Portable Poems | Examples

A Walk with Father

He leads me through East London,
docks, pubs, among the stray dogs, the
River Thames lapping at low clouds.

We find the second-hand player in a street
where the shops are dusty holes under the arches
of viaducts and railway bridges,

Me carrying the portable Dancette record player
in its hard Bakelite box,
lifting it by its leatherette handle, and I,
small for my age
but wanting so much to lug it all the way home.
The plastic cuts my fingers,
sharp corners bark my shins.

Father talks of his life here, the blackouts
and bombs, rationing,
and the bloody Saturday night street fights.

He whistles tunes
from a songbook of dead crooners.

That evening sitting together, with Sinatra -
watching the dark blue Capitol label
spiral and blur,
hearing the unseen belt under the bobbing needle
as it chewed vinyl -
reliving the clunk-clunk of our boots
as we pushed back fog-muted miles.

Years later, finding that player again
in mother's attic, lifting the machine
feeling how light, it is,
willing to take another walk with him
yet not knowing how to catch up.

killing it

There’s a lot of heat when all eight
of us suitemates are together.
I might have mentioned it somewhere.
We’re like surround sound,
or eight car alarms going off together,
it’s jabberwocky by an established team.

It can get frantic and frightening
for the uninitiated or inhibited.
Some of us are pretty boy-crazy
and there’s a mix-in of twinkling girl-crazy too.
We’re basey, bugzee, spaceheads and freaks,
yeah, we're the whole emotional spice rack.

“She’s a good person to kill time with,”
is pretty high praise around here
because we have so little free time.
But these are good people to kill time with.

And they’re portable, we travel, we invade,
we’re crazy young women who’ve got it made.
So if you’re coming at us, trying to enter our enclave,
you better be brave or a situational upgrade.
.
.
Songs for this:
No New Friends (feat. Sia, Diplo & Labrinth) by LSD
Lysergic Bliss by of Montreal
Freedom Is Free by Chicano Batman
.
.
slang…
basey = a cool loser, nice but a bit odd, a weirdo with style
bugzee = slightly crazy
spaceheads = people who talk about weird things
.
.
Webster: Jabberwocky = meaningless speech or communication.

Mighty Mercury

Mighty Mercury

                          Alert then aloof, snuggly warm then colder                                                                          
His rangy legs spring to hitch a ride on our shoulder
Lifting our hearts to elation
He’s our portable vacation
We cherish Mercury more each day we grow older

When Summer is Gone

I intend to enjoy summer
and the sun, warming my ancient skin.
Once, I said goodbye to summer
because one season must yield to the next,
and it was time to attend school and learn.
I said goodbye to seemingly endless beach days,
crashing waves, sand crabs, frisbees, hot dogs, and portable radios singing
about suntanned California girls;
lazy mornings, bike rides to the ballpark,
and balls, flying off my bat and over walls.
I said goodbye,
as I said goodbye
to the excitement of youthful romance,
to my son's childhood,
and as I will say goodbye,
one day, to you,
dear friend.
I intend to enjoy summer.

Portable Pizza

The pizza trucks were parked outside
With bakers rolling dough 
And spreading it to fit the pans,
The toppings set to go.

The crusts were thin and crispy;
The veggies, sauce and cheese
Were baked to such perfection
That they couldn’t help but please.

Attendees lined up patiently
And generously plated
While just outside, the pizza people
Prepped for those who waited.

How cool and modern, this approach 
To feeding all the crowd.
No fuss, no muss for those who host,
Yet all who eat are wowed.

Mother GAZA

A percentage of me has to hell been consigned
by the ever raging zionists' war machine.
To each livid soldier, a mandate is assigned
to uproot terror where multitudes are confined.
Torrents of explosives have swept my landscapes clean.
Churches, mosques, schools have all to mighty vengeance bowed.
Stricken mothers wail uncontrollably aloud.
Itinerancy pervades my horror stricken crowd,
whilst my kids toy with explosives, carnage and ruin.
Survivors will take shelter from snipers shooting
death balls and lead from peevish and portable guns.
Horror unprecedented the people outruns.
I have metamorphosed to nothing but a morgue.
Lice and bugs have infested hoodies lined with borg.
Disease and maimed limbs have no remedies in sight.
Let not the world be unmoved by my sorry plight.
Why must I this price pay for a thousand or more killed?
My morgues are beyond their capacity filled.
The deaths of innocents are nothing but unjust.
My once-populated streets have been turned into dust.

Magical

We live in a technological time
where magic is more plausible than not.
All is possible in this paradigm;
fueling self-expression and free thought.

We've traveled to the bottom of the sea
and walked upon the surface of the moon.
We're able to harvest fruit off a tree;
and sell it overseas that afternoon.

We communicate with each other through
a portable device called a smartphone.
And there is little today we can't do,
building bridges of steel instead of stone.

The internet is a magical place;
and yet, we can't interact face-to-face.

Dead End Street

At the dead-end street or cul-de-sac stands a tall silver lamp pole,
And a portable basketball hoop. I wish I could say there lives not a single soul.
What if the lamp pole sat on a game board on City property?
As fast as this little town is growing, we could play a game of monopoly.
A railroad track there was once, now a highway, and businesses
within a four-block radius causing dizziness.
Traffic so fast, there are a lot of accidents. If you cross the line,
watch where you turn, it’s your fault if you have the stop sign.
Ambulance wails and police sirens sound that drown
Your thoughts,   almost all day long around town.
If you stand by the lamp pole, you’ll see them, go by.
You look up at the sky and pray; please don’t let them die.
I am only three houses down from that lamp pole
and highway when I take my dog out for a stroll.

11/9/2023

He has something to tell Us

They looked to find him
to discuss his shirt.
on the front of
the large sized, great
 quality cotton t-shirt
were the letters
          I.-S.-D.
perfectly centered in
 royal blue letters with
gold trim. And on the back
were the words,
         Ya'll do it!
he had one off those portable radios
in his pocket and we just watched him.
I heard one fella call him:"Yim Doogie"
on his Pants legs were the words the words
"efined AZ'd". We just wanted to know
what these thangs said. For-reel doog.
Said she was from "Intellegencener Ragg Magg"
so we paw'd over sum grub and swigged
on sum millies, Fossier got
trill and Dank sum Havv and gnawed on Dezzert
wiff sum Strawberries and banana (with ah) sweet marsala-
 and truffle oil syrup, chocolate and whipped cream and
Kake. Old Gal smiled at me
at the buffet line, I looked back in the hallway
after the interview
the heel on her shoe broke. I went to
 the store and bought her some new
 one's. She kissed me and told
me she wanted me to centerpiece her
and we went back and
 Strummed them strangs all night long.

The World In a Box

Yes, I did once,
press my nose against a window,
my eyes wide and bright with wishes.

The shops back then
were fully stocked with the world,
they offered portable chunks of it,
mountain ranges, great rivers
and cities,
stores hung them from hooks
like high hopes.

Of course, I was impressed, what kid
wouldn't be?

Snice then, I have carried home
most of the world,
it lives undisturbed,
in a shoe box somewhere in my garage,
I never feel the need
to open it.

Nose pressed against window glass,
small backyard sparrows
capture all of my attention now.

Self Commute

I wonder what it would be like
to have a removable headstone,
to have my own portable waymark
for this ever passing world.

Stuck in heavy triadic
the road slithers slowly forward
on my wet surface.
I am the traffic I move through.

I am driven to a  small park.
where children
are running around in a circle
while a stationary adult watches.
If I could, I would replant my tombstone there,
there in the center of the children,
as something for them to turn around.

It's not right
that they should all be revolving like that,
spinning  around nothing at all.

The Incredible Steve Jobs-Septet

Miracle, thanks,Steve.

My door to the world!

Conjoining of such dear hearts!

Beloved albums of friends, family.

Portable PC for me.

Joy for we!


Dedicated in Memoriam, Steve Jobs

1/24/2023


           Form…….SEPTET (see below}
Line 1~3 syllables
Line 2~5 Syllables
Line 3~7 Syllables
Line 4~9 Sylabbles
Line 5~5 Syllables
Line 6~3 Syllables

Pioneer of the Septet was Geoffrey Chaucer!
He is considered the Father of English Literature.
       Best known for The Canterbury Tales.     
And his epic poem:  “Troilus and Cresessida.”

I Love You Rain Come At Me, By Davieo, David Rothchild

I love you rain
Come at me
With your sparkling
Diamond splashing
Water baguettes
Diamondize me
Lick me with your
Splishering diamond joys

I love you rain
Come at me
With your portly portable pumping poetry
Flitter pitter patter buoying boosty banter
Pouring snoring, roaring soaring, jumping jets
Splitting swishing swashbuckling glitzy gorgeous glitterama
Blinging blanging clanging gluey golden glory
Air cleansing wooing wooshing wooting wind friend story

I love you rain
Come at me
With your dancing
Deftly dangling diamonds
Unfurl glowing skies
Flights of soothing cries
Your micro thunder
Kiss parade bluster
Skywide rosary seeds
Natures prayer leads
Meditation chi gong traffic
Micro hugs of time's fabric

I love you rain
Come at me
With your awe inspiring
Diamond light cracking crackling kisses
That sharpen, brighten, spin, shower, empower
The kaleidoscopic bright lips of faceted light!
Nurture us all, fill us all, with your connected inside out love!
Load us up with your resilient diamond fiber winks & glows
Quiet slinging sure serene silent super strength that guides the cosmos

I love you rain
Come at me

By Davieo, David Rothchild

Gone With the Wind

The family here and reminiscing.
Hats, horns, ready for midnight kissing.
But no, not this year, not meant to be.
As sudden high winds  tore through our trees.

The windows shook, a frightening storm!, 
So, this year, no chance for hats and horns. 
At nine o’clock, we lost all electrical power!
As the rain was vicious, more than a shower.

With deep regret, I sent my family home.
Then in the dark for a lantern I did roam!
The room lit up as I frantically desired,
But alas lost the central heating fire.

The temperature in the room began to drop,
This storm, indeed,a true powerpop.
I found an ancient, portable radio.
Found a tepid Las Vegas radio show.

My cat leaped up on my warm tummy.
Upon a plaid blanket comfy and fluffy.
My Guardian angel protected my family
from harm.
As a tree fell on the darkened road in the 
winds and rainstorm. 

So, dearest poets, I decided to call it a night.
Hopefully, next year’s New Years won’t be lonely, 
but brimming with love and light.

1/1/2023

Autobiographical poem. PR

My Life's Song

There once was a little covered bridge
At a brook nearby when I was young
I’d travel there with a picnic
I wanted to be in some far away land
The brook carried my stories away
Now, the memories welded, remain
Watching the little fish swim…
Listening to my portable pink radio…
Sitting near the tall pine grove…
As if this covered bridge was mine
At least those days I went there,
It was in a way, for a short time
My location of peace, I’d pretend was home
Maybe now in memory, it has found its place
To be just that, as my mind rewinds and returns
To a pleasant vision that is never forgotten
And a brook that still sings my life’s song

Heidi Sands

11/30/22

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