup for sure!
Eating French onion soup is a challenge and requires a bit of skill,
Especially, dealing with the stringy cheese in that delectable swill.
The glob of provolone clings like a boa constrictor to my spoon,
And dangles from my noble chin making me look somewhat like a goon!
De mal en pis (just when my dilemma has gone from bad to worse),
Faire bonne mine (to put a good face on matters) I tend to curse.
To save face, next time I'll ask the waiter, "S'il vous plait (if you please),
I'll have a bowl of your French onion soup sans that stringy cheese!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt,USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Categories:
stringy, food, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
Oh let me roam where the scenery's green,
Where the willows droop down and the bell birds teem,
Across the gullies where the wallaby's been,
Just let me roam.
Oh you've got to be where the water falls,
Where stands of stringy barks grow so tall,
The kookaburras laugh and the magpies call,
Just let me roam.
CHOROUS
Oh let me roam far from the city
Where the roads are dirt and the bush is pretty,
I just want to sing this roving ditty,
Just let me roam.
You've got to see where the mountains peak,
Where the wombats fossick for the food they seek,
The platypus swims along the shimmering creek,
Just let me roam.
See the vivid colours of the rosellas dash,
In between the gums and the mountain ash,
Where the rainbow trouts make their jumping splash,
Just let me roam.
Categories:
stringy, song,
Form:
Lyric
The ergley-girgley men head south,
Inverting their insides to go out,
Never speaking, only winking
At the waddley ones who wash
Their clothes in bleach to kill the flies.
Oh, the rank of it.
The waddley ones are wide mouthed with awe.
Their teeth gleam;
Their tongues are rough like a cow's.
Hair is swept back, stringy and limp.
Their feet rattle when they walk.
They do not limp.
Their clothes are jump-suits, purple.
They are the waddley ones
Who never sleep, only torment.
They are ornery to a tee.
Tree limbs would not hang them high.
Cowboy shoot at their sombreros
But always miss.
A secret falls from their lips--
Unintended-- and is swept up carefully
And preserved in old newspaper
Like a tomato in the fall.
The newsprint is contaminated
By contact with such despair.
No good comes of it.
Categories:
stringy, humor, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
COPLA 74 INVOCATION: This Bad Guy World
Is the quark a zero sum dot
Likewise the table to the mountain:
Try dot the spot
So is the gogga to Hottentot
And your toddler to the dragon:
Earth mere sun spot
Solar system lost in galaxy
Universe in Multiverses:
All gone to pot
Whose is the sum of this jelly
All strung up in stringy ellipses:
Might turn(ed) to rot
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
stringy, conflict, creation, universe,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Intense gray mass of rolling clouds.
The sun shines behind its brilliant rays
which ring the clouds in certain majesty.
For the moment I am complete,
had something delicious to eat,
have comfortable shoes on my feet.
For the moment I awake to blue skies,
and a beautiful canopy of lovely mountain
ranges, ranging to the North, South, East, West.
As I take my beloved dog Dizzy for a walk I notice
the Century plants which will out last my brief
stay here on this version of Earth.
Located in this desert's landscape are cacti of
many kinds, Saguaros so big, Rabbit Ears, Stringy Cholla...
they can seemingly jump onto your skin if you draw too near.
For the moment I am glad to be alive and tell my Lord and
how much I appreciate it being so.
After a walk so grand I get my swim suit on and enjoy
a swim in the outdoor pool at the place where I live, so refreshing.
In faith I imagine I am in the renewal of life.
As the water laps gently around me, I say another prayer for my
neighbors, friends and family.
For the moment I will remain pure of mind, body and soul.
Categories:
stringy, beautiful, beauty, celebration, change,
Form:
Carpe Diem
I don't mind if you climb inside
This stump I left behind
This lump of rot whose body parts
Broke free of dotted lines
Pluck a tooth, score a limb
Scrawl a note or two
In this lair of desert air
There's room for both of you
Odds and ends amidst the mud
Insinuate a face
A thin disguise free of love
Cheeks the wind erased
An alibi for skin and hair
Where only dust resides
Crumbled like an arid lie
Free of human fear
So grab some stringy gristle
A brittle part will do
Or a compact mass of bone and grass
With the mellow scent of dew
I don't mind if you grin or pout
If you're whole or if you're broken
Despite my rugged gutter mouth
My door is always open
Written by © Raven Drake
Categories:
stringy, bereavement, dark, death, dream,
Form:
Lyric