Long Dispensers Poems
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Have you felt decreased, diminished, disregarded, and devalued?
Have you had a rendezvous with dejection and rejection?
Have you ever been marginalized, minimized,
And unrecognized as you struggled to survive?
In your attempt to stay on 'top of things',
Has someone gone 'low' on you?
Have you ever been overcharged,
Overlooked, or overworked?
In your pursuit of resolutions,
Endless despair seems to fill the air,
And you find dispensers of negativities.
Keep looking, because somewhere out there,
Is a world filled with those who really do care.
And keep listening, if you dare, and you will hear
Timely words of Faith designed with you in mind.
Faith in The Father.
Faith in The Family.
Faith in The Fellowship.
Faith in The Future.
Faith in Friendships.
041322PS
“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
but I have promises to keep,
and miles to go before I sleep” (Robert Frost).
The woods know my secrets
For I open my heart
In this enclosed sanctuary of God
As folded branches draw my eyes
Upward, ever upward
Towards the emerald ceiling
With a skylight
From which streams
The light of heaven
Pure and sweet
On my face
The trees are my counselors
Sacred dispensers
Of the mysteries of God
Sentinels tall and majestic
Guarding my hushed sacred hours
Of contemplation and renewal
The would be silence
Sweetly disturbed
By the sounds of His creatures
Filling God’s outdoor sanctuary
With a heavenly hymn of praise
Each trail leads me deeper and deeper
For my heart longs to be
In the Holy of Holies
In the very presence of the Creator
On holy ground
Yes, Yes!
He is here
His presence
Envelopes me
After my communion
The closing benediction of sunlight
Guides me home
The thinning trees whisper
“Forget us not” stories to me
As I pass them by
Stories of long ago pilgrims
From another time
Yet one with me
The same
Pilgrims in search of sanctuary
A place of solace
A place of tenderness
A place of discovery
Where they come to learn
The miles left to go
Till journey’s end
When they must lie down
In well deserved sleep
Safe under the shadows
Of God’s mighty trees
Resting, resting
Blissful sleep
In the Sanctuary
In HIS sanctuary
In the woods…..
For Caleb’s Smith’s In the Woods Contest
September 10, 2013
No one in particular (in the wake of our dreams)
We don’t look like they do,
graphic replicas of a life in tatters,
drifting on lonesome clouds
Dove’s wing spread
capturing the wind,
waving goodbye to an existence
that dreams in black and white,
fashioning commercials
like chip and salsa dispensers
Camouflaged by sadness,
greens and browns woven in corduroy overalls
Contemplating the loss
before the beginning creates a title
and words have only meaning
for others who chose to read
and believe that each day
is a jewel in the crown of the month
Floating on seas of discontent
even though heart shaped sails
reflect on horizons
much closer than they appear
but still so far away
that silhouettes resemble unmentionables
as others keep a watchful eye
for anything that even seems
like a tide fueled rumor,
just because they can
Still, we don’t look like they do,
maybe because our visions come through
a brilliant sunrise and we realize
we do need somebody
and we won’t hesitate to cherish,
quietly of course,
those who come to touch us
in the wake of our dreams,
hiding in plain sight,
disguised as no one
in particular
Her optimism solid in her roots of red white and blue
Gallant knight was coming in princely form any time now
A waitress in every small town of America
Grinned her grin, showing her cutesy petootsieness
Her over polite ways parking a place until he arrived.
Hold tight, America, keep those dreams.
She filled those sugar shakers, and ketchup dispensers
Waiting on families who came every Fourth of July
When are you going to settle down? The daddy would ask.
His wife would smile, pretending she liked her local family.
She kept her dreams to herself figuring sharing would scare the prince.
Many years later I go through these small towns
See these women whose nights are filled with cats and romance novels
Their princes, cowboys, and FBI agents are not coming.
But who am I to discourage hope? Year after year I say nothing.
Amazed at her optimism in the form of red white and blue.
Watching her put out the bunting ever Fourth of July
Hoping to attract her perfect dreamland prince or cowboy
I attended a meeting with, supposedly a friend, and was introduced to
Despised, Dehumanized, Decreased, Diminished, Disregarded, and Devalued,
who, by the way, wanted me to become like them. While there, I also had
a rendezvous with Dejection and Rejection? And there were many others
whose names I never learned.
I had never been more alone and unsupported when I was put in a room
with Marginalized, Minimized, and Unrecognized as I struggled to survive.
In my attempt to stay on 'top of things', it seemed everyone present went
'low' on me.
It didn't stop there. I also met other attendees like Overcharged, Overlooked,
and Overworked. In my futile pursuit of resolutions, endless despair seemed
to fill the air, and I discovered rootless dispensers of negativities.
But in spite of all that I saw and felt, I kept looking, because
I believed that somewhere out there was a world filled
with people of goodwill who really do care.
In spite of all the resistance I encountered
and the lies that I heard, I dared to keep listening,
because deep in my heart I could hear 'Words of Faith'.
Faith in The Father.
Faith in The Family.
Faith in The Fellowship.
Faith in The Future.
Faith in Friendships.
So, keep believing if you dare,
And you too will hear 'Words of Faith'.
041622PSCtest. A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE, Brian Strand
Baseball cards and hula hoops
Baloney sandwich, Campbell’s soup
Howdy Doody and Mickey Mouse
Mamie and Ike in the White House
American Bandstand, Rock 'n Roll
Elvis the Pelvis, Nat King Cole
Pez Dispensers and Kool-Aid
Bedtime for Bonzo, Panty Raids
Oscar Mayer’s Wienermobile
Superman was the ‘Man of Steel’
Archie & Veronica, Mad Magazine
Skirts and Bobby-Sox, Jukebox Scenes
The Roadrunner, Tom and Jerry
Durward Kirby and a Moore named Gary
The Price is Right, Let’s Make a Deal
Hostess Twinkies – b & w newsreels
A Dog named Lassie and Rin Tin Tin
Yankees and Celtics always win
Mickey Mantle, Ernie Banks
Whitey Ford, Hammerin' Hank
Joe McCarthy and the Red Scare
Semi-Crewcuts or Slicked-back hair
The 1950’s weren’t built to last
Still and all ~ quite a cast!
Not-So-Heroic Couplets
by Donald Trump
care of Michael R. Burch
To outfox the pox:
kill yourself first, with Clorox!
And since death is the goal,
mainline Lysol!
No vaccine?
Just chug Mr. Clean!
Is a cure out of reach?
Fumigate your lungs, with bleach!
To immunize your thorax,
destroy it with Borax!
To immunize your bride,
drown her in Opti-cide!
To end all future gridlocks,
gargle with Vaprox!
Now, quick, down the Drain-o
with old Insane-o NoBrain-o!
Trump’s real goals are obvious
and yet millions of Americans remain oblivious.
—Michael R. Burch
Less Heroic Couplets: Just Desserts
by Michael R. Burch
“The West Antarctic ice sheet
might not need a huge nudge
to budge.”
And if it does budge,
denialist fudge
may force us to trudge
neck-deep in sludge!
NOTE: The first stanza is a quote by paleoclimatologist Jeremy Shakun in Science magazine.
Less Heroic Couplets: Miss Bliss
by Michael R. Burch
Domestic “bliss”?
Best to swing and miss!
Less Heroic Couplets: Then and Now
by Michael R. Burch
BEFORE: Thanks to Brexit, our lives will be plush! ...
AFTER: Crap, we’re going broke! What the hell is the rush?
Less Heroic Couplets: Dear Pleader
by Michael R. Burch
Is our Dear Pleader, as he claims, heroic?
I prefer my presidents a bit more stoic.
Less Heroic Couplets: Less than Impressed
by Michael R. Burch
for T. M., regarding certain dispensers of lukewarm air
Their volume’s impressive, it’s true ...
but somehow it all seems “much ado.”
Less Heroic Couplets: Poetry I
by Michael R. Burch
Poetry is the heart’s caged rhythm,
the soul’s frantic tappings at the panes of mortality.
Less Heroic Couplets: Poetry II
by Michael R. Burch
Poetry is the trapped soul’s frantic tappings
at the panes of mortality.
Less Heroic Couplets: Seesaw
by Michael R. Burch
A poem is the mind teetering between fact and fiction,
momentarily elevated.
Less Heroic Couplets: Passions
by Michael R. Burch
Passions are the heart’s qualms,
the soul’s squalls, the brain’s storms.
Keywords/Tags: Donald Trump, coronavirus, president, poet, poems, poetry, heroic couplets, couplet, humor, humorous, Clorox, Lysol, disinfectants, light verse, parody, satire, America, USA, giggle, political, natural disasters
There are those who take what they want.
Pez dispensers of pain and suffering
,, gleaning, never planting
Rapists of fresh air and confidence.
Staining the souls of everything.
Tumors in the marrow of society.
They are small glimpses into hell
professional complainers and oppressors
With bachelor's degrees in deflection and deceit.
PHD'S in the blame game.
Others only take what they need.
Giving the rest away to those in need,
Calm waters, splintering calibers of decay.
They are small windows into heaven.
Bachelor's degree in responsibility and reason.
PhDs in fathomless faith.
The well-meaning try to fix evil with bleeding hearts...
Evil thinks they're soft tools-plays them for fools.
To be used for evil endeavors.
If evil isn't acting out, it is plotting its next twisted step.
Fashioning chalk pentagrams, dreaming in hues of death.
Evil can never be fixed.
Evil must be minced into oblivion.
The trend is to coddle and pacify-
Until it festers from an irritating blemish to
incurable disease and endless menace.
“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
but I have promises to keep,
and miles to go before I sleep” (Robert Frost).
The woods know my secrets
For I open my heart
In this enclosed sanctuary of God
As folded branches draw my eyes
Upward, ever upward
Towards the emerald ceiling
With a skylight
From which streams
The light of heaven
Pure and sweet
On my face
The trees are my counselors
Sacred dispensers
Of the mysteries of God
Sentinels tall and majestic
Guarding my hushed sacred hours
Of contemplation and renewal
The would be silence
Sweetly disturbed
By the sounds of His creatures
Filling God’s outdoor sanctuary
With a heavenly hymn of praise
Each trail leads me deeper and deeper
For my heart longs to be
In the Holy of Holies
In the very presence of the Creator
On holy ground
Yes, Yes!
He is here
His presence
Envelopes me
After my communion
The closing benediction of sunlight
Guides me home
The thinning trees whisper
“Forget us not” stories to me
As I pass them by
Stories of long ago pilgrims
From another time
Yet one with me
The same
Pilgrims in search of sanctuary
A place of solace
A place of tenderness
A place of discovery
Where they come to learn
The miles left to go
Till journey’s end
When they must lie down
In well deserved sleep
Safe under the shadows
Of God’s mighty trees
Resting, resting
Blissful sleep
In the Sanctuary
In HIS sanctuary
In the woods…..
Eileen Manassian
Some guys sprinkle when they have a tinkle
and spurt wee wee all over the floor
Then they leave the lavatory seat up
these two actions I simply abhor!
The ladies sit down on the toilet
when they are in need of the loo
But they always take ages to finish
it’s no wonder there's often a queue!
But my biggest bug bear when I'm sitting
is that there is no darn toilet roll
I have to fumble about for a tissue
so I can wipe my dirty butt hole!
LAST VERSE INSPIRED BY GOING TO A VENUE WHICH HAD WALL MOUNTED DISPENSERS ... FOUR OF THEM IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO GET THE PAPER OUT OF .... ARGH, THANKFULLY I ALWAYS CARRY TISSUE IN MY BAG
08/14/20