Best Wardens Poems
E Pluribus Unum ~ Out Of Many, One
[Author's note: E Pluribus Unum is a traditional motto of the United
States, but the scope of this poem is intended to be of a more global scale.]
We are farmhands, postal workers, we are rich industrialists
We are pilots, sailors, warriors, mathematicians, scientists
We are doctors, nurses, dentists; taking care of those in need
We are teachers, flight attendants, moms and dads with mouths to feed
We post blogs, develop websites, we are software engineers
We are athletes, video gamers, we're retired volunteers
We are dancers, painters, sculptors, we are actors on the stage
We are clerks, construction workers, pay for night school with our wage
We are high school educated, college maybe, or hard knocks
We are barbers and beauticians, drive a truck or work on docks
We are clergy, civic leaders, wardens at the county jail
Roll in wheelchairs, use sign language, wear prosthetics, read by Braille
We are bankers, tax accountants, proud grandparents, husbands, wives,
We are activists who strive to give our children better lives
We are widows, orphans, childless; we feel sorrow to the core
We are social workers, advocates of justice for the poor
We make music or just listen, sing out loud or softly hum
We are common, we are special, we are those who overcome
We are poets and songwriters, we write letters to our kin
Sharing stories of our life, of where we're going, where we've been
We are those with beating hearts, with flexing muscles, red blood cells
Kidney donors, missionaries, we help dig fresh water wells
We praise God in mosque or church, in synagogue or kingdom hall,
In a temple, or in nature, maybe have no God at all
We are from around the planet, we have skin of every tone
We have short hair, long hair, no hair, kinky hair; we're not alone
We esteem diversity; you value me, I value you
Always with respect for those who hold a different point of view
This, my dream: to be united when it all is said and done
Though we may not be there yet, we share this journey -
We are one.
Written 1 Feb 2022
Categories:
wardens, career, life, planet, together,
Form:
Rhyme
178 months, 129940 hours,
now only 10 minutes remain.
Sitting in cold eerie darkness,
he observes the rhythm of water drops,
slowly wipes away streams of sweat
with his withered trembling hands.
That aching fear, gnawing in his fevered brain,
spasms of fear demanding flight
yet none to be had,
his inner soul asking why he had lost his way
why had his sad life come to this?
What lay in the caverns of darkness ahead!
Wardens pace up and down like wolves,
stopping to stare with compassion less eyes - smirking.
Waiting for the clock to chimes 12 times,
and to shout, 'dead man walking.'
He sits savoring every last breath,
rapidly repenting for all his past mistakes,
deep inside he knows its too late for regrets.
All his apologies fall upon deaf ears.
Flashes past seen, his crimes, girls and drugs, what a blast!
Pretty girls, each taking a slice, of his hoarded treasures
and he indulging in theirs with total abandonment.
O' glorious were those dead and ancient days!
Then reality came back to bite and bite hard,
saying, " such foolishness was a dream and soon comes Death"!
Too hard to bear such truth, he rushes back into fleeting dreams.
Suddenly cold, very cold he feels the deafening bleakness!
Sees the finality in the concrete and iron bars holding him.
Cries silently, what he wouldn't give for another day,
another dawn out in sunshine and fresh air!
Then reality and Fate both spoke to him saying,
" Tho' you a doomed man, meet thy death as a brave one."
Each heart beat beats with each ticking second.
He clutches his worn bible, readying himself for what lies ahead,
anxiously contemplating if he is worthy of redemption.
Rocking back and forth, unable to control floods of tears,
his thoughts are disturbed with a truncheon rattling his cell's bars,
and the dreaded final summoning of his name.
Wolves smile with sly eyes, as the stench of death fills the air.
Fellow inmates turn their faces to the ground.
He savours every step, he knows they are his last.
God is no longer the master of his condemned fate.
He knows he can't erase the crimes of his past,
but takes solace, feeling his crimes were not premeditated,
but now he must face the hypocrisy of his own premature death.
Silent One collaboration with Robert Lindley
17 December 2017
Categories:
wardens, death,
Form:
Free verse
(ALLITERATION)
Cows milked: mitigated mooing in the meadows then
Weaving on the warp, some workaholic women
Harvest of hapless halibuts on hooks
Bookish book-worms buried in books
A palomino and a pony patter on the paving
Hucksters and hawkers hawking every housing.
Ravers out on the razzle raising a raucous razz-ma-tazz
Beavers busy building beaver-dams but about it quite blasé.
Doves cooing in divine chorus
Frogs frisking out of focus
Horoscopes are hocus pocus.
Tidal waves of tsunami treacherously tread
Sea-anemones scattered upon the sea-bed.
Geraniums genuflecting in jungle-like gardens
Hunters wary of wandering wild-life wardens.
All this when I ventured about videotaping
Nature's much nicer even with no landscaping
These are direly different scenes from different parts of the globe
Perhaps like a space probe's kaleidoscopic poetic probe
( this poem has every letter of the alphabet except x)
Categories:
wardens, imagery, poems, writing,
Form:
Alliteration
TRACKS THROUGH TIME
The Sand and pebbles of this stoney
way
Once made a shore on warm Jurassic sea
High dunes in desert, by great ocean bay
Now heathland slopes and barrows that we see
These tracks between the heather fronds
touch light
Cross pine tree hurst with gorse in blossom gold
Once paced by tiger, brazen eyes burned bright
And swarthy hunters skilled in ways of old
O’er neat home gardens - flowers bloom in line
Where thrush and warbler each a sweet air sings
Within a span of geologic time
Great pterodactyls soared on scaly wings
Our world, perceived by some: in dire decline
Goes on with little care for our brief lives
Yet we may play a part in its design
At least as wardens - lest it be our shrine
Categories:
wardens, life,
Form:
Rhyme
178 months, 129940 hours,
now only 10 minutes remain.
Sitting in cold eerie darkness,
he observes the rhythm of water drops,
slowly wipes away streams of sweat
with his withered trembling hands.
That aching fear, gnawing in his fevered brain,
spasms of fear demanding flight
yet none to be had,
his inner soul asking why he had lost his way
why had his sad life come to this?
What lay in the caverns of darkness ahead!
Wardens pace up and down like wolves,
stopping to stare with compassion less eyes - smirking.
Waiting for the clock to chimes 12 times,
and to shout,
'dead man walking.'
He sits savouring every last breath,
rapidly repenting for all his past mistakes,
deep inside he knows its too late for regrets.
All his apologies fall upon deaf ears.
Flashes past seen, his crimes, girls and drugs, what a blast!
Pretty girls, each taking a slice, of his hoarded treasures
and he indulging in theirs with total abandonment.
O' glorious were those dead and ancient days!
Then reality came back to bite and bite hard,
saying, " such foolishness was a dream and soon comes Death"!
Too hard to bear such truth, he rushes back into fleeting dreams.
Suddenly cold, very cold he feels the deafening bleakness!
Sees the finality in the concrete and iron bars holding him.
Cries silently, what he wouldn't give for another day,
another dawn out in sunshine and fresh air!
Then reality and Fate both spoke to him saying;
" Tho' you a doomed man, meet thy death as a brave one."
Each heart beat beats with each ticking second.
He clutches his worn bible, readying himself for what lies ahead,
anxiously contemplating if he is worthy of redemption.
Rocking back and forth,
unable to control floods of tears,
his thoughts are disturbed with a truncheon rattling his cell's bars,
and the dreaded final summoning of his name.
Wolves smile with sly eyes,
as the stench of death fills the air.
Fellow inmates turn their faces to the ground.
He savours every step, he knows they are his last.
God is no longer the master of his condemned fate.
He knows he can't erase the crimes of his past,
but takes solace,
feeling his crimes were not premeditated,
but now he must face the hypocrisy
of his own premature death.
Categories:
wardens, prison,
Form:
Narrative
Alcatraz Penitentiary is located in California in San Francisco.
It became a Federal Penitentiary about eighty years ago.
Alcatraz was the prison where Al Capone was sent.
He wasn't happy about the place where he went.
Alcatraz had four wardens, they were James Johnston, Edwin Swope, Paul Madigan and Olin Blackwell.
Machine Gun Kelly, Mickey Cohen, Robert F. Stroud and many other criminals were sent to this jail.
Alcatraz is located on an island and was believed to be escape proof.
But in 1962, three men may have shown us that that wasn't the truth.
They escaped but were presumed dead but it's possible that they survived.
Their bodies were never found, nobody knows for sure if they're still alive.
Alcatraz closed in 1963 because of high maintenance costs and a poor reputation.
This wasn't a good prison to be sent to, believe me that's no exaggeration.
(This is a true story)
Categories:
wardens, people, prison,
Form:
Rhyme
People walking head down staring into their cell phones
In pairs or all alone
Children pushing their children in buggies and prams
Traffic wardens and traffic jams
Zombies trying to walk through you with masses of shopping bags
Gangs of girls gangs of lads
Shop window displays to entice
Everything from ladies knickers
Toys and carving knifes
Shoppers sat in fish tanks having tea
Long queues at the bakery
Pregnant girls in tight fitting skimpy clothes
People with tattoos and rings through their nose
Police officers out for a gentle walk on a summers day
While the robbers elsewhere make a clean get away
Unruly children screaming
Clouds of choking cigarette smoke
People laughing telling jokes
Shoppers taking a rest on a bench
Old men staring at young wench
A busker playing the same song over and over on guitar
For pennies hoping someone passing
Will make them a star
Street vendor vultures prey on the unaware
''Have you had an accident''? money signs in their eyes
Bad accident they don't care
Gangs of people stood in shop doorways
So you can't get in
Lads like me trying to impress the girls
and holding our beer bellies in
Bargain here bargain there
This weeks special offer managers special
A broken chair
Knuckle dragger unshaven smelly men
With model looking babes how on earth do they get them?
Free passes to the gym if you're fat we''ll make you slim
Bumping into people that you know
Hows uncle Howard and his poorly toe
A glimpse of life on a weekend in town
Don't miss a bargain get on down.
Peter Dome.Copyright.2015.May.
Categories:
wardens, angst, city, life,
Form:
Free verse
My future happiness depended upon school,
They’re understanding of religious older parents,
Them constraining them with supervision,
So that I could have autonomy in my garments.
I mean, my parents let me wear what I liked,
But were unspeakably forceful poignantly,
Regarding who was going to dress and shower me:
Women, not men who could interact with me perfectly.
I wasn’t asking for all male carers,
Just one or two out of maybe five,
And I even offered to employ male nurses,
Rather than just anybody alive.
But my mum was disgusted at my suggestion,
Said it turned her stomach and made her ill,
Posited that I was not in my right mind,
Said that I made her queasy and gave her a chill.
The school’s social services seemed traditional,
Just like their toilet facilities, old and outdated;
The social worker had white, permed curly hair,
And so for parent disputes you could be slated.
So I never got the help I required and needed,
For my first care package at Glasgow University,
So I suffered from rejection, shortness and selfishness,
From my carers who were supposed to offer identity.
The wardens made it better for me every day,
Reprimanded them for disrespect and impoliteness,
But I never even imagined that voluntary carers,
Could suffice for my own future astuteness.
It upset my whole life, the schools neglect and indifference,
When I think that living success could have been sorted out,
My personal dignity and freedom could have been secured,
With a bit of determination and secular, atheistic liberal clout.
School is really just about your future,
It claims it by its very definition,
And the whole child should be taken and loved,
Not just his or her abilities with cognition.
Categories:
wardens, caregiving, character, education, mother
Form:
Rhyme
Breaking free from collusion
A watch tower stands tall a look out in the circular prisons
surrounded by wardens laying down prescriptions and rules
with us in the centre fragmented in dead ends and schisms
mirrored glass no one inside we internalise as obedient fools
At the gate high walls conscience barriers and road blocks
imagined barbed wire where we pay fines in constant delusion
monitored in constriction we fail to walk outside of that box
abide by dogma norms lack vision to approach our confusion
Afraid of cul de sacs dead ends stop signs for individual drive
we halt and abide arrested immobilised for society’s sake
accept torturous certainty admit to all guilt and as we shrive
cannot distinguish from needs what is causing us mind ache
Roundabout’s exits guarded by our very own straight jackets
we spin around like puppets on strings to our master’s delight
The ‘panopticon’ demands obedience and we cannot attack it
for lack of conviction rebellion introspection rigorous insight
Unless we break free from chains of what others demand
disregard our dreams our beauty default on individual virtue
the road ends at a four way stop where forever we stand
disunited abolished forgotten and constant imagined taboo
4th January 2017
Written for contest: At the end of the road
Categories:
wardens, freedom,
Form:
Quatrain
Time, to buy our poppies
To remember once again
remember those who died for us
And those who were just maimed
We must also remember
Those, who lost their loved ones
Mothers, sister’s, daughters
Fathers, brothers, son's
What a lot of us can't imagine
What torment that must be
But they all gave their lives for us
To make our country free
In one hundred years
Two wars some endured
lost fathers in the 1st, sons in the last
This fighting is absurd
And still we send our menfolk
To fight the wars abroad
Please end this madness
I beg thee dear lord...
We think we're in recession
But do we really know
The hardships that our grandparents
Suffered against the foe
Bombed out of house and home
Nowhere else to go
Then all neighbours rallied round
To help they were not slow
Rationing came about
For food, for clothes, for fuel
From just scrag ends of meat
Made appetizing gruel
Women took over men’s jobs
In factories, farms and such
Blackouts, sirens, shelters
Hardship there was much
Army, air force and navy
Were not the only ones
But fire-fighters, nurses, doctors
Air raid wardens, everyone
They all played some part
In winning against the foe
Many lost their lives
A dreadful way to go
Some might say its better
To die instantly my friends
For many, many suffered
In agony till the end
We can’t possibly imagine
What it's like there at the front
Many months of fighting
With no end in sight
In trenches,
Your comrades all about you lying
Water logged and stinking,
Lying, crying, dying.
So please stand in silence
Remember, remember them
They fought for our freedom
Our women and our men
Categories:
wardens, absence, caregiving, conflict, courage,
Form:
Ballad
l decided to write a little poem today about when my late mom and dad told me about the time when, as a newly young married couple, they climbed out of their Anderson Shelter built in their back garden during WW2, to find their house badly damaged.
The Anderson Shelter.
Shards of glass and splintered wood
and wardens struggling through the mud
the 'all clear' wail that died away
in echo's walls, we had to stay.
Attuned attention we turned our ear
as doodlebugs our greatest fear
and clung to box in case were gassed
and held our heads to measured blast.
The holes in walls and roof ripped off
and dust exhumed with every cough
we held hands tight for what we'd see
from metal tomb as we climbed free.
Our home destroyed and belongings gone
but no one hurt, not single one
we don't look back, as days were bad
we survived it all , for that we're glad.
Categories:
wardens, miracle, world war ii,
Form:
Rhyme
The most important day of my whole life,
Was the day I went to Uni, bold and stark,
‘Cos it said to my parents that my mind’s state,
Was with the academics and society’s quark.
They called me as a child insane and *****,
For wanting my brother’s toys, books and pencils;
They also actually called me mentally ill,
For not wanting girly clothes which did frill.
I had my nose in the encyclopaedias and dictionaries,
And they just couldn’t figure why or understand,
And wouldn’t leave me to browse and scan:
Wouldn’t in love care and just let me have my stand.
Society was for sinners, every day they pointed out,
But I felt that it was the fundamentalist Christians,
Who were cold, uncaring, and without clout;
Ready to explode in anger at any societal person.
But they knew who I was on that day going to Uni,
On the journey to Glasgow in the Grenada car,
And so when I was subjective, contemplative and still,
My dad rudely V’d me with his fingers in a spar.
I think they thought I'd say nothing and carry on,
But I waited a few seconds and then firmly replied,
“What was that for?” and he retorted “What?”
And that glint of something in me for them died.
I gave a few murmurs, but succeeded in letting it go,
Having quietly shed a tear about my childhood and early life,
But I promised myself to tell the Hall wardens about the gesture,
Who also made me swear to tell them of any future strife.
And then in my second year, when my dad became,
The conductor of Billy Graham’s choir,
When I made the wardens aware of my pain,
They took me to the cinema and loved me plain.
It makes it so much better, other people’s concern,
Just that bit of interest that you've never had to earn;
Talking about one’s problems puts colour in your cheeks,
And life will be to you that whatever one truly seeks.
Categories:
wardens, age, character, childhood, desire,
Form:
Rhyme
Mommy, Uncle Turned Out Okay
Mommy, uncle took me to the zoo today
We tried holding hands but I ran away
My little legs ran around the elephants
Turning a deaf ear to uncle's yells and rants
Did you know his face's funny when he yells
All afternoon he kept ringing my bell
Ding dong, ding dong, come back here
Guess what, mommy, I hid and disappeared
My little legs found a bush by the lions
And I could see uncle searching and crying
Big buckets of water rained from his face
Mommy, uncle's eyes bulged as he gave chase
Mommy it was so funny to see uncle, red
That passerby's looked me on with dread
Then two wardens appeared out of nowhere
Taking me away from uncle's blank stare
I raised three fingers when asked my age
Then I pointed to my uncle drenched in rage
They kept a straight face and wanted to laugh
I then ran over to uncle like a young baby giraffe
Uncle, my cousin's been a bad influence on me
My eyes pointing to the monkeys in the tree
A rare chuckle slipped through my uncle's lip
A first of many on the remainder of our trip
connie pachecho
7/19/17
Categories:
wardens, animal, child, humor, remembrance
Form:
Couplet
I was relaxin' on the patio the other day, musin' as I often do,
About a few things that brought about vic'try in Dubya Dubya Two.
There were no computers, cell phones, night goggles, drones or such.
How we won the war sans such contrivances, I have wondered much!
One thing that played a vital role was Coca Cola fer GIs their thirst to quench!
Another was Rosie the Riveter in baggy coveralls wieldin' hammer and wrench!
Moms saved grease, tended vic'try gardens and the kids collected scrap,
And workin' overtime makin' planes, tanks and guns was dear old Pap!
Air Raid Wardens prowled about at night raisin' 'ell if they saw a gleam of light.
Plane Watchers strained their orbs so enemy planes would never over-flight.
"Kilroy Was Here!" was our battle cry but no one ever saw that elusive dude!
Glenn Miller kept spirits high playin' "Dawn Patrol" and romantic "In The Mood!"
Mean ol' sergeants yelled and screamed at recruits whippin' 'em into shape!
(Second lieutenants were a nuisance - good fer nuthin' except fer addin' red tape!)
We would never, ever have won the war without the lowly but reliable jeep,
Nor the GI helmet, great fer bathin', boilin' beans or yer joe to steep!
V-mail letters kept loved ones in touch - there was no E-mail way back when!
War Bond Rallies to "Keep 'Em Flying" and "Buy A Jeep" were held now and then.
Folks tightened their belts fer the rationin' of tires, sugar, coffee and meat.
These are just a few things that helped bring about the enemy's utter defeat!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Categories:
wardens, war,
Form:
Rhyme
Elastic evil in encroaching European’s enterprising motives.
Level-headed land animal leaves African lowlands.
Eventually they are followed by those who shall not be named.
Private collector hopes tusks will not be a mismatch.
Horrific hunters hold hand-held machetes.
Active game wardens wait for the hunter’s hammiest moment.
Newly arrested poachers rapidly chew their pink mastiche.
Threat to tusks thwarted, wardens sit down to taste tasty tzimmes.
Categories:
wardens, animal,
Form:
Acrostic