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It was a Saturday afternoon
The legion branch was full
The band was playing some old twangy country song
The front four tables were singing along
Up at the bar
A steady line up of Nevada players
hoping for another jackpot
to cover another few beers
And to make the afternoon last
Nothing worse, than having to milk
a weak draft for an hour
Until the men came back from horseshoes
About three o'clock
the branch livened up as Jimi McGonagle arrived
grandson of the past president
and general all about me, *******
He was strutting around
showing off his new tattoo
No different than his other
thirty or so, but it was new
and it was Jimi McGonagle
so everyone wanted to see
He was proud he now had eight peacocks
All up one leg....there's a joke here
But, even I won't go that far....
The crowd swarmed around him
But, in the back corner
The table....I mean THE TABLE...
didn't move a muscle
In fact out of the three individuals at THE TABLE
Two continued with their dart game
while the third just chuckled, let out a loud
HARUMPH
and went back to his screwdriver
with the quickly melting ice cubes
famous at all legions for helping water down the drinks
Jimi, heard the HARUMPH and looked back
The old man took a slug from the glass
and HARUMPHED louder
Jimi, perplexed, came over to see what was the matter
"Don't like my tattoos Mr. Stein?"
HARUMPH..."they're fine, if you like that kind of thing"
said the old man, knocking back his glass again
"Gives me eight peacocks on my leg now" said Jimi
Again, no response from me on the possible joke here
"cost me almost $700 bucks to get this one done"
"HARUMPH" said the old man....
"What is wrong with you Mr. Stein?"
"Don't like it?"
"Like I said...."
"I know, I know"....said Jimi
"Got any ink?" asked Jimi
"Yep" answered the old man, as a fresh glass arrived
He took a slug...
"So?"...said Jimi, "Is it any better than my peacock?..
"Maybe..maybe not"...said the old man
"It just depends"
The crowd had moved away and was dropping back to the bar area
"Can I see it?" asked Jimi..."What is it?"
"'tain't much to speak of...but I'll show you"....
"Just quit strutting around and sit....and I'll have another screwdriver"...
Jimi sat, and the old man looked him in the eye
"Don't have much colour, like your'n do...don't have any at all"...
"But, a tat's a tat, and you want to see it"...."You sure?"
Jimi nodded, ordered the drink for the old man
"HARUMPH"...said Mr. Stein
He unbuttoned his shirt cuff on the left side
and rolled it up, with his big, beefy, work worn hands
"There she be" he said
"Where", said Jimi
"There'n, on my wrist....just there"
"All I see is a number, an old, worn number"
"That'd be her" said Mr. Stein...."It's all I got, and it's all I need"
"What is it?" asked Jimi
"It's who I am...who I was reduced to"
"It's my curse, and my strength"...
"I was 17 when I got this in Hammelburg, Germany"....
"It was 1943 and we were rounded up"
"and sent to the camps...we were some of the last jews"
"they missed us in the first go round"
"gave me this...don't need another one"
"It's me...this number....it's me"
"Yours are nice...colourful....but are they you?"
"Mine is me"...
"You can see...I have ink....only one....don't want anymore"
"Can I sit a while?" asked Jimi
"Sure, son"...."you can tell me 'bout them silly peacocks"
"Bartender....two screwdrivers"
...and so developed a new and deep friendship....
Stacy Finnigan Sep 2011
i refuse to believe
this is the real you.
might this mean i'm refusing reality?
maybe.
might i rather refuse reality than refuse you?
harumph. no.
so long, you. i'll take my reality
crushed and for-now sullen
as it may now be.

i refuse to believe
this is the real you.
i can see you, vividly,
inside that cast,
vastly smaller than the man you are.
some sudden and swift
injury has befallen you and you've retreated.

even you refuse to believe
this is the real you.
you are foolish but not stupid
and can tell truth
and reality from falsehood and false hoods.
you are scared but not weak
and from this you will emerge (victory!)
emboldened to emblazon new trails.

shall we tread them together?
harumph. no.
i'll meet you along the way, i'm sure.
(we'll see
about an us
when there's really
a you.)
John B Jun 2012
don't belittle me this.

why a kiss with a fist?

"cuz he loves me", as if.

"its with passion he hits"

sure to keep you on his.

"why do you care of it"

because I care of you.

"all you want is a *****!!!"

then why have I spent these years waiting for you?

knowing full well id be tainted by you?

the act you assume of me binds me to you.

I'm a pacifist willing to take pain from you.

"hes all that I need"

you need only to bled?

hes no job, your the funds.

hes a slob, cleaning fun?

hes a cheat, gave you ******.

yet you defend him on all these.

........"but I love him."

is that all that maters?, no surely....

"it is and that's that!!!!"

may I use the term brat?

"you may is that all?"

sure lets **** tell we fall....
Relieved of fatherhood Saint
Nick schtick found me
to relinquish ratty outfit, and stow away zee bras
like padding and "FAKE flowing beard,
ah...don't remind me,
those well worn faux paws

of each dear deer (hooping Rudolf would
set precedent as every other reindeer hoof
dost not get cleft out in the cold) withdraws
not to budge like...a Mexican stonewall
contractual obligations grudgingly negotiated,
(especially citing animal abuse as insanity clause),

while angrily clattering rooftop
to rooftop, without pause,
what, and me forcing those strenuous hee haws
(hint to potential dada's, that ledger domain
promising humongous gifts gets old fast,
generating nuttin boot lockjaws

(other Kris Kringles would agree),
where haggard overworked (underpaid)
frequently threatening unionized joining
posse to become outlaws
migrant elves lose stamina to applause,
the jolly ** ** ** role of Santa Claus,

and to a lesser extent return (like new -
with store tag) Easter Bunny suit, defacto
birthday party planner, et cetera,
oh...almost forgot tooth fairy -
ouch! that took a ****** bite out of finances,
hence needed heavy duty gauze,

yet now this papa merely draws
lipservice joy to the world Bobe myseh,
aye yie yie despite punishing, nee
turning into filet mignon, those who poo poo
those culturally grafted pagan grand Poobahs
face lash, and quickly get

smote with invisible taws
particularly any
antiestablishmentarianism
leftist southpaws,
no matter poetically wry ming spewed cents

ability uttered from courtesy
minority reporting maws,
(case in point dexterously yours truly)
laments glaring flaws,
not only of those unaccountable booking costs
driving Earthly unaffordable

materialistic capitalistic jaws,
no matter (albeit
more quiet and somber),
I breathe sigh of
relief to escape naws
zee hating crass mass foofaraws,

and beat hasty retreat from pandemonium
(part and UPS parcel)
fueling manufacturing factories
producing widgets, trinkets, gewgaws,
et cetera subsequently giving employment
(reed nepotism) opportunities

to aunts, uncles in-laws
of management (a perk
found most objectionably
with he who doth trumpet
deed duck shins
to needy) re: yule stated

Taj Mahal family cause,
but to enrich the coffers
of salivating power hungry
(jibber jabber) money grubbers
brandishing chainsaws
to cut down farmed Christmas trees,

where dollar signs
spin each eyeball rubbed raws,
this minor manifesto
concludes as welcome retreat,
where stale Yuletide saws
reverberate warbled carolers
punctuating psalm songs with ews ah ahs!
wordvango Feb 2017
I do feel good doing good
makes a tear come to my eye but a
tear of happiness when I say something
nice to the old man brutally scowling
and smile at his Harumph
when I deliver a valentine to
that old woman down the road with the hundred cats
a valentine of a bag of feed for her brood
good I feel when I put another man's shoes on
look through his eyes for a second
walk 100  feet in them
good when I see a mom that really cares
for her children
the smiling health care workers
overcome by heartrending stories and
dead patients
and they keep doing it
the  teachers
who daily come up with clever ways to teach our future
with limited  resources
the garbage man
mundane and stinky task who smiles
as he totes the refuse
from here
the baker the police the
calm helpful  voice
on the help line for my cable company,
almost apologetic for the latest outage,
the workers who after a storm go out and repair our lifelines in bad
weather,
any of you retail clerks , who smile through the increasing workload week after week within shorter hours,
the receptionist
at any office.
It takes patience..
Steve Page Jan 2018
The corner story-yeller
held her eye to eye
and told her with a cry
"If it's worth telling,
then it's worth yelling

and if it's worth yelling,
then it's worth having
a listen.
So listen, why don't yer!
This is the moral of life:

If yer don't look after yer feet
then yer feet won't look after yoo."

And with a throaty 'harumph'
the story-yeller limped away
dismissing her audience
with a spit and a sigh
ready to launch
at the next passerby.
London has colour. And noise on each street corner.
Dennis Willis Dec 2018
And I should stop now
I'm sorry I wrote so many
And I realize
This is yet another

The problem
Could be worse
than I thought

This is
Me stopping
Now

Mmmph
Arrgh
Harumph



Copyright@2018 Dennis Willis
This erstwhile avid poet stir "boy"
prone to hyperbole in a "man" newer
(manure) of writing about his foie
gras bulls, (which matter of fact
happen tubby Ruby red)

redirects his gripe, how
he no longer doth enjoy
sharing his rhymes without
(poems), resorts to joy
full tongue in cheek humor to

lament, harumph, decry...
a source of annoy
ants, sans how nearly every
one of my satisfactory
albeit "FAKE" Hiam

Bick Penn- -Tam Meter
most definitely did perturb,
irk, and displease to cloy
administrators regarding gamut of
various and sundry writing groups,

(yes specifically geared to poetry),
(presuming me in cahoots with George Soros)
I suspect did employ
secret double agents groomed by
Mark Zuckerberg, and/

or Sheryl Sandberg deploy
ying ambiguous reference did not tow
arbitrary guidelines to cite nearly each
endeavor of mine as discrepancy
causing equivalent as digital row

points of view not
countenanced from this bro'
penniless, nearly without dough
thus to assuage ego,
(which rejections of sorts)
did rankle at first, hence

explanation no mo' crow
wing (except on my homepage),
an abrupt end explains absence
in case any readers did show


interest can still peruse yo
yo wing unstrung thoughts
from this average joe
by enclosing a blank check
addressed to this wise

acre and silently assertive bozo,
who will express how ire doth flow,
yet tactfulness and diplomacy
kept in mind before I go
ranting and raving like some roe
ving madman wading in deep water!

— The End —