Best Teamed Poems
To single out special people on soup is such a hard task
So many people have helped me, so it’s a really big ask
I discovered on soup there is an angel without wings
Her name is FJ Thomas and her praises I’ll gladly sing
A month after I joined soup an e-mail appeared
It said I was a ‘Premium Member’ it was so weird
I contacted soup said a mistake has been made
I’m a Premium Member … but I haven’t paid
They said the donor of my gift didn’t wish to be named
But I had no way to thank them, I felt so ashamed
I wrote a thank you poem so that they would know
Someone made it a favourite – but their name didn’t show
I later learned it was FJ Thomas, but by then she’d left the site
I wanted to make her proud of me, so I tried very hard to write
I’d not written a poem for many years,not since I was at school
Began writing when my hubby got cancer – a disease so cruel
Flo’s gift to a complete stranger meant the whole world to me
Writing became my lifeline I hope I’ve used her gift wisely
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Since joining soup I began to collaborate
You really should try it - it really is great
Teamed up with a guy called Darren Watson
His sense of humour was awesome oh boy we had some fun
I was a complete beginner and Darren encouraged me
Telling me how well I wrote and he loved my creativity
We began to collaborate as Jadazzle United
Our friendship blossomed, we were simply delighted
E mails would fly and my self confidence soared
With Darren around there was no time to be bored
My world was shattered when dad was diagnosed with cancer
Darren was there to comfort me, often with a witty answer
Sadly Darren became ill and our writing came to an end
I spent many many weeks trying to trace my lovely friend
Contact was established with his family and after over a year
I got an e mail from Darren, I was overjoyed to hear
Darren’s positivity for the future gave my heart a lift
Our friendship is so precious just like a priceless gift
We’ve both had ups and downs in our lives recently
We're writing together again and we’re as happy as can be
Contest:- Poetry Soup Heroes
Sponsor Catie Lindsey
My Poetry Soup heros
F J Thomas
Darren Watson
In dream lone blackbird sits on telephone line,
pleading, what more do I have to give.
Wing once beat out a metronome in time..
leaving thoughts lost through a sieve.
I swore to rebuild our earthen dam,
and hold the waters at bay.
Your dream found a different plan,
left nothing more to say.
Race, now long finished, deemed total loss..,
left my prideful soul entreating.
Waste heart's song diminished, too high the cost,
ask why the day so fleeting.
Last candle's light gleamed in his glowering gaze,
Write journal'd fate, no answer would he belie,
September's temper teamed in shortened days,
to kiss late remember'd lips good-bye.
‘Hey stomach,’ says anus,
‘Would you cut the crap.’
“It’s not me,’ stomach says;
‘I won’t take the wrap.
It’s what they’re eating,
So blame teeth and mouth.
I’m innocent,’ says stomach,
‘For that filth down south.’
Brain has a good laugh
At organ expenses,
By prodding infighting
Over false offenses.
‘Are you kidding me,
You two dumb kidneys.
Always a teamed pair
For a fight that’s not fair!’
Roared livid liver
Who was hardly pleased,
That they blamed him
For the smelly feces.
‘Oh stop it now, liver
Just sit there and filter.
We said no such thing;
Don’t get out of kilter.’
‘Tee-he-he,’ laughs brain.
My plan’s working well,
To keep each organ
At odds over a smell,
That they have no power
To change or repair,
And since they can’t think
They’ll stay unaware.’
Hands and mouth kept
Eating junk by the hour.
Having been brainwashed,
They blindly devour.
Long ago brain trained eyes
To focus on the news,
Now it was time for all
Parts, to pay ‘their’ dues.
Bones pipe up, and say,
‘Something doesn’t feel right,
Hey muscles loosen up;
Why do you squeeze so tight?’
Muscles answer and say,
‘Colon and intestines
Are the guilty squeezers,
Causing congestion.
I’m just doing my part
At the request of the brain.’
‘But muscles,’ says bones,
‘It’s causing me pain.’
And after a while
Brain has all body parts,
At odds with themselves;
Over endless bad farts.
Organs, blood, and guts
Could not get along;
They once did their jobs
Keeping the body strong.
But brain has the answer,
‘Let’s vote on what to do.
Either I run the show,
Or you deal with bad poo!’
Yes, brain got them quibbling
And each held a grudge.
All based on false info
That made brain, ‘King Judge’.
So each part gave in
To that sneaky design,
And waited for orders
From brain to assign.
But brain was a liar
And steered organs wrong.
The body collapsed;
It didn’t take long.
Just like brain, most statesmen,
Fool us like we’re tarts.
Let’s not die for their lies,
But stay whole, not apart.
Love once was the focus
of our lives
till marriage became contentious;
two sharp knives
piercing the heart of it,
killing it.
Teamed hardhearted misfits
dualistic
by nature, antipathetic
where love’s the casualty
and we, just another statistic.
You'll not see determination
like it...
this spirit sailed across
seven seas...
even as a child I fondly
recall it...
I knew I was different...
for what I believe...
for instance rich kids
down the road for their
Christmas a trampoline
they received...
they refused me entry...
so I took to hills...
walked off all disharmony...
whilst up there I found a
bog in it a dead cow lodged...
this cow bloated like any
fair ground balloon could be...
so I climbed aboard her and
I bounced all day...
cost me nothing my soul
in tact...
...thinking back...lucky
the old cow didn't burst
or crack...
it's the universe you see
the higher power understands
watches over me...
I often think of that day...
the spirit of the poor...
is rich...
Where there is a will there
is a way.
anyhow those same kids
they got tired of jumpin
up and down...
so they came to our house
we teamed up played rugby
instead...
for I knew from an early age
as young as five it is not t'ings
that bring fulfillment...
it is other people and love that
bring us this full of life...that we
feel inside...
Tis the Irish in me...
this spirit I believe...
the spirit that sailed
seven seas
...the spirit from above
Tis the Irish in me...
They were bank robbers and their names were Bonnie and Clyde.
They robbed banks in six states until 1934 when they both died.
In addition to robbing banks, they also robbed stores and service stations.
They killed thirteen people, they were dangerous and caused devastation.
In 1933 the dangerous duo teamed up with Clyde's Sister-In-Law and her husband, Buck.
Clyde's brother was killed four months later and Bonnie and Clyde soon ran out of luck.
The next year they were driving on a road in Louisiana and they didn't know they were in danger.
They were ambushed and killed by a posse that was lead by a Texas Ranger.
The posse fired one hundred and sixty-seven rounds and Bonnie and Clyde were hit fifty times.
They were deadly murderers and thieves but they ended up paying for their dastardly crimes.
(This is a true story about Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker who were killed on May 23, 1934.)
Above: Wystan in fancy dress
as a beetle -1912
Photographs of Wystan
One of the world's
greatest poets
in a pose, similar
to an Anne Gedde's baby
Balancing beetle antennae
his head at an angle
a satin suit padded to
emulate the chest
of a beetle's,
Spare legs of black velvet
dangling while
he stands upright
feet together, his
expression, militant
Certain in this moment
of his current
resemblance to
a beetle
At five years old,
to think he held
potential for such poetry
A black and white photo,
frontspiece for "The Life of a Poet"
It appears to have been
snapped just before an
exhalation of his cigarrette.
At 65
his face is wrinkled
eye bags reminiscent of
a sharpei puppy
but it is the forehead
that so amazes
with grids as square as graphic paper
as if the poetry
had been mapped out
on his face
I've seen mud, cracking
like that, on a dried up river bed
His fingers are long, chiselled
and in relaxed contact
with that cigarette as
he holds back a chuckle
with the smoke
His air is of a casual formality- a waistcoat
teamed with with a plaid sports coat
In retrospect, here, he had
reached his full potential
I wonder if someone
uttered at his funeral
"Stop all the clocks."
In an evergreen forest
Surrounded by a lake
I owned a little cabin
Where my love I did take
Moss crept on the walls
Of the crudely built home
But in silent serenity
We could be alone
She loved it more than I
That place beside the water
She wanted to stay forever and a day
Or whatever proved to be longer
Simple living
Minimal care
Clean country breathing
In the pine scented air
The water rippled
And slowly swayed
During all hours
Of the night and the day
The woods teamed with life
And the trees filled with leaves
Birds fluttered along
In the gently blowing breeze
We couldn’t escape
This beauty astounding
We became one with the lake
Our hearts matched in their pounding
Enamored were we
With our quiet possession
But this love that we had
Turned in to obsession
Scared of the threat
Of having to leave
To go back to the world
Of death and disease
We clung to the feeling
Of everlasting bliss
Because while we were here
We could never resist
But late one evening
As I sat by the fire and drank
My love, afraid of departing
Walked in to the lake and sank
I realized too soon
That I had to leave
And forget all about
This so called serene
For it was not an earthly place
Yet not entirely fictitious
Just outside of reality
If you believe the superstitious
That cabin by the lake
That my love knew so well
Called her soul to rest
Was it Heaven or was it Hell?
Cindy Cinnamon was a working gal
Lavender Lucy her very best pal
one night they tag teamed Mr. Ed
smoked a pound of panama red
Stormy Daniels did shots from a pail
12/26/18
My name is John--the work horse
And I was teamed with Prince.
We could easily do a job at which
An Arabian horse would flinch.
Prince's work is over now.
He's buried in the pasture.
I am too old to work so hard,
According to my kind master.
He tells me I must take my ease
And to just enjoy my leisure,
That he is going to retire
And be a lazy old geezer.
But he still drives the plow team
And I just follow after.
I try to mind his gees and haws.
He doubles up with laughter.
When he keeps his promise to retire,
I will stop working too.
We'll spend our time malingering
Beneath the skies of blue
Written Feb. 29, 2016
Families sat together when I was young
Ate popcorn had fun….
Around the coffee table we’ whine
Pass the chips gimme mine!
Black and white TV had just come to town
The neighbor had it, it was around.
But, oh the board games we’d play
Parcheesi, dominoes, monopoly!
We’d all sit on the floor on that mustard shag rug
My bratty little sister would get all the cat’s hugs.
The bowl of potato chips would be twixt Dad’s knees
And Mommy would ask to pass the bowl please.
Babe our dog would nose all the pieces
And the monopoly money would get covered with greases??
Boy, we’d laugh cause it always seemed
Baby brother would get thrown in jail, double-teamed.
Well, we never did get rich
But you know what’s funny?
I’d give anything…..
Anything for one more chance
At family…and that Monopoly money!
Monopoly the Game of Life
D. Guzzi
I was working cattle with a crew a little south of Muleshoe,
When I watched a horse work with perfection and grace.
I said "pardon me gent, no offense is meant,
But your horse is the smartest thing on this place."
He broke out in a grin and scratched at his chin,
“Name is Bob, I'll tell you the story if you've the time."
I looked at the crew and said "We're about through,
You can tell me over tequila and lime."
"My grandpappy , Jason , was from the Permian Basin
And cowboy'd where it was dusty and hot.
And I'll tell you son when it's all said and done,
That bunch from Odessa was a hard gamblin’ lot
"Now three fingered Willy owned a stud and a filly
And played poker whenever he could.
One day Willy met Jason, from the Permian Basin,
And they locked in a game of seven card stud.
"Things had gone badly and Willy looked sadly
At the money he had left on the table.
He could ante it all, but couldn't raise or call,
So he offered the stud from his stable.
"Now the stud's name was Gyp, smart as a whip,
And he was standing just outside the door.
Willy treated him like dirt and hit him with a quirt,
So the thought of a new owner pleased Gyp for shore.
"And so there was Jason, from the Permian Basin,
Holding two Aces, two jacks, a Queen and a Four.
Willy wasn't saying which cards he was playing,
But Gyp could see three Kings through the door.
"He had to act fast if he was ever to get past
Being treated like an old worn out shoe.
He burst through the door, knocked the lamp on the foor
And nuzzled Jason as past him he flew.
"After Gyp was gone and the lights came back on,
Jason looked at the cards he was holdin'.
Gyp had given him a third Ace and he settled it in place,
And knew Willy would certainly be foldin'.
"So Gyp teamed with Jason from the Permian Basin,
And he sired many a colt in his time.
The one I am ridin', there just ain't no hidin,
Is as smart as Gyp was in his prime.
“How did Gyp get that Ace that he put into place?
I get asked that question wherever I go.
I think you'll agree that Gyp was smarter than me
So I always answer "How the hell should I know?' "
Well, I listened to the story in all of its glory
And drank my tequila with lime.
I live in Texas, it's true, and I think like you do,
Now I guess I've heard it all in my time!
August 26, 2016
For Contest Unhinged
I remember a young man of long ago,
I as fond of him as he the bow.
We thrived together, discovering astride,
grew into our own side by side.
I came for the archery, and stayed
for the friends - oh, the parts we played.
We shot, spoke, studied and strummed;
on my heart's strings the experience thrummed.
This companion's name intrigued sans surcease,
'til he told how Eirenikos means peace.
Greek it was, and Greek it was to me,
for anger ever flows within me with glee.
In spite of that, we teamed well, made a fine pair,
learned how to wear blade, bow and banter proud and fair.
Every event we could make it to cemented thus more;
there, I felt unfettered - normally, always at war.
Now here I sit, trying to keep his lessons in mind,
while to Dante's lands, for a spell, myself I've signed.
Amidst this strife, I long for those halcyon days,
to return to Eirenikos's eponymously equable ways.
Two sides of the same coin, were this bowman and I,
his name the chronic reminder - a better man is ever nigh.
In his world, myself I chose to engross;
striving to speak with the voice of Eirenikos.
VIEW FROM THE BRIDGE
From the bridge, track the ghosts of line, goods yard, Old Town Station
Where we lingered and noted the numbers of each passing train
Web of steel and of steam entwined village and town across nation
'Til Arcadian rural slow lines suffered untimely wane
Gone: the Market where cows sheep and pigs brought in telling perceptions
The images, noises and smells of the farms to the town
The tweeded farmers with leathery limbs and faces
And gaiters of deepest sheen in a rich chestnut brown
Flaxen ropes, billhooks, pitchforks enough for a peasants' uprising
Spread along the High street and over the Corn Exchange square
While Newport Street furnished inns for all thirsts' reviving
And above all, the clock tower made skyline iconic and fair
Then was school run not cosseted chauffeured, in family car
But raced, skipped or dawdled through field, street, market and station
Our little world teamed with action, unscreened, with no bar
Of health and safety; adventure without filtration
In that world we seemed in different incarnation
So are we the same people, and do we now view the same place?
Can we yet discern immortality's intimation?
The adventure goes on though perhaps at a difference pace.
The peril coiled does not replay
the beauty of notes teamed relay
some carry over, some parlay
is echoed by the sounds that stay!
Within the music's balanced chords
that building up, intensive, scored
to sense the freedom, soul's restored
some empathy of runways toward!
It is this movement I contrive
as word to thought have so implied
and note to note, between recite
the fullness living stands to write ~
Resonance as the hearing's tried
in meters gate is amplified
another line, the structure's time
in prayer beseech to purify!
If moment's glory, so be gone
the will to live . . . .would carry on!
Ludwig Van Beethoven 9th Symphony Herbert Von Karajan Berlin Orchestration
Berlin Wall Celebration 1989. Go to: www.ludwigvanbeethoven.com
"Listen and Think!"