Long Nine lives Poems
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Don't bother to warm up the church microphone
Because you already know the rhymes that
I 'am about to spit is hot
you can see the steam come off the microphone
every time I perform
Swisher house is a legacy that was left behind
I 'am not going to throw away the family dream
over religion
just so my family can be penny less and broke
I choose to keep
the family business and stay alive
I 'am living in a mens world I choose to survive
I 'am letting you know in person how I feel
Mr. Preacher Man and all your religious followers
I choose that path to survive
so tattoo righteous life can leave a man broke in the middle of your forehead
don't forget that am acting like a dog and grab the bone and guard what's mine
later on I be like a cat and take those nine lives back
that the devil try to steal away from me all my life
I choose to live not die
I 'am eating suckers for dinner
not wasting no time
I 'am taking what
my old man left behind in order for the family to survive
That old man did not raise no brainless punk or fool
I 'am taking the Swisher house, the business that's mine
Tell the preach and the righteous people
God didn't leave no book of names of who or how to survive in a men's world
So I 'am taking the business the Swisher House and living my life
rather you think its not good for my life or individual's health
By Shaniki Smith
Date; October 21, 2016
Just the other day
I met Robert Goulet
I was surprised a bit
The way his mustache twitched
A mind of its own
Like in the Twilight Zone
Jumping right off his face
His mustache ran away
Teeny boppers next door
Giggled out of control
As Roberts mustached jumped
Landing in someones lunch
That's when the Maítre d
Let out a girly scream
Quite an embarrassment
To all us burly men
Then throughout the day
The mustache of Robert Goulett
Made a name for itself
As it ventured about town
His mustache all could see
Has a tinder streak
Helping old ladies out
To get across the street
Why it even saved a cat
Giving all its nine lives back
Pulled it from a tree
That was burning excessively
At that same moment saved the town
Itself from burning down
But that story's much to long
To try to abound
The town was so impressed
They trimmed up the mustache
Of Robert Goulett
Then gave it a ticker tape parade
After that they named a street
Because of its heroic feat
If it had two hands to greet
Would have handed it the city's key
And if the mustache could talk at all
Would have given the greatest speech
If Roberts mustache had only known
It'd do this good out on its own
It would have left the upper lip
A long time ago
Poets were given nine lives a year ago
During the pandemic. Didn’t you know?
I used my first life in January, when I fell in the snow.
Lost until my soul had left. Oh, what woe!
Luckily, life number two took me through Valentine’s Day.
I had Zoom meetings to attend, and Google Meets along the way.
I got zapped by electricity, for my machines were ungrounded.
Life number two was gone; your disbeliefs unfounded.
Life Number three was happy and excited, cheerful and gray.
She kept me safe and enthusiastic every day.
We were besties for a month, maybe two.
But then I was run over by an elephant name of Blue.
I was determined to be careful with life number four.
I drove rather carefully from my home to the store.
I did not take any risks, I wore a mask on my face.
The fact that a wolf got me was a huge disgrace.
Life Number Five was overbearing and crude.
She told me what to do, commanded, and she was rude.
I did not mind losing her, the day she went away.
I have to admit, I was not one second gray.
Life Number Six came along on Memorial Day.
She decorated graves with me, and we made them all gay.
We danced and strutted until I accidentally fell into an open grave.
Life Number Six is gone now, but often her I still crave.
Life Number Seven came with warnings of danger of red.
I nicknamed him Samuel, but he asked me to rename him Fred.
I was getting scared now, because I am losing lives fast.
He told me not to worry, to stop dwelling on all my lives past.
I am proud of myself for I only have two lives left.
If I lost number seven, I would feel depressed and bereft.
I am choking on this sandwich loaded with Iowa Ham.
Oh, no, here is Life number Eight. Damn! Damn! Damn!
We fought a lot through all these years.
We often shared our troubling tears.
I'm just like you, so I've been told.
So stern and controlling, yet easy to hold.
We share a lot of things you see,
Me loving you and you loving me.
You always made people laugh and cry.
And this is because, I'll tell you why,
You joked all of the time, right place or wrong.
This is how you knew to be strong.
But your loving words would touch our hearts.
And even the good whiff of a fart.
This would just make your eyes fill,
Noone could tell that you were ill.
You were a fighter and a lover too.
Behind closed doors was where you were blue.
You stayed swinging for but too long,
We never really thought that you'd be gone.
"You have nine lives", is what people would say.
But really what helped, is that you would pray.
You suffered in pain in your body and mind,
But never had a problem with being so kind.
People may say you were hard to get along with,
But now I know it was just from being sick.
It took 29 years to the day to see this.
And I knew that this is what had to be fixed.
So we sat down and had a heart to heart.
Telling you how I felt from the start.
You told me how much you loved me and always did.
Even when I was bad as a kid.
We forgave each other and said what we felt.
Your hugs and your kisses just made me melt.
I'm sorry if I ever hurt you,
Just know that my words are all true.
I love you with all of my heart.
I knew I was your "Big Baby" from the start.
So it's time for you to go right now,
To say good-bye, I don't know how.
Form:
I struck out on my own around a year old
life was so full of fun, so many things with
which to play, a leaf scuttling by, a rustle
in the undergrowth. I was enthralled.
I stood on a road watching intently
a little mouse. A car shot past bowling
me over and slicing off half of my tail.
It stung like hell and dripped blood.
Finding a cool stream I placed my tail
within, oh the blessed relief I knew
I had been lucky, one life now done.
My next life also flashed by as
hunter became prey, I ran for
my life from a pack of hungry
wolves barely escaping their
razor sharp fangs and hot breath.
Fishing for salmon I ventured
in too deep and got swept away
tumbling through rapids, banging
into rocks lucky to be washed ashore.
Bedraggled I lie in the sun
I swallowed way more water
than I drink in two days.
Shivering as I dry off.
Maybe four is the charm
as now I am much wiser.
Oh no I followed my nose
to an enticing exciting smell.
It led me straight into a mire
churned up by rooting pigs
I was being sucked down
exhausted I finally lay still.
Well a miracle happened
the muddy slime released
its deathly grip and I was
able to slowly wriggle free.
What a state my fur was in
muddy slime all over me
only one thing to do and
that's take a hated bath.
As I rolled in the shallows
I felt a change in pressure
and ran for my life chased
by angry snapping jaws.
Piranhas I had disturbed
Nearly ripped to shreds
I slipped away to rest up.
Unfortunately as I drifted
off I started getting stung
I was under attack from
angry bees I was lying
right over their hive.
Fast as a streak I headed
yet again for the river
and dunked myself again
and again till they were gone.
Seven lives already used up
and I was still only three years.
A few years past uneventfully
I am getting the hang of things.
One dark stormy night
sheltering in a leafy tree.
It got hit by lightning
knocking me to the ground.
Fur still burning I looked
a real fright, a cartoon cat
with hair on end whilst all
I really wanted was a quiet life.
Well I have used up eight
of my nine. I now mainly
sleep my days away. The
urge of adventure quietly rests.
My day will come soon
now as age takes its toll.
I am stiff and nearly blind
so I lay down a final time.
Whether the Good Lord or Charles Darwin gave Adam his fruit
Regardless of ideology versus faith rules our common pursuit
We need to accept that life is dangerous and fraught with peril
Don’t jump the gun before facing the reaper or his rifle barrel
Instead it might help to live for today and embrace what goes on
Make hay when the sun shines before the finite moment is gone
Roses have thorns nettles may sting and snakes poison for real
Not unlike families who can spew toxins they are unable to conceal
Choose carefully with whom you share your knife to slice bread
Not rocket since that otherwise you might be prematurely dead
You can turn a worm ridden table as often as you consider fit
Oil cleans surfaces and place mats but inherent fissures can split
Share a jug of water with a hint of mint draped with olive branches
Without preconditions or anger when you apportion the tranches
If life only gives you lemons plant yet another citrus fruit tree
Sour seeds hold promise and possibilities not that easy to see
Felines are said to have nine lives but humans have no such luck
It is best to unwind and enjoy current presence before we get stuck
When you stride in your strife remember you might be an example
Children are attentive and they learn fast what might not be ample
But whatever you decide do not toss out the baby with the bath
Don’t put the cat in the microwave as it might explode on its path
25th February 2020
Fu#king hell, I can’t hear - these screaming shells, this banging everywhere!
Jesus Christ I can’t even see the enemy over there!
Lock and load, squeeze the trigger and go these streets of brick and rubble, no cover or safety anywhere!
I can’t see or hear or be a fighter in this hell, what the hell am I doing here?
The thunder bangs, machine gun rounds, smoke and screaming everywhere..
Trapped between these walls the Tiger Tank seals the exit hole, I’ve emptied my gun on steel - the gunner turns his sights on me. Have I used up all nine lives… I watch his barrel turn, this god damn broken ankle hurts…
Oh my Jesus Christ..
…this is the end of me!
Hate and distaste coming at you like shots to the head
Guess I'll take another drink before this shot hits my head
They say you only live once but I feel like I've used all my nine lives
Feeling less than fine most of the time
Trying to stay ahead really got me trailing behind
I keep shooting my shot but all I do is build another brick house that is a poor investment
The house has no walls so I use my own
They are tall enough so I never let anyone in
Not even for help
But, I constantly scream help unconsciously
At the same time I need my space so leave me be
Crowds are so draining
Just ahead I see my dreams but I can't move forward long enough to stop looking behind
I think they are shooting a movie and I don't want to get left behind
I know there is a halo waiting for me but sometimes I just want to steal it
I just remembered
I'm not ready to die
Please don't shoot
p.s. there is more to life than money, sex, and power...
She gasps in shallow puffs; eyes half – lit
Thick fur once ebon littering the floor
With a belly that dangled like a lump of yarn,
On a vicious night when stars grew still.
Candy used to greet me, wagging short tail
A ‘meow’ strengthening me through rough days
Pouncing on my lap, she always got her whims
Like extra tuna and balls to play hide-and –seek.
Slowly, a feline gait lost its usual prance
Went through her pain, as she did with mine.
Had a few mishaps before, yet Candy prevailed
A tough bobtail gifted with lucky streaks.
While she looked at me with a fading glimpse
My heart bore the holes, why now?
Aren’t cats supposed to have nine lives
When they told me, Candy had to rest.
As she whimpered her deepest last,
I couldn’t bear the cry, the whiplash.
Hugging the urn where she now lays,
The ninth was ours, in soul and remembrances.
Elegy Form Contest of Broken Wings
11/14/2013
nette onclaud
Need volunteers in the Army?
Here’s what they do
Just line up a squad and say
You, you, and you.
Nobody bothers to think
Or even to ask
Whether you have the knowledge
Or ability to carry out the task
Just assume you’ll find a way
To carry out just what they say.
Write a report for the Depot O.C.
Just the task they handed to me.
Sat in the pub annoyed, drinking
I used toilet paper without thinking.
And, to make matters even worse
Wrote in couplets of iambic verse.
Signed Number Rank name
And what’s more
Drunkenly pushed it
Underneath his door.
Forty eight long hours of abject fear
As Monday relentlessly drew near.
The summons came and to my surprise
He greeted me with smiling eyes.
Said he was amused at my cheek,
Get it typed up for later this week,
Every squaddie has nine lives
But you just need to think on
With this latest little jape
Eight of yours have just gone.
Very soon after came the day
Training finished and I was on my way.
A much remembered experience
Of what the army could do
With the imperious finger and
The mouthed you and you and you.
Whether by luck or by judgement
I was never again anywhere near
When they were out on the prowl
Looking to appoint a volunteer
Eventually came the day
I was in a position to choose
Rank giving me the privilege
To impose those volunteer blues.
I tried to use it wisely but admit
I knew just what to do
To take a stroppy joskin and
Bring him down a peg or two.