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New York
Bruce Levine, a 2019 Pushcart Prize Poetry Nominee, is published on and in numerous internet and print journals. His work is dedicated to the loving ...
iowa
I like to write that's all....
Pittsburgh
I work as a chef. Write a lot of short pieces. Have an Associates degree in Graphic Design & also paint & draw.
Poems
Londis Carpenter
Sep 2010
Bruce the Spruce was a Christmas tree;
he lived on Christmas Farm.
Each night he dreamed that he could bring
cheer into someones home.
He stretched his branches every day
and squeezed his needles tight,
so he could be a perfect tree
for holding Christmas lights.
Every year at Christmas time
Bruce did as he was taught.
He showed all of his Christmas charm,
hoping he would be bought.
The people came from miles around
to buy their Christmas Trees.
They pulled and tugged at branches
and gave the twigs a squeeze.
They looked for trees just the right size,
with needles that would stay,
trees that gave a Christmas smell
to brighten Christmas day.
Bruce was a perfect Christmas tree;
the children seemed to love him.
But Bruce was small and other trees
still towered high above him.
The years went by and Bruce the Spruce
eventually grew tall.
His branches spread and held their form;
they didn't droop at all.
But there were many Christmas Trees
that grew on Christmas Farm
and no one ever seemed to pick out Bruce,
with all his charm.
Bruce grew so sad as years went by;
it seemed he'd grown too tall.
It seemed that he would never be
a Christmas tree at all.
When the new families came each year
to buy trees for their home,
they never looked at Bruce the Spruce;
he stood there all alone.
Bruce never forgot Christmas;
it brightened all his dreams.
Yet, in the light of each new day,
he lost his Christmas schemes.
One day a truck came to the farm;
men came with saws and rope.
They came to cut the tallest tree;
Bruce finally lost all hope.
"My time has come; Ive grown too old,"
his arms trembled in fear.
"I'm only good for firewood now;
I've seen my final year."
They cut him down and tied him to
the flatbed truck they brought.
They drove away, while Bruce the Spruce
lie weeping on the truck.
Bruce closed his eyes and fell asleep;
he dreamed of silent nights,
of children's smiling faces,
of gifts and colored lights.
When Bruce awoke He couldn't hold
back all of his delight.
Bruce couldn't believe what he saw;
his branches all had lights.
His arms were filled with tinsel.
Children were gathered round.
Everyone was cheering
and laughing on the ground.
Bruce looked around in ecstasy;
he couldn't help but stare.
Bruce had become the Christmas tree
that now adorned Times Square.
he lived on Christmas Farm.
Each night he dreamed that he could bring
cheer into someones home.
He stretched his branches every day
and squeezed his needles tight,
so he could be a perfect tree
for holding Christmas lights.
Every year at Christmas time
Bruce did as he was taught.
He showed all of his Christmas charm,
hoping he would be bought.
The people came from miles around
to buy their Christmas Trees.
They pulled and tugged at branches
and gave the twigs a squeeze.
They looked for trees just the right size,
with needles that would stay,
trees that gave a Christmas smell
to brighten Christmas day.
Bruce was a perfect Christmas tree;
the children seemed to love him.
But Bruce was small and other trees
still towered high above him.
The years went by and Bruce the Spruce
eventually grew tall.
His branches spread and held their form;
they didn't droop at all.
But there were many Christmas Trees
that grew on Christmas Farm
and no one ever seemed to pick out Bruce,
with all his charm.
Bruce grew so sad as years went by;
it seemed he'd grown too tall.
It seemed that he would never be
a Christmas tree at all.
When the new families came each year
to buy trees for their home,
they never looked at Bruce the Spruce;
he stood there all alone.
Bruce never forgot Christmas;
it brightened all his dreams.
Yet, in the light of each new day,
he lost his Christmas schemes.
One day a truck came to the farm;
men came with saws and rope.
They came to cut the tallest tree;
Bruce finally lost all hope.
"My time has come; Ive grown too old,"
his arms trembled in fear.
"I'm only good for firewood now;
I've seen my final year."
They cut him down and tied him to
the flatbed truck they brought.
They drove away, while Bruce the Spruce
lie weeping on the truck.
Bruce closed his eyes and fell asleep;
he dreamed of silent nights,
of children's smiling faces,
of gifts and colored lights.
When Bruce awoke He couldn't hold
back all of his delight.
Bruce couldn't believe what he saw;
his branches all had lights.
His arms were filled with tinsel.
Children were gathered round.
Everyone was cheering
and laughing on the ground.
Bruce looked around in ecstasy;
he couldn't help but stare.
Bruce had become the Christmas tree
that now adorned Times Square.
copyright by By Londis Carpenter
all rights reservrd
all rights reservrd
Pagan Paul
Jan 2019
.
Morfine and Choklut were trapped,
searching for a sword,
they somehow hit a dead end
and were being attacked by fear.
The fear of being Lost.
But Choklut had an escape plan
“Quick!” he said “head for stanza 4,
we have some friends waiting there”.
Kelm was a difficult child.
“Ten green woggles round ten boy-scouts necks,
ten green woggles round ten boy-scouts necks,
and if one green woggle should accidentally
be ripped from the throat by a giant killer wolf,
there'll be nine green woggles round nine boy-scouts necks”.
He sang,
as he pulled the legs off a centipede.
He wanted a worm to go fishing,
but couldn't be bothered to dig.
Jerrica also sought a sword.
She was a Princess!
But she had a point to prove.
A very deliberate point about girl power.
Girls can go adventuring too!
She championed Girlyism.
'Herb up your life!'
Her favourite slogan.
Why was it always a sword?
It was just so … fallick.
Why not a magick singing cup?
They waited. And waited.
Then they lurked about a bit.
They waited and lurked for ages.
Then they went down the Tavern.
The words ******* and sheep
crept into his little mind.
Though not necessarily in that order.
It happened when he met Bruce.
Bruce was on Walkabout.
Kelm was fishing by the river
and was thinking his luck would change
if he fished in the river.
That must be where the fish were hiding.
Bruce had walked straight passed Kelm
as he was watering a tree.
He zipped up and slapped the tree.
Bruce had an accident.
“Geez mate, I thought you was a croc”.
Kelm suddenly felt intellectually superior
“Its salt water, so I'm an alligator”
he paused “or a camen”.
Morfine and Choklut missed stanza 4,
had slid right through 5,
and slapped 6 right in the face.
It got in a huff and walked away …
Jerrica put out her herbal cigarette,
she took her slogan seriously,
today's herb was marjoram.
Now she was hungry
so she wrote the word 'lunch'
on a piece of paper.
And swallowed it.
Completely veggie and only 3 calories.
Jerrica flinched when she saw the males.
The first – late teens, silly shorts,
carrying an Abbey Winters catalogue.
The second – pre-teen boy with a big stick.
She sneakily approached, circuitously,
she could hear them talking.
“Maybe I'll turn you into a pair of shoes”
“I think a clutch bag would suit you more mister”
“My name is Bruce” said Bruce.
“Bruce? Kinda boring name
for a fantasy farce poem isn't it?”
“Oh yeah. I suppose you got given a better one?”
“I” stated the boy “am Kelm the Barbarian”
Bruce felt sobriquetiously inadequate.
Jerrica watched.
And asked herself girl questions.
About boys.
It seemed there was a lack of interest,
nobody wanted to know their story.
Morfine and Choklut couldn't find
a welcoming stanza anywhere.
Its seems they were all full.
Dejected they trudged to a Tavern.
As she withdrew she wondered
'What is the ****** point of boys?'
It was during her retreat, circuitously,
that she found a Poet.
He was underneath a rock,
so she put him in her breast pocket,
for safe keeping.
Boys were useless, but Poets were useful.
They knew all about love and romance.
And for some reason
feather pens excited Jerrica.
After a long day waiting and lurking
Shadow Boxer had got drunk,
tipped a serving girl a wink,
and retired to bed.
Slim Grainy was drinking alone.
He was rather miffed.
All that waiting and lurking in stanza 4
and his mates hadn't shown up.
Maybe Shad had had the right idea.
Drink and bed.
The door of the Tavern opened,
his friends walked in.
Morfine saw him and smiled
and greeted him with a hiya.
Slim fixed him with a baleful look and spoke
“Of all the stanza's in all the poems,
you had to walk into mine”.
Somewhere under a bridge too far
an anxious troll shook and shivered.
He wouldn't make it. He would never recover.
Why had he agreed to hear their story?
3 ****** days to tell 3 ****** segments
of a quest that could have been summarised
in 3 ****** phrases.
Went there. Found it. Came home.
Over egging the pudding.
Spinning a pointlessly long yarn.
A thought struck him,
in the head.
A rare occurrence for a troll.
He was going to devour
Morfine and Choklut.
© Pagan Paul (11/01/19)
Morfine and Choklut were trapped,
searching for a sword,
they somehow hit a dead end
and were being attacked by fear.
The fear of being Lost.
But Choklut had an escape plan
“Quick!” he said “head for stanza 4,
we have some friends waiting there”.
Kelm was a difficult child.
“Ten green woggles round ten boy-scouts necks,
ten green woggles round ten boy-scouts necks,
and if one green woggle should accidentally
be ripped from the throat by a giant killer wolf,
there'll be nine green woggles round nine boy-scouts necks”.
He sang,
as he pulled the legs off a centipede.
He wanted a worm to go fishing,
but couldn't be bothered to dig.
Jerrica also sought a sword.
She was a Princess!
But she had a point to prove.
A very deliberate point about girl power.
Girls can go adventuring too!
She championed Girlyism.
'Herb up your life!'
Her favourite slogan.
Why was it always a sword?
It was just so … fallick.
Why not a magick singing cup?
They waited. And waited.
Then they lurked about a bit.
They waited and lurked for ages.
Then they went down the Tavern.
The words ******* and sheep
crept into his little mind.
Though not necessarily in that order.
It happened when he met Bruce.
Bruce was on Walkabout.
Kelm was fishing by the river
and was thinking his luck would change
if he fished in the river.
That must be where the fish were hiding.
Bruce had walked straight passed Kelm
as he was watering a tree.
He zipped up and slapped the tree.
Bruce had an accident.
“Geez mate, I thought you was a croc”.
Kelm suddenly felt intellectually superior
“Its salt water, so I'm an alligator”
he paused “or a camen”.
Morfine and Choklut missed stanza 4,
had slid right through 5,
and slapped 6 right in the face.
It got in a huff and walked away …
Jerrica put out her herbal cigarette,
she took her slogan seriously,
today's herb was marjoram.
Now she was hungry
so she wrote the word 'lunch'
on a piece of paper.
And swallowed it.
Completely veggie and only 3 calories.
Jerrica flinched when she saw the males.
The first – late teens, silly shorts,
carrying an Abbey Winters catalogue.
The second – pre-teen boy with a big stick.
She sneakily approached, circuitously,
she could hear them talking.
“Maybe I'll turn you into a pair of shoes”
“I think a clutch bag would suit you more mister”
“My name is Bruce” said Bruce.
“Bruce? Kinda boring name
for a fantasy farce poem isn't it?”
“Oh yeah. I suppose you got given a better one?”
“I” stated the boy “am Kelm the Barbarian”
Bruce felt sobriquetiously inadequate.
Jerrica watched.
And asked herself girl questions.
About boys.
It seemed there was a lack of interest,
nobody wanted to know their story.
Morfine and Choklut couldn't find
a welcoming stanza anywhere.
Its seems they were all full.
Dejected they trudged to a Tavern.
As she withdrew she wondered
'What is the ****** point of boys?'
It was during her retreat, circuitously,
that she found a Poet.
He was underneath a rock,
so she put him in her breast pocket,
for safe keeping.
Boys were useless, but Poets were useful.
They knew all about love and romance.
And for some reason
feather pens excited Jerrica.
After a long day waiting and lurking
Shadow Boxer had got drunk,
tipped a serving girl a wink,
and retired to bed.
Slim Grainy was drinking alone.
He was rather miffed.
All that waiting and lurking in stanza 4
and his mates hadn't shown up.
Maybe Shad had had the right idea.
Drink and bed.
The door of the Tavern opened,
his friends walked in.
Morfine saw him and smiled
and greeted him with a hiya.
Slim fixed him with a baleful look and spoke
“Of all the stanza's in all the poems,
you had to walk into mine”.
Somewhere under a bridge too far
an anxious troll shook and shivered.
He wouldn't make it. He would never recover.
Why had he agreed to hear their story?
3 ****** days to tell 3 ****** segments
of a quest that could have been summarised
in 3 ****** phrases.
Went there. Found it. Came home.
Over egging the pudding.
Spinning a pointlessly long yarn.
A thought struck him,
in the head.
A rare occurrence for a troll.
He was going to devour
Morfine and Choklut.
© Pagan Paul (11/01/19)
.
2nd poem in my 'Strange World' collection.
Part 2 out soon!
.
2nd poem in my 'Strange World' collection.
Part 2 out soon!
.