Best Totes Poems
Gray smeared sky like a quilt of rags
Winos sip rot gut from brown paper bags
Threadbare cloud crotch splits up the side
Rain pours down, you got nowhere to hide
Cheap umbrella from a street corner pimp
Turns inside out before going limp
Putrid puddles, soggy doggy doo dollops
Are artfully dodged by high-heeled trollops
A rat scurries by with a piece of bread
Like the ant that totes a leaf on its head
You too once held big dreams in your grasp
But they got drowned with a gurgling gasp
You told me before, no you don't stutter
Your genius ideas got washed down the gutter
Now like a scavenger after a flood
You salvage what's left from out of the mud
Ashes to crashes, lust to rust
In the end it only goes bust
Caught in between the future and past
You start out just fine but finish dead last
____________________________
by Brian McClain - Jan 23, 2016
Categories:
totes, angst, beautiful, change, culture,
Form:
Rhyme
Buttons for game pieces, buttons on totes,
Buttons on toys, shoes, sweaters and coats.
Buttons that open and buttons that close
On pockets and purses and edges of clothes.
Buttons that decorate; buttons that don’t.
Buttons I'm sure to lose; buttons I won’t.
Buttons as filler for bean bags and such.
Buttons collected are not used so much!
Buttons on greeting cards and on jewelry!
Thousands of buttons adorning a tree!
Buttons to reset , to turn on a light.
There’s “Cute as a button” and also as “bright“!
Button up (but not down); push them “hot” (but not cold);
“Button your lip” and do as your told!
Though buttons may vanish one day from earth,
We'll wear on our bellies - buttons since birth!
Categories:
totes, children, , cute,
Form:
Couplet
I ran into Shakespeare the other day.
Told him I too am writing a play.
He asked about the premise, which was a reeler.
I had no idea he is a big premise-stealer.
I told him the plot, and he took a few notes.
I was excited when I saw him put them into his totes.
What will you do with them? I asked him, truly awed.
He would not tell me, because Shakespeare is flawed.
Just one thing, he asked, what is a hooker?
I thought that was funny, he's quite a humorous cooker!
A harlot, a whore, a rounder, tart, courtesan, I said.
"Oh, a strumpet!" he guessed, and his face turned all red.
So the next time you use the word strumpet remember to thank.
The guy who reintroduced this word to me - I call him Hank.
It's a fun word for sure, and will get some attention.
But don't use it if you are haughty with high needs of pretension.
Categories:
totes, hilarious,
Form:
Rhyme
In my man cave, is a closet
Which would spawn horrible critiques
Totes full of old computer parts
Some of which my be antiques
Various plumbing parts abound
But Lord knows I'm not a plumber
Game parts, tools, nuts, bolts and nails
Old clothes from winter to summer
There is some work out equipment
For some reason it looks brand new
In the corner is my tool box
With tools scattered most askew
It's been like that for a long time
In a terrible unsorted array
If ever found clean or empty
I must have died or moved away!
Categories:
totes, conflict, perspective, places, truth,
Form:
Quatrain
Some years from now
the Devil throws a banquet –
In hell, of course – where he alone
unquestionably rules:
A banquet table plated for
greedy fools: to his right,
Barack seated; with Hilary at
his heated left; Bidden,
unable to tell where he is –
so after a brief, delirious spell,
decides himself quite content
with just the odious, strangely
familiar smell – Hunter doing some
cooking – agents told to shy
from looking – ordered not to
allow lawful booking:
Pelosi and Schumer,
for the first time
realizing themselves entirely
powerless...yet, hopelessly
addicted to procuring votes,
hotly plot how to send
the Squad copious
asbestos notes – His Majesty
offers them, another plate of
hot coals, with a side-dish of
charred souls – some fur lined
totes, to go with stylish
Arctic coats –
Categories:
totes, allegory, betrayal, corruption, humorous,
Form:
Free verse
It's my fifth day of unemployment
and I'm going a little bit crazy.
I'd expected to sit around and relax
and in general behave quite lazy.
Day one, I made a scrapbook
and rearranged all my craft totes.
Day two I cleaned out bird cages
and started writing pre-Christmas notes.
Shopping is done and put away.
Outside Christmas lights are shining.
I fear I'm running out of projects
and for my job I am pining.
A second scrapbook has been started,
a nine hundred page book's nearly read.
I've not even made it through week one
so the next five weeks I now dread.
I vowed I'd wait 'til the new year
before looking for another career.
Six weeks off seemed reasonable, at the time,
but my resolve is failing I fear.
These little projects keep me busy.
They keep my mind occupied for awhile.
If I tell you I'm enjoying this holiday,
well now you know , I'm just in denial.
Categories:
totes, funny, on work and
Form:
Rhyme
Just down the gravel road a piece is an old-time country store.
On its saggin' shelves are things you won't find much anymore.
Ladies in bright calico barter with Mr. Draper their eggs and butter,
As they visit neighbors on Saturday nights amid the piles of clutter!
Menfolk lounge on benches in front of the store to discuss the price of hogs,
Argue the merits of John Deere tractors and who has the finest huntin' dogs.
The kids were given fifty-cents and shooed off to the movin' pitcher show.
Later they'll meet at Bruce's Deli Shoppe for ice cream and cups o' joe!
Shoppin' carts or computers ain't used in the store owned by Mr. Draper.
He grabs things off the shelf and totes the bill on scraps of butcher's paper.
Snoozin' nigh the glowin' potbelly stove is Spooks, Mr. Draper's hound.
His inscrutable cat, Wilbur, sprawls upon a barrel of pickles a-sleepin' sound!
Ah, the variety of interestin' stuff available in his store is so replete.
Fels Naptha, Oxydol and Lifebuoy soaps as well as pickled pigs feet,
Wrigley's, Black Jack, Beamans and Clove chewin' gums are on the shelf,
Plus Clark, Power House and Walnetto candies to satisfy yourself!
Farmers keep his bins stocked with fresh roastin' ears and sweet potaters,
Rutabagas, green onions, rhubarb and luscious beefsteak tomaters.
If you can tolerate squeaky floors and Mr. Draper's old-fashioned ways,
Drop by and savor the nostalgic ambience of his store one of these days!
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Entry for Kelly Deschler's "Just Down The Road" Contest
Categories:
totes, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
The invitations were sent to alumni far and near,
To gather for the school reunion later in the year.
The ultimate occasion to turn on all the old charm,
And fondly remember those who have bought the farm!
Ladies wear tight-fitting girdles to shrink the pounds.
Guys try crash diets to reduce flabbiness that abounds.
It's been over half a century since our graduation day.
It'll be intriguing to see how others fared along the way!
Old pals circulate boasting and bending my weary ear,
Regaling with boring trivia that I really don't want to hear.
I tell others how great they look, looking them straight in the eye,
As I cross my fingers behind my back for telling such a lie!
It appears that the campus queen totes a bit of additional weight.
That once haughty snob now tips the scales nigh one ninety-eight!
There's the big man on campus, voted the most apt to score success,
Guzzling booze as is his bent, displaying a bit of queasiness!
The years have elapsed, rolling on at a frightful pace,
But as long as docs keep us patched up we'll stay in the race!
To perhaps convene once again down life's treacherous road.
If not here, than a rousing reunion in that heavenly abode!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Categories:
totes, funnygraduation,
Form:
Rhyme
A football star with super speed,
Our prom king, Kyle, has gone to seed.
No longer likely to succeed,
He's out of work and hooked on weed.
Behind you's Jennifer, the one
Who led our cheers and planned our fun.
Most popular, with honors won,
She's sheriff now and totes a gun.
And over there is rotten Chad,
Once cocky jock, now deadbeat dad.
He bullied me and so I'm glad
That his investments turned out bad.
Well, here comes Sue, who was so shy
She never even kissed a guy.
She's since helped seven husbands die,
But always has an alibi.
A wit and prankster of renown
Who backwards wore his cap and gown,
Was Jason there, our class's clown.
The best mortician now in town.
A teenage tramp in scanty dress,
Yvonne no morals did possess.
She'd cheat and lie, so who would guess
She'd be a judge and great success.
Poor Adam there has gone to pot,
His hopes of being doctor shot.
Divorced and now a lonely sot,
The saddest of this sorry lot.
Remember curly-headed Clay,
The eagle scout and closet gay?
He's quarterback for Tampa Bay,
Is out, and wears a full toupee.
Poor Brook, our class's beauty queen,
Who prompted thoughts in boys unclean.
She's gone from slender sweet sixteen
To hugest hips you've ever seen.
And look at Zack, the puny nerd
With build and beak just like a bird.
Once too afraid to say a word,
He's now a billionaire, I've heard.
A romeo, Jake had his fun.
Most every girl he knew, he'd done.
Now congressman in Washington,
His votes are screwing everyone.
There's Beth, who boys refused to date.
Alone for years, she married late.
Her husband left a vast estate.
That hunk she's with is twenty-eight.
Example of the alpha male
Who knew not how it felt to fail,
My buddy, Ethan, went to Yale.
But he's not here 'cause he's in jail.
I view this wreckage with dismay,
This gathering of youth decay.
For one exception, look this way.
I haven't aged a single day.
Categories:
totes, change, high school, humorous,
Form:
Quatrain
Lover; leave me a love note
When you are away I choke
Need not buy me shiny totes
Plus...I know your broke
Categories:
totes, funny, girlfriend-boyfriendme,
Form:
Dodoitsu
Off Season Santa
Cajun Santa won’t ever be seen
Buying Christmas candy in New Orleans
He has a whole group of Elves back in the swamp
Making Cajun candy for the kids to chomp
Summer time Santa in his cutoff jeans
Stirring a big ol pot of rice and beans
Here comes Mrs. Clause with her fishing pole
She wants to head down to the Crawfish hole
Christmas Cajun Santa has toys on his back
Summer Cajun Santa totes a crawfish sack
The mud bugs have been cooked the Elves have been fed
Time for Cajun Santa to slip off to bed
He took his ball cap off of his head
He looked at Mrs. Clause, This is what he said
We can rest now, I love you honey
But I think this year I’ll help the Easter Bunny
Mack Toler
Categories:
totes, cheer up, christmas, easter,
Form:
Rhyme
My Quirk
A thing that bothers me the most,
the quirk that nags at me each day,
my study desktop capped with stuff -
its cluttered surface on display.
Poetry books, card-making drafts,
some poem lines on scribbled notes;
variety of pencils, pens,
and spaces filled with filing totes.
Perhaps an empty coffee cup
and crumbs from lunch or tiny snack.
A cell phone charging, tablet too,
and sheets from folders not put back.
Computer, printer, stacks of poems;
scattered photos, mail not read.
Some bills to pay, and some to file;
this vision messes up my head!
It drives me crazy! But, I smile
and disregard my mind's complaints.
My picture-perfect desktop dream?
Perhaps in heaven with the saints!
Outside my study, rooms are neat;
most things in place and looking fine.
But in this wild space, I create!
My freedom to compose, design!
February 10, 2018
Premiere Contest: Quirks
Sponsor: Madison Demetros
Categories:
totes, angst, crazy, freedom,
Form:
Rhyme
Born with a complex like a tormented fugitive in a constant flight from a life of acceptance, his Life is filled with questions and complexities. There is no room
for blame. In a secret place, he was crafted skillfully; non are the same.*
Stored away in my garage are many items of relative values. Some have little
to no value and are pleading for me to tossed them. Others are just put in containers relative to their size and shape. Some totes contain various items
with distinct labels of identity. Some are boxed; some are in totes; some are very clearly 'marked'. Fragile people are Like boxes of beautiful jars and
choice pottery. Such ones must be cushioned and shielded, with postings, signs, and markings, less they be broken in a thousand pieces. There is a
Divine Mandate requiring us to be sensitive and protective of them. To do less is to be a lesser human. Always present is that inability to stand
up to conflict and withstand insensitive people. He cries easily and hurts badly. He requires special touches of love and human kindness. The 'marked
ones' are so designated, not because he is more important; but rather, because he is so very fragile, and must be handled with care. The one who
would dare to bully or mistreat him will himself be uncovered and revealed as one with much disfunction and sickness. No elasticity; No bouncing ability; No
flexibility; as if crafted in a sea of glass. He is entrenched with fragility. Finished and matured glass is highly useful, but is very vulnerable and easily
cracked and broken. Some of us are strong and solid like a rock. Some of us are weak and vulnerable like sheets of glass. We all are made in God's image
and likeness. You and I have an intrinsic worth of high and equal value. May we be as HE who notices every falling bird**, and embraces us as HIS friends.
10132017 PS Contest, Fragility, Hamilton,5P *Psalm 139:15, **Matthew 10:39
Categories:
totes, care, christian, hurt, love,
Form:
Couplet
The gloomy days of winter
And soggy clouds of rain
Make me wonder if sunshiny days
Will ever come again.
I am so tired of galoshes,
Umbrellas and rain coats.
I'd like to carry only bottles
Of sun lotion in my totes.
Mr North Wind take your icy blasts
And blow them far away
To where polar bears would say welcome
And walruses and caribou play.
I am sitting by a heater
With a blanket on my knees.
I see my garden through my window
As it slips into deep freeze.
The sports of winter don't amuse me.
I have never learned to ski.
I'd like to winter in Hawaii
Or in sunny Italy.
Now that Santa Claus has gone back
To the land of ice and snow,
I must tell you Mr. Winter,
It's also time for you to go.
1/17/13
Categories:
totes, winter, winter, winter,
Form:
Rhyme
Hunters in the Snow
Slowly, the hunters break stride through the snow,
Hunched over in failure, their heads hanging low.
Below the hill where villagers at play
Will soon be sad with no food on the way.
The meagre kill slung across one’s shoulders
'Tis barely enough, let alone for others.
But there at the inn a boar on the spit,
Pork and ale for them who can pay for it.
A band of crows meets the depressed procession,
As a magpie flies by in food exploration,
While those perched in the trees caw incessantly,
As if to mock the returning party.
Yonder mountains rise with icy-capped peaks,
Where at the cliff’s base a castle is seen.
Across the dam an ox-drawn cart lumbers,
While men on ladders douse a chimney fire.
Off in the distance, a tranquil scene reveals
A village with its clock and a church steeple.
All around the town are fields covered with snow,
And below the troop, the millpond froze over.
Everything looks cold ‘neath a green-tinged sky
That signals a storm gathering be nigh.
There on the bridge, a hag totes afaggot,
Fuel for the stove to keep herself toasty.
The hounds look unnaturally thin and worn
And, like their masters, hopelessly forlorn.
Back from the hunt and home from the forest,
Hunters and dogs are badly in need of rest.
***
Note:
“Hunters in the Snow” is an ekphrastic poem describing the painting “The Hunters in the Snow” (1565) by Pieter Brueghel the Elder (c.1525/1530–1569).
Categories:
totes, art, culture, winter,
Form:
Quatrain