Long Overstuffed Poems
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Annoyances
One of the first things to go is that
never appreciated tactile proficiency.
The ability to find the car keys in an
overstuffed bag. Close your eyes. Tell
me if it’s a raisin or a kumquat.
Tying my shoes is not so troublesome
as is the re-tying of them. I’m back to
being the kid whose shoe laces untie
themselves. Decaffeinated coffee sets
me on edge. So does going to a steak
house and ordering chicken. The worm
in the Tequila bottle. The have a
nice day sign at the entrance to the
rehab. People with “Bluetooth”
thingies stuck in their ears trouble
me. Time was the guy waving his
arms and talking to himself was
a sign you should cross the street
and not make eye contact. Texting,
if you want to send me a letter please
put it in the mail and let the nice
Post Office people deliver it. If you
wish to talk to me please call or
stop by for coffee. Directions annoy
the hell out of me. They are usually
written by someone who never tried
to put the damn thing together using
their directions. The GPS lady really
bugs me. I’d rather get lost than
badgered by her recalculating tone.
Kayakers who paddle over and ask
me how the fishing is today make me
want to torpedo their boat. Popcorn
really bugs me. Ice cream head rushes,
forks touching that filling, small toys in
my shoes, and being old annoy me.
So I get even. My mantra is simple.
Places to go. People to annoy.
John G. Lawless
2/10/2013
Submitted to
Things that Annoy Me contest
Volatile Hazardous Noxious Material...
Spews out the maw
bare n paws size of a bear
yes, him Donald Trump
with maniacal glare
gussied up as inane
name calling offensive
analogous to an overstuffed
ego freezing cold stare
putrid enfilade flatulence issuing
from his doughy derriere
smug with a smirk, the
Grinch would sleigh deer,
where aroma of venison
shish kabob filling the air
his degrading hashtagged lipped
puckered tripe packs a wallop
with palpable fear,
that such juvenile beast smear
ring will define opponents
like prey caught between crosshair,
especially worrisome trapping
vying potential presidential candidates
leaving socialist liberal
reputations in total disrepair
free doling "FAKE" infomercials
nary reducing status as bajillionaire
playing for keeps commander in chief
finagling constitution if necessary
apropos to mutineer
similar to GMO crafted by topnotch
University of Pennsylvania
(Whar torn) bioengineer
imprisoning protesters, who do not share
self indulgence dressed up as debonair
bigoted, egregiously impious buccaneer
running democracy into the ground
all the while erecting towering
complex edifices declare
ring dictatorial henchmen to commandeer
swaths of gerrymandered districts
population forced to puff their
light brown dyed
(in the wool) sprayed hair
groomed swiftly tailored harried flare
ring styled matching couture identical
to an emperor in new clothes,
i.e. essentially buck naked bare
as a newborn babe throwing tantrum
while strapped into
Taj Mahal sized high chair
that bestrides a golf course
encompassing the entire Northern hemisphere.
A God-honored teacher, Miss Ruth Vance
His gift to our town, His circumstance.
No replacing her bulging tote bag -
It was priceless, minus the Gucci tag."
and now the rest of the story....
Teacher extraordinaire, Miss Ruth Vance
taught eighth graders about life, perchance.
From first grade to twelfth, school musician.
Music was her primary mission.
For Halloween, she'd parade the whole school
round and round the gym! What a jewel!
Her eighth graders always danced the May Pole.
Pomp and Circumstance, our seniors' goal.
Christmas plays displayed her special niche;
school choirs of all ages sang without a hitch.
Our Mary Poppins with overstuffed school bag -
Miss Ruth, musician, teacher and wag.
Sundays at noon, she played the town postlude
doors thrown wide open, all ears were glued...
Baptists, Methodists going home from church
heard Miss Ruth, at her Presbyterian perch.
January 4, 2021
Flesh is a better word than bone
dried far better than fried
listless better than witless
Verklempt ever so superior to weeping
or am I wrong?
bone is white, lonely, brittle, bleached, stripped, broken?...beached, deserted
Flesh is rich, soft, mushy, tender, supple, pink, pale, peach-ed, and even fuzzed
fried is hot, hard, dissolved, drenched, fattening and frankly frightening
dried, is course, crisp, weathered, worn, reduced, reducted to its bitter sugar sweetness
witless...to be so forsaken and confused
listless, is a bowl of cold soup,a pillow, a couch,a silent room, a overstuffed chair, a rainy day,a clock ticking, a pencil in hand suspended above a white page....dormant with possibility...a chrysalis held captive in time, a photograph
weeping..falling drops of water melted from the snow of soul
Verklempt...honor in sadness, resolve against the high tide of painful truth, speechless, defenseless against the tsunami power of real pain or joy
McGee sat deep in his overstuffed chair
As his son came home from school
McGee called out as Shawn rushed by
“I need to 'ave a word with you”
So Shawn scuffled over and flopped in a chair
His eyes looking down at the floor
McGee puffed his pipe and gave it a light
Said “Let me get right to the core”
“I really don’t know the best way to say
But this is the way that I’ve opted
I’ll just tell you straight, no reason to wait
The truth is, Son, you’re adopted “
“I knew it" said Shawn, "I knew all along
It couldn’t have been more apparent,
Now that I’m free, I demand it you see !
I want to meet both my birth parents”
“We’re your birth parents” declared McGee
“And don’t worry everything’s fine
But you had better get ready it’s almost three
And your new Parents should be here on time”
My Bus Journey
Getting on the bus to go into town
Ten passengers standing up, twenty sitting down
The card reader's faulty, won't recognise my bus pass
Youths standing at the bus stop banging on the glass
Unaccompanied children, probably going to gran's
Elderly couple opposite, sitting holding hands
Driver says he's running late and that he can't delay
Gives me no time to find a seat, before he's on his way
Can't find an empty disabled seat, even though I have a stick
Able-bodied people stay sitting in them, looking at me as if I’m thick
I stand in the aisle, swaying back and forth
I'm facing south, though the bus is travelling North
I try to turn to face the front but someone is standing in my way
Weighed down with an overstuffed backpack, that pummels me as I sway
Youths at the back, thinking they're ‘cock of the walk'
With their forbidden e-cigs and their filthy talk
We come to a standstill, young mother gets on, pushchair in her hand
Though there's already two buggies on, and she's going to have to stand
She stands at the front, right in between
The passengers stay put, you know what I mean
At the next stop, I want to get off
But those standing won't budge, they just stand there and scoff
I push my way through to the front of the bus
I get to the driver, I don't make a fuss
The driver says “Sorry, I can't make them move
Good manners are a thing of the past, as this journey did just prove”
Suppose I came home after a long drive,
suppose I see a car in our overstuffed garage
- it's not mine.
Suppose when I enter our apartment
I discover myself in bed with you doing adulterous things.
What would I do?
Imagine if we went away.
then when we arrived home
- while we were unpacking,
all evidence of our trip evaporated,
Imagine we both remained jet-lagged for days
yet dared not speak of it.
What then?
Suppose I died last night
suppose the battery of my life failed
leaving only the shape of my ass
in the easy chair;
though to your sleepy eyes this morning
the indent of my shape
has created an illusion of me
and that's what you think you see?
As I sit here fretting about all this you hand me a cup of tea
- say over your shoulder:
“Write it out kid, write it out.”
Once a gambler, always...
... so the sceptics say...
My retort is life's a gamble
We take risks every day
I reside in a house palatial
Can justify purchases wasteful
Wise bets are luxuries paid for
Extravagant lifestyle enabled
Jewellery gathers, burgeoning
From overstuffed box, emerging
Avoid crowding, time to pawn
My value continually surging!
String of onyx required no thought
Ripped quickly, no longer sought
Capitalist bent continually urging
For exchange, gems duly brought
To seedy grimy store, 'We Sell All'
Flat rejection brought my apall
Not impressed by onyx glib faces
Declared necklace worth bugger all
In its absence necklace graces
Dazzling array, high value embraces
Dull rock considered inconsequential
Celestial head breeds striking phrases
NB: For Julia, who cancels Contests I enter
Twas the night before Christmas - came like a flash,
Mob of gingerbread reindeer prodding elves for cache.
The Clausman reigning, doling out orders this stint.
Lady of his, keeps his tongue supplied with peppermints.
The vainglorious list of children, like snow through the Pole,
Now hides in the cloud - smart tablet tabulates toys or coal.
Head of the snowmen, cold and wise, supply the twinkle
To Santa’s eyes. Green-elves polish his boots, unwrinkle
The fat man’s caboose, untangle the reins, ready the ride.
The lineup from A to Z better well shine or it’ll be their hide.
All is still as the stars light up the path until Santa hops
Down, creates sinkholes in the snow with flatulence, flops
Into the overstuffed sleigh, jolly and jingling, creating pain
For the svelte and prideful eight who sail gift cargo like a plane.
Twas Christmas Eve and children around the world wait,
For the jingle and jangle of the sleigh-bed to find out their fate.
Tired, the sharp-suited Santa, now enters by window or door,
A small finder’s fee for each elf who steals a key - keeps score.
This year dear Santa abhors the cookies, milk, and snores.
The liquor cabinet habit keeps him warm, loving kids to the core.
Even when both parents and all the kids deserve some coal,
He’ll ignore the rules, with a good whisky or rum (takes its toll)
The reindeer left the last house hastily, and onward they speed,
As lightning sears the sky but jolly old saint Nick is teed-
Off, for he was found sleeping on the floor, by a kid. Now he shops
For a good Santa Claus lawyer. Who doesn’t toy around? The cops.
On Christmas day he is one of many dressed in black and white.
All say they’re the real Santa. He snatches beards, ready to fight.
Mrs. Claus makes him retire after his cheerless reflection.
The head elf ready to update the store in a whole new direction.
She puts the sleigh to bed, the deer no longer on loan,
Fires up the internet, next year she will send out drones.
11/27/2019
The Night Before 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Sir Charming Knight set out one summer's day
Adventure sure to set femmes' hearts afire
To slay yon dragon lying in the bay
With sword and wit he'd wade into the mire
Past noon it was, no sign yet of the beast
Remembering the banquet that he'd packed
His gluttony invited him to feast
Sweet meats, strong ale; for nothing did he lack
With burps and belches did the poor Knight groan
He'd overstuffed his belly with cuisine
His innards writhing, heaving as he moaned
The pain intense beside his swollen spleen
Forgotten now yon dragon midst his woe
THEIR DEMONS knights must never first forego
~ Iambic Pentameter ~