Long Backsides Poems
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There are too many people walking around every single day
And if you ask them who they are most don't know what to say
You need to know who you are and how you came to be
And if you are a child of God you are royalty
We are all descendants of the most high God
children of the King
But if you don't have a relationship with Him
That concept doesn't mean a thing
But God says we're all royalty so we need to comprehend
That it's not our culture, it's not our race it's being creations of Him
Now the enemy is on the prowl working day and night
Trying to deter our youth from acknowledging God's light
Too much social media with Twitter, Facebook and Skype
So caught up in their Cel phones and every technological hype
But God looks at our hearts, He discerns what's inside
He's not concerned about hair color, tattoos or exposed backsides
God says we're royalty, He says we're His chosen offspring
And He called a young David to come forth and do a new thing
Now David was not a fighter he was a tender of sheep
But God can flip the script and with faith make you take the leap
God can use anyone when it comes to accomplishing His goals
He can call on the most unlikely person
and infuse him with power and control
God says we're royalty with power, majesty and might
He will bless and anoint us with grace, mercy and light
God says we're royalty and when He calls us to serve
Don't second guess His actions this appointment you deserve
To be a vessel that God will use, a means to an anointed end
To change the course of history to benefit all men
Now David was to battle but not King Saul's way
David had a god-given talent to be put on display
David was a projectile warrior a master of the slingshot
So he picked up 5 smooth stones and proceeded towards his lot
Only one stone was needed to take Golieth down
It hit that giant in the forehead
and immediately knocked him to the ground
David's actions changed the course of history
It also came to affect his entire family
Eventually David became a king
and because of his faith and behavior
His descendants became the line that produced
Jesus the Christ Our Savior
And like David I know who I am
And from Whom I came to be
And like David I'm a child of God
And God says I'm royalty
One morning, when I was stationed at base operations in Subic, I had a
telephone call. A Filipino shipyard worker had died during the night-shift,
on the job at the navy repair facility, apparently of natural causes. But to
cover our backsides, the shipyard wanted to fly the body to Clark Air Force
Base for autopsy by a pathologist. Just to make sure.
So I called one of the many helicopter pilots I had become acquainted
with to set the flight up. The pilot said “No problem, just put the body in
a body bag, and we’ll strap him into one of the UH-I’s seats (the helicopter
workhorse of Vietnam), call it a training flight, and do the deal.” So, I called the
shipyard, told them what to do, and went back to my morning cup of coffee.
A few minutes later, the admiral’s Aid called, to tell me that the admiral’s
driver, a marine corps sergeant with three Purple Hearts from combat in
Vietnam, was going to be charged with some minor legal offense by his
Philippine girlfriend, in order to keep him in the Philippines, instead of
returning to his wife in the US. The admiral wanted to get him to Clark and
en route home ASAP to avoid bi-lateral US-Philippine embarrassment.
So I called the pilot to tell him he would have a second passenger. No
problem, I went back to my coffee.
A few minutes later, I got a call from the marine corps captain who was
in charge of the brig. He had a soldier stressed out from combat in Nam,
high on unknown drugs, and violent. He wanted to get him out of the brig,
and send him back to the US.
So I called the helicopter pilot again to inform him of his third passenger.
He agreed to take him, if he was put in a straight jacket and leg irons, and
accompanied by a an armed guard. A reasonable requirement, because
passengers had access to the pilots in UH1 “Hueys”.
I still wonder what the air force airman thought as he slid open the door
of that Huey when it landed at Clark.
Written: April 26, 2025, for contest by Brian Strand
*****************
It comes in sizes
small
medium
large
In an array of styles
artistic
trendy designs
vibrant colors!
a chair is like a friend
you've always dreamed of
it's as refreshing as a soft breeze
it's there for us at any hour
in every nook and cranny
anywhere we need it
they are made for our backsides
offering a haven for relaxation
whether for reaching for stars
indulging
sleeping
loving
playing
eating
or whatever else your heart desires
just as the earth cradles us as our home,
a chair invites us to share our
stories
& experiences
It welcomes everyone
black
white
Asian
rich
poor
a celebrity
a politician
middle class
everyone fits
Imagine a world without a chair
life would be so tough
picture a chair nested in snow
or standing proudly on granite or marble
more than a bed
more than a stylish hat or cozy house—
a chair is uniquely designed for one thing:
to hold
It's a sanctuary for our quick and bendable souls!
VIDEO/AUDIO now on YouTube
Whatever Weekend
Being humble common pathways ere,
I ought traveled nearby that lea,
Past the margin of my home there,
Where the daffodils fickle sprightly,
As I shared the natural trail lead,
General impressions befall o'er sunlit,
E'er lighthearted to the bird's melodies,
I travailed the character of it,
Simple yet well organized,
Amongst the laughter, ere rumored whisper,
Neath a yellow sky, midst squinting eyes,
Masses traverse and heed a rise to prosper,
Yonder the verdant meadow rest,
Spreads of marigolds and violet folds,
Concerts of pleasantries and greets confess,
A myriad of countless told's,
Ere me, couples digress,
In accompany of solitude,
Tis a time out that be abreast,
A sea of people floats a multitude,
Be it so accordingly,
As time drifts in emptied homes,
Consequently, there is aplenty,
As crowds trends above the loams,
A tad of clouds sparse the sky,
Disperses a legion directly afoot,
The grassland, not shade as far one espy,
Groups forward motion advances e'er square foot,
Gleaming sunrays whips into action,
Clouds impart a rainbow into the landscape,
As they convert into a diminutive and fade into a fraction,
And a colorful fancy fulfills a dreamscape,
The call of an afternoon squanders the present,
As Sun of a constant drops e'er so slightly,
Fingered flip-flops drape backsides, marks a day well-spent,
Chorale of winged birds past a flung open door, gradually,
As dusk crowned heaven undresses the night,
And a sequined of stars sparkle a whirling, whereat,
Slumberous thoughts transpire while well-kept dreams ignite,
Midnight's slide into a twilight that trips into dawn's golden chariot.
2020 February 22
*3rd Place*
STRAND SELECT Y ,any form ,any theme
~~Brian Strand
Winter memories that are still so vivid and bright
Those endless days playing with your mates
Snow falling when it should do, kids shouting and screaming
"It's snowing" running out, mum's shouting "Get some warm clothes on"
Scarves, balaclavas and gloves, only your face showing
Sledging in the snow, home made by dad, the lucky ones with bought ones
And the snow was proper snow, snow that came and stayed
Snow so deep you could only see your mate's head's above it.
Snow that made you want to play, sliding down hills falling on your backsides
Soaking your clothes getting your body chilled but still totally thrilled
Digging the snow off your path with dad making snowmen, huge snowmen
Who had carrot noses and coal for eyes and mouths with an old scarf around his neck to keep him warm
No cars on the road the whole street your playground
Having snow ball fights, taking sides and ganging up, wanting to be part of the best gang
Lying in the snow rolling down hills laughing and shivering
Then the darkness comes, off home to mum, she's fussing taking your wet clothes off droping them on the floor
Towels and pyjamas hung by the roaring fire, being wrapped in the warm towel mum furiously rubbing "you'll catch your death" she's saying
Pyjamas on, drinking warm milk sat on the carpet in front of the fire
Watching TV, the Flintstones, Beverly Hillbilly's maybe Huckleberry Hound and Yogi Bear.
Then it's bedtime, going up the stairs slowly not wanting to go, mum shouting after you "I'll be up in a minute"
Kneeling at the side of the bed, saying your prayers, Our Father who art in heaven.....
"Look after my mum and dad and my sister" then silently to yourself "Please God let the snow still be here tomorrow"
Well..he would practice his trade,
Just like he practiced his life.
Practical! With cold precision,
Never made time for a wife.
He woke precisely at six,
He wore the same suit and tie.
But, mumbled under his breath,
When any neighbors passed by!
He was of the opinion,
That "He" was better than 'Them!"
With his fine, manicured nails,
And a fresh shave and a trim.
Never flustered or flurried,
Never scuttled or scurried,
Caught the shuttle...never hurried!
On the clock...never worried!
At work by nine...precisely!
He meandered down the hall.
His tunnel vision blinded,
He would jump when "Brass" would call!
Went racing down that fast track,
Just to see how fast he'd rise.
He'd slobber down their backsides,
With his eyes stuck on the prize!
He smiled and fetched their papers,
He smiled and wretched their gas.
He smiled and fetched their coffee,
Puckered and kissed their ass!
He thought that would impress them,
He thought the "Brass" would call.
He thought this with precision...
But, was heading for a fall!
Confident of ascension,
He was laid off in the Spring!
He saw his future falter,
No gold watch or diamonded ring!
His ego couldn't take it!
He planned his retribution!
With crafty, cold precision...
He planned their execution!
He arrived at work at nine...
Precisely! With cold desire!
He chained up all the exits,
Lit the whole damn place on fire!
It seemed to ease the tension,
With no pension left to earn.
Saluted and flipped the "Bird!"
Then he stood and watched it "Burn!"
With no one there to witness,
In the end, well...no one knew!
With his cold and crafty smile,
Knew all his dreams just came true!
I am fourteen.
It’s a hot summer day in 1954.
My mother, father, two brothers, one sister, and I
Pile into our 1952 Chevrolet station wagon
And head to Coady’s Creek in Perintown, Ohio.
It’s actually called Stone Lick Creek
But the Coady’s have a camp on it,
So we call it Coady’s Creek.
When we arrive,
We all pile out of the station wagon
And head to the shack they call a camp.
Girls get to change first and boys second.
When it’s our turn,
We walk into the camp.
One big room full of cobwebs,
A stone fireplace at one end,
Two cots, a table, a couple of chairs.
It’s dark and stale wood smoke invades everything.
We change into our bathing suits.
Then we head to the crawl space beneath the camp.
We run as fast as we can
Stumbling over one another
To claim our inner tubes.
The door creaks as we open it
And we stare through spider webs
Trying to find the best one.
I’m the oldest, so I usually get first choice.
Running along the stubbly path
Through the woods down to the creek,
We can’t wait to jump into the cool water.
Walking over the rough stones and murmuring riffles,
We head to the cold, sassy hole;
Our favorite swimming place.
We sit down in our inner tubes
And feel the cool water on our backsides.
Using our hands, we paddle upstream - backwards,
As each stroke makes us bob up and down
Like horses on a carousel.
The creek’s steep, wooded banks
On either side enclose us,
Making us feel sheltered.
The overhanging trees fashion a tunnel
As we make our way
To our secret swimming hole.
The three brothers and their little sister
In a line, like ducklings, bobbing up and down.
We are all splashing each other and smiling.
Life is good.
I am a Savonarola chair
carved from discarded
remnants of cedar and birch that
littered our backyard -
waiting to be burned
or broken by a trespasser’s hands,
or tended to by the warm touch
of a gardener’s natural instinct;
an individual
who values growth
and prosperity.
I am an object
forged from splinters and sweat.
My four legs become six when your
spoiled bones and blackened hearts
grow weary.
Stilted fractures wax like leprosy
within your fumbled thoughts -
seeking respite as you recount
negligent actions upon broken fingers.
Father was a saw
and cut out his tongue.
Mother was an awl
boring through his visibility.
Ignorance sanded his face.
Blind eyes rendered him mute and
useless, like a comb without teeth
or a song-less linnet bird.
I am a piece of furniture.
A curio cabinet
curiously displaying your mistrust.
An end table advertising no family portraits.
An ottoman whose cushions knead
the detestation clinging like muck upon
the backsides of chafed ankles.
I am:
Father's severed chainsaw.
Mother's twisted liquor cap.
Sister's crumpled gum wrapper.
Brother's fleshtone punching bag.
I am a chair.
I serve a purpose - but not for you.
A chair can be slip-covered, polished,
straddled and veneered.
A child cannot.
I am most content when six legs
morph back into four.
Exuberant,
I then know my
private existence can breathe -
and the hardened antecedents
who took advantage
of my open arms and inviting lap
have grievingly walked away.
“I have forgiven mother”
She tarries with hope
that the good woman will pray her clemency for her own sins,
but that hour is expired;
Gee grew a strong wit
"Mother is no longer my burden"
Jesus came from hard conscience to corroborate her lies
The WORD written in black and white:
“Us twain is now one; for this reason I depart from her”
Three moons less than time in the safety of the womb is slight
In the past mother was necessity,
but she grew weary of the pace;
her birth city received her
The old Jewish woman was left
with stage three pressure ulcers
while the twain bender in Atlantic City
Their backsides were not masked by mother’s conformity
My mother's now defiant fingers work dutifully in another excrement,
goat stool in her callaloo garden
Before the recession, money was tossed in all directions;
I took hold of a few green ones.
She lived to outdo her alliance,
but high seat killed Miss. Thomas’ cat
Mother watched her outshone the Jones
The recession was never her downfall;
immorality got the better of her.
Jesus was overlooked
“put the WORD to work,
compensate the guardian of your youth”
She had to let a nation know how well off she was
Her enemies know her silver spoon was achieved
Her splurges buried ethics, and smiles were wide as graves
She let me know in scripts:
“A new being I am now; My shine is unlike years ago”
Vanity is not here in show, but her heart remains the same
Like the Jewish elder, mother is spurned
with bruising on her heart.
I love you cause you make me so happy
Like the birds in the trees
My perch is set on high
For the love of caring and sharing
No need to ask why
It's out of love that I HURT you
Protect and comfort you
It's out of love of self That we continue,
To strive for the things
That are important to...US
To our reality and in the midst of our dreams
We ride that wheel of fortune
And sail on wings of blessings
Because we love To Praise,
Give honor and the Glory too
While all the while trying to understand;
where it is we're going to!
Did You Know:
Love transcends, comprehends,
And will mend all that ails you?
Sometimes we love hastily
Without consistency
But we must patiently wait..!
Wait for love to show us
How to recognize and put it into perspective
Right before our eyes,
So that when love isn't around
We won't forget to show love
For ourselves, our families,
and all our brothers and sisters
And yet at the same time;
let them know that we didn't mean to;
not love them...
But it was out of love;
that we told ?em in the first place
Sometimes we get sick and tired of this thing;
that'll make a crazy person sane...
And has butterflies dancing every time you hear their name
But, just remember it's the love we have inside
Regardless if you try to hide
It will burst through our foolish pride
And even tan our backsides
Just to remind us every time that we were created
To return to the very thing
From which we came...L.O.V.E!
Form: