Best Swab Poems
A magic mirror told the queen that Snow White was the fairest in the land!
This put Her Majesty in a terrible snit and to the woods she had her banned!
She hired a hit man to have Snow White slain but he'd have none of that!
He let her go and she trudged along a path and came upon this run-down flat.
She rapped upon the door and hearing no answer stealthily crept inside.
Snow White had never seen such clutter - such a mess she could not abide!
She grabbed a broom, mop and pail and began to swab and dust and sweep.
Weary from her labors she climbed the stairs, found a bed and fell asleep!
The unlikely denizens of the little shack worked in the local diamond mine.
'Twas a 'Grimm' looking lot wending their way home through towering pine.
Dopey the younger, Doc the intellectual, Bashful, he with the coy pose,
Drousy Sleepy, crabby Grumpy, pudgy Happy and Sneezy with finger to his nose!
The little munchkins arrived home to find this beautiful creature in their bed!
She awoke rubbing sleep from her eyes, stared in disbelief and nearly fled!
Eventually, Snow White became a mother figure to that chaotic, motley crew!
She tucked them in bed, cooked their grub and settled beefs when fisticuffs flew!
Each morn the dorks shouldered tools heading for the pit to earn their dough,
Singing a quaint song they made famous, "Hi ho! Hi ho! Its off to work we go!"
Mister Disney made this classic film in 1937 when I was but a mere child!
Even today in my dotage, watching it with my grandkids, I'm still beguiled!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Tied for First Place in Linda Marie's "Disney" Contest - August 2011
I starts me life as pirate,
A grommet before age twelve,
Not an ordinary bandit,
High sea adventures me delve.
With a Letter of Marque in me han’
And the Commodore for me pa!
I spends dogwatch near the helmsman,
Nerey missin’ me bonny ma.
Old salts tell their gory tales,
Aye, dogs hanging from the gallows.
Punishments for a man who fails
Floggings or keelhaul; blood bath follows.
Scrimshaw hangin’ ‘round me neck.
A privateer by trade,
Flaunting booty on the deck
We’s the scallywags brigade.
Pirateering is me heartthrob.
I dreams schemes in the crows nest.
‘bout takin’ swag from an unfortunate swab.
I sits watchin’ pa from the crest.
Long nines aimed and ready,
Jolly Roger on the mainmast,
Headway fast and steady,
The enemy’s fate forecast.
One for all and all for one!
Drinkin’ grog an’ eatin’ grub.
Werkin’ on the “Morning Sun”
Me father at the hub.
Davy Jone’s locker, me final plight!
Death drifting in me beloved sea –
Straightway from the dark of night
The pirate’s life for me!
© July 15, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
WHERE WERE YOU IN THE SEVENTIES
i was between a tween and adult, in the house of the hudson valley,
and music was my main man,
i would hear whispered in my ear
me and mrs. jones...we got a thing goin’ on
and i would rock to sleep
don’t rock the boat...don’t knock the boat over
dress in a low cut purple dress, and look for mr. goodbar
or what i meant to say mr. travolta
in the dizzying display of disco, having a ball.
really i was just a shy nerd in a dress
you say i was a dancing queen...only seventeen...oh yeah
and i did have saturday night fever
and with the death of several classmates, not in shootings, but illness
and the usual car accidents...radio groans all we are is dust in the wind
after heartbreak of loss via death and puppy love
i did not sign the loan to return to college, went on to,
as i used to say “swab the seven corners of the room”
as the village people and my dad directed me to
in the navy...you will sail the seven seas...in the navy…
you will put your life at ease...bootcamp saw the end of 1979
2/27/2018
Line Gauthier’s Poetry Contest
*Lyrics may be slightly changed
Me and Mrs. Jones by Billy Paul
Rock The Boat by The Hues Corporation
Movie: Looking For Mr. Goodbar
Dancing Queen by Abba
Movie: Saturday Night Fever
Dust in the Wind by Kansas
Puppy Love by Donny Osmond (still swooning over
this song from the sixties)
In The Navy by Village People
The Mechanic
Frank Halliwell
Sam was a gynecologist,
But he'd done his last swab,
For after ten long years, he had
Grown weary of the job.
So he took down his diploma,
And the shingle off the door,
To seek a new horizon for
His talents to explore.
Now trees and shrubs were not his style
He'd shun those jobs botanic,
But wheels and gears might be the thing
..He'd be a car mechanic!
So off he went to take a course
To learn how someone solves
Why cylinders go up and down
While gears and wheels revolve.
He graduated at the top,
The hero of his class.
His marks were of the highest
Any student had amassed!
To-morrow was the 'practical',
The very final test,
And each and every student
Would be straining for his best.
An automotive engine was
Spread out along the floor
And he had just a single hour
To make that engine roar!
Sam was the last to take the test,
The head judge waved okay..
A wrench was slapped into his hand..
The test was underway.
His fingers moved at blinding speed,
His moves precise and neat.
And long before the closing bell
The engine was complete.
He nodded it was ready and
A judge switched on the key.
The engine roared without a miss
..Sam was the top trainee!
He was awarded record points
The reasons obvious!
When asked about those record points
The coach explained it thus:
'I've never seen a job so slick,
Without one washer lost,
...Or seen an engine rebuilding
Performed through the exhaust..!
***
Out apon the sea.
Its hard to catch some relife.
Or find some time to set willy free.
It's a priates life no need to back your
bags.
Just grab a pint.
When in port avoid the sea hags.
Swab the decks and please if
ya gotta puke lean over the side.
Be a good little sea bandit
or you'll be learning were Davey Jones does
reside.
We got fish for breakfest supper and lunch.
Can somone please help the captain.
ya know with a hook for a hand its easy to
get your pants in a bunch.
I gotta walk the plank again ?
Hey it's really rude sticking me with that knife.
It sure would be nice if we put this ship in the water.
Do more than drinking and dreaming of the pirates life.
I really dont trust a captian with a poodle.
It really gets old being harrased.
And cleaning up fee fee's doodle
Dont let Larry steer.
After the tenth time it gets old.
running a ground to go fetch a beer.
No sir I dont belive we'll run into the loch ness monster
off the jersey shore.
No I dont belive the worlds flat.
And I dont care if the five year old first mate swore.
The crows nesk is a perfect place to hide from your
wife.
Were heading the wrong way check the gps.
Yes I really cant take this pirates life.
Yes captian I really doubt A mermaid stole
all the rum.
What's the catch of the day?
Sea monster sure I'll have some.
The captian is crabby and it's time for the
first mates nap.
The cook isnt crying cause he's choppin onions
Its cause he finished the briges of Madison County
yes he's a bit of a sap.
It's probaly not best to duel with a butter knife.
As we set sail yes mam we''ll have the first mate
back befor sundown.
It's kinda messed up living this modern pirates life.
Smile at me with those beautiful lips,
Talk to me I insist when I am close,
But be careful of words you speak
That may stretch us apart and ruin
The splendor we see in being us;
Like me and ne’er let me weep,
And every day I plead make my day
And I swear I’ll make yours;
Let no fury or disgust swab our smiles,
But with harmony let’s our bond be adorned
For ephemeral our life is which,
I beseech, we shall spend through delight;
‘Cause when I’m gone and no more you see me,
Unheard your words shall only fade away,
Unfelt your warmth shall just cool away
And chained-up your rueful soul shall remain.
So hide not but bare your heart out,
Show that truly you care for me,
That you respect and adore me
In the person I am, and talk me
Into believing every word you say,
‘Cause when I’m gone and you’d miss me,
Beyond your reach I’d have gone and
Unheard your words shall only fade away,
Unfelt your warmth shall just cool away,
And chained-up your rueful soul shall remain.
So LOVE me when you can!!!
Broken but disbelieving, we wait
for any doctor to say it’s just blood
as the gray man greens, throws-
up in triage. A Goth teen holds Band-Aids
to her scalped thumb. Somebody loses
patience, explodes, Why are the sick
treated this way? Doors dilate & the sick
smell of antiseptics greets a waitress
wearing a steak knife. We are cribbed by loss;
gone, teeny heartbeats as I pass blood
clots. A junkie limps, unaided,
to the bathroom, another throw
away human, unlike a tot thrown
from a fire. Unforgettable, that sickening
sound, shrill scream after scream raids
the room of complaints. Hell won’t wait
for examination, I learn, as bloodshot
eyes meet mine. Hope is lost.
Patients stoically sit. Some lose
change to a vending machine. A cop throws
a look to his charge. Words drift, bloody
stool, x-rays, concussion. Sick talk to the sick.
My hand is gently squeezed. No one else waits-
out a miscarriage. I watch an aid
swab vintage tiles, restack HIV/AIDS
pamphlets as if they’re a deck of cards, like loss
is just some hand dealt. Somewhere, a mother waits
for her boy to sleep, will wash bottles, throw
out dirty diapers. Somewhere, a heartsick
father releases bloodcurdling
sobs because a body was found. Blood
is both bond & amputation. I took first aid
so I know why the sickest
get priority. Besides, we've already lost
each other, little one. Our separation has thrown
me off balance. Why couldn't you wait?
As if I need hearing aids, a nurse throws
my name out to the sick, the lost, ER roommates.
No. I'll never be ready. Let the bloody stirrups wait...
I wrote this after a conversation with an old retired fisherman whilst sitting on the harbour wall at Mousehole in Cornwall, UK ...
The old man sits by the pots on the wall
He looks out to sea and remembers it all
Although he's retired and now lives life at ease
he's spent fifty years upon the high seas
He first went to sea as a very young lad
and was trained in the fisherman's ways by his dad
He had little schooling, was not good at reading
but his father had taught him the skills he'd be needing
How to tie knots and to swab down the decks
and just where to fish to avoid sunken wrecks
He could forecast the weather with a glance at the sky
the shapes of the clouds and a well practiced eye
When his dad died, this now grown up nipper
inherited the boat and became its new skipper
As the years passed he became a dad too
and taught his young son to fish as he grew
It's now a few years since the man lost his wife
so he sits all alone and looks back on life
A life that was hard with no time to rest
but he knows in his heart that he's done his best
The son carries on the family trade
a life on the sea is the life he's now made
A new generation to carry it on
The boat will still sail when the old man has gone
So he sits on the wall and waves to his son
His life nearly over but his son's just begun
He knows that the boat has a really good skipper
and all in good time it will pass to HIS nipper
Just a few lines I hereby write to let you know
that I, in my entirety am still alive,
care I give, when with pen perceiving you so slow
the words upon these lines, just in time will arrive.
You will not know the house, when you come on back home
twelve month ago the rent we defaulted, so we moved,
which was good for your mother, she’s too old to roam,
while it seems her affair with the rent man, unproved.
I’ve managed to get myself a really good job
having many hundreds of poor sods beneath me,
as greenkeeper, the graveyard grass I cut and swab,
that is when this terrible pain stops in my knee.
Your sister Edna has had a baby this week
not yet found out if baby boy or baby girl,
so don’t know if it’s got a tap to take a leak
or a hands free strikingly attractive pearl.
We both went to the doctor the other day
it’s your mother she is not keeping all that well,
the doctor placed a small tube down her passage way
said “Don’t talk”, I offered to buy, but wouldn’t sell.
Your uncle Raymond drowned last week in a large vat
this full of single malt whisky at the brewery,
workmates tried to save him, but he fought them off, drat,
cremated, fire took days to douse, come floury.
The weather is o.k.; it has rained twice this week
first off for three days, then the other for four days,
then undertaker rang, sounded very bleak
said, “Payment for grandma’s grave, or does not here stays”.
Oh! by the way I was to send you some money
but I forgot to place it in the envelope,
sealed it with kiss, thought you may think that’s funny
till you hear mum gave you to the charity “SCOPE”.
© Harry J Horsman 2012
the idea is not mine originally, it is
An adaptation of an Irish letter.
I stuck a Q-tip up my nose
to see what I would find
Mother wasn't at home just then
you know shes a bit of the meddling kind
I couldn't do what I really like
(mom said she read somewhere that it will make me go blind)
Any way, I poked around and I probed around
and spun it around a bit
Then with a mighty push
I shoved it in just to see how far up it would fit
All of a sudden My life flashed, my brain screamed
and blood flowed out of my nose like cheap draft beer
the pain was so great my "jewels" shriveled
and I shrieked like a little *****
Just before going to meet grandma
mothers voice is all I could hear
"how many times have I told you you twit. "
"you blow your nose, Q-tips are made for your ear."
Echo left her voice in Arachne's web
And went to Doctor Day for her throat swab
The spider ate her voice
That was Arachne's choice
She was arrested for her ugly job
© Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty
It was quite an adventure. I never had sailed.
Appearances looked like the last trip had failed.
“That rickety old thing? Ya’ sure it will float?”
Nodding my friend said, “Don’t call it a boat.”
We sat in the back as his Dad came up top.
He was dressed like a pirate. I felt my jaw drop.
Wielding a sword, his clothes were so cool.
He was twisting and jabbing as if in a duel.
“What’s going on?” I asked with concern.
My buddy said, “Watch, pay attention and learn.
He thinks he’s the Captain, that this is his ship.
Listen-up, or it could be a very long trip.”
My eyes were wide open as he tucked in his sword.
This might be a journey I could not afford.
“Arrrr…, fresh blood,” he said pointing at me.
“Are ye brave enough, boy, to sail the high sea?”
I cautiously nodded responding, “Yes sir!”
He then threw me a coat, why I’m not sure.
He leaped towards the cabin taking hold of the wheel.
His eye-patch and peg-leg looked pretty darn real.
“Shiver me timbers and spindle me toes.
Nubs to the wind, which way dar she blows?
You’ll swab up them decks and dust off them planks.
Ahoy ye scoundrels now scrub out ‘dem tanks.”
“Clean out the gallows and hoist up that mast,
I feel a storm brewing, It’s coming in fast.
We seek buried treasure, medallions and pearls,
cast off this island and straighten them curls.
Avast ye mates, ye stench of the earth,
we’ll fight to the death whatever it’s worth.
Keep an eye out for crocs. Be ready to shoot.
Be wary of pirates, they be after our loot.”
Crashing through waves like butter through steel,
the seduction of danger was casting appeal.
When this incredible journey was finally done,
I said, “Thanks for the ride in your boat, it was fun.”
Suddenly the veins in his eyes turned to red.
My friend shook his head exclaiming, “You’re dead.”
He wielded his sword like a Samurai Knight.
I said, “Captain, I don’t think you heard me just right.
If you thought I said boat, you misunderstood.
I said … thanks for the coat, it fit me real good.”
He then patted my head, put his weapon away.
My friend said, “Nice save, you can live one more day.”
The klaxon sounds and off we do scurry
Up to the gun house we head in a hurry
Through narrow p-ways and up noisy stairs
We pass each other with far away glares
What threat to meet, all do wonder
We’re well trained and there’ll be no blunder
Hatches closed and scuttles secured
Drive motors humming, we speak not a word
Ammo to the hoist, battle dress in place
Flash hoods cover all but our face
“Mt 51 manned and ready!”
Gas eject air pressure is holding steady
“Air action port!” our circuits align
Gun slews, the target to find
“On target aircraft!” the checksight declares
Our peril confirmed, no drill, all just a deep inhale
“Right and left guns load!” first powder then shot
To the mad dance, cast we all our lot
Guns loaded, we track knowing not when
Waiting the salvo alarm, the dance soon to begin
Fourteen men poised, ready for the show
Bound to each other, not for their own glory they do go
Gong! Gong! Fire! The first stanza a roar
Then rapid and continuous we feed each bore
“Bore clear!” signals to load the next round
As hot-case men pitch spent brass to the ground
Practiced harmony, each motion robotic
Load!, Ram!, Fire!, Eject! the cadence hypnotic
Smoke and flareback, gases choking
Onward we whirl, and curse the foe attacking
“Foul bore left gun!”
A stuck case has us undone
Pry bar in hand, the Gunner appears
The extractors are broken, confirming worst fears
Casing removed and the gun finally clear
Up all night we’ll be, fixing this gear
“Cease fire!” all safely emerge
Realize we now, our fears to purge
Destruction averted, another hour to draw breath
Till the enemy returns, seeking our death
“Police up that brass and swab out those barrels!”
The chief keeps us all intent on the peril
They will come again, or we will seek them out
So little rest we take, while the issue is in doubt
***************************************
This describes a live shoot from the prospective of
the men manning a twin 5 inch gun aboard a destroyer.
These ships were common in our Navy from 1944 through
about 1980. The "old salts" out there will find this very familiar.
This is a spinoff from my "Tin Can Sailors" write even though
the ships in that story were single mounts. Same gun, but
with just one barrel. Those were before my time.
mist swirls its downy blanket
restless limbs longingly stretch
opal threads swab tender lobes
naked roots leach soil
Cold, placid, chiseled marble striding a hollowed cone
My fingers, as bristling brush, swab finished surface
Lifeless mold with a bright, animated plaster glows
O'er seamless lines, into silted grooves felt tips roll
A mysterious script unscrolls, tingling fingers to prime
My tracing digits her supple, graceful texture unseals
Sketching, my throbbing pulse her graded essence peels
The features of her, soft, delicate face unfold
Through her engraved eyes, a sentient strain flows
Taut ears sift wind--warm vibrating touches on cold cheeks
Tightly-coiffed locks, as tentacles, around my tendrils wrap
Just as my hands the features of her bass relief grasp
The visceral sculpture from my slumbering mind seeps
Once more, a hollow, still life vision clouds my dreams
Only the dry, stale plaster to my jaded eyes streams