Long Aced Poems
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Ma lied to me about using credit cards
she'd taken in my name, notices
told the tale. I let them repossess
my car to keep post-Uni plans
for the Emerald Isle, which I liked to consider
my homeland. Filed bankruptcy at twenty-four.
Felt like I could handle city streets and what better
way to find yourself after learning how little you know
those who love ya. The boy from Dublin English School
and I battled sticks at Stephen's Green, went on
to teach and I did my time at a school
in Waterford run by a Canadian lunatic, which
I now recall as one of those best of times, sniffing
good and hard at the marker board to cloud my mind
from fear, pints of Murphys before class some mornings.
Meant to say cans because ya don't walk with pints,
though I probably would have. So I made it through
and liked the authority. Fast-forward
and boy-man from Dublin English School said
come teach in Italy they've got space, and before
I could blink at the roses he'd shoved me
so hard to concrete for reasons unknown (pints actually),
that I absconded to a pal's in Leeds and started dancing
(fork in the road). Missing Dublin so I called myself Dallas.
A childhood friend came to Leeds at Christmas, later
married the pal who'd put me up (fork had potential). No need
to bother about cliches on meant to be's, anything
can happen. I went home with a multitude scattered on winds
forgave my Ma with a distance. Didn't know
which one to pick so I built a wall and started Grad school
for Counseling. But you could say I was haunted
by equivocal longing for that green place. Aced
my first exam in Intro to Pharmacology and ed off
to clouds of smoke for eight or nine years and they were good
ones and I let go of notions that things need finding.
Things come in curious ways to fall apart and come back
together. What better way is there?
On this landmark an image stands...
statue of a man.
Man of honor and talent,
admiration of any man.
Born with great love for country
Died with one heart of chivalry.
Studied in different schools,
aced all subjects in drools.
A man gifted with excellence.
Shared great works in pickets,
Cured many patients without wickets.
A man of great stature,
No man may be able to equalize.
A man of great sorrow,
Sacrificed himself for tomorrow.
Fellowmen freed to visualize.
So much more can be said
About a man of enviable skills
Young and old have all laid
Heroism of a small man...
Bigger, higher than hills.
I have got it half right,
I took on board,
The advice from an educational video,
As part of my advanced leadership training as a Cub Leader,
Obtaining my wood beads.
The video showed a clued up boss,
Talking about catching his staff doing things right,
And the lengths he went to catch them in the act.
I took that on board,
With my abilities to get the best of any staff,
Especially relievers,
As I did a lot of relieving as an ECE Teacher,
Including as relieving supervisor.
Yet when It came to,
Catching my now ex wife doing things right,
I never quite transferred the skill to that area of my Life.
Maybe it is not too late,
To do better at it in my next relationship,
As at 72 I am still a spring chicken,
With my marbles only slightly chipped.
According to my doctor,
And the test I aced to prove it.
.
God knows I tried
I've done my best,
Restored our pride
Aced every test.
Who only knew
Who could have guessed,
What lies would spew
From Socialists possessed.
The vote was rigged
The Media lied,
My fans all twigged
But cast aside.
The courts were bought
Judges aloof,
No cheaters caught
Democrats screaming "Where's the proof?"
My wife fast packing
My kids all gone,
Fast losing backing
But “bring it on”!
They think I'm done?
Washed up to rot?
Again I'll stun
Enact my plot.
Just lie in wait
Watch Biden flail,
All will then gyrate
Back to me, the holy grail.
Until then a little fun
Parties galore and adoration,
Florida golfing in the sun,
Itching for that call to lead the Nation.
So many things I want to tell you my Dad
But I choke up in tears feeling awfully sad,
I grew-up so fast since the day you died
Pledging urgently to do well as tears dried.
Don't recall listening to anything you said
Never took trash out, never made my bed,
You asked me to study, keep up my grades
Instead I focused on video games I played.
To earn my badges, we went on scouting trips
Soon after, I stopped going to their meetings.
You will be proud Dad, now I have some clout
I honored your will becoming an Eagle Scout.
Remember the day when we played baseball
You stole second base ahead of my fast ball.
Recalling happy times with love and might
We miss you so much at dinner every night.
I have aced my grades in science and math
Well on my way to choosing a career path,
I'm proud to tell you Stanford accepted me
On a full scholarship I'll complete my degree.
I was so self absorbed, always feeling mad
I never told you how much I love you Dad.
I wish to be just like you, but can never be
Standards you set are so high to achieve.
I have taken a job to help Mom pay the bills
We watch every penny avoiding the thrills.
Mom will visit you soon, she's well as can be
Please let her know you're so proud of me!
Placed 2nd
September 16, 2017
Poems that paint a picture 2
Rhyme:aabb
Painting by: Mike Theuer
Sponsor: Silent One
The fall of sixty-three, an incongruity!
I saw myself on a Queen's float, a title rare -
"Miss Sorghum" of our Hancock County fair.
I aced the talent part - piano was my art;
but needed practice wobbling in a brand-new pair
of pointy, spiky heels I'd bought to wear.
Fate came about too soon, that fatal afternoon,
my clever escort list'ning for the judge's cue,
had grabbed my anxious hand for our debut.
I stumbled, did not trip but felt my gown unzip.
My hero bravely shielded me from public view;
his jacket 'round my waist and shoulders threw.
My chance was gone, undone. On three-inch heels I spun
and left the judge in awe, escaping with my knight
to a storage room and a most peculiar plight -
A ladder 'gainst the wall, wobbly toddler set to fall.
I reached for chubby feet, my gaping rear in sight
outstretched across the rungs, I held on tight.
A twist, he made a track, came headfirst down my back
as mom returned to see my escort catch the bloke.
(Her child asleep, she'd stepped outside to smoke.)
He'd torn my gown she guessed, and offered me redress.
I refused her check and reclaimed my cohort's cloak.
No float for me - the fall my zipper broke.
A child unhurt - his fall my zipper broke.
September 9, 2013
Pat Westfield sat down at the table long,
the room crowded with all his family,
a last reunion now that dad was sick,
the cancer came back at age seventy.
He didn’t look that bad up at the head,
where he held court with all his grandkids,
and Pat was glad they’d all get this last chance
to thank him for the many things he did.
But across from Pat sat his brother, Ron,
who’d somehow found a shirt with a collar,
his wife and kid in department store clothes,
about all Ron could buy with his dollars.
He had come all this way, and now stood out
in the fine banquet hall Pat had rented,
surrounded by more successful people,
who earned at least six times more than he did.
Their sister Marie was an eye surgeon,
and brother Ken had a big export firm,
Pat himself managed several index funds,
but somehow seeing Ron just made him burn.
“I see that you tried to clean yourself up,”
said Pat looking at the man before him,
“I suppose that we can’t expect much more.”
But Ron just looked back with his own wan grin.
“You’re doing this now at this last meeting?”
Said Ron, looking not the least insulted,
“You can’t stow your pompous nonsense for dad,
on his last chance to see all of his kids?”
Pat just rolled his eyes at the brothers’ words,
“O don’t try to claim the moral high ground.
In truth, I’m shocked that you even came here,
your presence just drags the whole evening down.
Dad sent us o all the best private schools,
Ivy-league colleges, connections galore,
you aced them all, and now what do you do?
Paddle damn tourists around a lakeshore!
Most folks would kill for the chances you had,
you at least could have made something of it.
The rest of us did, not so ungrateful,
yet you feel no shame, not even one bit!”
Ron just looked at him, and there in his eyes
was something like pity, aimed back at him.
Worse still, his fool of a younger brother
still kept on his face that maddening grin.
“I’d try to explain,”said Ron defiantly,
“But I’ve tried before, you can’t understand.
Tell your ego to find its fix elsewhere,
and keep you voice down, we’re here for that man.”
Pat just scoffed and shook his head at all this,
said, “Fools don’t get to tell me what to do.
I guess every family has a loser,
and in ours there’s no question it’s you.”
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Everything is going south today.
I got my exam results back,
B's and C's on every single on of them,
While my classmates aced everything.
I looked at them,
with envy and jealousy.
Why can't I be like them?
Why can't I be better?
Why am i failure?
Why is everything going south?
Why is everything going wrong?
I asked myself,
Over and over again,
Hoping for an answer,
But to no avail.
On the way back home,
I encountered a thief.
He stoled my bag, wallet and everything I had.
All my id's were all in there,
All my important things were stolen.
I chased after the thief,
Fuming with rage and anger,
Complaining to myself,
Why does everything always go south for me?
Do I not deserve a peaceful life?
I ran and ran,
Hoping go get everything back,
But again,
To no avail.
At one point,
I stopped,
I had given up.
I saw a homeless man on the streets,
Begging for food and spare change.
I approached him and asked,
Aren't you upset that you are living like this?
A life that's hard and torturing,
A life where everything goes south.
He replied with a beaming smile on his face,
So what If everything goes south,
You can direct your path back straight,
You can go north too,
You have endless pathways of life,
All you need to do is get back up and try again,
Even if everything goes south,
Because there is no 'right direction' to a meaningful life.
South, east, north, west,
You can walk through your life in any direction.
I smiled at the homeless man,
Thanked him for his word of wisdom.
I started my journey back home,
This time, I choose I different path home.
If everything went south today,
Why not try going north?
My grandfather Hymie
spent his entire life at sea
his thick calloused hands
and ruddy complexion re
enforced non verbal body language
voluminous tomes as testimony
to countless years
(spilling into decades)
exposed to salty spittled
spumed raw elements que
sin art finest artisanal blended, crafted,
dredged by mother nature pre
pared within each trough and crest only
for thy fiercely weatherbeaten nee,
tough as rawhide, leathery,
chafed skin to me
not surprising, since
this mariner born, bred and near lee
schooled within
briny deep ever since knee
high (or so he claimed truth
to swirling rumor), jovialy
pleased that his purportedly
learnin' myth writ tik ne'r included
NEVER settn' foot in formal classroom,
his knowledge icy
anecdotes aced, surpassed,
and trounced that of what he
referred to as grenadier landlubbers
green behind the ears – glee
fully jabbing with his
unsheathed scabbard play flea
actually downplaying any exploits,
that didst educate him, prith ee
teaching him survival skills asper
getn' taut via eddy fied tests frequently de
siding a life or death outcome,
yet our Dickensian mutual friend
shared exploits while
he dressed not in tatters,
but self made clothes from cree
chores comfortable furs, and though
a striking appearance cut, ne'r
did this ole codger (fit as a fiddle
with tall slender build),
said middle aged man appeared quite be
coming. An aura, charisma, dogma
amazingly graced stalwart, gestalt,
deportment aie
found added an air of charming debonair,
esteeming flair, genteel heir
which tasked guessing years old,
aye presumed him to exit the uterine lair
at least a few score tours round oblate sphere
as aspect of youthfulness played across his eyes
one colored green like a spring day in the country,
the other jetblue sans burnin'
four pearl jam oyster cult year.
ah...them tha many decades past
since the merchant
from Neptune to mast
to nether world, though his parting seems
like it hapt last
year, noot nay twas scores o' full moons ago,
that grim reaper came swift and fast.
When you left me in mild mid-summer twilight
I heard you say you’d return on a silvery night
Through the dust of full moon of spring when
Hues would flush the first rose of my garden.
Beyond the blue haze of bright night’s beguiled
And ardent ambience I saw you disappear while
The rush of thoughts swept my mind with tense
Expectations shrouded by a nebulous suspense
Defined by the design of my dreams I’d dreamed.
Bereft of the zest my loveless languished time lone
Raced on pensive plateau with changing seasons.
Early in spring in the sapling of rose I’d planted
A bud unfurled pink petals to bloom enchanted.
Till the full moon shined on my first rose I waited
Holding fragile heart at the edge with bated breath.
August 25, 2019
Title chosen : With Bated Breath
Contest : Pick A Title, Vol 8-Acrostic
Sponsor : Edward Ibeh
June 5, 2020
Contest : Brian's Select 5
Sponsor : Brian Strand