Nighttime Traffic Jam - Un callejon sin salida
I pass my father
In the hall
Several times a night
When I get up to take a piss
I run into my Uncle Mike
Waiting in line
With Grandpa Bill and
My Great-Grandfather Jim Boots
I'm no sooner back in bed
Than I hear them
Lining up again
Crowding my dark hallway
I guess even in death
Your prostrate won't
Let you get
Uninterrupted rest
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Adventure
My grandfather, Charlie
Began that family trait!
He had a moving company...
The first of its kind,
In a city that draped its hate!
They didn't say it openly,
But it was known to segregate.
And Charlie did the best he could,
To see his family didn't suffer and ate!
And the family grew to be much more than eight!
By the time I was eight my grandma and pop...
Had popped out eighteen!
My uncle Gay Hall and aunt Virginia,
Were the last to dropp on this scene!
And Charlie saw it well,
That grandma never worked...
She had raised Twenty-one of her own.
And it was always an adventure then,
To see who would love...and to see who love would hurt!
To watch mama and papa take care of their kin!
Nothing what I've done has ever been
That adventurous to be driven
To protect AND defend!
Not to us who didn't know
What we know now but not back then.
Not back in those days!
Nothing what I've done
Has been that adventurous on my plate!
I'm glad my grandpa gave me a little taste of my fate.
I guess my grandpa left me something,
I could easily neglect...no matter what the debate.
Easily if not injected with a bit adventure in my blood...
And 'gifts' he left me I will always respect!
And much appreciate!
Because of my grandpa,
Any adventure from a kindred center,
Growing with it and letting it create!
I've always wanted that next adventure....
One
To be the very best...and giving me the shakes!
Thinking of adventure as something to expect!
Wanting more each time its done.
Wanting it just like sex! I guess.
Nothing what I've done of late...
Has made me want adventure less!
Nothing I can remember in September.
Maybe
When it begins to become cool and shady!
And just 'maybe'...
I'll suspect and seize the adventure in October,
If it presents and these attached
Grandpa family tied 'adventurements'
Don't drive me crazy!
Sometimes we have to give time just to be lazy!
To rest and refresh!
Special thanks:
Diane Violet
For the closing line in this poem!
AND I've since 'added' onto 'that line'!
Thanks again, Dee...
~for 'refresh'~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I'm My Own Grandpa
It was many many years ago when I was twenty-three,
I was married to a widow, she's as pretty as can be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter who had hair of red,
my father fell in lover with her, and soon these two were wed.
I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.
This made my dad my son-in-law and changed my very life:
My daughter was my mother 'cause she was my father's wife.
And then to complicate the matter, though it brought me joy,
I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy.
This bouncing baby then became a brother-in-law to dad,
and so became my uncle, though it made me very sad,
for if he was my uncle then he also was the brother
of the widow's grown-up daughter, who, of course, was my step-mother.
I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.
Father's wife then had a son who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandchild, for he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother, and it makes me blue,
because although she is my wife, she's my grandmother, too.
Now if my wife is my grandmother, then I am her grandchild.
And every time I think of it, it nearly drives me wild.
For now I have become the strangest case you ever saw.
Husband of my grandmother, I am my own grandpa.
I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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An Old Man With His Hat
There Little Robbie found him in an old yellow album
A blurred picture of a half old man with his hat
Standing in front of the coffin
He smiles shy but wide with his teeth gone making a hole like Little Robbie when he lose his baby teeth
Little Robbie doesn’t recognize him and he wonder where he is now
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his big sister
But his sister doesn’t recognize him and she wonder who he is
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his mother
But his mother doesn’t recognize him and she wonder how he was there
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his father
But his father doesn’t recognize him and he wonder what he did there
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his uncle
But his uncle doesn’t recognize him and he wonder when the picture taken
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks hopelessly to his grandfather
His grandfather takes a deep look to that picture and wonders why Little Robbie asks
Little Robbie says, “I want to meet him! I want to know about him! I want to play with him! ”
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
But his grandfather shakes his head, “No, he is not.”
He is not one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
He is just an old man with his hat
“He accompanied your great grandfather when he sick until his death. This picture is taken in a burial of your great grandfather.”
His grandfather stares at little Robbie
“Now, are you disappointed? ”
He is not one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
He is just an old man with his hat
Little Robbie shakes his head, “No, I am not.”
Though he is not one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
Though he is just an old man with his hat
“But I still want to meet him, I want to know about him, and I want to play with him! ”
And then he could be one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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I Wish I Could
I wish I could tell you I love you
I wish I could take back those times I did not
But I can't and I never can
I wish I could take back those times that I was mean
That I had an attitude
But I can't and I never can
I realized to late what you mean to me
Grandpa I love you
Grandpa I miss you….I'm sorry for my tears
You saved me from the orphanage where you were forced to go
You saved my baby brother's life but I never said thank you
Grandpa I love you
Grandpa I miss you…..I'm sorry for my tears
I can never again hug you
I can only see your smile in your pictures
I can never ask about the wars you fought in
I can never hear your stories again
Grandpa I love you
Grandpa I miss you…….I'm sorry for my tears
I wish I could tell you I love you
But I can never do it again
poem by Rachel Dowd
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Pissheads
piss heads in the park
piss heads in the park
staying out till dark
staying out till dark
dont wanna see the crack in your arse
when you're lying on the grass
dont wanna hear your shout
when im just out walking about
piss heads in the park
piss heads in the park
staying out till dark
staying out till dark
dont wanna see your veins
coming out your brains
dont wanna feel the pain
of your life put down the drain
piss heads in the park
piss heads in the park
staying out till dark
staying out till dark
dont wanna think your my destiny
when i feel the addict in me
there has to be something more
than pissing on the floor
piss heads in the park
piss heads in the park
staying out till dark
staying out till dark
dont want the crack and the smack
when it only puts you back
to the bare necessities of being in the park
and staying out till dark
staying out till dark
so no-one sees
poem by Petra Creffield
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The Cat Is Dead
Deedle dee, three tots are we.
And were as clever as can be.
We live with grandma ida and our dear old grandpa ned
And little baby mike (the brat)
And dont forget the siamese cat
And in the attic from detroit is big, fat uncle fred
Oh grandpa wishes he were rich,
And grandma just complains (the bitch)
And uncle fred gets drunk while mike just cries all night and day
The cat thinks that he owns the place
He bites and scratches on the face
Itd be so nice if they just went away, away
Ooh daddle, daddle daddle daddle daddle daddle day
(chorus)
The cat is dead, the cat is dead
I went to pat him on the head
He didnt purr, he didnt meow he didnt blink or snip.
He seemed to have a funny smile that made me laugh
But all the while, the tail that used o flip and flap
Got awful cold and stiff.
We chopped him into tiny bits,
And seasoned him with apple bits
And with some dust, we made a crust and put him in a pie.
Into the oven he did sit, until the crust was nice and crisp
Ill love that little kitty till I die.
Dee die, dee di-de-di-de-di-de-di-de-di-de-di-de-di.
The cat is dead, the cat is dead.
And mikey too, and uncle fred
Expiring oh so suddenly while sipping down some tea.
The tea was hot, the tea was hot
With stricknine and a little spice to
Cover up the funny taste of our conspiracy.
When grandpa saw what we had done,
He went straight for his hunting gun
But we were quick we sole the clip
The rest is history
To make sure grandma wouldnt flea
We gave her a lobotomy
And nows shes just as happy as can be
Dee dee, dee deedle deedle deedle deedle deedle deedle dee
(chorus)
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grandpa's Lake
He was sitting by himself all alone,
Down in a little corner.
Looking out of place, in the funeral home,
And away from all the mourners.
His dad walked up, and I heard him say,
Daddy can I go home?
I don't know why grandpa went away,
But he might be home alone.
I want to be there, when he gets back,
We were going fishing today.
He'll need his hooks and rods, and that burlap sack,
Where he puts the fish away.
His dad looked up, a tear in his eye,
And said 'grandpa's fishing now.'
But it's a great big lake, up in the sky,
And you can't go there right now.
He's fishing with his dad today,
They'll be fishing for some time.
They have a lot to do and say,
Cause to that lake it's a long steep climb.
They haven't seen each other,
In oh, so many years.
And grandpa's glad to see his father,
And both their eyes have tears.
And grandpa's a little boy again,
Just a fishing with his dad.
And on his face there's no more pain,
I hope for him your'e glad.
The little boy just smiled and said,
I guess I'm happy about that.
Yes for grampa I'm very glad,
But for me, I guess I'm sad.
I wanted to go fishing, with my grampa today.
But if you can take me,
To the lake, maybe the bay,
I'll go, my time is free.
I guess I'll wait to fish with grampa,
Till I can make it to his lake.
Maybe he'll find some secret spots,
I sure hope so, for my sake.
1/4/11 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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Father Death Blues
Hey Father Death, I'm flying home
Hey poor man, you're all alone
Hey old daddy, I know where I'm going
Father Death, Don't cry any more
Mama's there, underneath the floor
Brother Death, please mind the store
Old Aunty Death Don't hide your bones
Old Uncle Death I hear your groans
O Sister Death how sweet your moans
O Children Deaths go breathe your breaths
Sobbing breasts'll ease your Deaths
Pain is gone, tears take the rest
Genius Death your art is done
Lover Death your body's gone
Father Death I'm coming home
Guru Death your words are true
Teacher Death I do thank you
For inspiring me to sing this Blues
Buddha Death, I wake with you
Dharma Death, your mind is new
Sangha Death, we'll work it through
Suffering is what was born
Ignorance made me forlorn
Tearful truths I cannot scorn
Father Breath once more farewell
Birth you gave was no thing ill
My heart is still, as time will tell.
poem by Allen Ginsberg
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Sleep's Dark And Silent Gate
Sometimes I lie awake at night and wonder
Where my life will lead me
Waiting to pass under Sleep's dark and silent gate
I found my love too late
Running around day after day
Looking for the time to play
While my old friends slipped away
Never should have had to try so hard
To make a love work out, I guess
I don't know what love has got to do with happiness
But the times when we were happy
Were the times we never tried
Sitting down by the highway
Looking down the road
Waiting for a ride
I don't know where I've been
Wishing I could fly away
Don't know where I'm going
Wishing I could hide
Oh God this is some shape I'm in
When the only thing that makes me cry
Is the kindness in my baby's eye
Sometimes I lie awake at night and wonder
Where the years have gone
They have all passed under
Sleep's dark and silent gate
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Is Dead
Is dead.
That’s the part
you heard,
those words
through the gap
between door
and frame.
Who’s dead?
or what?
the dog?
Uncle, Auntie,
Grandfather?
The old biddy next door
whose nose
spied through curtains?
Curiosity
like some virus
bit into you,
and your ears
lingered by the gap,
your eyes peered
at the adults talking,
lip reading unsuccessfully.
You torn
between the call
of nature (to piss)
and the needing
to know unfolding
of who had died.
Shame,
he was much loved,
the voices continued,
the ears flapping
for further news,
standing on tiptoe,
the bladder filling
to busting.
The King is dead,
long live the Queen,
Grandmother said,
circa 1952,
and you giving in
to nature’s call,
walked off satisfied
along the dark hall.
poem by Terry Collett
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Sleeps Dark & Silent Gate
Sometimes I lie awake at night and wonder
Where my life will lead me
Waiting to pass under sleeps dark and silent gate
I found my love too late
Running around day after day
Looking for the time to play
While my old friends slipped away
Never should have had to try so hard
To make a love work out, I guess
I dont know what love has got to do with happiness
But the times when we were happy
Were the times we never tried
Sitting down by the highway
Looking down the road
Waiting for a ride
I dont know where Ive been
Wishing I could fly away
Dont know where Im going
Wishing I could hide
Oh God this is some shape Im in
When the only thing that makes me cry
Is the kindness in my babys eye
Sometimes I lie awake at night and wonder
Where the years have gone
They have all passed under
Sleeps dark and silent gate
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Family Picture
In the old
black-and-white
family picture,
I see
great grandfather
dead drunk
with his hat
slightly skewed.
In the same old
black-and-white
family picture,
I see
grandfather
as drunk as
his father is
with his hat
also slightly skewed.
Father fools
great grandfather
and grandfather
with his rice-washed-water
as the good old home-made
Makoli.
They all believe him.
1996
poem by Sangnam Nam
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After Hours
Walking down the hallway, its too dark
Too dark too see anything
Why are the lights off
How did they forget I was studying?
I have been at school for 10 hours
I had to go home but I don't know my way
I cant see the hallway its too dark
where am I going?
where do I go?
Stretching my hand out infront
reaching my way home
No windows in the school, but why?
My hand reaches up
A breath crawls over my hand
glowing blue eyes shone
Leading me, not home, but to death
Come on now
the dark voice moans
Do you want to be late home
Then a white storm surrounds me
What is going on?
That night I never came home
But I became a part of something
the memories in the dead pupils
poem by Holly Chanel
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In Thou dark stormy Night
All alone in the night
All alone with my own fright
A lightning strikes, runs across the dead black sky
I am alone
but I wonder, why?
In Thou dark stormy night
In Thou dark stormy night
I call your name with all my might
All alone hanging in the night
My arms are sore, my soul is light
I hear the thunder, in the cloudy black sky
I am scared
but I don't know, why?
In Thou dark stormy night
in Thou dark stormy night
I call your name with all my might
Inside Your house in the night
Calling Your name with all my might
Father! Father! Why have you forsaken me?
'You must die so my people can be free.'
In Thou dark stormy night
In Thou dark stormy night
Jesus drew his final breath
Saving us all from our own eternal death
poem by Summer Song
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Boots
INFANTRY COLUMNS
We're foot--slog--slog--slog--sloggin' over Africa --
Foot--foot--foot--foot--sloggin' over Africa --
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!
Seven--six--eleven--five--nine-an'-tw enty mile to-day --
Four--eleven--seventeen--thirty-two the day before --
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!
Don't--don't--don't--don't--look at what's in front of you.
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again);
Men--men--men--men--men go mad with watchin' em,
An' there's no discharge in the war!
Try--try--try--try--to think o' something different --
Oh--my--God--keep--me from goin' lunatic!
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!
Count--count--count--count--the bullets in the bandoliers.
If--your--eyes--drop--they will get atop o' you!
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again) --
There's no discharge in the war!
We--can--stick--out--'unger, thirst, an' weariness,
But--not--not--not--not the chronic sight of 'em --
Boot--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again,
An' there's no discharge in the war!
'Taint--so--bad--by--day because o' company,
But night--brings--long--strings--o' forty thousand million
Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again.
There's no discharge in the war!
I--'ave--marched--six--weeks in 'Ell an' certify
It--is--not--fire--devils, dark, or anything,
But boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again,
An' there's no discharge in the war!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Shadow in the Dark
I’m a shadow in the dark
The quintessential sound of death
I’m a shadow in the dark
Like the reaper’s icy breath
I’m a statue set in stone
In apathetic sleep
Let the world just pass me by
And I will never weep
I’m a shadow in the dark
The quintessential sound of death
I’m a shadow in the dark
Like the reaper’s icy breath
You don’t have to set me free
You don’t have to light my night
You don’t have to feel my breath
Or step into my line of sight
For I’m a shadow in the dark
You know I’m there but you can’t see
I’m a shadow in the dark
You pass me by, and leave me be.
poem by Justin Robert Cooper
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Millworker
Now my grandfather was a sailor
He blew in off the water
My father was a farmer
And i, his only daughter
Took up with a no good millworking man
From massachusetts
Who dies from too much whiskey
And leaves me these three faces to feed
Millwork aint easy
Millwork aint hard
Millwork it aint nothing
But an awful boring job
Im waiting for a daydream
To take me through the morning
And put me in my coffee break
Where I can have a sandwich
And remember
Then its me and my machine
For the rest of the morning
For the rest of the afternoon
And the rest of my life
Now my mind begins to wander
To the days back on the farm
I can see my father smiling at me
Swinging on his arm
I can hear my granddads stories
Of the storms out on lake eerie
Where vessels and cargos and fortunes
And sailors lives were lost
Yes, but its my life has been wasted
And I have been the fool
To let this manufacturer
Use my body for a tool
I can ride home in the evening
Staring at my hands
Swearing by my sorrow that a young girl
Ought to stand a better chance
So may I work the mills just as long as I am able
And never meet the man whose name is on the label
It be me and my machine
For the rest of the morning
And the rest of the afternoon
Gone for the rest of my life
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Uncle Lemon's Revenge
Most of the county had not a clue
With Uncle Lemon, just what to do?
This rascal most notorious
Over the sheriff always seemed to be victorious.
Selling the best illegal Prohibtion whiskey,
No matter how risky.
Chicago gangsters in the Great Depression
Had even failed to stop his competing 'liquid profession'.
With World War II raging,
Uncle Lemon's vaunted talents with local ladies grew more engaging.
With most younger men away at war,
Uncle Lemon's middle-aged charms took him too far.
His Saturday night dance hall fights
Reached new heights.
Then, the local draft board
Reached a convenient unanimous accord.
Even though Uncle Lemon was too old,
They would draft him into the army to be controlled.
He would be away till the war ended,
Which the local sheriff thought most splendid!
Or, luckily die in an attack,
And never come back!
Uncle Lemon was soon drafted
After this plan was crafted.
But to their dismay,
He was not sent far away.
Placed in charge of a nearby army post motor pool,
He was soon back every weekend with an army car and lots of 'fuel'!
The army tried to discharge him for being too old.
He rejected this plan as his new patriotic life he extolled.
For the rest of the war much of the county he continued to incense -
And all at government expense!
74462
poem by Hubert Wilson
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Rest-less criminals
REST-LESS CRIMINALS
Coping with the lights
They never turn off
Keeping me up all night
No sleep at all
They talk and shout
They party all night
I want to knock them out
It’s just not right
Trying to ignore these sounds and lights
To get some sleep
Would be a delight
Whether I like it or not
Forced to stay up all night
I hate this fact
That I can’t sleep at will
But it’s all my fault I guess
I put myself here
During the day when I should be awake
It’s when I sleep
It’s something I hate
To many things here to steel my rest
When I get out of here
I’ll sleep for days
Mike Farris Jr.
6/06/08
poem by Mike Farris Jr.
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Father, Can you see me?
Can You See Me Father?
Father, can you see me?
Father, can you help me through this night?
Father, are you with me?
I look up at the sky, and wonder why, I feel so alone now...
Father, will you help me?
Im afraid to close my eyes.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, if I sleep now, will you be watching over me this night?
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, the world I see is so much larger, than I remember when you were here with me.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, can you help me stand own my own two feet once more?
Father, Im on my knees, looking at the sky, looking for your eyes.
Father, I've lost my way, Lord, I pray for your guidance once more.
Father, what was your will, Lord, it was not mine.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, as I pray for your will, please come and show me the way, dear Lord I pray.
Amen
poem by Rose Rosado
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