Long Street Poems
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In the middle of my walk this morning…as my health I try to maintain…I was greeted from the heavens…with an unexpected rain.
It’s funny how it works…as the first raindrops and you collide…you immediately look around…for a safe, dry place to hide.
But I walk through old neighborhoods…and I didn’t think it bright…to hide on a strangers porch…while still blanketed by the night.
Which left me only one option…given the circumstances my reasoning was sane…if I didn’t want to get arrested…I’d have to give in to the rain.
And so I did and as I watched the raindrops upon my body find their way…all my apprehension about getting wet…miraculously faded away.
There was a rhythm to the rain…I could hear it…I could feel it in my feet…and before I knew it…there I was…dancing in the street.
I imagine if anyone was awake and watching…they would think I was insane…and wonder what this old man was doing…dancing in the rain.
But I take my walk quite early…it’s a routine for years I have been keeping…which means in most of the houses that I pass…the people are still sleeping.
What a shame…I thought to myself…for if this morning they happened to look out their windowpanes…
they would have seen an old man feeling like a young boy
encouraging them to join him…
outside…
dancing in the rain.
The American Library Association
implores cognoscenti tubby alert
impersonators, who
call themselves Ernie and Bert
took a page from Sesame Street Playbook
oft times accompanied
by a Soundcloud of dirt,
boot none other then Pigpen,
(who worked for Peanuts),
and pay-dirt, though
dismissed, cuz he did not exert
true grit, plus more seriously scandalous
sordid details suppressed kept from press,
(which scurrilous breach of conduct
involved said scallywag
violating more than flirt
discovered in prurient compromised activity,
where his skin flute encircled,
with an ambrosia girt
transgressions possibly affected
public television station benefactors,
and sterling reputation of bottom line, nor hurt
locker talk (albeit via exaggerated mainly
to make a profit sounding proper
sanctimonious Cliff (hanging) notes,
asper faux expected by
a "FAKE" trumping prophet,
sans motley crue comic
stripped of more'n
motion picture PG ratings,
hence future lurid, graphic,
banal, ampersand
(&) dressing room banter
muted, disallowed, and banned
so storied characters birthed by Charles Shulz,
(who passed away prior to near canned
aforementioned indiscretion debacle)
returning amidst fanfare hoopla
much as possible grand
jour "Making Peanuts Great Again" hand
diddly restoring full metal paperback jacketed
glory and apple pie order land
ding rebirth of cherished popular iconic
easy to digest bookworm feed
which unexpectedly, inadvertently,
and horrifyingly
brewed ferocious breed
on par with the Alaskan Bull Worm,
whereat armed guards
strategically stationed
at libraries entrances indeed
aware voracious young readers,
would pay no heed
to any obstacle, and such unstoppable
ravishing knowledge
hungry kids did exceed
capacity security details dashed away,
faster then Clifford
the big red dog speed!
What kind of woman are you
Allowing men to mentally control you
To only be seen as a pleasure component
From most men your body is their land or playground for sin
I say land because your body bares tasty fruit men love to eat
No man should use the woman to mistreat or beat
If anything a man should walk a woman in the right direction in the street
Or into a home as his Empress
However many men would rather a good woman settle just as his mistress
I know its not your intent
For a man to play with your mental
Remember your body is made to be fertile
Worth investing in physiologically
But you allow your mind to be controlled psychologically encouraged by players & pimps
Woman should teach girls to see the real woman outside & conscious personality within
It's hard to understand a woman's excuse for stripping
Using a phrase "it's for college"
Not thinking men visualize showing your female body for dollars is just one of your problems
We enjoy to treat
But since your beautiful you should demand respect
It doesn't matter what level your living through an intellect
A females beauty has three phases
First its heard through the mouth
Then exemplifies through the personality
Lastly from the bright radiance of your smile & skin
That shines by the sun as a reflects from the face
Always know that your self esteem can always be replaced
With self assurance not insecurity
Know your the center of a mans universe
Planets circulate around you
If its not true then stay hidden I guarantee men & our world would not know what to do
Beguiling spring, how bold your arrogance
You shameless season painted in conceit
Parading up and down each city street
O'er hill, through dale, you flaunt your elegance
Each tree, each flower, bathed in decadence
Each gale, each breeze, your moods so indiscreet
Each dawn you send your birdsong out to greet
A vain display of your benevolence
And yet each year we welcome your return
With song and poem, we celebrate your style
We rush to be the first to photograph
A daffodil, a bud, a waking fern
You always make that winter wait worthwhile
On every heart you leave your autograph.
Daniel Turner
In the dust of Thessalonica’s street
where sandals scuffed the stones
and rumor of the sky splitting open
hung like thunder not yet born,
Paul stood—
tentmaker’s hands still smelling
of leather and labor,
thread pulled tight through hide
as through the conscience of men.
Some had folded their arms to the sun,
waiting for trumpets,
for clouds to blossom with fire,
for the Lord to descend
before supper.
But the ovens cooled.
The nets lay slack by the shore.
Bread thinned on the tables
of those who still rose
with morning’s ache.
And Paul wrote—
Not with cruelty,
not with a clenched fist,
but with the stern mercy
of one who knows
how hunger humbles a man.
“If one will not work,
neither shall he eat.”
Not for the broken hand,
not for the widow’s trembling bowl,
not for the child whose ribs
count the days—
but for the idle heart
that borrows breath
and gives no song in return.
For faith is no hammock.
Hope is no excuse
to sleep through the harvest.
He stitched the tents.
He bore the scars.
He preached with calloused palms—
that waiting for heaven
does not excuse
neglecting the earth.
And somewhere between
the needle and the Word,
between hunger and grace,
Paul taught them
that love
is the greatest of works.
COMING UP ON 47 YEARS ON PLANET EARTH, AND IT'S BEEN QUITE A JOURNEY. FROM MY EARLIEST MEMORIES OF GROWING UP ON SCOTT STREET IN SAN BRUNO TO BEING A WARD OF THE COURT UNTIL I TURNED 18. I WENT FROM JUVENILE HALL TO REHABS AND SPENT MOST OF MY TEENAGE YEARS LOCKED UP IN SOME FORM OR OTHER. I GREW UP WITH CHOLOS BIKERS, TWEEKERS, AND CONVICTS.
WHAT I HAVE LEARNED SO FAR IS THAT IN THIS LIFE, NOTHING IS GUARANTEED AND NOTHING LASTS FOREVER. I'VE LEARNED TO BE GRATEFUL FOR THE GOOD AND THE BAD BECAUSE IT BUILDS CHARACTER AND IT MAKES ME UNIQUE AND DIFFERENT THAN ANYONE ELSE. MY WINS, LOSSES, BAD DECISIONS, SCARS, AND PAIN MAKE ME WHO I AM TODAY.
I PATIENTLY WAIT TO BE REUNITED WITH MY BOYS. BEING A FATHER HAS BEEN ONE OF THE BEST GIFTS THAT THE LORD HAS GIVEN ME.
I AWAIT TO SEE WHAT MY GOD HAS FOR ME IN MY NOT-SO-DISTANT FUTURE.
He was a mean spirited canine though he had a home
He was like a ticking land mine as around he would roam
And as the dog went down his street he saw this little boy
There he was on his bicycle seat riding his brand new toy
He snuck around a parked car and then he made his attack
His mom crying out in horror as she barely had time to react
As the dog took his vicious bite it was now becoming a nightmare
When zooming in from the right, Tara, the family cat came to bear
She jumped right into that dogs face for herself having no fear
Chasing him away in a race until she knew the coast was clear
Coming back to check on her friend and it was a really bad bite
But this wound will one day mend but what if Tara didn't take flight
Oh the love and the loyalty that God's creatures so often show
Even from some people this you won't see, such love they don't know
But Tara was God's way to protect every creature at His Hand
So sad to see such animal neglect(though) throughout this entire land
Hero House Cat Saves Boy From Dog Attack May 15 2014
There are many reasons I love my morning walks…many ways I find to be enthralled
but sometimes the best moments…are when I do not walk at all.
Today as I began my walk…in the street I quietly stood
listening…as all around me I heard echoes of our neighborhood.
I heard the voices of children playing…children who are no longer there.
I heard sounds of joy and laughter filling the morning air.
I heard balls bouncing, children signing…I heard the clomping of their feet.
Echoes they left behind as they played upon this street.
There was a symphony of children’s voices flowing to and fro…
I heard our children’s voices…as well as children I did not know.
I imagine these echoes are always here drowned out by the cricket and the birds…
so why on this particular day…did they make their voices heard?
And then I realized…they weren’t for me…all these voices I heard today
but for our neighbors, who just moved in…who have a baby on the way.
I think these voices came together in anticipation of the day
when another baby…another voice…will join them in their play.
The day when the voice of this new little miracle will mix and blend with theirs
And the symphony will become more beautiful as as it drifts upon the air.
I didn’t get much walking done today….as in the street I stood
I was too busy eavesdropping…
on the echoes of our neighborhood.
Heading east on 16th Street
where the road becomes a “T”
it’s the last house on the south side
that means so much to me.
Pine shrubbery up to the windows
giant cottonwoods stand guard
an arch above the driveway
an eighteen acre yard
Wrapped in warm wood siding
inviting young and old
“Come! Sit upon this porch of mine!
Such stories yet to be told!”
The shingled roof, though worn with time
still boasts unyielding strength
a red brick chimney standing tall,
giant windows down the length
I helped to plant those giant trees
when we were both still small
and pulled the weeds from every inch
of eighteen acres....ALL!
I’ve climbed out of those windows
some punishment to escape
I’ve run across that rooftop
donned in a long red cape
I’ve crawled under that porch
upon my hands and knees
to rescue baby kittens
or little brothers for to tease
I’ve chased the dogs around the house
upon my faithful steed
who was just a Shetland pony
but always up to the deed!
Within those walls, and out it seems,
many lessons there were learned
and in the process of it all
the memories, on my heart, were burned
Though things change, as all things do,
there, most things stay the same
like love and laughter flowing ‘round
and calling out my name
Now, when I’m growing weary
and need a place to hide
I jump into my trusty car
and go out for a ride
‘cause
Heading east on 16th Street
where the road becomes a “T”
that last house on the south side
means so much to me!
Trudy Diane Rider
10-2003
"It was a beautiful whore of a day", he reasoned, "maybe she will have even less on !"
The little band of misfits garnered the stares of mall patrons as they ran as fast as their puppet legs could manage, (without being high on a coke/steroid cocktail, called a Dynobowl). (There was also blood doping, which consisted of shooting up minute amounts of plasma), but they had no time for bloodsport. They were gonna be a bloodspurt, if Michael caught up to them and with his Tri-Lam athletics background that would happen sooner than later. They needed "a plan" and fast !
Kenny the drug dealer and Silky the 44th street pimp looked around for contacts, as did Penney, it was instinct. There had to be a "John or a hoodlum" there somewhere, after all, it was the mall. A family place for shopping,
pictures, waves to friends and tight lipped hookers (if they knew what was good for them). Then there was a place to sit and eat where Mom and Dad could argue in front of the entire mall. Johnny could show under the table to Lucy what he stole and she could show what she stole. Whomever had the biggest total (in cost!) wins. However, a belt made out of the "booty" automatically added five points. What? Those are the rules, (I didn't invent them).
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