Best Watchers Poems
I have so many jeans that I can wear.
They lie inside a box upon my floor;
in every color there I have a pair.
With pants galore, I could not want for more!
I don't take time to sift through all those clothes
when I am in a rush and getting dressed.
Nor do I have the time to stand and pose
before my mirror to see which looks the best.
The "Zanadi," flare-legged, and faded blue
I grab with very little hesitation.
From Asia, straight to Walmart, ( and it's true)
they always fit (Oh, joy, less complication).
And when those darn things feel a bit too tight,
I diet till they hug my hips just right!
By Andrea Dietrich
For Nette onclaud's Contest:
"It's In The Jeans"
They stay in the background
stating a useless union still self-centered
powerless, ill-prepared, inept entity of promises,
the verbiage of false hopes with all the dos and donts,
watching, waiting, predicting, and anticipating
another's demise into servitude rationalized
with lie and innuendo, pseudo promises, outright lie,
treaties made never intended to be kept;
an envious and jealous desire of possession
over control, land and people, ever transitory
it never seems to end, forgetful of history's lessons
never once learning the realities of truth;
self-indulgent arrogance and ignorance
internal self-gratification to be more
bound by useless rhetoric and threat
and the human race reverts ever backward;
how long do we watch from distant shores?
as humanity fades into the past aggressions
back to the dust and earth in regression
of time in restart?
Through the mists they land
Carried by darkened wings, spread
Sensing, they await
Suspended death in decay
Inhumanities now shared
.
Sweet potatoes baked
or plantains fried,
take your pick.
Caribbean treats
delectable and sweet,
one puts more weight
on the thighs!
There was an old sort of people that once took to the beach
These old sort lived the beach and waited for the sunset
They were old as time itself for they never aged
They were of the beach and the beach was of them
They watched every sunset from time began
It was there eyes that made the sunset come and it was there sleep that brought about the night
They forever watched and always kept everyday holy
One day it was late and they were waiting for the sunset
It did not come and they wept
They disappeared into the night and were never seen again
A woman arrived early from Minsk
Hoping to get a nod from the prince
His procession went by
She never caught his eye
Now her fondness for him is past tense
A chorus of the hungry
Father, we are here, singing choruses
To a crowd of witnesses
A scattering of utterances among crows
Muttering things
About this and that
Unknown quantities of baloney
Seasoned with desert salt
As the scene arranges itself with the usual players
Preachers, Pimps, power brokers, pen pushers
Worshipers and whisperers
It will not matter whether I lived
Or died begging. What matters is that we are here
Unnoticed
Watching with the watchers
Herds of putty faced plutocrats filing past us
Past decorous doors
Into the depths of the pleasant places
Inside
Lettered sous-chefs salt
And season yet another crowd of butchered beasts
Where lingers another hearty feast
For hunters, gatherers and whisperers
Armies
Of half butchered waitresses with painted faces
And battered souls attempting to hide
The bandages and splinters that hold together
Their fractured internal structures
And ignoring the empty laughter. Like us
And they try hard not to stutter
There may be a tip at the end of the shift
And chatter hovers
In the many places, above the clinking of glasses
On the other side of other doors
Cutlery gathers and clutters
In the able hands of busboys and dishwashers
And more grease spatters
We Are The Watchers
by Stark Hunter
Into the breach the multitudes surge,
Into the crushing breakers and
Beyond the sucking mindless tides,
Down down into the whirring, rushing confluence,
Precipitously we fall and slide,
Tenuously and tragically we slip.
We are the watchers of the wasted!
We are the watchers of the dancing dead!
We have seen them bring in the living.
We have silently closed our eyes to their madness.
We are the watchers of the delirious and of the distressed.
Falling, falling trying to seize a toehold,
Trying to stop desperately this inevitable plunge,
This meshing melting plummet,
This fatal succumbing to hate and ignorance,
This downward drowning into the watery abyss of anarchy,
This insane enveloping
This resounding de-evolution into one massive heartbreak.
We are the human machine!
That lurches and stalls in the swell,
Spewing bloody angst
And the sooty smoke of smothering fear.
We are the star climbers!
The mountain gazers!
We are the watchers of the wasted.
We are the watchers of the diseased.
We have seen them bring in the living
We have seen the fires of Armageddon!
Burning burning furiously in the firmament,
And we have heard the crescendoing cries of the forgotten.
We are the watchers of the wasted!
We are the watchers of the dancing dead!
They used to call us moon watchers,
our eyes of guardian drones
gazing the random access points
of a diverting canvas of sleeping dreams.
My father’s old telescope shows me your surface,
your craters in which your skeletons may hide,
or where your cold rocks lay
without motion.
You must feel alone,
the uninhabited space much vacant,
the stars much too distant
to communicate.
Oh, but fragile moon, take heed of this:
we shall remain as your shadows,
animations of the hills that connect the valley’s still.
Sincerely, we, the moon watchers.
THE WATCHERS
You're staring into your computer screen.
Who's staring back at you sight unseen?
You're scrolling texts on your data phone.
Do you think you're really scrolling alone?
That Sunday drive in your brand new car.
Are you lost? Someone knows where you are.
Took the toll road? You were running late?
Someone has a picture of your plate.
Blowing your nose down at the mall?
The security room monitor saw it all.
Thought you could skinny dip down at the pool?
Pictures on Facebook seem to be the rule.
Watching the game on your Smart TV?
The CIA are in on your after party.
Oh to go back to a simpler time,
When I used a book to find a rhyme.
Mar 12 2017
(Inspired by Demetrios Trifiatis' Woman's Day Poems)
At this ripe old age of seventy-eight
Thought girlies would no longer phase me
On the contrary, more now than ever before
A lifetime girl watchers club honouree
A member of the club of leering old men
They still turn my rusty old crank
Just because sometimes I fail to zip up
I'm still pretty alert to be frank
I admit at times I forget to wear jockeys
In combination with failing to zip up
The impact of these two glaring omissions
Cause a furor when playing mini-putt
Sure gather a crowd, thought at first it was me
My rugged good looks and stuff
Soon realized they all were focusing below
Guess it's better than playing in the buff
© Jack Ellison 2014
A lady from Rentz thought it neat
Hoping in London the prince to meet
He passed her that day
Looking the other way
She'll have to go back to Rentz and repeat
Coast watchers, coast watcher in the Solomons,
Mad Aussie Coast watchers,
Mad Aussies behind the Japanese lines,
Sucking coconuts, coast watchers,
When JFK’s PT109 was cut in half, who got him,
The coast watcher, Evans got him saved his life,
Downed pilots yes they’d spot ya,
From Rabaul right down the slot ,
The Japanese were hotter,
Every island seemed had one,
crazy Aussie or Kiwi coast watcher,
Of 42 as Admiral Halsey said ,
An early warning on a raid,
Aussie Teleradio caller read ,
40 Jap. planes, the bearing made,
Australia had these men,
who worked as planters in the islands,
District officers some of them,
With natives there to guide em,
Gaudacanal, big island Aircraft Carrier,
Knew when Japanese came down the slot,
Dauntless dive bombers, Yanks were there,
Ironbottom sound still holds em yeah,
Japanese ships still parked, in lots,
Carrier Enterprise fought battles there,
Was bombed, but didn’t die,
Coast watcher saw Jap. Carrier where?
And Yanks they filled the skies. 2am 6-nov-11 Don Johnson
As I watch the stars
Creep across that sky
Some large, others small
Some bright, some light
But all out of sight
All out of reach
Then as I lay upon the beach
I see the waves roll as the
Stars shine off and under
The dark, blue dangerous sea
Some twinkle, some shine
But all of these in good time
No longer shine
waiting for wise words
whispering and wondering
whippoorwills wander
5/30/2022
~ Alliterative Haiku~