Long Straight as an arrow Poems
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Dear Jonathan you seem more refined than most
Were you appointed spokesperson to fill a post
I'm the Canadian equivalent
I'm really quite magnifient
When it comes to public speaking I can't help but boast
Well don't be shy you should blow your own trumpet
Need to show these guys we ain't just some puppets
Got savy galore
Taking over the floor
To the applause of many causing smiles by the bucket
Now don't get me wrong John, I'm straight as an arrow
It's my humble attempt to prove I'm really not shallow
My breath is strong
As I lead them in song
And they keep throwing me money by the barrel
So John, this is not one of those “Dear John” letters
Trust me, this little limerick is a whole lot better
To acknowledge your talents
Won't call you a savant
Though on Poetry Soup you're image is unfettered
Enough is enough, mustn't cause too much laughter
For fear you might think it's your body I'm after
On my mama's grave
It's only friendship I crave
Okay I admit writing this while a bit plastered
© Jack Ellison 2015
Taking the Top Off the Bottom
Have a goal of taking your piece of the world apart,
Taking on, as many as you can, life’s kluges and quirks,
Buy a ticket to the reach the matter’s heart,
Aim to see how the inside works.
It takes imagination, the trajectory of a dart,
To see what is obscured, what lurks,
Shedding light on life’s gremlins’ starts,
Ending demons that drive us berserk.
But though it takes aerodynamic parts,
Be straight as an arrow or your effort won’t work,
Anything has a cause-effect mart,
Paying the asking price certainly irks.
Not paying is like swallowing a quart,
Of 100 proof liquid moonshine murk.
Getting beneath the muddy bottom is an art,
That teaches how to use a scalpel and dirk,
And to be alert, and Heaven knows we need more lerts
Countless generations lapsed since height of Greco-Roman mythology conceived, birthed and populated vast canopy of sky and expanse of terrestrial firmament, whereat obeisant propinquity quintessentially remains stalwart this day and age as guise dolls dote demonstrably come Valentine’s Day, when Cupid plucked from the quiver, notched in bowstring and launched Eros tinged arrow induces love struck swain to swoon upon a lassie faire, whence fecund female feast proliferates progeny.
Yours truly not necessarily romantic at heart
more accurately methinks myself
lame and inadequate sorry excuse
for reasonably rhyming spouse,
but courtesy after sipping
(née - chugging away
like snorting caboose)
Welch's sparkling white grape juice
accompanied with entree couscous
generic and garden variety
run of the mill by the floss husband
ordinarily fancy free and footloose
feigned being inebriated
noisily squawking - imitating
deafening honking lunging goose
creating ruckus whereby resultant outcome,
whereby wife playfully threatened me
to hang me (all choking aside) with noose,
(I needed to gibbet a chance)
as ye can accurately dead deuce
nearly turning unnatural shade of chartreuse,
thus I immediately called truce
after hiring team of animated experts
Rocky the squirrel
and Bullwinkle the moose.
Ring with no feather in my cap only envy
at handsome man drakes with bucks,
who could bank on "hot chicks" willingly
aligned in arrow emitting clucks
fluffing their respective tail feathers amidst
loud squawking out quacking,
yet straight as an arrow nock king,
establishing pecking order like ducks,
or any other foxy fowl billetted
within walled din noisy hen house
preening, each be solder self flux
sing wings and waddling, flirting, casting...
webbed wide good lucks
Two Dimensional Love and Life
Some lines move horizontally
Others go diagonal
There are lines that travel up and down
They all make love within their set parameters
As is their culture and tradition there
Always within the lines, as is their prerogative and mission
For years Mr. E-line traveled from the east alone
One day he stumbled into Le Le Ling, from a line of high position
Coming from the east straight at him without permission
She was a fine line worth knowing, from a noble lineage
Both wanted sex directly when they met
They fell in linear love from point to point
Neither could continue forward, nor go up or down
And forget about left and right, as their world was flat and straight
They had to do everything frontal and did so on the spot
In the two dimensional realm you were caste from birth
To mate with someone from your universe
From your circle so to speak
Obviously they are lines so let’s proceed
In any case they came from flat lands of the east and west
Horizontal was the only life they knew
Le Le Ling and E- line were destined for each other
Other lines outside of Horizontal World were frowned upon
Diagonals were out of fashion, up and down too
Looked down upon in flat land prejudicial manner
Though “down” in their reality was not an option
Other dimensions did not exist for them
From their narrow point of view
Mr. And Mrs. Line had a baby line one day
They named it Little Liner
Raise it to be direct and true
And straight as an arrow too
In their religion there is only one commandment
Look in front of you to find your way to heaven
Since you have no other direction any way
Stay in line, head toward the light to find the truth
If I were straight as an arrow, or gay
as a songbird; then I'd consume the time,
exhaust “carpe diem,”—and thus seize the day!
For life's too short; and youth's brief paradigm,
like the spring season, is much more fleeting
than young love (a fact that's best left unknown).
So, you see that I'm not above cheating
fate: growing old and wise is overblown.
Just as wisdom is wasted on the old,
so is youth and love wasted on the young
(as they say): so, if being gray is like gold
in one's twilight years, then my cock's well-hung!
For what's there more to say? Life's just too hard
and short: so make much of its brief reward.
I remember the click click jangle jangle of her rummage . Oh
what a beautiful mess it was as she plucked out a red rosary
for me hold. "Here this one is for you " she said as we settled
in to begin our prayers to Mary. In that little makeshift room
she called a chapel we prayed by early morning, making Saturdays blessed with the warm glow of prayer.
Back then she didn't have so much gray in her hair and her body wasn't ravaged by time. She was strong, vibrant, a challenger of life itself. Straight as an arrow she never fudged it up for me, she told it like it was. . That little chapel held secrets only God could ever speak of. Truth be told, I miss that little chapel. I miss my mom. I long for another day with her and the jangled up mess of rosaries that said, we got Faith.
Most of all I miss that neutral scent that said, "I'm always here. " Endearing words were not needed back then, I knew I was loved. Today her absence shouts louder then her presence ever did.
I look out a window and remember my every day life with her.
My how the years have flown. I recall that precious mother that was once here, and I smile.
I opened the top drawer of my mind
and carelessly took out some words.
I threw them about with little thought
of where or on whom they might land.
Many bounced when they hit becoming scattered and lost;
Some stuck like burrs holding fast where they fell;
A few jabbed like barbs causing prickling and itching;
One flew straight as an arrow into the heart of a friend.
But I was amused at myself and filled with conceit,
there in the midst of an admiring crowd.
Caught up in the wonder and pride of it all
I gave no thought to the missiles I'd fired.
But wait, the crowd grew quiet, and
suddenly I knew something was wrong!
They were all looking at me with disbelief and fear;
then the circle parted and I gazed on a terrible scene.
My words had become visible, each ugly one of them,
glinting and mocking me everywhere I looked.
I ran from the crowd, from their jeering delight
thinking only one thing, disappear, disappear.
It was then I saw my friend.
Fighting for breath and losing the fight;
impaled and dying on my careless word.
I cried, "Oh my dear God. Please, what have I done!"
And I ran to my friend saying, "please, please hold on."
Then I opened the bottom drawer of my mind
and carefully, so carefully took out some words.
I carried them to my friend and gently held them out
hoping, praying that they would be enough.
My friend lived that day, no thanks to me,
and forgave me for my awful deed.
But oh what I'd give if I could recall
that word and the pain that it brought.
To you who, like I, have been careless in your talk,
take care what you say, set a watch on your tongue.
Else you too some day will see effects you never meant
from words you can't get back, ever.
Submitted 5 Sept 16
The missus brings me high test coffee...
A cold wintry January 53rd, 2021
at Highland Manor apartments
picturesque snow covered landscape
safely ensconced within Unit B44,
we (yours truly and wife)
occupy bedroom and
television room respectively
comfortably numb and toasty warm
at sixty degrees Fahrenheit
courtesy climate controlled environment.
I practice crafting poetry
(seeking posthumous fame)
while the spouse busies herself
channel surfing putting
down remote control
after espying satisfactory movie
(Fatal Attractions),
about which she knows
every single detail,
and can rattle offer personal tidbits
about cast of actors and actresses.
Aforementioned regular routine
predictable until
onset rites of spring,
where warm weather perfect balm
to allow, enable and provide
antidote to existential woes
coping with being quarantined,
though sensing optimism
regarding president Joe Biden
green lighting living social pursuits
possibly revisiting
following favorite pastime.
Recalling contra dancing
as palliative against bashfulness
life as high school wallflower served me
without any budding female friendships
until lo… agent tulle nudge, yes
my mother over mollycoddled
then uprooted me
mein kampf familiar
bedrock level road terrain,
which venue offered groundswell
to blossom forth into
golden sterling resplendent rod
of natural equipoise,
(an unbiased opinion) and balance
with freestyle improvisational swinging motions
unchained from moors of formality
lit figurative saint elmo’s
Sesame Street Big Bird
winging fiery dance
allowing, enabling and
providing shy awkward self
during his young adulthood
to cast away four ever
self embroidered handsome
straight as an arrow
naturally high as a kite young guy
buzzfeeding like yellow jacket
liberating spontaneity
that je ne sais quoi joie vivre
clamoring headlong toward pollination
healthy packing heat overflowing
testosterone bin laden well nigh
erupting pistol (stay man)
toward opposite gender,
whereby bravado donned as key
to hoe field of whet dreams
fostering initial albeit late blooming
roll in the hay hormonally
rooted rutting squeal!
It’s a place for affairs,
A gathering place
That for centuries has graced town squares.
The Market—it’s social,
Brimming with culture
In cities or towns, on mountains or coastal.
There—barter's real,
Through each offered pence
These gateways for shoppers and deals.
So imagine the awe,
When no sign points the way
A Town's Market—obscured and withdrawn?
Lost on dark streets, quiet and narrow,
Cobblestones and shoppers—they wander
Searching they wind, or stroll straight as an arrow.
Irony abounds, within the mere thought,
Of a Market hidden from plain view
That insulates shoppers, from getting things bought.
The expanse of joy my soul felt today
An ecstasy that will never pass away.
When my breath fades in the wind blown
Another life will clone memories at home.
And though we go far away from this vicinity
In the new breeze blowing fresh and free.
Plumes of halo upwards through the trees,
And see multitude of stars by greater degrees.
The sparkling beauty drops into your eyes,
With lovely splashes of a brighter sunrise.
Expanse of rapture rays deep and divine,
On an orbiting line, there is heavenly sunshine.
Even in the shade we hide when it's our time,
Sin and sorrow cocooned in earthly sublime,
Lifetime made the fondest memories mine
Special occasions we love, corrected and sign
Our expense of time growing endlessly,
Invest in heavens atmosphere harmoniously.
God places the images of past life in our mind
By whom forgiveness was made more refined.
Into existing expanding future of tomorrow,
Opportunity speeding by straight as an arrow.
If in this life we were given a brief glimpse of hope,
That through prophetic truth faith may develop,
Into a glorious feeling of purer delight.
The Illuminating vision by celestial light,
Would we enjoy expansion of regeneration delight?