Short Smock Poems

One day took a really long walk
I forget to bring my plastic smock
When it started to rain
I had myself to blame
Luckily I have a really cute doc...

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An enterprising young boy from Memphis
Made it his goal to climb Mount Olympus
Short-legged in stock
He fancied a smock
And he couldn't round up a consensus.

May 29, 2021...

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Twin drops of sweat
perched on his brow
Salt mines
the butcher's
blood-soaked smock
reeking knife
poised...
feverish to finish
the lady's order
his tear-stained chop
wide of the mark...

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In England it is almost twelve o'clock 
I just saw Santa Claus in his red smock
He left parcels galore
Outside of my front door
Asked him in, but he said his lips were sore....

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Of Beauty, all's gone out.
No let hung glimmer
High or low branched, for this
And that leaf-ember.

Not o'er the whole sad Earth.
Til this grateful shock.
Birdhouse a-flame! Porch-oozed.
Redbreast's berried smock....

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Writer's Block

Hard as Rock 

My Brain seems Covered by a Smock

Wait Up You 

Something's Coming Thru

Hope it's not some Hullabaloo 

Oh Snap's Damn 

How About Uncle Sam

When The Hell is He Getting Out of Afghanistan!...

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Creep, oh centipede! 
    A malady to my cornea. 
Like kernels a decoy
    In my Eden realm. 
I'm infuriate to civility
    Just us serenity intervene. 
Serendipity smock my bones
    In solitude. 
Here it is, your servitude
    Of search....

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You think you're funny.
But throughout my stay here,
I've noticed.
That you're not who you say you are.
Behind that smock,
those latex gloves
and that plastered smile.

I can see.
I can see there's a void going through you.
And I can feel,
that being on the other side of the gun
is not so strange to you....

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There's a shooting downtown.  A tree frog
Chirps.  Two young people discover love.  A tree frog
Chirps.  The Chicago Cubs beat the Toronto
Bluejays.  A tree frog chirps.  A bimbo
On the Internet becomes a celebrity.  A
Treefrog chirps.  Life goes on.  Day by day,
Week by week, year by year.  And a tree frog chirps.

Mandell Smock...

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I could not wait to stop wearing maternity clothes.
I had been pregnant for 9 months I 1971
and then for another 9 months in 1973.
You can hardly imagine how irritating it was
to see the newest fashions for women in 1974
looked like maternity tops!
That is all they sold in the stores.
The exact kind of smock I had been stuck in
for eighteen months!...

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Brendon earns his bread and butter
as an artist at Anna's -
Anna's Beauty Salon. 
He places the smock across my shoulders
as if it were a feathered gown; 
I feel resplendent already.
Removing the pencil from my messy bun,
he unfastens my hair with
hungry hands. 
His fingers dance with intrigue like the
balloons bobbing on the mirror..

He is the cat and I am his cream....

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A superb time,
A long ago nursery rhyme,
Distant bells chime,
Grassy hills to climb.

Grandfather's clock,
The crowing of the cock,
Doors they didn't lock,
A lady's smock.

Days precious and rare,
Died in summer's glare.
The ghost lives on in memory, I'm aware-
The ghost to whom I am heir.

Faraway train,
Distant fields of cane,
Windowpane, windowpane,
Looking back at the lane....

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The lass known as spring
dons her pretty smock;
blushing pink as dawn,
she merrily strolls
through gardens and fields.

She talks to trees.
They green; some bloom!
She sings to plants.
Beauty bursts forth.

She calls out;
creatures come
together!

She smiles.
We feel

Joy.

April 1, 2019
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
For the Diminished Hexaverse Contest About Spring Poetry Contest...

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She prances through the meadow
In the pretty smock her momma made.
Sun glistening through her long golden locks.
Birds chirp and glide through the trees.
Frogs croak as they peak from the shallow pond.
She stops to admire the wild flowers,
when a beautiful butterfly lands on her hand,
Fluttering magical thoughts into her mind.
She dances and laughs as she plays in nature.
Such an amazing sight as her momma looks on....

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Smells like power
But tastes like chicken
Administrative duties
Make my pulse quicken

Repression wears a tie
Arrogance sports hose
Make Bossy smile
That’s how the garden grows

Timeclock sphincter
Clamped down tight
Constipation of thought
Absence of light

Artistic fire snuffed
Sculptor’s hand inert
Bottom line worship
Trade the smock for the shirt

Corporate aorta
Chocked with fat pride
With toad-lust for power
Freedom must collide...

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Hospital Sill

"On the sill today
the sun's pure white.
Usually it's gold,"
says Nell, propped
in a smock,
all frills, 

sipping tea
turning cold
as she braids
white ram
horns of hair
high and tight

to the sides 
of her skull.
"On the gold days
like this I warm
my hands for hours
at a time on this sill.

"Yesterday,
the doctor said
someone should
paint me.
A still life
that's what he said."

Donal Mahoney...

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The little wooden horse you gave me, when I
came home from hospital.
I watch you through the window, in your smock, planting
a new garden.

It is hot I know, I never tire watching you do some thing
simple like drinking from a glass that was once dark blue now bleached from the sun, into some thing even more Unusual.

You hang the white smock over the small wooden fence, the
dear will come and eat when you have left.

James McLain...

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Men remember the wall clock,
When it is time to doors lock
Or after crows of a cock,
Cocks comparing with a clock...

Some remember hung wall clock
To fast turn up in the dock
And show they can't A Court mock...

One would locks be sparing clock,
Who delays sees as some block,
Sure to be trying a sock
After picked sounds of Tick Tock...

One soon hardens like a rock
From oftenest looks at clock
Before slides into one's smock....

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As a child I would place my closed eyes
in them
while she hummed Gaelic melodies.

Her smock, it was brown
like a butchers apron
but without a speck of blood,
just daubs of fruit dumplings
and the savor of elderberry flowers.

Grandmother had large hands
working hands,
when they closed
it was as if her story book
had closed
at the end of every day,

and that is how she goes away
always very quietly
at the end of every day.
© 2 days ago...

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They grazed their sheep upon my grass
So many centuries in the past

In feudal times,a monastery of hope
'Til King Henry divorced the Pope

In later times upon my hill
They set a smock windmill

As Victoria came on her throne
A brewery made this site its own

Later in more social times, a public bath
In which poor folk cleansed at my hearth

The 'sixties brought a different call
Under an impersonal shopping mall

Change continues on,so persistent
But my soil stays,omniscient...

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