(since tater is more commonly used, I changed spelling of tator to tater)
Only Serves Potatoes
Tater
Waiter
For Hash Browns
Tater
Grater
Not Now Please
Later,
Tator
Great Food Service
Caters
Taters
Shaped like a Russet
Tater
Crater
Procrastinator Tator
Tater
Later
Guarded with Ferocity
Gator’s
Taters
Cream of the Crop
Greater
Tater
Potato Athlete
Tater
Skater
A Fun Job
Tater
Rater
Off with His Head
Tater
Traitor
That’s Just not Right!
Tater
Hater
I can recall, going to work,
from the moment hired,
was more than a chore
until the day when I retired.
Now, I don't care a bag of beans,
it only serves to remind,
as, making the morning coffee,
has become the daily grind.
Once I learned I’d have to pay for my sins
Today I see there’s not a sin that’s not ‘in’
Once I was told to respect every teacher
Today a teacher’s the lowest of creatures
Once the US flag was a source of pride
Today it only serves to divide
Once girls admired a ‘man in uniform’
Today they seek out ‘singular unicorns’
Once teens practiced ‘making conversation’
Today they can’t talk, they’re texting sensations...
Did everything die; is nothing sacred anymore
Well, kids still ask parents for money
~ only today a whole lot more
No comfort for the stickler, sticking literary fixtures depicting conflicting inklings to their minds as perfect pictures.
With one stroke of my pen the standards rose again and damned be lesser men.
As the pros of prose impose and profess, chaos needs redress.
For I, who's distress you must address, now cower and cleanse this mess, confess my prowess only serves to impress all reason to, "stop the press".
Anachronistic the measure of their metric, imperialistic so the eccentric can spiral in tantric concentric circlejerks.
Central to themselves, it works.
The stench of sh!t, a rose by any other name, smeared with effluent smirks.
With all due respect you may cling to the historic.
If you wish to press/play, I will lay waste.
I'm not here to copy/paste.
The past won't be replaced, though clearly trampled and retraced.
Finding you're fittingly faced with chagrin laden grimace feeding bitter distaste.
Thou is to doth o'er and o'er, as men of the cloth in unrestrained glory.
Touting the gospel loudly and poorly, wholly unaware it's a fairytale story.
Beings of the mysterious light of creation appear on Earth
As the children of the universe, however,
Their skin colour differs, their hair texture is not same
Their lifestyle gets formed by their country of birth
Yet, the same blood runs in their veins
And they have in them,
The same desire to attain the mysterious light
From which they have all originated!
The paths they have to walk on are same;
They all need to find the means to survive
In a realm of temporariness which only serves
As an opportunity to atone for their previous sins
And to pray to be absolved of these
So as to be rewarded of an existence
In some place which the human eyes cannot perceive!
Yet, the stay in the realm of temporariness
Remains challenging as the children of light
Are subjected to the tests of maintaining
Their lives peaceful through the virtue of
Having tolerance for each other's differences
So much that having their flag on a piece of land
Has become the cause of ruthless violence
Which douses off their faith in the source of light!
Watching all this, the universe cries, as it only wanted
To see its children laughing while playing with each other!
Absence as I hear them calling
Broken as I feel them falling
Cardiac as it's stalling
Darkness has me crawling
Endeavoring to its installing
Fevered by enthralling
Giving into it appalling
Heartfelt gifts sprawling
Individual love is worth mauling
Jointly our worth is stalling
Kissing my lips, befalling
Loving her, a load I'm hauling
Missing us forever recalling
No joy in finding the end
Openness only serves to offend
Patience is just pretend
Quietly wanting more than a friend
Reliving does not allow us to transcend
Seeking solutions, don't bend
Time there's none left to extend
Unbelievably easy to condescend
Viciousness has no way to amend
Wanting left no desire to attend
Xenomorphic this relationships bookend
You had every chance girlfriend
Zero desire is left to be penned
A Forms And Words Challenge Poetry Contest
20th February 2023
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
Watch your step don't trip over
Your fallen expectations
Walking this course with one foot out
the door
the other firmly planted entrenched in
fact in a masochistic inability to cry uncle
Drawn and quartered by this
Particular style of romantic comedy of errors
Let us pretend you mean what
You say or just
Put it all off for another day
Playing nice so late in the game
Only serves to confuse
I am immobilized not by your charade instead
By this belching,bellowing all consuming fear
How could any place anywhere come
Close to this exquisite unintentional misery
Unintentional as to my role,yours
a well orchestrated horror show in which
You stand in the wings clapping wildly
Calling out to my now deaf ear Encore! Encore !
Where in the night sky would I seek
to find the daughter of love,
while Phobos rounds Mars close cheek
tho' Deimos breaches slower above.
Never wanted to be less than whole
lost in a soldier's conquered dreams,
like fine wine alas asked to taste all,
love's sweet draught in moonbeams.
Never harbor a jealous heart
only serves to fulfill it's own needs..
to poison love's lasting waters,
and steal away bright moonbeams.
Laugh at all life's fortunes won
those red rosey skies full a sun..
yet all evenings lost it seems..
in moonbeams,
bright moonbeams,
oh, those
moonbeams.
Millions have lived it before, millions will live it again.
Millions have killed millions more.
Millions have fought in man’s wars. Wars that have taken millions of women, children and men.
Millions of people and millions and millions more know war only serves evil men.
Don't sit amide the ashes,
Of your by-gone mistakes.
Should-a, would-a, could-a, didn't,
Just increases heartaches.
Hashing and rehashing,
Each and every curse,
Only serves to stir the pot,
And makes a bad thing worse.
Sit back and look at what's occurred,
And learn from what you've done;
So history won't repeat itself,
And life can be more fun.
Change whate'er you need to change.
Form new and better habits.
If there's a lifeline to be found,
Reach out your hand and grab it.
Look for good in everything,
And never pick a fight.
Spread good will and be of help.
Keep this goal in sight.
You'll find your burdens lighter.
Your dues will all be paid,
Once you finally realize,
Most troubles are homemade.
What wind cannot respect a dying leaf
Whose gentle whisp goes on a raging spree
And rips the fading foliage from a tree
Then tears away without a faint remorse
Nor stops to mourn with stricken bough
Nor hears the barren pledge a solemn vow
To save next autumn's golden child,
But slashes on to raid another's arm
And set another writhing in alarm
What wind cannot respect a dying leaf
Whose presence only serves a bitter grief.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Brian Strand's "All Yours" Contest
Poetry Soup
Don't sit around the ashes,
Of your by-gone mistakes.
Should-a, would-a, could-a, didn't,
Just increases heartaches.
Hashing and rehashing,
Each and every curse,
Only serves to stir the pot,
And makes a bad thng worse.
Sit back and look at what's ocurred,
And learn from what you've done;
So history won't repeat itself,
And life can be more fun.
Change whate're you need to change.
Form new and better habits.
If there's a life line to be found,
Reach out your hand and grab it.
Look for good in everything,
And never pick a fight.
Spread good will and be of help.
Keep this goal in sight.
You'll find your burdens lighter.
Your dues will all be paid,
Once you finally realize,
Most troubles are home made.
I’m thoroughly surprised
you chose the brocade
over chiffon
my dear
poking at the
brie
only serves to show
insolence and ignorance
and the violins
give me
such a headache
such a migraine
jacketed like a
caterpillar in its
cocoon it’s
no wonder
it’s difficult to
breath in this
stagnant setting
this tomb of a
room we share
but you knew
before the steaks
were cut that
even the open
window wouldn’t
clear this air
didn’t you?
(click the pic for a preview of my upcoming book!)
History must be cherished, and artifacts revered even if they come from a time that is not pretty. Destroying historical statues, artifacts and literature does nothing to erase the fact that it happened. There will always be those who remember whether the statue stands erect or crumbled in a pile of rubble on the ground. The act of physically destroying historical artifacts and documents only serves to anger those who would prefer to remember where they came from and how much progress has been made from a time they might just as soon forget. As one who chooses to condemn criminal behavior I am angered at the destruction of history. No history is pretty. All history contains much ugliness and violence. Just read the Bible, a book about Hitler, or any historical book from a time long ago. Historical culture is valuable. We must materially remember the past and where we came from or history will repeat itself. We too soon forget how bad it was, and the same ideas will creep back into existence and occur again if not kept in check. No, history is not pretty, but it must be remembered.
Starting in Truth
Should be the teacher's motive..
It is an acquaintance
By the Teacher of her
Own Identity..
Starting elsewhere..in a textbook
In a settled belief..only serves
To diminish the teacher and to
Guarantee a quick departure of
The thing that is intended
To be taught..a Recognition that
Textbooks and beliefs are
Unsteady tools of Truth which
May be discarded in
A more favorable Wind...
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