"irving" poems
We were teammates
We suited up
We showed up
We weren't stars
But we rolled in the dirt
With the best of them
Our blood ran red
Like the rest of them
Our sweat tasted salty
As the most athletic of them
Wounds and bruises
Ached like the most
Stalwart of them
We were Bulldogs!
We anted up our
Gifts and talents to
Forge a winning season
A flair for humor
Wry observation,
Encouragement, fortitude
And intelligence were as
Valuable as speed,
Agility and strength
We all pined for the
Affection of cheerleaders,
Bandmembers and the
Adoration of fans
We equally joined
In the chorus of
locker room banter
And honored the
Confidence of camaraderie
Such intimacy bares
We endured thankless
Adversity, while wending
through anonymous toil
As brothers
We grudgingly drank
From the vile cup of defeat
And passed the chalice
Of victory among us
To share the savory
Taste of triumph
As champions
The Duke of Wellington
Said “the battle of Waterloo
Was won on the fields of Eton”
I trust my teammates and
Not forgotten friends
Tasted sweet victories of
Happiness and success
As they coursed through
Their prodigious fields of life
And at games end
I hope their heart swelled
With pride to know they were
A beloved and Valiant Bulldog
David Irving Korsh #75
BCSL Champion 1973
Rutherford Bulldogs
Well done Valiant Bulldog
God bless and Godspeed
Music Selection:
Bruce Springsteen
Thunder Road
5/5/18
Puyallup
jbm
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 2:58 PM UTC
WASHINGTON IRVING WROTE A NOVEL
ABOUT ICHABOD CRANE
LITTLE SLEEPY HOLLOW
WILL NEVER BE THE SAME
LITTLE SLEEPY HOLLOW WAS CURSED
BY A HORSEMAN MOST DREAD
HE WAS RIDING IN SLEEPY HOLLOW
IN SEARCH OF HIS HEAD
THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN WAS
IN THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR
SO FOR HIM SEARCHING FOR HIS HEAD
WAS NEVER A CHORE
ICHABOD CRANE WAS
A TEACHER MOST STRICT
WEATHER THE GHOST STORIES WERE TRUE
WHO COULD EVER PREDICT
ICHABOD TEACHES THE CHILDREN
OF FARMERS IN THE VILLAGE
BUT ITS THE YOUNG GIRLS OF FARMERS
HE SECRETLY WANTS TOO PILLAGE
KATRINA VAN TASSEL A
BEAUTIFUL YOUNG STUDENT
ICHABOD FALLS IN LOVE WITH HER
BUT WAS IT VERY PRUDENT
HE WAS INVITED TO THE TASSELS
FOR A PARTY MOST RARE
KATRINA AT THE PARTY
DISMISSES HIS WITHOUT CARE
ICHABOD LEAVES THAT NIGHT
ON HIS HORSE HE RIDES
ITS AN EERILY DARK PATH
HIS HORSE DOSE STRIDE
ICHABOD IS SCARED AND SEES
A LARGE DARK MAN
HE YELLS TO THE STRANGER
AS LOUD AS HE CAN
SO ICHABOD RIDES SCARED AND FAST
BUT ALONG SIDE COMES THE MAN
NOT WILLING TOO PASS
ICHABOD NOTICES THE RIDER
REALLY HAS NO HEAD
THIS JUST FILLS ICHABOD
WITH THE MOST SINFUL DREAD
ICHABOD AND THE STRANGER
RACE TO THE TOWN CHURCH
FOR THIS IS WHERE THE GHOST STORIES
FIRST CAME TO BIRTH
ICHABOD RACES TO THE BRIDGE
AND NERVOUSLY LOOKS BACK
THE STRANGER HAS DISAPPEARED
OFF THE GHOSTLY TRACK
BUT HE NOTICES THE STRANGER
HIS HEAD HE DOSE HURL
ICHABOD FALLS OF THE HORSE
HIS WORLD IS IN A WHIRL
THE NEXT DAY ICHABOD'S
HORSE FINALLY RETURNS HOME
WHERE IS ICHABOD
WHERE DID HE ROAM
THEY LOOK FOR ICHABOD
AND FIND HOOF PRINTS
AND ICHABOD'S HAT
SO NOW THE FOLKLORE IS BORN
IN SLEEPY HOLLOW THAT'S THAT
" WISDOM IS LIKE MANURE IT'S NO GOOD UNLESS IT'S SPREAD AROUND ENCOURAGING OTHERS TO GROW"
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 5:47 PM UTC
WHAT woman hugs her infant there?
Another star has shot an ear.
What made the drapery glisten so?
Not a man but Delacroix.
What made the ceiling waterproof?
Landor's tarpaulin on the roof
What brushes fly and moth aside?
Irving and his plume of pride.
What hurries out the knaye and dolt?
Talma and his thunderbolt.
Why is the woman terror-struck?
Can there be mercy in that look?
2.2k
Here
Is a timely
Noun to consider
From the Merriam-Webster page.
"Trumpery."
Note (at bottom) the list of near-antonyms;
what is the opposite of trumpery?
[Popularity: Bottom 40% of words]
trumpery
noun trum·pery \ˈtrəm-p(ə-)rē\
Definition of trumpery
1
a : worthless nonsense b : trivial or useless articles : junk <a wagon loaded with household trumpery — Washington Irving>
2
archaic : ****** finery
Origin of trumpery
Middle English (Scots) trompery deceit, from Middle French, from tromper to deceive
First Known Use: 15th century
Examples of trumpery
<claims for weight-loss products that are based much more on Madison-Avenue trumpery than on bariatric science>
Related to trumpery
Synonyms
applesauce [slang], balderdash, baloney (also boloney), beans, bilge, blah (also blah-blah), blarney, blather, blatherskite, blither, bosh, bull [slang], bunk, bunkum (or ******** claptrap, codswallop [British], crapola [slang], crock, drivel, drool, fiddle, fiddle-faddle, fiddlesticks, flannel [British], flapdoodle, folderol (also falderal), folly, foolishness, fudge, garbage, guff, hogwash, hokeypokey, hokum, hoodoo, hooey, horsefeathers [slang], humbug, humbuggery, jazz, malarkey (also malarky), moonshine, muck, nerts [slang], nuts, piffle, poppycock, punk, rot, ******* senselessness, silliness, slush, stupidity, taradiddle (or tarradiddle), tommyrot, tosh, trash, nonsense, twaddle
Related Words
absurdity, asininity, fatuity, foolery, idiocy, imbecility, inaneness, inanity, insanity, kookiness, lunacy; absurdness, craziness, madness, senselessness, witlessness; hoity-toity, monkey business, monkeyshine(s), shenanigan(s), tomfoolery; gas, hot air, rigmarole (also rigamarole); double-talk, greek, hocus-pocus
Near Antonyms
levelheadedness, rationality, reasonability, reasonableness, sensibleness; common sense, horse sense, sense; discernment, judgment (or judgement), wisdom
By: Robinson Bolkum
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 6:44 PM UTC
(To my Friend Henry Irving)
The silent room, the heavy creeping shade,
The dead that travel fast, the opening door,
The murdered brother rising through the floor,
The ghost’s white fingers on thy shoulders laid,
And then the lonely duel in the glade,
The broken swords, the stifled scream, the gore,
Thy grand revengeful eyes when all is o’er,—
These things are well enough,—but thou wert made
For more august creation! frenzied Lear
Should at thy bidding wander on the heath
With the shrill fool to mock him, Romeo
For thee should lure his love, and desperate fear
Pluck Richard’s recreant dagger from its sheath—
Thou trumpet set for Shakespeare’s lips to blow!
1.8k
There are no people around,
only animals, popcorn on side-
walks, empty paper cups,
coke stains. The animals
are in their cages, where
they should be, not out and
about on the town. Clowns
are in the circus, the animals
in their place, and I am
alone at the Bronx Zoo,
kicking peanut shells, waiting for
Washington Irving to show up.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jun 12, 2019
Jun 12, 2019 at 10:06 AM UTC
Yellow suits. He wore yellow suits. To work, to mourn. He wore yellow suits and his teeth were yellow too. But only if you could see them. Those silly dancing teeth poking through his tiny lips. He licked him, curling his lip, and I watched the wrinkles come and go like passing waves on his yellow face.
He plucked five dandelions from the garden I found him in from their plastic root that sat next to a yellow balloon. I was on a sidewalk first. Then stepped in. I saw his yellow suit. His yellow suits. Yellow suits.
I stepped in through the black ribcage that held this garden away from Irving Park rd. Well it wasn’t much of a park. The stones had names on them. And years on them too. The trees were big and I fell in love with a single ant. I dipped my finger into the maple of the tree and brought it to that man. And his yellow suit. He sat on a stone with the word “Emma Jennings --- 1953-1989”
Well this rock was young. And really didn’t look like much of a rock at all. Mr. Yellow Suits wasn’t looking at that or the dandelions he was stepping on now. He was staring into the green grass. I walked up to his shoulder and smelt his ear who had three stray brown hairs and placed that juicy ant on his shoulder.
“Yellow suits” he said, pushing the cuff up on his left arm. I smiled and placed my fingernail at the bottom of his prickly grey chin. I pushed his face up, “of all the yellow things to love”
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 8:13 PM UTC
Eleven dead; six injured.
How does a person try to explain
The enormity of such a crime--
The inexplicable loss, the pain?
All were shot at a place of worship--
At a synagogue in Pittsburgh, P-A,
On what began as a peaceful morning
On a late October Sabbath day.
Early that morning no one could have
Imagined the horror the day would bring,
Even though we live in a time
When hatred seems to be in full swing.
It takes only ONE hater
To change the course of many lives
In a country where underneath
The peaceful appearance, violence thrives.
The president says that armed guards
Are what we need and not tougher laws.
He bows before the gun lobby,
Addressing the symptoms, but not the cause.
Helping refugees get settled:
For that the synagogue is known.
That was an issue that irked the killer,
Who was from here. Yes, homegrown!
Do we ignore red flag warnings
And turn our heads when someone spews
Hatred of groups such as Muslims,
Asylum seekers, gays, or Jews?
Do we ignore the poisonous words
That constantly drip down from the top?
At what point do the majority
Of people say: This must stop!
Give praise to those who strive for positive
Change with every heartfelt endeavor.
And hold in your heart the many people
Whose lives have now been changed forever.
_____________________
May the victims' lives inspire us all by showing us the power of love,
and may they rest in peace.
Joyce Fienberg
Richard Gottfried
Rose Mallinger
Jerry Rabinowitz
Cecil Rosenthal
David Rosenthal
Bernice Simon
Sylvan Simon
Daniel Stein
Melvin Wax
Irving Younger
And may thoughts of love and healing embrace the injured.
-by Bob B (10-28-18)
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 3:45 PM UTC
To a cat in a cul-de-sac,
she's a stone rose,
malaise with no remorse and a penchant for suicidal grammar.
Backsassing and backroom massaging
her way from Tanner, Illinois to Irving, Texas --
her interstate veins and her data plan brain
catered to the orifices of the weary,
and soothed the spidertongued and sleepy.
In the last postcard, she signed Evangeline,
the number of name changes: 23
in the Sunflower State alone.
A dive bar in Ulysses, Kansas
beamed as a brilliant model of
"Starved wives and stray dogs," Evangeline explained.
*"I found the dark side of beet farmers
and the redemption in callused hands."*
A letter came from Pryor, Oklahoma:
"Recognize the perfume?"
The only line.
Printer paper close, inhale --
my mind drifts to my former
high cheekbone'd bride, Skye.
Evangeline bedded her spindly body.
Spite, spite, spite.
Confused, I answered her call on the
first morning of December.
Tent living with a retired acrobat on
the growing shoreline of Lake Texoma,
she downed a mixed bag of his sleeping meds,
and sleeping by his side, she fantasized about me.
*"I think you drank too much in my dreams.
I woke up dissatisfied."*
Once she arrived in Irving, I mailed her
my edit of her suicide note.
A call to say it looked good,
and she'd let me know if she ever had
to use it.
I never heard from her again.
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 12:32 AM UTC
Every day was the same as the one before. She
Every day was the same as the one before. She
went to the cupboard and took out a box of Wheetie Krisps
went to the cupboard and took out a box of Kheetie Wisps
just to survive another morning shift, or so it seemed.
just to survive another afternoon shift, or so it seemed.
Why wouldn't Sam in Sales notice her? After all,
Why wouldn't Irving in the Post Room notice her? After all,
he was only a Trainee Executive; and she was good enough for him.
he was only a souped-up errands boy; and she was desperate.
Of course today, as with yesterday, he would simply walk past her.
Of course today, like yesterday, he would just run away.
The ground floor cafe queue never seemed to get any shorter at lunchtime
The sandwich trolley lady seemed to get shorter and shorter of sandwiches
The bistro down the road was no less crowded; the food was expensive,
The local pub's parrot kept screaming "TIME!" and the food was crap,
No-one ever spoke to anyone outside of their clique; it was just another working day.
No-one ever had any time to chat; it was just another pointless day.
And so the days went on. Until one day her reflection reached out and pulled her into the mirror.
And so the days went on. Until one night, her dream reached out and pulled her through the vortex.
To be Continued...
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 8:49 PM UTC
Every night
at 8:49
I tie the rope
a little bit tighter
in hope that
your last breath
squeezes closer
so when I say
‘Ladies and gentlemen’
my charm overrides the sound of
your palms banging on the glass
as you challenge the water from
making you its cadaver
and choke back the salted tears that
seep from your eyes
like the malice that
seeps from mine
reviewers say it’s clear that I
enjoy this trick the most
but it’s hard not to when I know
your lungs are the
consequence
of
a
dripping
tap
until the basin’s full and you reach your final centilitre of conscious breath at 8:56:02.
With one last tug
you escape by :03
unfortunately
but the papers will say it was your
‘most truthful performance yet’
5 Stars to The Water Torture Bell Jar.
See, there’s a reason these seats fill
as fast as your tank,
Irving and Houdini had it figured first:
if you push a body to its limits
and watch it yoyo to the edge of death and
back again night after night
you will always sell out.
There’s more to being a Magician’s Assistant than meets the eye.
Perhaps tomorrow I’ll try a new knot.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 4:00 PM UTC
I
found
an
old
phone
today
In a shop
with antiques
Bulky,
black and
beautiful
From the 50's
just like me
For sure it's dial
is a rotary
Its ring
takes me
to a musky old hotel lobby
I hear it ring... ring... ringing
The desk clerk shouts out
" Paging Irving Paging Irving
come to the front desk please".
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 12:17 AM UTC
snickersnee
now that is one,
cute, little sounding word.
snickersnee,
snickersnee,
com'ere little,
snickersnee.
here little
snickersnee.
makes a right
fine
cute name.
but look it up,
*yes, of course *
like i had to do,
whadda think,
i know anything?
yeah right!
now let us turn to
SNICKERSNEE.....
i leave the rest of
this inquiry to you....
scrape, scrape
went the sharp blade,
the sound wafting,
through this
fresh, cool,
sweet,
morning air,
where the young
handsome
brave lad
was sharpening
his huge
snickersnees.
\SNIK-er-snee\
noun
1. a knife, especially one used as a weapon.
Quotes
The commander of the sloop was hurrying about and giving a world of orders, which were not very strictly attended to, one man being busy in lighting his pipe, and another in sharpening his snicker-snee.
-- Washington Irving, Bracebridge Hall, 1882
Origin
Snickersnee came to English in the late 1600s from the Dutch steken meaning "to stick" and snijden meaning "to cut."
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 8:35 AM UTC
The Tuner's Turn
he's tuned them all it seems
most of the 12,5oo different brands
he has tuned them even in his dreams
in damp basements and smoky band stands
Ballwin, Steinway, Schimmel and Mason
the very best there is to offer
Irving Strausser is the one to hasten
he is the master you want to proffer
a fine tinkler of the ivory in his own right
but never really ever given the chance
he practiced until dawn's early light
the best was a Holiday Inn wedding dance
he was in attendance that special night
at the Radio City Music Hall
he came to see the maestro's delight
but alas had tripped and fallen against the wall
the audience was antsy whistling and clapping hands
the producers were anxious not knowing where
they spotted Irving in the aisle hearing the demands
they begged him play they were in despair
he shook his head saying no certainly not me
I am just a tuner an amateur at best
they begged and pleaded for his sympathy
and well you can guess the rest
he finally took the stage the crowd settled in
he graciously bowed his head and explained the situation
after a few nervous moments he finally did begin
he played oh did he play to a standing ovation
his fingers flew over the keys like magic
this was the tuner's turn to take his place
some of the audience may forget his name
but they will always remember his face
Gomer LePoet...
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 7:46 AM UTC
Melancholy is a tritone
Or an unresolved major seventh
A better life is literally
A half step away
Yet I ring out detectable tension
And you cringe when I am articulated
Enjoy your major triad
In C
Coward
Irving Berlin could only compose with black keys
Oct 5, 2011
Oct 5, 2011 at 12:47 AM UTC
in the valley of our anon
you're not the only... but that's not your " what ? "
you venture forth of course
with less mad meter but plenty.
you gem your brevity
with terse goiters. you force no order of magnitude
to enforce your oblique corners.... your poetry
has it's druthers.
but alas -
we humans lack the knack to be twice true.
we acknowledge our acknowledgement
and stake claims we claim
we name true
and I've met you
in the cyber what
of our collective
**** the happy naked !
we rumpus in the gizzard
of a lost gator.
wrecking the Ruxpin
of our Teddy Rosey
welts.
Poets Know Who Hurt Happy and Joy The Next.
we are well met, yes.
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
Reacting to the new dangerous trend of taking the ****** off in an until then consensual ****** act.
Dear America,
I strolled down your famous Sunset Avenue
Tasted the marine-inspired SF clam chowder
I had dreams about a Hollywood Undead venue
I had in mind Madonna, Monroe and their powder…
Dear America,
You gave me Ginsberg, Baldwin and Brooks
You gave me Hawthorne, Poe and Hemingway
You gave me strength and glory along the way
You gave me all my poems found in these books.
Dear America,
Today I want to tell you about stealthing
No I’m not talking about your crusade and sword
I want to tell you about a new trend and word
Consisting of taking your ****** off in the act
Dear America.
Irving told me he saw a desperate mother– it made me cringe
At the hospital, watch her son slowly pass and leave her
In his arm they gave him an against whatever AIDS shot syringe
This mother planted the needle in her arm.
Dear America,
The gay community was stigmatized because of barebacking
Horses of desire that they decided to tame
And you tell me your youths are, as we are speaking
Making love risking their lives, and no one is to blame?
Trumpets of shame I hear, crumbling the walls of reason
This brand new world to our bodies is nothing but treason
What is that? Is stealthing **** America? I don’t know, say,
What was your reaction when they took your freedom away?
Dear America,
To the insolence of the 1970s youth, the recklessness
This generation responds with an air of stupidity
Go waste yourselves on the altars of dumbness
We won’t move a finger, to again witness this madness?
April 28, 2017
Lyon, France
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 5:17 AM UTC
i cool
don't even need air conditioning just
one or two real souls relating to me:
like my Queen , Vicki,
and Kenneth Irving MacPherson all I will
ever need to be .
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 1:12 AM UTC
If I have not wronged someone today I will not have told
Him that our ability to be able to forgive is what made us
the most compassionate beings alive to ever walked
The earth, like how our ability to forget also made us humans
If I knew someone that I like that keeps meeting disappointment
With every turn of events in life will it not be alright to cry a river
On his behalf, the moment such a thing happens and to comfort
Him with kind and loving words that could do amazing wonder
For his broken spirit by lifting it up and enabling it to be free
As free as the North wind that brings colder weather to Irving,
Or as free as the air that we breathe without paying any fee.
If not for circumstances beyond me I will have not done a thing
For wrong, for forgiveness, for compassion, for forgetting,
For disappointment, for events, for comfort, or for loving
Dec 22, 2021
Dec 22, 2021 at 3:56 PM UTC
More tributes...
I just could not leave out, forget
People I haven't mentioned yet
There are more than just a few
This site is HUGE! What can I do?
I want to include VIPs today
The first is Arlo Disarray!
I like this poet, I feel led
To mention Better Days Ahead!
Cecil Miller... his work is fine
Sverre G Holter's poems unwind
The smart *** rabbi can talk a line
Impeccable Space
Can blow your mind!
Here's a poet who i prize
That is WendyStarry Eyes
Alex Rubio, terrin leigh
I want to mention them TODAY!
Nicole Ashley, Mayas TOO!
Leo Kendrick, I like you
Danzel's writes about Greek myths
Wordvango has got a gift...
And here's to a poetfriend
Kenneth Irving MacPherson!
If I could do all this again
To EVERYONE my love I'd send!
♥ Catherine
aka SoulSurvivor
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 1:10 AM UTC
The shadows fall and
all in all
nightfall
will soon be upon us.
The campfires
smoking
giving the darkness
a grayish tinge.
This Split juts
out into the Fundy Bay,
now with the sun gone
it will grow even colder.
Low laying clouds
mingle with the smoke,
if you remain quiet
you can hear more that the crackle
of the burning wood.
From behind the trees,
something eerie
to make you shiver.
To let you know you are in the wild.
A stream runs through the woods.
The fresh water for the morning coffee
has already been drawn,
plastic jugs and canteens full.
There are bears
and coyotes and deer
out here,
but in all the time
coming out to
this breath taking cliff
I have never run into either.
This time I have come
with a purpose other than
the fresh air and sounds of the ocean
far below.
My father's last wish,
to have his ashes
scattered over the side
to the rocks and water.
This is where he grew up,
the small village at the base of the cliff.
I was born here and I never called it home.
Now I am proud to come from such
a beautiful place.
My mother, a native,
my father, an import from Boston.
So much history needing to be sifted through.
So much a mystery when it comes to my Dad.
A plaque will adorn the small cemetery,
with my fathers full name,
-Irving Richard MacPherson-
My mother already buried there.
He never liked his name
so he called himself Richard.
Now I find myself choosing Irving
over Kenneth for mine.
I will die and when I do
I will join my father
in the vastness of the Atlantic.
Such a beautiful end to a good life.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 9:59 AM UTC
i have stopped picking my
skin apart, have stopped
trying to pull pieces of
myself off in the hopes
that there is something
better underneath.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
at all sat
for he felt he might fall
at all sat on a mat
and lent against the wall
the wall became jelly
at all bega
then fell.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 6:39 AM UTC