Long Livery Poems
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Ticks imperceptibly further from tocks
Sally-anne gracefully brushing her locks
Perusing the papers in yesterday's socks
One eye on the news on the old goggle box
Lawns that want mowing, maybe today
No firm decision on that, either way
The daffies sway gentle their livery gay
As early the spring edges out winter grey
Wave at the neighbour out washing his car
Seems in no hurry, he's not going far
Exaggerate motion of tipping a jar
Inviting a post dinner trip to the bar
Somebody passing outside shares a laugh
While yellow billed blackbird agitates bath
Fido brings slippers, wife calls him staff
Then aerates the logs to enliven the hearth
Upon us the day when no desk shall tether
And only the mower shall fret over weather
A shower means trim the lawn next week or never
Well maybe not never, simply whenever
Dinner now served at family table
Sneak Fido a tidbit whenever I'm able
Courteous chat with mum in law, Mable
Kids stifle giggles, she's slightly unstable
Now Mable snoring, I do the dishes
Kids drying up conceal Facebook wishes
Mum by the pool sprinkles pellets for fishes
Whimsically lost in multi-finned swishes
And when gibbous moon gives off scant shadow light
And gone is the sun that shines somewhere else bright
Retire to our slumbers prepare for the fight
Batteries energise over the night
For five days or six we shall toil away
Earn twenty four hours to rest and to play
So never forfeit the day some people pray
This one day in seven, the Sabbath, Sunday.
All round the ring of Kerry’s highways, people point and cry
It’s 4 o’clock on the very dot and Mick’s rig is passing by,
It has glistening sheens of yellow, with cinnabar spots in red
Rich lozenges of orange complete the livery, as this butterfly forges ahead!
She’s kissing those dew damp breezes, on a morn like an Irish dream
As the sun’s rays like golden spokes
Steal silently; through oaks of emerald green.
lighting up a meadow’s buttercups, that border a hillside stream.
She hauls her load of butter, fresh from the herds of ‘Kerry’s spreads’
To sweeten the taste of a million slices, of European bread!
She’s making good time this morning in passing the various towns,
By 9 am she makes Letterkenny, to lay her cargo down.
Mick checks his trusty wristwatch
He needs to be back in Clonakilty; to make a special call
For by, begosh and begorrah ‘tis Father’s Day ‘n all. and
His sweet Molly will be waiting there, by an ancient rock built wall!
So he spins the painted lady round, to take the south west route,
Tooting to folks he recognises; as along that road he shoots.
At 1 o’clock he’s made it back, and parks the painted lady up
He wanders up the dusty track; just a Dad in working gear
Straightening an aching back, now his destination’s near
He searches the milling kids all around, many colours their faces show
And then he picks out his Molly. as those raven curls she throws!
She runs to greet him at his call, raising her face to be kissed
And she had chosen a painted lady, sure.. He felt how he had been missed!
He swings Molly up on high and they head back to the farm
She showers him with sweet butterfly kisses
As rabbles of the creatures unravel, in clouds and colours of charm!
NB the Painted Lady is an Irish species of Butterfly
Autumn's sigh emotion thrown across the night.
Stars shiver in the laden cold with the moon's sight.
The court yard had the comfort and invisibility
As the elves, faeries, and minotaur physicality
As they dance in the inner labyrinth among
Countless others of their mythical young.
No mundane would give it a second look.
Yet, there is no such thing as a Golem in a nook.
Bella, beautiful with pale skin and blond hair,
Wide clear blue eyes and pointed ears love to share.
She liked the summer best for the world grew warm
And the dragons came. She wondered if the rain storm
Is what brought them. Her brother Carmel, joins in
The dance holding an olive branch while all the faeries spin.
Dragons menacing roar with crackling fire of thunder
Magical serpentine fierce in all their mystic wonder,
Fluoresce scales in brilliant metallic shine livery;
Benevolence manner, bold chivalry.
Leap into the air, with their outstretched leathery wings
Weaving between the clouds to catch the air above like kings.
Elves as stars in a distant realm, together
Under a blanket sky, whirling in shadows of purple heather.
12/25/2020
189 word count
Fantasy With Fictional Beings Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
Summer is the season that brings forth buds and blooms,
When every hill and vale in green livery, clad,
When the busy bee around opening flower zooms,
And stray clouds in the blue-sky roam so glad.
It is the time when grasshoppers vault on silky grass,
When every blade and leaf at dawn sparkles with dew,
When black ants move with tiny carcasses en masse,
And ladybirds dance in frocks of black and red hue.
When on breezy evenings children set out to play,
And men go for angling in babbling brooks.
When farmers after the harvest dry their hay.
And sunbeams weave patterns even in forest nooks.
But summertime pleasantly cool in the evenings can turn,
Sultry at noon when lacerating rays come down to burn!
It was now growing dark as the sun was going down
When a stranger rode into Soup Creek, a frontier town
No one could see his face, he was all dressed in black
An old boy was heard to say "I think he's come back".
He took his horse to the stable, then went to the boarding house
Before he went in looked across the street, to the town jailhouse
There was a familiar figure sat outside, in a rocking chair
Cradling a Winchester and the stranger, felt his cold stare.
He'd returned after all these years; he had something to prove
And just after a few days back in town, he would make his move
But Sheriff Koplin is no fool and he had planned up far ahead
And had formed a posse whilst the stranger slept in his bed.
Three fiesty girls from the saloon, Jan and Jenna, Tania too
And a Texas ranger called David who was just passing through
With gambler Milton who was deadly, with a colt forty five
And Tom the undertaker who looked more dead than alive.
It was the evening of the showdown; the stranger came out of the saloon
The sun was now setting but the tension had been building up since noon
From his holster he withdrew his pistol and then fired shots up into the air
The stranger was not one for living a peaceful life and he just didn't care.
Sheriff Koplin approached him and said "Hand over your gun"
And the stranger replied "Lighten up man, I'm just having fun"
The stranger was laughing now and looking down at his feet
The townsfolk were nervous and had disappeared off the street.
Then behind the stranger came a shout in a loud Texas drawl
It was Jenna disguised as an old woman, covered with a shawl
"You heard the sheriff " she shouted, "Put your gun on the ground"
The air was now thick with tension and you couldn't hear a sound.
Then from nowhere the rest of the posse appeared pistols in hand
They abhorred bullies and conflict and were prepared to make a stand
The stranger realised he couldn't win and threw his gun down
Walked to the livery stable to get his horse, and rode out of town.
The drama was now over but it could have gone either way
Sheriff Koplin and his posse restored peace, and had won the day
It was now days end in Soup Creek in that peaceful frontier town
All you could hear were chirping crickets as the sun was going down.
Written on 20th May 2022.
I believe that,
God is the benevolent Lord of the universe
And He is the creator of everything diverse
While love of God takes us to eternity
Love of man leads us to fraternity
We are responsible for what we do
And our actions determine what we turn in to
Credentials on the wall do not make one honored
But integrity of character makes one admired.
I believe that,
Inactivity is akin to death
While creativity is vital as breath
If perseverance conquers mountains
Laziness dries up fountains.
Hatred burns life like fire
And wickedness turns it into mire
On Earth, forgiveness bonds hearts
But revenge, sure, every bond thwarts.
I believe that,
Friendship is more valuable in one's world
Than all treasures in silver or gold
From shore to shore the waves of love shall roll
There is no more joy than being with a kindred soul
A true friend has no deceit
And a truly learned has no conceit
If jealousy is an acid which erodes
Generosity is a fuel that reloads.
I believe that,
As trees once clad in green livery will be bare,
The body through long use will wear and tear
None can escape time’s fierce assault
And all should enter into death’s cold vault
Though life remains the greatest mystery
And our life on earth may end like a story
There are no endings but only interim stops
And our soul shall enter a fresh life with new hopes!
Dec.15. 2022
What I Believe Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Angela Tune
With a fresh cup of coffee, I stepped outside to have a peek.
It was another peaceful morning, in the valley around Soup Creek.
I caught the glint of a Winchester, a model ninety-four.
It was across the lap of Jenna, just outside the saloon door.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Jan sneaking to the loo.
I could hear her spurs were jingling as she went to take a poo.
In the saloon I heard some laughter, it was Milt just having fun.
At a table dealing stud, a gamblers game is never done.
At the other end of the street, there stood Tania with watchful eyes.
With a pistol on each hip, she was ready for any surprise.
Down by the livery stable was a Texas ranger by the name of Dave.
He was looking for our mayor, who he thought was digging a grave.
There was a rumor of riders coming, and the Creek might be in a bind.
He searched both high and low, but sir Tom he could not find.
Ten miles south of town, with graves dug all around.
Tom had stopped these riders and saved our hallowed ground.
Start Sleuthing Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Natasha L Scragg
8/21/22
As time ticks away into twilight dusk
Sun in fathomless waters will plummet
The Earth will then wear an assassin’s mask
This in endless succession shall repeat
The grass in silken meadows will wither
Trees clad in green livery will go bare
Youth into infirmity will slither
Body, through years of rugged use will wear
Every beauteous form will lose its charm
All to death’s stygian vault shall return
Until then, lead life without any sham
A good name is all you can strive to earn
You are a dumb player in life’s pantomime
Act your part well until you're merged in Time
(10 syllables each in every line with a total of 140 syllables)
Placed First in the Contest
Sonnet's Salutation Poetry Contest
Sponsor- William Kekaula
Thomas Hobson (1544 –1631)
in 19th century late
a Cambridge ostler and postal carrier
set his priorities straight
he owned a livery stable
of 40 Hackney horses or more
plus boots bridles and whips
and put the horse the cart before
after the animal left the barn
by bolting fast the door
and as precautionary balm
the nag nearest the stable gate
the worn-out equine storm to calm
was the firm rule he did make
this one or none in the stall
was that which customers had to take
or do with no ride at all
but for the paying equestrians
either way they win or lose
as there was no choice but accept or reject
for any of them to choose
Wistful is the heart, silent the walls
where the gambols of youth echoed.
A return tale’s sentimental journey
inside the gates of Sweet Briar Road
Long it behoves me my thanksgiving
to you, aunties Yvonne and Jocelyn T.
For all the love you showed withal
and for all the good you saw in me
Hearken the jumbie bird in the night,
the heat of day and smell of rain.
And QRC bell tower sombre tolled
the hills and valleys of Port of Spain
The crowd’s roar filled its cricket halls
on window row to a grandstand view.
And an open door its gates would be
to weary travellers passing through
By candlelight on evensong sabbath
I saw hands petitioned in God’s raise.
And among portrait, altar and chattel
an old ne-gro woman chanted in praise
Downstairs eating pepper mango,
salt prune and sweet preserved plum.
And upstairs the ghosts of the dead
a trickery of wind and light become
With long treetop fruit picker in hand
softly chorused the sound of Greyfriars.
When joyfully as I picked to my ear
sung the weekly Church Group Choir
Up creaky staircase bedroom chamber,
pantry annex and old livery quarters.
Home to where my grandfather lived
with his wife, eight sons and daughters
In Christian soldier evangelical prayer
waited I for sleep’s silent lull perchance.
O but late by BBC midnight wireless
did growl the dogs in lunar trance
I followed the trail back to its past -
a prodigal son on long returned stay.
When time and fate and the risen sun
dawned upon a much younger day
Written: January 1993