Short Strapping Poems

Strapping on my goggles
       I was hoping to see Meadowlark

     But every time I toggled
       All I got was Meta-lark...

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When strapping on a corset,
Be careful not to force it, 
Too much and you’ll pop
More than just your top;
Your bowel might endorse it....

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Walking up the hill
Head on straight 
Strapping on gloves
Sitting on the gate
Clipping in the petals
locking up the brakes
leaning
standing 
sweating
shaking
waiting
and then
Slam...

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Gideon’s huge, but he is no fatty;
walked at ten months, a strapping young laddie.
Though he’s happy and grins,
I’m so sorry for him;
everyone says he looks like Big Daddy!
...

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Tomorrow 

A day like no other
Zesty with haste 
Drunk with desire
Raging up the ebbing fire
Waking up a staggering dawn 
Making each steps 
a matching Stomp
While strapping hope
As a matching dagger...

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Sir Isaac’s Triumph

Celia defied Newton’s laws
By strapping herself into bras:
One day her hooks snapped
And out her bust flapped
To cheers and raucous applause.

October 14, 2016
Laughter is the Best Medicine Limerick Contest
Jan Allison...

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A little kiss, a little Miss. 
All she wanted was a little kiss.
Batting her eyes at all the guys
Laughing and winking as they walked by.
Hoping a strapping young fellow
Would sweep her away in her dress of yellow.
A fair maiden is she
But a far away land was he.
To her mother she began to cry
"Stop that my dear. She said. and keep batting those eyes!"...

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.

Blame it all on warm beer 
at the stoplight.

The inside of my skull throbs
with the drone of tired traffic.
And windshield wipers whine
with my CD's old rock metallic.

Then, jolting my line of vision,
is a strapping, suspicious cop.
His clipboard and pen, enough
to make my sour hiccup stop.

Blame it all on warm beer 
at the stoplight.

....

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Blame it on warm beer
at the stoplight.

My cerebrum throbs,
hodgepodge of noises:
windshield wiper's whirring whine,
depressing drone of tired traffic,
primeval beat of hip-hop sound;

the most jolting thing
in my line of vision:
a strapping traffic officer, his pen
and clipboard menacingly poised
to render judgment on me.

Blame it on warm beer
at the stoplight!...

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Sepia photo 
of my grandparents,
circa 1919.
Framed by a skeleton
of timbers.
He,a strapping,giant 
of a man
with saw in hand.
Worn, bib overalls,
carpenters belt.
She, a comely whisper,
cradling my father.
Summer dress billowing. 
No power tools then.
Each board inspected,
cut by hand, firmly nailed,
to craft the masterpiece
of a house, that would become, 
my grandparents home...

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...and the warnings rang strong
...and the cauldron wheezed
...and the magma lapped at strapping branches,
genetically equipped, with a passion,
for protecting the bulb
...and the poet rhymed on

...and the emperor, Nero, has resurfaced
...and the swinging, singing, stinging swarm 
cycled back

...and the funk of it reached fecal proportions,
surpassing sweetness of rotting racoons
on the roadside 
...and the poet rhymed on....

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They walk among us these heartless men, looking for targets whose lives to end. 
They do not care if young or old; if rich or poor, their hearts are cold.
They plant their bombs to kill and maim and pride themselves on taking blame
Strapping bombs upon their chest they give their lives and think they're blessed.
To see the face of a dying child affects them not, they only smile. 
These evil men who love to kill, they must be stopped, their blood be spilled....

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Paralysed by unfamiliar feelings, 
Wrapped in a cloak of grief 
The rigour mortis of emotion
Of Feeling
Numbing 
Strapping and harnessing 
Fencing in the soul 
No way out 
No one allowed in 
Cannot see no more 
Cannot cry no more 
Nothing matters any more 
World known is gone 
Too low to find peace
Too blind to see
Rigour mortis of the soul 
Is the saddest thing to feel
The greatest loss of all
Is not death
But what dies in us
When we live...

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Baby blue skies extending forever
through verdant valleys 
and hugging mountainsides 

Eagles glide gracefully
on a butterscotch breeze
captivating lost feelings in me

Oh to soar   so solitarily
away from pain strapping me
in to a dreamless scene
where windows are tinted and freedom's only hinted

A glazed gaze away from the day
into a peaceful sun
the futures begun

On top the evergreen it twirls
swaying in the silence 
one drop at a time...

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He fiddled 
with his foreskin,
pulling the taunts over

The tip of his nose,
it still stung, from when
Gary Mother****in' Jackson
(a strapping lad who insisted
this should have been his middle
name, after taking up a pool
job one summer)

Had pushed him, rather
abruptly into the bushes,
and those branches

Feeling like hands, poked
and prodded into the depth's
of his skin and he'd walked 

Through that day, red and 
welty, like an overgrown zit....

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