Best Subs Poems
JEANIEMAC
Rub a dub dub two in a tub.
Where did the soap go?
He lay back flat
Right on his back.
While she fiddled about below.
TIM SMITH
Rub a dub dub I fell in the tub.
I swear to you Lassie it's not always a stub.
The water is cold.
I'm getting old.
Come a little closer and give it a rub.
LIM'RIK FLATS
Jeanie and Timmy alone in the tub.
Sounds like a poem which might need a scrub.
I cannot say s*x.
Not sure about pecs.
H**l, the censors might just overdub.
ARTHUR VASO
Rub a dub dub, there's three in a tub.
Sure hope one doesn't give it a rub.
The lassie is fine.
She has two to shine.
EVE ROPER
Rub a dub dub four in a swingers tub.
Girls raised their glass, boys the stilettos subs.
Full of champagne and olives.
Pond koi had other motives.
Oh la la,, that's not the knob it's my club!
Just imagine..
Sitting in your cushioned chair
Comfortable as you can be
You close your eyes and begin to rest
Everything is so calm..
. . .
The timer rings insanely!
The microwave beeps!
Your alarm goes off!
Subs pulsating outside!
The radio is screaming!
Children shriek without reason!
Why is it so Loud?!
The clanging of dishes!
Slamming of doors!
Cabinets smacking!
Washer! Dryer! Running Water!
Thundering yells for dinner!
Piercing yells of complaints!
Must it be so Loud?!
Stove hisses!
Feet stomp!
Senseless yelling!
All of it at once!
Try to talk over it!
It's just too much!
Why so freaking LOUD?!
It's all noise! Just NOISE!
Slamming! Crashing! Booming! AGH!
Is it necessary?!
I'm screaming in tears to make it stop!
I can't stand it anymore!
All of it! Just SHUT UP!
Stop being so LOUD!!
. . .
Silence
In a world of sound
Let yourself escape
Everything is calm
Nothing is here to bother you
Calm, breathe, unwind, it's okay..
Everything is Silence
Write a Lament is what they say So I’m going to tell you about the saddest day.
It was summertime with parades in the heat,
Daddy was humming as he climbed in the driver seat.
Mom said you shan’t wear those old coveralls,
Go change you funny man, but daddy wasn’t one to stall
Off they went my daddy and my son,
They had a parade to enter they were on the run.
In an old truck with four ponies aboard,
The cart hitch on as that was all he could afford.
They took the ride into the city
Grandpa joked with the boy, both rather smart and witty.
A time later I followed with the younger son,
It promised to be a day of family and fun.
Until I got close to the Destination,
I saw flashing lights And feel the weight of devastation.
I knew that boy I knew that truck
I jumped out and ran, into an ambulance my head did duck
Yes, it was my daddy who had collapsed and gone down.
While hitching up with horses in this busy town.
I knew that he was gone as I took his hand.
I heard the subs of a boy that now needed to be a man.
“Son can you get this rig on home?”
He was too young to do it alone. Nonetheless, his grandpa had taught him to be strong in the heat.
Because that day my son became a man as he climbed grandpas driver seat.
Turn on the TV, Its death and pain, All this negativity bombarding my brain, tring to kill my
humanity... Seeing mankind living in vain...
A man sells WARS
A man sell GUNS
A man with no soul
A man having fun
To propagate hate or sell a "Cause."
Bombs drop on moms holding children
The world turns on the TV... and might pause?
600,000,000 GUN'S!!!
Granades.
Nuclear subs
Kids with guns dying of AIDS!
Governments washed by BANKS, still getting paid.
The line is blured between authority and thug.
Racial profiling By a government that slings drugs.
In this persuit of "Justice" our LIBERTIES are RAPED.
Who are the animals?
Us... Or the Ape's
The streets are lined with golden arches,
Plastic smacking lips and smiling chef faces,
Hamburgers competing with pizzas,
Who are competing with Oriental take-outs,
Who are competing with Italian subs,
Who are competing with the world's longest dogs.
Oh Lordy, I'm singing the fast food blues.
Man, I have the shakes so bad,
My stomach is growling from hunger pangs,
The lines are long at Hamburger Haven,
No parking available at Zippy Zotto's Pizzas,
East Meets West doesn't open till 4:00 P.M.,
and Doxies is closed until further notice.
Oh Lordy, I'm singing the fast food blues.
The car is heading a different direction
To the other side of town,
My eyes are darting----giving me a wild-woman look,
Searching for that special place to fill my appetite,
I think of Mom's cooking circa pre-microwave,
Chicken with dumplings and cakes from scratch.
Oh, Lordy, I'm singing the fast food blues.
Time is wasting and my hunger is wanting,
Anything will do even a Bologna sandwich,
Piled high with lettuce, oozing with mustard,
Between processed cheese and rye bread,
A hotdog-on-a-stick will fill in a pinch
With a side of fries drowning in Ketchup.
Oh Lordy, I'm singing the fast food blues.
Driving along the interstate signs are larger,
I see a truck stop along the way,
Big Harry's for Big Appetites, Home Cooking,
My weak knees are knocking as I stumble through
The double-glass doors in time to see,
"Please wait to be seated----microwave oven in use."
Oh Lordy, I'm singing the fast food blues.
Hope's harbor serene
Million dreams safely anchored
Beware of fear's subs!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
07 NOVEMBER 2014
LEAVING BOYHOOD BEHIND
White shirt 'n' school tie to blue-collar, dress-code is changing with age
From schooldays to pay-days, from homework to hard work
School bells and game playing to work's whistle and wage earning
With new mates, dirty jokes and smoking, oh where has my boyhood gone?
Seven-thirty start time to five-thirty finish, playtime is shortening with age
From footy-boots to work-boots, from school cap to flat-cap
Five hour days and school clock to nine hour days and time-clock
With clocking on, punch cards and overtime, oh where has my boyhood gone?
Sitting with the lads and a big mug of tea, some things taste different with age
From cream soda to warm beer, from tu'penny mix to filter-tips
Learning piecework rates and new skills, paying union subs and betting slips
***-packet backs, sledge-hammers and betting, oh where has my boyhood gone?
Working with Paddy in the oven's fiery heat, this is much too hot at any age
From cold iron bar to white hot, from straight angle-bar to boiler-flange
From the furnace to the big rolls and bend it, working fast before
Lift it out, knock it flat and weld it, oh where has my boyhood gone
In the Boiler-shop to learn fabrication, things mustn't drop apart with age
From marking out to Oxy-gas cutting from riveting to electric arc welding
Not much in the way of protection with no heath 'n' safety laws here
With air-hammers, no ear-plugs or goggles, oh where has my hearing gone?
Moving big metal sheets down the plate-shop, I must be getting stronger with age
From plate stack to marking out table from load stable to not very safe
Two tons of metal on the pulley, the chain slips and it's down with a bang
Metal crashing, men jumping and cursing, oh where has my life nearly gone
Day-release Thursday at college, lessons still needed with age
From going to Derby and back again, from going by bus to car driving
The Lacarno dance-hall at lunch-time, try chatting up girls for some fun
A quick jive, some posing and a coffee, oh where has my boyhood gone
Dating girls at the week-end and hoping, urges get stronger with age
From meeting up early to dancing, from front seat to back seat for fun
Babysitting her niece on a Tuesdays this gives us some time on our own
Snogging, heavy petting and much further... boyhood gone
subs are called boats
Love Boat is a ship
When is a boat a boat?
God of the oceans vast and deep
we come to you as helpless sheep.
You formed the oceans by your might,
against you, who can dare to fight.
The whales that oceans depths traverse
what tails like giant oars they have.
Their bodies sleek, with skill you made,
They plumb great depths, are not afraid.
Compared to them, man’s best-made subs
are much like giant hollow clubs,
some sleek titanium toy-like tombs,
whose failure sadly spells man’s doom.
The ocean floor, a graveyard cold,
is filled with ships built brash and bold.
Like gargantuan geese-like ghosts,
their rusting hulls confound man’s boasts.
God planned the first submarine ride.
Throughout the ride poor Jonah cried.
When God appoints an aqua trek,
there’s no chance of a fatal wreck.
God of the oceans vast and deep
We come to you as helpless sheep.
Please keep our submariners safe
as they with brave hearts bear their chafe.
Comfort the hearts of those who mourn,
souls whom to ocean depths were borne,
when accidents made things go wrong
with vessels that were built so strong.
God of the oceans deep and wide,
who daily sustenance provides.
Teach us to keep these waters clean,
as they for long ages have been.
Forgive our foolish fleshly greed,
and help us nature’s cries to heed.
And leave her waters free from scum,
for generations yet to come.
Hunter Becomes the Hunted
World War 2 is still relevant in 2014. Widow of a Kriegsmarine Captain's U-boat still misses her husband. How she wishes he'd had a shore posting and not gone to sea. When he died in his steel coffin, he left a wife and a child. His last resting place is now known off the Cornish coast with two other subs.
All crew killed, sunk by a deep British minefield, 70 foot down. The subs were after coastal convoys, open ocean hunting was too dangerous. As it turned out so was near the shore.
Today in the clear blue water lie three shattered U-boats: U-325, U-400 and U-1021.
Two are hundreds of miles where they should be. For decades family members knew the wrong location. Now the mystery is solved. All sunk by Type 17 mines. The widow's flowers float on the sea where her husband died. His remains and his crew lie dozens of metres down. The sub crews varied from inexperienced to war vets. At rest together.
The uncle of one submariner still grieves and says we never learn from past events, do we?
MILITARY NAMES
Names are chosen to suggest aggression;
Anything smacking of peace is for suppression.
Soviet subs are Typhoons not Seabreezes.
The USAF flies Eagles, not Robins
And it’s a Tomcat, not a Tabby cat,
Real men fly a Hornet not a Butterfly.
The British prefer Harrier to Supporter.
Native American names can include
The Tomahawk but not the Prayer Bead,
And the Apache but not the Micmac.
No doubt a new aircraft carrier
Could be called the Charles Bronson
But not called the Oscar Wilde.
Walking aimlessly through crime filled,
city streets, a lost soul, wondering in
the dark, having no purpose in life, nor
a place to sleep.
His hands trembling, from indulging, in
alcoholic binges, trying to forget and
escape, a myriad of thoughts, burdening
him, in his drunken, stupor state.
Do not judge this poor man, for you do
not know, the struggles he's faced, and
the hurt that his heart holds.
His skin is wrinkled and dried from having
no shelter, and being exposed to the sun.
He smiles as he sits on a bench and
watches an old squirrel chasing another,
for fun.
The winters are brutal in late December,
as he looks for a place to hide. His frost
bitten hands, are hurting so much, he
curses and wishes to die.
How can they drive by and not help this
broken old man? They walk, they stare,
they laugh, and do as little as they
possibly can!
Most people would think he is lost, and
forgotten, but I say to you, God loves him,
and he cares for the poor, lost and
downtrodden.
Reach out
Michael Tor 9/9/2025 For Richard Lamoureux contest. Who do you think I am.
I remember seeing a homeless man. It gripped my heart. I went to a deli
that was close by and bought him two large subs. He thanked me. I'l never
forget the thankful look he had on his face. I said to him pointing up,
thank him. Please go out and reach out to the destitute. It will change your
life forever. Also please take the time and read Richard Lamoureux poem
Broken People if you have not read it.
"Greetings To Subway"
A taste bud option determine upon a sub type like tips are a option
What type of bread do you prefer? Nearly all favor wheat or white
Six inches on the other hand a foot long
Equally distributed in halves and as an alternative, anything jampacked equitable to twelve inches
Turkey breast, Ham, beef steak, chicken breast
Meat slurry, concoction, tapioca clean processed foods much the same as crest
Tomatos, Jalapeno peppers, and lettuce
Three checks off the sub checklist
Terrified to cause errors sweating more than a sub loaded with onions
Lite mayonnaise comes into play; only the second day training and the training process is like hair waves
Oil, vinegar, mustard nearly completed the construction
A customer paces in, in three seconds don't lose consciousness to remember to say the introduction
("Greetings To Subway")
Two digit id, four digit password, sub 2, April, Katadra Dawkins, Anthony 'JaeRrah Dawkins I need you
Two five dollar foot long subs, two chocolate cookies, total is eighty four cent and Dwight
A twenty dollar bill is the payment and change is $7.16 cent
Boy what a foot long day
- Loverboi
I used to think the long smoke filled tables of NA were the answer.
The stalks of faces nodding with my inflection, up up down downs left left right.
Like a goddamn contra code.
Happiness charted in days, two years glowed clichés rolled.
Waning white key tag applause.
I bolted before they found out I burned on the way in…
rolled straight to the methadone clinic. Grown men in in ankle length shorts and sideways hats, Whining………….clean??
I even tried to buy a few weeks out of the trunk of an Oldsmobile… wafers or sick pills, my choice…
stared deep into the eyes of socially acceptable at a scientology rehab.. Mingled with cruise and Katie Holmes, then got the boot for hoarding gasoline..
Impatient in eastern Pa, courtesy of the Canadian national railroad. I sat circled breathing from garbage bags of Freon. Sneaking from a mandated meeting to the Reeding open market clutching everyone’s night in my wallet..
I’ve never been here before though alone without prospects, no subs nada nothing…
I am all feelings now and I know
I “m still trapped inside of her, screw you sarah, your abstract cards,
7 th grade year book pictures locked together, from your mind to my stalled heart.
. I wanna run back to dark rooms your ashy cotton tongue kisses..
I need someone to water down my vodka. Ash my burning cigarette..
, Hug me.dammit. Lie to me through late night emails.. Your still speeding through, drowning in Pabst. I’m stuck my mind still sears you picture Short waves of blonde always searching for a quiet mole behind the right eye. I’m scared I’ll never feel it again. Waves of breath stolen from a line. You will always be exalted.
Work is good, but everything is missing. No rush, no rocket of feeling when I touch someone. No raised hairs from a shoulder squeeze. I can’t even find a mind to throw venom at my writing. Attacking my inability to move forward.
I must be Too sober now craving your extended leg and swinging dolce bag…
The substitute teacher comes in all grins, giggles, and smiles.
Her resume’ runs on for a thousand and six hundred miles.
She is perky and ready, and thinks it is going to be fun.
By noon she’s ready to call it quits we even saw one run.
Her hair is all crisp and clean when she enters our school.
She thinks she knows what we are about, and she is ready to rule.
The children do not know her, nor do they care to ever learn.
They want their real teacher, they are quick to show and discern.
I watch these subs get sick and make glorious excuses galore.
Many are screaming by two o’clock, some are out of the door.
The brave ones who usually stay the entire day here,
Are the ones who were teaching for twenty one or so years.
They lay down their rules, and the children finally obey.
These diehard seasoned ones usually last ‘til the end of the day.
Last year at the end of the year we were exceedingly sad,
To see five retire, the best crazy we had ever had.
They were in their eighties and nineties and they knew how to rule.
They were consistent, and fair, even though some did sort of drool.
A few fell asleep at their regular eleven o’clock nap time,
But we did not care, as they continued to show up, and always on time.
I was a sub, and I told them not music, but they begged me at Lake Sand.
I nearly walked out when I found I had to teach choir, guitar and band.
I substituted in kindergarten once, and it was my worst job.
Three children walked out, and two others did wail, whine and sob.
A substitute teacher should earn loads of respect.
For showing up twice, and not going for an incorrigible child’s neck.
We do not have to listen to you, the ornery, disobedient children say.
You are not our teacher, not realizing she is, until the end of the day.