Best Taped Poems
A busy road.
A tree stump.
An old man.
Everyday at eight 'o clock
He sits there, cane tapping
just watching cars go by--
I among them
Such a lonely man
I say to myself
Same busy road.
Same tree stump.
Same old man.
He looks up, cane twirling
and smiles at me
in that split second
I smile back
A roadside friend is gained.
Same busy road.
Same tree stump.
Different old man.
Day after day
He waves hi--cane dancing
Smiling
I wave goodbye,
no time to stop
Same busy road
Same tree stump
No old man
I screech to a halt
Ask of his absence
Clutching
a piece of paper
found taped on his cane
I weep in my car
and send a prayer
of thanks
to my roadside friend
Eleven words
Changed my world.
"Thank you lady in the blue car.
You make my day."
Same busy road.
Same tree stump.
Different me.
Categories:
taped, lifeold, tree, old, tree,
Form:
Free verse
I have been to places of great death:
walking the battlefield at Gettysburg,
as a lusty young man of no firm belief
who stepped between the great rocks
of Devil's Den and felt his soul shudder
as though he had been a soldier there,
and died in fear a long, long time ago.
I taught my tongue to the gentle Khmers
as civil war raged and the killing fields
were being sown-- I left before the
heartless murdering began, the killing
of over a million: teachers and students,
doctors and peasants, the old, the young,
each with a photo taken before dying,
their images taped to classroom walls.
And when I visited Hiroshima, now myself
chastened by death's touch, and knowing
my soul real, knowing of meaning absolute
and of unseen forces working good or ill,
as I stood at the first ground zero, I once
again shuddered to feel the pull of madness
(though I knew not if it was my own or some
remains of that evil which brought the fire
and brimstone of a world wide war...).
But by then I knew I could pray, and so
opened my desperate heart and sought
His mercy. Suddenly I saw a sort of angel
who took me from that place of insanity,
healing me while we wandered by the
beauty of the Inland Sea as my storm
calmed and left me, never to return....
I have been to places of great death, and
I have felt death's cold, careless hands.
Yet now I know what death itself fears:
the Light, the light eternal which carries
souls beyond time itself, like the winds
of a Love exceeding all understanding.
Categories:
taped, allegory, angel, death, love,
Form:
Free verse
I thought I could wow them with poems from earth
Poems of joy and humor, poems extolling it’s worth
So I laid out poems from Michael, Gail, and me
From Andrea, David, Gwen, and Ilene
From PD, Harry, Mandy, and Chris
From Jack, Craig, Cyndi, and Liz…
For I was sure once they read our beautiful works
They would embrace us and love our humanly quirks!
So last night I taped them all over my skin
Knowing they’d find them if they took me again…
When I woke up, they were gone and I had a reply:
“We enjoyed reading those poems last night,
And thanks for the names of the earthlings too -
We have many more experiments to do!”
2/7/13
For Michael's boomerang...send your poem for a ride contest
Categories:
taped, funny, humorous, journey, poems,
Form:
Rhyme
Don’t memorize things, Einstein said,
if it’s easy to look up instead!
I’ve got taped to my cell
what I still don’t know well:
My own number! Why clutter my head?
This is a true story. From the quote below, I’d say Einstein’s “got my number!”
“Never memorize something that you can look up.”
Categories:
taped, memory,
Form:
Limerick
Death
Words rip through the night sky
They conspire to tear a hole through reality
A reality created in your eyes
Taped tightly to your mouth is a bill of lies
That you have yet to unroll
And it's constricting your ability to breathe
Like a dying bumble bee, your stinger is useless
And as such your threats often fall flat
As flat as the heart buried deep in the ground
Your eyes cause lightning flashes in my mirror
And the sparks cause my hair to stand on end
It's time I took the scissors and shredded your beliefs
So many times I have been expected to bow to you
To take a bow has been the song of my entire life
Faltering to the commands of the many Gods and Goddesses
And now here I stand with a green belt of insanity
Ready to beat the lackluster starlight from your eyes
Ready to watch them flicker and then slowly die
Your words ripped through my night sky
They conspired to tear a hole through my reality
A reality I created in your eyes
I taped a bill of lies tightly to your mouth
One that I have yet to unroll
And it's constricting my ability to breathe
I justify the reasons for my unintended assassination
With the cookie crumbs that litter the far reaches of space
Filtered through memories of a lifetime of torment
It will not be long now before your statue explodes
Sending shards flying over the entirety of life's greatest gift
This gift is what you unwrapped- Death
And now with a stick of dynomite I give you one last smile
One last smile to fill the confines of your prison cell mind
Which has grown frail and decrepit
Tears filter through my emotional machine belt
And slowly fall into a wasteland where they cease to exist
I turn and the butterflies erupt from your heart
The explosion blinds my eyes briefly
And yet I feel more pure than I ever did before
Death is the gift I give to you
Categories:
taped, depressionnight, night,
Form:
Free verse
We sat in the fallout
of last year’s gift exchange—
smashed angel centerpiece
taped back together
as good as a rogue bomb
if someone mentioned it.
Our voices dragged
like anchors through an ocean—
low, cold, summoning something
older than Kris Kringle.
I strained to recall
a time when it wasn’t like this.
The kitchen table—
a battleship, whipped tension
and potatoes. Dad’s knife slipped
once, then twice. Mammaw clutched
her rosary, counting sins like beads
of gravy on the drop-cloth. The whiskey
isn’t worth your soul, she whispered.
Our air was burned sugar—
a water pie, depression-era relic
left too long in the oven.
As they say, it’s the ingredients you have
that bake the cake.
Mom whispered, Let’s just get through it.
The corners of her mouth disappeared—
I knew better.
When my sister reached for a biscuit,
I grabbed her wrist—too hard.
Mine, I hissed. The room turned
quiet, the kind of silence snow wears
before an avalanche.
By sunset,
half of us were crying—
over the ruined pie,
or the family tree
we couldn’t stop cutting down.
When I reimagine it—
and I always do—
I don’t erase or the snowfall
or the tension.
Instead, I break the bread
without a flinch,
leave my sister’s wrist unmarked.
Dad’s carving hand steadies,
and in my version,
we get grandma drunk—
the old broad needed to lighten up.
The angel still shatters—
but this time we laugh,
our elbows knocking it over
reaching for seconds.
In the end, we huddle closer,
ash still falling, we celebrate
cold on the other side of the door.
Our hands stay sticky, glue healing
the angel’s cracked wings,
sugar crystallizing our fingerprints—
we press lightly, only to test for doneness,
we are patient,
we watch as snow smothers our wreckage—
call it DNA, an elegy.
Categories:
taped, christmas,
Form:
Free verse
On the edge
of the evacuation zone
Miyuki holds her daughter
tip-toeing in pink sneakers
her small hands fragile
blossoms opening
to the man with the beeping wand
They were outside in the karesansui
washing and raking
rocks, when the school
heaved, convulsed
then pressed into silence
one-hundred-and-seven
voices rising inside
So now they wait with strangers
in ordered lines of sorrow
for bread and drinking water
as an adolescent, eyes downcast
sees the small pink laces and
offers up his only ration
of precious onigiri
Hooded and white masked they walk
three days and bed-less nights toward
Ishinomaki by the ocean
to family, friends, and home forever
transformed
The landscape jumbles unfamiliar
with plastic wreckage
and automobiles
detritus flooded in a field
where Japonica once grew
while moon-suited men
and women gather
albums for the living
And after sunset Miyuki moves
her little girl away
from a white-taped blue-bagged
lifeless form
toward the humming black-robed Monk, his
prayers for light
and workers burned
exposed to radiation ten
thousand times too high
And in the shadows one old man kneels
beside a fetid pool and scoops
rice to carry back to neighbours
moved to higher ground, un-opens
one last bottled spirit
bows his head and offers
Miyuki and her first and only
everything he has
At last they reach the shelter’s glow
beneath the starless robe of night
not used to wearing
shoes indoors
Miyuki helps her daughter fold
sheets of painful news into
an origami box to hold
her last and only pair
And in the morning as they face
the stretch of road for home
to unknown love and losses there
they turn and gaze toward the east
awaiting still
spring’s warming breeze
to rise with brilliant red once more
new light of wondrous dawn
~~~~~~~~~
'karesansui' is a Japanese rock garden or 'dry landscape'. Rocks are often washed.
'onigiri' is the emergency rice being distributed to survivors in Japan.
'Japonica' is a type of (short-grained) Japanese rice.
for Debbie Guzzie's contest, 'Tribute to Japan'
by ~Soulfire~
Categories:
taped, devotion, faith, inspirational, life,
Form:
Narrative
The Playbill for the 9/8/01 show at Godspeed Opera House falls from my palm to the floor. Here I sit, with a drugged hangover but alive. The last thing I remember is a suicide note in the Underwood typewriter on my desk, beside an ashtray of Blanche's lipstick smeared butts. Putting back on, the bifocals that had been dangling from one ear; I frown. I can't remember arriving? A phone's ringing; I stumble toward the tone. Odd looking thing, I think, as I bend over. The note taped to it says; it's a cell phone? "What the hell?" As I flip it open, I'm tackled. My heel slips on a broken pencil; I'm down. "What did you do? You bastard," he bawls, waving an airline ticket in my face. Looking toward him, I notice the stage still lit. He grabs the cell phone, "What the hell is this? You a commie spy?"- The 'phone? screen?' says 'Fred go to the opera house by midnight or you're both dead.' The curtain parts revealing a pool of blood: a chord is struck.
It's midnight accordin' to the ticker. I have a moment's relief before my arm's wrenched behind me. I'm cuffed. There's a shout from the lobby and the sound of sirens. Lifting me, he shoves me to the wall; locks me to the door pull. The theater hall appears empty except for us. Through a door, he charges. "Back here guys." The SWAT team arrives. "Smells like the dead in here Marco's, where's the body?"
"Ask him. Take him out and open some damned windows will ya." Two of the gorillas toss me on the porch under the moth laden lights. Just when the cop was about to kick me in the head; a woman screams. The coppers run inside. I hear a crash and a half dozen clod hoppers trompin', then through the door rolls a single gold earring. I scream "Blanche!!!!!!"
The crew hollers CUT-PRINT-It's a WRAP. I smile as Blanche saunters out.
Categories:
taped, mystery, drug,
Form:
Prose Poetry
I watched them go to work each morning
A kid growing up in the coal regions
Remembering the dirt and the pride
The self respect that came from earning
The self reliance and the sense of community
I never knew the need to knock on a door
My dad’s keys were in the ignition of the old Ford
Kids playing baseball with taped up baseballs
Carpenter’s nail holding the bat together
And eight gloves between seventeen kids
Catcher didn’t need one
Wednesday afternoons the miners filled the bars
Sunday mornings they filled the churches
I watched them coming home each late afternoon
A kid growing up in the coal regions
Remembering the dirt and the pride
Blackened faces smiling
Another rugged hard day in, walking proud
Wrestle with the kids, family time
The important things
I watched them converging on a home
A kid growing up in the coal regions
Remembering the dirt and the pride
Mining accident, covered dishes, neighbors
One town, one neighborhood, one family
A feeling of belonging, community, our town
Clothes lines, party lines, coal mines
The dirt and the pride. TAMAQUA.
Categories:
taped, nostalgia, peopleself, growing up,
Form:
Narrative
Way back then when I was ten, I recall the memories,
That year, summer was spent on grandpa's farm;
We woke up early on the farm to chicken melodies,
I had a horse called Razzle Dazzle, he sure had charm.
Helping my grandpa doing chores was a lot of fun,
And helping grandma in the house was not a chore at all;
We worked hard and were bone tired when the day was done,
But then, one day off Razzle Dazzle, I had a fall.
So, back to the city was my destination,
With a fractured leg all I could do was play with my dolls;
Making up stories, mother said I had an imagination,
I painted bright pictures and taped them to my walls.
My friends had to come see me in my room or backyard,
They never stayed long and I was left alone;
Spent the long days reading and writing, it was hard,
I was used to freedom, so often I was quite forlorn.
Then, my leg healed and I was a butterfly set free,
I liked to collect "things" so grandpa made me a wagon;
Off I would go into the woods to find what I could see,
And come home with my wagon full and draggin'.
Liked pretty sundresses, my jeans with flowers on them,
Created bright jewelry and wore my entire collection;
I loved helping mother in her garden of flower gems,
And like most kids my age, I had tons of questions, questions.
_______________________
January 27, 2016
Poetry/Rhyme/When I Was Ten
Copyright Protected, ID 16- 749-406-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Way Back Then
Sponsor, Kelly Deschler
Third Place
Categories:
taped, childhood,
Form:
Rhyme
(Dedicated to and in memory of the
children who were killed in the
Connecticut school shooting.)
Remember bells and keep your eyes
from crying,
from the sights that held your
screams today.
Leave your stolen dreams taped to
the windows
and live each one until you fade
away...
And should you need the words of
sweet
St. Agnes.
Weeping as she says a prayer for
you.
Standing with St. Nicholas on the
threshold
Hoping you won't have to
understand...
Why your mommy cries with folks
around her,
And your daddy's head hangs to the
ground.
And should you need the words of
sweet
St. Agnes.
As she spreads her arms for you
today
and all her fellow saints offer their
verses.
Because today she cannot find the
words to say.
Farewell now, sleep well and keep on
smiling.
Twenty crayons, left upon the
ground.
Farewell now, we promise to
remember...
that twenty crayons have fallen
down.
Categories:
taped, dedicationwords, prayer,
Form:
Lyric
its been a long journey and we have come a long way
moved far apart, the busy life always holding sway
the little world we had within ourselves
gradually destroyed by the real world's harsh ways
we fought, we ventured, we won, we lost,
we waited and we drifted apart
amidst the cold winds the cherished beliefs did sway
the wounds taped over, the tears long dry
on a face marked with fake smiles,
we learned to compromise;
cold friendships forged, need of the hour met
companions many, confidant none
the eyes searching for the other
the solace amidst all the chaos
the sanity among the insane
reminiscing the days of carefree banter,
secrets shared, duels fought, each having the other's back
we both climbed from the opposite ends,
no longer in touch,consigned to mere thoughts
finally reaching the top, scarred and bruised,
hesitant to speak, scared to acknowledge the other
was it us that changed? Was it the world?
An involuntary smile said it all..
the small world still intact , thoughts still pristine
the far fetched dreams intact , words flowed freely,
childlike laughter echoed,
lauding the other's success,
shedding silent tears at the pain the other went through
A lifetime lived in an hour,
a kingdom won amidst the rubble
A single thought crossing the mind
what if we had faced it all together?
What if only we had believed?
What if we had not walked away?
Categories:
taped, bereavement, break up, crush,
Form:
Blank verse
Following the tumor blooms
that muted my throat and gut,
I duct taped my mind
to the wordless, I put my head down
charging at daggers, and
thanks to pain bullets and cancer bombs
my thoughts are catching a little headwind.
I'm looking at a sea otter floating on its back
agilely playing with stones,
it’s definitely working the crowd.
I'm looking at a lion staring into a camera,
under its heavy paw a gazelle is also staring into a lens;
are they waiting for applause?
I'm looking through a shop window
at televisions that are
revealing all this, plus my gazing reflection.
We can all do better, more rehearsals
will eventually take our perfect picture,
meanwhile it’s important to look good
as time stops, then continues to drain away
in its usual hazardous way.
Categories:
taped, poetry,
Form:
Blank verse
A new teacher whose discipline lacked,
From his pupils was daily attacked.
So he taped to each chair
A sharp tack in despair
And they soon got the point - that's a fact!
04/01/19
'Limericks poetry competition' : Sponsored by: Joseph May
Categories:
taped, humor,
Form:
Limerick
The children that played
On the stairwell that night
Were giggling and laughing
At their little friend’s fright
For while they were jumping
And playing on beds
She walked down the stairwell
Alone; then she fled.
She knew that she heard it.
The sound was quite clear.
Only she on the stairs
Along with her fears –
No one believed her.
They laughed; and she sighed.
Then, ran to their mother.
And told her wide-eyed.
The mother said softly.
There’s no need to fear.
The ghosts in this house
Are not real, little dear.
When at last she was calm
And went back up to play.
The children were ready
There were pranks on that day.
Upstairs in their bedroom
The lamplight was on
The window was open.
The breezes wafted by.
A Barbie doll taped
In the lamp by her hips –
The other girls giggled
Each one smirked tight-lipped.
When back with the others
They were jumping on beds.
Soon huddled together,
They pointed with dread.
The curtains were moving.
Subtle puffs of the wind.
Shadows on sheers swaying,
“We saw a ghost, there!”
She swore as she screamed,
I’ll never come back!”
“This place is haunted
And that is a fact.
No adult reassuring
Could undo her fright.
She stayed awake and watched
To the other girls’ delight –
When the party was over,
The children went home.
The others still laughing
About the joke of the night –
It was three years later
In the darkness of night,
I walked down the steps
And had the same fright!
Shhhhh!
Happy Halloween.
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
October 24, 2014
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest Ghost Stories
Sponsor Kelly Deschler
Categories:
taped, children, fear, halloween, poems,
Form:
Rhyme