Signage Poems | Examples

Wish I had Used My Coupon

I received a ten dollar off coupon for my birthday
It said I could even use it on a ten- dollar item!
Today I wished I had used it
when I saw the hardware store had gone out of business.
At this time of year there are usually outside plants all around the store.
Nothing was there, the signage was down, the windows showed empty shelves.
I wondered what happened to the cat who used to hide under the outside plants.

Please!

A car was parked illegally;
The hydrant wasn’t cleared,
Plus it was by a nursing home
And might have interfered.

I never would have noticed it,
But signage did impart
That a tow truck would be coming
‘Cause the engine wouldn’t start.

Thee note said “Please!” perhaps to cops
Who rarely have the choice
About issuing a ticket to
A reprobate Rolls Royce!

L E Z; badly said'

Low Emission zone disinformation..Is a factor on sinage
Thats the situation.' First a magistrate in Bedford flagged
Not fine, these signs that have ruined life for many.' Also
Wasted so much time.' Yesterday Noel Wilcox, Royally won'
At the so named courts in London judgement on veracity I
See it had to come.' So now if you've been hit no matter
Where you are from.' You can obtain a refund, maybe to
Spend on having fun? Like driving to London.' Just to see
The sights.? Oh and I do hope we are soon rid of all that
That extra metal signage.' Thats really an unsightly blight !

Crafting a Masterpiece of Soul

Scored, stained, painted, washing, squeezing.
Profound fingers duly pleasing.
A perfect sign is not one’s goal.
Crafting a masterpiece of soul.

Basic colors, silver and gold,
Sprinkles that touch wet paint, behold.
Cathartic stressing’s console.
Crafting a masterpiece of soul.

A maverick or dependent.
Assured it will be resplendent.
To each his own creed of control.
Crafting a masterpiece of soul.

The group imparts a tenderness,
Rubbing elbows of cleverness;
And pondering time in fishbowl.
Crafting a masterpiece of soul.

All eyes on the “perfect” signage.
Does such have a great advantage?
Peculiar go down rabbit hole.
Crafting a masterpiece of soul.

Still, the simplicity of cream;
And chocolate Easter bunny’s dream,
Won’t be held in one’s cubby hole.
Crafting a masterpiece of soul.

Scored, stained, painted, washing, squeezing.
Profound fingers duly pleasing.
A perfect sign is not one’s goal.
Crafting a masterpiece of soul.

Sprawling in America

Trucks hauling away defunct Malls.
One city has been transported to another,
until superimposed, only the name are different.

Freeways chase endless miles,
looking for more things to shift,
shlep and shoulder.
Ninety per cent of everything movable
is assembled by 100 percent of new renters.
Oil, cattle, and inflammable gaseous toxins,
are handled by cab radios, satellite commands,
and shredding rubber.

The main drags compete to be anonymous,
wear the same masks, many disintegrate
or morph into closed forever signage.

In the concrete encircled,
whittled-down woods,
lovers try to imagine a better place to live,
one that is not yet on the road.

Zen mode

a signage in the park exclaims 
pause awhile here for Jesus
two young men chaperone
our aroused curiosity

what do you want for your family
is the question to us they posed
there is no one here, we answer
hoping that they will understand

But Reflection Is

Never in secluded pools they dwell,
I speak of ornate  waterfalls,
they rise and fall majestically,
near docks, wharves and piers,
sparkle, gleam, smooth flow trickle,
eye balm whirl fantastic perk on tap,
stickybeak on podium rapids,
instigator signage when our trek seems dull,
but reflection is a gem warp cataract,
kinetic rebound  ocean wave backbeat,
which in fact an upfront blissful target,
hardly ever missing opal bulls-eye,
environmental bubbles that somehow never burst,
indulge outlandish fare Promethean,
spurt  on vermillion lanyards pendant sweep,
dream paint sunrise clementine tincture,
daub acrylic spree through pale moon orb,
squeeze tube lambent hue past frail mandala,
eternal sepia a light touch pristine shroud,
that loiters over urban life force ripple,
flaunt your image rich abundant fire

After Hours Stroll

Midnight  boom town  streets have this allure
imagining an uncanny venture
eavesdrop veil surround but dark as coal
how I love my after hours stroll

Secret worlds unfold their impish plot
mesmerised entanglement a tiered whatnot
black crush velvet  sky we must extol 
how I love my after hours stroll

Gilt  fantasies that  float across each lane way
fluorescent  gremlin from some ghostly  parking bay
gust on salt ice pier might buttonhole
how I love my after hours  stroll

Snow clad mall whistler gaffe prone 
while wandering the ink hue urban zone
a chapter lift and snatch from begging bowl
how I love my after hours stroll

Traffic signals  stellar  stoic stance
heartbeat of nocturnal moonlight dance
frozen digit signage reeks of twinkling North Pole
how I love my after hours stroll

Racism

These days my wife and I are in Australia for a holiday 
We walk down to Coogee beach every other day
A signage screams, ‘racism not welcome’
‘Who’re they addressing’ we hum

Opposite is McDonalds eat out
From within we hear an Aussie shout
‘I don’t like your accent, yellow skinned girl’
In silent rage the hair on my arms begins to curl

Now, Aussies are mostly quite friendly and affable
Yet what we narrate too is fact and not fable
One rotten apple gives all a bad name
But the braggart, he had no shame

Why did McDonalds serve this man
Such idiots get away because they can
It is high time we get together to walk the talk 
Punishment should be swift and we should not balk

Gimmie

Peter’s off again to job interview (second round, in Geneva), he was only here two days but something of him remained behind. Oh, fingerprints for sure - but memories too - like scattered Christmas wrappings - or a poem:

Ok, gimme me your best day, take your best shot at perfection.

Our minds take experiences and press them grape-like,
into the intoxicating liquor of memory.

The vivid ones linger - unaltered - like youthful Internet mistakes forever posted.

Someday to beckon us back, teasingly - like bright, neon signage.

To Those

To those
who gave up everything
they knew, they lived, they loved,
To give me
my Today
my American day:

Were that small
leaking stinking wooden ship
sailing today
bound for America,

And they be
crowded on the bow
watching in great anticipation
as an unknown skyline
emerges from the mist...

What would they see?

A gate across the waters...?
Signage saying
   No Admittance.
   No immigrants allowed.

And a statue weeping.

Along the Canal

The canal poked like a finger
into the wrinkled abdomen
of the Port. Along its length,
ketches once bruised
wooden wharves unloading wheat
shipped from outports across the gulf.
Pigeons stalked the spill of grain
from hessian bags torn 
by wharfies hooks. Port Adelaide’s 
pigeons were kept well fed.

I can remember being harnessed
to a pole and taught to swim
in the cold, dark waters of the canal.
I thrashed and kicked but could not float.
I did not have my fathers dolphin grace
whose aquatic triumphs were engraved
on a silver trophy that stood proud 
atop a fireplace shelf.

In its final days the canal slowed 
to a halt. Wharves were empty
and gave way to rot. In the end, 
dump trucks cascaded fill down
embankments until it choked.
A car park now seals its grave 
where plastic bags sail endlessly 
across an asphalt lake.
A shopping precinct recalls its name
in gaudy signage.

Memory still has me dangling 
on the end of a pole, flailing arms 
desperately searching for something 
solid to hold, suspended
like a lead weight
above a cold abyss.

Farewell Friend

Sweet friendship comes in many forms
you worked for years at the local meat store 
your presence, the sparkle that lit up the room
with a cheerful smile, and bright eyes, blue. 

You greeted all with warmth and care
made colorful signage with great flair
delightful pictures on all the walls
cows, fences, green fields, and blue waterfalls. 

We connected, had a bond, you and I
always exchanged highlights of our lives
you welcomed me with a big, sisterly hug
and never forgot to ask me how I was. 

Yesterday, I walked into that little store
as I had done so many times before
there, at the entrance, right before my eyes
was a picture of you, and a note that you’d died.

The shock of your death, a sudden fall
jolted me…this could not be, no, not at all! 
For I had just spoken to you, not long ago
you were full of life, so happy and whole. 

The sting of death, that final farewell 
I never got to say goodbye, I could not tell
how much your sweet life meant to me
goodbye, dear Paula, as you go to God eternally. 







Written on 7/11/2022

The Lawn

The voluntary gardeners
Placed signs along the fence
Announcing that they’d given up,
Despite their best intents.

“We can’t maintain this lawn because,
Though signage says No Pets,
The owners let their dogs run wild,
Displaying no regrets.”

Perhaps these words have hit the mark
As those in charge have dealt
A reprimand that’s harsh enough
For guilt to have been felt.

For lately, there have not been any
Pets upon that lawn,
Though it may be too late for any
Grass to grow upon.

I Scream At the Bear

My family did not visit New York City
but instead played in the Catskills.


I SCREAM AT THE BEAR

I scream, at the bear
signage, for ice cream.
The tea cups are flying -
fun in the dying,
with laughter and cones.
The zoo in the Catskills
skilled with school
children, the haven -
a private sanctuary
in thar hills.
Fun for the whole family,
broken down,
sold for its bones,
auctioned and spread.
Today, you can stay
in the giraffe mansion
and hike the original
miles or explore
many, many more.
The Catskills,
once upon a time,
booming - now
its a ghost town
with baby boomer
memories.

3/24/2022

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