Short Irons Poems

A BOZO BOY 
DEPENDS ON HIS gods
FOR HIS gods ARE WOODS, IRONS
MADE FROM CREATIONS OF A CREATOR...

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Exquisite expression
    irons its impression
  into the fabric of beings

  Crass conversation
    seeds emaciation
  in the art of far-seeing...

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Mom once used an iron called sad
In those times it was all that we had.
Like the old rub board
It had no electric cord
And the wrinkles it left weren't bad....

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steel mill smoke stack
anvil and hammer
my will for sure
sprinkle the cotton
hot steam on my face
press down hard
don't beak the board
chore of the sixties...

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"Lost like a needle in and haystack"
                     "Make hay while the Sun shines", some make to much
                         Could be a bad case of," to many irons in the fire"...

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     Into racially charged environs
        burst cattlemen with branding irons

     Followed, fortunately, by squadcars' screaming sirens  
        Whew... Sure glad those were 'dry runs'...

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The hull of the boat was full
Lying so close to each other
They used a tool
To clamp the irons on brother

Lying so close to each other
The stink in the hull was death
To clamp the irons on brother
The boat moving pitching beneath

Lying so close to each other
They used a tool
The stink in the hull was death
The hull of the boat was full...

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All
day long
the caring
mother promptly 
does routine household chores for the loved ones,
even if she is tired she won’t let up.
Washing all done
she bents down 
irons
clothes.

November 29, 2020
Syllable count : 1/2/3/4/10/10/4/3/2/1
Checked on howmanysyllables.com
Contest : Double Tetractys 6
Photo used : #2
Sponsor : Eve Roper...

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A waist is a terrible thing to mind.
A coin that you lost is less of a find.
No tie at a wedding puts you in a bind.
A watch cannot tell that it’s time for a wind.
Coffee beans ease but cause twice-daily grinds.
The HMS Beagle was likely designed.
The irons in the fire all come out refined.
If you can’t see, you can’t drink yourself blind.
Myzygy is when your stars are maligned....

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My friend, the friendly robot, 
Does everything I could ever want.
Cooking exactly how I like my food,
Like it’s from a swank restaurant.

She cleans, she fixes, and she creates 
And then she irons all of my clothes.
She even massages sore muscles for me,
And she even blows.

My beautiful gorgeous robot is learning 
How to live with her own instinct.
Soon I feel I won’t be needed at all, 
Soon I’ll become extinct....

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123 OCD
so goes the repeated anthem

out of sight 
constantly in mind
dead from "checking"
the thousandth time

123 OCD
sung by millions worldwide

over lights, faucets, germs and more
conjouring up worries,
Did I lock the front door?

123 OCD
shouted in times of frustration

off, off, off
make sure the irons cold
counting, touching, cleaning
Did I really turn off the stove?

123 OCD
will surely be the death of me!...

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Girl wearing fruit basket glides on a blade...
Twirling and swirling in the landscape she's made.
Laughter and giggles echo from the ice,
Til she falls and her blades click twice,
And her nose crinkles and her thoughts aren't nice.
But back up she goes, onto her toes,
And irons the wrinkles from her nose.
Laughing, still at the thrill of the show.
The stars in her eyes are really the Snow.
She knows how to play...
Didn't you know?...

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I grew up in a one roomed shack
a king size Coca-Cola space
crammed like Marlboro cigars in a pack
a place I ran to for defense
my home which some see as a plight
where my family had to find the right way
it was my bedroom at night
my mother's pantry by day
a lounge where my dad like a doc upon a cadaver dissected
The Star while his kids goggled at Luxor television
I grew up in a shack protected
by corrugated irons walls of a mansion...

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When you're burgling, awareness is best;
When he saw her, he thought 'twas in jest.
Forgetting the shih tzu,
Or Granny's jujitsu,
Both his shirt and some charges were pressed.

Theft and laundering just do not pay,
Not when Granny is holding the spray.
Got starched for his error,
He stiffened in terror;
Slapped with irons, they took him away.

----------

for the Limerick Poetry Contest
sponsored by Lisa YY
written on 07/15/2022...

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do one thing

two things

3 or 4 jobs,


keep busy

keep your mind busy


keep going

keep it moving.


otherwise

it all begins

to start

bothering you,


the car horns

the neighbor

the smells

the city

the people.


warm food served cold

cold food served warm.


people eating loud on the bus


the bus eating you like a bag of chips.



go on to something else


something better

done well....

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They call me the BBQ slinger
Well known for my back to back ringers
My aim is dead true
When I'm tossin' them shoes
I could wrap round' a bumble bee stinger.

My skill with the irons well known
These rookies all covet my throne
I'm the king of the pit
They best deal with it
Cause these beers put me right in the zone

I'll conquer till' no one remains
And brag of ice water filled veins
Not even a test
to prove I'm the best
And poised to continue my reign....

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Searching inside the cave's echo 
sweet music dancing with a pulse beat 

Into one world where dreams are held beautiful 
mirrors flicker with memories flashing backwards 

Time stands still as the sand slowly irons out 
born is the sun sets where moments embrace precious 

Winter bones ache for the warmth of your light 
there stands in the mountain ice capped frozen howls 

Breaking through the darkness a glorious star 
brightly you are captured under the moon's shadow...

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The Hedgerow birds are wilting,
even the circling hawk
gives them no alarm.

All is too low to the baking ground,
the hot irons of the sun
are smelting bones.
This listless stupor
threatens to unwind the mainsprings
of a limber joy.
The hot sky has no memory
it plants one moment,
into the next,
seeds squish and crush
the earth with a jejune heaviness.

The day will end wingless
in pools of turgid body-sweat.
We will simmer slow then
wingless unto God we go
wet & witless....

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