Long Smacked Poems
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The aborigine boy, his poor young heart was yearning
For the young raven haired girl, a passion was quickly burning
He was to carve his first boomerang to prove he was a man
If it returned back to him, he would carry out his plan.
He took the mulga branch and checked it was just so
The angle was correct, he couldn’t wait for his first throw
He split the branch and picked the piece that he knew would work
He had learnt from his ancestors, his walkabouts he never did shirk.
The branch he split, he took a stone and carved his mulga with care
He wanted it to fly and return, then win his maiden with raven hair
He inscribed it with his love and painted it with ochre of red
He took it to the outback and threw his first throw with a dread.
The boomerang did spin, it twisted and then dropped
The young aborigine felt his love and life, had suddenly stopped
He tried again he flicked his wrist it spun up heavenward
It spun it’s last spin and once again it was then floored.
His love was slipping away, a man he was not to be
His raven haired love, his bursting heart would never see
He tried and tried and then with a long last flick of his wrist
He had learnt the way he saw; he pounded the air with his fist.
His boomerang started to turn; it started on its first return
He danced as he watched it, and he felt his loins begin to burn
He jumped up and down waiting; he saw a glint of red
He knew he had done it, when it smacked him in the head
He had learnt to make his weapon
But his plan did not quite hatch
In learning to make the boomerang,
He forgot to learn how it to catch…
© 21/01/2013~GG~
Contest entry:
Inspiration came from Seren Roberts Poem 'Always To Return'
Imagine My surprise,
Not only in getting through in under 2 minutes,
But also being helped by the first res-ponder
But wait it, didn't stop there,
I felt I was actually being treated as a customer,
And what I had to say was important.
What motivated me, you may well ask,
To risk being on hold,
And being passed from one department to another?
Well, I was minding my own business,
Anticipating they joy of sinking my teeth into a top of the line,
Angus beef Pie.
What did I find,
A piece of gristle in my pie to spoil my mood,
Not good enough I said.
Hence my well mannered phone call.
But wait it didn't stop there,
I hadn't expected a refund,
Ringing just to point out the fact,
And make sure they had Quality Control.
Imagine my being gob-smacked,
When I got called back by the first responder,
To say I would be getting a free pie voucher in the mail.
So, yes on occasions, customer service does show signs of life,
For poets, at least
Who have a way with words.
Maybe if everybody joined the soup,
Customer service would,
Once again be an every day occurrence.
The game was on, the ball preparing itself;
Meditation would help it to handle the force
Of the bat when it smacked.
Ball loved to fly, fast and furious, so a few bruises and minor pain, meant nothing to him.
Ball steeled himself as the pitch was thrown; what would the old bat do?
Ball flew as fast as he could…crack!
Bat hit his mark and ball sped on even faster
till he landed with a thud in a cushy leather bed but,
he wasn’t through yet.
Once again he was thrown;
time for revenge, he flew angrily on and
landed with an almost sickening thud.
Whompf! The crowd roared as he hit his target;
basking in the glory of cheers and applause.
He could hardly wait to fly again.
My eyes look for you,
My heart bleeds the truth.
My spirit enters your soul completely.
A shipwrecked mind in dissonance.
I lay in bed half asleep, thinking about you.
Thoughts latched in memory, I miss you.
Waiting to quench thirst from an empty well,
sorrow shimmers your reflection in my eyes.
Soundless chime of clock ticks for tomorrow,
A tomorrow, without your hand to hold,
The lost starry heaven,
where love had happened without reason.....
Your cologne smacked kisses still reach my lips.
Perfume of petrichor not lost in labyrinth,
raindrops still drizzle over a scorched soil.
My dark dank caverns still drenches in your soft light.
An eclipsed moon stil ignites dreams in my night.
A smoldering incomplete fire, you keep burning in me...
for a phoenix to rise from its ashes.
Reaching up, you complete me.
16th March 2019
James Edward Lee Sr's "You complete me" contest
He is six, and a big story teller. Amazing drama.
His teacher brings his drawing to me. His mom being beaten by dad.
He apparently was part of the action. He fell on the floor to protest.
The story was similar when it got to me except this time
Dad was being beaten by Mom. He fell on the floor to show me his part.
I asked if anyone hit him. No. Is he safe at home? Yes.
Does he think Mom and Dad will fight again? He shakes his head no.
I pass this along to the social worker.
His third version includes grandma
Who apparently smacked Mom and Dad. She was the perpetrator.
Does he play video games? He surely does. Watch violent movies?
Oh, yes.
He throws himself on the floor a fourth time.
Did anyone hit him? No.
Does he like throwing himself down on the floor?
Apparently. Nothing reportable here.
I was the hottest boot in Texas, Missouri, and Cheyenne.
I could dance the mumble jumbles off every other man.
My mate, my wife, my lover, was almost as sexy as me.
We could not be stopped once started, joyful as could be.
We danced up the hills and meadows, we clattered in the street.
We jingled, and we jangled, our loving circle dances could not be beat.
We smacked against the pavement, astounding those around.
We were the most desirable boots in the USA, stomping on the ground.
There was no stopping us. We were joyful and alert.
There are those fancy boots! Some child would often blurt.
I would swing my partner like crazy, toss her high up in the air.
We boots were simply terrific, with positivity to often share.
A prehistoric dragon, with a taste for Pterodactyl;
felt a major hunger pain while penning a few dactyls.
Dropping hammer and chisel, he flew off for his hunt;
it wasn’t long at all when, he spied himself a runt.
The tender meat, to him would be a tasty little treat
but, runt’s fly fast and could he last till capture was complete?
His aim was great so, in he flew to the Pterodactyl nest;
but a runt did dragon spot and it put him to a test.
Though dragon was of middle age; eight thousand years or so;
his agility was still quite good and he gave the chase a go.
His meal once caught, he’d sear and eat; his fire was good and hot
but, an easy catch, this little runt was not.
Its swiftness was unusual; though speed he couldn’t clock.
He was certain he’d not slowed down but, then he smacked a rock!
Oh my, the stars that swirled around, his bruised and aching head;
the runt was gone; dragon staggered home and lay down in his bed.
The moral of this story, have variety in your diet;
you’ll always have enough to eat; just try it.
No matter the trouble kerfuffle or poppycock pull up those britches breathe & take stock
You might be bamboozled flabbergasted too forget all the nincompoops focus on you
Delight in the splendor and hold your head high let them be gob-smacked as you rise and fly
Coddiwomple on and leave them behind your light shall dazzle and leave them blind
Let them skedaddle they’re Dicktims at best believe in yourself you’ll conquer the quest.
Pacing up and down, finally I yell
are we ever going to do this?
yeah, yeah, hold your horses
I’m coming he screams…
eventually he appears
dressed in a black jeans
and white tight fitted shirt
with bulges in all the right places…
gob smacked, eyes wide,
mouth hanging open
uhm where did you say
we’re going again?
to a friend’s birthday party he says
err, so you’re going dressed like that? I ask
finding it difficult to close my mouth, still in shock…
Yep he say’s while grabbing the car keys,
as he makes his way to the door…
but you never dressed like this before
why now? I asked while running after him
the view from behind is even better
I have a sudden urge to touch his bum
half distracted I almost walk into him..
why not? Is his retort as he opens
the car door for me…
I feel tempted to touch him in a non buddy way…
Uhm do you think I’m overdress? I ask
While fluttering my eyelashes …
nah you look stunning, he says
as he pulls out of the driveway…
still unsure what to make of the man next to me
he seems like a stranger
when did I lose my best friend?
My eyes has finally opened
my best buddy has grown up,
he became a man,
a hot blooded male at that…
what is a girl to do?
pretend not to notice
or make a play for him
before we hit the party,
before the vultures come out to play….
Form:
Spring’s leading light has challenged Winter’s rule.
The ancient king, befouled, erupted from his early morning slumbering
And marched about his fortress
Enraged and raging.
His fury exploded against the walls,
And threats of retribution echoed throughout the halls
Against the upstart who tested the king’s supremacy.
The bitter monarch,
With eyes of steel and flashing light,
Like Saul, sulking and plotting against young David,
Smacked his hands-
His arctic breath thundered his commands
With authority and showy bluster
In defense of his domain, the
Crowned Head his troops did muster.
The elements converged.
“To Arms!” did he demand.
Sleet, those skilled archers of the hardened world,
Cast frozen arrow across the battleground.
Wave upon wave, the icy weapons hurled, until
The king’s nemesis turned ‘round.
This day’s battle went to Winter
The hoary head in fierce-like frame
His dominion did defend-
The scepter in his hand remained.
The old man’s reign, now prolonged,
The young Spearhead’s confidence disrupted
And denied,
For a time,
The pre-ordained.
But Winter will decline,
His rule and season come to an end.
Then Spring, the anointed heir,
To nature’s throne ascend- and all
The kingdom will rejoice!
© Michelle Waters 2021