Best Tongs Poems
Our Christmas dinner was served,
With traditional veggies and meat,
It’s a roast with the usual crackle,
Plus gravy to make it complete.
And then it is time for the sweets,
It’s a pudding with personal pride
From a recipe of our grandmother,
With money that’s hidden inside.
Now each and all hope and they pray,
The pudding that’s put on their plate,
Will be blessed with a monetary gain,
In the pudding that’s meant to be ate.
There’s picking and prodding the pudding,
Through custard the searchers persist,
But for one of the kids at the table,
A sixpence has duly been missed.
There’s panic and tears from the error,
For the sixpence that slid down his throat,
But young Barry is wisely assured,
That the loss of his coin is remote.
The family all gathered together,
When our Barry was called to the ‘loo’,
For now it is time for the sixpence,
To hopefully come into view.
With a ladle, a knife and a fork,
The search was a family affair,
In a delicate operative fashion,
To see if the sixpence was there.
And there in the light glow of the ‘loo’,
We noticed the head of the queen,
With the tongs now the sixpence is back,
Although it is a little unclean.
Now the sixpence is safe in a drawer,
Back settled from our Christmas cheer,
But here is the pertinent question…
I wonder who gets it next year?
It was a nightmare of a boat trip
I almost choked to death on an orange pip
They did not strain the juice well
And from a small pip, I gasped for air and started to swell
If it weren’t for a crewmember named William Patel
Well…
I stayed in bed for a spell
The captain apologised
Which was wise
He said “ the rest of the trip is free.”
So I was extravagant and splashed out on the person I called “Me.”
While sitting on deck, by the pool, sipping me tea
I was captivated by a well-formed female in a translucent bikini
She rolled her eyes flirtingly at me
So being the gentleman I am, I rolled them back you see
We were mesmerised with each other for a while
As we secretly exchanged a naughty smile
I placed hers in me left butt cheek pocket
As I felt me Viagra stick raising like a rocket
This was the beginning of a sensual relationship
Thanks to that bloody orange pip
Anyway, we went below deck
Where it was dark and gave each other a peck
Then we were at it like hammer and tongs
Moaning and groaning the seductive songs
Who needs Viagra, it was me
Only me, all me me me
Take some advise, find a place where you might get caught and you’ll see
It will magnify the enjoyment of your OOOh!, uhhh!, oohweee!
We stood in a narrow doorway
And began entertaining each other with a bit of, you know, foreplay
Then she turned her back to me and oooh! What can I say
Pressing against each other and pushing against the door arch was… heaven all the
way
Then, yep, we were caught, and guess what happen next
It was the captain and she was his wife who would suspect?
The big mother was rather vexed
I tried to tell him not to blow it out of context
But… the bugger wouldn’t stop strangling me with his mount Everest pecs
Give me the orange pip any day
But the situation I was in, hell no way
Meat in my smokehouse a bit light,
With the weather about right,
One morning at first light,
I headed to buzzard roost hollow,
A leash on Brownie’s collar,
But Brownie went crazy as a goose,
When I turn him loose,
My worse fear, I could hear,
Him chasing a deer,
Out of pope county, was clear,
Anyhow, now, down in the pope county wild woods,
Seated on an Arkansas hollow log,
With my finger on a trigger, and my eye on a hog,
I pulled that trigger, and the bullet went zip,
I jumped on that hog, with all my grip,
Though I knew I had missed,
I couldn’t resist,
Now as my grip would slip.
The hog would rip,
Tusk 8 inches long,
Like ice tongs,
Would chomp and rip,
As the battle begin to tip,
Hog getting the best of a bad situation,
Sure wish my dog hadn’t taken, his deer vacation,
At about the time,
I thought it was, the end of the line,
I heard Brownie coming,
Man, that dog was running,
He had heard the fight,
Was coming back, to claim his right,
Old Johnny Cash, in the boy named Sue,
Ain’t shown my dog and me, nothing new,
Blood guts and hair, rose up in the air,
When ole Brownie took hold, this fight ain’t fair,
Didn’t take no hour,
Untill we were back in our own lair,
We were saying a prayer, within the hour,
I was seated in a chair,
At my kitchen table,
Razorback meat, the label,
Ole Brownie, proving himself to be, very able,
To sit under my table,
For he’s my mean hooooog,
DOG!!!
Dedication: "MoonBee Canady" An outstanding poet of light poetry, as far as I am concerned.
I certainly enjoy reading your light poetry, as well as the other types you write. You go girl,
I hope you like these poems! Godly love, Sincerely Moses
9-27-09 johnmosesfreeman@yahoo.com
A seething summer morning in the oil boom trailer park
Oral Roberts on the radio with the gospel told by Mark
The reek of raw petroleum is everywhere around
We little oil trash urchins play marbles on the ground
He drives out here most every day around the hour of nine
Checking all the trailer windows for a little cardboard sign
He parks the canvas-covered truck and dons his leather vest
Throws a tow sack o'er his back and shows his Sunday best
Down the drive comes Danny, on his mighty motor bike
Hanging on the handlebars, his bigger brother Mike
The engine makes a ton of noise, a dandy double stroke
Two baseball cards and clothespins, hitting every spoke
Our ragamuffin gang was gathered, just waiting for the time
To contrive our evil strategy and carry out our crime
“The iceman, the iceman!”, I hear my sisters say
“Y'all be quiet!”, I hiss to them,” You'll give us all away!”
The iceman sidles round the truck and casts the canvas back
Scores a hundred-pounder block and cleaves it with a whack
Tongs the icy burden to his back and laughs at what is left
Chunks and chips of frozen jewels, the targets of our theft
We want so hard to play it cool and act like we don't care
All our mouths fill up with drool and it's tricky not to stare
The iceman winks his eye at me and hides a little grin
Then walks up to the trailer door where mother lets him in
The moment that the door slams shut, the bandits make their play
With eyes lit up, we whoop and shout like kids on holiday
We suck up all the chunks and chips and with our bellies iced
We swagger off to brag about our frosty jewelry heist
It's true we didn't have a lot, perhaps enough to just scrape by
But the visit from the iceman was like Christmas in July
And when I pass through oilfield country, it never ceases to amaze
How the scent of raw petroleum brings back those icebox days
January 30, 2013
I played my part, in the praise of the Lord,
Standing by the choir box, on my own accord,
Deft hands created a heart, centuries old,
With gilded corners and polished wood, set my soul,
The young little fingers of a fairy, that kissed,
Struck a hammer, in my strings lips,
A mild tap of dance, on the brass right foot,
Would sustain my melody into an eternal mood,
Crafted with the ability, to sound like a lark,
Across octaves and sharps, six and half,
The bard who was deaf, could hear through my touch,
And create symphonies, for an interminable march,
When the ‘Rose of England’, reached the Lords’ Abode,
Elton’s tenor, rained heavens, on a grieving road,
With my hammers and tongs, I make the world think deep,
Or weave a sweet lullaby, that puts little hearts to sleep,
Needless to spell, I, reside in your hearts,
In exultation or sorrow, I am always your part.
Pradipta Roy Choudhury
https://notionpress.com/read/the-transient-soliloquy
He billed himself as an expert in the field of "equine podiatry",
Better known as a farrier for farmers and the cream of society!
Keeping horses shod and their hooves polished was his vocation.
With horseflesh he'd had many an interesting confrontation!
He always had a roll-yer-own dangling from his lips,
And a blackened leather apron wrapped about his hips.
His jaw was set and with biceps wrought of tempered steel,
He'd strike the anvil with his hammer - what a rhythmic peal!
In his jumbled shop he'd shod animals of many breeds.
Donkeys, mules, ponies and prized Arabian steeds.
He shoed critters pulling covered wagons to unknown frontiers,
And many a cowpokes cayuse for the round-up of his steers!
One detail they didn't cover when he was in farrier school,
Was how to deal with the occasional cantankerous mule.
Many times he'd found himself sprawled upon the dirt,
With the outline of a hoof imprinted upon his shirt!
Tho' his profession never guaranteed a life of glamour,
And knowing he'd not get rich wielding a tongs and hammer,
Yet, it was challenging working with ornery mule and horse,
Always hoisting their hindquarters very gingerly of course!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
NEUER THE ACHILLES
Horse power?
Let the horses keep their power
Neuer power is now the toast of all
The day all cats chose their king
It was Tiger that first wore the crown
But Lion roared, bore his fangs
And bristled up his mane like Tsunami
In a jiffy he dethroned the Tiger
Then came the king of catch-
Whose ribs are breastplates
Whose hands are magnetic tongs-
Neuer the Achilles:it was him
That shamed the lion and won the crown.
Neuer the omniform
Massive rock at duty post ;
Egal where comes the bullet:
Left, right, corner or centre;
It comes from corner,
He coils on it like a python;
It comes from centre,
He broods ball like mother-hen;
When the gunners come closer
He unfolds himself like an Ostrich taking a flight
And exclusively ward them off
Like a mother-dog chasing intruders
Away from its puppies.
Daredevil the goalkeeper
Keel that keeps the ship afloat:
It dares the oceans and shuts them out
Says cargo hold is for smile and not for tear;
In the air he is a parachute
On the ground he is yak or cyclone
Open or close the net snores
The posts say, ‘it is holiday today’
The ball says, ‘ I am on safe hands today’
Only the gunners keep gnashing their teeth
The pains of stillbirths wet their eyes
Who shall take me to Deutschland ?
Who shall take me to Bayern- Muchen?
Let him that will take me to Neuer come now
I can’t wait to meet the Archilles.
Ade Kayode Adebayo
Jan. 2014
In our neighborhood during the second world war
At the side of each house were a porch and a door.
And, believe it or not, it was always unlocked
When a tradesman or stranger or visitor knocked.
Around dawn men arrived who at doorsteps would lay
All the baked goods and milk patrons needed that day.
And the women would once a week purchased their meat
From the truck of a butcher who stopped on our street.
Before fridges, remembered by we who are old
Was the ice box in kitchens that kept the food cold.
Using tongs, blocks of ice were delivered by men
Who before they had melted would come back again.
Also, door-to-door salesmen would try to persuade
All the wives that their products were best ever made.
And our neighbor would daily come by for a spell
To a recipe share or with gossip to tell.
In the middle of autumn, the coal truck returned
To replenish the piles that the furnace had burned.
Down long chutes made of metal would tumble and roar
Tons of coal that filled bins on our bare cellar floor.
Roving hobos quite often would rap on the door.
Without jobs or a home, they for food would implore.
The depression still lingered, so mothers would feel
Sympathetic and always provided a meal.
And to parents'displeasure, the screen doors would bang
As kids hurried from houses to be with the gang.
We would gather on lots that were vacant to play
Or would wander the countryside nearly all day.
When it rained, on a porch that was covered we'd meet
To with checkers or Clue or Parcheesi compete.
We swapped marbles, pitched pennies, played poker for fun,
And our comic books read till return of the sun.
At the back door we'd weekly the paper boy pay,
And the mail was delivered then two times a day.
If it weren't for the doctor who'd come when we call,
We would never had needed a front door at all.
Kick.
A lot of questions arose in mind always and
Always those vanished from scene
Today I gathered them in mind and called
O I noticed you were ultimate piece.
Searches of bliss and peace and wealth of axis
Noted honestly by flowery pen with golden tips
Blank paper was gladdened with ink and flip
Told me I am happiest gist.
Amidst dreadful knocks of jolts and downs
Started to notice: I want to be your wrist
And was urging please be dedicated to assist in this
In your cities and towns I am arrested with natural kiss.
Love you so sending this SMS from my pad
I believe modern tongs may deceive but honest is chips
I will be afternoon this to shake hand broadening teeth
Questions emerged from mind then will be all dismissed.
(05/08/2014)
One dark and dreary night many, many moons ago
myself and a friend coming home from the local disco
no names mentioned smiling . . .
and in the far distance we could see and hear three girls
laughing and giggling and having fun
This was Halloween Night or All Hallows' Eve . . .
and so we climbed up the nearest evergreen
barely breathing, holding our breaths . . .
so they would not hear us and sense our presence
the one directly in the middle as they neared us
in passing a quick clip at the back of the head said
do you want to hear the screams roaring out of
them away hammer and tongs up the road
We could hear them shouting and carrying on . . .
I'm sure that place is haunted
to this day they tell their story claiming it to be real
well better still was to come for both of us
laughing our hearts out giggling like madmen
I felt like a gruesome hand of ice just touched me . . .
the tremors ran down my spine
jolting me in a most terrible way
almost felt like a gripping sensation on my shoulder
almost falling of the tree with a roar
My good friend starting screaming making it worse . . .
saying somebody must of touched us the same time
we looked at each other and made a race to get home
just got really spooked and ran the whole 3 miles home
in a record time ever saying my holy prayers every stroll of the way . . .
a most hideous and macabre thought -- a ghost touched me
as the cold ran right through me chilling me to the bone
never was I as glad to see holy water in the house
I bless myself for being lucky
never ever have I pulled such a prank
from that night to this . . .
It backfired on us so we chose never to say
a word about it ever again!!
And now we can only say: BOO!! BOO!! BOO!!
And Happy Halloween!!
Liam McDaid and Gary Bateman, Free Verse Collaboration (October 13, 2014)
(Contest Entry for Halloween Co-Writes, 5 Nov 14, Diane Locksley - Sponsor)
Serenade
O butterfly of beauty,the harlequin of Herphrodite,
Cladded in sequin lace and golden floss.
Of royale regale you are sunk in lavender,
And the sequoia of colours beseech thee.
You are the true vine of adorations,
Of tartan floss you glow in majestic revelry.
In flames of passion you dwell in ale of winter,
Of flakes of emotion you tell the tale of summer.
O butterfly of beauty,the beauty queen of herphrodite,
Shaded in the opals of ace and lustre of pageantry.
Vermouth shall be let loose when the mount displays,
And the vintage of opera shall raise the vantage.
The verdant of vino and the lingo of linoleum,
And memories of maiden days lay in royal elan.
From the songs of fairyland you deem comply,
And the tongs of Maryland the theme apply.
Ten words ten lines 2-Big Surf Competition
After a long ennui of big wave competitions
surfers take to Oahu's North Shore "to go for baroque."
For these bonafide big wave riders hanging ten
is party time, cake frosted with elan and deju vu.
Waves peaking it's face into the eyes of the brave,
with carte blanche of fifty footers, part of the sugar.
All eye candy are on the Hawaiians, lipping alley-opps on the curls,
showcasing avante-garde to the diletttante's and spectators.
As waves keep pounding the shore to the cacophony of applause,
to tats, tongs and tans, big wave riders take to this anomaly waving.
Anomaly
Avant-garde
Baroque
Bona fide
Cacophony
Carte blanche
Deja vu
Dilettante
Elan
Ennui
connie pachecho
1/20/18
Pro Patria Mori
Missouri volunteers bit bullets, watched
as Santa Ana's baggage washed
their brazen hair, hip deep
in the Rio Grande.
The ancient river moved across the land
Like slow drool down a leather cheek.
Bang! Paul Bunyan's balls
rolled down the Great Divide, rattled
across the porcelain sea.
Oh, the girls!
Hair hot and black, Whoopee!
Their tongues as pink as baby fat.
Now tongs drop a hissing crepe
on the defoliated plate. Butter complicates
our fingers, soils the bib.
We crack a claw. Like a crib
at Benin, wary and dull,
the eagle fills his nest with skulls.
IRONING
Years of ironing starched shirt collars
for my father and the aprons
we wore for cookery class in school,
gave a polished surface to the clothes iron.
The end opened like the lid of a box
and out came the large stone which
we buried in the centre of the open fire,
until it turned pink-red, like a slab of jelly.
With the tongs we lifted the stone
from the fire, transferred it to the iron
and began ironing the clothes.
As we moved it over and back
on the garments, the creases vanished.
Every fifteen minutes we placed the stone
back in the fire, until clothes for seven of us
were neatly ironed and stacked,
ready for another week
from PERFUME OF THE SOIL, SWAN PRESS l999
Whatever happened
To afternoon tea
Served around four o-clock
It used to be a daily ceremony
Out came a pretty cloth
From an old sideboard drawer
To put on a small table
Used many times before
On to this table
Doylies and napkins placed
Precisely and carefully
There was no need to race
Then came the china
A person's very best
Teapot and cosy
And an antique spoon rest
Fairy cubes of sugar
Along with bowl and tongs
Wireless playing softly
To the now old-fashioned songs
Now to the best part, the spread
Oh! the spread
Everything home-made
Especially the bread
Assorted sandwiches, sometimes ham
Mostly it was scones with cream and jam
Nothing elaborate just wholesome fare
Loving-kindness sprinkled there
Not a Macdonalds to be seen long ago
And preservatives were not so prevalent
So, most grew their own vegetables
And had gardens with fruit trees
Used old-fashioned methods
To nurture these
They grew organic without realising
Healthy, rewarding and very enterprising