Long Imaginationold Poems
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OH BE THIS POEM AS SACRED AS HER NAME
Often I am compelled to hover over her shoulder
Each letter formed, each thought defined
For she has poetry on a leash
And walks it, pray I, at least three times a day
For she owns words that are her property
Well, not so much ownership but instead just rather properly
When roars the cage, when spears are aimed
When hoards of men come at her who the lovely’s never ever claimed
Fear not, poetry’s prize
For thou art ever in your Heavenly Father’s eyes
For you were birthed when an angel whispered “Autumn,” and that’s how you were
named……………………………….......
I see her sitting by a kerosene lamp with a quill pen just because it brings her back to a
simpler place
Where each sentence is aptly signified
And in each syllable she writes in the middle of all that is dignified
For this be a lady
A lady who can take on the persona of that which she chooses her poetry to be
One day she writes genius about how we all know life is a struggle, but then at the end of
the day, hopefully you have some with whom to snuggle
Or she’ll describe the horrors we hear of every day while most are deaf and blind but she
takes all our sorrow to her angelic heart
For one so wise should pen meet eyes and place upon a page of profundity with which the
words and verbiage she vies
Yet she always tames the concept she struggles with
Okay, so perhaps I’ll agree, she’s not the best
But take twenty poems by twenty poets and I’ll bet hers is the best, and if not first, hers is
definitely better than the rest
© 2011.…..~free cee!~
Pretty good for an old geezer (geazer) and I still haven’t gotten an answer, if I have more
than one mouse I have mice what if I have more than one moose? AND IF ANYONE
DESERVES A MORE HANDCRAFTED AND DELICATELY PHRASED POEMTHAN THE ABOVE, IT’S U
D……but don’t forget, the only time I get to use e-mail is at noon because that’s the only
time the old-age home I live in allows us us…if you wanna write it’s,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
free cee
666 satanic street
c/o Dying Legends Old AGE HOME
Abu-Dhabi, somewhere ===they don’t even have zip codes
It will make its way to me, fear not
Here's another story that I just made up
That just can't wait to be told
About a weary prospector, down on his luck
That gave his life for his gold
He was way up yonder in the hills, they say
Just him and his scrappy old mule
That poor old mule didn't have no teeth
So he'd sit around the camp and drool
Now that prospector, who we'll call Jake
Was as secret as he could be
He didn't like people snooping around
So he wasn't much for company
See, Jake had been on that mountain
For nigh on twenty years
But he never did hit the mother load
With all his sweat and tears
Then, one day he decided to go fishing
A fish pulled him right in the river
He tried to hang on with all of his might
It's hard to do when you shiver
Jake looked up and was headed toward the falls
So he decided he'd better let go
When he dropped that line, he sunk like a rock
And started thrashing to and fro
Now, Jake was a real good swimmer
He was on the prospector's Olympic team
But, everytime his head went under
All he could do was scream
Now Jake had prospected his whole life
But now, he was getting pretty old
He didn't know the reason he was drowning
But his pockets were full of gold
When he figured it out, he had gold fever
And he refused to let it go
All poor old Jake could think about
Was he finally hit the mother load
See, when that old fish had jerked him in
He was dragging him on the bottom
There was gold just laying everywhere
And that's where his pockets got 'em
Poor old Jake drowned that day
Richest man in the world, I think
His old mule was standing on the bank
Drooling, as he watched him sink
They fished his body out of that river
The next morning before dawn
But they found both pockets as empty as could be
It was stolen by a leprechaun
Well, I guess it's time for me to go
I can see as I look at my clocks
But if you really wanna protect your prospector's gold
Then let me suggest Fort Knox
Ronald was a tough old ram, the biggest of his breed
Daniel was a clipperman, renowned of shearing deed
Many sheep were sheared that day and woolless they had fled
Before those two met in affray and battled in the shed!
Ronald, he had seen old Wallace wrestled to the floor,
Mugged of his dignity and fleece, and knew that it was war
And seeing that his turn was nigh, his hooves he dug in deep
He'd fight and though perhaps he'd die, at least he'd die a sheep.
Daniel had no time to waste, he'd quotas set to keep
And unprepared, he reached in haste to take the waiting sheep
But Ronald steeled himself as Daniel took him by the horn
And, rearing, pulled himself away before he could be shorn.
Off-balance, Daniel stumbled, to Ronald's great delight
Onto his knees he tumbled as the shears flew out of sight
And Ronald now unhanded felt his victory increase
Protecting his sheep dignity and, likewise, his sheep fleece.
But Daniel was not beaten yet, he knew that he'd faced worse
His mind was still determined set, he rose up with a curse
But still he was unsteady and Ronald was a ram
His head was lowered ready and he charged the clipperman
Ronald's head met Daniel's side and toppled him again
This time headfirst and to collide his head against the grain.
Leaving, stunned, the clipperman upon the wooden floor
In final victory, the ram strolled out the open door.
But, alas, 'tis not the way that sheep triumph at last
And Daniel would not see the day that any sheep got past
Despite Ram Ronald's victor's pride, the shearer would not yield
So followed a less dignified pursuit around the field.
Ronald, he was fast and he had four legs matched to two
So Daniel was outclassed, if that was all that he could do,
But he also had a sheepdog and so Ronald was defeated
He would have had the victory, if Daniel hadn't cheated.
There once was a mule named Samson
He was as strong as he could be
He won all the strong mule contests
In the entire state of Tennessee
That old mule could pull anything
He even pulled a house or two
Now, this was quite unusual
That's just not what strong mules do
Now one day, a stranger came to town
Paul Bunyan was his name
With him was an ox named Babe
Who challenged Samson to a game
See, Babe had a reputation
For being the strongest in the land
So, if anybody could beat old Samson
Babe thought he surely can
Now, before they ever got started
They had to lay down some rules
Babe wanted to make sure it was fair
And he'd heard about those sneaky mules
They decided a tree was the test
To see which one was stronger
But old Samson was determined
That Babe was champion no longer
Babe would be the first to go
As they tied him to the tree
He pulled and pulled with all his might
But still no victory
Samson wasn't even watching
As Babe admitted defeat
He was thinking about his dinner
How he just couldn't wait to eat
Now Samson was a confident mule
Like no other mule around
And when they tied him to that tree
It started tumbling down
But before the contest was over
Babe yelled out in protest
"He didn't even pull at all
And I gave it my very best"
Now, something indeed was fishy
For the tree was gnawed in two
The judges talked to Samson
And found out it was true
For Samson had really cheated
He just couldn't stand to lose
A beaver was found behind a bush
As the crowd awaited the news
Samson had been disqualified
Babe was declared the winner
And in a show of sportsmanship
He invited that ox to dinner
Oh, does the night come some quickly, creeping
into my room unannounced just as I raise my
head from saying my nightly prayer. As I
snuggle into the warmth of my satin sheets...
As I began to tumble and toss in and out of my
dilatory sleep... in a desperate attempt to catch
Morpheus in my dreams…in and out of my
somewhat comatose state I toss and turn
as I clinch my pillow over my face. As my
neighbors dog bark on and on repeatedly...
in his endless effort to protect his master from
the unseen. It’s as if he seems to delight in my
peerless chase of a good nights sleep? And the shadows
that always seem to play endless and abundant mind
games as they jiggle and wriggle and almost seem to sniggle
at my errant attempt to catch Mr. Sleepy times call for
my exasperated body to fall asleep. Passing cars
and their never ending lights that seem to play tricks on
the mind…as I linger in and out of my
semiconscious state of mind. The old grandfather
clock that sits downstairs, just below the bottom
landing of my steps… it just never seems to stop
ticking as its swaying pendulum keeps on a clicking.
Wandering sounds that seem to flood the late
night air and never seem to dissipate, they
only seems too get even louder into the wee hours
of the night. While I still rumble with my body in
my futile attempt to get a good nights rest.
Finally as I do start to get into my morbid state
of sound sleep…in through my windows and
crashing through my broken window shades and
awaking me from my desperately sought sleep?
That old Silly Sunrise… now demands me to
awake from the comfort of my semi warm satin sheets.
There was an old man, a collector of sorts
Who made his living off of the dead
Through the obituary page he'd earn his wage
Buying things that others had shed
Though some said his job was just morbid
Preying off of the people who died
It wasn't a natural death that took their last breath
But those committing suicide
He bought the things that nobody wanted
For most were scared of a haunting or curse
But he didn't care he would always be there
The same day that they emptied the hearse
He was the only buyer at the auction
For everyone else was afraid
He just couldn't wait to steal their estate
And count all the money he made
'Til late one night while sleeping
Awakened by a bump in the night
At the foot of his bed stood a multitude of dead
As his heart stopped beating from fright
Death had returned to collect his debt
For the reaper would surely be paid
He auctioned his soul for the things that he stole
Until the highest bid was made
The old man had turned up missing
They found claw marks deep in his floor
The people couldn't wait to pilage his estate
For karma had knocked on his door
The wind was howling and it was raining hard
My car had stalled on an old country road
Finding an old house in the darkness, I knocked
Asked to use her phone to have my car towed
She said It’s bad out there, my name is Laura
Please wait a second while I get the light
I live alone in this old house
I’d feel better if you spent the night
Later she came to my room
After dreams had filled my head
That longing in her deep green eyes
She crawled into my bed
She loved me like no other woman
There was a wild streak in her cries
And I found myself lost to this world
As I entered Paradise
The next day the storm was over
I left for town to get my car
It wasn’t quite finished yet
So I took a walk to the local bar
I asked the bartender if he knew Laura
If she ever came in to town
Did he know anything about her
Did he ever see her around
He said he only knew
Of the stories that others told
How her husband died in the Yukon
Prospecting for gold
How she cried when she got the news
That he was never coming back again
So she hung herself in that old house
In the year of 1910.
Driving into town
church his destination
Body weak and weary
in need of inspiration
Just a retired handyman
short and rather stout
The Lord's been good to Jim
since surrendering his doubt
Started reminiscing
'bout a visit way before
in this same old church house
forty years ago, or more
Large cabin, high beamed ceilings
same pews to break his fall
Back then Jim didn't trust a soul
even maker of us all
What a long road it'd been
since he was last here
So much pain and tribulation
loneliness and fear
Running down a weathered face
were tears he could not hide
'bout 'foolish spent' vitality
when youth was on his side
Wondered if he stole a piece
of the church that he revered
Would it restore vigor past
if he held it near?
Startled church was over
Jim stood up with a grin
"Fancy, wishful dreams made me
forget why I came in!"
While walking through the lot he spied
an old oak by his truck
Jim cut a snippet off a branch
and brought it home for luck
For the love of God Evie,
Please give it a rest,
After last night you should know,
That I love you the best.
That Lilith thing I had,
Was ages ago
And no apples got eaten,
As I'm sure you must know.
Because you bit it first,
Then you gave me a bite,
And Then I jumped your bones,
For the rest of the night.
That evil old Snake,
Guess he wasn't so bad,
Though it's his fault we did it,
I feel kinda glad.
'Cause here in the garden,
It's really been swell,
But to be loved by you,
Was worth risking Hell.
So quit weeping old girl,
For your virginity's loss,
We both gotta Figure,
What we'll tell the Boss.
Now another day's dawning,
Please Honey don't cry,
Let me lay here and admire,
The curve of your thigh.
What's been done is done,
Our Sin can't be reversed,
Our prayers and apologies,
All sound rehearsed.
But if we're to be punished,
By our Master above,
I'll face it enraptured,
To have tasted your love.
For three generations, I have rocked
The old and young to sleep.
Lulled by my gentle motion,
They'd no need for counting sheep.
And as I've rocked they've told me
Many secrets I have kept.
We've sung lullabies together
And sometimes we have wept.
The years have passed so quietly,
I did not see them go.
I've been so busy with my work
Of moving to and fro.
I've grown old and tired
And am fraying at the seams.
Only a grandma left to rock
And dream old lady dreams.
Her busy children tell her
She's too old to live alone.
She must move to a care center.
I will be on my own.
I can hear them whispering,
For they don't want her to know,
She cannot take her furniture.
It really has to go.
They're saying they will move her out
And then they'll call Goodwill.
Perhaps some poor folks could find use
For that old rocker, still.
inspired by Deborah' contest. " The Chairs Tale"won hm