Long Nowadays Poems
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Old Zack Adams sits a slouch’n so sloppy drunk on a bar-room stool,
Wear’n his cheap-threaded cowboy suit and a stained satin shirt.
All the while a peek’n and a leer’n at women like an old poor fool,
But think’n man tonight—Oh Boy, I’m really gonna hit the pay dirt!
Old Zack in this small Texas town is reputed to be quite a lecherous hoot,
As he raucously and recklessly rolls old worn quarters into the slot
Of the old bar-room Wurlitzer while snicker’n and smil’n to boot,
And plays his tearful and twangy jerk-water music while smil’n a lot!
Old Zack is this town’s “Jukebox Gigolo,” a real lover boy—Oh Boy!
He wears his patched cowboy hat and his scuffed silver-studded boots,
Meant to impress young girls and bar-fly floozies who have the Joy!
Of being with this bewildering, withered, weathered man and his boots.
Old Zack has a fad’n recollection of events and a silver mane of hair,
With a cigarette in his hand and cuss’n like a nasty little stable boy,
He downs whiskey shots and tequila seconds like no tomorrow on a dare,
While chas’n whiskey glass ice cubes and the tequila worm—being so coy.
Old Zack while a swigg’n down his whiskey mucho fast and direct,
He has now that blind courage to fight or to love—whichever is first,
While the old Wurlitzer resonates a rueful hick song for a teary effect,
But Old Zack can’t move now for this song has him sobb’n the very worst.
Old Zack with his nicotine-whiskey breath and his pockmarked face,
Personifies the image of an ideal loser of a man—with problems all,
While fight’n, scream’n, and punch’n others to gain some precious space,
He’s a showcas’n his reservoir of manly prowess—with problems all.
Old Zack was young once and not so wild, withered, weathered like now,
And he thought he was a really smart dude—all right moves and all,
But was really a man act’n far above his funny fake smart brow,
And now a cry’n on his bar-room stool and act’n like a fool before a fall.
Old Zack Adams—alcoholic as he truly is and sly and slick as a Texas fox,
Is not really so good with his women friends nowadays—for his real talent
Is in roll’n those old worn quarters pieces one-by-one into the old Jukebox,
Sing’n—“I’m the Jukebox Gigolo”—“a Drunk and a Delight,” that’s real talent!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (October 7, 2014)
(Rhymed Quatrain)
"All animals are equal. But some animals are more equal than others."
—George Orwell
A dozen of chickens and a number of horses, a cat and a raven, a few cows and other hoofed ones—all of which are perfectly silent. Poor wolfie. He can't even find a voice to growl. "Your Honor, if I may request for a short recess," I whisper, humiliatingly like a dying dragon. But my timid voice is drowned by a sly-looking pig's pouring of whisky into Dis Honor's gilded cup.
"Have you no respect or have you no eyes?" Squealing, he deafeningly squeals. He reminds me of that scaled wyvern whose head now sits in my living room. It roared deafeningly loud but breathed no fire. "His Honor is having his brief period of refreshment at the moment!"
With eyes too dry to cry and throat too hoarse to howl, the defendant meekly weeps. But only I hear it; the jury listens to only the silence, loud as a baby serpent's inaudible hiss, of two semi-digested pigs in his gut.
Who on earth build houses with flimsy hays or sticks nowadays anyway? And was it my client's fault that the third genius Doctor Porkchop got killed when some stray earthquake crushed his oh-so-unshakable fort built brick by bloody brick? Just whose brilliant proposal is it again to have Napoleon presiding the trial of the so-called Big Bad Wolf? If only he was a dragon—a pig-dragon at least— I would fain put the beauty that is my sword into good use right now.
Countless charges of premeditated murder, culpable animalicide, et cetera. Of course, do sentence us all to another life. I turn to look at the audience right behind me: a mare, a goat, a donkey. A soft motherly neigh followed by an intelligent baa, then by an astute silence.
"Please, Your Honor," Ridiculous. This stupid courtesy reminds me of tiptoeing past a mother Couatl guarding her eggs. "Shall we resume—"
Slams of gavel.
"Objection! Objection! Objection!" Dis Honor oinks vehemently, his mouth reeking of poorly brewed whisky—and I thought Tiamat's droppings were bad. The way he repeats the slamming of his gavel with every disgustingly pronounced objection gives me a headache as if it was my head he keeps hammering on. For the first time, being hit by the Basilisk's tail doesn't sound so bad at all. "Here you call me 'Your Honor Napoleon' in full," Oh, believe me, the honor is fully mine.
First of all I wish to share my personal experience about my career.
Actually I am working as an educator. After my training, I found a job in one of the reputed colleges. I started working in this industry because one of my aunts worked in this industry. In her point of view, this is a very good field for youngsters to do interesting and satisfying work. Sharing what we know to others is one of the satisfying and godly things we can do to our society. This is why I chose to apply for this.
Now let’s come to the topic. As we all know, 20-30 years ago, Education was based only on teachers, libraries and books. People used to sit for hours in the library looking for the books related to their assignment works or research paper. But nowadays, everything and everyone is connected through Internet. Now we can complete the same work within a minute by surfing through the websites.
One of the great writers, ‘Ernest Agyemang Yeboah’ said - “What shapes the best in us dies when the best education dies! The best in us shall always be undermined when those that are responsible for shaping the best in us are always undermined!”
Whatever may be the skills, surely those skills will help the child later in it’s life to achieve something great.
Here we list some of the important skills which every child needs to incorporate.
Build concentration and self-discipline
Keeping yourself focused on one thing is really important, especially for students. Children grow according to some common schedules, habits, and routines only when their parents teach them. This will also help them learn control and focus on one particular thing.
Communication
It is important to develop interaction and communication between the children in everyday life and exchange ideas to develop their healthy, social and emotional skills. They should understand what to communicate and share with others. Sometimes they will need their parent’s help regarding how to share it most effectively.
Include reading habits
As we all know, reading is the best way to connect with yourself and with the world out there. As they improve their reading habit, they will be aware of words, particular situations, emotions or stories.
d respond to them, and help to solve their questions or confusions.
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Love Aligns
Of names given at birth, one blooms special.
Mary seems to me a popular name.
Common folks and royalty likewise called.
But no two named Mary are quite the same.
A young girl named Mary lived righteously.
By God she was favored, is history.
She willingly bore God's begotten son.
Obscure to man…virgin birth mystery.
Infant queen, Mary of Scotland, betrothed,
Had escaped Henry the Viii rough wooing.
Life's whirlwinds, deaths and romance havocked her life.
Politics sent beheading ensuing.
Mary Read of Devon County, England
Surrounded by death, raised as a boy.
Captured by pirates of the Caribbean Sea,
Became a pirate herself, lived wild joy.
Mother and Daughter, writers named Mary,
Mary Wollstonecraft, swayed by T. Paine, wrote
"A Vindication of the Rights of Woman," (1792)
The thoughts of a mother, by death made remote.
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, sweet sixteen,
Strong spirited, influenced by her mom
Left home to be Percy's mistress…outcast.
Sorrows in life are Frankenstein's where-from.
Mary Anning, a woman paleontologist,
Prepared fossils from Jurassic era beds.
Well-known by geologists, financially poor,
Put new ideas in scientific thinkers heads.
Famous women named Mary nowadays abound.
From Mary Anne on Gilligan's Island
To Mary Poppins flying through the air.
Each Mary, in her own way has some life brightened.
All of the women I have presented herein.
Have one thing in common: strength and chagrin.
But, there is not one Mary I read about or met.
Whose loves like my grandmother's was fashioned.
She, was a woman of strength, strong will, and *****.
But, tenderly, she comforted many a tear.
Teaching young children from her sewing machine,
She consistently worked to keep family near.
She offered fresh fruit from the family tree.
I know her sweetness from Heaven shines.
Without her love, I wonder where I would be.
When I hear the name Mary, love aligns.
© July 17, 2010
REFERENCES:
1. Mary Queen of Scots: http://www.rampantscotland.com/famous/blfammqos.htm
2. Famous Pirate: Mary Read: http://www.thewayofthepirates.com/famous-pirates/mary-read.php
3. Mary Wollstonecraft & Mary Shelley: http://classiclit.about.com/od/wollstonecraftmary/a/
aa_famousmother.htm
4. Mary Anning: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Anning
There are TWO PARTS to this. The first one is here- https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_pen_lives_on_part_1_876104 . Please read both. Thanks!
It’s fun to stop breathing.
I hope it’ll happen.
If I could only gather enough courage
to slash my wrists and dreams
in a bloody mess,
nobody would miss me or my writing
for too long. Never mind.
They’d find me, and keep me rooted to soil,
to the impostor that is love
and the world that spits in my face.
There’s only one way to die.
One way that would justify death,
not exhaust-breathing, nor jumping, nor cutting.
I wonder if I could just get a gun
and play Russian roulette with myself,
spinning the barrel over and over again,
shooting, shooting, shooting, never sure
when Death will come and take me away.
The rumors say he’s a hard, cold man
But I believe him soft and kind.
Love is a bastard.
As is friendship.
All either of them do is coax you into something,
learn all of your secrets,
and then dunk you into the mud, kick you around,
and leave you, their wicked faces smiling.
Which is why I never trusted them.
I never knew why every foolish person,
sails and oars cast overboard,
went such long distances for them.
Some books I’ve never read and never will.
Long, boring, winding stories,
all based on the same Shakespearean play.
I never understood why everything
cascaded down as it did. Romantics,
I now know, and money.
Money, the green thief of society!
How every man adores and dotes on thee!
How every man creates their shrine on the world
Built and destroyed by thee!
Leaving lets you avoid emotion.
I lie in bed alone and dream
of jumping on the first train to Russia
– because nobody wants to be in Russia nowadays –,
of waiting for the world to crash down behind me
as I plaster a two-fingered L to my forehead
and stick my tongue out at everything dying,
including myself, sooner or later.
I live only for one thing.
I live only to write.
The lessons I’ve learned in life:
She married him for his money.
Everything’s perfectly fine with me.
Masks cover feelings.
Not all was meant to be.
My parents think they love.
It’s fun to stop breathing.
There’s only one way to die.
Love is a bastard.
Some books I’ve never read and never will.
Leaving lets you avoid emotion.
I live only to write.
The pen lives on.
(2-14-17)
I have seen the formation
Of ancient lands
I have seen the creation
Of ancient hands
Pyramids
That soar to the sky
Here amid
Temples majestic and high
I have seen
Wonderful things
Tombs and scenes
Of ancient kings
I have seen huge blocks of stone
Cut by hand of flesh and bone
Fit in place for reasons known
To the architect alone
Each stone block from the quarry
Has a structure to help build
Each chisel cut tells a story
Of a mason’s guild
I have seen towering obelisks
With finely chiseled hieroglyphics
And ancient golden relics
Like toys in the attic
I have seen ancient mummies
The walking living dead
Take care or you’ll become these
Walking around instead
Dinner I have eaten
With pharaohs and kings by many names
And I have beaten
Them at their many games
I have sat on the temple steps
In the shadow of a large mastaba
I chatted with the great Amenhotep
And the gods Isis, Anubis, Thoth and Ra
They told me I could become a god
If I live and died in the manner of a king
I thought that was a little bit odd
For I came here wanting nothing
Tomorrow we go off to fight
The empire of Kadesh
If you come, you will see some sights
That you will never forget
I saw the battle of Kadesh
Now written about on the temple walls
I saw the battle in the flesh
Now celebrated in the temple halls
I watched the battle and from what I saw
Neither side won the war
From my standpoint the battle was a draw
But the Pharaoh will celebrate a win evermore
Pharaoh Ramses lived to the ripe old age of around ninety two
He outlived a lot of his hundred children and many wives
He’s remembered as Pharaoh Ramses the Great who
Built many monuments and revitalized the Egyptian’s lives
When they found Pharaoh Ramses the Great’s body
They found no silver or gold
Only the great king’s mummy
Thousands of years old
The archeologists all made a great noise
Where was all the silver and gold?
Where was all the old man’s toys?
That the grave robbers stole and sold
A lot of his stuff is still out there
In Egyptian antique stores
And Egyptian homes and country fairs
To get something you could spend a lot for sure
Nowadays Ramses is lying in state in the Cairo Museum
And men and women and girls and boys
All flock to the museum to see him
And Tutankhamen’s wonderful toys
Every light in me is slowly dying.
I still appreciate warm lights and cobblestone streets, and would love to wander once more in the streets of Porto. There is still a cozy warmth to be felt from the sun on my skin on a cold day. I can still sometimes feel shivers from listening to music. But all joy has become dulled against relentless waves of stress and fear, like rocks rounded by the sea.
There was so much in me that was wonderful. Such a bright light, an easy laughter, a seemingly endless capacity for joy and love. So much interest in life, in the mysteries of the world, in weaving my own story. It would be so sad to think that it is now mostly gone. But I can’t even feel sadness in the same way I once did. Even that has dulled.
I remember how happiness would come as easily as a gentle breeze on a summer day. I remember the quiet joy in cloud gazing, or feeling grass underfoot. I vaguely recall the wondrous lust I had for life and adventure. I don’t think I can remember the exact feeling of happiness as much as its concept, the general notion that it was good. Happiness nowadays is little more than short breaks from the constant torment of waking life, brief silences in a world of excruciating noise.
It’s really all about money in the end. If I could have afforded to take a break, maybe I would’ve felt better. Maybe this could have been stopped; I could have kept myself away from some point of no return that by now has long passed. But my life is conditional on my immediate productivity, and I’ve gone too far, burnt out too much. All the light I once held in me had a price, after all, and all that is wonderful was allowed to die in exchange for the permission to exist.
I feel that I have failed that young boy I once was, so full of life, so eager to experience everything. I have grown tired, and with exhaustion came bitterness, and little by little I wasted away everything good I have ever had. I am now left little more than a pool of wasted potential, a shell empty of everything but dull anger and sadness, where once inhabited an incredible brightness.
As the last lights begin to fade, so does the fear of death, and the end starts to become alluring. Not in the dramatic and tempestuous way I imagined it happened, but in the quiet, misunderstood, gradual resigning of hope. The dying lights.
White Christmas is not what many people think it is
As we know Christmas is a lively annual festival
Celebrated seven days before the end of the year
Of the Nativity of Jesus. Christmas is a joyful, colorful
And wonderful feast, where stars glow and glisten.
People who live not too far from the cold North Pole
Always dream of a snowy or white Christmas
Where Mother Nature is frosted and crystallized
And the streets are paved with black or clear ice.
Christmas is celebrated by billions across the universe
It is a major festival of hope, happiness and lights
Northerners often dream of a very cold or snowy Christmas
Which brings powerful nostalgic feelings of yesteryear
When children used to listen.
Nowadays, Christmas is multicultural and highly colorful
Bing Crosby wrote of a ‘White Christmas’ for everybody
Living in the world, where imagination brings Hope, Noël,
Yule and Joy, regardless of the religion, creed, gender or race.
Copyright © December, 2023, Hébert Logerie, all rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Blanca Navidad No Lo Es
Blanca Navidad no es lo que mucha gente piensa que es
Como sabemos, la Navidad es una animada fiesta anual
Que muchos festejan siete días antes de fin del año
La Natividad de Jesús. La Navidad es una fiesta
Que es alegre, colorida y maravillosa, donde las estrellas brillan.
Personas que viven no muy lejos del frío Polo Norte
Sueñan siempre de una Blanca o Nevada Navidad
Donde la madre naturaleza está congelada y cristalizada
Y las calles pavimentadas con hielo transparente o ngro.
Millones de personas en todo el universo celebran la Navidad
Que es una gran fiesta de esperanza, de felicidad y de luces
Los norteños suelen soñar con una Navidad muy fría
Lo que trae poderosos sentimientos nostálgicos de antaño
Cuando los niños solían escuchar.
Hoy en día, la Navidad es multicultural y llena de color
Bing Crosby escribió de una "Blanca Navidad" para todos
Que viven en un mundo donde la imaginación trae esperanza
Festividad y alegría, sin importar la religión, credo, género o raza.
PD Traducción de ‘White Christmas Is Not’ por Hébert Logerie
Copyright © diciembre de 2023, Hébert Logerie, todos los derechos reservados.
Hébert Logerie es autor de varias colecciones de poemas.
The tears line down my face
While looking for human life I find not a trace
The creepy howls of wolves in the distance
Never have I been in something like this instance
The world got overrun by fools
With unimaginative different tools
They destroyed life's story
Before God's glory
And made us slaves of them all
While distant eyes dance along redwood trees so tall
What do we do when the world is lost?
How will we fix this expensive cost?
Who do we turn to when all faith fails?
Where do we go now when all else prevails?
Smiles of children slowly fade
We left our sweet world --- hardly anyone stayed
Secured insecurities killed us to death
Because world's support just suddenly left
Apolocaylpse comes when you least expect it
And comfort-zones uninvited begin to shift
They wiped out our world like a dead bug on the glass
As if everyone just suddenly lost their unique class
No more churches or temples, religion or law
Still no one more powerful than God --- so it's a draw
Now we work hard to restore our genuine Earth
And still celebrate The Christ Jesus' birth
Nothing will stop this sweet world from growing
No one will stop us from constantly knowing
Nothing will take from us what we earned
Nothing can wipe out what we've already learned
See faith is a strong weapon, the strongest of them all
Even when all else begins to just fall
You have to have it regardless of what you do
But nowadays, there seems very few
Study your religion and growth to the max
And analyze closely at your wonderful facts
Because life is not lost unless you take it yourself
Never be scared of any faith you have --- don't hide it on a shelf
There is more support here then you'd ever know
Listen and watch as our young generations begin to grow
So please take my advice for my advice is true
And stop everyday, kneel, and say to Him, "thank you"
Thank Him for giving you life
Thank Him for saving you from world's little strife
Thank Him for walking beside you everyday
Thank Him for everything in any possible way
Thank Him for dying on that cross
Thank Him for creating Earth --- the trees, oceans, wildlife --- even moss
And you will find yourself in front of a gold gate
Because throughout your life you stuck to your faith
Dedicated to: Anyone who has a Religion
Can anybody tell me how they get over that synonym,
Missing.
I am unable to regulate my soul,
It doomed my thoughts, defeated
my entity, dictated the pleasure's
off me, to feel the Moment.
Missing, is my unique enemy,
has haunted me since my
children left our home,
dominated my shadow,
conditioned my brain,
provoked my tears,
drowned my vitality,
created my vindictiveness,
refusing to be optimistic,
allowing it to torment my
darkness, dictated my pain,
captivated by this unique
synonym, I sense it's tantrum
everywhere, how can I omit it?
anyone can help me? it was always
there, but I was not helpless,
I am today. Now
I was born with a heart, I cannot find it,
I am a bought slave with my own purchases,
how weak have I gone down the ladder lately,
how desperate have I allowed to be taken
for granted by the word Missing, why?
is aging doing all that? have I become
so wounded by giving up my strength.
When I was younger, I had ways to accept,
to understand, to not allow it to take over
my few remaining years, I was healthy,
strong, had aims, was in love, made love,
I used to go out, now left alone.
Deserted.
I used to visit my children, I felt alive,
healthy, even old it did not affect me
the way it does those days, loosing hope
of wanting to survive, it engulfs all my
existence, become so much stronger than
I am.
Missing, I am its slave, worst, intentionally,
allowing it to stab me, it blocks all my doors,
it imprisons me. I am in prison. Now.
Can someone come and get me?
I am not drinking, cooking, put make up,
dress or go out, paralyzed, under its feet,
no life, I beg like a beggar, I get no answer,
it destroyed my brain, my thoughts, my surreal,
destroyed all my tissues,
negative thoughts are born nowadays,
weakened my system, my strength
is drained.
I am a mother, Oh universe, it leaves me
breathless, weak, make me strong, I am hungry,
feed me, I am judgmental, forgive me, no patience,
angry, I am destroying myself, carry me to the ocean,
drown me intentionally before I become selfish,
I stopped being there for my children, I am helpless,
I need help.
It destroyed who I was, made me despise who I am,
Now.
Therese Bacha
31/5/2013