Best Tiptop Poems
I'm searching for a new man.
(My lemon quit on me.)
I'm a discerning seeker.
(The smallest dent, I'll see!)
I want a younger fellow;
(Low mileage is a must.)
Required is great get-up-and-go
(an engine with no rust).
He should desire me in his lap.
(Seat warmers feel so good.)
He's gotta be in tiptop shape.
(I'll know what's under the hood!)
Low-maintenance, I value.
(oil changes quarterly)
He must look good and make me proud.
(Buffed shine, I love to see.)
Trustworthiness, I so desire.
(Don't like those tow truck calls!)
He must always keep pace with me.
(Don't want a thing that stalls.)
April 1, 2017--entered in Brian Strand's April 2017 Premier Contest
It really looks like success is at hand
Sleep apnea is finally at bay
Guess I'm good for another few years
Hallelujah! Oh happy day
I'm waking up singing a happy refrain
Have an extra skip in my step
Thought I was done for, the jig was up
For my parting I started to prep
A new lease on life that's what they say
Feels like I'm ready to rumble
The way it was going, I really imagined
My life was starting to crumble
Modern research has found a treatment
A great new solution is at hand
A CPAP machine to enhance my breathing
Must say my future looks grand
Physically I've always been in tiptop shape
Except for some extra pounds
I don't expect miracles but so far so good
Like the way it's starting to sound
© Jack Ellison 2015
CPAP – Continuous Positive Airway Pressure
Talkative
Lady romantic came shaking bag green
Her habit is different mixing without aim
Not care of colleagues what they are talking
Starts to leave gossip as if bullet train
Red lipstick in purple lip is her favorite color
Green short and white pant with shoe tiptop
Curly hear brownish half sleeve in it
Black belt in waist simple looks her talkative
Friends and circles stop dialogue upon her arrival
Poor guys all know they should hear a lot from her
Creamery skin of her body dazzles as white as
Talkative title is famous for her she loves even to hear for
Odd habit she has got in mid of her talks
Loves to attract friends' attention must be paid towards
Touches every one and rolls eyes who are curious
Her guess stands accurate as if fashion of modern
Spending hours crashing grass she pass time always
Flee friends before hand as they notice her from far
Lady romantic is hip hop in the area by name miss brown
In absence of her people glee talkative so far.
5/1/2016
Deepak Chalise
How dangerous is to dance
on the tiptop of a small petal,
spinning round and round,
imitating the wind’s sound?
A falling might be lethal,
but would you miss the chance
to be wedded this spring?
While reading a new poem,
I went astray in the wood
with my leather bound book.
I rested near a hushed brook,
I had no water, I had no food,
but I had only a real problem:
to be wedded this spring!
And before it is too late,
I will tell that this song
wasn’t about me or you,
but what together we do
cannot be ever wrong,
When we share the fate
to be wedded this spring.
A hint of helping this wholesome Harris son
can across thru the air
Hence this poetic expression
of gratitude Matthew Scott wants to blare
And communicate my genuine
appreciation crystal clear
Toward one whose existence
more valuable to me and dear
As thee doth become older
with natural diminishment with eyes and ear
But lo…tis unproductive to fear
The diminishing sands
of mortal time as cognitive gear
Doth get clogged as well as one
or the other organ allowing ye to hear
The sound of silence echoing
memories of the past – now a blur
Akin to a warm fuzzy feeling
soft as moss or lichen – precious as a coat of fur
Which tomorrows speed faster
becoming yesterday’s lore
Mixed with trials and tribulations less or more
Thickening as starch and ever more difficult to pour
From the egged on noggin blended
into one glob kept in secret store
Perhaps comprising partially healed wounds
at your heart tore
As if a drafted soldier once
in tiptop shape now to the bone years wore
Away whet dreams housed
within myths indistinguishable from truths of yore
Though I too sometimes fret
as tempus fugit slinks away
Where methinks how the years spin
at a quicker pace each day
Inculcating me to savor each moment,
whether weather sunny or gray
Taking stock of self of natural world
as one named John Jay
Audubon, who captured pristine lands
of America as a frieze zing May
Whereby bounteous creatures
large and small at play
Until…the inundation
of settlers did slash, burn and slay
Indiscriminately - setting precedent
for Earth in a precarious balance oye vay
Whence Mother Nature
will win this global Olympic match – yet
By which time, both thyself
and ye will be long turned to ash
Descendants will be dust off
faded photos of me self
before senescence did dash
Totally unaware that me papa Boyce Brandon
with clenched and teeth did gnash
When I fought tooth and nail
and without a word did lash
Back as protestations against behavior
of mine ye disliked and found rash
With frustration spilling forth
like acidic froth that did splash
Slash and burn within,
yet kept mum no matter
from within did thrash.
I LOVE YOU TOO DAD
NO MATTER BACK IN THE DAY YE GOT MAD
YET NOW, AS A FATHER TWAS FRUSTRATION
PERHAPS FUSED WITH BEING SAD
AT MY LIFE & HARD TIMES WHEREIN
TURMOIL ROILED MORE THAN A TAD!
This is my journey
Through words and phases
Some may hurt
Some may love
Some may save
Others may cut you down
This is my journey
Although it may seem I am lost
But I really know where my heart lies
These words are knowledge
These words are experience
These words are life long accomplishments
This is my journey
Timid and afraid
Strong and bold
I conquer my demons
I vanquish my critics
The sky is no limit
I tiptop near the border of rude
Then cross it heart first
You can try to shut me up or tie me down
But these words rise up like an army of the night ready to control
I demand respect but also give it willingly
This is my journey mapped out since my beginning
Steady till my end
For those who know me will remember
For those who don't they will cherish me
For the words of one soul can change the words of another soul
This is my journey won't you join me.
Most rigorous astrology can hardly divine
Why flamy galactic orbs often burning fall;
Or the calm pull behind shiniest meteorites'
Hurtling lower from their neat nestlings tall.
I own that apt eyes as of the lauded Magi may
From starry ciphers tap signs of a coming day;
Yet no tiny mass among the fiery marvels high,
Can answer when first they graced the idle sky.
While I'd rate their near-syzygies tolerably rare,
I know ethereal balls as bereft of all oral strain.
All sheen but full non-awareness of birth-date,
Ought to render these speechless vapors vain.
What telescoped forms of dumb orbitings mute
Might imbue with insight in placid images cute
Any salient squinter into thick lens herebelow,
Where tiptop harps and strung wonders bore?
Astrologers and their crafty stars will sweat to tell,
Where and when their augury-warped instincts fell.
I CAN’T BE SATAN’S SERVANT.
I could be an awful pimp,
To sell-off girls’ womanhood cheap,
Disregarding their blood-tear weep
When men dragging their virginity in creep
But I can’t be Satan’s servant.
I could hear a beggar and skip
A biggest gambler Cards to flip
A notorious killer knife to stab deep
To shed blood and sweep
But I can’t be Satan’s servant.
I could mess with girl’s right to left hip
Twenty operation per day never to sleep
My tongue to torture their upper to lower lip
Trigger their innocent emotions to leap
But I can’t be Satan’s servant.
I could beat the weak with a scornful whip
And cool their thirsty with water for drip,
Never to let them take a nap
And proud myself a guy of tiptop
But I can’t be Satan’s servant
Loosely based on the movie Arsenic and Old Lace.
I’m sure you’ll excuse the rambling for that is what
the movie was like — an adrenal rush of dark and crazy!
Teddy Roosevelt: “Bully for you.”
BULLY FOR POISON
no pantywaist.
puts his big boy pants on.
deals with his bully
brother and his odd sidekick.
his uncle bugles at tiptop,
races downstairs,
keeps going
to the gullet —
the belly of the whale.
a grave situation.
tools laid out...
twisted...
menacing..
are his aunts a menace too?
but so sweet to his fiance
while they (let me say
this with the voice of Margaret Hamilton)
“Poison...poison…”
oh don’t worry!
they are only helping
lonely old men.
elderberry wine
sounds delicious
and zany.
Mortimer gets ever more
drunk
on crazy
as he finds bodies in window seats
and buried “in the locks,” below.
in the end he,
like his Uncle
(Teddy Roosevelt) blows
his bugle,
races downstairs,
figuring he must be
cuckoo, for he’s related
to the bunch of nuts.
honeymooners pack up the whole bunch
in paddy wagons, straight jackets,
whatever it takes.
he finds out he can’t relate,
he’s adopted.
wipes off his forehead,
kisses his aunts,
rides off into the sunset.
his kids will never visit.
he warns them of drinking,
especially when they are lonely old men.
teaches his daughters not to mix drinks.
he hopes of his adopted family, he’s seen the last.
he will keep tabs.
3/11/2021
In the beginning this boat was bare,
Greenest with infant's sinless stare;
Before soles more selfish than sane
Had trodden its dreary derelict main.
First to blacken its still-tiptop form
Were kith and kin as is sin's norm;
For if brother Cain won't Abel kill,
Which other bloodier maniac will?
Then hopped wild neighbors' feet
Onto this boat's floor sterile neat;
And like schythes thrust to the hilts,
Hurt this bud that yet writhing wilts.
Nor were classmates' limbs and toes
Any kinder to this vessel's prior woes;
Hasty to sprain its ingenuous naiveté,
Sterner kilning did than fire dealt clay.
There finally was that first-ever flame,
Wooled to the wrist like a mild dame;
Which vulpine swill in flannels guised
Took I, and at last this boat capsized!
How fast the years did clip and leap away,
till your Earth orbitz count ninety decades
+ uno journeys orbited around mister sun
encompassing metaphorical magnum opus
figuratively paginated bound compendium,
whereby chronology Boyce Brandon Harris
also known as papa san 'pon being drafted
his six foot 2 inch tiptop chiseled physique
(musculoskeletal frame shrunk) dada fought
the good fight one among many raw recruits
stationed south 38th parallel serving admins
Harry Truman, & Dwight David Eisenhower
bolstering strongman Syngman Rhee against
Kim Il-sung during 6/25, 1950 – 7/27, 1953
war (actually stalemate) whereby former and
latter controlled South and North Korean as
separate countries - father (soldier of fortune
(he art not yet in heaven, whatever Unitarian
equivalent would be) hoping to live at least
until Tuesday, November 3, 2020 to vote for
fightin Joe Biden, meanwhile Zayda to his 5
grandkids keeps low profile at Normandy
Farm Estates upscale retirement community
whose delicate health (i.e. congestive heart
failure) could (does) pose hardship visa vis
his immune system susceptible to microbes
(particularly strains) virile which could spell
death of beloved nonagenarian, whose dim
eyes sees approaching exit (stage door left)
out webbed wide world of living survivors.
Mayor presence be regaled as presents
courtesy second rate poetaster
born (only heir - hiss supple) while ye still
tread, albeit ably helped along with cane.
H-A-P-P-Y B-I-R-T-H-D-A-Y
walk away broken
the token of a
blasted show- i
said no- eyes
break away from
the body, i can't
breathe in & out
of my mind i
roam. don't come
closer i see your
mouth foam dripdrop
i'm all alone on the
tiptop of desolation
hill.
Take heart amid violent storms
Triggered by others' ignorance;
For elephants ignore all worms
Who coil under its titanic might.
Swim on to that higher clime
Where giants dine and wine;
For all closer shores promise
No treat above common line.
Strive for the luminous sun
Or hurtle down into oblivion;
Forfeit sure ground's safety
On which no medals shone.
And pine not over stale waters
That neither luck nor tiptop wit
May recoup despite their clout;
Chase fresh prize with iron grit.
I stood in awe as she alighted like a bird upon some branch,
Belisha beacon to the abyss bound clochard.
Bonfire for uncanny scion adrift,
ignited by her
incandescent eyes.
Chanteuse of Arcadia on song and sound.
Halo at the crossroads, spreading out her wings to scupper animus
and bile.
Mystic lodger earthen yet ethereal,
hoisting every limb aloft from Bern to Betelgeuse.
Limelight vernal
queen blessed by open columns, healer on the arc where tangents dwell.
Silver tiptop finger nails a castanet with magic samba grooves.
In ritual or routine this lifeline Flora,
bright zoetic statue,
magnetising symbol for the bod without a bean.
Silken hands that rock the infant cradle,
quelling fractious babies, saboteurs of sandman’s mythic dust.
Moonlight moths that
flit across the glossy pages sculpted in her cheeks.
Backstreet lantern white knight,
echo in a mirror of chatoyant eyes.
Cast iron shadow coat tail,
destiny’s de lux edition bound but never gagged.
Damsel on assignment,
ever present vigil, soothing troubled psyches as they wallow in the waters of Lethe.
Nightingale who weaves an ample flourish,
band aid profile minder of a
cobblestone waif,
otherworldly migrant,
window on polluted quarters
harbouring those abject fallen figures,
bane of ghostly ushers when they prowl.
Heroine’s ascension ,
angel flying over heaven’s ladder,
waiting for that moment when her heart has found a home.
She looked far off to the west
At the tiptop of the mountain range was snow
What was that black thing?
She got out her binoculars.
It was a mountain goat!
She put the binoculars down and reached her arms up high.
When she got to the goat, he jumped into her hands.
She dropped him when she got him right up close
Because the closer her hands came to her body
The bigger he got.
Plucked him off as a speck
and now that big boy weighed
at least two hundred pounds!
Her husband came out and took a look at him.
Would you please quit doing that? He asked.
It was tough being married to a sorceress.