Best Towners Poems
Out-of-towners in the city,
Seeing folks go rushing by,
Seem to think it’s such a pity
Their hellos get no reply.
Small-town friendliness ‘round here
Sticks out like the sorest thumb.
In this urban atmosphere,
Self-absorbed we’ve all become.
There’s no room for conversation
With a person we don’t know.
Why allow a complication
To disrupt life’s ebb and flow?
Still, we might return a nod;
More than that, we’d find it odd.
In the garden, by the fountain,
I was sitting in a chair.
As the visitors approached,
I saw them hesitate and stare.
For the pool of water glittered
With a sea of silver change.
Not one warning sign was posted,
Which to me was kind of strange.
I imagine out-of-towners
Or some locals on a tour
Make a wish and toss their coins,
Which settle on the fountain floor.
Do these people think their wishes
Have a chance of coming true?
Or is tossing coins in fountains
Just a thing that people do?
If you add up all the money
That museum fountain gleans,
It could really be a fortune;
And I’m curious – who cleans?
But much more, I wonder if the wishers
May be disenchanted
When they realize that their wishes
Somehow never do get granted.
Still, most people think it’s fun
To make a wish and throw a coin;
And if I am honest, I’ll admit
At times I’m apt to join.
I walk like a New Yorker
At a swift and steady pace.
In other towns, my gait might seem
A little out of place.
New Yorkers never saunter,
Rarely ramble, hardly stroll
For on city streets, such movement
Would quite quickly take its toll.
So when out-of-towners visit,
You can spot them right away
As they amble down the sidewalk,
Thinking such a thing’s okay.
It might be just fine in places
Where the pace of life is slow
But a genuine New Yorker
Needs to go-go-go-go-GO!
Upon a ridge I saw the riders coming hard
They were mostly out of towners
But i knew they would go far
They only rested for a moment
High up on that ledge
Beheld a setting majesty
As only could compare
The ranch lit up the shadows long
The riders all so tall
A scorching ball of fizzling light
Descending on the plain
Ma got on and showed them all
There’s really nothing to it
The lieutenant in his glory
It was not this way at all
Their lovely brat so proudly sat
Upon that prancing steed
You think she’d been there all along
A natural indeed
The food was fine and the people great
The company superb
As ever at the greatest place
Historic Reesor Ranch
www.reesorranch.com
Traffic and pedestrians
Perform a do-si-do.
Cityfolk, experienced,
Know just which way to go.
Every last participant,
Of flesh or chrome and steel,
Bows or curtsies to his partner
In this urban reel.
In and out they weave and turn,
Like threads upon a loom.
Out-of-towners watch in awe,
Anticipating doom.
At some point in this promenade
The music stops and then,
The dancers separate until
They’ll do-si-do again.
Today’s the crazy travel day
That everyone’s been dreading;
Crowds colliding all around,
No matter where you’re heading.
Airports, depots, subway cars
Are filled with out-of-towners.
Baggage bumping into legs
Turns smilers into frowners.
Every sidewalk’s packed and mobbed
With folks home for Thanksgiving.
It’s just like a zombie flick,
Although this herd is living.
Hopefully, they’ll make it home
Or to their destination;
Such a massive effort for
This Pilgrim celebration.
As for those who make the meal,
When patience does unravel,
Count your blessings – after all,
You didn’t have to travel!
Able the painter was such a great creator. He loved to dream and put it on paper. He loved it so much his house was full of it. It covered his walls, he couldn't even sit.
Until one day, Telly the Witch came to visit. She made a stop at Able's since the towners suggested it. Upon her arrival she began to laugh and criticize. Jealous of his work, she placed a spell of lies.
"Ugly, just hidious, the colors I cring!" I wish it all gone, for it all to singe!"
What she did not realize is Able did not believe a word she would say. He knew he was able so when it went all up in flames, he continued to paint. Making Witch Telly so much enraged. To make matters worst next he painted her face. He painted her darkness in color, showing her rividly ways. She couldn't help but love it, so she ran away!
Larger stop signs are required by the law
Traveling at the speed of light is not legal
Going slow in Leonia is down right evil
All things are prohibited in Bergen County
They don't like strangers either
Like out of towners in their cars
Streets are meant for their own people
Too many vehicles passing through
More than one at a time becomes confusing
Cars cause pollution in their community
Too much congestion is bad for business
Strangers get $200.00 fines to visit
More space is needed in outer space
The deeper the better in our estimation
Don't drive cars through town at any hour
Or you'll get fines and your little dog too
People own restaurants and shops in Leonia
They sell rice and chicken and hand out tickets
To foreigners from other planets like Atlantic City
Like outer spacers like out of towners man
Where there are no boundaries
No speed limits to speak of right this minute
Speed rapidly descends, fades into particle decay
As they run away with reason in the light of day
From New Jersey, a foreign land on any given day
Reputations, law and order are at stake
Or is it logic in the Garden State that escapes
Atlantic City is the playground of the world
And in Leonia they have squirrels to be obeyed
Time and space are play things to Leonians
Code enforcement comes first before snow is allowed to fall
It is the law and smoking is illegal without a permit
Filters too if you can catch or find them on the cigarette
Larger citations must be created in the cosmic void
Served inside the law outside with traffic noise
To stop the speed of light and slow down cars
At rush hour in Leonia
Where it is always night at traffic lights
And just minutes away from Mars
Authors Note: Here is the link that inspired the poem
Leonia New Jersey
http://hamodia.com/2018/01/22/leonia-new-jersey-beset-traffic-via-navigation-apps-closes-off-streets/
the drive was intermittent
everyone had to pee at the different times
distractions
strangers in rest stops
that were duplicates of duplicates designed
by MacDonalds and
merchandising psychologists
I wandered by the sunglasses
and video games
inhaled fast food coffee
and sized the out-of-towners
up
down into the parking lot
didn’t seem like a rest stop
with all the pulling in
and pulling out
kids running
spilled drinks all
about
and a Ketchuped french fry
squashed near the
umbrella benches
going somewhere while
all the while traveling on Facebook
in a silent car
scrollng for anything
except traveling this far.
A teenaged tourist asked his dad
Why all the cars were “beeping.”
It happened right near Central Park,
With traffic slowly creeping.
His dad believed the honking was
So cars ahead would go.
The son replied that “beeping”
Wouldn’t help or make it so.
I wanted to explain to them
What honking’s all about –
Frustration builds inside and soon
It needs an exit out.
A city driver at a crawl
Will often start to lose it;
His horn is there for times like these
And he’ll be glad to use it.
So this “beeping,” as the tourists say,
Helps keep the driver sane.
I guess to out-of-towners,
It’s a hard thing to explain.
It seems most rural drivers
Don’t have need to use their horn.
Perhaps the way we drive reflects
The place where we were born.
Condemnation, confrontation
Nasty, no-compromise nation
Protestors plentiful, a passel irruptive
Ornery out-of-towners, so disruptive
Downtowns deflowered in
Portland Chicago, Seattle
Lawless looters ~
Time to skedaddle
You need some gas? We'll, step right up
And pump it 'til you've had your fill
Unless you're in New Jersey, where
You best make sure you know the drill.
For it's the last remaining state
Where pumping gas is not allowed
Except for paid attendants and
Of this New Jerseyans are proud.
So even if you're in a rush,
You must sit in your car and wait
Until a service station guy
Can bother to accommodate.
And if you try to speed him up,
You'd better learn to zip your lip,
For then he'll wash your windshield,
Slowly, hoping to procure a tip.
When questioned why this law exists,
Which out-of-towners do detest,
A local politician said,
And I can just assume in jest:
Perhaps our Jersey diet
Full of greasy food's to blame;
Therefore, if we pump the gas ourselves,
We'll burst right into flame!
the serendipitous lobster
bib
tied
‘round big kahuna’s neck
kuene stumble over*
him
dab
his chin
monkeys
gaze at him
from
behind glass
pearl
city
memories
that shine
e
l
s
e
w
h
e
r
e
is the diner
two
scoop
choice
served with
teriyaki
steak
or
shrimp
tempura
out of towners
paying
money
to find out
the size
of a single
pearl
near
Hanauma Bay
p a s t
is
present
in
wet seas
aloha the day
e
v
e
r
y
fragrant lei
ebbing, flowing
precious
Oahu recollections
If you’ve been to New York, I’ll bet
You paid a visit to the Met.
It is the premier place to start
If on your plate you want some art.
Before some hours you invested,
You were charged a fee – suggested,
Meaning you could pay much less
And gain entrance with success.
Now, though, that’s about to change
Which out-of-towners might find strange,
For those who out-of-state reside
Will find their lesser fees denied.
New Yorkers who can prove they are
May still contribute under par.
Does this seem fair? Well, no or yes –
I have the proof of MY address!
I check the license plates of cars
Parked all around my block,
Which proves that to New York
So many people still do flock.
Here’s Arizona, Massachusetts,
California, too.
Of course, there’s Pennsylvania
And New Jersey, passing through.
Surprisingly, there’s Kansas,
Also Carolina (North).
I wonder why these people
From their native states set forth.
It’s hard to find a parking place
(For on the street, it’s free),
Especially when out-of-towners
Grab a spot from me!