Long Shove Poems
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The Old Lady In The Shoe
November 22, 2013 at 5:57pm
Dedicated to all my children around the world;
The big and small of it.
Some appreciate the little
things that encourages
them to do big stuff.
Some won't say anything,
because they never
get enough.
N'ary a second thought they give.
Some think they are entitled to it
and know not of reciprocation.
Some think that they should always
be the center of your attention.
Some children you can
doat on, and give them
all you've got.
Then there are
those to who will never
reach out to offer invitation.
Never lend a helping hand
To execute your plans,
It's selfishness
that guides them
because they love you not.
Some children want to be heard
others just wanna be seen
but the unappreciative child
won't amount to a hill of beans.
Some children need a little push
while others need a shove
mothers can never tell a child
Which one who best she loves
When mothers see these attitudes
She knows which child
will pass life's test.
Some play in the corner
day-dreaming all alone
Some children keep
lots of company;While
others have one friend
that is all his own.
The one you devote
your time to
may not be the child
that does his best.
Some children need you more-
Some children need you less.
But the child that won't say
" thank you" mom....
and never listen to advice
is the ones that breaks
a mothers heart,and
discounts her sacrifice.
Some children need a little push
while others need a shove.
Some need a swift
kick in the pants
or maybe a wake up call;
Others just need
a little coddling:
But never does a child
deserve no love all
Just remember the old lady
who lived in the shoe..
She had so many children...
They said "she didn't
know what to do."
Mothers learn your child,
try to give each what he needs
The one that appreciates
their mother is...
more likely to succeed.
footnote : original version
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.She had so many children, she didn't know what to do;She gave them some broth without any bread;Then whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.
Earlier version:
There was an old woman Who lived in a shoe,She had so many children,And loved them all, too.She said, "Thank you Lord Jesus,For sending them bread."Then kissed them all gladly and sent them to bed.
I’m sitting in a dark, nothing but a T.V. on.
I’m watching horror movies, or am I watching paint dry.
I see people, I see faces, but I still can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched.
A scream I hear, I chalk it up to the T.V.
A rat-tat-tat, on the door, only to see no one,
I’m not sure I even moved.
I’ve been sleep deprived for days, but today, on the most holy of holy days,
I cannot sleep.
Today is a day of celebration.
For once, the evil, the dark, the macabre, it’s celebrated.
My interest aren’t looked down on, they are praised.
I think to myself, maybe I should makes something, to commemorate
the occasion.
I step to the kitchen, pull out a knife, and begin carving the first thing in sight.
Tonight, it was a pig.
I think last year it was like a bumble-bee or something, I don’t know, it was making a lot of noise and I just wanted some peace.
Either way, after trimming the fat, I had to clean up a bit.
The phrase, bleeding like a stuck pig, totally true.
Blood got everywhere, this is gonna take so much bleach to clean.
So I shove it in the oven, mouth watering at the thought of the sandwich I’m gonna make when it comes out.
I knew animals fought,
But this one fought like it really didn’t wanna be dinner.
I just hit it with the pumpkin it carried.
A few hours pass, and the pig is done.
I trim off the hair, and then the skin.
I can’t stand the skin, so stretchy and not tasty.
It’s like eating elastic, or a shirt or something stupid like that.
Either way, I peel back the skin-and I indulge myself.
Normally I go for the entrails first, but tonight is special.
I go straight for the brains.
So tasty, with just a tinge or copper, or was it iron, I’m not sure
Either way, it was salty, and metallic, and delicious.
I only treat myself to this kind of meal on the special days of the year,
You know the days I’m talking about
Easter, July 4th, tonight
Those days, they are wonderful
So yeah, the screams were annoying, but they stopped now
All that I hear is some laughing, and my own noise
Tap-tap-tap-squish
Tap-tap-squish-tap
It felt divine.
Then it all ended, someone said my time was up.
That pig’s blood went everywhere
Everywhere. It was intense
After all of that, I’m back in front of the T.V.
I’m really not sure if it was a T.V. or a wall.
The first thing I remember other than that night,
Was asking the guards if I could watch Silence of the Lambs on Halloween.
The Luckiest of Men
By Rick Rucker
I called on friends yesterday,
They asked if I was okay.
They had never seen me move so slow,
They thought my energy was low.
I assured them I was fine,
I had merely drunk the wine
Of Love, my countenance was pacific,
I have no known disease specific,
Save an enlarged Heart,
Filled with sweetness, as from a tart.
They thought my symptoms somewhat scary,
They began to realize that I was very
Much in Love, no longer had to push, and shove.
My Heart was peaceful as a Dove.
I used to be so tightly wound,
My feet seldom hit the ground.
I ran everywhere I traveled,
My mind seemed to have unraveled.
Suddenly, I can stand,
With another, hand in hand.
She has caused the change in me,
She let my tethered Heart fly free!
How could this have come to pass,
That she could save me from the Morass?
With a little that, and some this,
But mostly with a passionate kiss.
It was our second date,
We had eaten, it was late,
At my watch, I took a peek,
Leaned in then to kiss her cheek,
Then, much to my surprise,
She looked me in the eyes,
And kissed me with a buss so sweet,
That I could scarcely feel my feet!
I didn’t want her to leave,
My chest had begun to heave,
The night was cold, but we were not,
I couldn’t believe that one so hot
Would show, to me, such passion,
In the open, out of fashion!
Finally, she drove away,
But, I was forced to stay,
Firmly rooted to the ground,
My head still spinning all around.
I had been on first and second dates,
Sorting through potential mates,
First, the normal couple’s sparring,
Then, no more dates, and some scarring.
She was the only one,
To have done what she had done!
She had left, and I let her,
But I wanted to practice kissing, getting better.
As her lights faded away,
I knew I couldn’t wait a day
To have another chance
To see if we would find Romance!
Now, we have been out many times,
When we kiss, I hear chimes,
Our dating is now exclusive,
The locations, more reclusive.
I have asked her to be my Wife,
Share my place, share my life.
She is much smarter than me,
She answered that we will wait and see.
I will try to let her see,
How wonderful our life could be.
As I run it all through my head again,
I am sure the luckiest of men!
“Not even with a mask or 6 feet.
OK, 6 feet is military protocol.
You’re trying to get the people to train them
so when the cameras,
the 5G come out,
when they’re going to scan everybody.
We got to get scanned,
we got to get temperatured,
the kids have to go to school with masks.”
She posited a question
that she might have been asked herself.
“Are you insane?
Are you crazy?
I think all of you should
be in a psych ward right the heck now
. Because none of you,
none of you know
what the hell you a
re talking about.
This is insane.
And then you want to
open the meeting with a prayer to God.
Are you praying to the devil?
Because God
is not listening to that prayer.
Because all of you are
practicing the devil’s love.”
“What happened to Bill Gates?
Why is he not in jail?
Why is Hillary Clinton not in jail?
Why are all these pedophiles that are demanding
you all to listen to their rules,
why are they not in jail?
Why is Obama not in jail
What about Joe Biden
And Hunter Biden too
And Obama gate
And don’t forget Bhenzai
Why are all these pedophiles that are demanding
you all to listen to their rules,
why are they not in jail?
Do you take your orders from Jeffry Epstein?
“Oh, is it because you’re part of them?…
Oh, is it because you’re art part of them
Are you reptilian shapeshifters
The deep state is going down
and if any of you are in the deep state,
you’re going down with it.”
“I’d like to say, in the beginning God
formed man out of the earth
and breathed his breath in him
and he became a living soul,
“Oh, is it because you’re part of them?…
The deep state is going down
and if any of you are in the deep state,
you’re going down with it.”
“I’d like to say, in the beginning
God formed man out of the earth
and breathed his breath in him
and he became a living soul,
“Where do you derive
the authority to regulate human breathing?”
“I have many questions
about your degrees
and what you really know,
because what you say is the political dogma
that they’re trying to shove down our throats
on every commercial and every store,
and it’s disgusting,”
And I’m sorry, ma’am,
but I don’t think you are worthy of your credentials
and I would ask suggestively
that you go back to school and get educated.”
Haiku Translations II
Illuminated by the harvest moon
smoke is caught creeping
across the water...
Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fanning its tail flamboyantly
with every excuse of a breeze,
the peacock!
Masaoki Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Waves row through the mists
of the endless sea.
Masaoki Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
I hurl a firefly into the darkness
and sense the enormity of night.
—Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
As girls gather rice sprouts
reflections of the rain ripple
on the backs of their hats.
—Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Unaware it protects
the hilltop paddies,
the scarecrow seems useless to itself.
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ebb-tide:
everything we stoop to collect
slips through our fingers ...
—Chiyo-ni, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fading memories
of summer holidays:
the closet’s last floral skirt...
—Michael R. Burch
Scandalous tides,
removing bikinis!
—Michael R. Burch
Haughty moon,
when did I ever trouble you,
insomnia’s co-conspirator!
—Michael R. Burch
Ascendance Transcendence
by Michael R. Burch
Breaching the summit
I reach
the horizon’s last rays.
Moore or Less
by Michael R. Burch
for Richard Moore
Less is more —
in a dress, I suppose,
and in intimate clothes
like crotchless hose.
But now Moore is less
due to death’s subtraction
and I must confess:
I hate such redaction!
no foothold
by michael r. burch
there is no hope;
therefore i became invulnerable to love.
now even god cannot move me:
nothing to push or shove,
no foothold.
so let me live out my remaining days in clarity,
mine being the only nativity,
my death the final crucifixion
and apocalypse,
as far as the i can see ...
The Red State Reaction
by Michael R. Burch
Where the hell are they hidin’
Sleepy Joe Biden?
And how the hell can the bleep
Do so much, in his SLEEP?
Red State Reject
by Michael R. Burch
I once was a pessimist
but now I’m more optimistic
ever since I discovered my fears
were unsupported by any statistic.
Keywords/Tags: haiku, nature, moon, water, sea, night, rain, dark, memories, tides, insomnia
“One more word, just one more word!’’ before I start to break,
I feel the anger rising up, I tremble and I shake.
I try to think it’s not their fault, their only little kids,
But it isn’t enough to stop the anger breaking through the lid.
I leap to them with vacant eyes screaming “that is it!”
Grabbing at their little arms while I curse hiss and spit.
Dragging them to their bedrooms, throwing them to the floor,
Storming out to get away, slamming at the door.
Next I’m in my bedroom, my head held in my hands,
Trying hard to calm myself while I figure out a plan.
“Help me someone, help me please,” I mumble quietly,
“I just can’t take this anymore,” I pray to god, I plea.
10 minutes pass, the storm has gone, I’ve realised how I’ve been,
The calm makes me aware of this and guilt has now set in.
I slowly make my way into the quietness of their rooms,
Their little red faces wet with tears from their mother’s angry fume.
“I’m sorry darling for hurting you, I just got really mad,
I never meant to make you cry, or meant to make you sad”.
I hug them tight and tell them that I love them very much,
Hoping that their still comforted by their mothers touch.
“I need you to be helpful, I need you to be good”,
“Ok” they say in solemn tone, with hope they understood.
Wiping away remaining tears of the sadness that had been,
Hiding every single trace of the anger that they’d seen.
Now once again all is well, this feels a happy home,
Motherhood is oh so sweet when the angers overblown.
It’s all so unpredictable, when push comes to shove,
One day it fits so perfectly, the next it’s hard to love.
The trials and tribulations of motherhood, I’ve had,
Some days it comes so easily, some days it seems so bad.
I used to think I’m teaching them the ways and how to be,
But as time passes quickly by I cannot help but see,
That their the ones teaching me, in many ways then one,
They’ve taught me of a selfless love that comes from being a mum,
Self control is what I lack, they’ve taught me how to see,
If I don’t control my anger, my anger controls me.
So next time that you feel you just can’t take it anymore,
Don’t grab their little arms and shut them out behind a door,
But realise there’s a lesson that their teaching you right there,
And hold them close gratefully, with tender loving care.
I am reminded of the atheist who died. Or rather was presumably pronounced dead for a
short period of time, then revived. Upon waking, the atheist announced that he had gone
down the tunnel of white light, had seen his dead relatives and in fact met God. He must
have forgotten he didn’t believe in God. Together, perhaps in a city in the clouds or the
clouded foggy afterlife, God conversed with the atheist.
A crowd of people had gathered to hear what God had said.
“Did you ask God what the meaning of life was? ” people wanted to know.
“Did you ask God what the one true religion is? ” others wanted to know.
“Calm down! ” the atheist assured them.
“It just so happens, I asked each of those questions, ” the atheist concluded smugly.
“And? ” people demanded.
There was a pause as if the atheist was conducting the energy of God.
“God told me the meaning of life is…” the people braced for the answer, “Nothing, ” the
atheist said after a pause. He was ecstatic. The people were more than a little disheartened.
“Nothing, you mean there is no meaning to life? ” the people asked.
“Well, that’s one way of putting it, ” the atheist said laughing.
“Or another might mean nothing, as in, you get to make it up as you go along, ” the atheist
said smiling.
“It’s whatever you want it to be, ” the atheist explained.
The people did not seem to get it.
A few looked suicidal.
“Well, at least tell us the one true religion, ” the people demanded.
“Okay, ” the atheist assured them.
There was a pause again as if he was God’s instrument warming up.
“God told me the one true religion is…” the people braced for the answer, “Whichever one is
best for you, ” the atheist said confidently.
“You mean there is no true religion? ” the crowd shrieked.
“What are we going to do? ” the people asked starting to riot. They started to push and shove.
The people got really angry and violent, and they eventually tore the atheist apart. As the
atheist ascended to heaven he asked God how this could have been avoided.
God told the atheist, “There is only one way you could have avoided death…When the people
asked you what God said…you should have stuck to your guns and told them, ‘God…I don’t
believe in God.’”
Excerpt from: Blind Savior, False Prophet
Joseph DeMarco
All. Day. Long.
I sit there, in my chair, All. Day. Long.
Glaring at people I hate.
The people who are but mere memories.
Mere dust in the wind.
All that I know has blown away,
taken by my faulty actions.
The dull replay of Meteora fills my room with lyrical insanity,
tempting me with beat and anger.
But I’ve realised it’s not the music that’s dull.
It’s myself. I am dull.
Dull, empty, detached, dead.
My actions have caused this, my mental instability.
My arms and wrists, they’re crisscrossed with faint pink patterns,
the product of my attempts at reattachment and relief.
Eternal smiles of violet beneath my eyes, wrinkles surround my lips.
My skin, yellow from the drugs, reflects weakly the sunlight from outside.
I blame everyone but myself, my personality rotten to the core.
My lungs, as well, shredded by smoke that acted like needles.
I couldn’t help myself, I jest in my mind.
I’ve been trying to shove the blame onto something but myself,
only to find there is nothing to blame but myself.
My body has been wracked to this state,
a state well beyond my mere 29 years.
My mind, hanging from a cliff.
Threatening to free fall at any moment.
As I sit there, in my chair,
memories of an age long gone from my life flash before my eyes.
A girl I loved, laughing.
Her and I lying in the grass, at a lake’s edge.
A cat akin to night, eyes green as mine, purring softly in my lap.
Flashes of guns, from a war forgotten by all but me.
As I reminisce these memories, a spark of feeling—pain.
Upwelling in my gut.
Through my chest.
Stabbing into the side of my head.
The pain triggers a new wave of recollection.
Again, the girl. My mind so foggy I can’t remember her name.
Dancing slowly to a song no longer heard of.
Snow. A blush of the cheeks. Hands in mine, warming and comfortable.
The pain in my head intensifies, blinding me.
I fall from my chair, the first time I’ve moved all day. In 2 days.
Shaking my head, I pull myself up. Standing, I look around.
Another flash of pain, followed by a sensation I’d all but forgotten.
Her lips. At dusk. The very first time.
I stumble away from an unseen being, crashing into the wall.
Blinking my eyes furiously, I right myself.
Waiting a moment, I sit back down.
And let the dullness take over, the pain ebb away,
and the memories to replay.
All. Day. Long.
Seeking a better life and with chance at hand, our new life awaits
Wife hires on as servant, daughter and I stowaway as it departs
Our life's dreams sail on the USS Titanic, a new future to create
daughter and I conceal ourselves while wife toils with bunk-mates
We would change places to stay warm from bitter cold and storm
my young baby I wrapped up tight, this kept her warm to my delight
We count days till our new home, I worry and pray my wife is warm
A few days passed till that night I awoke in sheer terror and fright
Hearing metal tear, as cries and screams begin a siren sounds above
We're in warmth deep beneath the decks I grab my joy to face regret
We're not far from mom, I push and shove to get her one deck above
The time is short as I open door, to reveal wife's tears, glad to see, yet
to escape I tie a rope about our waists for in this flight can't separate
Then we begin our quest to the night air knowing we're 5 decks below
scaling 2 decks with speed, all converge but keep moving can't hesitate
Baby in hand we drag and claw moving to air, all moving with the flow
One more flight of stairs to fresh air, I take wife's hand to lead her their
Ship tilts as we get through door to sky then falling down into the night
A sudden jerk as rope catches pipe saving us as others fall in pairs
with bitter cold and death insight, I plan again how to win this fight
A mans wool coat 4 feet above I grab his coat as life slips from hope
Wrapping about my baby and wife, for warmth, in this my last night
Water rising swiftly only a few feet below, I swing wife and cut rope
Their flight to the ocean, as I follow them into the icy cold midnight
We find each other in this dark abyss, then fight to swim to life
We reach trash still afloat raising wife and babe to safety I cover tight
death assured in my last fight I tie raft to boat and tell my loving wife
I love you both fight to save your lives, as I sink from view in the night
Hours passed her body heat spent, pulls to boat in her last attempt
She wraps baby in all the clothes and begs they save her from my fame
Her baby safe as she can plan she cuts the rope with this last lament
When you all survive, let all who ask know my sweet daughter's name
This is a fictional account of the youngest survivors journey to safety, Elizabeth Gladys Dean
It was beginning to get dusk,
the crimson red moon was out.
Eerie sounds, you could hear
while we were out and about.
Deep in the mist,
Eyes glowed of red.
We heard a dark voice,
This is what it said,
"You're both mine tonight."
I screamed, you grabbed me tight
both were full of fright.
He chased us with a butcher knife.
His face pale and white.
Screaming out of his lungs,
We ran far out of sight.
We couldn't hide from him
He soon found us again
deep, into the woods,
shaking, so deep within
He was angry he missed,
Then came after me instead.
He had just missed my head
with the blade, was pissed.
I felt his anger, as his hand slashed his blade
My skin was missed, as he slashed and swayed.
He swung to the left, once to the right
Moved us towards, an old gravesight.
There we heard the chanting of a witch.
Ravens and crows swarming above,
then that rotten witch, screamed, with a high pitch,
and the monster, gave a big shove.
Suddenly, we stood upon a hill,
where the witch was suddenly still.
There stood a pot, burning upon a fire,
upon it hung a human wire.
Bodies swung upside down,
flesh began to hit the ground.
She slowly raised them into the pot.
She had no extra room for us to hang.
All of a sudden, there was a loud bang,
Someone was standing in that spot.
A wizard stood, raising us in the air,
soon we both disappeared.
She couldn't find us at all.
At the goblins, she did hiss,
all they did, was throw a kiss
She got angry and got her crystal ball.
In the crystal ball, she could not see,
so she threw it hysterically.
Wizard appeared just in time,
saving us both, from this line.
Crystal ball dropped into our hands
the wizard laughed out loud.
Around the witch, was a huge crowd.
The wizard began to chant,
which he then started to rant.
"Rain on her," he yelled, rain had fell.
"Tell me where are they,"she screamed,
"I've looked far, wide, and in between."
"so me, you better tell."
The rain was too hot,
melted her away,
no way, would the goblins stay,
The wizard then picked up the whiskey,
and took a shot.
by Melanie Palmer
Mike Damavoletes
10/22/14
Author Notes
I enjoyed co-writing this poem with Melanie Palmer would like to thank her for taking her time to put this together.