Piggyback Poems | Examples

Urban Slab

some level of falling from grace happens in slab city
its twisted humanity
when kindness stops being nornal
when green crusaders are dismissed, unseen
like burying waste in landfill

city of slab-stick
where we live normal lives within shuttered malls
affluence superimposed on poverty
can anything mellow us
with nature clotted under sprawl?

breeding, feeding, receding 
within plated walls
unable to bend the city to one's own wishing
to carry on with things just as they are
slabs pinned to the ceiling of mind

sometimes shutters open
to sun-dappled streaks on slab walkways
what are we to make of the dandelion in the crack?
a dark energy blooming between comfort and chaos

maybe we can piggyback on the hope of others
when small acts radiate
like children who empty their piggy-banks to charity
or laugh in summers of safe places

towers girdle the city 
midst what we crave for but can't always name
in our stash of consumer baubles 
urges like a swollen river
our weak stock options that never find a ladder

in the meantime we tread on  -  hungrily

Here riches abound'

To my vision; all around some very good poetry, here abounds.' 
Many born from 1950s and 60s express thoughts; emotions. That inspire no less!. Who were taught; by those from the
1920s and thirtys..My conjectue? Now on old schools qualitys i
Feel.' I Sense and so will venture. How many realitys caused this
Nomenclature? from a period quite challenging.' Iitself i beleive' I see
A very different manner.? Much more regard; for each other; a homelife
very focused on' by a father and mother, prayer at class
And full cream milk in your glass, fights in the playground
Unill teachers intervened at last; the piggyback rides and climbing trees, algebra caligraohy and math by rote, if you please, 
Respect for the elderly was rammed down your throat.' Maybe
All was not perfect.? And i do not gloat! Yet such rich yeilds' From these people, and their ideals' it comes to me'  that in all this essence grew; in many nations that their
Wide world knew' as Christendom,  am i in error? Or is this all; historically true?

Yet they Smile

Suite Suite!!
Presence of
White Pupuliary reflux
Macromers
endophthalmitis
senile, senile
Piggyback, piggyback!
Her deep shames and insercurties
white claw!
White Claw.
High Steak Royalities
Her self importance
insulted him
as she made him feel
inferior: her male fetishes
where childish amd she
changed the defintion of
mannish to define her charcter
I saw as stupid
but refused to say so that
she would augue that I felt
a brotherly love for herr
I didn't I liked  Cuckolding
to keep males straught
He thought himself wiser
and was
He knew that the rules of cuckolding are often unspoken
and they may have been sewn at
places and ages that aren't wise to ever revisit
lacking confidence
and it should never be accepted and it's
teachings may involve those
who aren't aware of being involved.
The Meanest Socail Norm
Shachaph
Cuckoo
or Cuckoldery

Persistence

In order for things to get done you have to take a one-way piggyback ride

Half Acre

sweat hogs piggyback


hells half acre of neurons


all eyes on the farm

Autumnal Equinox

Early morning blue sunny skies askew
 turn to white grays on piggyback 
 once light breezes that blew 
 gentle in and out the trees comeback
now race wildly out to the sea renewed.

The colors with their brilliant reflective glow
 edge toward a harvest moon and celestial equator
 rising, falling, lilting in discretionary phase flow
 wavering, clinging to the shortening day curators
lingering on equality of night day summer-winter throws.

An ecliptic sun moving in south-easterly directions
 marking time and space and revolution years
 inching hurriedly a pause for momentary corrections
 not holding back or hesitating regardless of joy or tears
on a chartered course through seasonal deflections.

Returning to the calendar of September days
 swiftly moving from month to year and decades
 throughout wonderment and marvelings of man at play
 history repeated forever on parade
the autumnal equinox marks the years and the days.

Toy Soldier Knee March

March forevermore my child

Press onwards admirably
foward

Should you to be allowed
and granted access

Piggyback if you can on the
wing's of solent angel buffered
kite

Whilst all the while still 
remembering lest never 
i forget

That which was instilled in
me and taught

Knowledge for my own
protection in order to extenuate
my preservation

Such as to keep a safe distance
between i and the sun

Otherwise i am bound
to get burnt

Matters whether or not
if one is to journey in the dead
of winter

Take untold safety precautions
drown oneself in sunblock
factor 50+ sunscreen

Because it will always be the 
very last thing you never
in your wildest imagination
would even contemplate

That will steal a march on you
and so to knock your army of toy
soldier's over as well

Trucking

Like thunder scolds
 the big trucks roll
eighteen wheelers rumbling
 turning,  rounded tumblings
 static cling above the blacktop sounds;
each load heavy and unmarked
 catastrophic diesel sparks,
 rhythm pounds loud along the tarp, 
tractor trailers clapping along the ground
 from the midwest highways bound
 slipping thru the backroad byways,
juggernaut bartering the tolls on a skyway
  four wheelers piggyback tows 
  convoy escorts ever on the go;
beating down the macadam and concrete
  trucking down the inner streets
  transportation, what a feat.

Bayou Thoughts

waves ripple the knees
of hoary cypress

dark waters encroach
licked by an oily light

spanish moss
weave in and out
of sifting shadows

the flat bottomed boat
carries my thoughts
to a far bank
where alligators bask
and small white birds
piggyback upon knuckled
motionless hides

if i go one way on this stream
the skiff will dock
near an amiable flock of
other river boats

if i go another way
the maw of a listless fear
may open to trap my mind

i will leave behind the world of men
and their dreams
forever

the swamp will devour my name
the cypress trees gather my clothes
keep them chained and dangling
in their hollow hearts

Daddy, Are You Sleeping

Daddy, Are You Sleeping?

Long car rides, or late night movies.
Piggyback rides down our long hallway,
then, you to pour me into bed.
Daddy, are you sleeping?
Newspaper glued to a thin, stick frame.
I feel like the Wright Brothers
as we soar through the skies.
Daddy, are you awake?
Birthday surprises, educational lectures, 
daily encouragement in every direction, 
and only us two sharing weekend donuts.
Daddy, rise and shine.
You trust me with your tractor and truck.
Mom thinks I’m trying to kill her.
Thank you for bragging on us, saying how beautiful I am.
Daddy, are you up yet?
A favorite Saturday breakfast, then teasing laughter 
‘cause you have the biggest stack. Your 5 o'clock shadow
grows as we watch the Astros, Oilers, Chief Wahoo McDaniel.
Daddy, it’s time to get up.
You glow pride of place when you deliver me to my dorm.
I hear words of advice as you and mom wave me off:  
“Don’t forget you are here for books, and not for boys”.
Daddy are you awake?
I want to cover you with a blanket, 
keep you warm and safe, as you do with us.
Mom places your wedding ring upon your starched white shirt.
Daddy….Daddy, please get up.

Town Children

They don’t know the joys
Of riding a grapevine in the woods
And they can’t make the noise
Made by kids in rural neighborhoods

They don’t know the joys
Of picking wildflowers for mother
Or playing with woodland toys
Sometimes not even with one another

Town children are a lonely sort
With only their relatives for support

They don’t know the joys
Of a piggyback ride across the lawn
Given by one of the boys
Before the bright flowers are gone

They don’t know the joys
Of running as fast as their pup
Or seeing the garden he destroys
After he gives a whooping yup

Town children aren’t so much fun
Some never even hit a homerun

They don’t know the joys
Of sitting out on the front porch
Without any need for poise
Simply because you have the urge

They don’t know the joys
Of waking up at the crack of dawn
Forgetful of all that annoys
Happily giving the sunshine a yawn

Town children don’t have a clue
What other children come through!




September 12, 2019
Town Children Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward

Brief Herstory By Man

slithering through a suffragette smattering
the serpentine has no shoulder
on which to give 
or have taken 
piggyback rides through pantsuit criterion
so certainly lacks the same of which to dry witch salt tears with

whirling up and around then down up her ankle
thick thick thigh 
deliciously dry coconut shunt
lipstick cracking
open pistachio shells

bravo to the mercenaries!
    at least the split is red enough to pull the lever
                                           and 
 			            spill how
                  women got their seat 
                  at the 
baccarat table

Potter's Daughter

Arianwen designed a new tool
To travel back and forth from her school
But a cat in the room
Pee'd all over her broom
So she soared piggyback on a ghoul

Ella Writes To Her Bff

Hey, Peyton, remember the time
When the snow was melted along with the rime?
When the sun was mild and the weather sublime?
We went out on picnic away from the dust and the grime.

We all took our hampers with fruit and some lime,
(I brought along some candy, bought out for a dime).
Momma packed some sandwiches with bacon which was prime,
And some very fine chutney of rosemary and thyme.

While my cousins and mom played charades and mime,
Off we both went for the grassy knoll to climb.
Our laughter peeled,  tinkling like wood chime,
You were the prince, I was your heim.

Peyton, I remember that it was close to lunchtime,
I rode piggyback for no reason or rhyme.
You slipped of a sudden as you stepped on some slime,
We tumbled and rolled down the slippery 'cline.

I am sorry, dear Peyton, real sorry I 'm,
It was in fun, in those days of playtime.
I'd've done it again if there was another time,
For kid's to be prankish is never a crime!

(How's this for Mom's  contest of Monorhyme?)

~25 May 2016~

Tin Can Kid

Happy (dead) Mother's Day.
A fistful of flowers for your final resting place. 
Wasn't blessed with the time to know you.
Your demise was far swifter than your time.
Just a few clips on a strip of 8mm film 
From that ancient time:
Your smile was sweet and wide.
A cat named Blue.
A piggyback ride
A split lip from a tin can kid.
Black crows surrounding a bloody bed.
A silver music box to remind me of your death.
Time is gracious, to sweep the rot from inside the head.

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