Long Get a kick out of Poems
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Frank Sinatra’s name still has instant recognition even today.
He was perhaps the greatest singer of the twentieth century
And possessed those famous “Blue Eyes” and that trademark
Voice which thrilled and fascinated audiences worldwide.
For most people his music was very special and moved their
Spirits along a unique and subtle path that only Sinatra could
Create and hold with his voice—mesmerizing them and
Charming them every step of the way.
Entertaining and enchanting the audiences in America and
Abroad catapulted Frank Sinatra to a special iconic status as
A world-renowned singer, entertainer, and Hollywood actor.
Yet, singing became his common thread and link over decades
And generations to most willing audiences who hungered for
The tenor and pitch of his voice and his fabulous songs with
Most memorable lyrics, and haunting and evocative melodies.
Some legendary songs reflecting his status and long reach with
Audiences worldwide include: (My Way) (New York, New York)
(Strangers in the Night) (I Get a Kick Out of You) (That’s Life)
(I’ve Got You Under My Skin) (Summer Wind). All these songs
And many others were trademark, vintage Sinatra and brought
Audiences to their feet while he serenaded and captivated them
Like a Pied Piper, bringing each listener momentarily along with
Him as an invited guest into his very own special vocal dimension.
Frank Sinatra was part of the Greatest Generation along with other
Famous American entertainers who packed audiences and dazzled
Them with music and dancing, and created an aura of legendary
Perfection seldom seen in today’s twenty-first-century world.
Frank Sinatra—You’re The One!!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen,
Germany (November 10, 2014) (Biographical Narrative poetic format)
you wonder where i have been
you wonder do i still write poems
you wonder if i still go to the beach
you wonder my left hand is still right
i wonder if you still read my poems
i wonder do you still get a kick out of finding the goal
i wonder if you still wear that pitch black two piece sometimes when you read my poems
i wonder if your right hand causes you to go left on occasion
together, we merge to float into an oasis of curiosity and wonder
together, we connect to become those two hearts that beat as one
together, we laugh as we get all bug eyed when we see Charlie again
together, we find the answers that we seek on yet another way to Love....
Maybe there was love shown
the cooking and the cleaning
it’s difficult to have known
with all of the demeaning
When you can’t tell the difference
between a trophy and detention
awards that lack significance
received the same reception
I always felt a counterweight
would appear with my success
a strange way to demonstrate
encouragement to try my best
Then there’s siding against
occurring automatically
Why not take my side?
not add problematically
Insisting on cleaning my room
when the doctor told me rest
make it last all afternoon
It’s shocking, causing stress
Then there is the privacy
why has my post been opened?
Do that but do not speak to me?
Like trust communication’s broken
Someone needs too encourage
“You can do it!” Or “good luck”
Not install the fear of god
the anxiety to self destruct
I guess that the love on show
was the cooking and the cleaning
It must be the way you know
thanks for that as it was my needing
I think you tend to look outside
rather than too your family
I guess you did that all your life
a habit to not standby me
If I’m not shown love at home
then where else would I find it?
Why raise me as you have known,
when you know you didn’t like it.
You can’t even talk to me,
there is no form of trust
foundations that extraordinary
are a metal bound to rust
You identify the opposite
of what most mothers do,
it causes inner conflict,
the love is out of view
the past is only relevant
because you've never changed
this makes it appear evident
you get a kick out of the strain
the mother red fox
snuggles in warm den, feeds her kits...
a-oo-oo-oo-ooo
the owl in the tree
on a pitch dark moonless night ...
who-who-who-who-who
the mother red fox
says shhh, shhh, shhh, to the owl....
kits just wow, wow, wow
the crack of dawn breaks
a sunrise of red and blue ...
zzzzz, zzzz, silence speaks
I get a kick out of the whole song, "What Does The Fox Say"
but I dedicate my poem to "Fraka-kaka-kaka-kaka-kow"
Written February 21, 2014
Sponsor: Skat A
Contest: What Does The Fox Say
I did some research on the Red Fox and they make a sound
somewhat like the Tawny Owl and other trisyllabic sounds
like they are talking to each other..
They are mostly nocturnal
I have this book on my desk where I
do all of my writing. It’s on this little
red bookshelf that I found on the side
of the road outside an antique store.
The book is called “Mid-Century French Poets”
which is probably the least creative name
for a book ever created. I wish that
one of those mid-century French poets
could have named it. Anyway, I think often
about how they composed poems and why
and I think they all probably had their own
silly little reasons about love and symbolism
and the beauty of the written word etc
etc but I think they definitely didn't
write with the intent to be anthologized,
I’m not even sure if there is a French word
for anthologization. Frankly, I can’t
believe anthologization is a word at all.
I’ve never opened the book, if I’m being
honest. It’s got just as much dust on it
as the stapler that I bought and used
once because I don’t have any documents
important enough to stab with little metal
half-squares. I keep it around because
I think all those poets would really
get a kick out of being in an anthology
remembering them for their prowess at
capturing love through symbolism
and that everyone adores their written words
because I know that I would love it
and I don’t want to let them down.
A one in a million lady
Now sixty years old
She still jumps over the wall
I still get a kick out of people gasping
When they witness her doing it…
A lady that is a mother to many
Even without asking they open up
They share their deepest fears with her…
I sometimes become jealous,
Feeling deprived of precious time with her
But then I look at how blessed I am,
To still have my mom with me
Even if I have to share her,
With the rest of my community…
Her laughter, with ears willing to listen
To give a hug,
To wipe a tear,
She is my brightest star,
Even if she thinks, she is nothing special
To me she is one in a million,
To me she means the world...
by: Wilma Neels
Being an identical twin means you do not have a name
For the first eighteen years of your life but keep your happy heart.
You are called “Hey, you, Twin!” or “Stone Twin!”
Except by your friends who are amazing and can tell you apart.
I could not wait to leave home, so I could wear my own stuff.
My identical twin wanted to dress identically, this was so tough.
I could not wait to get out the door and be called my own name.
I did not tell anyone I had a look-alike, who looked exactly the same.
Now we are older, and we get a kick out of dressing alike.
It takes us hours of deciding, because we can rarely agree.
I like clothes with words, a motto, or moral, or a monster on a hike.
My twin likes to wear florals, old people clothes that irritate me.
We have a twin laugh that is creepy. Our whole family rolls their eyes.
This laugh starts out loud but after a while turns silent, which is cool.
Silent laugh, our children say, not understanding or able to surmise.
That twins have a sense of humor that follows no sense or rule.
More than anything Nature fascinates me
Men living in close proximity to nature, I love to see
So I ramble into the city’s far outskirts
Watching ordinary people in commonplace pursuits
Imbibing much from the life of the peasantry
Whom none can beat in life’s lessons elementary
How they interact devoid of all cold formality
And remain free from all artificiality
I inhale the fragrance of the wayside blooms
Watch kingfishers and parakeets in colorful plumes
My eyes never miss Nature’s minute caprices
And I rejoice in home bound birds’ sonatas
I watch the daylight paving way for the night
And the sun willfully surrendering his might
I listen to the invisible choir, singing in the dark
That breaks the sacred silence of the dusk
How these common scenes fill me with delight
Nevertheless making me sorry for the unhappy plight
Of those unable to enjoy any ordinary scene
And turn their backs to pleasurable sights umpteen
Blessed are those who have eyes to see and feel
And remain happy being close to Nature’s heel
Whose ears are attuned to the beats of the average
And who need no other intoxicating beverage
Those who get a kick out of the commonplace
And seek everyday banal sensations to embrace
________________________________________
May.21.2022
Fascination and Awe Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Jeff Kyser
I cannot wait to drive a sports car I thought!
Now I have a red one, it took me awhile.
Guys race to see what I look like.
From the back I am sure I look young and sexy.
When they pull up and honk I give them my old face.
If I smile wide enough, they get to see how many teeth I am missing.
I get a kick out of it. I know I shouldn’t
But it is one of the few things that makes me laugh.
I cannot wait to be a grandma and live in the country.
That was my ultimate dream.
I am a grandma to ten, and I do live in the country.
But there is arthritis in both of my ankles.
Sometimes I step down and it feels like I have broken both ankles.
Do whatever you want while you are young, girl.
My dog knocked me down and I am pretty sure I am dead now.
Just determined not to believe it - easier to do at my ripe old age.
Dear Green eye man, there is so much I could say to you. Pretty much all of them are the stuff only to be thought not said out loud. The last three years I replayed a lot of things in my head. I have owned up and accepted responsibility for my part. But I know you will never do that. I guess we know who is more of an adult between the two of us. Hint it’s not you. I rebuilt myself and made myself better than I was when we were whatever the hell we were. I do have to thank you though. I know it's odd to do that but I guess I should thank you sister too for giving me anxiety. Maybe if she didn’t do that I wouldn’t be a published writer. I’ve had to learn to rely on myself more than others when it comes to a lot of things. All those years we spent together off and on wasted cause you decided to take and take instead of being the good man you pretended to be. You can keep doing that all you want, green eye man. I’ll just keep being the better person in spite of you.
When I got published my thought was I bet you would get a kick out of it but then again you always saw me as a mark or a long con to be played. I guess I finally got that answer from the question I always asked you. You know the question I always asked you when you tried to play nice guy.
I will remember the good times like the first kiss behind the old church on Washington and Bay Street. Or how you helped me get through the passing of my oldest friend in 2016. The best memory of you is that you made me feel wanted all those years. There are also bad memories also. Like how you told everyone in your family that I was a bad person. If I was such a bad person why did you keep coming back to me? Answer me that. The memories of how you asked for my trust and love when you didn’t really give me hardley any at all, I think the bad memories over power the good ones a lot of the time. Maybe one day I will think back one day and smile at the sound of your name again but that won’t be any time soon, probably not in this life time though. Maybe with the next one you’ll be a better man but I doubt it.
By,
The better person