Best Turnover Poems
It bounced off the truck
And then rolled down the highway
Apple turnover
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How 'bout them apples
When Jonathan McIntosh
Won the spelling bee
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Apple of my eye
Jenny had the sweetest smile
For another guy
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Right down to the core
When that apple crossed the plate
An infield dribble
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Just one little hole
In that shiny red apple
Just one little worm
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She whispers, ‘Stay’
yet I find myself heading toward the bay
I start with a hike though the woods
if only the way I knew I could
And then the marshes to soak my feet
I’m on my way to a divine treat
And then there is the entrance to the bay
So little time to release what I have to say
To immerse myself up to my neck
In cooling waters, oh what the heck
It’s late at night and I see the stars
Will they wish me goodbye so near or far
I hold glimpse to the waxing moon
My spiritual turnover is coming soon
Will she miss me my darling love
We were soulmates attached from above
I hear the ghostly fisherman’s bell
And now it’s time for me to go to hell
Don’t cry for me today
It was just an outing to the bay
I am a survivor, a warrior,
no matter how far I fall in this life!
My short time full of hurts and scars,
all my journals read like memoirs;
I endured the wreck of childhood,
before many tombs- I have stood;
I have walked hand-in-hand with death,
leaving my tears on baby's breath;
I wear my pain but I am a fighter,
I pen strength because I am a writer.
I am a survivor, a warrior,
no matter how far I fall in this life!
I have had a long battle with illness,
prayed to my God in the stillness;
Not all wounds are visible to the eye,
the fear of blindness will stay till I die;
Even with disability- I fight,
and live each day with delight;
I am not ashamed of my darkness,
never a victim in days of starkness.
I am a survivor, a warrior,
no matter how far I fall in this life!
How many times have I started over,
the defeat- I have had to turnover;
I have stood strong in every storm,
shame vs strength like bees in a swarm;
Many struggles in this life to endure,
but with courage- survival, I will ensure;
I am a fighter, a warrior brave,
and I will always ride life's great wave.
________________________
August 28, 2017
Poetry/Ballad/I, am a Warrior
Copyright Protected, ID 17- 934-232-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, I'm A Survivor
sponsor, Julie Rodeheaver
Twelve Place
For BATTER or worse!
Tired of facing this bat-less ball
My life tied up and beaten to a pole,
like the color black, the pain is endlessly
Facing life with no possibility
Facing life's judgment
The envy of all matters
A slave to my grave, with no redemption
Gathering the lies and insults
More powerful than a whip on my back
A trap with no way to disown and burn the tree
Falling far from - turnover tracks
Forgetting who I am,
feeling the flaws of my abnormality
Finding comfort in a noose
Suffocated by what seems to be dry air
Tired of living a life under self-brutality
Dying slow, darkness down a new path
Now I see, there's no escape
The more I see, the more I feel
Hell's got my running plate
My Beautiful beat but never forgotten soul
That's how my story unfolds
~ S ~
** A Very Memorable Christmas Present **
Someone made an err::
Boxing Day ‘ere’s
Been the day of — not after.
What started as the greatest
Christmas ever, turned
Us from better to worse
As our tempers grew, altered
After our fingers were slid into
Those gift-wrapped firm gloves of leather,
Punching through the room’s air
At each other
With words roused from harsh to meaner,
‘Till our referee pup barked
To end our Round 1, forcing a turnover
Into creating a round of rich laughter.
Re-freshed, happier, remembering our
Proper manners appropriate to honor
Our Savior’s birthday…We resolved
A return trip to the store to trade
That shared present of boxing gloves for
A healthier, sturdy set of parallel bars.
————————————————————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 12/25/22
Happy Birthday, King Jesus
Born American, sixth generation of great-grands all German,
not much liking sausage or sauerkraut, English speaking all the way,
except the Germany of my ancestry was fought over and broken
so I’m a bit of France, Germany, Poland, Hungary all the Holy
Roman empire, dissolved down, fought over, egotized, horrified
and remade Into some new state where English is as common as German.
We share a love of flowers in the face of cold and rain, I drink less beer
and wine, meet up somewhere, anywhere around the world on a beach.
From my parents and grandparents, I know to serve up too much food
seven sweets, seven sours and drink and whirl the night away to a band.
Hardworking sorts, unafraid of a little dirt, loving dirt, the turnover
and young sprout brought to fruit, wearing overalls and then washing up.
To sit before a pressed linen table cloth, served up on the finest china,
the cha in my father’s name, the uff da, and other exclamations.
The morning rosaries, the blessed churches where we give thanks for all good
and the setting aside of pride while we work together to make our food.
Sure there are aprons for cooking. Shorts for summertime. A dive into any pool.
What do I know of being German, not much, it's just somewhere in my roots.
APPLE TURNOVER
What the world waits for
A miracle new Eden
A great revival
An influx of innocence
Like a great enchanting wave
Like starting over
Adam and eve the tree snake
Virgin nakedness
Dark clouds give way to blue sky
And they happily remain
…………………………………………….
I just finished Dean Koontz’s “Breathless.”
Dream Keys
by Odin Roark
A NY mantra
Rent the rentable
Move the movable
Key the keyable
Apartments
Four-wall-guardian of yesterday’s youth
Vacuous cellmates of old age loneliness
All part of a cyclic maze
All having a key
Urban life’s Rubik’s Cube turnover
Today’s the day
“Two rooms”
“New paint”
“Clean window”
“No-squeaky floorboards”
Superintendent loves to present
Move in
Keys
Entrance door
Mailbox
Apartment
Laundry room
All yours
A windowsill vase of plastic roses
Your welcome of faded memories
The window to the people below
Your traveled city as roommate
Through another glass darkly
Gotta love it
Pea green layering
Over cracked and peeling bygones
Your very own chipped-paint scrapbook
A giant shoebox of ghostly images
Once possessing your castle-keys
Settle in
Struggle
Dream
Survive
Stand at your window
Watch canyon updrafts
Swirl your make-believe snowflakes
Carrying them skyward
Mixing with sparkling darkness
Where every star is yours
Count the days
Where light to see
Will be owned by neighboring towers
Where former tenants came young
Left old
Where thrown cups and china
Christened walls
And confinement’s anger and tears
Found solace in an ever inviting empty bathtub
Where pounding fists
Rattled bathroom door hinges
While a child hid beneath a bed
Smiling tearful thanks
A wanderlust roach
His ever-faithful friend
All yours
Here
Where a Sammy Glick got started
And an undergrad
An engineer
A Radical leftist
A piano teacher
All touched
All turned
All once secured your keys
So
Add your imprint
Become tomorrow’s remembered page
The scrapbook knows no end
This is Manhattan
Scenes will erupt
Hysterics will rebirth
Life will live
Maybe live some more
Then
Your turn to pass the keys
Your turn to pile worn memories at the curb
Mattresses always appreciated
Stand across the street
Watch the ever-smiling Super
Hand the keys to the next habitant
And then…
Go
Never to forget your contribution
Leaving behind another preparatory memory
Allowing the coming year
Your next season of imaginings
To dream of another home
Somewhere
Waiting…
Gifted with keyless entry?
Loneliness gone?
All powers are wrapped in a grasp to
Umbrella an interest for a common goal
Taking every step with virtually no bureaucracy
Holding the baton of command and instructions, so that
On no account are decisions challenged
Rights and responsibilities, directed by it for an
Instant turnover of loyalty and adherence
To manifest the will of the staff bearer
Yet it still can never be absolute
she has a special magic
or so it seems to me
in the early morning when i rise
i process the beans in the grinder
a short succession of tasks
the coffee is brewing
aroma of her hint of cinnamon
fills the kitchen
as i wait i look out the window
dawn has erased all the darkened shadows
the flowers line the property's end
all are ready for the day
i speak their language, tell them to be patient
let me take her coffee and a pastry
she will be with you shortly
it is Saturday and your day with her
tomorrow is Sunday and i am whisking
her away on a picnic
she does this to me you know
everything she touches becomes family
we share conversations about her
the coffee pot is in its last gurgles
remember, cream, one lump i hear
apple turnover, warmed, buttered
the tray is now filled and ready
pushing me to a faster pace
i turn to the coffee pot, thank you
be right back for mine
as i disappear into the hallway
there is a last gurgle, you're welcome
she has a special magic, everything she touches
becomes family to me
3/3/19 Kismet
Spindle time as sowing illusions
Drowning in a sea of images
The measures that raise life seconds
Human is the animate doll who conquered the presence
Life from the past back to the present
From the present for the future
Turnover outlined by destiny
Like an hourglass that acts as a reciprocal measure of the time
The limitations are things of beauty
When the end of a round will be on relief
As the satisfied thirst
As the favor of all the sacrifices
Life in all parts come with the name of love
A form that presents a mirage
A perfect fundamental when you touch
It was part of a mortal but drunk when you shed
Small leaps present the flowers of aesthetic
A conclusion atop of provisions that you can reaped
I will not give up in any of those circumstances
My life is still in the front line of this battlefield
**************************************************************
Honorable mention
Objectify me
Sponsor Jeremy Martin
Some people say I'm to dark,
and I'm not talking about my skin,
its what I writing with my pen.
I know my words
can sometimes come out to strong,
but I'm like "oops sorry,
I'll just turnover the page and start a new song."
But depending how I'm feelin at that time,
determines how I write my rhymes.
And no matter what the day may bring,
I will always make my pen dance and sing,
from the joy that onlyThe Lord can bring.
I will express myself
from every depths of my heart and mind,
with every one of my poetry lines.
So with every word that I write,
I'm relying on God's glorious light.
Green loved to travel
Was very influential
Had a multi-billion dollar turnover,
His coverage spread,
Becoming ruler of the earth,
His beauty was astounding
Attracted many,
Very impressive,
People would travel for miles
Just to look at him,
Or even stroll by,
He must hold the secret of life,
Without him, they would die,
He wasn’t just a plain ordinary color,
Like most colors,
He brought purpose and meaning to life,
He was to save the world,
This made him more special!
Other colors had beauty,
But didn’t have his ability,
Like invisible powers
So astounding
That the world couldn’t exist,
Without this incredible green.
He flourished with his fame
Bringing healing to the nation
Surely they said!
Green was the savior,
Because in him,
There’s life.
06/11/2016
For competition sponsor
Frank Herrera
Why~ Now- huh
Did you turnover- your mind
Perfection went side ways
For us to be in solitary, may I say
Go from loving, to nothing, to something
It doesn't add up, rose bush~ I hold back
Pomegranate, became sour, and bitter
Listen~ Understand, my heart
Shall~ I take a step up, speak heart of truth
Putting my flea in ear, tears of blood
Showing you the thorns in my spine
Which, cripple this walk
For my crow~ Whispers, in shadows
I tattoo the memories
Memories, I put under quick~ Sand
So my soul wouldn't feel
What it twiddle, day and night
Because-
Grabbing your hand was my last portrait
For every fellow, so please~Master
There is nothing for me to squeeze
So with this being spoken
Nothing could be the same
For I do not know you
For you do not know me
A key you once had, is broken
So~
Only thing left is to rebuild, heart of loyalty
Start from the beginning~ Soft soil and fresh seeds
Grow roots~ None has ever seen
Or
Find my heart and soul
Give it color and musical notes
Giving a love story~ A true key
A ending touching ~ Skies
For if love shall leave, yet return
Love shall be true indeed
Now it’s up to you~ To find
A new key
So I may see
I awake to the sound of birds singing. A faint memory of my dreamworld still remains, the feeling of being held under water at a FEMA " Re-education" camp. I wonder if reoccurring nightmares mean anything ? Probably not.
I'm so happy that Hitlary Clinton won the election. The New York Times article "Uranium One Deal" that proved Hitlary's sinister ties to Russia turned out to be "Fake News" according to Hitlary. Now I go to work at the factory wearing a collar around my neck that protects me and all my fellow citizens from "Terrorists". All of the law abiding citizens wear collars that track everything we do, everywhere we go, everything we say. That way all terrorists will be removed immediately from our peaceful society. The collar also gives an electric shock for those lazy workers of the New World Order who aren't doing their fair share of the work required by law.
The government gives us all that we could ever want. Shelter, food, and medical care. Bicycles, guns, motorcycles, swimming, hiking, sports, Marijuana, even bouncing on a Trampoline are too dangerous for a good, productive citizen of the New World Order. Cars aren't allowed because of Global Warming !
It's the law for women to be a hard worker AND stay pregnant. No evil sex allowed, just artificial insemination from genetically superior males. It's so important to have a genetically pure race. The hard, 16 hr. per day, 7 days per week factory labor has a high turnover rate. Lots of workers have to be permanently replaced. The need for a constant supply of New World Order babies never ends!
The government censors all movies, news, and schooling to promote peace and tolerance for all. The two movies we are allowed to watch "World Peace" and "Evils of Free Enterprise" are my favorite. Under Obamacare, after age 45, everyone is taken to the "Healing Hospital", never to be seen again.
The sound of birds singing reminds me of a time long past, but I can't remember it. Something about a U.S. Constitution ? That's ok, I'm a proud member of the New World Order !
3/15/2017 poetry contest 1984 or 2017, sponsored by Debbie Guzzi