Long Goings on Poems
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As I set out
To jot down this poem
I had no earthly idea
Of what would transpose
And who all would be
Joining along
I'm as surprised as you
To these goings on
I don't recollect
Any of this being nearby
All the glimmer and glamor
Catching my eye
With my mind letting loose
In the wondering why
All of these characters
Are invading my rhymes
There are seals riding trikes
Uniformed Taiwanese
Clowns and their like
With smiley faced knees
Lepords in tights
Like we need more of these
A Kardashian or two
To put our minds at ease
Daryl Hall and John Oates
Singing loud 80's tunes
And what would be a poem
Without a cow jumping over the moon
Or a chimpanzee
Swinging through the stanzas with ease
Using the tails of snakes
Like a flying trapeze
There's even a racoon
By the name of Rocky we know
Using his Boogaloo
To sweep dust from the poem
And look it's Bob Hope
Selling soap on a rope
To keep it all clean
With a rated "G" tone
With so much going on
Inside of this poem
Guess it's best I stop here
As this has gotten rather long...
Since moving to our brand new home
There's things I haven't found
Like my pair of pearly white dentures
And Dufus our basset hound
Still haven't located my tightie whities
People are holding their noses
Till I find 'em gonna use lots of cologne
And carry a bouquet of roses
Now certain things take top priority
Like oil for my artificial leg
The damn thing squeaks unmercifully
“FIND THAT OIL!” Cathie begs
The kitchen stuff's in the living room
We're sleeping out on the lawn
Neighbours are peering out their windows
Expecting some “goings on”!
All things considered we're doing fine
Minor inconveniences they are
We'll soon be sleeping in out of the rain
And be happy campers, by gar!
© Jack Ellison 2013
The country's crazy, out of whack somehow
There's a new 'Republic' in Seattle now
Young folks are calling to defund police
A fury in the streets that will not cease...
They scream their slogans, every day the same
For 'racial justice,' -- it's an age-old game
'Cos no one really thinks that things will change
Most voters find the goings-on quite strange
America the Beautiful's long dead and gone
Sure seems the leaders guessed completely wrong
They watched as cities festered, crime increased
So many murders, little kids deceased...
Our cities smolder as the hurt returns
The people on the bottom still get burned
Iambic Pentameter
Couplet-style Rhyme
Every November it happens.
I see diaries on display.
The lightbulb moment, I'm inspired!
I must keep a journal every day.
Every January starts off well.
In keeping a promise to myself,
I faithfully pen the goings on each day.
It's apparently good for your health.
February is often quite patchy.
Many a day goes a miss!
I start to question why, each annum,
I spend to fail at this...
One day runs into another.
It's mid September now!
It feels like only in a blink
Six months have passed - holy cow!
I start to reason on why it bothers me
That I can't look back on what's gone on.
It's about now I say, " If I get another
I'll keep my own promise to write on! "
I suppose it could be apathy.
" I can't be bothered " type of mood.
What's the point in writing trivia
- This conversation or that food?
So last year I decided once and for all
That keeping a journal is not for me.
If I've something I really want to express
I'll wax lyrical with poetry!
Written 11th September 2021
For - The "J" Contest... Sponsor Constance La France
God created the heavenly
He alone created the birds and the trees
And after winters solace comes spring
The angels watch as the birds sing
it's
SPRINGTIME
It must be
the air is getting warmer
No more winter time or snow either
The global warming burning
Or it's out time
Whatever goings on it's
SPRINGTIME
He God created both He and them
This season for His purpose His reason
I see spring time, I smell the season
I smell it in the morning dew
God He created all this for just me and you
We're the caretakers of this world
And not in it, I often wonder is God finished
SPRINGTIME
Butterflies, morning cries of the animals as they rise
You can see it in their eyes come spring
Why won't you all join in an sing
Come on and join in
The angels watch as the birds sings
Praising Hallelujah God their praising
God did both He and them He created all things
God created the heavenly
He alone created the birds and the trees
And after winters solace comes spring
The angels watch as the birds sing
it's
SPRINGTIME
04/21/12
from anthology "Spring Song"
Written by James Edward Lee Sr.
~*~
it is raining in the garden
chirping, peeping birds are joyful in the greenery
and in my cozy window
two cats survey the garden goings on
perched contently atop my bookcase
placed below the window
whiskers flickering, deep green eyes alert
so intent on something invisible
delicate and soft they step
among my potted plants for a space
but soon their interest fades
of the garden and it's hidden treasures
and face, ear and paw washing
takes all their consideration
oh, nothing is more delightfully wonderful
than two cats, today
___________________________
May 11, 2013
Poetry/Verse/oh, today
Copyright Protected, ID 05-477-274-11
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
I peer quite nervously about,
to wonder at the goings on,
how much of what is said,
is speculation on my part,
and how this dwelling rose,
from a clouded past milieu,
tales of the apocryphal I’d guess,
imagination stirred off course,
uncanny gothic motto purblind,
blue ink mist curtain veil stoke,
vivid mind’s black night visual,
amulet of congested fantasy,
macabre plot on the strain,
what surreal restlessness within,
dormant interregnum cast,
yet one seems drawn toward,
that dim lit swirling sight,
nest for midnight dervish,
and other brazen species,
dare I enter from afar,
perforce I court danger,
when nosey to a fault,
but therein lies the trap,
to be fascinated is one thing,
to stray beyond another,
why would one be so tempted,
by an entity with dark omens,
superstition is a term used,
to smear that which is unknown,
it is however justified,
when carefully used methinks,
a shrouded raven perched,
stoic, solemn sage as sentry,
ravens circulating chimney top,
symbolic ghost appearing numb,
somehow I cannot summon,
pluck up that innate gumption,
to confront a crippling fear,
before it duly swallows me,
now I feel driven without rein,
zany impulse at the whelm,
enigmatic pathway underfoot,
reluctant step a heavy booth lurch,
shattered eaves, torn leaves,
giant concrete slab tumble,
frail broken window smithereened,
taut ghoulish splinters glisten,
I dash against elemental angst,
when peeping warily into the void
10 DOWNING STREET
Six years ago on 10 Downing Street,
Tourists by the score we did meet,
Fascinated by the pomp and splendor
England’s Political leader, in his famous home,
Safe from the crowds, having tea
A discreet meeting at
This Historical house,
Trumpets, guards, I didn’t care
About a sign that said “Beware,
Horses may kick or bite”,
I stroked his nose in spite,
Of the sign,
This horse was adorable, a fine
Regal animal who sniffed my hand,
I felt honored, so grand,
Not about the goings on around me,
But that the horse and I connected,
I immediately loved him, infatuated!
Thank You said the sign at the end,
All I knew I found a life long friend.
I have never forgotten that horse
I let love take it’s sad course,
And had to say goodbye,
But she maybe he and I,
Would remember
That day in September,
Where among the pomp and splendor,
A horse and human secretly bonded,
Despite a sign, written boldly, a warning,
Not to go near,
But I showed no fear,
The absolute highlight of our holiday,
Despite a slight drizzle and a grey
Sky it was my
Moment, my horse!
The spring was on the way
time for the farmer to plough
straight lines running parallel
gleaming in the rich red loam
It had laid all winter waiting
now it was time to sow and seed
yellow mustard glinting in the sun
so pretty as it grows in leaps and bounds
Little animals made their home
borrows in between the roots
even a dormouse always sleepy
soon they scurry off as harvest begins
Harvesters hard at work birds feasting
on those that were far too slow
crops are now gathered in and stored
the horses fallow the field now it rests
This spring the field will remain fallow
all part of the master plan of rotation
it's life is simple following a four year plan
to maximize each year's yield without stress
Following being fallow potatoes go in
these help clear the land of weeds
while adding goodness to the soil
then the golden wheat which the land depletes
Last to go in will be turnips for feed
completing a long term cycle of crops
If it could talk many tales it would tell
of all of the goings on within it's boundaries
Bees are busy buzzing,
Working happily
Rabbits are still nuzzling
Together 'neath a tree
Brook is babbling blissfully.
As it weaves along its way
The Sun is arising
To welcome this new day
A cock is crowing loudly,
It echoes around the farm
A fox is behaving badly
Causing the chickens' alarm
A cat has spied on a mouse
As it went scampering by
The mouse ran into the house
That made that tom cat cry
Rover, the dog, chased Tom up a tree.
The cat jumped into a nest,
Cracking the eggs, all three
The mother bird was furious,
And pecked the cat on the neck,
A sleepy mole
He peeped out of his hole
And said, "What the heck."
What is going on?
He questioned sleepily
I'm not too fond of the sunlight,
Because I cannot see.
I see very well, indeed,
A voice said from up high
As the flapping wings
Of a wise old owl
Was heard as he passed by
Moo, said the cow,
In a mournful way
Where is the farmer
Is he late today?
The horse said, "Neigh."
He is still in bed.
The Donkey brayed
When will we be fed?
The ducks waddled by
Followed by the gander
The latter is nosy
The former to meander.
The goings on this morning
It was almost beyond belief
When opening his mouth and yawning
Appeared the Farmer to their relief.