Best Tubing Poems
SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA
There’s a player up there
stomach resting on his chair
blowing air
through at least a hundred feet of twisted golden tubing
and
A man putting oil on a slide
makes toothy talk aside
to a skinny tuba player (imagine a tuba player being skinny)
who takes the fat horn on his lap
Drummers four all stand
Testing skins and whatnot with their hands
The first selection using such collection?
NOISY indeed!
Then there are the winds
All in a row with chimneys on the end
sucking for dear life it would seem
the flutist (or is it flautist?) is a dream
Finally the violins
adjusting gadgets rooting with their chins
cellos (big violins) screw into the floor
basses (huge violins) as a rule sit astool
Here comes a fiddler late
must have had a heavy date
of all the nerve he turns and bows
then sits that’s more than law allows
for
Here comes the conductor with a stick!
1.
Mom
kept the perch
we caught in a bucket.
And when we took them home
She would clean and place them
In our twenty gallon tank
Where they bobbed in stunned silence
Eyes watching for any white movement.
Nobody cared
when they committed fishicide
on their domesticated tank-mates.
Even the little beta fish
Who had survived our six day pilgrimage from Florida, to find Mecca
was a cool whip container.
2.
Whenever we had guests for dinner,
Mom swooned they
were the smartest fish she had ever seen.
She bestowed upon them names - Jed and Lucy
tapping at the glass
with one extended finger,
feeding them fish flakes,
like porpoises fed from the teeth of a trainer in Ocean World
“You can’t keep perch in a fish tank”
the guests would say,
but
they lived for two years
bobbing and staring
in the vacant tank space.
3.
One crisp winter morning
Jed finished his breakfast of gold fish flakes, took one
last gulp of slimy tank
water
then hurled
himself off of glass
walls.
It went
over and over,
so hard
I almost thought
the glass would crack.
4.
Lucy
sat quietly and watched
him.
She too died a few days later
like aged soulmates
who often cease
to be after their amor
dies.
When someone left the lid open,
she plunged
her blue green skin shimmered
as she laid
making fish O’s in the dry air..
I often wonder
if the air that morning
smelled
like an ice floe
to a better place
somewhere Jed waited
with our beta and our angel fish
a place of worms, kelp
and dragonflies.
4.
Mom
emptied the tank of the murky filtered water.
Rinsed the ultra neon yellow fish gravel,
and placed the fake plants on a sponge.
Separating air filter, from pump
from clear plastic tubing
and put to rest
in a brown cardboard box..
She did it without a word.
This is a true story- no names have been changed to protect the idiot........
Nb- * - a car bonnet is a hood in the United states.
** - censored.
On my way back from the pub
(since real ale is my passion)
slowly wending my way home
in a wibbly-wobbly fashion
in the road sat something small-
I almost passed it by,
camouflaged in darkness
by a cloudy moonless sky.
I could tell it was a Hedgehog
simply by it's silhouette,
and if it didn't move real soon
would get squashed flat, I'll bet.
Just then a hundred yards away
a pair of lights appeared
heading our way at a pace
exactly as I'd feared.
Instinct kicked in, and out I leapt
to the middle of the road
waving my arms frantically as
I switched to 'Hero' mode.
He hit the brakes just feet away
and wound his window down
"get out the way, you Prat!" he yelled
but I just pointed down, and said
"Hedgehog!!" (which he couldn't see,
his bonnet* was in the way),
"Just hang on while I shift it, mate"
was all that I could say.
So, bending down to rescue it
still sat between my feet
my heart sank as I focussed in
then finally missed a beat.
The Hedgehog I had risked my life
to save it by removing
was, in fact, from off a washing machine
a piece of rubber tubing.
Not wishing too look foolish
I just hid it with my sleeves
and slowly walked off to the kerb,
the car began to leave.
Angrily into the air I kicked the pipe before me,
a big mistake- in his rear view mirror
the car driver he saw me,
and hit the brakes, then jumped out yelling
( I remember, although quite plastered)
"That's cruelty to an animal! Come here, you heartless person** !
In hot pursuit back up the road
he came- the chase was on,
I wasn't going to hang about, in seconds I was gone,
vaulting over garden walls and dodging through the gates
then out of breath I hid myself, till he had gone, I'd wait.
Mud splattered with my trousers torn I reached home, panic over,
the ordeal I'd just been through was a great way to get sober.
So next time wildlife is in peril, maybe I won't hurry,
I'll carry on and stagger home-
let Mother Nature worry.
Is space-time a fabric that stretches and strains,
like a grass harp ruffling across the great plains,
when the force of a huge body in motion
makes waves akin to the billowing ocean?
LIGO’s antennae have finally disclosed
those waves gravitational Einstein proposed
that travel along with the swiftness of light
and can’t be obstructed in their spatial flight.
A faint fleeting whoop is the sound that was heard,
resembling the chirp of a faraway bird.
So the Nobel winner, with brilliant foresight
a century past, was again proven right!
In Einstein encomium much overdue,
we praise and applaud what he already knew
from his relativity theory acclaimed,
that pillar of physics for which he is famed.
The presence of mass as a part of his theme
makes space and time curve, in that elegant scheme.
And this is indeed how gravity functions,
not as a force, but as cosmic conjunctions.
Two black holes colliding, a billion light-years
removed, gave a sign that brought triumphant cheers
from the LIGO team, with a soft rising tone
making Einstein’s ineffable notion known.
The project cost umpteen millions of dollars.
Astronomers seemed the leeriest scholars
and felt the investment would be a big waste,
not trusting the models on which it was based.
Miles of steel tubing in L-shaped position
of vacant chambers were used in the mission
for gauging expansions and fluctuations,
with an outcome exceeding expectations.
The breakthrough implies that stargazers can peer
not just with the eye but moreover may hear
stellar storms bending space and changing time’s flow
in colossal activities to and fro.
Yes ripples in space-time were validated,
as Einstein had long ago calculated.
Researchers gave credit to LIGO, although
he is probably saying, “I told you so!”
~ Harley White
* * * * * * * * *
One of the articles that inspired the poem was “Gravitational Waves: What Their Discovery Means for Science and Humanity”
http://www.space.com/31922-gravitational-waves-detection-what-it-means.html#sthash.pFxWYwlQ.dpuf
Squeezed in the middle
Toothpaste force out of tubing
Awaits the toothbrush
This is for Andrea D. who asked for my Cow Gas poems. I have at least one more to
post. Look for California Cows. Mike
Cow Gas
I’m putting my cows all on Beano
With the veggies they eat – oh the gas
Eight hundred plus liters of methane
Each day through each cow does pass
Either that or get funnels and tubing
To capture the gas when it comes
And convert my gas guzzling auto
So on methane alone will it run
If cows can do it, why can’t I
A tube, a tank, and by and by
I’ll generate enough to fry
A burger on my grill
While it won’t get me very far
Were my gas used to run a car
The world would label me a star
For doing what I will
But if everyone would do their part
To capture each and every fart
That through your system did depart
Global Warming would be a chill
Mdailey
Researchers say the slow digestive system of cows makes them a producer of
methane, a potent greenhouse gas that gets far less public attention than carbon
dioxide in efforts to fight global warming. When we got the first results, we were
surprised. Thirty per cent of Argentina's (total greenhouse) emissions could be
generated by cows,' said Guillermo Berra, a researcher at the National Institute of
Agricultural Technology. Berra said the researchers 'never thought' a cow weighing
550 kg (1,210 lb) could produce 800 to 1,000 litres (28 to 35 cubic feet) of emissions
each day. Greenhouse gases are widely blamed for causing global warming.
Methane, researchers say, is 23 times more potent than carbon dioxide in trapping
heat in the atmosphere.
We can probably do the same with the typical human male. It would be no less
complicated and probably no more uncomfortable than a colostomy bag. And while
the typical male may not generate enough gas to run an auto, it should be enough
to run a gas grill on the weekends. Think of the savings and the contribution you
would be making to the war on global warming. As you all know, girls do not pass
gas (or so they tell me) so only the male species would be able to contribute in this
manner.
ANACREONTIC VERSE
In the blazing heat
of summer days,
I find swimming holes
and fishing poles
a lazy river
where I drift
tubing with a
chest of cold beer
not caring where
the current takes me
until hunger calls
eating burgers
grilled at the lake
homemade ice cream
freshly churned
I have learned
the best ways
to enjoy summer
in days of heat
is to be lazy
with something sweet
Summer nights
somewhat cooler
heat tempered
by soft breezes
they exist
but not often found
time for vacation
in the snow
somewhere it's cool
that's where I'll go
7/22/2016
Anacreontic Verse Contest
Edward Ebbs
I need to purge my blood of these shivers, smoke-filled bubbles burst in blood capillaries, an embolysym of you, an embolysym of truth. So much disease carried through an artificial vein.A wire mesh heart that surrounds the tissue, and cuts, and scrapes and tears the flesh thats pulsing there. My iron lung feed me unwell. A binge on sickness that I cannot take back. And with words settling back on the heels of my fingertips, Im ready to be ill. Emesis of b***s***, of treachery. Of indecency, of dishonesty, of facelessness, of cowardice. Will anyone ever read this and understand how a broken heart heals? The maliciousness of untrust and the misuse of of courtesy have eaten away at my regenerated liver. My borrowed kidney is rejected on the operating table and I am drained of all my poisoned blood. So give me a heart outside of my body, a big plasticine box with rubber tubing. And let my eyes see the you drain out of me and the blood of unknown angels be filtered in. I wanna watch every drop be filtered from my collapsing veins, I wanna deflate every organ inside and empty every nerve synapse of memory.I want a restart button and I want a renewable source of energy. I dont want your weak blood in me anymore. I dont needd your tiny bits of protein, your half-formed enzymes. I want anything else. An artificial sense of safety within my reach. So split me down the middle, no anesthesia, the scalpel working inch by bleeding inch. and seperate me from you.
Here's another story about Granny
I think she's probably done it all
This was way back during prohibition
When they outlawed alcohol
See, my granny was a moonshiner
This is about her very first still
She had to make sure no revenuers
Came snoopin' around her hill
So she set up fifty-one booby traps
Now It wasn't nothing too bad
But anyone caught snoopin' around
Would probably wish they never had
See, my granny was like Davy Crockett
She killed a bear when she was only three
Well, a limb fell and hit him on the head
While Granny was climbing up a tree
Anyway, back to the moonshine still
Granny made that still all by herself
With some things she found in the yard
And copper tubing she found on the shelf
Now my granny didn't make ordinary shine
Hers was something a little more special
See, she didn't put it in old clay jugs
This took a different kind of vessel
Now, Granny's shine was known world wide
They came from everywhere
They're were even a few bald headed guys
That swore that it made them grow hair
Now my granny's secret recipe, was one of a kind
I could tell you, but you would probably disappear
So it's better that I keep this secret a secret
Cause my granny has some real good ears
Then late one night, a revenuer came
He was fixin' to take my granny to jail
Til he stepped in one of her booby traps
And started screaming about the horrible smell
See my granny had put some skunk pee
Inside one of those booby traps
And when they stepped on one of her triggers
It squirted it all over their laps
Well, prohibition finally ended
They called Granny the "Moonshine Queen"
That little old lady never got caught
And was the richest moonshiner I've ever seen
A long time ago one kid
would shower snowballs up on us
his name was Moshe
neighbour's ewe lamb,
once he drowned my family's cat
after pricking it all over with
his mother's tailor needle.
He didn't apologise didn't look back.
He'd laugh when I would kiss you
beneath the willow right on your reddish cheek
sort of a ripe midsummer's fruit
when our dry lips hadn't already
been wading through the childhood
to the dewy land.
And Moshe was working together
with his father veterinarian -
latex gloves, scissors
tubing, tents,
patching up the gashes for curs
puttin'em to sleep due to the rabies,
the birds would withdraw from the sky
when Moshe would spend his night-time
on a loft sewing up the tails of the mice
after tearing them off
without any prayer, Lord,
without a touch.
Moshe had a scar below his eye
he was born marked,
genes, my dear,
people saying
that's a gene of scalpel and needle,
and it's uncertain what they'd been doing
with our parents's cats
in the childhood.
I met him at abandoned temple recently,
Moshe, he was meshed
into the bindweeds
fogged from eternal shade
demented from birdsongs
wale-marked by God,
or by Lucifer, or perhaps by me
I swear I can't remember
it's a long time we are seeking ourselves
for each other at this temple
you never know there's a chance
we are simply insane.
Thinking back on good times at the lake
Of wake boarding and tubing, jumping the wake
Quiet times at night when all beds were filled
The morning smell of pancakes and bacon grilled
Kids running down the dock, into the water diving
Sometimes splashing people in boats nearby fishing
Indelible snapshots of a family having fun
I'm sometimes saddened to have those times done
But to have had that time in my life, I am forever grateful
Spent with a loving family, my heart is exceedingly joyful
November of sixty, we took the same name.
We had a son and two daughters right away.
Nine years later, daughter three came...
A joy to us all every day
We are proud of all of them, of course.
They are grown, families of their own.
They have been our life and source,
of true happiness, on and on.
Our fourth daughter married our son.
She is exquisitely exact in every way,
concerning her work, home, family and fun.
She revels in life every day.
She is intentional in each mode of life
and performs each with excellent skill.
She loves working, being a mom, and wife
and tubing down a snow covered hill.
We all love her and claim her our own.
She rewards me with ginger bread men
The seeds of family have been sown.
Nurtured and grown........not worn thin.
© Apr 20 2010
It’s a robot dog with wheels some weirdo said loudly next door.
I am the Mars 2020 Perseverance Rover, space explorer.
I collect rocks and soil, and monitor weather, dust, and the air.
But not on earth, on Mars. I say this with confidence, a robotic heir.
Future hopeful human explorers may be able to inhabit Mars.
Thanks to me, even if they have to remain in bubble safe cars.
I have landed on the planet safely already with my lovely TRN,
And my brand new spanking wheel design is the living end!
For the first time ever, I am equipped to the max. I carry a drill.
I will scoop up rocks and soil, looking for microbe life. What a thrill!
A robot dog on wheels indeed? This sounds like an unlearned man.
I bet he would have trouble learning about science. I am not his fan!
Did I mention that I have a helicopter tucked under my belly?
We need to know if we can ever live there, and run our telly.
I can also test the oxygen production. This will help us plan.
Have to go. I am tubing up Martian samples as fast as I can!
They called themselves
the "Moody Glues"
like jets in flight
higher than kites
huffing to no note deadbeat drummers
forever marching covertly across handless
fields of teenage want.
Tubing--a way countering neigh-boring hoods
of muddle class clones, quickly learning the
brown bag cost
Fuming to convey their High brain frost.
Dig it daddyo, cool beans, the 50's "Glues Clues"
60's
sharing in an ever raging generational divide of
pandemic Paradies Lost.
Echoed giggles remain hysterical in Spring
Abundant greenery grows tall along the river
Both sides of the banks merge their foliage
Connecting branches together overhead
Trees become an arching canopy above it all
Creating shade for children paddling on
Now bouncing on the Cannon traveling down
On inner tubes absconded from some ugly trucks
Filled with air to carry them to who knows where
Dark waters run cold and deep in Spring
People don’t mind because the sun is hot
The river keeps them cool on Summer’s path
Soon to come again around the bend
The mountain takes a breath of fresher air
Winter melts along the river distance in a mist
A cold dip, another drink, steeped in mystery
Slips into a dream of drifting
Beyond the twisting and the winding
Spinning from the past into the future
We all sail on together in a song worth listening to
Ducks and fish and even bugs float by
Who just happen to be there for a good time
On the fly
Tubing through the narrows splashing
Try not to get wet while laughing
On an adventure bending space and time
It goes on for hours if not longer
Sometimes forever if you sing along and try
*Authors Note: Cannon River- Minnesota. I have never been there but I understand it is a blast.