Best Tradition Poems
They pierce the unwelcoming night,
perserving eyes that receive nothing
but an unwholesome darkness,
hot accelerated breath scorches the
freezing air, as it penetrates
in entirety her raffish body while a
shivering anatomy provokes an age
of innocence, yet a stark awareness
of life’s tribulations, as she tucks in
her scarf, fastens her top button
before impetuously walking off into
the shadows to confront her next trick.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
Within these walls…
Fragrant aura of comfort
Freshly washed baby hair and sweet breath;
Passed around in soft pink pajamas
Laughter and wit from older minds;
Even though the stories are well used
Awkward ramblings of youngsters;
Still testing their wings
Warm delicious wafts of seasoned meat
And sugared pies
From a kitchen full of women;
Sharing recipes and secrets while sipping Chardonnay
Rambunctious giggles from upstairs;
Playing children’s games in pretty clothes
While piles of coats, hats, and purses
Sleep soundly on the guest room bed;
Along with one gray tabby cat
Crisp fallen leaves dance with shimmering snowflakes,
The first of the season
In a chilly November breeze
Just outside the door;
Painted a vibrant red
Illuminated by glowing amber post lamps;
Stalwart sentinels for our
Tradition…
Within these wonderful walls
The toothaches do not last
But, the memories, they do,
Once Halloween had passed
And my childhood, too ...
But, the memories, they do
Remain with me still ...
And my childhood, too
I am sure always will
Remain with me still ...
The magic and the fun,
I am sure always will
When all is said and done
The magic and the fun
Can so easily get away,
When all is said and done
Let them eat candy this day
Can so easily get away ...
Once Halloween had passed,
Let them eat candy this day
The toothaches do not last.
Mom said, “No sex before marriage,”
With rules she thought were quite sage.
But in her wedding shot,
I see a twist in the plot—
Was her vow just a part of the age?
The thoughts are risen:
But nobody to listen;
Having unclear vision:
With no proper decision;
Bound in corrupt tradition:
Sunk in unstable condition;
Seeing all the opposition..
am in a state of congestion
Not in a position..
to handle my confusion!!
~DEEPA~
Third place in BRIAN'S CHOICE 2,any form,any theme
Contest.
It's with a deep feeling of love that
we decorate our Christmas tree
and mount it in a place of honour
so it brings joy to all who
will come to rest their eyes upon it.
It's a tradition close to our heart
as we bestow charm and beauty on each branch.
Many ornaments have sentimental value
as they've been passed down with great care
through years and generations.
Sparkle and glitter light up the season
with added sprinklings and flicks of magic.
Everyone enjoys how it brings out the child in us
as we reminisce about Christmases past
and feel nostalgic for loved ones we dearly miss.
AP: 2nd place 2025
Wonderfully infamous Maine sweet treat, sometimes called whoopsie.
Happiness from your first bite of chocolate cream filled cakes.
Only to disappear soon after you make them.
Optional flavors of chocolate, maple, raspberry, and peanut butter too.
Pumpkin ones in the fall are all the rage!
Icing can be in many flavors; cream cheese, vanilla, or something new.
Every bite is decadent, fattening and satisfying.
People even attend a whoopie pie festival every year.
I found that my grandmother hid a stash in her freezer, no one knew.
Easy to make and enjoy; Marjorie Standish has the best recipe too!
Black butterflies flutter through the courtyard carelessly,
their folly flitting through variegated foliage, creating
worlds so breathtaking so as to not be real, just as
imperial belladonna bows in reverence to Mother,
thankful for the necrotic nectar that will soon
be on their dying breath
Black butterflies drink turtle's tears to race streetlights
past yellow tape, the words that read "Do Not Cross"
a foreign language for anthromorphs with velvet eyes
on their back, giving insider views, behind the lines
declining the advances of bluebonnets, fixated
on Iris's crescent wings
Black butterflies are sticklers about their traditions,
many may even call them creatures of habit, but
they progressed their ideas about chrysalises
after watching their cousins crawling out of
cocoons, knowing there's no better way to
live than in spun silk
Held the hand of an elder
Whom ye passed by, and
Bring it towards thy forehead;
An apropos of respect!
Never questioned the face,
Never answered the light
Esteem them as thy highnesses;
A gracious child.
It has never been my intension
nor was it ever a bone of contention
to alter or disrupt the social convention
but now is the time to pay close attention
to the decline of the human condition
Responsibility rescinded creating moral decomposition
accountability abandoned causing legal repercussion
right and wrong are muddled in a malicious juxtaposition
public opposition has festered into social imperfection
the omission of tradition by politician’s redefinition
HEED THIS ADMONITION OR ARDENT APPREHENSION
SAGACIOUS SUSPICION AND PERSISTANT PREVENTION
Of the decommission of the Physician, Pediatrician
the Technician, and the Mathematician
and give this acquisition to those with no ambition
even those under suspicion of sedition
or held in detention without fear of restitution
This is the deception of the devolution
of the middle classification
and the total destruction
of American personification
praise the Lord and pass the ammunition
contest entry date - 7-24-15
written / post date - 3-20-15
"Classical Gas" was a family tune
With horns and percussion,drums and bass too
It played through my youth, down the stairs
In a basement set up for a band, in their lair
Trumpets,slingerlands, electric guitar
Bass, tambourine,much music from afar
From Beatles,Ike and Tina, Chicago too
My brothers and friends played upwards till "two"
Al Hirt, Al Green, the theme from "Hawaii-five- O"
Was practiced for hours preparing for a show
A lead singer would arise out of the crew
Singing "Proud Mary" more times than a few
My parents were smart had insulated the home
So upstairs only the bass would reverberate and roam
Allowing their children to experiment in sound
While upstairs classical music was always around
This family grew playing music just so
Their children played piano,viola, clarinet and banjo
Guitar was a staple for many it seems
One carried the brass section,a band of all dreams
At Christmas and holidays after dinner was done
Round the piano we'd sit ,listen and sing for fun
Playing music and singing together in time
Reminders of my youth a time that was fine
Remembering my dad's voice singing many hymns
Show tunes, ballads, anything it seems
'Twas a joyful experience shared over the years
Now just remembering can bring me to tears.
Bring the Nzu and
Kola nut
Take it to the
stranger among us,
Let him kiss it and
be bless.
Let him rub the Nzu
on his arms then his
fore head.
It is our tradition
here not to neglect
A humble stranger in
our land.
We kiss suffering on
the lips, it harm us
not.
We measure our joy
with dance and
laughter.
pour the oil in the
calabash
Roast the yam and
break the kolanut,
Let the youngest
among us break and
share it.
Pour the dry gin on
the ground and bless
the gods
Our forefathers must
drink before we
taste ours
Angry will they be
if they taste not
the gin.
It is our tradition
here in Nkporoland.
The maiden must not
touch the raging
masquerade
Keep them afar off
from the here, let
them smell not of
it.
All the young men
must be present at
the Iza Afa festival
and then the young
women must not be
excluded from the
Igboto Nma festival
in the village
square.
When is the
initiation into the
masks spirit taken
place?
Warn all the young
men to partake, it
is our tradition
Never allow the she
goat deliver in
pain,
Go call the elders
to look after its
delivering.
The snake must never
be in group like the
beads
It is an abomination
not among the
tradition.
Gather the cowries
and the white chalk
and assemble the
youth in the shrine
Lets pour the goat
blood for the
sacrifices
The gos will hear us
this time after
We went astray from
it in foolishness.
Call on the widow
among us, i heard
there was one.
Her hair must be
Barbe thoroughly
She must bath and
drink the water used
on
Her deceased husband
bath.
The Umu Ada must be
there
It is the tradition
here.
Let the Umu Ada
check the maidens
Of their virginity
before they dance
Let them deep their
hands into the hole
One after the other
to check the fruits.
It is part of the
traditions.
The king must not
set his eyes on a
rotten
Shining meals which
are set for the
vultures.
Let not a child
whistles in the day
Let not a girl child
come out to the
Agbala naked
Under the initiation
in festival of
virginity.
We all must set the
tradition going
It is our right and
liberty to excel.
Neglect not the
wisdom of the elders
In his wisdom exist
pure and holy.
Our fore fathers
must be happy and
free
when we all observe
the traditions
Of Nkporoland in its
pure heart.
Married under a lavish evergreen canopy,
aromatic blooms filled the evening air.
Grand was our cathedral of open sky.
Newlyweds kissed
on the twenty forth of May (your grandparents' anniversary).
Lying above us on an old lower limb:
initials side by side, theirs and ours,
artistically carved by him and you, many years apart.
Sweet bridal bouquet of magnolias you cut.
When as your grandfather's tradition to your grandmother,
each twenty forth of May, she and I received a bouquet.
Even after his death you carried on for both of us, then to her grave.
That tree bloomed two lifetimes of bouquets, both bitter and sweet.
Then we parted.... Went our separate ways.
Reality sometimes overshadows romanticism,
although true love never dies.
Deep in our hearts the magnolia still blooms.
I missed you as much as you missed me, those eleven years,
till one day the sun stepped up on my porch.
I knew when I looked in your eyes and felt your embrace,
On the twenty forth of may, I'll receive a bouquet.
Never again will we part.
Deprived pilgrim wives ruminated
On ways to get hubbies elated:
After Thanksgiving chow
Ogling men hollered “wow!”
As wet-shirted women they rated.
The Pilgrims were so happy to finally set foot on Plymouth Rock,
They decided that the time had come for each to take some stock.
They built themselves a Pilgrim town of houses and very little more,
Then they sent the women out to get groceries at the Pilgrim store.
Pilgrims lived in a time when it was thought that only women ever shop,
They weren’t very enlightened and men would never make that stop.
While the girls were at the store the men invited the Indians over for lunch,
So as soon as the women got home they had to go get more to munch.
The men started to toss an old pumpkin around that was long and kinda tall,
Then they played shirts against the skins in a game they named football.
While the women worked to prepare a feast, the men all went for a walk,
With buckled hats and feathered plumes their parade was all the talk.
The women wanted revenge so they picked cranberries to make an awful sauce,
Then they made the men eat it the stuff just to show them who was boss.
Then there came a heated discussion whether to use sweet potatoes or yams,
Then a second argument broke out about the use of turkey meat or hams.
It all seemed to calm back down when the Indian cornbread was finally tried,
And the Indians really liked the green beans topped with onions that were fried.
And when the day was done and the guests took home the left over feast,
The men cleaned up the dishes, since it’s what women liked to do the least.
This is how they all came together and invented the first Thanksgiving,
It gave them strength to continue on with the hard life they were living.
The Native Americans went back to their home and were grateful for so much,
“But next year,” they said, “let’s tell the English it’s our year to visit with the Dutch.”