Short Racks Poems

Bucks with big racks graze
Enjoy solitude of woods
Quiet, peace, fun morn...

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don't walk back
kpet mind on racks
of facts
you can shine
STOP THE SLAVE 
MIND...

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i have lots of space
its my tastes
has hangs racks
a coth sack
and a strong handle back
nutin goes to waste
in my
TRAVEL CASE...

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Like wine
deep in the racks
poems 
carefully age
Each of a
vintage
a time and a place
— labeled to consume

(The Rathskeller: July, 2015) 
...

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King of the runway in my Christian Dior pantsuit
Accessories as well right down to the boots
Not a well known fact
These designs fill my racks
A poet of sophistication in this limerick loupe...

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King of the runway in my Christian Dior pantsuit
Accessories as well right down to the boots
Not a well-known fact
These designs fill my racks
A poet of sophistication in this limerick loupe...

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I'm the king of the ball in my Christian Dior pantsuit
With accessories by Donald and Goofy in cahoots
Not a well known fact
Their designs fill the racks
Of poets and poetesses here on the Soup...

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my mind goes back
to school racks
 we were over in class
i was fast
 like my friend
that was only way to win
i had to be apart
to make thing smooth as lard
 my bubby was name al
he was my
HIGH SCHOOL PAL...

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If I were a guy…I’d…

Go on a hunt
Learn to punt
Fix my own brakes
Eat rare steaks
Sport long johns
Stomp on tampons
Start bar fights
Ignore red lights
Swing a big axe
Stare at huge racks
Pack a huge luger
Nail a rich cougar!

*For Frank's Contest...

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Tears spew over
My voice is gone
I was screaming
But now I’m done
My hands yank at my hair
Trying to make the tears end
Curled up into a ball
Stuck in a corner
My pain still growing
It racks my body
It tears through my mind
My hold body shivers
It stops
I open my eyes
Finally
I’ve died...

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Haberdasher’s Thoughts


The haberdasher has
that season of the year
he rids his racks, his bins
of oddments.
I have no season of the year
like that. 
Today, or any day, a derby, 
spats or chrome-tipped cane
can shuffle out from stock.
I have no choice. 
I have to offer counter space.


Donal Mahoney...

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A closet with two racks
The higher rack holds
holds clothes
The lower rack has shirts
Then the dog walks into
the closet
Very slowly she is walking
str
When she gets to the end
She turns around starts again
Walking very slow-ly, slow-ly by
At the other opeing comes out
Feeling pleased relaxed
After her message is done...

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Stepping outside
The cold bites my nose
Eats my toes
Ices my cheeks
Frosts my feet
Turns blue my knee's
It's -8 degrees!
The cold nibbles my ears
Freezes my fears
Clanks my teeth
Oh good grief!
Catches my eyes
Takes me by surprise
It's so cold
It gets to my soul
Racks my brain
Rids of the pain
All in stepping outside...

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He did got the cracks
Kept tightly close racks
Sold roughly in cash
Bought iron mouth spears
Puncture foes into tears

Guys them want dough 
Don't weigh the load 
Tomorrow's cold 
Somewhat unfold

Bold trigger
Sold smugglers
Cold fingers

money
Penny

Coke.

Diminished Hexaverse Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
11/5/2020...

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As an idea it keeps spotting cracks,
Many beginning to lose their tracks,
Owner of the idea more brain racks
But the doomed wonder a lot still lacks...

Only his young wife the idea backs!
What more through an intact ego hacks?
Sam is sure of receipts of fresh knocks.
On his door a hostile view one tacks
"Samuel deserves sea water in bags
Ten of it or sound thought drags"....

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Libraries are said to be 
Treasure house of books,
Books here, books there
On racks high and low.

Culture and heritage
Thoughts of writers and poets,
All in a room for those
In thirst of knowledge.

Newspapers and magazines
For the current news,
Books on history and
Present affairs.

No noise or overcrowding
Just the noise of flipping pages,
A peaceful work in libraries,
Result in increasing knowledge....

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Wasted Minutes.. 
                        *That Pass*

*With this impractical* 

..mistake

*Of settling on* 

..History

*As My fatal* 

..Faith



She Wrecks 
        *and she Racks*
                 *Out the door*
 I go
“O,Saj you Need To Learn,
Improving is to be shown”



But dear Miss,



Most Buildings are catles
Most ceilings will fall
Most women wore sandals 
No High Heels Involved...

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The smell of fresh popcorn,
permeating the air.
I await for summer,
and the grand county fair.

Young children about,
cotton candy and snacks.
Fairground games,
with plenty of toys on the racks.

The fair grounds in summer,
dirt and mud on the ground.
Be careful of where you step,
the prize cow is running around.

The horses and goats,
offer welcome to their zoo.
The grand county fair,
many memories will ensue....

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The day after Christmas 
Each year, without fail,
I hunt down my calendars 
Since they're on sale.

I head to the bookstore 
And search through the racks 
For the wall-hanging ones
Then I look through the stacks

Of the page-a-day versions;
I purchase both kinds
And I won't leave until
I'm content with my finds.

Could I buy them before 
And the sales disregard?
Well, the answer's "Of course!"
But old habits die hard....

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He works alone
in cavernous stockrooms,
or as a night watchman
guarding unwanted things.
He is never behind the counter.

He is the man
who has the social skills
to fill racks.
Occasionally he is found
as a clerical error,
still at work in a defunct depot
long since depleted
of function.

A yellowing Rolodex
may yet yield a contact number
like a mythical footprint.
Someone may need to call him,
but what shall we call him?...

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He works alone
in cavernous stockrooms,
or as a night watchman
guarding unwanted things.
He is never behind the counter.

He is the man
who has the social skills
to fill racks.
Occasionally he is found
as a clerical error,
still at work in a defunct depot
long since depleted
of function.

A yellowing Rolodex
may yet yield a contact number
like a mythical footprint.
Someone may need to call him,
but what shall we call him?...

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I wake up to the bright sun
Wondering if I'm alive or dead
My muscles ache and burn
As pain racks my throbbing head
I see that I am a bloody mess
And rise to my feet
I stand there feeling blessed
Under the sun's heat
I grab and pull my mask away
As I turn and look down
And there it is dead under the sun's ray
The creature laying on the ground
Confused I fall to my knees
As my brown hair shuffles in the breeze

To Be Continued......

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When journalism fails to deliver the facts,
And no longer apologies for shameful acts,
Constantly ending up on the wrong tracks,
Failing to prevent shark attracts,
On those who suffer from panic attacks,
More interested in becoming political hacks,
Papering over the cracks,
And roasting words on racks,
All to fill the owners money sacks,
Is it not time we turned our backs,
And return to our shacks,
To give our children what journalism lacks....

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Through her filmy eyes, 
scanning the daylight hues, 
wary of what lies in wait around the corner 
or what might slip up behind a lean back. 
The icy freeze that racks her  body 
down below weakened spine, 
causes her to search frantically 
for unseen glow in the faces around ;
while she struggles to remember
exactly where home inhabits
a vision leaving the clarity of her mind.



Contest Hosted by Brian Strand
6 Jan 2019...

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Today I'm going to lay back
And relax.
I'm tired how the world acts,
All I want to do is play some tracks.
Get lost in the lyrics and the drum slap.
Days like these I thank God for rap.
But I wish they would stop talking about racks on racks.
Because life is not about the paper you stack.
Paper is nice but it can't clean up the world's crap.
Talking about selling drugs and busting caps.
When we all know the thug life they ain't about that-Mario Perez...

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