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John Trusty Poem
His:
He played softly on (Les Paul Strings) (The Day That He Returned Home) from the war. (One
More Mile) to go, then he will be (Kissing and Caressing) her. That was all he thought of on
his long journey home. He was going to try and win over (The Iceberg Beauty) he saw so
long ago while (Sitting on the Beach). (Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained) so (He Left Her a
White Rose). He was hoping the (Dark Maiden) would become (Golden and Gorgeous) once
again when (In the Meadow We Lay).
(She Entered My Dream)s forever on that day, right after we dove into the water. When (We
Came Up For Air) (The Flow of My Heart) stopped suddenly. (Have You Ever Sat Still), so still
breathing stops, the eyes suddenly glaze over and when the (Doves Fly), (The Raven
Succumbs)?
Hers:
(Her Reoccuring Dream) was to become a blond (Beach Beauty) once again for him, as he
was always (In Her Dreams). He would cover her with (Sunset Kisses) and the flame of life
in her would never flicker and die. Alas, (The Mirrors Spoke) of her (In Ageing Decay) as
she (Sat in Shame No More). Her time was up, those (Three Wishes on The Sandy Beach)
were not enough. She needed a fourth to be young for evermore. Instead (On Blue Silk She
Lies), this time her eyes will remain shut (When They Close For Evermore)!
* Narrative derived from one poets work here on the Soup.
Copyright © John Trusty | Year Posted 2010
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John Trusty Poem
As I think back to that dark time in our community I don’t know if I’d ever seen anyone quite
like that (Cinder Girl). We girls thought she had (Lovely Bones). The last time I saw her alive,
she was sitting on her porch blowing a (Dandelion Wishing) for a long life.I think she knew
that (Before Night Falls) her (Worst Fear) would be realized. The beast from the nether
world, who I think directed everything was that (Dog That Wears a Cone). He sat in her side
yard staring at her. The locals called him Cujo, he was (By Any Other Name), (The Beast of
Our Making). Cujo aside, (That Guy Paul) Cujos’ minion, was one (Bloody Bastard). He was
going to involve Cinder in (A Rural Tragedy) of epic proportions.
It went down on a (Heavy Slush)y winters’ eve guaranteed not to be a pastoral (Scene On a
Road in Winter). I had entered the old abandoned farmhouse on my way home from town. I
was cold and my feet were wet from the slush. I sat down in a small room out of the draft. I
heard voices outside. Paul endured (The Wait) for his accomplice in the cold. When she
arrived he began talking to (The Girl Who Wears the Dragon Tattoo). Then I saw what he
had done.
(What was I Thinking) (What If) they found me hiding (Inside This Little Room). Paul and the
dragon lady were sweaty (Toilers at the Trench), digging frozen dirt in winter is hard work. I
heard Paul laugh as he said to “TATS,” this time we’re (Cleaning House)… Was I next?
Suddenly, the opportunity for escape from this nightmare arose. Jake the bumbling county
snow plow driver unknowingly swung the truck onto the farmstead with its’ halogen lights
probing deep (Into Night). He had (Thwarted) their hiding this heinous crime. The sight he
illuminated gave me the [That Potent Urge(Gotta Go, Gotta Go Right Now)]. I ran from that
house into the night. No one ever knew I was there and since Jake was the only witness the
court needed, I never came forward.
Jake had never been (My Kind of Apple) because (Jake Sure Loved His Beans). Regardless,
Jake unknowingly saved my life that night. I never thought it would happen but over time I’d
grown accustomed to the gas. We were married late last fall and as we left the reception I
saw Cujo on a nearby hill wearing that ominous cone. I thought to myself as he watched us
leave, he knows…
Oh God, he knows I was there!
*This narrative derived from the titles of one poets work here on the Soup.
Copyright © John Trusty | Year Posted 2010
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John Trusty Poem
Smallest of ants could be called a hexaped.
Ants by the millions spew from a subterranean bed.
Cast(s) of thousands work relentlessly to be fed.
Long hours of constant foraging or many go dead.
Shadows of their incessant hunger we face with dread!
For the "Smallest Ants Cast Long Shadows," contest.
Copyright © John Trusty | Year Posted 2015
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John Trusty Poem
Insulations’ design keeps you warm or cool,
not knowing of others looking a fool.
Among those who can’t reach out.
Pity their attitude, what’s that about?
Living inside silent corpse of bones,
struggle to breathe, no one phones.
Surrounded by scary and unknown,
wondering about seeds you have sown.
Escaping this quagmire’s a difficult task,
often you’re simply too afraid to ask.
Will a liberating arrow straight and true,
pierce bulletproof glass around the inner you.
Years and years painfully fly by,
forgetting to reach out, even try.
Time passes without a moments’ refrain.
Life speeds by trapped in a windowless train
Copyright © John Trusty | Year Posted 2010
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John Trusty Poem
Please take a vacation
to our neck of the woods.
Perhaps you’ll move here
and lose your worldy goods.
The tsunami like waves
over your body will wash.
Likely to submerge a carcass
after drowning. Oh gosh!
The solar eclipse makes for
one dark and ominous day.
Historically made people get
on their knees and pray.
The lava flow will turn
your body into a cinder.
Whatever’s in its’ way
burns like a match and tinder.
So if you’re ever thinking
of pushing God’s raith.
A visit here will most likely
test inherent “BLIND FAITH.”
*FOR BLIND FAITH CONTEST
Copyright © John Trusty | Year Posted 2010
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John Trusty Poem
A czarina whose needs couldn’t wait.
Rumored to have a private stable,
with horses….if her Cossacks weren’t able.
For the clerihew 2 contest
Copyright © John Trusty | Year Posted 2012
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John Trusty Poem
Bill (in) Hillary? A turgid question.
Monica eased prostatic congestion.
His Altoids improved the taste,
while her dress absorbed the waste.
Her mother kept the prized possession!
*For the “Political Woes” contest. You can’t make this stuff up.
Copyright © John Trusty | Year Posted 2010
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John Trusty Poem
PARALLEOGRAMATIC
Four sober quadrilateral equations
were quartered around a rectangular occasion.
No less than a quadrifarious derivation,
are ever admitted to the annual rectangular without libation!
Copyright © John Trusty | Year Posted 2012
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John Trusty Poem
Here’s to Möbius and his strip.
Like some attitudes, it is a circuitous
one sided trip!
© 2010 John M.Trusty
*For the Grook contest. Dedicated to A.F.Möbius (et al) and the attitude of some people,
which will never be as fascinating as his strip.
Copyright © John Trusty | Year Posted 2010
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John Trusty Poem
The last time someone dropped into our pool,
it broke our concentration for crock school.
I didn’t join the food frenzy,
prefer Scots called Mackenzie.
So take this one mates, silk chutes bind my stool!
* For the “To Die for Limerick” contest. Hard to tell crock or gator from this magnification.
Copyright © John Trusty | Year Posted 2010
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