Long Out front Poems
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I open the oven door
to a blast of heat
and hot bread bulging
out of a high tin, brown, crusty
and ready to be taken out.
That smell wafts across
seventy years to when I can
remember bread being delivered
in a horse and cart.
Carrying a big
wicker basket full of hot bread,
the baker would run
house to house whilst his horse
ambled along at a pace
in perfect sync with the bakers
progress along the street.
Weekday mornings
I would wait out front
and rush the hot bread
inside for my mother to make me
sandwiches for lunch.
Mum always complained
that the bread was too hot
for cutting. I had a steaming
slice smothered in butter
before I left for school.
Big, thick, uneven slices
of bread holding metwurst
or cheese or peanut butter
greeted me when I opened
my lunchbox at school.
Bread was never better.
Nearing eighty, I keep
baking bread, writing poems,
as if trying to recapture
those pleasures still steaming
in the past before they go.
Hallu Ya - praise the Lord
Hallu El - praise God
Our fingertips specially made for painting the world
Hues of heat generated with our singular prints
Hallu Ya, Hallu El
Hallu Hu - praise Him
Hallelujah - praise the Lord
His hands greater than ours painted the trees
Hallu Hu
We can collaborate with the colors he’s made
Hallelujah
There’s a parade.
Hip hip hooray.
God-gifted singers out front.
Hallu Ya, Hallu El
Trumpet, harp, lyre, strings
Hallu Hu
tambourine, flute, cymbals
Hallelujah
Dancers raising hands
Hallelujah
Spinning round and round
Let everything with breath praise the Lord
Praise the Lord
9/10/2020
Inspired by Psalm 150
Between the blue sprawl of day
And the expired light of night,
A seductive winding-down
by a sky no longer drawn tight.
Clouds wisp across a molten orb
Like fingers over an amber eye,
Steal sapphire from the sea,
Leave a long spill of golden dye.
The beach sips lapping water
Lacquered in gray and white,
Shows a slick of sand glowing,
paved with dusk’s lamplight.
Sun-shrilled colors muted
by the moon’s proximity,
Voices join a murmuring tide,
Floating snippets of clarity.
At water’s edge, two people
Gazing out, front-lit, backs black,
Moving to a spacious rhythm
hidden in the waning sun’s slack.
Scattered notes drift unhurried
from a guitar strummed unseen.
Or is it music only I hear?
Ah, yes, so it would seem.
For decades, motor cars
have driven past in haste,
eyes not straying far
from the highway to where,
set back and obscured
by scrub,
an abandoned farm
is slowly succumbing to rot.
I catch a glimpse
of an old cart out front
and stop.
Nothing moves or makes a sound
as I approach on foot.
It's as if the spirits
of the place have paused
and have taken refuge in the quiet,
my trespass an interruption
to their daily haunt.
There is a farmhouse
and a number of sheds all
in a dilapidated state.
Rotted weatherboards
still hang onto
the farmhouse frame,
though a few have fallen off
where rusted nails
have given up their grip.
Corrugated iron sheets
replace window glass sealing in
secrets that have slept
in darkened rooms
for what now must be more
than fifty years.
I lift a corner and peer in.
Empty except for rubble
strewn floors
and sagging webs
as if still weighted
with captured dreams.
Whoever lived here must have
taken some pride in what they
carved out of the bush,
their labor fuelled by hope.
A family with kids perhaps.
There is a rope tied
to an old car tyre still strung
beneath a red gum
that would have served
as a swing. The remains
of a dolls pram
and a broken cricket bat
continue their decomposition
in one of sheds.
Their lives now have dissolved
into anonymity. In the privacy
of my own quiet, I call out
as would a visitor might have done
to announce their presence
at the farmhouse door.
No answer. I leave,
slowly dissolving
into my own anonymity.
Muniz motoring down the track
object of affection, heating up
performance wheels. Not
predicated on subjective analysis,
but merely his speed and placement
in the race. No acting required,
just talent, practice, showing up.
Will he be a superhero one day,
admired by all ages? For now,
his stage is kicking up dirt, and
oh yes, he has an audience.
Will he be Malcolm in the Middle
or way way out front. What’s the tell?
Soon he’ll be on the leaderboard
with his full time occupation.
He is over the top excited
to be putting foot to the pedal
in the Nascar Craftsman
Truck Series, seriously!
We will have to
keep an eye
on this young man.
The Goblin takes his place TQ at the start of the race
Five more goody two shoes line up through sixth place
Pumpkin bombs locked at the ready
To turn these five fools into confetti
The tone in five, four, three, two, one,
Gang green trees it at the start gun
A red rocket behind him named Spidey puts four to the floor
Followed by some Iron guy who takes a Hulk to the back door
Something Strange lined up at five on the grid
Is number 6 a raccoon or a very hairy kid?
Ten laps in the Goblin out front who would have thought
The Hulk smashed to number two, a pumpkin all that he got
The Goblins on rails with his slick ride
Did he coat his tires with Astroglide?
The rest of the pack fit to be tied, but they couldn't find a pass against the other green ride
For the Hulk drives like a giant in a car that might as well be eight bare feet wide
The leader cackles, giving his steering a quick flip
"Checkers or Wreckers suckers" and landing a sick whip
Strange tried some overtly magical quip
No match though for the Goblins fast ship
One lap is left the white flag is shown
The hairy kids missile now known
The final corner the Goblin smells blood in the water
Rocket with the inside pass, Goblins efforts just fodder
Marvel or DC Superhero or Supervillian Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
2-26-2024
Nerves hang out at the idle pump
Gas don't pump itself thinks Mr. Rich
While Bubba plants himself out front
Like an un-watered flower in the sun
Picks his nose and spits tobacco
Scratches private parts at no extra charge
Snorts, “Talk is cheap.” “What-l-it-be boy.”
The idle rich don't speak hillbilly
The sun-glassed man points at premium
A finger is a dialect Neanderthals understand
Red necks preferred language over clicks and grunts
That comes with understanding inbred afflictions
Eloquently executed elocution with a simple digit
To replace the usual marbles in the mouth chatter
Chewed up words spit out as garbled
Not fit for consumption under a hot Texas sun
Who said anything about manners?
Mr. Sun-glasses just wants some GD gas
Not reptilian conversation
When you don't know English you pump
Petroleum comes from fossilized plants
Formed over billions of years
Why must we wait for man to arrive
Over eons for creation to take place
For the simple evolution of a smile
It's not like there is a line stretched for miles
To buy some petroleum products
From a creature covered in grease
Standing there with hose in hand
Wondering with his best laid plans
How to spell gas and make change
And how to propose to his cousin
It's happened every day all around the world
Perhaps even longer than eternity
It's taken different forms throughout the years
But hasn't really changed with certainty
Women love men and men lust for women
The same for thousands of years
You could say I'm out front at the vanguard
Leading the way for my peers
Love doesn't hurt, it actually feels good
If the two of you are doing it right
It's the technique, it should come quite natural
But I'm here if you need some advice
You could say I'm a real professional at this
Been loving nearly eighty years
Surely some good stuff's rubbed off by now
My techniques are known to my peers
My rates are reasonable for obvious reasons
Coz I get to pretest young fillies
To make sure they understands my instructions
It's not about sex, DON'T BE SILLY!
© Jack Ellison 2014
Xxvi+ marriage anniversary (mine)
recalls first disastrous
date with future missus
approximately waltzing
matt tilde two dozen
plus years ago
Tex Mex Connection
201 E Walnut Street
North Wales, Pennsylvania, 19454
every entree included beans
maybe refried or otherwise
effectively laid siege
mine delicate constitution
quickly felt bloated
ready to explode
ala Hindenburg Airship
rushed out restaurant
like bat out of hell
twofold purpose accomplished
desperately needed
to eliminate gaseous buildup
airing banal courtesy
yours truly as kapellmeister
aired rendition, viz Die Fledermaus
for sphincter muscle
hence, faster than Usain Bolt
dashed out front door
plus needed to tap MAC
inadequate wallet stash cash
thus, aye hightailed to nearest ATM,
or rather courtesy rectal explosion
blasted lovely gaseous body
analogously, effectively, gravity free
whizzing, whirring, whining balloon
a bit far afield
incidental bank woe
gastrointestinal directive resolved
forced effort taxed derriere
all told alight propulsion
natural gas fueled
lovely bones within flash
far surpassing long held
Guinness Book world's record
Jackass the ripper former
flatulence champion claimed,
nonetheless I safely landed far
from madding crowd
analogous pulling pin
out hand grenade
gluteus maximus burnt to crisp
necessitated immediate diversion
local drug store
purchased preparation H
discreetly patted, palmed, pacified
scorched cheeky bum
suffered first-degree burns
hemorrhoid cream balm
alleviated buttuck blasts fallout
quickly reunited with my gal
slightly concerned about whereabouts
related personal anecdote
tuckus thru remains of
otherwise humdrum hours
concluding asinine antics,
where approximately
half past monkey's ass
driving lass back home
found me exerting effort suppressing
recurring rumblies in domain tumbly.
Posterior script:
the above account
unsolicited plug for satisfied patron
asper jumpstarting behind the times
car rear ring buttuck blaster beastie boy.
The first time
Goodness?
or not
the first time I saw a man’s parts
I was five…….
Such confusion, such disbelief
hide and seek we played and in a a box he hid.
Sears had delivered a new frig
his sons and I “ally alley out free……..”
we called and ran from room to room
in giggling search for each other.
Closet ……….no..
Behind the kitchen door ……no
Upstairs we ran His son and I to the kids bedroom.
Under the bed….nope!
Downstairs we ran and out the door,
the boy went left I went right.
The backyard with all the sheds and trees and….
a huge cardboard box……….
His eldest son squealed from the front yard…
baby boy was no where out front!!!
The flap on the cardboard box moved.
Ever so quietly I approached ……….
“I got him!” I screamed and lifted the box flap.
Inside the box sat my friends Dad?
In an over coat and nothing else….
“Wanta see what I got?” He said?
Between his hands stood a rigid rod
he petted it. Looking down at it and up at me….
I screamed. I ran. “Grandma! GRANDMAAAAAAAAAAA!”
And that was my first exposure to man.