Long Huge Poems
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Rick was violent and showed no remorse
His alcoholic outbursts lead to their divorce
Wife Sue moves away with Billy their son
Then Billy’s badly injured in a hit and run
Sue contacts Rick, he dashes to the scene
Billy’s hooked up to a life support machine
Parents sit at his bedside both day and night
Brought together by their son’s terrible plight
Billy’s badly injured, his recovery is slow
When he wakes from a coma he says ‘hello’
Huge tears of joy well up in Billy’s blue eyes
Seeing mum and dad together is such a surprise
Billy’s pulled through, everyone is delighted
At such a crucial time his parents were reunited
01/19/21
Start
WAR ZONE
Sound of gunfire boomed all around
Amid the ruins of dilapidated buildings
Men in combat uniforms lurked in anticipation
Resembled zombies, which gave eerie feelings
Two snipers in ghillie suits
Face smeared in camouflage paints
Lay on their bellies with telescopic guns
Attention focused like praying saints
Their target was an ammunition store
About hundred meters down the road
Their orders were to kill the guards
And cause the bombs to explode
The guards saw them and fired
Hitting one of them in the chest
The other came to his rescue
To save his life he tried his best
Blood splattered across his face
His clothes became crimson red
His vision began to get blurred
Due to the amount of blood he bled
He recalled their meeting the night before
He grew emotional about daughter six years old
He wanted to return home after the war
And spend time with her, that’s what he told
He looked up and said in a melancholy voice
“Time’s is running out, I can’t see her again
Please meet her after I’m gone and tell her
I tried to preserve my life for her, but in vain”
As the last words escaped his trembling lips
His body became limp as he dropped his head
His bloodied body lay on his friend’s lap
With eyes open, but he was dead
His friend emptied the gun on the ammunition store
As a sign of solidarity with his departed soul
It exploded with a loud boom into a ball of fire
And looked like a huge chunk of burning coal
He lay there for sometime ruminating
Trying to come to terms with reality
The other members of his unit arrived
And removed them from the debris
End
And so it begins- as another day,
I ponder sipping coffee of my plan;
of meeting a sweet, unique, special man,
when seeing him I will pretend to stray.
Oh, the art gallery is a huge place,
but have an idea where he will be;
what lovely art I will say with great glee,
giving him a come hither smile and face.
And when he looks at me with those dark eyes,
I will hold the depth of his emotions;
my thoughts drifting on a thousand oceans,
he speaks- oh, can my deep love I disguise.
He smiles and my world is a twirling spin;
coffee?- and my heart plays a violin.
________________________
February 9, 2019
Poetry/Canzone/And So It Begins
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1113-296-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, And So It Begins
sponsor, Line Gauthier
Third Place
The missionary had a cat, which travelled in the hold
That missionary sat beside a lady with a cold
She had a pointed hat and sneezed when they were due to land
Her book of spells flipped open and then things got out of hand…
In the hold where creatures were returning to the wild
The beasts all got mixed up, and then a Tigerilla smiled
From his tank the ugly fish crash landed with a splat
And then he saw the open door and flipped and flopped to that
The fish flapped all around; his bid, to find the Amazon
But everywhere he looked he found the Amazon was gone
He couldn’t know the plane had landed elsewhere on its way
And when he found a water hole he said a quick, “Hooray”
The missionary’s cat said, “Wow, that pool’s a lucky find,
But watch out for the hippo with his really huge behind,
And also, what is lucky, is we haven't mixed together,
Like all those other creatures which are now as one forever.”
The ugly fish leapt in the pool, with just his head still out
He said, “I’m a piranha, I eat anything about.”
I guess, Dear reader, that I have no need to tell you that
What this fish had for dinner… was the missionary’s cat
There was a tremble in the ground, a sparkle in the air
And suddenly there was no cat and no piranha there
What there was was crazy, it had fins and it had fur
And anyone around would swear they heard the damned thing purr
So now we find another creature, mixed up by a spell
A creature that might just come crawling from your water well
Is it a fish, is it a cat and does it matter that
It’s a creature that might leave a shin bone on your mat
Of course, in science, every single thing must have a name
And Mister Missionary seemed to have no sense of shame
Maybe he was sidetracked as he nibbled a banana
But it was he that came up with a name for it… Purr-anha
So if you’re walking late one night and hear some tyres squeal
Is it a hedgehog in the road or something more surreal
But let me reassure you it wont be a cat with fins
And it wont be a fish that creeps up close to bite your shins
For this is the Purr-anha and the jungle is its home
Until it learns to fly a plane it isn’t free to roam
So in the jungle there’s a fish with claws and it seems tough
That we once thought a fish with razor teeth was bad enough
I've got one less relative than Snow White
alas, none of my six relations are a delight
Let me tell you about my cousin Regina
After childbirth, she's got a slack v'gina
She’s had a set of twins in May this year
Hubby’s impotence is her greatest fear
Her hypochondriac hubby, his name is Bill
says that he cannot work, claims he's too ill
But he’s fit as a flea, and I know he's faking…
he’s unable to work, but up for baby making!
Next up is where their trouble begins
with Boris and Donald their terrible twins
They both rule the roost with a rod of iron
Regina can’t cope as they’re always cryin’
My brother Steve now calls himself Fred
He’s a total fruitcake who claims he’s dead
I treat all our conversations with derision
as out of the grave he’s frequently risen!
My bone idle sister she’s called Laura-Annie
folk can’t take their eyes off her huge fanny
she parades round in tight leopard skin pants
and the ground vibrates if she starts to dance
Six Relatives Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Caren Crutsinger
10/31/20
This afternoon I am going to bake a tasty treat
Scones and lemon drizzle cake for us to eat
I’m also making a spicy balti chicken curry …
Hope we don’t have to run to the loo in a hurry
A huge pot of spaghetti bolognaise for our tea
It’s my son’s favourite hope there is enough for me
At one time I used to bake an awful lot more
But university took my son from our door
With just two of us left to eat a massive cake
If I stepped on the scales they would start to quake
So now baking is reserved for high days and holidays
Must dash now need to get out the baking trays!
Jan Allison
25th August 2014
I stand in awe, watching your birth...
this...thing...that fits in the palm of my hand
the most beautiful thing on Earth.
I contemplate what life will be like...now
that I am a father...it still sounds strange
but, I will always love you and I make this vow.
I believe we were destined to be here, together
I will protect you from all harm and evil
teach you right from wrong, and to never fear.
I marvel at your tiny fingers and toes
that huge mop of Jet Black hair
what the future holds for you...who knows.
I speculate, being a parent will be difficult at times
yet, others seem to make it look so easy
for you and I...fun...laughter, tears and lovely times..
Finally leaving the stage after
Twenty seven encore calls
A huge sense of elation as
The last curtain finally falls.
There’s all the media interviews
That she has yet to face
Then perhaps she can retreat
For a while to her private space.
Treated like minor Royalty
When she visited her mum
Back home in Barnsley after
She’d danced the Sugar Plum
Meets with the Toreador
To world wide praise and acclaim
Boosting the popularity of Ballet
To make her a well known name.
They called if Ballet meets Martial Arts
In its brand new and radical form
With just a little adjustment period as it
Settles down beside the accepted norm.
She’s toured the cultural centres
Of the whole of the civilised West
Where her radical performances
Have Easily passed the quality test.
She’s contemplating retirement
Doesn’t want to tour anymore
Would really like to settle down
With her beloved Toreador.
The Arts world is in turmoil
As it enters the current century.
It’s as though it’s been released from
A hidebound cultural penitentiary.
They’ve all had to put away
Their rose tinted glasses
As this new art form is welcomed
By the uncultured masses.
To be fair they are trying
To do their very best.
Grand Opera meets Wrestling
Is soon to be put to the test.
At a huge beautiful park, I took a vivid scenic route,
On a stairway through hills, in lush nature's pursuit.
The tree lined path gleamed, in the early morning sun,
And pink clouds were fading, since day was now begun.
The warm yesterday breeze, came to visit me again,
Bearing scents of silent blooms, from beauty's domain.
The path was long and winding, so I took my sweet time,
Sure if it took me all day, I'd get there by nighttime!
The squirrels were frisky, and darting through the green,
Like the active summer nights, when all crickets scream.
The flying bluejays sang, up in the deep blue skies,
Like the ever cheerful search, for a natural surprise!
With a huge geometry of bones and ribs
my father stands amidst us,
like an age-old iron pillar,
high durable, tensile and unbrittle
he is, the lonesome cantilever.
Though I know not,
perhaps he could be in immense pain,
or suffering from his terrible wounds;
but neither I feel nor touch
as I fear;
may be I his last crutch
or be the solve of sandal paste
on this body for ever.
Though I know nothing,
perhaps, for the sake of ‘oil and salt’ world;
he’d be even ready
to sleep on the bed of thousand arrows
and at the same time
he hides every sensitive worldly elements
within him, as far as
a star fish does every time
when it comes across a danger.
And always, I cannot move over
to his world of desires,
it’s the same show
the same grief
day after day.
The foot prints of his journey through life
are not lost in the sand storms of poverty
and in my mind as well.
Like the third bank of ever flowing river
Like a lonely Oar of way lost solitary boat
Like a distant star in the dark sky
Like a defiant soldier in battlefield
My father-
with dry tears and black blood
in his toil and lethal hands
continues his combat fight
against treacherous time
and treadle fate.
And with a twingle of hope against hope,
I feel every odds of life
and promise to myself a thousand times
‘I can be a nearby dawn
to remove the everlasting dark night’,
as my thoughts don’t go
with the distanced sun.