Long Front end Poems
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His use of English was exquisite
His vocabulary superb
He could use the mot juste
To make his thoughts reverb,
Tousled moppy hair above
A big bespectacled grin
The sort of warm personality
That could really draw folk in.
And he swore with such panache,
Such flowing verve and style
You just couldn't take offence
Just had to sit and smile.
The intensity of his delivery
Varied according to his mood,
Unaccentuated for a joke
Severe if being rude.
And his throaty little chuckle
As he looked you in the eye
Always eager and ready
To meet your reply.
A scholar and a gentleman
A wit and raconteur
A truly gifted exponent of
The art of how to swear.
We dissected many a word
Over many too many a drink
Sometimes being so drunk
We could barely think
A friendship of the past
Years later still valued
The way we lost touch
A fact so sadly rued
He was my friend
For just a few years
And as theses things go
He suddenly disappeared.
I'm pretty sure he'll be dead
After all theses years
From far too many ciggies
To many shorts too many beers.
.
My life has been a joy
And looking back to the front end
He gave me so much pleasure for
Those years he was my friend.
He gave me his friendship,
Made me more aware
Of the art of conversation,
Of how and when to aptly swear.
.
The rooms are quiet, the hallway still,
A heavy silence on the sill.
The shoes that cluttered up the floor
Are gone beyond the front-end door.
The nest is empty, wide, and bare,
But memories linger everywhere.
My heart is caught in bittersweet,
Where pride and longing softly meet.
I watch you step into the light,
And spread your wings for steady flight.
You’ve reached the goals you set to find,
With brilliant strength and gentle mind.
I hold my breath, so proud to see
The incredible soul you grew to be.
Yet in the quiet of the night,
I miss the laugh that made things bright.
A mother’s love is bound and tied
To every step you take outside,
A fierce, unchanging, endless bond,
That stretches out and far beyond.
Go chase the stars, go claim your day,
I’ll love you from a house away.
And though the emptiness is deep,
It’s promises of you I keep.
It was January '68
Chapter 2 – Phan Rang - 1st TDY
by Franklin Price
3/5/2019
Raking sand got old real soon
Was not why I came to war
My job was not for combat
The reason why I thought was more
Before the month was over
Went to do a site survey
Traveled down to Phan Rang town
About 60 clicks away
We drove down on the roadway
I think highway number one
Traveled in an open jeep
Each of us had a gun
Through Coconut groves and other things
Had been warned to be concerned
My M-16 at ready
Tried to remember what I'd learned
Training I got at Hamilton
I hoped would do me well
But we made it without incident
Did not have to load a shell
Spent a few days on the survey
For an on base VOR
Every night a drink or two
At the non-commissioned bar
Daily on the flight line
Saw many fighters come to land
Saw an F-100 lead-sled
That was old but still was grand
One day went out to Thap Cham
The closest local town
Went to a Budhist temple
Had been a thousand years around
Burned a little incense
Beside the small front door
No room to enter through it
A shrine took up all the floor
Was also a monkey dwelling
We could hear them howl and call
The locals left food gifts for them
At night they came and ate it all
There I first rode in a cyclo
They were the three wheeled local hack
Had a scooter on the front end
And two bench seats in the back
Seated four quite easily
Entered from the rear of it
When not used as a taxi
Carried anything that fit
Once I saw a full grown cow
In the rear where I had been
There was strap around its ass
Don't know how they got it in
That was much later in the year
Not on this first time out
When everything amazed me
Gave me this trip to write about
The returning trip to Cam Ranh
When this TDY was done
Came off without an incident
Was a non-combatant run
The world and all its splendor where life begins
Human Beings of all and those who I call friends
America our diverse country and all that she defends
Nights and days of the week especially the weekend
Knowing those who I can count on until the bitter end
Family first is a favorite motto that I often recommend
Underneath the covers and snuggled up to her rear end
Love above all to say the least not fake or pretend
Flowers and trees mixed with the sky and how they blend
Old muscle cars with big motors and a shiny chrome front end
Reading poetry from The Soup often over, and over again
Written for poetry contest "I Am Thankful For.." 11/24/2024
Hosted by: Tania Kichen Form: Rhyme Acrostic
Traffic lights flash, but we're far from light
Heavy flow on streets, emotions flow tight
Horns blare a symphony, tempers blare too
We're all packed in, feeling blue
Drive me crazy, this gridlock scene
Drive a hard bargain, just to stay clean
Cars run smooth, but patience runs thin
Time runs out as we're running in
Stress mounts up like cars on a hill
Road rage boils, but we can't spill
Bottleneck here, choked up there
Exhausted drivers, exhaust in the air
Signal your turn, but who'll signal care?
Rush hour's rush leaves us worse for wear
Brake for others, don't break the rules
Brake pads wearing, wearing us like fools
Merge with traffic, ideas merge too
How to fix this? Clues are few
Pass the time, but can't pass through
Pass judgment on those passing you
Cruise control? Ha! We're not in control
Take the wheel, take a toll on the soul
Steer clear of trouble, clear as mud
This jam's preserving nothing good
Lane discipline? That's a dead end
Right of way? Rights soon bend
Left turn ahead, nothing's right
High beams blind us to any light
Speed up, slow down, it's all the same
In this stop-and-go losing game
Rear-ended thoughts, front-end collisions
Road to nowhere, faulty decisions
So we inch along this concrete stream
Progress crawls, crawls our dream
Of free-flowing days, of open roads
Where "traffic" means more than heavy loads
But for now, we're stuck in this jam
Vehicles, ideas, all in a cram
The traffic of thoughts, the traffic of cars
Moving nowhere, under traffic stars
THE MOST DANGEROUS ROADS
i've got the head of a rattle snake
on the front end of my hood
i've got a chilled clorox drink
in my steel-knuckled hand
and we're rolling down I-10
across the stretch between Phoenix
to the Cali border and 85 deaths
a single year makes me quiver
shifting the stick to overdrive
Smiling as I rumble over America's
most dangerous road
kissing the guardrails
flirting with the slops
to side ditches so steep
but not as fun as I-15
from LA to Las Vegas I say
it's all the way or no
it's all the way or no
it's all the way or no
it's me spreading my ashes
across the country I love
it's me treading the coals
with a swizzle stick in my nose
yeah here we go
:: 03.05.2016 ::
Seems like the global grid
Isn't that much ecological
Sustainability program
May not be explicitly logical
Trading of goods and the weapon
Economies systems the war
The influenced and the influencers
Effectiveness minimum bore
Smart cities that aren't so much smart
Devaluation of art
Activities list
Geopolitics
New models and new paradigms
Traffic of transport
The rhymes
Programs naive of the new architecture
Reactions, emotional
Form and the texture
Dramatical conflicts
Focus on humans
Leaders religeous
Image doom summus
Maps and the streets
Are the vessels
Infrastructures
Memories, doctrines
The political fractures
No one defines
Main the thinking of yours
But when they define
They are apt for remorse
No processing
Root wrong
Of the the origin
Fraud, obfuscation, saints and the forgery
Clock in the boxes
To measure photons
Scaling inadequacy
Tank is pion
Budgets of riccies
Positioning in time
Demands of the psyches
Virtual dime
Privacy lost
Paths ideal, naive
Opions, beliefs
Isn't real
No peace
Migrations, the trends
Isolated the fashion
Fruit isn't apple
Fruit now is passion
New phases of programs
Right to define
Whatever the limit
Of brain yours is fine
Computed solutions
That nothing do solve
But sure, neuromorphic
To what will you morph
Conductors, the contacts
The extrapolations
Reality virtual
There is no negations
The pressure of activism
Pressure of programs
There is no authority
Valuable morons
Compliance base standards
Front end of display
Life is the game
And you life this do play
What if you really
Don't qualify
For neither athlete
Nor the influencer
Sci-Fi
The simulations
And simulators
Role attributions
And interceptions
The image of Army
The system describes
Multidomain is
Domain many bias
Arms and the Joints
Commands and the combat
You reckon this Army
Is some kinda robot?
Where's Judgement
That will prevail
Over the institutes
Out on a bail
She calls herself Bunny Boucher, but she was born Veronica Chermak. She’s tall and leggy with a body that looks tidy, yet lived in. She’s high and tight, but flexible like a strong rubber band in a tricked out pinball table. She reminds me of that actress Tracie Lumbar playing the actress Fern Hall in that old movie Iguana Sunset. Her topography leaves no room for global climate change. Her tropics are seductively torrid, while her poles remain perpetually cool; makes you want to straddle her equator with your meridian. She’s been to Mussel Shoals, Shucked Oyster, Bearded Clam, Moose Knuckle, Camel Toe, Beaver Falls, Cottonwood, and Rabbit Patch, just to name a few of her more well-known hangouts. Some would say she looks Greco-Roman, but I’d describe her as looking more like a Hellenized Phoenician who emigrated from Trans-Alpine Gaul, or maybe she looks more Etruscan, with a hint of Minoan when you see her by moonlight. They say she’s as pure as bloodstains on a purloined letter. She traded in her Biblical name soon after she left her home in Mississippi and never spoke of it again. It may be just routine housekeeping, but who could blame a girl for sweeping off her back porch. She recently had a front end alignment. They say her rearview mirror never lets her down. After arriving in New Orleans she passed her bar exam at Vaughan’s on Dauphine and kept the circuit judge disrobed till way past last call. She’s a sexy banshee when she’s in the catbird seat with her cherry basket swinging from a bungee cord. Last I heard she was sharing a dump with a couple Guatemalan dancers. Her room ain’t worth a dollar, but it cost a pretty penny. She pays the rent with a pickup truck full of contraband. She says she needs the space, but not the distance. Like most women, nobody’s ever been able to figure her out. But there is one thing I know for certain, her smoke may sometimes offer you a tempting indication of certain possibilities, but her fire has never been known to lie.
In recent daydreams, I bemused
trekking the wild African plain -
herds of hippoes and elephants
petrifying prey with their might.
Envisioning the behemoth
I recall a story about
behemoth’s strong powerful tail.
So my reverie is confused.
An elephant’s tail I see as
a bottle brush, skinny, floppy.
I had heard, read, or seen somewhere
“the behemoth’s tail sways like a
cedar” which immediately
brought to mind the elephant’s trunk.
This trance has the power to amuse
I ponder the thought of a writer
who mistook the front end for the
rear end of an elephant and
in typical dream fashion had
created a new fantasy -
the legendary behemoth.
At this point my head went on cruise
drifting to comic books of old,
where behemoth is a monster
set in the tales of Atlantis.
I recall a trip with puppets
electric eels, whirlwinds, quicksand
from the brilliant minds at Marvel.
For writers impelled by a muse
to pen our imaginations,
dreams make perfect sense while dreaming.
Sweats, rapid heart beats are the proof
when we awake in frantic haste
to get it all down on paper
before our mind reverts to truth.
Funny talk... "diddly squat"
Means basically nothing to me!
Where do these words come from?
Do they grow these things on trees?
What a joke... "a pig in a poke"
Fooled unsuspecting buyers!
Instead of a piggy inside the bag
Twas a kitty cat for the fryer!
But of course... "hay's for horses"
Here's another reason to spend?
Some stuffing for your Jockeys
To give you a fuller front end!
Just my luck... "I'm a dead duck"
She caught me with this lady!
Not to worry, it all turned out
Twas Mom so nothing shady!
Whadya think... "Take forty winks"
Causes trouble with wifey poo!
Of course if you wink at a filly
And the filly winks back at you!
It's really absurd... these silly words
They upset our daily routine!
They've been known to turn sunny days
To the ugliest days ever seen!
© Jack Ellison 2013