Long Were Poems
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. Each year as Christmas rolls around, as I buckle under the pressure and stress of
shopping for gifts for people that already have everything, I find myself remembering that
Christmas of 1954.
Dad had joined the army that year and we moved from the East Coast of Canada
to Ontario, leaving behind our extended family and the only home I had ever know in a small
fishing village along the Bay of Fundy.
Now we stood gazing in horror at the rows of ugly buildings sitting on barren land
in the middle of nowhere. This was the housing provided by the army and was a major part
of the wage agreement.
My mother was inconsolable until dad rented us a small apartment over a Chinese
restaurant in downtown Barrie. There was no remuneration by the army for forfeiting the
housing, so it left dad with a very small pay-check
Pay day was once a month and we usually ran out of money in the last week, so,
off we would go to the pawn shop with dad’s prized possession; his short-wave radio, won for
superior marksmanship.
Being kids, we finally adjusted to our new world as we watched the Santa Claus
Parade march below our living room window amid the honking horns, blaring bands and
throngs of people lined along the streets as far as the eye could see as we laughed with glee.
~~~
We had seen them on our way to school in the window of the bicycle shop;
gleaming with chrome spokes and handlebars and hand grips adorned with multi-colored
streamers. There I would stand until my feet grew numb from the cold, daydreaming of
riding back to the East Coast. I could actually see the sun glistening on the waves as I raced
along the ocean on the way to grandma’s house. More than once I had to stay after school
for being late.
My brother thought maybe if we were really good, Santa would bring those
bicycles to us. I being the older and therefore the wiser, knew the state of the real Santa’s
affairs and promptly convinced my brother I had heard from a reliable source Santa had a
shortage of bicycles this year and we would just have to earn the money and buy them
ourselves.
Continued in part 2....
Ah yes, the calm before the storm is brewing, looking outside to see the clouds. As they shift back and forth I see the calm before the storm, and that explains it.
That's why things were not working out right, and I felt restless, the syndrome has occurred.
It's not that I didn't or I couldn't anymore. Rest assured all is calm before a typhoon hits and washes out to sea all those left outside. Am I the only one left? Hello, is there anybody there? Or is it just the voices in my head?
Consequences come hard, and we have to face them. It might not look like it we have consequences from our actions, but we do.
There is an agreement made, binding and limiting our movement. Which enable us powerless, powerless to stop the flow.
The mighty river rages and the sea sprays up foam, and yet none to calm her down. Voices in my head.
Blow wind blow, heap a head full of coals upon them. Let them know they are in for the fight of their lives. You'd better bring your A game, this one might knock you out. I can hear the countdown, " 1, 2, 3" and finally, "you're out!"
Without a doubt my second happiest day
was when I 'fairly' caught the wedding bouquet
I used a sneaky play, but I'd waited so long
that desperate ploys could no longer be wrong
The story of my life was failed campaigns
despite training hard and using my brains
Not wanting any strains I'd leave nothing to chance
Tom Cruise in tights couldn't have got me to dance
I'd limber up and always picture success
and study the opposition like pieces of chess
but I'd be a mess when beaten each time
and worry about getting past my prime
At my first ‘bouquet’, experience and height
were the two factors that carried the night
but I was all right - I was young at thirteen
and the loss made me more hungry and mean
The next attempt brought pain and humiliation –
sweet success was dashed by disqualification
I had no invitation, but there are no rules
At least it seems that way, the way the blood spills
My confidence ebbed to an all-time low
but I soon bounced back like a seasoned pro
I again caught the boq, but thought they were jesting
when they said I'd failed the steroid testing
It was very hard my three year suspension
My come-back efforts I hardly need mention
I felt the tension and had sweaty palms
and resorted to using adhesive balms
It wasn't until the day I donned the gloves
I was confident above the push and shoves
but flying's for doves, certainly not for me
because I became prone to injury
Thirty nine years old against youngsters with flair
I was going to win whether foul or fair
People would stare and say I was finished
but at least my guile hadn't diminished
Just winning was no longer enough
I was so weary as the sport was so rough
When sure I wouldn’t **** my next opportunity
I had to secure my financial security
I gave the bookies all of my cash
and bet it all on my last dash
The bride was Steroid Sash - my closest friend
As she raised the bouquet, I squealed, "hard far end"
I caught it and won the appeal
It was adjudged a legitimate squeal
The feeling was unreal and anticipation high
Now all I needed was to meet a nice guy.
That's another story!
(See Chapter 2, Courting Woes)
From David’s book Poems for Wedding Receptions & Poems Definitely NOT for Wedding Receptions! with over 30 poems
You’re a execrable human being
and people should see it
no honour to reveal
just a sicko no skill
you target like a retard
think you’re big think you’re hard
a minion that the devil carved
with no intelligence
more scavenger chance
telling yourself it’s for the good
you ain’t robbing with a hood
you think you’re metal
when you’re wood-louse
it’s gona come back, rebound
lying slander shoved back in your mouth
judge yourself on friends you have
tough times to come learn friends you have
only you you’ll have social maths
I’ve walked that path
and you’re powerless without pals too daft
decisions you make
for goodness sake
you couldn’t out wit a garden rake
I wasn’t sacked I was bullied out
got the paperwork to show and I’ll shout
you were kicked out sacked of your crown
you think you rule the world,
mare you’re upside down,
go to the police think I’ll cease
no way I’ll present every little piece
and tell you what you won’t find peace
when you’re locked up in a cell,
a medical state where my brain didn’t process
it wouldn’t act on the things it noticed
like a mental breakdown I lived remoteness
lost all yeah forgotten closeness
now I'm alive I guess I survived
I'm coming back to show you lied
outnumbered 3 to 1 up for the rumble
beat one of you and there's still one more
2 to 1 watching you crumble and pour
1 on 1 you're no more than a dough ball
I'd win if there was 4 you won a battle
I win the war you snowflaking snore
mental breakdowns because of you
acting scandalous kicking the tooth
now I remember oh so clear
repressed memories ain’t yesteryear
yes they’re here and I’m living again
acting on things I didn’t back then
13 years with my brain in a coma
heaven and hell cant make this over
You died today, three years ago. Which is when I wrote down this date with a brief note. Katrina died. Yeah, that was all I could fit inside, on the month and date in this small box with a space below your exit time. So it’s there. Centered, where I scribbled down inside, an end date for my sister, my first friend in this life. I can’t believe a calendar can remain so calm when all I do is document days when humans celebrate another year around the sun. Or a painful return to a paralyzing reminder of a human whose time stopped before today began. June, always an unwelcome with you. I have been seeing her in many different places, even showing up in my reflection. Must be because I have been trying not to face it. As it approached the day your spirit was lifted and your human body interrogated. It’s like every time this date jets back around I’m barely picking myself up from the last time I was in fetal position on the ground. Where’s the sweet spot for when this grief stops and I can look at a calendar without hearing tick-tock? I’m sure I’ve forgiven you and myself, so why is your death and absence still making me feel so unwell? Guess it goes back to the fact I love you forever and more, so this date will make my heart sore and my spirit mourn. I just wish I could hug you just once more. I’m just a human and even if I could take this pain away, I wouldn’t. It’s you. It’s a reminder I had you. Lived in the same womb after you, made memories after that with you, laughed with you, and cried with you, it’s the unfair reminder you were 1 and I was 2. Another three hundred and sixty-five without you. 2,3,4, need a one. Mom misses you with every last ounce of her, that she can. I look forward to starting back where it all began. See you when my dial ends.
Ahab needed shore leave,
And obsessed so on his dream,
Harpooning some sweet harlot
Had become his major theme.
He was just a novice mariner,
His first time far from home.
He’d made his maiden voyage
With his wild oats yet unsown.
Jezebel liked scrimshaw,
Always wore it like a queen.
She loved to dress in style
And had a taste for French cuisine.
She was just another working girl,
Young sailors were her game.
She didn’t dig Jehovah,
But she’d do Him just the same.
Ahab went on liberty
With fifty bucks in cash.
He laid down ten on his first tattoo
And a shot of sour mash.
Jezi smiled coquettishly,
Cooed, Hey there, cherry boy,
For forty shekels I’ll show you the ropes.
I shag like the real McCoy.
Jezebel naughtily lowered her veil
And shimmied her best Bette Davis.
Ahab said, "Baby, lead me astray
Where Elijah’s conceit can’t betray us."
Ahab followed Jezi
To her boudoir’s upper floor,
Singing gayly of Nantucket
Like some salty troubadour.
Ahab put his hand inside
Her open cookie jar.
The moment seemed electric,
Like Saint Elmo lit his spar.
Just then the temple cops burst in
And ruined his crescendo.
Ahab ran; they clipped his leg.
Jezebel jumped out the window.
This story and its moral
Speak of tragic dialogues:
Ahab deflowered a virgin prosthesis,
And Jezebel went to the dogs.
Written: November 17, 2023
That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love. By William Wordsworth
_____________________________________________
If just there were a lexis from which to choose.
A magic word to silence the clock in the room.
To turn on lights for just a while and let loose.
Unplug the gloom and watch your face bloom.
A magic word to silence the clock in the room
In my mind, I retain loads of nameless rhymes.
Unplug the gloom and watch your face bloom.
Dreams primed my heart wrapped in those times.
In my mind, I retain loads of nameless rhymes.
By arguing, as if you're the only thing I can say.
Dreams primed my heart wrapped in those times.
However, they can't be spoken to or buried away.
By arguing, as if you're the only thing I can say.
They can't, as they secern the effects and price.
However, they can't be spoken to or buried away.
So I garden, sifting through my memory trice.
They can't, as they secern the effects and price.
Light in the grass, craving the white gull cry.
So I garden, sifting through my memory trice.
In passing, geese waveringly cross the sky.
Light in the grass, craving the white gull cry.
I watch, and it sleeps in solitude, with no name.
In passing, geese waveringly cross the sky.
Life of light seems to scorch anything as a flame.
I watch, and it sleeps in solitude, with no name.
Raised hare on a slope with long, clear ears.
Life of light seems to scorch anything as a flame.
Learn a timeless tune as trees quiver in years.
Raised hare on a slope with long, clear ears.
Avian species exude it and don't need to learn.
Learn a timeless tune as trees quiver in years.
Serve us with no words, and seek none in return.
Avian species exude it and don't need to learn.
To turn on lights for just a while and let loose.
Serve us with no words, and seek none in return.
If just there were a lexis from which to choose.
Today, tomorrow
Now or later
I place my misery
Within your hands
Your softest palms
The heart of a troubled man
Begins to stand
For those whom know not
What I go through
Suppressed in thoughts
Must I show you?
Seems the figure
You all look to see
I suddenly couldn’t be
Even when faults were wanted
I wouldn’t plea
Shall I rest
Today, Tomorrow
Now or later
With everything I’m providing you
All in the mist of tragedy
All that is reliable
Is truth
Peers next to me
Seem to see
A short life expectancy
How harsh times better a man
In shackles, in cuffs
Yet I’ve written this letter in hand
Here I imply
My suspicions and demands
Who’s to judge me
For taking a path not often shown
Chances taken and blown
Cold weather wishing
Next to a fire place all alone
I miss you and there’s nothing wrong
How is one to feel
When they’re all dried with in a song
There are these feelings
I have noticed lately
They hover about
And they follow me
I cant shake them I tried
But they wont let go
And when their inclined
They take hold of my soul
And thats when these feelings come back to me
I feel the sun on my skin
And the wind at my back
I feel the flow of the water
And you on my lap
I can remember being happy
My can I remember that
I cant recall when they first came out
But since then they are always hanging about
Sitting close by just waiting me out
When they get the chance they be dragging me back to
When time had less meaning
And work. it could wait
Weekends were open for fun and for dates
I cant let go of the times that we had
I guess that why their with me wherever I'm at
And their
Waiting to comfort my soul
When I get to thinking I missed my chance
And then what do you know
Just like the love you used to show
It all comes right back
I feel the sun on my skin
The wind at my back
The flow of the water
And you on my lap
I herr you whisper i love you and I will see me soon
I keep waiting on the day I don't wake up and see you once again
I feel the sun on my skin
The wind at my back
I love you now just as I loved you then
And I wait for the day were together again.
The Prude
Someone tried to step into Rico's shoes
But came unstuck because he is a prude
He couldn't raise a titter
On Facebook or Twitter
So now the prude’s gone and taken to booze.
The Prude got tipsy the night that he wed
His bride wouldn't let him get into the bed
She said no way mister
For you and my sister
Were seen by a guest in state of undress.
29th April 2021
*************
Add-ons
If I was the drunk prude I would say:
It wasn't me but my brother
Who cheats on his wife like no other
Someone told you a lie
It was surely not I
Because I was upstairs with your mother.
Written by: Daniel Turner
*********************
You were upstairs with my mum, that's worst
I'm so mad that I'm about to burst
Get out of my face
Go to outer space
Or jump in the ocean; get submersed.
Written by: Alexis y.
*****************
Says Rico to his bride - yes, it gets worse,
“I've ridden your dad all the more.” His nurse,
in shock at reveal,
a look they'd both steal,
and give her new spouse his last bump in a hearse.
Written by: Kim Rodrigues
*********************