Long Up to date Poems
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SAFELINK TracFone unanimously synonymous...
not only as my lifeline,
and connectivity insurance
with family, friends and strangers,
whereby yours truly
experiences virtual safety net
as would be true
for many purple people eaters,
when havoc unexpectedly strikes
triggering an emergency situation,
where life and death
as very uncomfortable truth
teeters in the balance
necessitate immediate intervention,
hence survival
of one mediocre bipedal hominid
within twenty first century,
not only requires
allocated government funding
for unlimited talk and text,
to brook intervention
allowing, enabling, and providing help
while I channel urgent plea
via telephonic wireless portal
or surfing the cyber sea
if in need of an
up to date telephone number
until that one day in the near future,
when logical integrated circuits,
albeit miniscule or near invisible bots
to the naked eye,
said telecommunication trappings
ideally, easily, and admirably
embedded within body electric
batteries not necessary
when capacity to energize lovely bones
emulates, jump/kickstarts,
and powers an uninterrupted
self sustaining feedback loop
courtesy subcutaneous
nearly microscopic solar cells
(similar in principle
to intrauterine devices)
generates ample electricity
with resistance from subjects
to communicate wirelessly,
which means every waking
and sleeping movement
grudgingly monitored,
thus surreptitious antics
possibly flagged for:
accusation of plagiarization,
barbarization of mine mien,
cannibalization of pet peeves,
demonization of politicization,
elation of short lived beneficence,
fictionalization of embedded chip insertion,
glorification qua state of art communication,
humanization of artificial intelligence,
idolization of electronic engineering,
jollification of electrons
kation of covalent bond.
adieu from,
matthew scott harris
The ABC’s of Morning
Awake on the dot of seven
Birds are chirping away
Coffee… as always, first order of the day,
Doggy kisses from Kea
Enjoying the peace and quiet
Fumble for my glasses to see
Garden shadows in early light
Harmony of leaves in the garden
Intricate patterns at play
Just as sunlight begins, a
Kinship of finch burst away.
Lavender dreams are fading
Mindful of duties to do
Overcoming an urge to be lazy, I
Pirouette to the bathroom to dress
Quietly, I exit the bedroom, a
Resting hubby not to disturb
Sit in the lounge with my ipad
Thankful for all of life’s gifts
Up to date with events, I
Venture to start my routine
Walking, now for health reasons, try to
Xerox this action each day
Yesterday, though, I missed it
Zealot, I’m not, you might say!
7/22/15
On the tennis court, my knee
Gave me a little pain.
Walking down the steps, I also
Felt a little strain.
Then today, I tried to run
Across a busy street;
That knee seized up to slow me down –
I hobbled in defeat.
I’m sure it’s just arthritis
But it made me start to think
I’m heading into the abyss
Or else I’m on the brink.
For as the years go by, we see
Our youth as it departs;
And when we can no longer run,
Well, this is how it starts.
I’m waiting now and wondering,
If age has got me hexed,
Which part of brain or body
Is about to fail me next.
So step right up and place your bet;
I’ll keep you up to date.
The possibilities, profuse,
Are open to debate.
Catfish are very funny looking
They have two whiskers, don't ask me how
Their tails are short and have no hair
And they never say meow
Their diet consist of many things
Worms, fish, and some day old chicken liver
A taste for spiders and also "Spam"
If you slice them up a sliver
In my life I've caught a few
Hundred's up to date
But only one, had I let go
The rest were on my plate
I've cooked them up so many ways
I'll mention just a few
Cajun, blackened, deep fried in oil
But I like them most in stew
So if you catch one fishing
Or if you see them in the store
Bring them home and cook them up, enjoy!
You'll be going back for more
Catfish- Contest
Sponsored by Catie Lindsey
5/10/18
Excitement filled the bushland as December was near
Every creature had been waiting for Christmas time - all year.
Wallabies hung their stockings on a gumtree branch with care
Just as all nice children do – everywhere.
Meanwhile those more up to date logged on the internet
sending E mails to Santa to see what they could get
Koalas draped high treetops with shiny garlands green
And furry possums lined their dens in golden glitter sheen
Wallabies joined in with bright balloons hung on their tails
All the crows tied streamers, cascading from the rails.
Kookaburras’ laughter changed to Christmas songs
While magpies and peewees piped along in throngs.
A wombat and a bandicoot made honeysuckle punch
The parrots came too early and drank’ til they got drunk
And when the’ Magic Pudding’ came to help with Christmas Dinner
His taste was so delicious he left a trifle thinner.
With a Kangaroo as Santa, his pouch stuffed full of cheer
hopping ‘round the outback in the hottest time of year
Just guess what all the drovers got- lots of ice-cold beer.
Suzanne Delaney
For Children's Christmas Poem Contest for Carol Eastman
"Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers…"
Every time I hear a kid recite this twisted rhyme,
I'm 'minded how 'gainst Mother Nature it's a crime.
What that peck of peppers was no one can tell,
Perhaps banana, jalapeño, cherry, bell.
But whate'er they were, it's plain, at least to me,
That such a peck as that came off no bush nor tree.
For years this simple nursery flaw
Has scraped, and scoured, and rubbed me raw,
And in my very craw the thing's been sticking.
So to bring the problem up to date,
And to try and set the record straight,
I've checked with Vlasik, Clausen, Kraft,
And all agree the notion's daft
That peppers can be pickled prior to picking.
Author's note: Of course, there could have been a typo in the original manuscript, and Peter actually "packed a peck of pickled peppers", or maybe Peter, himself, was partially "pickled" when he picked 'em.
Entered in Tom Woody's Nursery Rhyme Wackiness Poetry Contest on July 16, 2024.
Generations
By Franklin Price
8/14/2016
Generations are varietous
I wonder if that is a word
Have names that we remember
Maybe most of them you've heard
Far as I can tell it all began
With the ending of the war
With the “Greatest Generation”
Seems they always knew the score
The “Baby Boomers” came along
When the war came to an end
Began real drastic changes
Not all of them we can defend
Then came more generations
Were lettered “X”, “Y” and “Z”
Had some names attached to them
I've put some here for you to see
'Silent”, “Hippie”, “Baby Busters”,
“Boomerang” and “MTV”
“Echo Boom”, “Rock and Roll”
And of course there is the “Me”
“Latch Key Kids”, “Millenium”
Almost brings us up to date
After the year two thousand one
the “Boomlets” are our fate
No longer are we farmers
Who came back from the war
Now there is technology
As there never was before
It's a shame the separation
Of generations that we use
Each one has new found obstacles
And old traditions to abuse
I'm not saying we're not different
Do not sing a different song
I'm just saying we should find a way
For all of us to get along
CUCUMBERS OR NUMBERS
Here we are together, all as mates
Clustered in several separate plates
Vinegar soaked, as all pickles are
Yet each in our own way, a star
Adding that extra taste to cheese
As our main intention is to please
While we are still hale and hearty
The gherkin says, let’s have a party
Our French friend won’t understand
He’s a cornichon in that foreign land
But we like each other for good or ill
Even overshadowed by that tall dill
Lying here, no chance for any fun run
Especially with that big pickled onion
But we feel sorry for that brown lump
Just sweet pickle, and has got the hump
Yet believed to be a computer nerd
And quite up to date as we’ve heard
But at this party we’ve heard enough
So let us dump all the techie stuff
Even if it brings tears to our eyes
Python pickle will quickly de-serialise
At the Preakness, horses race;
The crowd is quite excited.
After winners are declared,
Observers are invited
To witness a tradition
Which, since nineteen hundred nine
Has been special to all racing fans
And cool in its design.
See, atop the Members’ Clubhouse,
A historic weather vane
Of a horse and jockey waits there
For the colors it will claim.
Lawrence Jones, the current painter
(At his job since ‘88)
Climbs a ladder to the cupola
To bring things up to date.
He applies the owner’s colors,
Which the winning jockey’s worn,
On the weather vane to show the world
A champion’s been born.
So today, for Cloud Computing,
(That’s the winning horse’s name)
Red and white have just been painted,
Horse and owner’s claim to fame.
I tried squeezing my eyes countless times,
But even up to date when l close them, folded scenes release their leash on me,
How could l even start explaining because we didn’t even do mammie and daddy,
Because mammie was only a child and daddy was an old hag,
I tried covering parts of my body with my tiny hands,
With fear written all over my face,
Not even a word could come out of my mouth,
All that could come out were whispers, mumbles,
He touched my body like he was touching piano keys,
But to me the keys were only cranking and making noise,
He kept on pressing me on the bathroom tub,
He started pounding and pounding and pounding and pounding,
As blurry as my vision was,
I could still hear screams, from screams to moans, from moans to groans,
l could feel his skin inside me, with which every bang came with pain instead of pleasure,
He became my body’s assassinate,
Not only did he take my innocence, he broke me,
And now l hate me,,
I could picture his face smirking his face,
Without any ounce of guilt,
Am filled with so many “if’s” ,
Only if l could turn back hands of time,
Only if rivers could go reverse,
Only if daddy had a conscience,
But daddy why?................