Best Top Drawer Poems
I never really realized
How crucial friends can be
I used to think that one or two
Would be enough for me
But now I think I'm changing
How I view this need to share
The good things and the heartaches
With ones who really care
We moved here from the city
With a group of folks like us
To wile away our golden years
To relax and avoid the fuss
Since moving to this paradise
I'm now a different man
I welcome conversations
Bout neighbours and their plans
To share each other's happiness
And cry when losing one
We're all so very much alike
No matter where we're from
It's not a competition
To see who wins the prize
It's all about companionship
To feel the bonds that tie
Now if I were just to count them
There'd be twenty-five I'm sure
Some more close than others
But all of them top drawer
So if you see me walking tall
And whistling a happy tune
It's because I've found my paradise
No more doom and gloom
© Jack Ellison 2014
I'm so happy I checked-out a recent e-mail from the Soup
By doing so, I was privileged to read some of Becca Teagan's
work, I know I may have gone over the top with my
little tribute, but I write what comes to me.
I never say this lightly ------"She's a MUST read"
You're far above that upper class
Unique among themselves
Most I view as Top Drawer Poets
But you my friend, Top Shelf
You're the bell of the ball
The cream of the crop
The tip of the tip
of the tipious top
The shine on the shoe
The stick in the tie
The ultimate answer
To that old question "Why?"
You're the crown on the Queen
The jewel of the Nile
You're Aces to me
Cause you write with such style
Don't shy when I say
You're the best of the best
I've strained all the soup
And I've read all the rest
You write like an Angel
With paper and pen
You know what to do
So, just do it again
CLERIHEW REVIEW
Sir Isaac Newton
Though genetically close to an Orang Utan
With his larger cranial cavity
He discovered the law of gravity
Atilla the Hun
Was a man who liked innocent fun
After a day of rape and pillage
He played cricket for his village
King William the Conqueror
Breeding not from the very top drawer
Put that with the deeds of a dastard
He was known as Bill the Bastard
Julius Caesar
Was a really imperious geezer
Though he headed for a fall
You must admit he had the Gaul
King of France: Louis Quatorze
Loved to dress in silky drawers
When asked “Do you feel that’s alright?”
He said: ”Yes, when they’re pulled up tight”
"You say you want a revolution" screamed the four,
John, Paul, George and Ringo beat down the door.
Melody and harmony and Brit sex appeal gone anti-war
Nine times round the turn table with Yoko, hardcore.
Fab stereo artists with composite collages for musical scores,
they kicked, whined, smoked and dined in venues top-drawer.
Number 9 was the cut most radical by lore
chaos, poetry, and prose composed with sound effects galore,
a sandwiched montage of "what are you looking for?"
I opened the top drawer of my mind
and carelessly took out some words.
I threw them about with little thought
of where or on whom they might land.
Many bounced when they hit becoming scattered and lost;
Some stuck like burrs holding fast where they fell;
A few jabbed like barbs causing prickling and itching;
One flew straight as an arrow into the heart of a friend.
But I was amused at myself and filled with conceit,
there in the midst of an admiring crowd.
Caught up in the wonder and pride of it all
I gave no thought to the missiles I'd fired.
But wait, the crowd grew quiet, and
suddenly I knew something was wrong!
They were all looking at me with disbelief and fear;
then the circle parted and I gazed on a terrible scene.
My words had become visible, each ugly one of them,
glinting and mocking me everywhere I looked.
I ran from the crowd, from their jeering delight
thinking only one thing, disappear, disappear.
It was then I saw my friend.
Fighting for breath and losing the fight;
impaled and dying on my careless word.
I cried, "Oh my dear God. Please, what have I done!"
And I ran to my friend saying, "please, please hold on."
Then I opened the bottom drawer of my mind
and carefully, so carefully took out some words.
I carried them to my friend and gently held them out
hoping, praying that they would be enough.
My friend lived that day, no thanks to me,
and forgave me for my awful deed.
But oh what I'd give if I could recall
that word and the pain that it brought.
To you who, like I, have been careless in your talk,
take care what you say, set a watch on your tongue.
Else you too some day will see effects you never meant
from words you can't get back, ever.
Submitted 5 Sept 16
Sure like my image to be added to Mount Rushmore
It could be animated with me chuckling forevermore
In the history books I'd be
One who wrote about pee
Not very dignified but a poet top drawer
© Jack Ellison 2015
Queen Hillary's election to the presidency seems a foregone conclusion,
Brought about by back-room deals, magical tricks and considerable illusion.
I thought I'd offer suggestions for her cabinet officers (as if she cared),
To surround herself with top-notch people so that she is fully prepared.
Jane Fonda, who loves the military, I'd suggest for Secretary of Defense.
Tax evader 'Rev' Al Sharpton, as head of the IRS would make a lot of sense.
The Department of Labor needs a person who is considered top-drawer;
The only guy who I can think of for that job is super-patriot Michael Moore.
The Education Department could be offered to Jesse Jackson, the 'preacher',
And from that bully-pulpit expound his inane babble to every teacher.
Pelosi for Department of Transportation since she knows her way around.
She's adept at using government planes for junkets for which she's renowned.
The inventor of the internet, Al Gore, would qualify for Secretary of Interior.
He could rant and rave about melting ice, a topic about which he feels superior.
How about Barbra Streisand for the important job as Secretary of State.
(She'd outshine Hillary from all her antics we've learned about of late.)
Former Congressman Anthony Weiner might possibly serve on her staff,
But I'll leave his job for Hillary to name -I want no part of that gaffe!
There must be something for Bubba Billary to do, her ever-faithful spouse;
Ah! I know! He could 'manage' young female interns working at the House!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
1000 white lines sat,
There on her arms.
She covered them up,
So no one would stare.
She wore her long sleeves,
Everyday of the week.
Hoping no one would notice,
Everyone just thought she was cold.
She seemed so happy,
Just on the outside.
But deep down inside,
No one knew just how much she was hurting.
She would keep to herself,
So happy and smiley.
Not one thing could be wrong.
That's what they all thought.
When she got home,
She would go to her room.
With her door locked,
She sat down on her bed.
She rolled up her sleeves,
And her arms started to scream.
The names that they spoke,
Made her eyes spring with tears,
And her nose really runny.
She pulled out her knife,
From the top drawer of her dresser.
And glided it carefully,
Through the skin on her arms.
The blood prickled up,
So warm and so red.
Maybe, she thought, she'd be better off dead.
So she took the used blade that she had in her hand,
And made an incision,
As deep as could be.
She lost blood fast,
As her time ran short.
And with her last breath,
She wrote on her wall,
with bloodied up fingers.
'I'm sorry for this.'
The words boldly projected.
Hours went by,
And her mom called her for dinner.
When no response came,
And no footsteps were heard,
Her mom became curious,
Just like she should.
She stepped up the stairs,
And opened the door to her daughter's room.
She ran horrified over to her daughter's side,
As she lay still,
The light gone from her eyes.
Her mother's eyes glistened with tears,
As she saw the clear message.
"Why?!" she cried out.
She then ran for the phone,
And called 911.
But it was too late.
1000 white lines,
Now glitter her arms,
As she lays in her casket.
She's now with the stars.
Everyone she's known is completely heartbroken.
Just knowing she's gone.
It's all because of those thousand white lines...
Tap, Tap, Tap!
Carla’s pen keeps hitting the table,
As she writes her final thoughts.
She attempts to explain to her mother,
How it wasn’t her fault.
She tried so hard,
To raise her right.
It wasn’t her fault,
That her daughters life crumbled,
Right before her eyes.
It wasn’t her fault,
That she didn’t know.
How could she?
Her daughter hid it so well.
She finishes the note,
And signs with her best wishes.
Wishes that her mother would be ok,
Wishes that she could see,
It had nothing to do with her,
Wishes that everyone could just forget.
Forget about her!
“I Love You”,
Carla adds at the end.
Three simple words,
That would be carved in her mothers mind.
Not for a week,
Not even for a month,
But until the day she dies.
Carla gets up.
Walks over to her dresser,
Leaving the note behind.
Reaches into the top drawer,
And pulls out a gun.
Her hands are trembling,
Lips quivering,
Knees beginning to give way.
Slowly making her way to the bed,
She crawls under the covers.
Places the barrel of the gun,
Against her temple.
Her pointer finger,
Lingering over the trigger.
She pulls it in,
And nothing.
No pain,
No bang,
No death,
Nothing!
She must have left a bullet out,
While she quickly loaded the gun.
Now realizing,
What she is doing.
Tears come flowing out of her eyes,
Like a salt-water waterfall.
She’s sobbing now,
Good thing no ones home.
Placing her finger back on the trigger,
She pulls one last time.
It hit her,
Like a rock thrown through a window.
Her skull shattered,
Her tears stopped
It was over,
Over and done with!
She was gone!
No worries left to think about,
No life left to care about!
Yet she was still sad.
Killing herself,
Had not given her the satisfaction,
She so dearly desired.
It felt like another bullet hit her,
As she discovered this would haunt her.
Haunt her for all eternity,
In the after-life.
The moment she pulled the trigger,
The sorrow she felt,
Would never leave.
It would play over and over,
In her mind.
Her soul could never rest,
After what she did.
Dieing was not at all what she hoped was her Last Wish!
I never really realized
How important friends can be
I used to think that one or two
Would be enough for me
But now I think I'm changing
How I view this need to share
The good things and the heartaches
With ones who really care
We moved here from the city
With a group of folks like us
To wile away our golden years
To relax and avoid the fuss
Since moving to this paradise
I'm now a different man
I welcome conversations
Bout neighbours and their plans
To share each other's happiness
And cry when losing one
We're all so very much alike
No matter where we're from
It's not a competition
To see who wins the prize
It's all about companionship
To feel the bonds that tie
Now if I were just to count them
There'd be twenty-five I'm sure
Some more close than others
But all of them top drawer
So if you see me walking tall
And whistling a happy tune
It's because I've found my paradise
No more doom and gloom
© Jack Ellison 2014
I can’t remember what you said
Cause it’s gone right out my head.
When I asked you if you want tea
Did you reply or say coffee?
I don’t know what I came for
When I opened this top drawer.
I’ll go back to where I was
To think of it once more.
I can’t go back to where I was
Cause I don’t know where I came from.
It’s somewhere in this house I guess,
But I know not where, I must confess.
I can’t see without my glasses
But I don’t know where they are.
I can’t look for my lost glasses,
Cause my eyes don’t focus far.
And so each room, around I’ll feel
Bumping as I go.
Until I find them on my head;
I’m a forgetful so and so.
And so it is we all get old
Though we thought it would never be.
And if today you are young and bold
Tomorrow you’ll be frail with a memory like me.
Each morning I wake
eager to search online;
the latest news,
messages from friends,
funny videos on U-Tube,
or love notes from relatives living
in Belleville, Casper, or Sausalito.
The top-drawer of any morning
is listening to a familiar voice
pronounce names of notable writers,
born on said date, and list
their quirks, achievements,
titles of books written, etc.
Each day, he reads a poem
chosen to inform, comfort,
or entertain his audience,
the timbre of his voice as soothing
as a soft rain falling on a canopy.
I wait for his closing message,
and my voice joins his farewell
as we say these words together,
“Be well, do good work,
and keep in touch.”
No morning is complete
without The Writer's Almanac.
I was sincere.
And you
kissed my eyes like I was your favorite Lego-
too precious to throw
into the garage sale.
Or a creepy crawler you keep between the mattress
and box spring of your bed
because the
colors of this
worm bring you
closer to God.
Wrap me in
a balloon
and allow the car window to suck it into space-
too fragile for earth
storms and war life.
Or the top drawer where you keep your socks
and underwear, boxer briefs
where I
can nestle softly
in the folds of
your sacred parts.
I have a fondness for gemstones that meets crazy at the border.
Today I sorted out the top drawer of my desk, and realized this is where
A million of the missing pieces are hanging out.
Laughing at me probably as I type above their heads
Having no knowledge of them whatsoever.
How jewelry gets stuffed into drawers I do not know.
Are there shoving elves that come at night?
Because these little rascals have commandeered
At least two, maybe three kitchen drawers also.
I clean them out every year or so, and yet,
Everything seems to make its way back.
I found six hundred and eighty-two dollars in change
One summer week when I was cleaning out
My husband’s drawers.
No pun intended, and no, I am not a hooker.
But thank you for showing me that your mind
Also wanders into the gutter keeping mine company.
What is that? The jewelry is screaming for me to wear it.
All of you? I ask.
It nods savagely.
If I had thirty-six fingers, I would.
My toes are large though, and I do not want
To even glimpse at toenails I can use as spades now.
I have to go. There is a little riot here, and I am the sane one.
Sure like my image to be added to Mount Rushmore
It could be animated with me chuckling evermore
In the history books I'd be
One who wrote about pee
Not very dignified but a poet top drawer