Long Eiffel Poems
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Have Gum; Will Not Travel
Forget it! I am not going five thousand miles just
To be bored and homesick. No.
And what am I supposed to do there, besides go broke?
What am I supposed to be looking at anyway?
Why must I take another banal photo at the Eiffel Tower,
With stupid me jumping into the air there like some fool
Who should know better? Paris is filthy! And everyone is mean.
Just like the people and places back home. No! I will not
Spend ten hours on a cramped jet filled with sneezing nostrils,
One or two of which could be terrorists just waiting to strike,
Ready to hijack the plane and drive it murderously into
something made of indestructible steel,
While my nervous stomach knots up with gaseous explosions,
Ready to strike the air at any moment,
worst than any terrorist contraption imaginable.
No! Forget it. Why would I want to travel to some other country,
Just to be constantly miserable and exhausted all the time?
“Okay, there is Westminster Abbey, and oh,
there’s the Thames River floating on by!
Wow! Now what do we do? Should we get a bite to eat?
And then maybe go back to the hotel and sleep? I am dead!”
Then early the next day we must catch a cramped train to Rome,
Where the people are crazy, just like the people back home,
“Okay, this is gnarly.”
My diarrhea is a cross between black oil and kerosene.
Why am I taking this picture,
another typical shot in front of the Leaning Tower?
Am I doing this to put on social media to show my phony friends
What a fabulous time I am having?!
Why of course. I didn’t spend thousands of dollars,
and endure all this misery,
Not to show off my wonderful times in Europe;
Truly a status symbol I treasure with all my heart,
But detested with all my soul in acquiring it.
xx
Easy-going, Diligent, Creative, and Spiritual
Brother of Stephen, Mildred, and Jeanette
Lover of Nature, Women, and Poetry
Who feels Pain, Love, and Empathy
Who fears The Unknown, Snakes, and Heights
I would like to see The Eiffel Tower, El Castillo, and The Great Wall of China
Resident of Moravia Park Drive, Maryland
xx
Submitted for...
This Is Who I Am Poetry Contest
Sponsored by L MILTON HANKINS
Date written: 07/06/2021
Hitler, the artist
It is Christmas Eve, and the TV has nothing to offer
but sentimental tunes and the endless stories of how
a rich man became nice and gave a poor family
succor for the evening.
I wonder what God gave his son for his birthday?
He had suffered in his name
a lot Flicking through the Internet's many channels
I came across Hitler's drawing of Santa Claus
A haunted, suspicious Santa casting a side glance to see
if anyone was making fun of him
and the revenge he would take if anyone dared.
It has been said when Hitler was young someone said he had a sense for comedy, he tried telling jokes
in Vienna's many coffee houses, he was thrown out they said he ranted.
Upon further research, we learned the man who said
Hitler was funny was Jewish.
We know Hitler didn't travel much, but once he stayed
in Liverpool for two years as a short-order cook
rumors have it he made a scullery maid pregnant, but this
is slander, the pity is the Liverpudlian sense of humor
did not stick to him.
Once, when Hitler was a the top of his profession as
a dictator, he visited Paris and saw what any tourist sees
the Eiffel Tower, he was not impressed and made a note to tell his minister of culture, to make it taller
He then took the train back to his mountain retreat
where he played with his dog
awaiting the outcome of the war he began, when as a young artist, was not taken seriously
When I was a girl we lived near railroad tracks,
at night I loved the sound of the train whistle blowing;
it was such a haunting, lonely sound,
and I wondered where it was going.
Oh. how I longed to hop on that train and go places.,
I would sit by the window and imagine I was on the train;
the huge diesel locomotive pulling us,
I would have dreams of Paris.
It was whimsical and fanciful there with the Eiffel Tower,
and Notre Dame and the Louvre, then a quick stop in Vienna;
home of Mozart and Beethoven, and many others,
all these places I visited on a whistling train.
And then, we would sway along to Rome with a clung,
I wanted to say hello to the Pope- we went to England;
and I introduced myself to the Queen,
soon, we would be chatting over tea.
In my reverie I was not alone, never ever alone,
for I had brought along my sweet little Odele;
she was a kitten tucked in my pocket,
now, off we go on my train . . .
to some dreamy places . . . .
_________________________________
October 28, 2019 (Re-write from 2015)
Poetry/Narrative/Dreamy Places
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1191-939-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to FTI Blog Series 11 - places
Brian Strand
Podium Place 1
Once I was the lying kind
Whatever lie came across my mind
I'd stick rock solid hard with it
To the point of going down with the ship
If there was a chance that I'd get caught
I'd double down on that thought
Fabricate till my lips turned blue
Swear up and down that it was true
I would build so tall a tale
Twice the size of the Eiffel Tower
Having most there wondering
If it was French that I was spewing
Keeping people all confused
On if the lie was really true
Giving me more of a chance
To add a few more lies to it
You might up and wonder why
I would tell so many lies
Was the truth not good enough
Was it the thrill inside the bluff
The older now I seem to get
My mind slides as much as slips
Making it harder to misconstrue
So now I only tell the truth
You do believe that too...don't you
Un-revelling Rivalry
Who am I to speak of historical rivalry I cannot contest
all the clever myriad truths conjectures and refutations
about the two masters the two foes with huge presence
when history acclaim appreciation is subjective personal
up front and back stage up all artistic ins downs and outs
My parachute helicopter mind wants to give first prize to
to Leonardo for free flying inventive rebellious mind and
he helped me with anatomy dissecting corpses and all I can
still smell fragrant formalin preserving miraculous tissues
when I had to learn those medical terms and cut into flesh
But then Michelangelo shares my middle name though I am
no angel but who can proclaim that I may never be biased in
associate vein in quite shallow post-post-modernist anticipation
when the great man also painted in narrative personification
Deluge Drunken Noah Creation of Adam Madonna and Child
Okay family man that I am I resort to holidays with my children
and am so sad to admit that we never so far made it to Rome
sacrilegious or not but how could I pass The Last Judgement
when seeing Sistine Chapel’s altar would alter the verdict
of Ignoramus with leisure time spent on Normandy’s beaches
Well now I recall that trip to Euro Disney when we walked
from Tour Eiffel to the Louvre where I temporarily lost my
little boy Moritz and almost my temper when the devious villain
hid from the artwork was sulking because the Mona Lisa was
so small and he was so tiny could not see amongst masses of
tourists the smile and metaphorical writing on canvas and wall
So in all earnest while giving a toss I could-would have to resort
to tossing a coin in regards to whom why how and whenever the
rivals could measure up to history my history my story and life
Even and because of my whacky literal critical stance and my
stanzas bordering on mockery heresy subtle subjectification
you must remember that I have one tongue and two cheeks
And while seemingly ridiculing an important theme of historical
prominence I still bow in awe admiration yet lodge my own angle
perspective whereas the two grand master’s problem was not
what I would behold in my eyes and my soul in full radiance but
that they chose not to consider each others contrasting beauty
as compliment complement Leonardo Angelo Michel Da Vinci
01st September 2016
Hick Phonics - is a language to be taught in all Southern schools.
Here are some excerpts from the Hick Phonics/English Dictionary.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Heidi - Noun - A Greeting
Hire Yew - Complete Sentence - Remainder of greeting.
Usage: "Heidi! Hire yew?"
Bard - Verb - Past tense of the infinitive "To Borrow"
Usage: "My brother bard my pick up truck."
Munts - Noun - A calendar division.
Usage: "My brother from Jawjah bard my pick up truck and I ain't seen him in munts."
Jawjah - Noun - A state just north of Florida. Capital is Hatlanta.
Usage: "My brother from Jawjah bard my pick up truck.
Ignernt - Adjective - Not smart. See Arkansas Native.
Usage: "Them two boys sure are ignernt."
Ranch - Noun - A tool used for tightening bolts.
Usage: "I think I left my ranch in the back of that pick up truck my brother from Jawjah bard a few munts ago."
All - Noun - A petroleum based lubricant.
Usage: "I sure hope my brother from Jawjah puts all in my pick up."
Far - Noun - A conflagration.
Usage: "If my brother from Jawjah don't change the all in my pick up that thang's gonna ketch far."
Bahs - Noun - A supervisor
Usage: "If you don't stop readin' these Southern words your bahs is gonna far you."
Tar - Noun - A rubber wheel.
Usage: "Gee I hope that brother of mine from Jawjah don't git a flat tar in my pick up."
Tire - Noun - A tall monument.
Usage: "Lord willin' and the creek don't rise I hope to see that Eiffel Tire in Paris someday."
Retard - Verb - To stop working.
Usage: "My Grampaw retard at 65."
Tarred - Adverb - Exhausted.
Usage: "I jest flew in from Hatlanta and boy my arms are tarred."
"Life is a mystery to be lived, not a problem to be solved."
Gabriel Marcel, Philosopher, 1889-1973
Listen, about a world of mystery
I can think of a few that are so weird
From long ago passed in world history
Ever see men with dark hair and grey beard
Seen that cows face north or face south to eat
Mystery of pyramid of Giza
You ever asked why cats meows repeat
Searched all day for your darn missing Visa
Thought about the building of Taj Mahal
Ever pondered Stonehenge- Eiffel Tower
Really pondered faith beliefs and all
Inside, within finding strength and power
Ever said- Oh, are camel humps for thirst
So many questions our minds get submersed
___________________
December 5, 2020
Poetry/Acrostic/Lifes Mysteries
Copyright Protected, ID 12-1309-798-05
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Lifes Mysteries
sponsor, John Hamilton, Judged 12/31/20
Fourth Place
Let me tell you of a journey- from The Parthenon to Paris
in the springtime - of which real year, no one knew
Riding on an ostrich guided by a gilded leather bridle
traveling back roads dressed in mysterious disguises
using signals only ostrich riders do.
The endurance of the ostrich was as equally surprising as
the smoothness of its gallop on the road.
It needed very little in the way of daily edibles
while the softness of its feathers made a very comfy saddle.
Now an ostrich made an eerie sight in swaying fields of daffodils.
Its three-pronged feet so admirable for climbing alpine hills.
It handled every mountain as well as any Hannibal
with eyes adept to guide a sleepy rider while he slept.
The gallop into Paris was singularly memorable –
No wildly cheering crowds of proud Parisians-no-one knew-
No showers of cherry blossoms sprinkled from the Eiffel Tower
in praise or celebration of this epic ostrich rider.
What evidence is there, then? What memory endures
Perhaps a photograph or witness tells the tale
If the novelty is forgotten and the mists of time have passed
Could fields of daffodils remember or perhaps the Cherry blossoms?
a gorgeous Eiffel tower is in the background of Peachtree Boulevard
We know it is not THE Eiffel tower, but it is amazing to see anyway
Atlanta Georgia has a flair all her own, her desserts are legend.
Hostas, foxglove, azaleas and wisteria trees line this piece of heaven.
I am lured into a pretty café with crepe myrtle trees and daisies.
The greeting is straight from the south “how ya’ll do’n?”
Beignets are brought to my table before I order.
Just a little something to tide you over, honey.
Yes, they still call you honey here, and it feels okay.
Other customers begin arriving in twos and threes.
I get out my novel and pretend to read,
Missing nothing, but pretending to miss everything
plotting my next six poems around strangers’ conversations.