Best Take A Back Seat Poems
When I was a child,
summer at my Aunt Joanne’s
meant staying out as late as it took the sun to set!
And mostly with my cousin Chris,
I threw a baseball back and forth
with exhilaration each time I felt
the impact of Chris having thrown the ball
right smack in the center of my glove.
Chris’ dad, my Uncle Clifford, loved his baseball!
One time I remember
being loaded with the other kids into his old car,
summer wind blowing through my hair,
as he drove us to a game in Davenport.
Uncle Clifford used to play on that same diamond
where he took us to watch that game.
I wasn’t all that keen on it.
But the atmosphere was so lively.
Vendors selling hot dogs, cracker jacks, and candy -
this was my childhood delight!
I am sure I must have cheered
for a team of which I knew absolutely nothing,
mimicking my elders there in the stadium
as wildly they called out their reactions to the game.
In school I played baseball myself,
standing like a statue in the outfield.
It was more exciting to watch my brother Dale from the stand,
those long hot summer afternoons as he played on his league.
It would be at least twenty years later
that I would sit and cheer for a baseball game again -
this time for my son in Little League.
Rooting for a loved one makes the game more alive for me!
Grimacing with every strike my son made;
standing up and going crazy when at last . . .
he knocked it out far into right field!
Glowing with pride that my son’s forte was as catcher
and watching him in all his gear behind home plate.
When I hear the old familiar song Take Me Out To the Ballgame,
it reminds me of the simple pleasures
of my youth,
a time when life was slower paced
and those summer days with my cousins.
America’s pastime, which has trained so many kids
to love being part of a team,
now seems to take a back seat to that rowdy sport called football.
But give ME a game I can follow,
a game that through time I came to love.
My Uncle Clifford has since passed away;
oh to spend one more day with him
at the old ball game.
Hot chocolate hot chocolate I like it sweet, at Yule time I'll drink it then take a back seat
beside the old tree where Santa I'll meet they'll be cookies galore for St Nick to eat
as he shimmies and jiggles on two booted feet and a face flushed like rubious beet
I'll be eager to meet him but I will not cheat as I wait for the daylight now isn't that neat !
hot chocolate hot chocolate with marshmallows too I'll watch the chimney as I quietly chew
I have coated the bricks with butter and goo so his belly will slide,
(wink) he'll know what to do !
Down in the manger the angels acrue waiting for Jesus to
make His debut
While the Three Kings are offering their three gifts on cue, dear Santa
I'm waiting, I'm waiting for you
Hot chocolate hot chocolate I like it sweet,
but when it comes to Jesus, I won't take a back seat.
They laugh, they giggle, they titter and they toss.
They jump, they dive, they swing and they sing.
Their exuberance runs around the room, chasing whatever.
Energy boings out of them in all directions.
They are the children of course!
We watch, remembering, loving those days.
Our aches and pains and bowel problems take a back seat.
They are the show, and we are the onlookers, feeling blessed.
There they go – crashing and dashing, breaking things.
Apologizing, and then breaking something else.
We do not care. We are loving the show.
Remembering a time when we were astronauts and ballerinas too.
Our old dogs and cats are in hiding, terrified of the energy in our house.
We clap along, sing along, and ride along, loving the ride.
No one is more joyful that a child.
Two children? All the better!
Sister Aimee
An angel in white floated down from the heavens
Onto a small farm in the northern land of Salford
Illumination and imagination combined
She was divine and with inspiration, sublime
Inquisitive eyes shone out from this beautiful creature
Her airs and twinkle surely from above were derived
She questioned the existence of the god, her creator
What child would not ponder the universe and nature?
She wanted to save the world
A one angel salvation army with a smile
A romantic with desires of angelic love
She was humble, her knowledge was from above
She knew the tongues of many men
Languages’ known, languages’ today unspoken
Her worldly desires to preach, affection to mankind
She became a Semple lady, united in humanity no matter how blind
Around the world
Singing praises of the lord
Malaria left her alone with child assured
A Star was yet to rise
Head strong and a heart of gold
Her children grew up with god’s undying love
She was not one to take a back seat
Her gift was her message; she delivered from a heavenly stage
In the city of Angels, a miracle born
The temple of Angels
The fiery flaming fascinating preacher of immaculate beauty
Would rise to god’s glory, a message to be celebrated and adored
On the shores of a beach long ago
The white angel of the lord disappeared from the shore
The devils monsters accused of devouring her whole
Her followers waiting patiently for a resurrection to show
The ultimate Kiss was to awake her
From south where the water is brown with evil sin
She wandered back to her own echoes
Now to be spectacular, heavens evangelical angel
A sensuous sermonizer, a preacher of love
She fed the poor during depressing times
Her hand would cure the sick and wayward
She brought the values of the ancients, to modern times
Angels often do not sleep
So in the year of 1944 she was recalled above
Her work her on earth a splendid score
Now in heavens, she leads the choir of angels
THEY WERE AN INSPIRATION TO US ALL THEY WERE MIGHTY AND THEY WERE STRONG.
THEY FOUGHT FOR EQUALITY AND FOR JUSTICE THEY PUT GOD FIRST IN EVERYTHING.
THEY DO.
THEY STOOD UP FOR WHAT THEY BELIEVED IN THEY DIDN'T TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER.
I SEE THEM AS MIGHTY MEN AND WOMEN WOULD NOT TAKE A BACK SEAT.
ONE MINUTE THEY WERE HERE BREATHING THE AIR OF LIFE THEY NEXT MINUTE THEY ARE TOUCHING THE GROUND ASLEEP IN THEIR COFFINS.
FOR IF THERE WERE NO WASHINGTON THERE WOULD NO LINCOLN, NO TEDDY,NO FDR, NO JFK, NO CLINTON.
IT WAS SUSAN B. ANTHONY WHO PAVED THE WAY FOR WOMEN SUCH AS GERALDINE FERRARO, NANCY PELOSI AND SO MANY OTHERS.
SHE PROVED THAT A WOMAN IS MORE THAN JUST A CHILDBEARER AND A MAID.
IF THERE WAS NO NAT TURNER THERE WOULD BE NO FREDERICK DOUGLASS, NO MARTIN LUTHER KING, NO MALCOLM X THEY WOULD BE NO OBAMA.
THEIR LEAGACY LIVES ON IN THE LEADERS WHO ARE IN THE MAKING INSPIRING US TO BE ALL WE CAN BE AND IF WE FOLLOW OUR DREAMS WE CAN GO ANYWHERE.
heaven’s brightest lights
gracefully take a back seat...
pyrotechnic stars
The truth has turned and walked away….
finding noone care’s anymore.
Seem’s people are trapped in the conviction
it’s how they feel that matter’s more
The laws of nature are no longer respected
While math and physics take a back seat
To those who cry they’ve been wrongly offended
as they raise their fist shouting in the street
The louder they yell
the more their minds clear
No longer the facts
but their feelings they hear
~ can you tell I'm ready for SPRING???! hehe ~
Jealous Winter
by Amy Swanson
Winter...
you come and go
like a child playing peek-a-boo
from behind Spring's shy curtain
Winter...
you are such a jealous child!
So grudging of the warmth and life of
your Spring sibling
you race to steal the show
each time your sister dares
to show her pretty face
and share her smiling warmth
gracing us with her gentle presence --
your ego too large
to take a back seat.
Enough, Winter!
You have had your day
Your turn is no more...
The curtain has closed on you
yet
you insist on coming back
for unwanted encores.
Oh Spring...
please come to shower us
with warmth and life and love...
and send your jealous sister
back to Mother!
A couple of Sundays ago, my daughter called me stating that she wanted to go to church with us. She realized that it was getting late and apologized for calling at the last minute. She inquired about our schedule, and when I informed her of our normal schedule, she said that she would hurry to get ready so as not to delay us. I said, "No, take your time. We will skip the morning pre-service prayer.
I will never forget that morning, because that brief encounter provided me a fresh understanding of the Christ we serve and worship. I already knew this lesson, but with my daughter, the observation became even more personal. Religion was saying one thing. Relationship was saying another.
Man Made Religion was saying, "I'm sorry honey that you called at the last minute. Perhaps you can go to church with us next Sunday, because we are dedicated and obligated to be at the pre-service prayer. The Lord and the church are depending on us. The Lord comes first you know.
Christ Made Relationship was saying, "The interest of my daughter, a living soul, takes precedence over my scheduled prayer activity. My daughter's interest and spiritual well being become a higher priority than my obligation to the pre-service prayer." Because the priority lessons of Christ were deeply rooted in my heart and spirit, I immediately knew how to respond.
For example, the 99 sheep had to wait until the shepherd found the one lost sheep. The Sabbath had to pause for the rescue of the sheep who had fallen into the pit. The Sabbath had to take a back seat to the crippled man whom Christ healed.*
Christ is not about religion or merely religious activities. Christ is about relationships with Him and his people.
11262017 PS *Mat.18:12-14; Mat.12:11; Mk. 3:1-6
Engraved like stone upon the writer's sense
a waft of inspiration flows from here to there
like fragrant spice of myrrh and frankincense
inside a writer's skill the savoir faire
a waft of inspiration flows from here to there
word to verse assembled and remembered
inside a writer's skill the savoir faire
it can be read but never be dismembered
word to verse assembled and remembered
the poet holds his own but shares at large
it can be read but never be dismembered
crafted words of what cannot disparage
the poet holds his own but shares at large
like fragrant spice of myrrh and frankincense
crafted words of what cannot disparage
engraved like stone upon the writer's sense
an active writer who writes to succeed
will be a blessing to all those they meet
so, take up your quill it's all that you need
keep penning and never take a back seat
November 26 2022
I sing this song of Pride
For those who have no voice.
I march this street in honor
Of those who had no choice
The Stonewall Riots, where it all began
Our fathers took to the streets.
To demand equal rights and justice
No longer will we take a back seat.
I sing this song of Pride
For Freedom and Liberty.
I march this street to honor
Those who've gone before me.
On Santa Monica Boulevard
On this cloudless, beautiful day.
My Gay brethren by the thousands
Are standing proud to say.
We sing this song of Pride
Equality is our demand.
Those closet doors been shattered
We're proud to take a stand.
some people love being " in love"
are perpetually in love
their cars and houses sing of it
their pets and children
take a back seat as
they are all about this new
fresh never-had-before feeling
They exist and survive solely
on the unique emotion of being in love
Unfortunately, being-in-love stales, and
molds up, and puts itself into
a comfortable state eventually.
When this happens, and it always does,
being-in-love addicts have to
move on - find a new love because it is the
"this is all new and I love it" feeling of being
"in-love" that twirls their heart.
These hunters and gatherers are not yet ready for the "sit around the house next to your best friend, enjoying a big bowl of chili" kind of love. Breaking another's heart, is of no concern, either. They need their "fix".
So they return to the hunt, seeking another who
wants to be "in love". They usually find them too.
A garden sun chases our ginger cat.
Dad watches World War Two
up close on the TV
he grinds his teeth,
a general forced to take a back seat.
Mother in the kitchen,
not her natural territory.
She opens cupboards exploring contents.
It is a blue and white kitchen
made of trees that died in 1964.
She shakes a martini like a
blind cardsharp. Her wrists
heron bones
that click a gold-toothed chain.
Flashes of recollection
follow me up beige carpeted stairs.
Small bathroom-toilet to the right,
where once I saw mum naked.
Oedipus lives down the hall
as a young teenager.
From my window
I see the long narrow garden
with its back gate.
Passion-flower crosses
entwining pine boards.
When the Nazi Storm Troopers come
I will fire down at them
lobbing hissing grenades
that land like angry cats
onto their fleeing backs.
Charley company lives in Vietnam
they shoot from the hip.
I am not sure which side
of this on-going war they are on.
In my British school atlas
America is colored, blue or yellow,
not Empire red like us.
A patriotic gas stirs vague imaginings.
A knock on my bedroom door.
I can hear myself breathing heavily,
as I jerk off. Keep out!
Mum pauses to catch her breath.
She is out of uniform,
and speaking in Slo Mo
to a camera in my head.
(8/18/12)
We were soldiers young and brave
Now we lay here in our grave
Does anyone remember me when I lived
And that I had so much to give.
I wanted all the things that everyone else did
But my thoughts I had hid.
Knowing that I was going to war
To a far and distant shore.
I gave my life defending this land
I’m sure you understand that when duty calls
You are there to give freedom a helping hand.
Can you remember the color of my eyes or my hair
Do you remember the moments that we shared.
Do you remember the look and words unspoken
Of how our love would never be broken.
Do you remember my smile or my laughter
Or the goals that we was after.
I do not ask you to live in memories
But just once in a while to think of me.
Your thoughts will put my heart at ease
And I’ll feel your gentle breeze
As you call out my name
Then I’ll know I didn’t die in vain.
Death does not take a back seat to war
Death is always at the door.
Sightings reported all across the globe
Perhaps a weird, undulating space probe
First it’s way up in the sky
Then it dips down to say ‘Hi’
Scares the bejabbers out of technophobes
{ December 24, 2024 }