Long Bitty Poems
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He holds the entire universe in His hands
Gently, like a father, for He is the ultimate father
We sense He is there, some more aware than others
He seems closer to us in the evening during our dreams
He is careful to let us have free will,
But He is also there to catch us if we fall,
And to lift us up and remind us of the world’s goodness
When we run out of steam and hope, and want to give up.
He holds the little bitty babies, the old ladies, the bachelor dads
In His hands, and who among us would have it any other way?
And if you would, isn’t it great that He allows you that luxury?
Free will is a gift not easy to give, yet given with love.
Looking for a car, fair to presume
Brownie points for value I assume
I've got the ideal car for whom
Promises never a day of gloom
Perfectly loaded for bride and groom
From the mirror dangles a heirloom
Plenty room in case of baby boom
Gargantuan trunk can store a broom
With your supply of Fruit of the Loom
Itty bitty gas it does consume
You'll never notice a single fume
Comes with that built-in new car perfume
Ever so convenient in our combe
Parks itself into your livingroom
So come to my office to resume
I'll gladly make you some elbowroom
Let me clear off the desk move the bloom
So away you can sign with my plume
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on February 12, 2018 for contest POETRY IN MOTION sponsored by KIM RODRIGUES - RANKED 2ND
When you are rich you can do what you please
Building and naming stuff what you may.
So when Ford decided to build his own church
he named it Martha-Mary chapel one day
In 1923, he purchased 3,000 acres of land
And Longfellow’s Wayside Inn, still in operation today
He built an attractive red school house, and a grist mill too,
Creating a Living History Farm for me and for you.
Located in Sudbury, Massachusetts, this romantic place
Has a water-powered grist mill, with two grinding stones.
And the little red schoolhouse was the site of one of
The esteemed, poetess, Sarah Josepha Hale’s little poems.
You have probably heard of it, “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”
Ford told everybody this, however, I heard it from a goof.
The Pepperidge Farm Logo is a photo of the grist mill.
All you have to do is see that photo, to see the real proof.
Is the Wayside Grist Mill Inn still in operation today?
It certainly is, yes, indeed, a romantic setting too.
Many all-night lodgers have said that a ghost visits the sleeping rooms.
But that’s a little secret between the ghosts, them, me and you.
The history of this place, with Longfellow, and Ford alone.
Some say they’ve heard and seen ghosts there and left little bitty notes
You can pick them out of cracks and crevices, and leave some of your own.
It’s fun to just get a room, and spend the night reading these little antidote.
Preface to this brief bitty
written snap ting snapshot – word ditty
dates back before I reached gritty
age of eight and fifty, aye recall a kitty
rescued by my youngest sister, who took pity
and felt aghast,
at a potential cruel fate no witty.
Upon return home from an Antioch College coup
(so many diverse work experiences required -
some involving offal goop
i.e. case in point being this anecdote,
which may fall outside the loop
of common “hands on
off fish shawl” employment,
thee tasks on par with handling poop
stoically accepted by Shari Todd
(name of said sibling),
who when home from Davis, California
(albeit temporarily, and before she returned
to Yellow Springs, Ohio) divulged
how she did scoop
dread, dreck, dregs, et, cetera –
i.e. by product amidst fish farm
didst set her dead against being linkedin
purr animal cruelty, thus play role of troop
er – which tummy
earned her kudos a resounding whoop!
* * * * * * * * * * *
Before launching into this poem purr say
lemme mention how thine late mother
took an immediate affinity and hence no delay
that this lucky creature became akin to a bebe.
Main Coon, Felis catus, nicknamed Boozie
raccoon features, face mask, brown thick costume
handsome boy, affectionate personality, expressively vocal
Pink wet nose, emerald eyes, pointed ears
cavernous mouth, sharp teeth, rough tongue
striped design, massive fluffy fur, bushy tail
Soft paws, padded cushions, retractable blades
wild animal, predation urge, survival instinct
agile movement, swift motion, unfortunate victim
Door prize, flies feast, whitened bones
loyalty strong, pageant display,
splayed across kitchen table courtly dignity
Quiet house, sonar sounded, Cheshire upward smile
purred softly, rubbed legs, warm vacant lap
Jumping agility, firmly sequestered
Contentment expressed, internal hum, reciprocal therapy
beautiful petsmart, little monkey, comfortably sleeps
peaceful slumber, wakeful stretch, ideal life
Fortunate intervention, cat whisker to demise,
brush avoided becoming piscine meal,
kingly privileged role, heartfelt love.
Walked into prison young and small/
What I lacked in size, I made up in toughness/
Even that's not enough, these dudes are huge/
I hit the weight pile, tied up my shoes to choose/
What should I do, take a jog or walk a while/
I seen some dudes lined up at the weight pile/
Hitting that iron, getting swole as can be/
I found my spot in line, I gotta get swole, too/
Motivated by these other brothers getting their shine on/
Lil bitty dude, but I gotta get mine on/
I'm up next, but I couldn't compete/
I had to take a stack off because I was a lil weak/
Building myself up, day after day/
And every other day that pass, I add on more weight/
Now I'm getting stronger, reps getting longer/
Still a little skinny, but my muscles getting toner/
I'm steadily working out daily, I'm feeling my best/
My ego getting bigger, I even got a bird chest/
Dudes heard that so I flex all harder/
Every morning I'm waking up to peanut butter and water/
Hitting that iron, time after time/
Now I'm earning my respect, and got a spot on the line/
Female Cops watching me and they all over me/
Now I'm hitting the whole pile, with a dude on top/
Plus, I got a mentor, this old school brother/
He gave me a few pointers, see he wasn't like the others/
The others envied me, they were just haters/
Because now I'm getting big like Mr. Olympia/
Chest big, arms big, stomach on flat/
Shoulders wide stacked and my legs on stretch/
Even the male guards gotta tip their hats/
Because I came a long way and I can't look back/
I’ve been thinking about an old saying that my mother was so fond of. “You’ll reap what you sow.” Now back when I was an itty-bitty tyke, I always wondered why she would say such an obvious thing. I mean, what would you expect? If you planted a tomato plant, you sure as shootin’ ain’t going to get apples. Duh!!! Old people can be pretty silly sometimes. But as I was cruising through my Facebook life today, I understood what she meant. Now, there isn’t much I can do about other folks who seem to live for the sole purpose of spreading hate or discontent, but I can do something about me. So, like the great agent Gibbs would do, I too have created a set of rules to guide me through the maze of posts and comments of social media.
Rule 1---If it ain’t got my name in it then it’s none of my business.
Life moves by too fast
to have any time to waste—
spreading discontent
I have an issue.
I have an issue with picking up my phone and only seeing the end of several animal species.
I have an issue with the persistent sound of trees being sawed in two.
I have a small, little, itty-bitty, molecular issue, with men creating songs with melodies of pretenses; that dance to the beat of their wives heads hitting the wall.
I have an issue with the impotency of steady intimacy that deserving women never see the light of, and the dark images that slide in and out of focus with each encounter.
I have an issue with children’s stomachs screaming at them to eat scraps off the side of a road that carries the same diseases as barn animals and sewer rats.
I have an issue with all of this being brushed off shoulders, the turn of yet another cheek.
I have an issue with who we became.
I have an issue with who we are.
Twittered Via Chilled Wren
At Valley Forge, Pennsylvania
Prior carte blanche to confessing illicit
extra-marital affair
I embolden tomb ache
elicit, and baldly bare
faced laid out some
of the sordid details clear
embarrassed at one escapade
in particular constituting dear
peppy's questing randy romping caper
necessitating vigilance 'ere
a park ranger, (or other unsuspecting
winter weather way
Farer attired in gear
adequately bundled
cold as a witch's tit
seasoned trooper)
reluctantly repeated here
(unforgettable if only be
cause this "FAKE" Casanova ace
thee Missus i.e.wife)
did conversationally chase
beseeched, hen pecked,
and implored me NOT to erase
boot to recount with (itty bitty)
Monty Python glory, a straight face,
that one particular amazingly grace
obviously penned up,
and not in the write
mind (pre poetry daze),
which scurrilous anecdote
did (and still does) in vite
guffawing, sans
peculiar public philandering,
with atavistic cave man
designs tried to unite
where daunting phallus spite
confronting Arctic Vortex when right
lee let loose from pants
froze like a little popsicle quite
purposely remained flaccid
leaving me in a penile plight
when trying to hump
(standing up like a good Knight
comically ridiculous travesty)
With Barbara B****, light
of adventurous Green Beret spirit, the
Unabashed MILF about average height
fifty years, whose busty bosom
silicone breast implants
tell tale viz radiation
and chemo therapy fight
(resulting from post
Ductal Carcinoma in situ)
needless to tell
nary an erectile spell
Asper tinker soldier
tailor spy didst quell
basic animal instinct,
and feral gonadal horniness
with intent to consummate sexual intercourse
according tummy ought to occur,
cuz that blustery air
mirroring said day when hell
nearly froze over invoking
intervention from Cain and/or Abel.
Thus when prick remained
limp and nearly frost bitten
(at a boulder christened cock rock),
aye frostily smitten
slogging wet sneakers, thru
knee high snow...now, no mo' tubby written.
Form:
Socked and winded unconscious checking account...
(alternatively named last poetic endeavor for 2019
issuing out cerebral petrified complex edifice fount
wobbling as hood winking ornament mount).
Speedily rushed to intensive care unit
courtesy Brinks armored truck
Citizens Bank emergency crew
monied staff got no luck
after electronic wires connected
vital signs needle painfully stuck
showed absolute zero change
according to Huck
Finn - whose hushed tones
only audible and
understandable to famed,
feted, and fistbumped woodchuck
Punxsutawney Phil, his
off season gig include sporting
as security detail retired formerly
legendary ice hockey player
pearly whites doubled as stick
indestructible teeth hard
as steel no matter
smacked hard with puck.
Aforementioned metaphorical
add verse city
totally (tubular) ludicrous ditty
predicated upon itty bitty
financial resources faintly analogous to
meek and bumbling man
named Walter Mitty
me haint one to wallow and seek pity
only trying to buck up spirits
(think) lamely trying tubby witty.
Dirt poor penniless Joe Schmoe
more times than not finds
himself steeped within financial woe
linkedin to 2009 Hyundai Sonata toe
tilly, regularly, predictably... status quo,
one major malfunction after another no
way could adequate funds
be scraped together for I know
newer pre owned vehicle
would be dogsend,
versus panhandling hobo,
who scratches out lame poetry ergo
not long past me prime,
still able, eager, ready and
willing to secure a bow,
and make an arrow escape,
perhaps within eco
friendly intentional community,
where resources shared
among pseudo family
rather than scrimp and scrape
alone along boulevard
of broken dreams
loathing begging for alms
as arms loosely drape
analogous to overripe grape
cluster hanging toward the ground.
I have been keeping secrets since I was a small girl
mammoth, gigantic secrets
little teeny, tiny, mini ones
I am an expert at the hush-hush
very good at top-secret
tell me and my lips are sealed
I will keep your disclosure under wraps
you can confide in me
I will never tell
all the enormous, monster secrets
or the itsy-bitsy
itty-bitty peculiar ones-
one day mother whispered in my ear
a very particular secret
she made me promise to keep it concealed
to never tell even to close family
that was years ago-
people have tried to pressure me
but I made a secret pact that day
even though mother died the secret lives
I have it tucked away in my head
but just in case, I wrote it down on paper
and put in a hidden place
that only I know-
it is a very specific thing
that I keep in a hidden drawer down a secret passageway
I bet you would like to know
NEVER, it is classified, you can torture me and the answer is NO
but I will give you a tiny, significant taste
it is a special ingredient
to a top SECRET recipe . . .
________________________________
December 5, 2017
Poetry/Free Verse/'a top secret, secret'
Copyright Protected, ID 17-9688-60-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, A Special Secret
sponsor, Lewis Raynes
Second Place