Once he had one he wanted to constrict it, like a boa; a python, to hold closely guarded the thing for which demure closets stay closed like iron-waitresses pervading the hostel with lime-light the lemony-snickett cackling in the born-and-bred flames, curling irons prod the paper-clip open but the stamp endures, a timid interred girl beghosts the earls. The favorite simple plan, favored in heavens gamma, where brightness surely waits in pavilion the concert. My concerto is made-man italian, the devise impregnated, like hollow bells that sour, the grim sugar from said waitress, we wildly call the crows to set and chime on the lines where workmen craft blue ribbons atop the farmland graves.
thick dark plaids and worn-out blues
with tools that cut, seal and fuse
measuring tape and nails their best friends
cutting, creating and constructing never ends
My chatting with them has to stop
they get paid hourly says my disgusted pop
but they are so honest and fun to be around
workmen seem to have their boots on the ground
the pond was pumped dry
the ducks gathered at the deepest part
as the pump did its thing
until all the water was sucked away
then they just stood in the wet clay
later
two mallards chased each other around an old oak tree
heads down
disgruntled wings beating
the workmen sat among the trees smoking
and laughing at the birds
there were things in the pond
wriggling minnows
a few rubber balls
the skeleton of a faded red and yellow kite
one black sneaker
the pond floor began to smell bad in the midday sun
the men packed up their equipment
then left in a large white truck
the ducks waddled off to sit under some shade
to wait for something to happen
nothing did
if a workman leaves he might be gone forever
without finishing the job
we had a workman who would do this
If he took his tools we knew there was no predicting if he would return
Today we heard our workmen leave
I ran outside, my heart thumping
their tools were still here
I began to breathe
The workmen are here again today rebuilding our porch.
Their country western music is loud and proud
Cranked up to ear-drum-breaking levels.
I hear it in every room of my house and they are outside.
This might be their last day, or maybe tomorrow.
I do not say a word about their house-shaking music.
Workmen are temperamental, and I want them to come back.
I have played this game before and know it is best to keep silent.
Carpenters are difficult to find, and if they walk I am sunk.
Luckily I have an art studio, so I go out there – a bit farther away.
Can I hear it out there? Yes, but it is more tolerable at that distance.
It will be a cloudy semi cool day
No hot sun to broil you today
Holocaust Harris is the VP ‘s new name
She’s a Zionista, she ain’t ashamed
Love the alliteration of that name
Will she have blood on her hands,will she feel
shame?
I saw workmen carrying moving bins
The bins being empty-the day begins
I smelled from dirty garbage bags
These bags were hygienic and tied
I tasted my all dressed tuna sandwich
It makes my day
Looking at the blue steel bin filled to the brim
I think I feel ok today
Second thought I have a queasy stomach,ugh
I see paintings on the wall, big and small
I tasted my coffee.It was not to bad at all
Biden supports women rights today
Long ago he said the opposite I say
I want the book The Strategic Poet
wizened widows wink
when winsome women wiggle...
while workmen whistle
(Alliterku)
02/28/2023
Alliterku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Charles Messina
There's nothing you can get done in life without
Knowing mastery of how well to acquire abilities and
talents, there are many workmen and women who are
skillful in every variety of work, there are no limitations taught
skills on a daily basis day in, and day out as we tread this
lengthy path of life's journeys full of history and mysteries of
mastering skills.
Home from School
A little stream by the village bridge.
Clear cold water over jagged stones
searched for pieces of china in the mud
as we meandered slowly home.
Once-treasured patterns and bits of bones and
a black eel,rolling wave,burrowing far.
We sucked sweet nectar from fuchsia flowers
on our way home from school
Sometimes on lazy summer days,
When the workmen were on the road,
We pressed our toes in black tar bubbles,
And an asphalt oily smell, followed us home
A robin's nest was a sacred find
purple foxglove,waving our fairy hands
a homemade doll,yellow plaited straw
treasures home from school
Off for milk to Twomey's farm,
huge cow-beasts, dirty, with leather-silk skin
in September our berry purple mouths
a juicy feast all the way home
We are surrounded by trees.
In the summer we peek through the leaves,
At our neighbors yards with no trees.
On both sides are monster house,
Not many people live in each one.
Makes you wonder how the cleaning is done.
No one wonders about outside,
Failure to thrive.
One wonders who is alive.
Occassional workmen pull up in their trucks,
The only reasons we know
Are the bang, clatter, and muck.
We used to walk down the street,
Withour pups at our feet.
Now they are big and we are to slow.
You know we still have our trees,
Each fall the leaves turn brown and hit the ground,
Each spring the branches have dances with new leave all around.
empty pond
we watched as the pond was pumped dry
the ducks gathered at the deepest part
as the pump did its thing
until even that water was sucked away
then they just stood in the wet clay
later
two mallards chased each other around an old oak tree
heads down disgruntled wings beating
the workmen sat among the trees smoking
and laughing at the birds
there were things in the pond
wriggling minnows
a few rubber balls
the skeleton of a faded red and yellow kite
one black sneaker
the pond floor began to smell bad in the midday sun
the men packed up their equipment
then left in a large white truck
the ducks waddled off to sit under some shade
they were waiting for something to happen
nothing did
~~~
Got up this morning
Too busy yawning
To see the pee pot
Spilled the whole lot
With a short kick
Not a recommended trick
Bathroom door was locked
Stood in my pee soaked socks
Flatulence turns to lumps
Underwear full of bumps
Toaster mysteriously jammed
Smoke filled the open plan
Amidst all the chaos
My grip was lost
The bottle smashed
The milk splashed
And the kettle was dry
Almost causing another fire
The car would not start
Despite prayers from the heart
Trying to push the automobile
No movement from the wheels
Battery was flat
Tyres were flat
And I'm late for work
My boss will go beserk
Got to work in empty factory
Seeing no-one made me worry
Observed my paper front page
Date explained it's Saturday
Walking home abusing myself
Mutters heard by noone else
Slipped on a muddy bank
Falling to a sudden land
Covered in dog poop
My embarrassed head droop
Workmen outside my home
Remind me waters no more
A burst pipe was the cause
Nearly answering I paused
Dropped my ashamed head
And went back to bed
I'll sleep the rest of the day
So no more unlucky pain
Workmen
On the way to the bank this morning
four workers were shuffling shingles into big buckets
carrying the load down some steps
coming up with empty buckets filling them up again.
They had sweat on their brows; one hoped they made
enough money for the daily bread.
I may have worked long hours in my life, but not like
this lifting and carrying heavy objects, and I take it
they were poorly paid.
It seems to me people who perform hard physical
work are poorly paid in insecure work
the first to be laid off and end up sleeping in the street,
They are the people we despise
but without them the world would come to a standstill
yet we pay them a few miserable coins left in pockets
when we change our trousers.
GOD’S WORD WILL STAY THERE
There amidst the rubble, saved from all the fire,
There amidst the chaos, saved from enemy’s ire
Was a book still open there upon a stool
Where someone had been sitting, reading of its rule.
It was not a textbook of some great warfare acts.
Nor was it a record of attendance facts.
It was not assembled with reports or such,
Yet it lay there open, lay there still untouched.
Closer came the workmen to the horror scene,
Awed then by its presence, quiet and serene.
Then when they approached it and they took a look,
What they saw was awesome--the title of the book.
HOLY BIBLE blazed there with its trim of gold,
Story ever precious, never growing old.
Never overcome by rubble or by fire,
Cannot be defeated by evil man’s desires.
There right where he left it; there still true and fair;
Heaven and earth will pass, yes; God’s word will stay there.
Inspired from a report received after the attack on the Pentagon, September 11, 2001.
When gentlemen stand up to pee
I wish that they’d consider me
cos I always sit down
In OUR room with no crown
I’m 'hopping' mad as you can see!
(In the UK the throne is another word for the toilet)
Poet's notes ... We had workmen in our house today and they never once put the toilet seat down... it drove me crazy!
8/11/19
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