Best Upstarts Poems
AFTER HOURS
Dudes in duds broken down brims
cocked and bent creases in trousers
when thugs were gents
People with attitude women too
demeanor and outfits like
Ebony's front pages
Dudes in duds broken down brims
Money on backs eyes watching
the eye's of watchers
Entrances and exits.
Wink or nod jazz in smoky
rooms groomed and manicured.
sashay across the room stepping off in
Bally's shoes shined no scuff
after hours.
high profile.. Dudes in duds
broken down brims.
Men creating temporary illusions
Clean to the bone
deliberate sashay tempo exaggerated
tempting and teasing pleasing the eye
karat's on fingers scents linger
Exquisite cologne clean to the bone
faded edges -role playing no script
Dudes in duds
Broken down brims cocked and bent.
Attitude in threads
We wait to be called in that back room
Where they'd spit "Gangsta Wit".
before videos
Was dudes in duds with sweet tongues
making their points in after hour joints.
Live and direct we upstarts
learning our parts we'd sit
internalizing gangsta wit
like understudies to a movie script
In after hours joints........... delighted...
The old kings are about to lose their crown,
young upstarts are about to swat them out of the way
Father time has knocked another aging champ down,
it's really sad to see greatness turn into mediocre play
Start making the funeral arrangements,
and don't forget to publish a fond obituary
Bring a shovel to the postgame press conference,
there's gonna be a lot of bodies to bury
On this cold, early October night,
when this last game end,
the mourning will surely begin
The eulogy is set ... check
Pallbearers in place ... check
Open the doors, and bring around the black hearst
The champs are toast,
they just went from first to worst
They went from the top to the bottom,
and it happened real fast
They went from the front to the back,
from number uno to dead last
Ah, well ...
Nothing last forever,
greatness always gets over-the-hill
When you still compete past your prime,
there comes a time, you're gonna have to pay the bill
So tip your cap to the old boys;
remember all the exploits they did,
how they once made a lot of noise
As the last man on deck steps up to the plate,
give a standing o to this team of former greats ---
Ex-champions who stayed in the game too late
the line drawn,upstarts
champions no more,we get it
simple,run by me
A fool, a buffoon, a comedian or a clown
They all act stupid but are really smart,
They are an odd breed of their own
Just for laughs they win your heart.
A lady, a lass, a vamp or a tramp
They all act gullible but are pretty smart,
With a tease or a taunt they lay a trap
Just with a smile they steal your heart.
A priest, a rabbi, a swami or a holy man
They all act pious but are a bunch of upstarts,
With a preach or a sermon they summon
your souls and bleed dry your trusting hearts.
~Contest: 'A' Strand
~Sponsor: Brian Strand.
dead end street …
mostly elderly when we came
always quiet …
empty nests side-by-side
aching for spring
but winter came instead
(the winter of life)
friends … good people -
town folk who raised this little
borough with pride
came to this blind alley to wait for God
and He obliged …
one-by-one, this road of
retirement rolled over …
the reap saw these quiet abodes
flipping fast and furious
and the once-aged occupants were
replaced with families -
young professionals and upstarts
fresh-woven nests filled with
chicks and younglings -
little voices and wings to test
upon the breeze
training wheels and swing sets
where lounge chairs once grazed lazily
backboards and rollerblades
and a valid reason for the ice cream
truck to loiter, it’s silly music box
jingling the afternoons with cold, tasty
wonder-in-a-cone …
time - passing like a subway car -
just a flash in the dark …
grain-by-grain the
hourglass steadily sifted
and a once-peaceful lane became
a circus of activity -
giggles and screeches replacing the
silence with the music of life
the rarely-a-car avenue, vibrant and joyous
picnics and lawn parties
birthdays and showers and fireworks
playballs left unattended
bicycles laid at the curbs in a rush
pets being walked
and the commonplace, everyday things
started being … every day …
oh, no mistake -
I loved the quiet when we came
and tho’ I dread the winter months now -
the post-Christmas cold, dead and
long-dark days, grinding on me
like a ragged old dirge -
that quietude and peaceful contemplation
is STILL one of life’s greatest
“little pleasures” to me …
yet … it’s the NOISE that I’ve come to
miss the most this time of year -
those little voices of
youth and vibrancy that sing me
through the warm months,
reminding me what being here is
all about, and making me
yearn more than ever
the sweet, joyous, callow kiss …
of Spring.
(Photo of Maplewood Drive by yours truly)
The golden grain stretched out like sheets
upon the Kansas plain, like birthright, innocent
behind the festered sun.
Some were unaware of upstarts
in the rolling Minnesota countryside,
defiant to the blistering avalanche of corn.
There were the sidewise glances,
prudent in their reticence, worn pencils
tucked behind their bibs, the markets'
vagaries aswim, Chicago far the east of home.
In Iowa as well,
the warriors of the plough,
the timeless men of bread,
the conquerors of earth and sinew,
beast and baronet,
to thread the cloth of motherland
before our birth.
Thereto in Illinois, my cradle sanctuary
nested from the mountains
and the alien sea; I was the listener
within this deep midwestern ground.
It is not still where I have been;
the voices and the footfalls
make their print in time
and may not be erased.
And though my ashes fly in space
my breath, my bliss, my bower
rests forever in the heartland of the earth.
~
NAUTICAL
a gale of tidal
nautical waves
nourish the shoal
hand palming moist
as wet sands drain
lungs fill with the
beauty of usage
swallowing it in
throat soaked
spheres float above
discreetly quietly
nonentity upstarts
avoid nautical
aquanimity
blind to sea
blind to see
clarity
of mind
© Kim van Breda—19 October 2015
It's our social spectrum,
Polar opposites,
A moral conundrum,
Named Charlotte,
Our eyes locked across the sea,
Sealed behind iron eyelids,
An investor's security,
The upstarts outbid,
All bets are off,
The crack of our whips,
A duelist's standoff,
Agony on your lips,
Pushed into an animalistic frenzy,
My fists won the day with their negotiating,
A bargain for your safety,
At the cost of my sanity
"Our bond's too treacherous for society",
Wordlessly you agree,
"We'll find shelter at my home come quickly!"
You shudder at what you see,
"I'm sure you'll love it here, don't mind the bodies",
You tremble in your chains,
"I sought to free those women as well, tis a shame our love waned",
With clinking heels you attempt to flee,
"Stop that women don't make me hurt you!"
His breath upon your face,
"We'll be as one right now with the stars as our chapel and our priest the moon",
A night of torment and pain,
"I've consumed the fruits of Eve",
A genetic future ingrained,
"Now we're bound in sin my darling",
Your internal cacophony of screams escape as grim laughter,
"Yes master".
True, a Myth-and-a-half ever since dim Antiquity
“Breathes there the Man with Soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said
This is my own, my Native Land”
True, a myth-and-a-half ever since dim antiquity
Who breeds and holds the brood in binding sanctity
Isn’t s/he who sows and let grow blood ties in family
Don’t leaders all use the ruse of saluting country
La Patrie is never the suffering Peoples’ victory
They lay their lives down for their leaders’ greater glory
The plot of land’s where the Soul ignites anonymity
In the au-delà is not country mere pure vanity
Leaders lay wreathes at monuments for tv publicity
Upstarts win lone battle or two through freakish strategy
And let expanding borders be besieged by many enemy
Yet end-up somehow by losing the Imperial Army
Shouldn’t he who seeks to foist himself on a polity
Be required to pass the test of Ego-immunity
No vaccination nor re-inoculation would be free
From an overdose of megalomaniac frenzy
© T. Wignesan –Paris, April 9, 2021
Tongue In Cheek
Who is that new upstart
Yelling on my TV
Where is Archie Bunker?
Let things be like they used to be
And that pretty old woman,
Claiming to have the floor.
Why can’t I hear the news, or
Opinions of Eleanor.
Another channel there’s that old man,
With flailing arms and waving white mane,
Where is Grandpa Walton?
Things just aren’t the same.
Remember the “Good old Days?”
With the wars and Woodstock and the rest?
Where are the Beatles when you need them?
“Let it be” their advice was the best.
Who are these new upstarts
Dancing on my TV
Get them off, I beg you.
Bring back what used to be.
Cattle trains are litter trucks. Often noisy and overheated with the balmy sweat oozing from even the tidiest of blazers. Business break time then. All swap. All buy. Bring and buy. Before bells and buzzer. Akin to a quagmire of golden caresses calling all spirit with which to harness and enslave. Societal enhancement and norms shroud and tiny minds bow to the sounds. Whipping is the duty of the office based suits. Causing disruption but causing conformity. To a nonsensical wisdom the small suits line. Ink indoctrination of ignorance. Grabbed are not the best. Grabbed in the net is the harvest for the elite. So calling cards then. Ace ace spade equals three pounds fifty pence. After a soggy squashed sandwich. Pepperamis are a safe bet. A reminder of a bodily part. Mules multiplied by hundreds. Hahahaha says the underwater gentialia obsessed lie infused cabbage headed frog. In a suit. When baking trays line up it is time for all manufactured items to sing the song £ % £ % £££% economy driven. Wounding prettily. Prattish. Tailoring. Tricksters. Upstarts upstares. Prevailant on spaced out junk mail presenting truth in boxes. Tick tick tock tick. Rock and roll. And now I will take androids and throw them to moons. Such backward technologies. Pitter patter. Xxxx presentation. Xxxx ha xx z.
I
I tried not to mention the crime
Siblings, it is high time
America stopped self-flagellation,
Self-hate, self-abnegation
II
I feel for him, brother George ("of the earth")
I came close, but saved by a different birth
To feel the accusing eyes: "Me, the evil one"
Only because I stayed in school, joined the run
III
Black America wants to drive, play ... like us
Tired of fighting for a seat, decades after Rosa Parks
George Floyd is a hero for having lived BLACK
A remnant yells, "Deport the upstarts. Send 'em back"
And for Christmas we have received from our children DNA tests.
Tests to say whether we are outstarts, downstarts, upstarts, or slowstarts.
I already know that I am a re-start, as I re-start things over and over and over.
But the point is, our children were interested, and so now I guess we are too.
The procedure is easy. They send you a test tube with a stopper and a little cork lid, and a mail back box.
You spit ten times into the test tube, put the stopper on it, make the little box up,
Pop the spitted-up test tube into the box, and mail it in to the FBI if I was guessing.
They probably then check you against all of their data bases for criminal activity and send back results.
I figure they had a creative writer make up sixteen to twenty patterned results, and they choose one.
I received my results and was disappointed as I wanted some great slices of something ethnic,
Exotic, some proof that I come from Africa or Turkey or South America. Nothing wonderful like that happened.
I had some Swedish, English, Pennsylvania Dutch, Scottish, Irish, common stuff, nothing exotic or fun.
My husband who had been bragging for years that he is a hundred percent German, as he thinks they
Are all smart is sitting in a stupor,
Pouting that he has a teeny sliver of German, and something else I have forgotten already.
But the great news is, he is more English than the English who now live in England.
Quite disappointing as we cannot even understand them on the T.V.
Great Christmas present.
Thanks Girls.
Like all who write, I'm enchanted by words.
their musical sounds falling on each page.
a gentle caress, or slashing of swords,
Words of upstarts or elegantly aged.
What power is found in a single word!
words so lovely, you long to simply hold.
Those inspiring adventures unfettered
or bringing a tear as sorrows unfold.
Opinions offered--thoughts without a hedge.
Happy gifts of synonyms seldom used
sunlit words within a smile's funny edge
careful to keep word's context unabused.
Often a challenge, but with many gifts
a fresh page awaits like a new-born day
inspired, my mind seeks any gone adrift--
words to enchant me and take me away.
February 12, 2023
for Constance La France's
Writing Challenged--E Words Poetry Contest
howmanysyllables=10 per line
A First Place!
Are Bullets Coded Death Especially For Greed?
How Insane.
Justice Knows Liars Manage Nations Often, Period.
Quite Ranbunctious Soldiers Terrorize Upstarts.
Villains.
Weak.
Xenophobes; Yearning Zeniths.