Best Ticketed Poems
Am I dreaming
or have I dreamt myself awake
I can’t seem to discern
between real and fake
What’s right
What’s wrong
which direction
should I take
Am I reasonably responsible
for the many mistakes I might make
Backward bouncy walking
Crazy ticketed talking
Following the run
in a pretty girls stocking
Unafraid of anything
Willing to do what’s shocking
Sarcastically mocking
Listening to head voices
My brain has lost it’s sane
my body’s rocking
My mind skipping
from Idea to Idea
You weren’t there a second ago go
but now I see you
Wait a second
I can see right through you
Black isn’t white
Yellow is now blue
Bending over
To take a boulder
out of my shoe
They were old yesterday
and now they’re new
But instead of one pair
I’m wearing out two
The room is shaking
Momma’s in the kitchen
Half baked
Pieces of everything
Tender flaked
The tiles under my feet
vibrate to the beat
Hey momma
“Trick or Treat?
Give me something good to eat”
Suddenly I’m covered by a sheet
on a cold stainless table
being processed like meat
sliding on a rail
Door closed
Fire burning
someone turning up the heat
Bell ringing, ringing, ringing
WAKE UP, Wake up Rick
If only I could
That would be a cool trick!
I feel like I’m being beat with a stick
Shake, shake, shake
“wake up Rick its Eight,
you’re going to be late.”
Get out of bed you fool.
It’s time for school.”
Eyes open, “I‘m up, I’m up!”
But wait
You can’t hear me talk
Because I’m an unwound
broken old clock
no longer able to tick or tock
I only have hands
so I can’t even walk.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Things that make me go hmm. The second hand of clock or watch is actually the third hand. ;0)
AT THE BUS DEPOT
Faces and suitcases with little rumbling wheels.
The seat is hard and littered with yesterday’s paper.
How can these moving actors know how it feels
To be old and no longer a ticketed escaper?
Faces fade past - abandoned at the end of the day,
And suitcases are piled in a corner out of the way,
With little ceremony thrown in the baggage space over the round
Rumbling wheels of each escaping Greyhound.
The seat next to every dark window is filled; and it
Is hard to wave a cheery farewell to a stage unlit,
And littered with unfinished details.
With a regretful breath I recall
Yesterday’s family get-togethers, kids’ parties and noise:
Paper roses, children’s games, plastic toys.
How can these faces care about fault or blame?
Moving to every other city you can name,
Actors waving through windows, waving and no one seems to
Know how to live alone. It’s hard, it’s empty,
It feels like a dream gone bad, the black blues,
To be part of yesterday’s theatre reviews,
Old , unneeded, socially undesirable, unwaveable,
And no longer economically viable, without
A ticketed reason to exist here in the depot.
Escaper no more.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written by Sydney Peck
Entered in Debbie Guzzi’s Contest “Et Cetera”
the bottle bounced,
said shatterproof.
kids have to do it
more than once.
mom’s countenance
shatterproof -
probably laughed
behind the scenes.
more likely created
creases, mad lines.
when our kids
don’t show up
on time -
when the watch
ticks slowly
fear growing…
anger ticking,
if relieved
by the doorknob
jiggling…
shatterproof,
no explosion,
just quiet,
sheer silence,
no glance,
no hello
when ya know
you’ve completely
screwed up
shatterproof
at remembrance,
when your kids
likewise
turn the key
recklessly
if they’ve made it
home, you sigh
with relief,
with epitome,
with resignation,
knowing they’re stepping
into the whole wide world
…have you made them
shatterproof?
tears at times
…when ticketed
…heartbroken
…pregnant
We survive
We are alive
S H A T T E R P R O OF
6/24/2023
I slip on through the smoke screens
hitting just a little too close
night vision is a bonus
to help me see right through
no different from what I discovered
some things will never change
and I leave you like I found you
with nothing rearranged
I once passed you on the road
your thumb out, hitchin a ride
I was carrying a heavy load
construction made a difficult drive
no places on the shoulder
no pull off posted by sign
I stop in the middle of the street
getting ticketed for my time
dreams are just for dreaming
made up of hazy fantasies
real life is for real living
not framing in a picture frame
you take what He hands down
place it with all the rest
you do with it what you can
hoping that you safely land
so I stand on solid ground
as the world spins round and round
it is my competitive nature
that won't let me back down
I once took my best shot
got a ribbon for second place
but I was in the running
I accept my trophy with grace
Waking me in the wake of her brilliance
words spoken,written in convoluted high tones
ringing meaning esoteric and quite unknown
the craft was hyped in meteoric terms
shining bright, sending craven tremulous brain numb.
Harking, in glory she strode the road
on which no one else was allowed
they lined up till she ticketed
them for her rich comments
looking at the teeming crowd
I too went and pushed as a throng on.
She was allaying the fears of an unwary(me included)
do not worry if you do not know'tense agreement'
I am here and with you the manna heaven sent
I would 'salad';I would 'marinate'; I would'contemplate'
and 'I would ruiminate',for heck as sure I would,
your poem would come out shining from wood
wait till I am through with that ,sit there in suspense
as I put on spectacles English and thrash you hence
the poor bloke waited with breath baited
like a rabbit flagellating as a helpless bait.
After an hour, the wise lady looked up
gave a list of typos to the poor bloke as his corrective sup
and in the end she wrote
with ten spell mistakes of her own galore
this poem was all wrong and even the topic was
actually this guy should have come to me
and got the poem written by me
on a topic of my choice
and claimed this was his and will be
it was only then would I give a positive critique
as it stands it is a loser because this do-no-good
pooh phah phah, is the author.
Now let me do the right thing
somebody close has died
yes,he did and they did not lie
I began a poem for lament
but that young bloke came like scent
I forgot the lament and wrote
a collaboration of ass cream whip and ah! in it sent.
Well the critique royale with her hyped and marketed skills is on to her next critiquing ticket.
You act so mellow melatonin,
pure relax and laid back
Motorcycling thru life
with your golden hair blowing
You speak so leather serotonin,
smooth and REM sleep inducing
Resting in your Laz-e-Boy ... ambience: quiet demure —
disturbing the peace, you never got ticketed for
You’re a natural born Tryptophan
My eyes close
when your mouth open
I listen to you
when I wanna take a romantic daytime snooze
Dial your number
to go on a midnight lovers-only slumber cruise
You’re a natural born Tryptophan
The noise goes silent
when you start talking
Your voice is velvet magnesium,
sleepwalk, no talk it makes me wanna do
Whispering clean solar vocal energy,
beta waves of desire are streaming thru
Your audio is tranquil potassium,
serenity dressed in faded jeans
Muted decibel is your gift to the world,
speak low with love, my biker girl
You’re a natural born Tryptophan
My eyes close
when your mouth open
I listen to you
when I wanna afternoon delight dream
Dial your number
to ride on an evening erotic moonbeam
You’re a natural born Tryptophan
My heart beats silent
when you start talking
Your sensual speech pleasure my mind
... make it explode
You’re my favorite, exotic neurochemical
I can not imagine what this Officer in New York City was thinking at the time of this Parking Violation. You would think when an officer writes a Parking Violation, he or she would interact with the Driver who is being ticketed. Well that is not the case in this incident. The Officer approached the vehicle and noticed the vehicle was parked in a No Parking Zone. He approached the vehicle from behind and wrote down the License Plate of the vehicle. The person inside the vehicle was silent, just sitting there. He didn't say a word. I wonder what the Officer was thinking when the ticketed person didn't give him an excuse, to try and persuade the Officer not to give him the Citation. Well the Officer wrote the ticket and placed the ticket on his dashboard, and walked away, got into his Patrol Car and left.
A day or two later the Officers Commanding Officer called him into his office. He asked him, " did you issue a ticket several days ago to a Mr Rappoid, for Illegal Parking at such and such a time?" The Officer said," let me check my notes." He checked his notes and said, "yes." The Commanding Officer asked him, "You didn't notice anything in particular with Mr Rappoid?" The Officer asks his Commander, "Why?" His Commander responded, with a loud and angry voice. "Well because at the time you gave Mr Rappoid the ticket Rigor Mortis had set in and he was sitting Up and he was dead!" "Your the first Officer I know, that has written a Parking Citation to a Dead man, sitting dead in his Vehicle!"
By Elton Camp
The words of Jesus, Chef Arnold tries to heed
By actions, the hungry, homeless ones to feed
Words alone to the needy, Jesus did condemn
For the hungry, words won’t do good for him
Fort Lauderdale proclaims such as a No! No!
To give them food must not continue to be so
However, Chef Arnold at ninety years old
Refuses to kowtow and to do as he’s told
Gourmet food the chef prepares free
But the cops just won’t let him be
The kind man ticketed for a law violation
Is a sight that has disgusted the entire nation
Such a lack of compassion is surely a shame
Rightly besmirches Fort Lauderdale’s name
(Google it and see for yourself)
I sped past some and never stopped
didn’t slow down or take a look
others had me riding the clutch
they gave less than all they took
photo enforcement snapped a shot
ticketed me by US mail
saying if I didn’t pay the fine
they would send my butt to jail
the highway curved and I hit bumps
couldn’t see around the turns
dense, green trees and mountains tall
on and on as my life churned
tried to put it in perspective
same old thoughts and vivid dreams
a faceless man without a care
who lived to edit plotted schemes
when I look back on our red past
short in nature, blue in hue
you don’t miss what you didn’t have
it all started and ended with you
just because I don’t write more
doesn’t mean I’ve less to say
poems burn hot inside my brain
for me to blog on a free day
Is the soul to a human
What the seed is to
A dandelion - a vessel
Of the continuum?
Both are readied for winging;
One swept, unknowing, clinging
Upon the vagaries of zephyrs,
One ticketed to sail the ethers.
The seed carries an embryo where’er blown
Prepared by its mother to grow where sown.
The soul by the Father sown, without misconception,
May be redeemed at will from any misdirection.
The seed may rise a weed or wine
As chance may take upon to dine,
If in lawn or vineyard find,
To its fated end resigned.
The soul may be proscribed or saved
As promised by the One who paved
The Way; choose or deny finality
And thereby spend eternity.
Copyright Paul Thomson 2021
Rubbing elbows on the table Etiquette a ticketed fable in hands of Neanderthal Blowing wind a meander squall rocking the boat don’t knock unless you tried it, squawk All hawking and mighty and the cloth was all tidy The weapon of choice, a spoon Nothing like a vulture, you buffoon My elbow is on the table, you pig while you are at it straighten your wig
RED States/Blue States
Finances: RED or Black?
Cincinnati REDS
Boston RED Socks
Chicago White Socks
Detroit RED Wings
RED Blood Cells
White Blood Cells
RED Tape
RED Cars
RED Socks
I have stories of two friends who loaned me their
RED Car in the early 70s. One was an Impala, and the
other a Volks Wagon. No, I did not get pulled over or
ticketed for speeding. I will not say more than that.
There are RED States and Blue States identifying
whether it is a Democratic or Republican State.
I will avoid politics and not say more than that.
If I'm recalling correctly, in the late 70s-early 80s,
there was a professional baseball team known as the Big RED
Machine. I think that they won at least one world series back
then. If you like baseball or live in Cincinnati, you know what
I'm talking about. So, I need not say more than that.
I cannot believe that I actually decided to wear RED Socks.
They were a birthday gift to me from a younger sister-in-law.
My first reaction was, "Really. Are you kidding me?". I said
to my wife, "Why would she think that I would ever wear RED
Socks?" However, I do not know what possessed me to do it,
but one day I decided to wear them. They felt great, and at 73,
I have learned to be more daring than ever. So, those RED
socks have become one of my favorite pairs of socks.
Time and space do not allow me to speak of RED October,
RED Moons, or the former Washington RED Skins and a host
of other RED things. So, for now, that is all I will say about RED.
080323PS
From F to A,
Stale
a begotten breeze
life begs and begins
her drain
of time
pile upon pile
unfiltered
polluting the helpless bog
weeds, weeding out the weeds
chocking out our roots
as we bend to the bust
in the hurt
release
release of the pain
perpetrated
and stolen
inside our dignity
derailed upon our destiny
ticketed on a train
straight to hell
that is not our train
nor our destiny
ours is in the eye of a lover
opalescent
beaming to ride
amongst the skies
wrapped up in asanawa
living in the need
tight is the bond
that binds our chapters
allowing us to breathe
here I sit reading your every word
waiting for time's release
when feelings on my skin
begin to burn
every letter, in your pretty name
I pray each and every day
From GOD I try not to stray
Through this week things have gone so bad
Lost a beloved uncle, which is so sad
Said a proper goodbye and buried a good man
But things in my own family have hit the fan
My son messed up, getting involved with the cops
Something I had no control over and could not stop
He was suppose to come straight home from school
Not getting himself ticketed, nor being a fool
Now I’m the bad guy, his excuses I do not buy
I know deep down inside he’s telling a lie
He won’t admit what he did
Is mad at me for the truth I have not hid
My husband and I have not been together on this as one
I feel I am a prisoner, being held with a gun
Right now I’m in so much pain
Feeling that my efforts are all in vain
Not allowing his wrongs, to make my mind spin
Doing my best to not let the Devil win
One day he’ll realize I only have his best interests at heart
Until then I won’t give up, I have to continue to do my part
To not allow him to stray
Even if I have to do it the hard way.
Dating, in many ways,
is sort of like driving –
one comes to an intersection...
there is a red and green,
caution yellow for Slow
Down!~ Do you have a
license?-- Frankly, at my
my age, I better like those
often ticketed and well
traveled...myself, no-longer
feeling time nor patience to
teach~ not willing to trust
my heart to modern GPS,
still preferring the twinkles
of stars....