Best Trips Poems
When I was growing up in Wisconsin, dairy farms were everywhere. It was always fun visiting my aunt and uncle's dairy farm, even though they put me to work. For many years the only bathroom they had was away from the house! I read an article today about people complaining about smells coming from dairy farms and pig farms. It reminded me when our family would drive the 3 1/2 hours to visit Grandma and Grandpa. Some farms hardly had any bad odor, but others reeked! This was especially horrible to us city kids. "Mom, what's that smell?" my sisters and I would ask every time. We asked Mom because she'd answer us. Dad would only laugh. Good times!
Midwest dairy farms
intermittent putrid stench-
fun childhood road trips
***
October 28, 2019
F T I series 11 places
Brian Strand, sponsor
On bus trips for seniors, we go
to watch a film or music show
with walkers or cane
umbrellas for rain
galoshes in case there is snow!
Arrive and we waddle 'cross floor
and meet our trip guide by the door
we follow in pairs
pray hard for no stairs
just walking dead flat is a chore!
The show now begins with our cheers
we sit, fix the aids in our ears
adjust them for sound
yet music's still drowned
by those snoring loud in arrears!
February 27, 2018
For years we have gone hunting.
I've loved sitting next to him in his deer blind
or sitting quietly in my own.
Now that Boomer came into our lives
I see all living animals as having feelings
and I can't stand the thought of hunting.
Boomer is our bassett hound.
He thinks he is human.
I sometimes think so too.
The way he has shown me
that he feels things like we do
has changed me forever.
Now, all I can think of is that
if a dog can feel emotions like we do...
can a deer?
Are they afraid?
Do they know why we are sitting there?
Do they hate me?
I have to explain this to my husband
and pray he understands why
our hunting days together are over.
Wish you'd get off my back
wish you'd cut the reins.
You think you're showing love
but I'm being pulled in every direction
and I'm tired. So tired...
Love isn't enough for you.
You want a souvenir to take home when you get there.
No one wants to just love me, they wanna rip off a piece.
People can't be torn up and passed around.
I'm one piece and I choose where it goes.
You're in deep but it's never enough
so you stare til I acknowledge you.
What do you want?
What do they all want?
I possess nothing
but am possessed by everyone?
I don't think so.
Drop your chains, locks and guilt trips.
Cut your fences and knock down your walls and put down your arms.
You're crowding me.
I can't breathe. I can't breathe.
It was freezing so, and cold winds did blow
As I walked slowly through the fallen snow
But I slipped on some ice
My keister paid the price
Tried getting up, but down again I'd go
12-29-2020
Winter Snow Or Ice Limerick Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
by Sashi.Prabhu
(17/2/2012)
Shrouded and festooned with quaintness i try to elucidate the trips of mystery,
T’was dark and it was then I realized that the morn and noon was history.
A smooth trip on mother nature’s bounties rolled on neatly into a joint,
It felt all day as me and the bard within went on a trip from reality the shackle disjoint.
Rendezvous point was at the foothills of the zeauoxian Milky Way
Way beyond my mind can comprehend I see myself move fast and dwindle away.
Away, away and far away through starry paths, the galactic colonies and black holes
Yesterday seemed like tomorrow and today like the near future, written on ash scrolls
Tornados, galactial storms, raining meteorite, planets, and stars I beyond them travel,
Oh my body is the ship and my mind the deck console for the paths to ravel.
There at a distance I see us approaching Venus,
Hovering above hostile mutant colonies with mammals, moth worms and flora genus,
Earth behind seemed afar & beautiful and I every moment growing creative and ticinus.
Ship trips and galaxial flips,
Tardy nites and the dark nicotine stained finger tips,
Annular eclipse occurring in my mind’s eye as the white light zips,
Rummaging my mindly scripts for notes of melancholy strains as the notes dance on,
Slammed by the downer, my trips are done& for another, on ganjain I count upon.
fingertips typing and soul trips
a beautiful crow on crescent stem sits
a hot cup of wisdom from it he sips
a golden leaf pray to never leave
a womb of stories and a burden to conceive
a digital nomad from face to face he made a book
some search for how to look, some love how they look
king of sand seal your metaphor
in silicone Valley they can't stand the allure
tesla ate the bait a wireless prophet ripped for profit
the mummy laughed, what's a radioactive civilization with empty tummy
the capitalist and the commy, I know your hermaphrodite mommy
have you seen black eyed sunny
a brother with no brother or sister, nothing but a soul blister
a husband with no wife, oh what a life
a father with no children, like the moon to buzz aldrin
a lover who went undercover
and that's the nature of the pilgrim
seven billion suns yet we see only one
wolf howling from sadness and love madness
from the carnivorous to the pathetic nose pierced punk
even when submarine, you could be sunk
the rock bottom and lessons in stock
the driest of cores lies in the most submerged rock
I guess that's why sobriety must be dry
there's a lie in every truth, there's a truth in every
matters of the perfect alibi
and the tree still stands and the root still expands
Tamer Hossam
According to the will of fate
I have come...
I emerge from the flood
A living soul.
My memory is torn by the night.
The night is enshrouded with darkness.
I wander around the world
Searching for a meaning...
I want to drink a toast to happiness...
Here I am gulping the toast to death.
I cry....Is there any survival?
I hear no response...
But the hot winds caressing the grass of silent graves...
And the world plunging into illusion and vanity...
Do you remember the mad rain,
And the wood of the vessel hanging on the summit?
O intoxicated land,
That is burdened with jealous desires,
Bless, and have pity on my soul
For lo! I never enter the place of secrets
Nor lift the cover
On the earth's burial...
My body is prey...
Time is a hunter chasing me
Whilst traps are set for me....
I flee...
I flee with terror and fear...
My footsteps are slowing,
Wearing out with the race
And the veiled fate engraves on my face
With the edge of a corroded spike...
I wander alone in the land of Delmon
The land of eternity
Calling the aged-young man....
The earth cleaves,
And the serpent emerges
Devouring the plant...
Whilst the dream of eternity turns out to be plumes of smoke
Climbing the unknown of the silent wall....
Rest!
Rest, you, the butterfly soul
And ease me of my burden which galls my back..!
Nectar dried out of the roses of fortune..
Whilst death gazes at the butterflies...
The dinghy of desire sails on fire
No water
No shore
And the claws of lust shred the soul
My life is but a womb of a virgin
Delivering a mount.
You are so harsh and mean...!
I receive you for my sorrows
And my perishing...
Hating
Cursing
Loving
I gulp the bitterness of my grief
Thereby planting a forest of thorns in my mouth.
I walk on a path of pain
Chasing a dream...
Threads of smoke....
I grow older and so do the dream and sorrow
At the end of the long path of misery
I surrender unto you
Reposing in your womb....!
special trips mean much
to one who feels no love
from those one thought would
This era of the ego,hashtags
and selfies..and me me me...
to the fore,impatience always
knocking on my door.
Instant this,instant that,self
congratulation,superficial self
expression..quickly,quickly..I've
social media to explore.
Insecurity underlines my every
post, stamped for all to see.
Where Respect..Respect is craven
most..in this world of me..
My thoughts are running wild..Pity
pity me..I've never grown up..
I'm immature... still just a child.
Days come and days go, again and again
rushing forward, knowing it'll never slow.
Modus long before first life could begin,
crossed the cosmic face of sun's starry glow.
Time turns into weeks and melts into years.
Years form a towering silent spiral.
Solar powers play with our human fears,
mortality is the prime denial.
Each trip, thinking God is the Solar One -
while hushing this ticking head's twirling spin.
Before the end, when all living is done;
seize this stellar journey that's ever been.
One's long life is not a matter of pride.
It's how we all have helped while on our ride.
104 words Sonnet
Drifting through the lounge, floating all the way towards the store. Feelin’
through the old tomes and pristine newer articles. Trying to find a cadaver of
knowledge to feed from. I find myself back amongst friends in the lounge as a
whispering nymph bothers and twitches my shoulder. Gyrating and dancing like
someone at the club she whispers temptations of darkness and grim tales of luck
and love into my auditory nerve complex. The mini universe inside my skull
formulates and thrashes about trying to figure out the riddles left and right,
obtuse and sharp. I dream of better days when all my friends and foes would
gather for love and loss. Now there is a stagnation and little more then
temptation for unreachable more. Frustrated I lie back in my body and pout.
EGO TRIPS -solutions to problems that do not exist
You may hear me recite from my 4000+ PS anthology on youtube under my pen name ichthychiro..
catch my short forms @strandpoet on twitter..
read my kindle guides on amazon
‘Tis twilight’s trips on dawn made sun errant,
Go forth into time and pay due homage,
And your return to silence is current,
Those with weak goals are made less coherent,
‘Twas a toxic night pace turns back a page,
‘Tis twilight’s trips on dawn made sun errant,
The shadow of friends faces on crescent,
As the line grows, there will be no shortage,
And your return to silence is current,
Glaring eyes, like those who got a warrant,
Shield them from lights that have simple wattage,
‘Tis twilight’s trips on dawn made sun errant,
Recurring promise and slumber present,
Cherub’s arrow shot caused, clock to the stoppage,
And your return to silence is current,
Indeed this was a lesson so pleasant,
Fingered string to thine heart for storage,
‘Tis twilight’s trips on dawn made sun errant,
And your return to silence is current.
2019 September 19
Starry nights extol classical
staccato hues as hawthorn winds
pronounce timbers as magical.
Starry nights extol classical
violins sway as magical
sentinels praising summers’ end.
Starry nights extol classical
staccato hues as hawthorn winds.