Spare a thought for that poor man
Who used to drive the night soil van
Compelled to do his job at night
So as not to give the ladies a fright.
The butt of many school kids jokes
Never spoken of by more polite folks
But our business was his business
And we were the cause of his distress.
Just think about it
He had to deal with all our sh*t
In the days before septic tanks
He did his work without much thanks.
What right does a man have to judge
Another who works with faecal sludge
If you had to handle someone's excreta
Do you think that you'd be much neater?
And I can well understand
Why no one wanted to shake his hand
But spare a thought for that poor man
Who used to drive the night soil van.
And yet I see within those eyes,
Not a beast in disguise,
But prey with unheard cries,
To it's faith it'll never know,
That whimpers and hinders,
Heady flame sunk in snow,
One that had not yet roared in anger,
One that had not yet learnt to bite,
As hard and harsh,
And filled with spite,
To darken misty air,
A growing girl,
Who sang with flair,
Who dreamed of heaven and fairies,
And neater, straighter hair.
Yet married a man so cold,
Yet strong, yet bold,
For he would hold her til he's old,
For the autumn, winter and summertime, sold
Her body beneath her clothe.
Barefoot and pregnant,
An orphaned widow by divorce,
She'd use that voice she used to sing,
To yell to cry,
but not to think,
To her children she died,
To herself she never lived,
"You live a loveless life,
You marry a loveless man,
You do your best,
And take what you can."
If you break into laughter, I won’t join,
Facing us right now the need to hands join
And, fast, stripped body cover up to loin;
Neater clothes to fetch for the man’s bared groin
And no less veil for his wife’s announced loin…
Perhaps you want them to Adam rejoin
Or right there as wedded couple conjoin!
Mad beggars – yes – for as cheap as a coin:
But which shop picks from filthy hand a coin
And which food seller attends to leaked groin?
Then it’s a much fake concern: your tossed coin
Unless a cool, thousand of it you join
I When Your Siblings Torment You
a) tattle to your mom and dad
b) tell them: Stop, or I'll get mad!
c) cry: Can't we just play instead?
d) put a family of roaches in their bed
II When A Schoolyard Bully Demands Your Money
a) fork it over and beg: Will you let me go?
b) lie and plead: I spent all my dough
c) chant: Dear friend, please be not my foe
d) slap his face and stomp his big toe
III When Your Folks Compare You to Cousin Billy
a) say you'll study harder in the year ahead
b) pledge to be neater and make your bed
c) vow to do your chores with a smile of good cheer
d) invite Billy over and kick his rear
IV When Classmates Call You Way-Uncool
a) study and mimic their swagger and walk
b) get with the attitude, tunes, tats and talk
c) make amends for being the nerd of the year
d) respect yourself and follow the drummer you hear
2/7/23
The Multiple Choice Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Suzanne Delaney
I had to be much bitter,
Sure of the two The Fitter...
Away hours he'd fritter
On some spot steady sitter,
Never chats ends with Rita,
Engulfed in things that glitter
Fears of what in me bitter
I could betray as a hitter,
Peter dropping like litter
And never picking him up
An "I shan't - have - again pup"
So, its a lucky Peter,
For whom things have been neater.
I bought a pair of garden shears,
The first I’ve ever used.
The shrubs looked much too tall and wild
So I was most enthused.
I have no training, but I thought
Some snipping here and there
Would make things look much neater;
If I messed up, who would care?
I trimmed away dead branches
Then I lopped some from the top.
Some left-side leaves, some right-side twigs;
I watched the cuttings drop.
The shears worked great and I felt proud
So after quite a spell,
I looked to see a job well done
But couldn’t even tell!
Write on my gravestone.
It was a typing mistake.
Not a random skip.
Rather, it dropped correctly.
Was neater than other lines.
She walks inside me,
Sharp click of boots
Echoing through the caverns
Electric memory blurred fuzzy
Like static on a TV screen
Each step, a tremor in my heart
A rose garden weeded, bleeds
Through my dirt-stained hands
Nicer, neater, but not the same
SONG
Oh! well you take a beat .....
Feel the rhythm from your head to your feet
Lay it down with a form and a meter
Bring alive with a jive make it neater
And then you get some notes .....
Compose a melody that swings and floats
Put together in the major or the minor
Just one other thing could make it finer
You have a sound now - nice .......
Just add a little bit of flavour, give it spice
Get some words right for articulation
Sing them in this new delectable collation
.....................
You can pass your laws and fight your wars
Lay a siege shut out by walls and iron doors
There’s one thing can penetrate the layers of stone
A single air sung by gentle voice alone
With a song you have a magical creation
With the power to devour a whole nation
Bringing passion, joy and laughter, maybe tears
Deep heart resonance that echos down the years
3 January 2020
A PICTURE OF WINTER
The first snowfall came unannounced
A beautiful blanket of white
Covered the grass now winter browned
And, oh, what a lovely sight
It clung to the tree limbs of a giant cedar
And I watched in anticipation
To me, there's nothing neater
Than the unfolding of God's creation
The dazzling beauty of each tiny flake
And knowing no two are the same
Made me wonder how God could make
Something so small glorify His Name
Yet He, in all His splendor
Was able to create
A scene so beautifully tender
And show the world how great
His imagery lays before us
So magnificent and so grand
And how He holds the universe
In the hollow of His hand
As you reflect on this picture of winter
And the marvelous joy it gives
Give thanks and praise to the sender
Be glad that our God lives
Curtis Moorman
22 November 2011
Wild rose in red or pink or white
You’re nothing like your sister.
While she requires a burlap coat,
You survive the winter
Her colors are more various.
Her buds are clearly neater,
And though her fragrance is quite nice,
Yours is so much sweeter.
Her stalks so tall and beautiful
Lend well to bold bouquet.
Your bush, a gross entanglement,
Instead says, “Stay away.”
You come unheeded every year,
No pampering for you.
To claim your favored wild spot
You grow and bloom anew.
This song, which flows and beats,
must throb with iambic stress
to this line and repeat
the measure, more or less.
This song has lines and rows
that move with good meter,
to feet of highs and lows
that's nice, tight, and neater.
It, too, must be short-writ
with not so lengthy rhyme,
so restless ears can hear it
in notes which shorten time.
(Albeit, nonetheless!)
This brief song now must end
with a farewell address:
"Adieu! May we part, friend?"
I ask—so, please, nod “Yes!”
There once was a lady called Rita
Than whom no one was ever neater
But when she chose to drink
Her standards would sink
And she would end up covered in pizza
I hope someday to write a perfect sonnet
instead of this absurd excuse for meter,
with gentle touch of elegance upon it
and not insipid rhymes as brain cells peter.
Another time I’ll switch on my computer
then type away to keyboard’s friendly clicks,
I’ll finish with a flourish, a sharpshooter,
no longer this dispenser of old tricks.
But maybe I am still a hapless dreamer
whose trite expressions drone to no effect,
a man without a muse, a hopeless schemer,
still not an ounce of talent to detect.
When scansion throughout does not read well;
pray God, grant freedom from iambic hell.
Tic Toc Tic Toc
The clock goes on
Like a sirens song
Calling me into a long sleep
The clock goes on
Until you hear twelve gongs
In this game of time it plays for keeps
Tic Toc Tic Toc
Around and Around this clock with its sound
Like the crier of the town
Trying to tell the news
But nothing’s done, is what we’ve found
Whether it’s humans or hounds
And now it’s time for a snooze
Tic Toc Tic Toc
Am I like the clock, in the endless loop?
Monotonously working until my eyes droop
Waiting for the time when I finally count sheep?
A baller always sitting, never getting the hoop
just following orders like a troop
Or am I a leader, one a little neater, like little bo beep?
Tic Toc Tic Toc
Time goes on
It’s time to move on
But nothing ever got done
The sun moves on
Nearing the dawn
Now it’s time for fun
Tic Toc Tic Toc
Now that it’s night
It’s time to take flight
Leaving my other life behind
Of that plight
I’m starting to lose sight
And happiness is what I find
Tic Tic Toc Tic Tic Toc
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.