Best Unloading Poems


I Love People, Yes I Do

I love people, yes I do,
Fight against invisible lines
Barriers of words
Sentences figuring escape
I love people, yes I do,
For every scrap of all
Of you is only me
A little scrap of you.
I love people, yes I do,
Share all the joys and pains
In natural disasters and wars
Leaving me pox marked
With scars
That blemish our brief eternity.
I love people, yes I do,
In diverse nonconformites
Where beauty like a baby sleeps
An innocent cradle for the truth,
Before the unloading
Of docking ship.
I love people, yes I do,
If only we would believe
That we all 
Can just get along
I wish all the wines were in my song.
Categories: unloading, hopelove,
Form: Free verse

Weathering the Storm

A storm is brewing, dark clouds advancing in
While tears roll down an embattled face
Betraying the tortured scars within
Each tear falls entwined in rains embrace.

He knows the hardships aren’t over
Soon colour will drown out scorched dust
Time must elapse before forage and clover
Further rain to beat this drought is a must.

Unloading his animals when he ran out of feed
There’s a cost to sell, when no one can buy
When the drought breaks, once more stock he will need
Irony demands growth will push prices up high.

Financial pressure has taken its toll
Each day of sun filled completely with gloom
No income, while a mortgage eats at his soul
Years of recovery on the horizon do loom.

Exploding emotions as rain touches the dirt
A passerby might see something awry
A storm slowly starting, and a man that seems hurt
Kneeling bent on the ground, he's broken in cries.

18th April 2015

A Storm Is Brewing Contest
Sponsor - Kelly Deschler
Categories: unloading, angst, change, cry, farm,
Form: Rhyme

Happy Birthday Pablo Picasso

In a riot of colours using brushes with valour,
Many movements he started devoid of pallor.
From a town called Malaga,far off in spain,
Pouring his heart out,unloading his pain.
What a journey he started from conformity parted,
To paint till the last,until he departed.
Many have aspired and wanted to be,
Including your's truly,I say why not me?
From erotic nudism to new found cubism,
His loss to the world left a wide open chasm.
How God made him great,I never could fathom?
But thats the way I guess God wanted to make him.
Although the years rolled and went passing by,
Another painters yet to reach for the sky.
I'm telling the truth and not telling a lie,
I'll love only Pablo until that day when I die.
I know he had friends,some straight and some gay,
But all I want to say today is....Happy Birthday.

PS.It was Pablo Picasso's B'day on 25/10/09 and I dedicate this poem to this 
mentor and inspiration of mine.

                                                         ---Princefreakasso
                                                           (Artist and Poet)
Categories: unloading, dedicationgod, god,
Form: Free verse

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry


Adorable Quiqui

Adorable QuiQui

A green-feathered, yellow head beauty,
that’s my prized pet parakeet, QuiQui.
Even when she’s often crabby and snappy,
she succeeds in making me extremely happy. 

QuiQui loves dipping and diving into her bird bath,
and hanging from a perch in her cage, like an expert acrobat.
She also enjoys shaking water from her wet wings, 
gazing impishly into her toy mirror wildly shrieking.

Relishing her seeds and red strawberry millet treats,
nonchalantly she ignores my sweet endearments and tweets.
But she shows off her long, elegant, tapered blue tail,
Sitting silently and contentedly unloading quite a poop trail.

And even though QuiQui never utters a single word, 
I know she secretly loves me too, my little prima donna bird.


11-11-2014

Contest:      Pets
Sponsor:     Shadow Hamilton
Placement:  6th
Categories: unloading, beautiful, bird, happiness, pets,
Form: Sonnet

Antiquated Lady's Bout With a Blizzard

An old lady sat near a window, near a window looking out.
With her radio going she sat there sewing, with an occasional look about.
On her thumb she wore a thimble, as she pulled the thread so nimble, enjoying the 
light,
While the weatherman’s voice was blaring, declaring a storm in sight.

She began to hurry, and to worry about her Sam.
Had he heard the early morning warning from the weatherman?
While she sat there stewing, the storm greater brewing, she thought about her 
man.
“He could work much longer, if only he was stronger— he does the best he can.”

The skies grew darker and her thoughts grew starker in the afternoon.
“Upper air disturbance; expecting turbulence with night coming soon.”
While she debated, the storm accelerated from the north.
With clouds unloading her thoughts grew foreboding, as she paced back and forth,

Qualms of duress she expressed about her Sam.
“Was he wet and freezing? Was he cold and sneezing? Poor old Sam!”
The northern air was gusting as she began thrusting shut the door,
From freezing rain fast falling, while for Sam she was calling as she paced the floor.

Back at the weather station a strange situation was spreading forth.
Not so far away an arctic foray pushed from the north.
It hardly took a wizard to see the shaping blizzard hiding every star,
A whirling cloud formation showed its concentration on the isobar.

Suddenly she started walking, while talking to her Sam.
Once she stopped to listen, ignoring the snow that glistened— then she ran.
She must’ve been unsightly as the lights shown on her brightly from a car,
Driven by her daughter, doing things she taught her, searching near and far.

“Mother! It’s me, Mabel. You know you’re not able to be out in the cold!
Look how hard it’s snowing with the wind so cold and blowing. Forgive me if I scold.
Finding you not there, I looked everywhere up and down the street.
You’ve come too far, so get in the car and dry your feet.”

“Mabel . . . Pa went out this morning . . . but he had no warning the weather would 
be severe.”
“Oh, my mother dear, please come here, come here. Dad’s been gone a year!”
Suddenly the old lady was weary, her eyes old and bleary, her body weak and cold.
She had no coat nor jacket, but in her hand a packet—Sam’s picture she did hold.
© James Tate  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: unloading, confusionold, morning, old, storm,
Form: Narrative

Another Covid Holiday

Another COVID Holiday

in an ever increasing
rate of replanting
the seed was spreading
through the population

a seed so small
as to be microscopic
should remain insignificant
no outward effect dramatic
though COVID’s social influence
global impact near atmospheric
I eagerly wade into holidays
mandated to reduce pollination

vacation disappointingly domestic
unloading washing machine tanglematic
hanging clothes almost robotic
reducing risky situation

we look now
to the years as they’re turning
our mutual recent history
undesired to be re-enduring
we hope upon new calendar
with optimistic collective yearning
for a year of blank pages
devoid of COVID’s social manipulation

HAPPY 2022 
may it be kind to us
Categories: unloading, health, holiday, hope, new
Form: Free verse


Premium Member The Marmalade King

The Man casts a shadow purulent with stealth
    Having seen his apportion of nebulous days.
In fear of himself... too long on the shelf
    And a vague memory of far better days.
He then lowers his head.
Overcome with a feeling of dread.
Dreaming of marmalade and bread...
    As he ponders the end of his days.

"I'm the Marmalade King!" He shouts
    To a world passing him by.
"I'm the Marmalade King," he pouts
    To those who are left alive.
"Was I somebody once?" He reflects.
"Who was treated with gentile respect?
But I have a vehement tendency to forget
    This thing for which I strive."

"There are vile beasties intent on mischief."
    He whispers to a Juniper tree aside his tent.
"They task me when I am fast asleep
    In a melancholy slumber of sly torment."
Now the tree failed to address
To the comments so pressed
But the King would have to confess,
    "You seem a perfect and absolute gent."

"If I truly be King?" He continued to say.
    "Then I should lord over all that I see.
But my Kingdom seems to have filtered away
    And I'm not sure where my subjects might be.
So I will remain here on this spot
Until my loyal subjects are brought
Whether they come freely or caught,"
    Said the King to the Juniper tree.

"Oh how silly of me... I've made a mistake."
    He said as he rose from his chair.
"It is good to have given my head a fair shake
    As there are new facts of which I'm aware.
I've been unloading my fears
But it has now become clear
While standing right here...
    My Kingdom is right over there!"

"I see you're a conifer of hearty regard,"
    Said the King to the Juniper tree.
"We must do well to keep up our guard
    As lesser mortals have been known to flee.
But I've come to the conclusion.
The outer world is a fallacious delusion
And if I'm meant for seclusion...
    I'm glad it's just you and me."

While a callous world attempts to ignore him,
    There is a venue for which he might cling.
Made only for him... less dour and grim,
    Where he has control over differing things.
And in that sacrosanct place.
He will find not a whiff of disgrace.
Bathed in the love of God's Grace...
    All hail the Marmalade King!!

                    The End
Categories: unloading, courage, humanity, humor,
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member A Perfect Murder Scene




"A Perfect Murder Scene"

underneath the gun metal clouds 
two bodies imprinted 
splayed bookmarked at the waterline

uncannily close
distance would never separate that twin set
the ocean of tears washing over them lachrymose

the day was extraordinarily ordinary
yet the unanticipated came rushing in surprising
two lives captured, seemingly drowned

carried away on the rip, ripped apart, far from shore
thrown for the risk of running 
away from it all 

eventually like double dice
the Ocean like a roiling bitter life 
spits them both back out, not wanting them, 

they are the gamble

rolled back in on the wake, washed clean
like a scene wound backwards
scratched and mottled, 8mm frame

slow motion the prostrate dead they rise like ghosts
wound up, holding hands walking backwards
up the sand dunes 

not a care in the world 
the guns in the clouds all gone
the sun now shining 

reversing down the path, hand in hand,
an old movie to who knows where 
smiles wide and laughing, hand in hand

the woman and child

out of frame, in the margin unseen,
the murderer plays his shot
all over again, he loves his bad dream



Candide Diderot. ‘24 



“Because it was regular film, it was Light sensitive. You had to be very careful when loading and unloading the cartridge.”







scene.
seen.
Categories: unloading, abuse, dark, muse,
Form: Free verse

Premium Member In Lieu of Flowers

“In lieu of flowers”, the obituary read, “please donate to a worthy cause.”
But when I thought about how she loved her garden, I really had to take a moment 
and pause.
I know her daughters meant no harm, they just didn’t want to deal with the mess;
Having just flown in from out of town, solely to put their poor mother to rest.
But throughout the years I watched that dear labor in her garden all day;
More than once or twice my house was blessed with the fragrance from one of her 
bouquets.

“In lieu of flowers” – are you kidding me!
“In lieu of flowers” – yeah, just wait and see.

Her daughters arrived at the funeral home, not really expecting much of a crowd;
I walked right in and introduced myself, probably talking a bit too loud.
“I’m your mother’s neighbor, the eligible bachelor; she may have mentioned my 
name.
She loved to tell me about you two – too bad you never came.”

About that time the truck arrived and they started unloading the back;
Flowers and wreaths of every kind in every imaginable color but black.

“Oh goodness sake!”
“What’s all this!”
“And where did they all come from?!”

“Oh don’t worry girls – they’re all from me.  And, they’re for your wonderful Mom.”

That funeral home was overflowing, with roses and pansies and mums;
Tulips and daisies; carnations and lilies; orchids of every kind.
There were snapdragons, Mona Lisas and delphinium;
Dianthus, lisianthus and mathiola amongst them.

The girls were shocked, that was plain to see,
They didn’t know what to do,
But their mother was happy,
Smiling down on me,
That much I know is true.


By Joe Flach for the "Flowers" contest.  
Okay, so it's a free verse that rhymes, I didn't mean to make it rhyme, it just sort of happened that way!
© Joe Flach  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: unloading, devotion, life, upliftingfuneral, funeral,
Form: Free verse

A New Breed-

A New Breed…
      ~ + ~ 
Some flew jets fast and low. 
Some flew bombers,
high and out of sight of everybody.
But were those 
who flew the Huey gun-ships our heroes.
~
We had those who were to come to our aid 
who were called dust-off’s, 
but like so often 
things don’t always work out as they should, 
get a hot LZ (landing zone) no bird for you.
~ 
It was on Nov of 65 a battle for us had started 
that we thought was going to be our end.
The battle happened so fast the command did not
have time to even give it a name. 
So they just called it X-Ray.
~
The fighting was so bad that the commander
had told all the helicopters to stand clear,
because of the hostile gunfire.
but one chose to stand by. At first by himself, 
than our other gun-ships joined with him in the battle
and picking up our wounded.
But not the dust off’s.
He kept rearming himself
with all the water and ammo; 
all that he could carry.
After shooting up his rockets and ammo; 
he would land, all while getting shot at unloading,
picking up our wounded and dead, 
taking them to Mash Unit, and doing
that over and over again. 
Eight times while being wounded himself four times.
~
Yes, my pilot was a hero. 
He won our Country’s 
highest honor, The Medal Of Honor.  
I am proud to have served with him
Captain Ed Freeman  R.I. P.
and such a great group of men. 
As the men of 1st Cavalry Division 7Br 2B C Troop.
~
Steven L Siegel  
Monday, May 31, 2010
Categories: unloading, war
Form:

Potatoes

Potatoes 
I was on old steamer once it was loaded with
Idaho potatoes and bound for Peru it was not much fun
with the potatoes came rats and insects 
but we got rid of them, the rats when unloading a Lima
Port, but there was a plague of crabs 
that came onboard in Lima, but that was not the blame
of the potatoes.
I had thought the root vegetable potato was discovered
In Peru and brought Europe, I don`t if this was a blessing
seeing so many fat children
filling their faces with Pommes Frites.
When eating out, I make it quite clear I don`t want 
any potatoes having seen a thousand rat dancing on top of them
but they still bring me potatoes; I used to give them to my dog
she got fat and had a heart attack
I had one too, but that was caused by smoking.
During the war when the Nazis occupied my country potatoes
boiled with the skin on was the norm, my mother said the vitamins are
under the skin, it could also be she hated peeling
I remember she was throwing up in the sink she blamed the spuds
But she was pregnant, and I didn`t know before 
I had a younger brother who was fed mashed potatoes
Categories: unloading, allegory, anxiety, candy,
Form: Ballade

Premium Member Lear's and Lemo's

	Lear's & Lemo's
	Written: By Tom Wright
	1/4/99
	
	With what we have
	seems we're never content,
	We reach for plastic
	when our money is spent.
	
	With more month than money
	we'll figure the float,
	Then like Investment Bankers
	sit back and gloat.
	
	We dream of a Lear Jet
	or a chauffeured Lemo,
	For we're tired of traveling
	by truck to and fro.
	
	While appearing content
	we're reaching for more,
	And what we can't spend
	we'll invest or store.
	
	We borrow from Peter
	so we can pay old Paul,
	Inwardly denying we're broke
	just badly bent, that's all.
	
	Money is at the root of all evil
	I've heard it said true enough,
	That must be why we hurry
	to get rid of the stuff.
	
	We return from the mall
	with scrapes that bleed,
	Packing all of our booty
	most of which we don't need.
	
	After an hour of unloading
	with each thing in It's place,
	It's painfully obvious
	we need more cabinet space.
	
	But we feel good for our part
	toward combating inflation,
	For while buying things on "sale"
	we've helped save our nation.
	
	But come the first of the month
	we're paying bills again,
	Then heading to the mall,
	for to save would be sin.
	
	So cut up your plastic,
	and continue driving your truck,
	Buy only what you need, 
	try saving that other buck.

	While we dream of chauffeured Limos
	and of Lear Jets to fly,
	Truth is, we're extremely lucky
	if ends meet and we get by.
© Tom Wright  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: unloading, funny, truth,
Form: Rhyme

Unwanted-Trashed 4 Contest

Thrown out like yesterday's debris,
Broken backwards and upside down,
You left me out to watch me suffer,
No longer wanting me around.

Yesterday's plans turned to today's remorse,
And old photo's remind me so clear,
I'll never forgive you for your choice,
To no longer want me near.

Forsaken and forgotten, new until old,
Please invite me back for dinner,
Uphold my regret and fill me up,
I already admitted that I am a sinner.

Underneath the stairs that creak so creepy,
While on top of your unwanted list,
You realized that I'm not very healthy,
Leaving our plot with an unwanted twist.

How does it feel to never being wanted?
How do I explain my desire to be lethal?
Guess word spreads and turn into lies, 
What happened to us being equals?

Compared me to flowers but came up with rubble,
Unaware of my beauty within my psyche,
Broken and lost, left and alone,
Your internal light has always been my lightening. 

You say that I am undesirable in reality of dreams,
I'm unloved and unwelcome your eyes do express,
What happen to all the sweet retentiveness we had,
As I lay unloading all my regret and feeling depressed.

I'm no longer needed for your fulfillment of romance,
I'm taken aback by your disagreeing mistrust,
You used to need me for tenderly touches,
Our love turned into a conduit of lies and lust.

Many years we had us and many to come we don't,
Upcoming jubilations with out you I'll be haunted,
You'll never actually feel the undesired experience,
Of feeling an undeniable force to be isolated and unwanted.

Written By: Laura Urbaniak
For the contest, Trashed  #4, sponsor, Broken Wings

November 3, 2015
Categories: unloading, betrayal, cry, feelings, hurt,
Form: Quatrain

Once Upon a Whole New World

Obstructing the Time's line-of-sight recoiling abruptly,
neither a fallen hand-held folder nor a glance stolen away,
counterfeiting emotional disturbance but sounds to mastery,
executive officers waiting for the day-to-day updated reports.

Unloading Time's viscous cycle of exhaust onto the couch,
painless worthy of note-taking task reminder, a lost love,
overcoming the abdominal centre of gravity umbrella to grasp,
night's vivid persons voice of Wisdom to amplify and filter.

An overwhelming notion of the folder, the glance, and the love.

Warm alight from a magic carpet onto the late-hour coffee shop,
hail to the standing floral dress under the glowing streetlights,
our eyes have met in a once upon a whole new world,
love spreading out our hearts to become a giant shimmering star,
entrusting her my hugs and kisses, my love, and my world.

New passion overcoming my insides calling for a cupid's bless,
enough of this game and deftly join me in a dainty dance,
with you my senses return and with you I feel joyously right.

When I saw you over the cotton clouds singing merrily,
out of nowhere getting the courage to crawl kissing you,
rolling your eyes under the skies taken by surprise,
loving me over the sea so let us dance when I count to three,
dazzling on a magic carpet of this mystical whole new world.



Saturday, 6th of February 2010
Categories: unloading, beauty, emotions, girl, love,
Form: Acrostic

The Black Sea

Drowning in her black sea of waves
tumbling down her waterfall of black curls
Docking my ship on her serene waters
unloading my cargo of thoughts and ideas
diving into the depths of her psyche 
swimming in the 
Ocean of her essences that is woman
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka Red 
Seven aka The Green Poet aka The Brown 
Philosopher
Categories: unloading, black african american, conflict,
Form: Free verse
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