Long Grindstone Poems
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Pièce De Résistance Lauded...
Ninety years April 9th 1929
after maiden USA début
hoop fully more than a few
remain, a filial connection
I can cultivate and hew
cuz, the ghost o' me late
mother, would be Jew
(red eye with swollen tears),
bull lent beef hoar, aye rue
permanent AWOL of papa,
whose paternal Zayda, I never knew!
He, pulled off a top aerospace
rocket launched secrete tete a tete
impossible mission an ace legendary
sharpshooter, sans Aaron Harris
firearms passion never did abate
spewed spear shaped ammunition
in league with the missus to create,
who no surprise hapt tubby his bedmate
launched payload with joint consent
(plus bonus) re: private effort to satiate
call of the wild hit targeted bullseye
(eggs cell lent lucky shot) did initiate
genesis nine months later begetting
an audacious, industrious, rambunctious
bouncing baby boy with black curls atop pate
christened Boyce Brandon Harris
bright eyed infant bestowed with brilliance,
brawn, and bravado quickly evinced late
tent smarts landed lad admittance schools
geared to those who did accelerate
with mathematics and sciences, which
positive accolades since a lil whippersnapper
family and academicians did accentuate,
thus stellar classroom dedication, diligence
dogged nose to grindstone did accommodate
him being courted by prestigious storied
halls of education kickstarting promising
future and adequate income to accumulate
ample to live comfortably within middle
class economic (March madness) bracket,
and provided basic creature comforts fate
blessed him, and Harriet Harris nee Kuritsky
with this sole son and two daughters, I advocate
as exemplary siblings (despite) contention,
which required lifetime to agglomerate,
and estranged relationship with me father
coalescing into pleasant raport, adolescent
chomped at the bit, and
did fidget, cower, and alienate
experienced palpable tension
as though a "FAKE" wall,
I could not eradicate!
1/13/21
Living among animals, some of which albino
Other lifeforms gigundo or micro
Folks in the same or different time zones
Had to keep my nose to the grindstone
And put down the Iphone
Spent time outdoors on my own
The beauty of it all, left my mind blown
Out among so many pinecones
I can feel it in my bones
Business conducted in person or by phone
Working toward another milestone
I know
Never underestimate thy foe
The stem on the plant was a rhizome
And this other plant had all these trichomes
Growing and dying in and out of similar or different biomes
Nearby clear waters or on the surface is a white foam
People living homeless, and others in a nice home
Sometimes for a cat or dog, the doctors prescribed Visbiome
The area was currently a no fly zone
Due to a cyclone
Was not even close or in the strike zone
Close to and far from Limestone
It was made of fine stones
Or possibly made with rhinestone
DUCK AFTER DUMP PING THE DON
air ring ma thoughts - no matter aye ham
juiced one twenty first century mwm ape
serves as genuine s cape
to fly (during pitch black hours of night) and escape
burning effigies, where his jumbo jet, a sonic boom stick bewitching like Snape
temporarily tough feign ruffled feathers sans rape
pay shuss selfish lust, when world sliding down behavioral sink,
where he doth jape
and me as distant outlier from madding crowd i gape
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
At the sheer inanity
trumpeting strumpets donning an innate
prejudice and senselessness purr
blind faith toward self avowed demigod -- seize whore viz Cesar
his hair coiffed and puffed like it whir
wind blown kickstart ting mobs to stir
paying bodyguards to evict ruckus-causing murmur
oh...how the masses will let this country
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Go to hell in hand basket
and rack up stratospheric global debt
cause zing this one measly mortal male to fret
that totalitarian rule will force every man,
woman and child to march....het
two...three...four, while the billionaire
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
turns a third blind eye speeds away in his foo fighter jet
argh...heavens to Betsy, how did the fickle finger of fate let
this pompous ass
vacuumed majority votes across world wide net
to finagle vox populi, and groom hooligan nasty ruffian thugs
with smashed face s as his smart pet
bump ping uglies henchmen set
to create their own version of the tet
offensive, despite croup bawling ashen faced deportees
whose tears sentence innocent to po' ver tee branding indiscriminately vet
so culled unwanted ill eagle "aliens"
labored with nose to grindstone
fingers to the bone vainly, their american dream parched whence whet.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Long story short - pondering my rental circumstance will equal net
zero importance, and will be upended if this ret
chad, ewol, googly-eyed, gastronomic, narcissistic bullish don will set
the spark for world war three - via gone ah re: ha...ha...ha...to all vet
tureens within the american crucible melting pot - with backs whet
unless....Katrina and the Waves, superman or Sabrina can oust him yet!
Going to get a “haircut” today
Actually getting all of them cut
Cutting just one would hardly be noticed
Now I'm being a silly nut
There's many other sayings similar to this
English is overloaded I find
Wanna hear some others I've discovered
Well stay tuned it'll blow your mind
“Keep your nose to the grindstone”
Now THAT'S gotta smart I'd say
See what I mean, don't follow this advice
You'll feel pain from here to Sunday
How about this one, “eye candy”
It certainly has me bamboozled
“Less is more” is another that's confusing
Looking for others for your perusal
Here's another, “left in the lurch”
Pretty sure they meant left in the “church”
“Dead as a doornail” as dead as you can be
Gonna do a little more research
To “peter out” means to dwindle away
Has a certain sexual connotation
Put it back in, it's a public place
You'll be arrested for excessive potation
“I rest my case”, now here's another one
Wasn't even carrying a case
Okay gonna “put this thing to bed”
Yikes! Can't wipe this grin from my face!
© Jack Ellison 2013
POTATION
• the action of drinking something, esp. Alcohol:
I intend to abstain from potation.
• (often potations) a drinking bout:
the dreadful potations of his youth.
“Made you look you dirty crook!”
And all those colourful phrases
Have vanished from our lexicon
They now belong to the ages!
“Keep your nose to the grindstone!”
Is another from way back when
So sad they've all but disappeared
Wish they could go back again!
Since the dawn of the computer age
We speak in a different fashion
Conversing in very short sentences
Using acronyms without much passion!
We now seem to have lost the ability
To have an intelligent conversation
Emailing, texting, or some such device
Or some other glitzy presentation!
I really long for those simpler days
When people took time to listen
And all the world seemed friendlier
Now feels like something's missing!
No torrid steel rod cauterized my wounds
for I couldn't lick the festering gashes clean.
Your sharp-bladed tongue bit too deep,
fangs plunged with each vile cursed scene.
No mere prick or scratch did you inflict
as thorns draw drops from a finger laid bare.
You severed our marriage cord with a stare.
Without gauntlet thrown before you I swayed
when waylaid in the pitfall of vows betrayed.
I sat weeping upon tear-stained ground,
covering my ears not to hear the snarling sound
of vile bitterness in your laughter. My eyes burning
then thought... I am the one who should be spurning
You turned your back and sidled away
basking in glory; your cruelty had been done
but there is no victory for you, nothing won
for a man whose feet were molded of clay
How often you preyed on weakness of others
while you played at being sanctimonious
Liquid courage brings death that smothers
but I escaped the hold you once tightly held
before my life had been snuffed and felled
I still breathe and I've no fear to speak
I've been set free, and I'm no longer weak
My tongue holds daggers of its own
whetted on the grindstone of your deception
I was hungry for strength, parched with thirst
to take vengeance as my anger grew
emotions that were long past due
Felling you would then label me a doer of evil
which is something I would never desire to be
Vengeance will never be mine to take
knowing this is true is what set me free
Years will pass but I shall never forget
that I was true to you, and how sorely I regret
not realizing the kind of man, I once loved.
I've moved on and no longer grieve
while you still swim in the fiery waters
of your besotted world of make believe.
Courtesy of one or more tradesmen,
first Monday in September set aside
for employees able, eager, ready
and willing to acquire money
to marry groom or bride
climb the corporate ladder or
become an artisan, entrepreneur, technician
to side step getting rung, drafted
like an oxen plow, commandeered and chide
by management as insubordinate
till retirement or join kiln fields once died
from over exertion, yet nonetheless
sweat of brow efforts praised I espied
searching me noggin brief history re:
aforesaid day, where barbecues fried
dispersed aromas recognizing efforts
of workers with quality control as guide
grievances against danger challenged
sense and sensibility stalwart did not hide
the shenanigans that took place inside
boardrooms in tandem with glories of
American made products from those
who put figurative nose to grindstone –
just common everyday Jane's and Joe’s
who weathered extreme temperatures,
whereby bodies froze
but thanks to those who battled elements
at large and snatched doze
birth of brute efforts eventually
earned reserved renowned
borne couple shy of
nineteenth century, whence sound
of industrial silence replaced with
parades where hoof beats did pound
burgeoning and bustling city streets
echoed along hardened ground
fealty to country soldered
with faith, federation union freedom
and job security did thence abound,
which holiday underwent
transformations as bustle
and hustle
proved myth regarding land of milk and honey –
from straining of muscle
whereby life, liberty and pursuit
of happiness less of physical tussle
set (thank you masons) cornerstone to an invisible
complex edifice originally from New York
forgotten builders, farmers, machinists,
et cetera who laid groundwork
wrought by destruction
from Civil War largesse and pork
loosed from the bottle in
Antebellum South, when off flew cork
freeing a genie, which became rendered
supremely courtly poet, i.e. this former dork.
Perseverance is the name of the game
With every challenge before you
It applies to the highest mountains you climb
Ignoring distractions is the clue
Roadblocks are there to test your patience
The glitter of gold clouds your eyes
Keep your nose to the proverbial grindstone
Much success will be yours by and by
I certainly haven't achieved all my goals
But employing this theory through the years
Has enabled me to increase the likelihood
Of avoiding many heartaches and tears
Working hard with the goal of cooperation
Bendability when shown a new path
You'll ultimately be placed in a higher standing
Great success will be yours at last
In closing remember this friendly advice
To assist you in climbing life's tree
Compassion and patience are all important
But perseverance is surely the key
Sat in a tube at thirty thousand feet.
Cramped and hungry, bored as hell
Time ticking slowly, as clouds pass by
Thirty thousand feet, seven miles high
Returning from a holiday, had a good time.
Like being sat in cell, innocent of crime
Now I can’t wait to land on Terra ferma
Back to the grindstone and the sabachi derma.
In 90 minutes solid ground,
going straight home when my bag is found.
Nothing to declare but I bet they search.
I’ll tell them every Sunday I go to church.
Into the car a twenty minute ride,
back to reality and the sinking feeling inside.
Did you think I said I'd holiday forever?
I think you misheard because I know I never!
I'm just writing my story
Leaving out all the glory
I never tore them; yet the pages and spine are all but broken
Its letters are scattered, yet still the words form a concise omen
Would you read it back to me slowly, please, as you reach the bitter ending?
It hurts my eyes, you see; this heart could use a break from all this bending.....
Being devoured alive inside is such a epic novel unsavory
Moments, however, are kept in order by thoughts of your light upon my gnomon
They just keep coming, though without a care as to whether or not they are heartrending
It's so sour to own a form of pain that is this condescending
A barren land uncultivated and so divided from this yeoman
Painless by comparison to a nose job given by the grindstone of life's knavery
Just as I finished; then, the ink ran dry right before me.....
It's in this here and now that I've broken out
I wanna scream, but they drown out every shout
Then I think of all the things I ought not talk about:
Have they ever not been a couple minutes too late?
Do they ever have their story straight?
Inside me, hope has made its case to abate....
Hung from ropes unknown, can you relate?
Am I the world's least astute gadabout?
What I feel is that my intentions are drawn and quartered; based fully on others' self-doubt
But there is no way I will let this point of pitiful; be an excuse to live life by copping out