Long Well behaved Poems
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When I was a child, children were chattel, threatened by our parents and our preacher.
We did not even dare whisper a tiny bit of a sliver of a question at our teacher.
Today’s brazen un-mothers drop their children off for breakfast, lunch and supper.
They have school toilets destroyed before you can spell the word ‘upper.’
The well-behaved, socialized, well-mannered children experience a daily scene
Of how fast our wild ones can commandeer the classroom, showing their mean
They respect no one. Least of all themselves. They refuse to go to a buddy room.
They yell cuss words, and they make noises that are worse than a rocket’s zoom.
What do they receive for disrupting the classroom day after day, in non-moderation?
Rewards in the form of extra recess, basketball, an elaborate celebration.
How this magnificent reward system for bad behavior has backfired is anyone’s guess.
Some of our other children, are starting to throw chairs, wanting to be in this mess.
Is it the prizes, the chocolate sundae bar, the cash? Is it the three hour play on the swings?
Is it the McDonald’s lunch they receive, while the rest are eating lukewarm onion rings?
Is it the laughs they get watching their well-behaved classmates sitting down hard and bored?
Is it that they see the tally sheet, and they realize they are the only ones who scored?
One of our five-year-olds has our school in lock-down mode daily, never there or here.
His teacher is counting the days until break, so she can start interviewing for a different career.
What started out as simple defiance is in full-blown mode now. Our fire escape is broken,
Most white boards and windows have been destroyed, and this is but a brief token.
Is it mean to ask about the rights of the other twenty-six children in the class?
Is it okay to wonder, how in the world in math and reading they will ever pass?
Ask your grandchildren if I am right, and then run to school and for the good ones, please fight.
Written 12-06-2018 Contest: Let ‘Er Rip Sponsor: John Lawless
What My Aunt Taught Me
By Curtis Johnson
He did not have to be so mean to us; but he was
He did not have to make us so afraid; but he did
We apologized for our cow’s action; but he didn’t care
It was the day our cow broke loose and got into his yard
The cow did no harm, but the man’s attitude was odd
I was 13 and well behaved, but staying cool was hard
Daddy had passed away just a couple of months before
Mama was sweet, and my aunt was never far from our door
We retrieved the cow, and went home just down from the store
My aunt taught me a great lesson on that troubling day
It was a lesson about people, planted in my mind to stay
It was about the good, the bad, the ugly; people are that way
My aunt taught me that some people will never change
They are angry and disturbed, and take it out on others
So we have to make adjustments for them, and move on.
02082016 (PS;
Patrick was well-behaved in school
He followed every single stupid rule
He studied hard and earned top grades
All his friends knew he had it made
At college, he planned and plotted who to friend
Elected President of his class in the end
He entered the coroporate world on a roll
CEO of Trans-Oceana Corp. his only goal
By the way, Patrick took a wife
Lived the absentee-husband suburban good life
Then one fine day Patrick made CEO
He hurried home, the wife and kids to show
But on the door was taped a note, sweet and short
'We've had enough, stranger. See you in court!'
A Little Boy’s World
By Curtis Johnson
When I was a little boy, I was always well behaved. Well, most of the time.
Being honest and respectful is the way I was raised; not to be mean, but nice and kind. I don’t know why, but I was withdrawn a lot, very quiet, emotions in a cave; but mostly, I stayed in line. I had lots of family and friends that God freely gave, and all kinds of food on which to dine.
In my home town, some roads and streets were paved, but most were dusty and gravel ones, with no street sign. There were lots of little things so treasured and divine; like loving to watch my father when he shaved. Perhaps I was looking forward to the day when the boy would become a man, and daddy’s shaver would become my own. Whether I was right or wrong, grandma always came to my aid.
There have always been wonderful grandmas, but I think none as great as mine.
The love I experienced, I could never trade; But there was another world beyond my family and friend; A dark world with enough hate to blow your mind. But that's a story of a different kind.
But God and my folks put love in us; and out of hate, we were never made
My two-faced world was still among the best worlds one could ever find.
There were things of which to be afraid , and I was not that brave. But it always paid to be aware of what was out there, and fear was not a crime.
There was never much money to spend and none to save, but we didn’t whine, and somehow we managed just fine
So, the glistening aim noticeably passes by,
So, the dangerous motion formidably goes by,
So, the unknown one remains unknown for the time being,
So, one is ahead of the petty singing.
The one and only is good-natured and well-behaved,
He is favoured and well-blessed.
Though the great Guide is sacrificed, done and dusted,
The honest being is fit, fine, and well-crafted.
The physical existence is going to be dealt with,
The mirrored organizations are going to vote for the myth.
The glass is going to be blurred by its connotations,
The pure man is defined by his situations.
The window is becoming larger day by day,
The commentators are solitary soldiers in their own way.
The perception is becoming blinded,
The light is the only lie that is provided.
Here, the perfect human is the representative of his species,
Here, he has grown up with his lengthy speeches.
Here, he is no longer unknown or unfeasible to catch,
And therefore, he has everything else to match.
I love my green and feathered friend a bushel and a peck, *
But there was one occasion when I could have wrung her neck!
She's normally so well-behaved, but on that fateful day
When Aunty Pat came round for tea, I heard my parrot say:
'Old fatty Aunty Patty', 'Aunt Patty is a bore!'
With that my red-faced Aunt stood up and stormed out through the door!
I could have killed that parrot, we didn't speak for days.
I glowered at her through the cage and confiscated maize.
I tend to watch my words now, and Polly curbs her bill
The last I heard, my Aunty Pat had cut me from her will!
FINAL REVISED VERSION
16/03/19
'Green Humor Rhymes, Old Or New For Prizes Poetry Contest'
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire
* For anyone not familiar with this expression it means : ' a lot; a great amount' and was famously used in a song from the broadway musical 'Guys and dolls'. The last word seemed particularly fitting within this context!
Dearest Santa, my one wish may seem strange
but please do not interpret me as snide.
I wish this kindness so please do arrange
my Christmas gift of a mail order bride.
Surely she would lighten my hard work load,
help with the children and spousal demands.
She can be pretty or favor a toad
as long as it’s English she understands.
I fail domestic perfection with house,
Mom affection with little ones each day
and attending His Lordship, my own spouse,
because my to-do list stays in the way.
Again, this may seem most unorthodox
but this is me thinking outside the box.
I know that you must judge, weigh and ponder
if I was a well-behaved girl this year:
I tried leaving home for the far yonder -
my car died before even driveway clear;
I lace my morning coffee with brandy;
hide my husband’s tickets to pro baseball;
stuff chips under chairs when comes Priest Andy;
I oft ignore my children when they call;
sometimes I name dust bunnies on our floor;
sarcasm is my first go to coping tool;
I cheat at cards when adding up my score;
and June just past, I peed in a pal's pool.
I work hard without reward all day long,
so sometimes, yeah, I get this life all wrong.
I wish to remember why I am here;
recall romantic love that started all.
I could succeed if I had a wife-peer
helping with spousal gall and toddler brawls.
I want more than bathtubs layered with dirt
and stinking trash bordering on a spill.
Let someone else produce an ironed shirt
and seek deep sleep as an ambitious thrill.
I want memories of kids where I smile
and husband conversations standing still.
I seek family love to feel worthwhile
lest I seek happy docs with happy pills.
One or both of us can wed my wished bride,
just, please, Santa, in my favor decide.
Most of the time, according to reports from back home, I must say that I was a rather well-behaved kid growing up.
Simpler were those times when kids learned to respect their elders. Creeks and irrigation ponds were places to both work and keep cool.
Home was often the center of mischief, but dad always settled the issue. Ill manners could be solved by neighbors and later also reported to parents.
Eyes in stealth like spy cameras were everywhere and fixated on every kid. Families are havens of love but can also be dysfunctional and hope-deprived.
09072018PoSoupContest, A Form Of Mischief, Nina Parmenter Original form: Acrostic; Change: Double spaced with 8 line Couplet Form
Sorely alive I sing a song in my senior years
I arise risen mind excluding my fears
Second song melodies of miraculous dawn moon
The Son has risen and yet he shall return soon
Glorious songs of praise
Joyously I speak in rejoicing waves
My arms and hands upward as I praise
And the overture is in the repeated chorus
I am a choir alone so open and voices
Glorious songs of praise
O' song of praise so well-behaved
Vibrant and listening flowing within the distance winds
Channel call angels fall at the chance listening
Found an intertwined within the quietness a silent slave
Glorious songs of praise
Joyously I speak with rejoicing waves
My arms and hands upward in gratifying praise
And the feeling in my spirit my soul sings with joys
Angels surround me in this holy of holies choir
Glory unto the Most High, Hallelujah
We shall always sing glorious songs of praise
1/4/22
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
i'd allowed you in again even thou my soul
was shattered god was quite displeased as you
hammered your dark fist against my rib cage
senseless i thought an yet you were forgiven again
even more than the last time i'd carefully packed
garments birth certificates and social security cards
while dripping tears and blood onto the blank pages
of my new residence a safe place chanted across
the empty lines then availibility how many beds
as we poured into the entrance the sign read safe
you are not alone an yet i'd left everything i was
centered in a room of over fourteen other women
quiet timid angry how we failed at making a male
happy within his own skin how he'd torn into us all
it was like the same man had beaten us all an yet
i knew only you calm cool collective when the cops
came taking you around the corner to cool off
where was i here in america why i was all races
all religions an yet i was harmed while the worse
part of my abuse was returning to my abuser
how you emptied me into silence covered in tears
black and blue an yet i missed you washing the bruises
with soft soap our children were shattered as i explained
daddy was ill he was sick he worked very hard to care
for us if we were more quiet well behaved he would
respond to our energy and love us deeply as deep
as i allowed myself to be abused this was america
oppression depression family ties became wrath
as i whispered he know's not what he does
we are loved as i planned a new home among strangers
an yet they were me i was all of these women a safe place
sorjournal truth home the harbor light inn the st angeline
christian center chaplins office the salvation army
cornerstone community outreach shelter the springs
outreach where was home in america as i embraced
you served you were ill you would someday change
abuse would become softer cycles will be broken
but here in the in this space in this place
and in this time you became plural that's all
as i soon became very small why i soon became
safe
Written by Mrs Yolanda Nicholsen