Long Callers Poems
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All of the Gnomes from around the globe
Just sneezed their very last sneeze
They've had enough of this allergy stuff
And from the garden they're taking their leave
They packed up their bags, donned their bonnet's and caps
Left in the cover of night
Said goodbye to the trees along with the birds and the bees
And headed out for the big city life
No one had a clue from which wind the Gnomes blew
It was Wa-La they were suddenly there
From Bankers to Lawyers to Tele-marketer callers
They infiltrated every career
Soon they were drinking like fountains as the bills started mounting
With the pressures of the ride to the top
Pills became an everyday need to stay awake and fall asleep
Not sure when this madness will stop
On top of it all they started to cough from the smog
And wondered which one was the worst
The garden allergies or this black lung disease
Either way the Gnomes felt mankind's curse
So they turned in their suits and their ill gotten loot
And took a trip back to the suberbs
Now in the garden they smile cause they know all the while
Yes...it could be a lot worse
She held him like a priceless vase
Gently, lovingly in her arms
The promise of love for eternity
Was said without words
He held her tightly
As if she were a dream
That was about to vaporize
He loved her dearly.
Her eyes searched his for doubt
But none could be found
She knew she brought out the best in his weakness
Total submission was her prize
He worked hard to gain her affection
Returning home late, exhausted
But forcing himself the extra mile
To posses her, to make love to her, his dream
While he slaved at work she kept the house
Entertaining gentleman callers
Lustfully spending his love without indiscretion
And denying him at his tenacious appetite
He returned home early to find her
Joyously overwhelmed by her male covertness
He remembered how hard he fought to keep her from
Her expulsion to her home country
She knew her fate, it was sealed in time
She ran after him but the deed was done
It took a moment and they took her in exile to be deported
Her regret trickled down her cheeks as the taste of her fruits matured
Let’s sail away to Acapella,
A celebrity haunt owned by Penn and Teller.
I shall act as your prince, you’ll be Cinderella
When we’re sat on a beach in Acapella.
It’s not as sexy as Cannes or as dowdy as Rhyl
But their choirs and ensembles will give you a thrill,
Acapella compares well to old Casablanca,
As you will observe once we have dropped anchor.
Their libraries don’t hold any musical score,
Acoustic folk singers are considered a bore,
All keyboards and trombones were sold overseas
And whistles restricted to football referees.
So you won’t hear the bagpipes of Kenneth McKellar
Or repetitive bass notes plucked by Paul Weller.
Your voice will entrance all the ladies and fellas
Once we’ve moored in the harbour of Acapella’s.
There fishermen bring ashore haddock and bream
Having sung shanties as a well-rehearsed team,
The salty sea breeze gives their voices a rasp
And the youngest amongst them let out a gasp!
Melodic and manly, the crews ride the waves,
Proud of their seamanship, masters not slaves,
They heed the advice of their mothers and aunties
But rarely acknowledge the source of their shanties.
Once a solitary busker was found in a yacht
And by all accounts he deserved what he got,
He was forced down the plank at the tip of a sword
Then his vintage viola was flung overboard!
On the pier you’ll find orators and callers at bingo,
But no jukebox is pumping out John, Paul or Ringo.
Pop or rock music gives locals the creeps,
It’s no wonder that George’s guitar gently weeps.
So, if Customs Control takes your squeezebox or trumpet
Don’t seek compensation, you’ll just have to lump it;
Those instruments go to a processing plant
Because singers are welcome but musicians aren’t.
We shall seek out the nightlife in numerous bars
Where the locals all sing without playing guitars,
Dodge the Lambrettas in quaint cobbled alleys,
Then stride across hills and along peaceful valleys.
So, if you’re tired of concertos or singles by Queen
Book a cruise to a place where they’re considered obscene,
It’s a magical island owned by Penn and by Teller -
The remote principality of Acapella.
So let us sail forth across the briny
In a luxury yacht - well furnished and shiny
To where your vocal range will be valued quite highly,
And you won’t have to sit through Baba O’Riley.
Foreword: My regular radio station recently
held a phone in show on the subject of
Veganism... The following was inspired by
some of the more colourful callers.
Purely for fun, no maliçe intended... Your Honour
Vegans, Damned Vegans
He sneered when he called me an animal
He frowned when he called me a cannibal
He called me a killer and said I’m misguided
I shouldn’t eat meat because HE had decided
His pompous decision was so single minded
I showed him my fist... the fight was one sided
For pulses and beans were all he had eaten
So one little tap and the fellow was beaten
I looked in the mirror and made a big grin
Examined my mouth and the canines therein
For tearing up meat, we got them in pairs
Was that evolution or the big man upstairs
Why ever we got them, got them we did
Some people file them or keep them well hid
If your God designed them then that’s problem solved
Unless you deny the way you’ve evolved
If there was a vote which the vegans then won
There’d be a surplus, I hope they have fun
When we give all the vegans their very own gun
To shoot all the cows, it would need to be done
The chicken, the turkey and also the sheep
Superfluous now, so no need to keep
Thanks to the vegans they’ll all come a cropper
I hope that those vegans are good with a chopper
But just to show willing I thought I might try it
I put myself on a strict vegan diet
A vegan for breakfast, a vegan for lunch
A vegan whenever I fancy a munch
But one irate vegan went off the deep end
He seemed a bit miffed that I’d eaten his friend
But quitting my diet soon silenced his moans
I’ve stopped eating vegans... too many bones
I love them, truly love them and surely always will
They come for me in hope when sleep eludes my night
They dance about my mind in early morning chill
And fill my world with joy resplendent in their might
They know I crave their beauty and they, my fertile mind
As such the deal is struck when patience bides their time
They deluge me in torrents and I repay in kind
By shaping tumbled phrases into sweet balanced rhyme
Still as I form the verses and satisfy their needs
And feel the urge within me give out in rhythmic beat
I cultivate bright flowers from errant wayward seeds
To cherish and delight, our odyssey complete
Though I am now fulfilled my talent all but spent
We know you sing, they say, please make of us a song
A musical refrain would add such sentiment
To give up on us now would be a dreadful wrong
Then I compose in haste some jaded cliched tune
To still their firm demands, though pleasing I confess
Calm order is restored at last and none too soon
As I beseech the words and notes to coalesce
Yet here the song complete is futile then they say
Until it is performed so others can rejoice
And celebrate our charm and so you must hold sway
And manifest our worth with spiritual voice
The lyric then performed on unforgiving stage
I settle knowing I have doubtless played my part
Yet what are these strange texts that would with me engage
More words, new words insistent their message to impart
Although the constant clamor denies me of my rest
I cannot rail for long or wail as well I might
For I know I am chosen and thus so truly blessed
By words that will enchant, all's well bring on the night.
I so love an amber hazy forest
and strolling the winding paths bathed in bright colors
I love the fallen leaves of crimson and rust
the bird twitters and peeps- oh, such sweet callers
flying is a fire bird who is quite a scarlet charmer
oh, the forest is full of wonder and sights
and the the smell of dark umber earth delights
deep in shadows I find a saffron crocus
a yellow that only grows in autumn
and not far ginger grows in the cool shade
I think this was once a garden quite winsome
now I find, trailing vines with pumpkins
so tired, I close my eyes and breathe in the sun
leaning on a tree with bark the color of cinnamon
__________________________________________________
September 11, 2017- Edit and Repost February 21, 2021
Poetry/Free Verse/The Forest
Copyright Protected ID 09-1331-191-11
All Rights Reserved, 2017, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, All Yours (Feb 23)
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 02/23/2021
First Place
O yes. They still knock on my door during the election season.
They are rather bold, especially when they ask, “For whom are you voting?”
I do not mind sharing my opinions and views, but please do not ask that question. You might as well inquire of the amount of money in my bank account. Some things are public and others are private. I still believe in the secrecy of the ballot box. I do not mind an exit poll, but the entry poll is another question. I will tell you, after the vote, for whom I voted. It’s the way I was taught.
I use to get a lot of phone calls inquiring for whom I am voting. Someone or some computer must have spread the word about me; because I do not get those kinds of calls anymore. Freedom of information should not apply until ‘there is some information’. Perhaps our communities would be better served by encouraging people ‘to vote’, rather than asking for whom ‘they will vote’.
I would be happy to inform all political or media base callers that I intend to vote. Moreover, I shall share with them also that I see voting as my duty as a citizen, and my responsibility as a Christian. That is why I will pray, and then, cast my ballot.
Let us therefore pray and vote; perhaps Abraham Lincoln's desire for ‘a new birth of freedom’ will come. Let us therefore pray and vote; maybe the people’s government will endure. Let us pray and vote so that, “the government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth”.
10072016 cj PS
Bartholomew Barton; his friends called him Barty
Eighteen years old but no birthday party
Slumped in the mud, a gunshot to the shoulder
But unlike his comrades at least he’d get older
Tyrannical forces sought world domination
And Barty had marched with his mates for his nation
They gave him some medals for some of his actions
They don’t stop him flinching at noisy distractions
Those heroic deeds he did when he was able
His medals he'd sold to put food on the table
Brought him a pension that won’t pay the rent
With callers demanding the money they’d lent
One day the council demanded his key
And food graced his table now infrequently
But ‘table’ is merely an old cardboard box
And food is a bin-find he shares with a fox
He could do a D-Day and steal a small boat
And hit a Kent beach in his moth-eaten coat
But the taxes he’s paid since his battlefield hell
Do not seem to warrant a four star hotel
So thanks for your effort Bartholomew Barton
It’s qualified you for a pine veneer carton
You gave us your all to give us our today
Then too many governments turned you away
The question is now would you do it again
As you sleep under cardboard in torrential rain
For fighting a war for a brighter new day
Should not mean that home is a dank alleyway
And I called your name...
You couldn't hear my voice.
I ran right behind you;
catching my breath.
I didn't stop; I wont.
Each step you took,
took you farther from me.
I am stubborn and I admit.
15 years is a half way book
whose ending is yet to be written.
I chose not to let you go;
I chose to call your name out loud
until I see you turn your head to my direction
and see me reaching for you...
but you didnt, yet....
And on a busy day on a busy street,
I called your name.
Without shame, without hesitation I ran to you.
Eyes of questions and stares of desperate,
I swallowed.
I sensed no tiredness from a body
who knows gym is not in its daily routine.
But I pushed myself because I realized
how different it would've been
coming home to an empty house.
I took it all for granted.
I took the behind my back hugs
and forehead kisses for granted.
I ungripped hands who kept my palms warm on winter.
I pushed away the sweetest and strongest heart
that held me tight on my weakest nights and days.
I took half the years of our lives together for granted.
I took you for granted, and you woke me up.
And so I called your name.
I called and I called.
I ran and I ran.
With hope in my heart and regret in my mind,
what have I lost?.
My world stopped when I saw the light turned red.
And I called a name whose owner finally heard the callers voice.
I cried as I walked closer to you.
I cried as I look into the eyes of a person I once loved.
I broke down to an embrace of forgiveness.
I felt pain as I wipe your tears away.
Through your kiss, I felt the love I once felt.
Whisper whisper laugh laugh laugh
They look at one child, one points
He knows whatever it is, it is bad.
Sets the tone for his day.
Whisper whisper laugh laugh laugh
One stands up and argues it is an untruth.
They spit her out of their “gang”.
She ruins everything
Whisper whisper laugh laugh laugh
Others begin calling them on their stuff.
They get angry; the group gets smaller.
They advance into a name-calling realm.
Bystanders have been trained to be upstanders.
They call the name-callers on it.
Bullying has stopped being fun.
They wander away, licking their wounds.
An effective school counseling program
A proactive counselor
And empathetic children who care
Have uplifted the school environment.
Yes it can be done.
Takes a little training
But it is worth it in the end