Best Tailors Poems
Matchstick Bikes
To tinkers and toilers
I salute,
From mending boilers
to weaving jute,
Man and boy
for generations,
I will unemploy
your occupations.
To brewers in sheds
I sink a few beers
To wet the heads
of our engineers,
From flat cloth caps
to matchstick men,
I will see the collapse
of pushers of pens.
To bakers, tailors
I wish you well,
To the soldiers and sailors
who fought and fell,
From doctors, nurses
to hobnail boots,
I will give your purses
to thieves in suits.
To the grieving docks
I drink a toast,
To tackle and blocks
and shipyard ghosts,
From warehouses, workshops
to fishing trawls,
I will flick my mop
in empty halls.
To union dues
I shake your hand,
To cleaning loos
and farming land,
From railway gauges
to industry,
I will turn the pages
of history.
To factory lines
I raise my glass,
'Neath abandoned mines
of times now past,
From overtime
to austerity,
I will frame the grime
for posterity.
To the silent mills
I tip my hat,
To what ever ills
and this and that,
From a steelworks spew
to a builders hole,
I will stand in a queue
to draw my dole.
To finance, the city
I bow in awe,
To show no pity,
to flout the law,
From sellers, buyers
to pickets and strikes
I will slash the tyres
of your matchstick bikes.
© RJVHorton2016
i dip my pen into the ocean of helpless
fluids searching for hopeful cravings
and my blood has rippled in a thousand torrents of expectations...
but do you know that my lungs has torn,shattered and broken on pieced streets and pierced boulevards?
know that i need need not be merged together for i am a victim,curdled on the back of expectations...
you are the lost garment i search for in the holes of a torn garment, do you know how your thoughts reverberates in the hall of my mind ?
ireti,what is the spirit that dwells in you?
tell me your backbone and its custodian..
you break the rocking of my bone and paralyse the swiftness it curdles and wait..you turn my head down on the tongues of hard rocks...
ireti..i am broken
see me emerse my thoughts in the flowing waters of wisdom our fathers hold
and i hold myself with twines of hope weaved by tender tailors with soft hands behind the hopeless garments of expectations...
i am broken...not beyond repair
for i am a victim curdled on the backs of expectations
ELAINE’S LIMMERICK
Let me tell you of my sister-in-law Elaine
Whose breasts drive most males insane
With her size double D’s
They bring men to their knees
Her name’s in the breast hall of fame
She says being big busted like me
Is not all it’s cracked up to be
She says in frustration
Try and hold a conversation
When there’s only two things a guy sees
But although she is much well endowed
Of her breasts she is so very proud
She tailors them cute
In their double D suits
To make them stand out in a crowd
Her breasts they are not a disgrace
Even though they won’t stay in one place
They wiggle they wobble
And sometimes they gobble
And unsaddled they fall to her waist
Recalling her lactating years
Monstrous they brought her to tears
Like torpedoes they fell
To her lap they did swell
Her son cried, “Mom I can't nurse from down here!”
When her milk came she thought she’d implode
Then like volcanoes they both would explode
She’d bind them real tight
They put up quite a fight
Till she cried, “No more can I carry this load”
At the lake when she jumps off the boat
A life vest she’s no need to tote
For she bobs up and down
Impossible to drown
Like buoys they keep her afloat
To enlarge them women pay a big fee
To, say a thirty-six C, D or E
But hers are quite natural
She can use them as collateral
And they didn’t even cost her a penny
She has memories of breasts standing high
Neither one was the least bit shy
But gravity has taken its tow
For they now sit quite low
But with underwire she can make them look spry
They're so big that to some they look wrong
But she can bounce them to the beat of a song
They're no longer high and round
They're like two sagging mounds
Because she's now a size Double D long
Six simpering thick-skinned shifty spinster sisters stiffly sit
Stitching sticky skid-marked scivvies of sixty sick stingy sailors.
Six sick from stitching scivvies of sixty sick scrimping sailors
Stickle over nickels; those insistent six thick-skinned spinster tailors!
For Joe Sandler's Tongue Twister Challenge Poetry Contest
What’s in my name? It’s Candler,
A name as old as English tax.
If you’re of English descent, yours may be too.
Let us take a short trip back.
The Magna Carta united Englishmen,
But created a need for government.
Now, that government required some funding,
So, across the land, tax collectors were sent.
Too many Williams, Simons and Johns.
The tax collectors’ records were a mess.
Ideas were tossed around by the King’s advisors.
“Give them surnames. That would be best.”
So, if John was a carpenter,
Carpenter was assigned as his surname.
John Carpenter of Holbrook would identify
From whence his taxes came.
And so it was for all taxpaying men:
Fishers, Farmers, Smiths, and Wrights,
Thatchers, Tailors, Wellers too.
No man escaped a name and taxes…not even Knights.
So, “What’s a Candler?” you might ask.
Well, there’s more there than meets the eye;
A maker of candles seems an answer quite plain;
But the tax collectors had other Candlers to identify.
There were also those who ‘candled’ eggs;
Held them to a candle: are they fertile or ready to eat?
You see, a fertile egg would one day be a chicken,
To lay more eggs or provide tasty dark and white meat.
Now, if a Candler came from Holbrook,
He later may have taken Holbrook as his name;
But if he chose to stay a Candler,
We’ll likely never know which was his game.
But whether my forefathers candled eggs
Or made candles to light the eerie nights;
They survived and made their meager mark,
And I just love two over easy with toast….. by candle light.
We ride the cattle rail Not knowing exactly what lay ahead. For weeks there's
been no heat, No bathrooms and we've barely been fed. We arrive at our
destined location. Sobibor...Sobibor...Sobibor, Is the death camp for Jews.
Opening widely, the gate to Hell With train whistle loud and prolonged, News of
our arrival they tell. Orders given, the boxcar doors open. The air so fresh, the
pines are livid. Decisions to make.....What to do? What to do? Tailors,
seamstress', blacksmith, carpenters Are there any?
Volunteers?...Yes...No ...Good decision, bad decision? Shouted at, screaming,
people being beat Kept others orderly on their march. Houses with names,
gardens with flowers, and Signs pointing to canteen and showers. Sobibor
seemed peaceful, not a place of murder. To the Ukraine to work you will go.
Because of lice, Women need their hair to go. There are epidemics, You must
be disinfected. Naked and unaware of the lies, They each take the walk Through
the tube-"Road to Heaven". The screaming strong at first, Weakens gradually
until it dies. Why?...Why?...Why?...You say. Why don't you fight back? Pick up
that gun, shoot that guard! That would lead to your death plus as Many others
they could hack. Why don't you escape? Where would I go? Here I have no
home, no family. ..It is cold. I have no warm clothes or shoes...I am on the verge
of starving. What will I eat? How do I get through the mine fields? How do I get
through the armed Poles in the forest? We do revolt... the camp as a whole.
Sasha, the Soviet prisoner of war... A new leader... good for our soul. He gave us
some hope. We were working class people, Everything was taken from us. We
were cold. We were hungry. We were beaten. We were killed. We lost all hope.
Oppression lets genocide happen. Genocide has happened in the past.
Genocide is happening now. Genocide will happen in the future. Greed and
power can and does lead to genocide. Only policy makers worldwide...God
willing, Can help stop the killing.
Eyes so painted
and lips so tainted
the theater of the skin
but the beauty lays within
Disguised beneath so many layers
poses for a snapshot moment
could be more attractive than you appear
but never be more immaculate than you
And to an abstract become inflated
every blemish suffers unadulterated
it becomes the scar
never to be contented with who you really are
Shape and form must be perfected
enhanced the puppet strings connected
claims identity
in the factories of copy after copy
If you were and only could be
more faultless than you really should be
picture possessed for an exposure minute
the tailors dummy of publicity
Eyes so tainted
and lips so painted
every defect concealed below decorated
intangible mural you become
animated stage of presentation
the cruel theaters of the skin
betray the beauty which always lays within
HUMAN BEINGS
Human beings are like the white horse,
They are as strong as Orji tree,
They moves like,
The elephant and the moon,
They shines like the,
Sun and the stars,
But the,
Things that marvels me most,
Is our brains and our,
Discovering,
Tell the blacksmith that their,
Guns are okay,
Tell the doctors that they,
Telescopes are as active as a gun,
But,
Do not forget to tell the,
Engineers that their engines are
Still moving.
Tell the
Welders that I idolize their
Ships,
But do not forget to tell the
Scientists that their planes and
Their jets are OK.
Tell soul that he is now like
Abraham,
But tell the crusaders,
That he is now like the,
Preacher.
Tell,
The corrupt barristers to,
Reject that money,
For its better to work than to stay idol,
But tell the police that they,
Needs the hand of the blacksmith.
Tell the,
Soldiers that
They needs more booths,
But tell the poets that they,
Needs to write and go
To the prisoners.
Tell,
My president to implement the,
Citizen’s fundamental rights in his diary.
Tell,
The tailors that we needs,
More cloths,
But tell the engineers that,
We need more scissors.
Tell the horticulturists that
We needs more flowers,
But tell our mentor that,
We are In need of the sun and,
The moon.
Tell,
The agriculturist that we
Needs more foods,
But tell the engineers that we need fertilizers.
Tell,
The blacksmith that we are,
Needs more keys
But tell the goal keeper to
Catch them.
Tell,
The footballers to oppose
Red cards,
But tell the referees to,
Discourage and remove rough players,
Tell,
The pilots to operate very well
But tell a poet to stay
In the plane.
We needs more brains,
Tell the prayer warriors to pray more,
Tell the preachers,
That’s we need they preaching.
Tell,
The novelist to interview more,
Politicians,
But,
Tell the poets to edit their
Articles.
Tell the artists that,
We need their music.
THEMES
1. Brilliant, intelligent,
2. Wisdom,
3. Hardworking,
4. Repentant
5. Excellence
6. Cloth
Please excuse typos, grammar, format errors, choice of words, syntax, tic tacs, tie tacks, big macs, cracker jacks, boring facts, silly tricks, pick-up stix, plots, thoughts, good guys, bad guys, bad girls, good girls, whirly girls, gyros, heroes, heroines, gyrenes, jelly beans, trampolines, transformers, bun warmers, sailors, tailors, tattoos, old news, old shoes, pikachus, random clues, bubble gum, bubba gumps, shrimps, chimps, vamps, tramps, stamps, tramp stamps, dogs, cats, carrots, ferrets, parrots etcetera etcetera etcetera. I am making this stuff up as I go.
Should the player play the fiddle
the carver of wood whittle
And the dancer piroutte
While the bakers bake and sweat
While the architect draws his lines
And the drummer drums in time
The farmers make things grow
While teachers teaches us so
Let preachers preach the word
And the shepherds lead their herds
Let the leaders lead the way
And judges contemplate
Let dealers deal the cards
And statisticions give the odds
And inventors dream their dreams
While great actors play their scenes
When detectives test their wit
And comedians do their bit
The tailors make clothes fit
While nurses tend the sick
While prayers pray to God
And angels praise and nod
The doubters still are doubting
And the unsuccessful quits
Peace be still, strike thy pose
Epitome of eloquence, footsteps of the queen
Pearls of wisdom, solemn portrait
Position thy hat, attend to thy shirt, that of satin, that of lace
Family ties, adornment to each
All is well with thee, obedience calls – o’ child be seen, be not heard
Be seated; be still, thou shalt not be disturbed
Workhouses – be deterred, apprentice house preferred
Sacrificial morning, make way to the pit
A revolution of demand, provisions of coal, of iron, of copper, deposits of old
What sayeth thee? We shall supply!
As pitheads wind, so miners grind
Seek and follow, tunnels be low – passages of the great
Toil dawneth on me, forty winks be yearned
As we flock to the town
Of craftsmen, of blacksmiths, tailors assist
Technology equips, shoe last o’ stiff
Fine fettles are thee, inventions surpass
Full steam ahead! Country be lead.
Of sheets, of rolls, printing amass
Fortunes be stirred, households back to back
Our cast-iron range, warmth to thy home
Fresh statuses arise, relieve former ties
Ambition abound, middle class be found
Boil water on the range, afore we bath
Of fresh produce, of luscious game, black pudding o’ delight
Shilling be spent, fill up thy churn
Horses’ clod on cobbled streets, ploughed fields, farmer’s relief
Leg thy narrow boat, steam locomotive, cut short thy duration
Better to tow, canal bank astride
The Victorian age, of history, of pride
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
This morass of a quagmire beleagured unfaithful
bestowment of gifts so easily annulled,
confined spaces of opinionated biased
blown out of proportion like bubbles of miasma...
Wedge issues continue to split like firewood
high temperature attitudes inducing the mood,
court jesters and sophisticated jugglers
cutting deep for the main artery jugular...
Inflamming the masses like tall wild grasses
only to burn'em as out of control asses,
most oblivious to this energized force
unwary of a different divorce...
Frolicking in the brain they splash
symbols of past and present clash,
like goods sold by a haberdash
a faux pas in configurating mismatched...
Claylike plasticity atop the stem
formed and reformed into spatial folds
symbolic reason sewn like a tailors hem
either a vaulted treasure or slavish hold...
The plastic nature of social polytics
the elastic nature of mobs in conflict
heat formed bubbles eventually burst
forcefully accepting the better or the worst...
But...just like any,wildfire out of control,
there is one thing,that can be beautifully extolled,
the purpose of the fire,is to burn the overgrowth
so new life may spring,continuing Nature's oath...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
what is dimension ?
dime ; 10th...diapenta or two 5s...5 down / 5 up
-n ; unspecified quantity
sion ; combining form
dimension...unspecified quantity of a combining form to the 10th power...magnitude
what is time.....but the regulation of space.....order
what is space...but structure and form,or the lack thereof...chaos
Mechanical sciences imitate forces of nature
as the genuis of art intimates it's stature,
attributes of diverse quantity of subject,
converging mutifaceted quality of object...
Time and space is only relative to change
dimension proportionately regulated
compounded are energies exchanged
until the true beauty can become actuated...
I am going down to the hardware store
to buy a tape-measure
I have much to measure
I have to measure my disgust for politicians.
Election year is coming; I have to sum-up the lies
tally half truths, cut and saw the promises into
manageable fragments of about one truth
by half of one lie, to a fact
or maybe half of a fact to a half truth.
I may buy one of those cloth measuring tapes
the kind tailors use to size men up
and just glue it to my TV screen.
When they debate
I will be ready to measure my next vote, my
half-hearted hanging chad
my one change to get it right,
to fix all that is wrong
with the world.
Wise men
Somberly Pondering
Over Imponderables
What if.........
Why not .......
Cut, Cut .....
Master Tailors
Or Gardeners
Snipping at Schedules
And Budgets .....
Topiarists!
Form:
Doctors (particularly biomedical engineers)...
really trolley train hard to keep track of patients
Eye tell ya we (spuds)
pulled up stakes after four yar
and zero scores ago living in Bryn Mawr
salutary heart and lungs figurative
storied Main Line Health medical network
latter part of June tooth thousand seventeen
approximately July first
same year bidding au revoir
bid good riddance account
to slumlord - hood did spat and spar
moved to Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
unsafe to ride bicycle without handlebar
economical, geographical, practical...
subjected by Grosse and Quade tyrannical czar
dom low income facilities housing
nattering nabobs of nihilism whose intellect subpar
candidates vetted by Jaclyn Geiger registrar
courtesy nepotism unexceptional manager
thanks be to her papa, she drives fancy car
unlike this pauper and the missus
limited to schlep near and not far
afforded by rattletrap motorcar,
no driving prohibitive number of miles,
crossing sketchy territory warning signs
picturing dangerous avatar,
(especially during inclement whee thar)
determining risk to forego
top manic kin Michelin
money grubbing cannibalistic
surgeon's earning equivalent silver star,
or comparable civilian rating touting specialists
while bonafide topnotch indivisible tailors swifty
stitch ink, viz tattoo back parlor shop whar
exemplary Patients Matter Always
buzzfeeding, inoculating, kickstarting...
healthy medical network,
hobnob, kibitz, schmooze...
drown lackluster lovelife at the bar
parting paramour with such sweet sorrows par
for the course during pouring rain how bizarre
necessitated our lucky find locating physicians
supreme nsync with Google high reviews
receiving, scoring, nabbing,
incorporating... truevalue re: vector and scalar,
we veteran trooper seasoned renters
luckily blessed chance
cost us pennies on the dinar
general bang for buck amazingly
found yours truly strumming his air guitar
pleasantly situated among picturesque poplar
resort within Skippack Village, a tourist
mecca for devout or
secular gourmandizing, earning
catering and acquiescing savoir
ole mighty faire Benjamin
legally tendering expensive bazaar.