the year of our lord
two thousand twenty third year~
oh why aren’t you here
I see the closet door and I hear the theme song to Shark.
Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo
The one they used to play on Saturday Night Live in the eighties.
You know the one.
I opened it once to take a photo.
Which I sent to my twin sister.
We were bemoaning our messy spots.
So we decided to have a little contest.
I took photos of this closet, and six hoarder piles in one bedroom.
Believe it or not, she sent me eight photos and hers were better.
Or worse depending on which way you are going competition wise.
Thanks Daddy, we both said. He loved keeping everything.
Whereas Mom was a minimalist. She had a rule.
Bring one new thing in, toss one old thing out.
She had no messes anywhere in the house
Except Daddy’s area. She could not control that.
Maybe it’s Mom’s fault, I think to myself.
She is the one that never let us have a mess.
Maybe we are still rebelling.
Anyway, I cannot face this closet yet.
This is the third year in a row it has been un-faceable
It would be nice to use a closet, just not this one.
I turn and take another peek. Is it still there?
Unfortunately yes. Who knows what lives inside.
Chemistry, a labyrinthine topic-cum-tantalising potent cryptic art,
bane of eager scientist with half a top-notch mind and ample heart
Teachers in this field strain every muscle but knowledge has its
phoenix like bugs.
bungled shots at mastery whet an inborn urge for random hugs
At twenty two a third year paper found me in this vicious circle dumbstruck,
my blank expression shook with disbelief as I sought a golden wink from Lady Luck
Nervous giggles, comic errors, bold retrieval seldom count as fun,
but never fear, triumphant marks, percentage wise a glowing grade A one!
Name Of Contest Where Poem Na’d X’d ;
A Brian Strand Rime
Date Judged ; 22nd Of February 2022
Contest Name On This Occasion ; Writing Challenge- X’d Poems Second Chance Poetry Contest
Sponsor ; Constance La France
Grammar, spelling, rhyme checks applied.
Rhyme Zone and Poetry Soup confirmed
The crash has put the country in dire straits
But these two movie stars do not have similar fates
They descend the staircase in their fancy clothes,
Thinking everyone is rich, wearing wealth that glows.
The people in the restaurant are equally unaware.
That thousands are going hungry, wearing shoes with heels bare.
1932, they have diamonds, rubies, and expensive cars.
Art deco finery of restaurant aids the ignorance of these movie stars.
Daddies are out of the street, begging for milk money for their child.
Some were killed working the railroad, or in the dust bowl, not mild.
It is 1932, third year of America’s very worst depression so far.
Glamorous couple clueless as chauffeur takes them home in their car.
Charlie told me that for fun
He watches a terrorized mouse
Get chased down and eaten by his corn snake
Jake, the Snake, every Thursday at two.
I met Charlie the first day of school
My third year in the district.
His twelve foot friend Jake was being wrestled in by....
Five giant guys who were carrying a glass container
Large enough for a couple of elephants and a wrestling mat.
Jake was inside, red and yellow striped, fat as my wrist.
Charlie was the nicest teacher, and he loved science.
Loved his children, but the snake thing bothered me.
He let his sixth graders watch the hunt every Thursday.
I knew when it happened because they would all yell
“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” in unison on Thursday
I asked him once if they were given a grade for watching this.
He laughed and said he had never thought of that.
But he was certainly glad that I had.
One prissy boy named Sam never watched.
I rescue Sam on Thursdays at five minutes before two,
pretending he has a giant counseling issue.
Dreading the first Thursday I am sick.
Glad that Charlie was military, as the hunt is always at two.
You were in your big blue suit,
And I wore the frock with a pear paint.
Suddenly when I saw a monkey with his big O shaped eyes,
The drop came out when terrified I closed my eyes,
I Ran fast and climbed over your feet,
Those little arms wrapped your knees.
Coming to you I felt it home.,
My grip would have told you my gloom.
You took me up and held me tight.
Upon your shoulder I opened my sight.
I would have been in my third year.
Dear Daddy do you remember ?
-17 Dec 2018
Today we celebrate two years past
My that has gone so fast
Champagne flowing glasses full
This celebration is for us all
United together by mr P
Life is better with SLTPD
Safe and secure we can chat
About anything PD or this and that
New friends we make
New things we do
Goodbye MR P we don’t need you
New website in the making
Will show Mr P is not just shaking
Opportunity for all to do our bit
So get writing and submit
Two years have gone
Now together we are strong
Let’s celebrate with cheer
That we are entering the third year
Meaningful conversations of elations aim
amores light, embracing echoing stamina
relegating through a tumultuous third year,
regrets of white lilies lining walls of despair
incandescent kisses, loving trips to Hawaii
all to regal for a first love, frolicking as mana
grateful silver years approach the lives ebbing evanescence family dinners, but not our love.
Born in May 1975, in a small Australian town
I would battle my way through life, like a clown
Having no idea just of who I wanted to become
All I knew was, I wanted to become a mum
Poetry begun to take a shining to me
Soon to become an author, we'd see
While the grandmother role came on quite thick
I tell you no lie, 7 babies born within 3 years is quick
Tragically, a car accident would take the joy from me
Unable to cuddle, or hold the new lives in our family
Broken all over, with no sighs for a real recovery
I begin to see hope in the third year to pass, luckily
The time spent between mending this broken back
I Studied the world wide web, and polished up my nack
Author would surprise, me from my hours online
With lyricist coming in a very close behind
As motherhood end, I find I've begun to write a story
Who knows where it will take me, this is my journey
God bless the unknown, and the future poets untold story
And all that's awaiting me at each, and every nights glory
The bright green leaves are turning,
the forests look like burning;
cold weather is returning.
The days are growing shorter,
we're in the third year quarter;
the squirrel becomes a hoarder.
The stags in woods are clashing,
after the does they're dashing,
with raised white tales they're flashing.
The black bears are fat and round;
into deep dens they are bound,
spending winter underground.
Babbling brook takes its last run,
before freezing has begun;
must wait spring to have more fun.
9/2/16
The bright green leaves are turning,
the forests look like burning;
cold weather is returning.
The days are growing shorter,
we're in the third year quarter;
the squirrel becomes a hoarder.
The stags in woods are clashing,
after the does they're dashing,
with raised white tales they're flashing.
The black bears are fat and round;
into deep dens they are bound,
spending winter underground.
Babbling brook takes its last run,
before freezing has begun;
must wait spring to have more fun.
at Holy Child School
I learn about God
met my best friend there
learn about baseball
and the other sports
three years was there
paddled third year
fighting classmate
then public school
religion
wasn't there
God I knew
always
with me
Loved
Good Old Government
After high school all of us graduated
And then for college we had waited
Wondering what we would major in
Or should we go back to school again.
Some had no money and were very poor
Enlisted in Army, Air Force or Marine Corps
Others did not have enough money yet
But to go they still had their mind set.
Finished first year and some flunked out
What to major in were still in doubt
By beginning of third year made up mind
Now for a four college they had to find.
What students finally started realizing
Was that Universities were specializing
In a certain area to meet their expertise
Inflation had caused prices to increase.
Goal to graduate from college could not fulfil
Joined military and ended up with GI Bill
After time is service they had now spent
Employer of last resort was good old government.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran, Poet
and a College Graduate
The beginning is the best rhyming
Holding hands, never parting
Talking of the future, always smilling
Making sound of music, always humming
Those picnic park days, always vacationing
Forever and Forever, to the honeymoon
Then the second stanza, no more laughter
Time moves slowly, it staggers
There are more hiccups, the pain only leaves tatters
Goodbyes take over, what happened to lets get together?
And the hangover of the day after, only shatters
Forever and Forever, dying faster
Then comes the 3rd stanza, issues still floating
It's like the third year of marriage, voices are roaring
Questions come down like torrential rains,....falling
A state of confusion, only worsening
The future becomes a target, a lot of regretting
Forever and Forever, how do you find yourself in this setting?
Forever and Forever, no more
Icicles hang like translucent,
Inverted tapers from house eaves.
Seventy-two winters are spent
but now another winter freeze
wreathes my study window with ice.
How many winters have I left?
Three, Five, perhaps if I’m blessed, thrice
as many-- I’ll not hold my breath
as though it were a death sentence;
Hell no! Life’s too short as it is
to think about morbid nonsense
(besides, all things have their finis.)
Yet I’m alive and winters here
I raise my half-brimmed coffee cup
and toast my seventy-third year!
May I see it through; bottoms up!
Related Poems