Poms Poems

Friends, but not really

you, on the other side of the screen
will jump off the bridge within moments of request
will never rest, until decided to tucked in its blanket
always with gleaming and sympathetic eyes
always holding pom-poms, ready to cheer you on

an a I, but will never truly be an I
without the clouds for rains and thunders
without cracks to erupt and explode

but meet its hand with a high-five and doubt when it pouts

Dusty Box of Memories

"Memory is a treasure, once lost may never again be found" by poet

As I clean my closet for the last time,
each dress, each coat, I handle tenderly
they remind of a life that once was mine
when choosing tomatoes came easily
and, taking a walk, I did leisurely

At the back of the closet, there's a box
I had forgotten, marked: "Save, used seldom"
It's a box of laughter and silly socks,
a half-full bottle of Satin Skin Balm,
a crayoned heart saying, "I love you mom"

Brushing away tears, I look more instead
Midst the pom-poms, I find a dolly's shoe
"My dollys don't talk to me now," she said
Just like that, childhood disappeared, I knew
I am saddened by how quickly time flew

I will begin my new life tomorrow
On this box of memories, I'll depend
It has my heart and I'll often borrow
my children's left-over moments and spend
days with their sweet faces, as I pretend

Things That Should Grow on Trees

Things That Should Grow on Trees

Things that should grow on trees include:
big sea birds with 
extremely long wings, old-fashioned shoe 
horns, tape recorders who 
play sporadically cries of 
grief, blank
photographs, stamps with 
printed eyeballs, people with 
colourless or 
very nearly colourless hair and 
skin and 
pinkish eyes, the word 
unfortunately, the word 
regrettably, the word 
even though, miniature 
pianos, vampire 
teeth, leaf 
blowers, False 
IDs, illuminated loyalty 
cards, the watchful and 
attentive, damp 
clothes, pom 
poms, glass 
shards, pack of 
cards, rope knot 
balls, plastic 
trinket boxes, ashtrays (glass only), lips (too
animal lips), spines (too
animal spines), toast, headache 
tablets, running 
shoes, and
whores.

sinking ship

For the sun has taken the sail, painting the sky a tapestry of emotions.
The wind wafted through my hair, making it dance to its rhythm.
The trees pranced like a cheer squad, shaking their poms poms
Streets hummed the melody, a melody so still yet so unique
Humans like little sticks walking around, their daily routine
Seizing their grocery bags, screaming each others name, bicycling around
Honking their cars, jogging and fixing their homes such deafening sound
A girl standing in the middle of the life need to get a move on
Takes a step and wishes for the best

Everyone Has Pom Poms

loud exuberant cheering
the hats are on
everyone has pompoms
every time their god opens his mouth
they go nuts
shades of Hitler

they are so loud none can hear what he says
he makes all kinds of claims
mostly lies
they hear him not
so proud, puffed up
loving his pompous attitude
and his big stupid grin

he could be talking about snake oil salesmen
or the merits of new feminine products
the crowd is frenzied
his fervent admirers
cheering every time he tries to utter a sentence
he is more and more puffed up

they adore me he  thinks
I can say anything
And he is right.

Enthusiasm

Three cheers for enthusiasm.
Rah! Rah! Rah!
Shake that booty! Shake that booty!
Pom Poms tittering.

A smile on her perfect pom pom face.
Head cheerleader a white-blond flirt.
Her legs light up her lampshade skirt.

Three cheers for enthusiasm
Rah! Rah! Rah!
Shake that booty! Shake that booty!
Pom Poms tittering.

The chocolate-brunette with sun-drenched face.
She rallies the team to fight! Fight! Fight!
Her rosebud arms swing left and right.

Three cheers for enthusiasm
Rah! Rah! Rah!
Shake that booty! Shake that booty!
Pom Poms tittering.

Behold the spirit leader in his polo shirt —
He’ll lift one up - to the top. To the top. All the way to the top
of the pyramid. Personality and passion, he’ll exert.

Three cheers for enthusiasm
Rah! Rah! Rah!
Shake that booty! Shake that booty!
Pom Poms tittering.

6/20/2020
Caren Krutsinger’s Write a Poem
about Enthusiasm Poetry Contest

Oh England

by Bob Moore © 2019
                                   >>>>
Oh England bloody England, a land 0f Poms and rain
Oh I wish that I could be, back in my England once again
To see my friends and family, and the neighbours I knew well
go rambling o’er the Pennines, walk the moorland, and the fell

Oh England bloody England, though many things have changed
since the day I left you far behind, all those years we’ve been estranged
I think I would still know you, and be happy once again
to see the English countryside, and walk down an English Lane

To see the house where I grew up, see my old school again
remember things, both good and bad, the happiness and pain
to ride our bikes in Manchester’s rain, like days of long ago
play football on the old red rec, with friends I used to know

Oh England bloody England, I never will forget
the good times all those years ago, with family, friends, and yet
My life has been a happy one, in this land across the sea
and I know I never will regret, what my parents did for me.
                                    >>>>

A White Frame

A white frame on the wall
Begins with an orange hat
Followed by pom-poms and flaps
Two ties under the chin
It is a grey -white tabby
He is in a state of shock

His eyes show he's surprised
Wearing a winter hat
Like a statue- he sits still
Upon my bedroom wall
This painting hangs
It always makes me laugh

Candy Shop

I stopped at a candy store that I hadn’t been before
the delightful aroma hit me just when  I opened the door
shelf after shelf,  tables galore,  even  boxes  of  stacked mint juleps’ on the floor
bags here and baskets there, chocolate candy coins and more.

salt water taffy in jars, Maine boxed maple  leafs sitting beside the pom poms
caramel bullseye  tops my list, plus  root beer barrels and fireball bombs
I could smell something special in the air that hit my taste buds
thought it might be a pst time favorite of mine, but it wasn’t milk duds.

the nice lady came out from the back with a platter of penuche fudge 
‘here help yourself’ she said  ‘I just made them, you be the judge”
I gobbled down three, plus the crumbs from under the hood
she asked me how they tasted and if I wanted more.
I replied ‘good and plenty”

Pom Poms For Maureen and Jan

POM POMS FOR MAUREEN AND JAN

Maureen’s titillating poem, tit for tat.
Excitement of goosebumps,
sure as tease, shown in verse.
She has Jan’s front and back.

An exclamation - a sisterhood shout:
what’s this all about - birds or not?
Unfortunately, my title can’t wink,
smile or rise in peaks of zenith blue.

Two sets of pom-poms fly in my face…
My irreverent revue seeks second place.

4/19/2018

Reference:
Maureen McGreavy’s “POINT FOR EXCLAMATION - FOR JAN
Jan Allison’s “I’VE GOT BLUE ****

Wire Women

Wire women is beautiful,

she's killer bliss-

can't stop her lids,

pom poms can wait,
I dig all her sins.


I'm faking it intimately dear,
to see you so clear,

now is not a faith nor what I hold to the repeating ear,

but I'm stating it here again and again-

wonder is her volume,
an ageless tan...

Time spent in the sun,

my drugs on the run.


I know I can't hold you to it,

and I know I've never pulled all the way through it,

but this old dog can do it...

Shows the movement,

says that's why we can't brainwash music,

just proves it-

grooves until we lose it-

hell can't say this forever so we'll just resist.

Oh, Christmas Tree

OH, CHRISTMAS TREE

Denial covers its tracks -
clouding the memory.
SILVER, it was freakin’ SILVER!!!
Glittering, glossy, garish, tin foil, SILVER!!
Required no ornamentation,
no tinsel tossing, no death
defying wiring, only a spinning 
rainbow disk to splash
crayola colored lights
upon SILVER branches.
It resembled a fringed
strobe light hanging
from an inverted ceiling.
I would imagine
Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders
shaking silver Pom-Poms
cheering it on.
There would be therapy,
recurring dreams –
lost in a tinsel silver forest
on a distant Christmas Eve.
When we threw it out
I placed it in front of
someone else’s house.
Occasionally,
at Christmas,
someone will ask:
“Do you remember…..”
only to be pounced upon
and silenced -
Denial covers its tracks.


©12/8/2017

submitted to – Christmas Tree – Poetry Contest

Headgear

Ear muffs perch on little heads
In poof or sparkly style,
While furry pom poms bounce on hats
Engendering a smile.

Hoods with fuzzy fake-fur trim
Are pulled ‘round reddened faces
As well as ski or baseball caps,
Which stay in men’s good graces.

Winter headgear keeps us warm
But fashion counts, as well,
Until we step inside to find
Our hairstyles look like hell!

Pom Pom Mountain

We drank cheap beer in a rusted out shed.
Buzzing before our 8:00AM English class.
Trying to be cool- to fit with the "Ins."
Instead, were becoming the wobbling outcasts.
Spinning further out from the golden Ins.

Ah the golden center. 
Filled with jocks, cheerleaders.
A chorus line of silver thighs and golden pom poms.
Smiling at my pimpled insecurities?  

But your long bomb popularity didn't stop that tree. 
From slamming into your popularity.
It didn't move aside as you passed on by.
Like I used to move aside as you past by me.

You were popular in that narrow hallway of slow death called adolescence.  
Now your football helmet is yellow and cracked.  
Destined for a garage sale. Bottom shelf existence.
On the periphery of forgotten. 

You with the pom poms and patented dimples.
Nowhere near that cocky cute kitten anymore.
Turned plump, pregnant, abandoned, aborted.
What happened to that sweet cotton tail and golden lips? 
That used to pip "you'll never be with me".
Finally, after forty plus years.
You're lying with me ..figuratively.
Spread eagle atop pom pom mountain.
An outcast on the periphery of everything.

Hardball

I cannot stand playing hard ball, I'm a softball girl, ya know,
Hard ball is for men, I could get hurt by the balls they throw,
I would be too nervous to run to the base for fear that I would get hit,
Please God, put me back on the bleachers, it's too late..I know I cant sit,
Why couldn't I've been a cheerleader waving my pom poms in the air,
I wouldn't have to slide into home base and get dirt in my nails and hair,
Why was I built like a line backer, I get pats on the back from the guys,
They can't even see the sensitivity, the uniform is the disguise,
All they see is another player, my hair tucked under my hat,
If I tried to make the cheerleader squad I know I'm not cut out for that,

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