Long Midge Poems
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I cannot use my kitchen, I have too much fear.
What is going on? I asked my auntie dear.
There is a tiny pineapple monster in there under the frig.
She is nutty again, said my other auntie named Midge.
Let’s go in there together, I suggested. It will be okay.
I began to trot and she yelled out “No WAY!”
Midge rolled her eyes and her finger around her ear.
She is crazy she mouthed; I saw it from here.
I went in without her and got chased right back out.
By a tiny sword-carrying pineapple monster an ugly lout.
Come back if you want a stab in each eye! He said.
Embarrassed now, my doubting face was red.
When did your heart and soul soar,
And bring you happiness galore,
When did you see your way ahead clear,
Was it amazing and awesome,
So encompassing and wholesome,
What delighted you most,
Was it your help at the charity store,
Which satisfied you to your core,
Or was it that old man
You helped cross the road,
Or the little boy you helped
Find and catch his big toad,
Or maybe it was that freezing night,
That you brought warmth and light,
To the poor under the bridge,
When you got a mighty hug from Midge.
Or perhaps it was that
Heartwarming day,
On the 1st May,
When you gave chocolate eggs,
To all the children in need,
Wearing rags,
With no shoes on their feet.
Do you remember that multiple accident,
On the highway,
Where a number of people did pay,
With their life,
There was many a child,
Some a husband, others a wife,
Died at this horrific scene,
And you wept, for what you could not do.
All were good folk, and came to me.
This, I want you to know,
That from today,
I have saved you
A place dear Anne,
For I am a big fan,
Of people like you,
Of which sadly exist, so few,
For you will help everyone,
And risk your all for anyone.
Florid banshees recoiled, neck and hankering sneer.
A succinctly exuberant suggestion when selective.
Came on, fell flat with laconic ornamentation.
A miniature jaunt, interment; glove comparted.
Pin-striped foxtails attuned tune maddening clairvoyants.
Precisely predisposed, wine-flavored latten tobaccos.
A wooden-tipped juxtaposition, stilling waisted.
Bygone midge nonguarded, slunk olive drabbing on bayou.
Thicken handkerchief lightly dabbing brow.
Darkness entrapment, fiat practice gymnastics.
Money management, coinage magnet, honored in mathematics.
Backflipping,
Backtracking,
Backpacking.
Super-Soaker moisture, quickie; quickly, socks on prickly.
Sloped incline, inside Mount Saint Helens' Slip 'n Slide.
The sudden eighties music craze
had gone beyond the norm
the local supermarket
was swept along by the storm
as more and more of the shoppers
joined in with the revival
filling up on nostalgia
from t-shirts to CDs and vinyl
Reaping the customer whirlwind
for Boy George and Eurythmics tracks
some smart Alec from head office
said “This is no time to Relax!”
the mullet headed store manager
he looked a manic Midge Ure
a sarcastic lad on the tannoy
said “Sorry, but we’ve got no Cure”
Over at customer services
I said a mistake’s being made
“The seventies had John Lennon
Bob Marley, T. Rex, Slade!”
the guy claimed to be sympathetic
towards my point of view
then asked me to go on a website
and give him a Five Star review
A wise woman sat at the checkout
smiled to me as she said
“When this fad blows over
they’ll still want milk and bread”
so the moral to this story
is one of wisdom not sadness
that everyone’s entitled to
their little bit of Madness.
Written: December 10, 2023
__________________________________
Broken dreams scatter several shards of hope
Desperately discarded—suffered a horrible scope
As I recover from mind filth, dust draws on pieces
What was once whole and true has now ceases.
Reforming the elements—that form my mind
A whisper hive finds grace in the chaos behind
Broken glass reveals a tale of death born in flight
Cracked and remade—I find comfort in life's quiet.
Spirit split as I looked for the parts in this cut veneer
Amid the darkness—I struggle to perceive light here
Death may have altered the landscape I knew
But it can't ditch my brokenness-derived vigor, I drew.
I climb above with a love-infused midge
Every break teaches—every repair earns a bridge
Worth is how I pick shards at all costs, not the lost
Even if the road ahead may be rough and loft.
Each stride forward helps me grow and bloom
Evolving into something other than the gloom
Phoenix-like—I rise from the ruin and disarray
My spirit revitalized as I emerged from decay.
Not tied down by the heavy bands of the past.
I climb to the skies, as freedom dwells everlast.
Our Family
by Robert J (Bob) Moore ©2021
Our Christine was the youngest,
of our brood of four
and that’s when mam and dad said,
“don’t think we’ll have any more”
Three girls, and only one boy
and this last one squeals a lot
just wait until she grows up
think we’ll quit with what we’ve got
Midge is what I called her,
‘cause she was pretty small
Elaine I always called her bones
skinny, not very tall
The oldest girl was Marion
named after our mother
guess that I just called her Mal
and wished I had a brother
It never really mattered
our family was complete
we did the things a family does
and the living was pretty sweet
Then we came to Australia
and when I was 22
I finally had a brother
Bill joined our motley crew
Now times gone past so quickly
you wonder where years have gone
those of us left, live our life
and remember them, every one.
Barbie was the ultimate fashionista.
I received her when I was nine;
she had a shape; no ordinary baby doll.
No baby at all. It was embarrassing to dress her.
Or rather undress her.
Then we had Midge. A friend but not as pretty
Freckles toned her down a bit; she was ordinary
Whereas Barbie was always the epitome of glamour.
I have over ten thousand Pinterest Barbie pins.
None of them duplicates, so yes, she has remained
a fashionista for seventy years.
Ken came after Midge, maybe not in your world
but in mine. He came in a box, wearing a red and white striped
bathing outfit; he was the boy next door, obviously
in love with Barbie, not ordinary every day Midge.
I can remember the Barbie and Ken carrying cases.
Their cars, their houses, their spectacular outfits.
Most too costly for us.
We made their clothes.
Midge Sue could never please her mother
She was an outcast, not her brother
If she folded clothes, her mother would refold them
Laundry was never expected of brother, Jim
If Midge Sue cleaned the kitchen, it was not good enough
You are a female, her mother said, you need to get tough
No one was tougher than her mother
Who also favored Midge’s little stepbrother.
If Midge Sue prepared a meal, it was deemed “bad”.
Her mother’s negative opinions made her sad.
When she was eighteen, Midge Sue left home for good.
Found her tribe, who built her up, said that she could.
No one put her down, they built her up and loved her too.
She never returned home, our wise woman, Midge Sue.
"For those who love with heart and soul, there is no such thing as separation"
~By Rumi
Decked in floral wreaths and crown
as I lay in state among family and friends
with my spirit wading through strands forlorn
where lamps shone bright in celestial gleam
bordering a land of bliss out of mortal reach
where neither canker blights, nor flowers wilt
where sorrow never enters and all shall be blest
where each head like the sun aureoled
where God in all His glory doth reign
I saw through my slumber deep, as through a veil
my loved ones grieving great, my journey
unreturned to an untravelled land.
There was crying and whining, sighing and sobbing
in stirring memory of days in all goodness spent
and of bonds stretching beyond life's rim
which set me feel sick of where I was and where I wasn't
so fain to go, so fain to stay,
like a spinning midge,
my spirit veered high and low
between Heaven and Earth
between Mortality and Immortality.
a helium balloon buoyant in the air.
[First version of ‘My Victorian Astronomer’, which
Didn’t qualify for ‘Ghost’ contest.
Nonetheless, this remains totally true!
_____
Moonlight imparted a luminous glow
To the surface hugging mist
I cast my bait just to the left of the reeds
With a nonchalant flick of the wrist
A hundred yards on from the silhouette bridge
My brolly, my home for the night
My hurricane lamp bringing ’squito and midge
But gifting me such meagre light
I knew there’d be scurryings there in the dark
And that I’d see no-one till day
Yet there on that boarded off, long disused bridge
A man rendered monotone grey
A Victorian gent in a cape and top hat
His telescope angled to heaven
Back in the day not much odd in that
But it’s June, nineteen seventy seven
I’d only blinked and then he was there
Sky watching with me looking on
I felt quite a chill at that mid summer scare
But I blinked again and he was gone