Long Neck of the woods Poems
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No matter unseasonably
blustery March like weather
prevails across my neck of the woods
(Southeastern Montgomery County, Pennsylvania)
and across the main body
of these United States of America
particularly original Thirteen Colonies
global warming alive and well
and promises to return
with a vengeance
after station identification.
Find out pertinent ice age accouterments;
gear up as soon as possible
with suitable and necessary arctic trappings
by accessing without delay
https://icetrek.com/equipment-guide.
Researchers used data on Earth's orbit
to find the historical warm
interglacial period that looks
most like the current one
and predicted that the next ice age
would usually begin within 1,500 years.
Now back to regularly scheduled program
donned and trumpeted as poetic blurb.
Incumbent onus warrants immediate action
to stem tide of global warming
or erect breakers to thwart dire crisis,
cuz figurative and literal tsunami
in the offing gathering strength.
Plethora of humans (think overpopulation)
directly linkedin to planet Earth dire strait
re: environmental catastrophe, née debacle
teeters along brink tipping point inevitably
pitching civilization headlong into oblivion
*****sapiens (minus those living off grid)
admirably self sufficient unto themselves,
perhaps ecological intentional community
while yours truly, one guilt ridden wordsmith
laments impacting minimal carbon footprint
(courtesy these thankful little feet size nine+)
nonetheless psychological torment wracks
lovely bones garden variety/generic human
specifically comprising complex edifice me
Matthew Scott Harris riven with loathsome
abomination, constipation, indignation, et al
mustered, tethered, yoked into capitalistic,
commercialistic, consumeristic ditto et alia
versus altruistic holistic, simplistic again re:
call synonymous words regarding contrast
between belching, exhausting, and polluting
(naming three adjectives describing impact
predominantly nsync with prophetic albeit,
profit oriented profligate, profane paradigm
unleashing immense global carbon emissions.
O-lden days were the best
L-iving in a shack
D-ad would come home and split wood
E-very day
N-ever missing a whack
D-airy treats came on the weekends
A-long the way to grandmas
Y-early camping was always fun. When we went with grandpa
W-e as kids would play all day,
E-verything from hide in seek to tag
R-unning around saying tag your it
E-ven Listening to our mothers nag
T-icks didnt exist in our neck of the woods or at least not like today
H-ay wed play in for hours
E-ven on them soggy days, when mother nature gave us showers
B-eing a kid was fun back then But
E-verything went by
S-o fast If only i could go back one more
T-ime id try to make it last!!!!!!
I'm not saying that it's in high demand with expressions of 'I can't wait'. Sometimes we overlook the things we really need until it's too late. It's not that I'm hearing massive cries for, 'Whatever happened to...? It's no secret that we take for granted things like the morning dew, and it's been said that we don't miss our water until the well runs dry.
Would someone please tell me whatever happened to 'Common Sense?
I don't know if she's been spotted in your neck of the woods, but I have
been in search of her for some time now, and I can't seem to find her anywhere. Is she taking a sabbatical, a leave of absence, or has she
simply up and quit?
Anyway, her extended absence is causing me to consider opening a new kind of factory. I don't claim to be a substitute for Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, but if common sense doesn't show her face expeditiously, I will be forced to launch a campaign for funds, grants, and loans to start producing Common Sense.
I'm not comfortable calling it a product, and I'm not interested in making a profit in as much as we all shall benefit and profit. I tell you, we need it like the water we drink. It appears that we have been 'dumbing down' for the longest time, and I'm afraid we will keep sinking deeper into the mud of mediocrity because we have forgotten how to think.
I must confess that I'm really not a builder or manufacturer. So I think I'll just pray for the return of Common Sense.
051120PSCtest, Willy Wonka Is Not Here So What Is My Factory Going To Make, Caren Krutsinger
I hear freedom, freedom every where.' Yet
On this today i must really think.' If freedom was
A Brlish pub ? In there could just anyone
Drink? And could discussion waft around?
On this isle not far from France.' A bastion
Where the free French sheltered safe, right here in ( this very neck of the woods ) yes it could happen, and legal cash, and epithets can do the rounds, its up to the people, of hardy stock.' Who only have to stand up on their ground.' They must face reality, and satans crew, with wit and humor, and honour too..' Face down the WEF, And satan himself..Its come to the pass now, so get off of the shelf, get over
The hurdle of ( pc ) crap, just wash it all away come to think of that.' Praise the God who brought you home, the heros of Dunkirk, who re-grouped and returned to
Finish the work, hitler did not like it.' But
Britian did, then
Prospered for a good seventy years no kid'
That was well worth the effort, (the blood
Sweat and tears') you know the history.' But do you know yourselves? Now is the
Hour, seize it and a great new chapter,
Can
Begin in that wealth, built in commitment by all
Who care, get active; get clued up let none
Be left spare.' Work in accord i whatever you can do, having one main target, the country that needs you;
to be only true.'
… well I had a hell of a ride
won’t go to heaven but paradise needs fire
goods innings they say
but I am more of a Rugby man
plenty of tackles tries and drop goals
I sought resolve in defeat
a few yellows but not once a red card
never understood why it is called sin bin
and wore my jersey with pride
now it’s the corpse dress
innocent and bloody
at the same time
never immaculate but
high quality fabric
some of my battles were silent
no major wars in my neck of the woods
a few forests burning and now I join the fertile soil
I was conceived into this life
as I want to leave it
with fun merriment and passion
no medals in my urn
a few achievements
five children to my name
a wonderful wife who shared my journey
the reaper is not as grim as could be
no pain a last breath exhaled
nothing more to say
than I love you
who is to know I might see you
at the other side of somewhere
I would not change a thing if I could
because you who mattered most
gave me the honour to be loved
my seeds are sown
the harvest in store
sandalwood torch handed over
the party may start
as soon as my ashes have flown
into the unknown certainty of infinite essence …
24th April 2021
Last July I was going west, looking for my pot of gold. I rode into a sleepy little town, Soup Creek was it's funny name. The dirt street was bare, it was a very hot July day.
I stopped in the saloon to wet my dry throat, when outside gun fire broke out. Sheriff Koplin said, a new hombre just rode into town. He is nothing but trouble, wish he would stay in his neck of the woods.
Mayor Tom said, I will settle this once and for all. As hombre computer drew to take a shot, Mayor Tom whipped out his two guns. You are going down, as the guns filled with ink were unloaded. (bang~bang) Mayor Tom said with a big smile on his face, ink will always win over you hombre computer.
Date Written: 12/21/2022
"Poem of the Day:12/23/2022"
And
1 Place
Who is your best PS poet or poetess Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
Note: The Soup Creek Story Lives On.
How 'Bout Stoichiometry For A Conversational Hook?
Nary a clue exists about
the relationship between
relative quantities of substances
taking part in a clean
(non GMO contaminated)
gluten free reaction,
or forming a mean
compound, typically a ratio
of whole integers umpteen
place holders long proudly,
(albeit microscopically)
swaggering analogous
to a prideful
home coming queen
walking with her beau
appearing much older looking
than a latte (drinking) teen,
the third word up above, (affright
full looking, isle
lid lashing sorely,
trying, torquing, and
testing vision, i.e. eye sight),
where with insight
red left to right
across conventionally,
sans persons write
ting, and/or read
ding English, who might
live within neck of the woods,
how zing this knight,
where the whirled wide webbing
haint so bright
this smart aleck (comprised
fancy title), excite
ting immediate uptight
reaction came to "light"
just in the nick of time
to spur a sprite
lee chary reader to take
pro nouns hubble flight
(at what the ĵ** -
in reference quite
understandably to multi
syllable chemical airtight
romance masquerade),
this barred bard did write
unfamiliar word, which undoubtedly
triggered consternation,
and fierce urge to bite
and/ or sentence this "FAKE" cur,
who whiz unable to height
ten interest toward me senseless
poetics with supreme delight.
Bouts of lightning flashes,swirls
And lightens up the pitch, black night
Of our neck of the woods
Tailgated by stealthy footsteps
Of growling, grunting, moaning and roaring thunder,
As in gnashing and grinding of canine
As rain, like beads of sweat, acne and goose pimples
Break out on my forehead and entire body,
Sprouting like yam tendrils from the earth;
meandering as water in rain gutter
From a million hair follicles,
Teasing my entire body
And finally docking by hook or crook
Like a boat at it's embedded tributary
Between my negritude toes
I google in consternation, bewilderment
At your obstinate attempt
As pestle on bits of grain in motar
To pound a defiant, renegade earth
Back against the wall in rope-a-dope
To submission and surrender
Powerful strokes of koboko whips
Descending from heaven
As plague upon pharaoh and his kinsmen,
Drumming endlessly on thatch roofs
And corrugated iron roofs alike
Concocting rhythms more intoxicating
And damning than heavy metal music
Images of African women
Resiliently scurrying, shuffling,
Between thatch huts and drooling rain;
Scuttling to retrieve rain water in pails
And ebony children
Drenched in rain like weather beaten bats
Savoring every drop from the whinning sky
Rain,
I yearn for your spirit
But dread your fiery, fury,
Flash and flood
Come rain, soak me in your mist;
Drape me in your dew and moisture
Rain,
Your ghost evokes succor and misery!
Lion 'bout grabbing tiger by tail
Holy mole lee
watch out fowl, balladeer
look out... i.e. donkey kong
primate doth share
footloose slothful writing,
essentially swiftly tailored hare
reed styled mountebank
gets made by mice elf,
an imperfect triangulated square,
while "fake" charioteer
looses neigh scent horsesense
glomming "fake" papier
mâché piñata across animal planet
rhyme without reason,
nonetheless who doth dare
dovish and/or hawkish
elk quint lee otter vamoose
double, triple, quadruple... dare
to caw meow ta
as silence rings loud and clear
ja hiss don't miss snake
pig in a poke hogtied
sow owl only tell ya beware
me dogged holy cow
cuckoo bird harebrained
effort won't impair
corpus collosum, where
seat of thinker housed
fortunately ye ant near
my neck of the woods here
Schwenksville cuz after
innocuous, impetuous, illustrious...
brainstorming deluge... glare
til hearts content
with nostrils that flare
lemming just be reel
regarding rocky mission
opossum bull, I swear
dogged bonafide effort
thanks ocelot to bear
with beetle browed toadying
off fish hill who accidently
didst entrap and snare
courtesy hook line and sinker
masterly baited metaphorical
Earthworm dangling cyber air
coon sitter me batty
Ass sin nine, I admittedly duck lear,
but don't badger me, Noah
ark confess with prayer
yak see no porpoise here.
Hello. My name is Spring and I make an appearance every year.
People have often made comments of me like, 'Spring is in the air'.
For Daylight Saving Time, many will say 'Fall back and Spring forward'.
Well, they can say that, but sometimes I am early and other times late.
Sometimes, Old Man Winter hangs around too long, taking up my 'air space'.
And sometimes, I can't wait to 'Spring forward', attempting to push him aside.
That's right my friend, there is more going on up there than meets the eye.
And when cold clashes with heat, especially in my season, there's always
trouble in the sky. And usually, when there's trouble in the sky, it's not long before there's trouble on the ground. I might show up before I am officially
due or I may come after I'm due. It's another way of saying that I might be in the air but not on the ground in your neck of the woods. I may be in the air, but you do not see, hear, or even feel me. You take this winter of 2019 for example. I don't rightly know what's going on out here, and I don't know how long Mr. Winter is going to last, but things are definitely much different.
Anyway, I want to say that each of us seasons has to show up and do our job, and I'm hoping that, as you might be also, Mr. Winter does not overstay or infringe upon my responsibilities. I have to show up on time to restore life, create beauty, and get things growing again. I can't do that if Mr. Winter wears out his welcome, and it is absolutely unthinkable to try pushing him around because he's much stronger than I. So whereas I might be in the air, I might also be there cold and covered in snow, just waiting my turn.
03052019PoSoupContest, Spring Is In The Air, Emile Pinet