Long Eyeglass Poems
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Early in the morning when the air was lying still
A ladybug was right outside, on my window sill.
"What the hell you looking at? I hope you get your fill.
Get on you little redhead, go find a daffodil".
Now I'm drinking at the pool and soaking up the grass,
Here comes the ladybug again and landed on my glass.
Shining like a ruby with a little bit of sass
She flipped her wings looked at me and then she made a pass!
"You wanna have a date?", she asked, her spots about to pop.
I cleared my throat, then I asked her if she was a cop.
She scoffed and looked away with a dramatic drawn out "Noooooo".
"C'mon" said she, "were wasting time. How about a go?"
We moved into the bar, she acted like she knew the game.
We bellied up with awkward chat, the barkeep knew her name!
"A mojito, hold the juice and ice? With aphids on the side?"
The lady gave a nod as if she had something to hide.
She climbed up on my shoulder and tickled on my ear.
She played along my eyeglass frames, said "Let's get out of here!"
We settled up, then settled down in the comfort of my room.
Turned on the air, brushed my teeth, Judge Judy on the tube.
In the mirror she buffed her wings, and tired from the booze....
"These heels are killing me" she said, slipped off a half-dozen shoes.
But in the sack, looking back, though my Lady was a pro,
In passion's heat, I was puzzled why she referred to me as "Bro".
I bolted up, she crawled away with a disappointed sigh.
Got outta bed, picked up her shoes. My Lady was a guy!
So if you ever visit here beware, you need to be more shrewd.
The ladybug that works this place, could might just be a dude.
Submitted: Naughty Yet Innocent Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mohan Chutani
3/3/22
October motif errand runs toward the end
A winter morn on Orchard street, New York, wandering here and there
Seemingly a gift shop is surrealism, the shop owner sprung from Walt disney
a strange double, so to speak. Adored me with a humble simper
as a blue blazer was my attire with graceful ease and altruism
The blazer and the chest a motif of deep green forest, evergreen blossomed
from a cadence , by the lake. floating afar.
(to be completed)
Orchard Street is a historic eight-block street in New York City's Lower East Side known for
its mix of immigrant history and modern boutiques. It was once a commercial hub for
immigrant communities and is now famous for its trendy shops, diverse restaurants, and
landmarks like the Lower East Side Tenement Museum at 97 Orchard Street. Visitors can
find a variety of businesses, from classic eyeglass shops like Moscot to modern home decor
stores and art galleries.
The eyeglass store’s brand new; it moved
From just across the street.
The stock is current, fresh and cool;
Displays are nice and neat.
But unlike some establishments,
Its style is from the past.
The frames are under lock and key,
Although the choice is vast.
So every time I saw one
I’d consider for myself,
A store employee with a key’d
Unlock the drawer or shelf.
He’d watch me as I’d try it on
And wait for my decision.
My interest waned beneath the weight
Of constant supervision.
In other shops the customer
Is left to his devices
To try on every single pair
That possibly entices.
I left the store with my old glasses
Perched upon my face.
My search will now continue
At a far more trusting place.
Something was moving in the grass
I couldn’t really figure out what it was
It looked like a creature with mustache
I could barely see with my pair of eyeglass
It just kept me guessing and wondering
I just wished it was such a lovely thing
Not something that’s so ugly or terrifying
Poisonous or critter that bites or stings
It never created any single sound
Until my dog went sniffing around
In the grass, I saw movements abound
Looked like it was going to mound
Suddenly my dog barked aloud
So brave like a hero making me proud
But the grass was so thick to shroud
My dog pulled it, my joy reached the clouds
It was an adorable chubby guinea pig
Spots on head made it like wearing a wig
Front paws were holding a green twig
I held it in my arms, I swayed with a jig
March 28, 2023 9.12pm
"Where from this?",
Laughter mingled with pity,
She was dressed with pretty,
Lipstick applied fervently to a mouth;
Red mouth matching a wild attire,
Her walking shook the whole land,
Eyes and mouths were timed as spam,
She was in a blinking eyeglass,
But knew she was drawing side mass,
Inextricably I will say,"she's good looking",
The hem of her dress was raised slightly when the wind blew,
What was spotted deserves self speculation,
Lips were licked,...body was stimulated after sensation,
From one corner came a scream,
"...thief,...thief...she is a hardened criminal",
Who will speak on her behalf to obtain freedom?
Nothing spared her the chance of doubt,
The pain that was vested into her that day was nominal,
Convinced by her deceptive glib of professionalism,
"I'm an investor",she always say,
With all my heart,I love her liberalism,
After several years of being a prison mate,
Her life is now channeled to spiritualism,
Great time in new testament holding grace!
“The song is ended but the melody lingers on.” – Irving Berlin
Ever since I became a Souper in 2022
A profile with tinted eyeglass and grey hair,
Reflecting gentleness and aristocracy,
Caught my wandering yet judicious eyes.
On reading his poems, I was drawn to him.
A cool and level headed man was Harry.
Strong like an old Oak tree, ever sheltering.
A sanctum to new poets, a guardian to all,
A man of warmth and wisdom, an inspiration.
He was not just one among a clump of trees
But stood aloof like an oak tree, firmly rooted.
In his popular poem The Old Oak Tree,
He lays down the credo of his life~
“Let us be sanctuary to the
symbolic songstress, scuttling
squirrel, vulgar urchin;
a fortress for the warrior
a haven for the pacifist
an inspiration for the poet!”
Never a pedant, flaunting his trophies,
For he knew the transitoriness of worldly fame.
Never fancied to ride the Hot Air Balloon
Knowing, it would come down to earth, deflated.
Not a votary of the ultra- modern.
In An Agenda-less Age- a poem of his,
He nostalgically reminisces his childhood,
In a rustic country side with no timetables and no worries,
With 'a tuneful mum dusting the blues in a song,'
Where fences were constructed, not as barriers,
But as support to lean on and chat with neighbors.
Harry, with you we believe too- ‘Death is not the End’
But the Golden Gate to another life.
Though your voice has fallen silent,
You continue to speak to us through your poems.
Your songs are still, yet you live on,
Through every line of verse composed.
Don Key the Donkey
Was a silly ass
He had big donkey ears
And wore an eyeglass
Looking very dapper
And extremely smart
It was his day off from pulling his cart
He liked going out
And enjoyed a laugh
As I mentioned earlier
He was daft
He dressed up
And looked like a Toff
He tried to look trendy
On his days off
Don wore a bow tie
Red with Yellow dots
He wore a patterned waistcoat
Of which he had a lot
He collected waistcoats
All in many hues
He had a penchant for clothes
Flash jackets shirts and shoes
To cap it all, a trilby
He tipped when ladies passed
Hoping she would have a chat
She walked very fast
Don was this donkey's Christian name
Key was the other
Not much thought went into that
He blamed that on his mother
Don sauntered down the Road
And Up and down the street
When out of nowhere
He spied a pretty mule
Her name was Muriel
They went to the same school
Muriel came over to talk
After they had a chat
They went for a walk
It must have been made
and rejected,
in night’s grinding gears –
a knobby irregularity,
a leftover of smelt and dross.
This is all there is
a gobbet of oven clinker,
but behind it I sense cracked teeth,
motes in a burnt eyeglass,
the thin singed bones
of fledgling flights into darkness.
Here it is,
a fragment long convulsed
from its own incineration,
an irregular rake-off, a detritus
dragged across a blind stone floor.
This tittle of slag once had to fit something
the rough rim of an iron door perhaps
behind which an old furnace
still cools in faraway minds.
A ferrous chip chiseled from a gulag,
or a souvenir from an SS campfire meet.
There is always something left
after the unthinkable
is thought upon,
always some spicule of irregularity
to explain or confound
as we toss it back into the fire again.
One cold, stormy and dreary night
While I was long lost in my musing,
There came a knocking, faint and light
Yet startled me from my dozing.
In the grim glow of a solitary candle
I got out of my old chair acreaking
And to the front door I did waddle,
Through the eyeglass began peeking.
Except for the road with such bleak a plight,
As was snow dust drifting and swirling,
There was but not a soul in sight
So much so, my heart began racing.
Frozen to the ground I stood still,
Deep into the darkness I kept peering,
In the grip of fear and weak of will,
Who might be? I kept wondering.
With a rush of uncommon valor and insight,
I nudged ajar my dwelling door
to explore this mystery of my fright --
Lo, merely darkness there and nothing more!
With a smile and back in my chair;
Once again I heard now a loud tapping,
To confront the intruder, clear and fair
And unravel this behavior beguiling,
I marched emboldened to the door
And opened it wide now unfearing,
Hoping only darkness there and no more
And forever stop this irksome rapping.
With cold sweat welling on my brow,
Perched upon my front porch railing,
Emerged from darkness a carrion crow
Where it appears to have taken to roosting!
A stealer of soul, messenger of death,
With its beady black eyes kept at me looking,
Brooding over to let me live a few more breath
With a sly smile on its beak amocking.
With a choking dismay I crumpled to the floor,
Drenched in cold sweat, shivering, fluttering;
When I raised my head the crow was no more --
A close encounter or was I just dreaming?
~For Kelly Deschler's "My Last Contest"
~ Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven"
~ For the contest: "The Raven" by Kelly Deschler.
I went to a huge gift shop for handcrafts
I brought my naughty five year old niece, Raft
Leaving my home by car in a rush
Made me forget to wear my eyeglass
I bumped into one of the clear glass doors- so daft!
My niece, so little but had lots of hearty laugh
To my embarrassing bump better than gaffe
I carried her to an ice cream corner
Yet, I couldn’t control her laughter
‘Til a scary mascot came close with a toy giraffe.
The sixth time I joined a group tour of teachers
I wore dark sunglasses despite the gloomy weather
Passing around bags of snacks in the bus
First were sweets then a plastic for trash
I’d fumbled at the later and got a chocolate wrapper
My friend who sat beside me kept on laughing
So proud of the new sunglasses she’s wearing
When we alighted from the bus
I assisted her as if we’re in class
Miscalculated our steps, we ended up screaming.
Jan 27, 2022 8:51pm
Funny Memories
Contest Judged: 1/28/2022 12:00:00 AM
Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg
Place 3