"topper" poems
How unique a place is the examination hall!
Sometime or the other calls us all;-
Even for those who come prepared,
There isn’t another place so much feared;
Ah! And the last minute revision,
Ends up as everyone’s decision;
And there’s a reason,
Passing is for sure everyone’s mission.
And the scene inside,
Really takes you on a ride;
When you try and fight,
To fetch some topper by your side;
When the paper distribution starts,
There’s pounding in each of the hearts;
And everyone just prays to God,
That the invigilator doesn’t act like Voldemort;
May he let us cheat,
From the person on the adjacent seat;
Although this prayer is continuously chanted,
This general wish is seldom granted.
As soon as the paper is in our hands,
We just look towards our friends;
But the invigilator turns acts as a high resistance,
Just comes and stops the current of assistance;
We somehow try to finish the exam,
After praying to Krishna and Ram;
The earth slips below our feet,
When it’s announced –
“It’s time to tie the sheets”;
And our handwriting touches amazing speeds!!
Out of the hall comes a variety,
Some people sad and some happy;
Sad ones are like this for a while,
But soon they smile,
As they know a bad exam isn’t a shame,
For their friends’ condition is the same.
And they resolve the next exam would be better,
And forget this resolve sooner than later!!
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 12:58 PM UTC
school ke pehle Din mile the, Rote Rote Sab aye the par tum has rahe the.
Usi baat se rote rote me chup hua tha aur wahi se dosti ka pehla chapter shuru hua.
Padhai ke chor Hum washroom Break ke bahane aadha lecture bunk Krte the.
Break me 15 ki sandwich aur 10 ka juice aur kaha koi kharche the.
7 bje se pehle agr barish hogi to scl nhi jaenge aur usi ki chutti Milte hi barish me jam ke nahaenge .
Result ke din kiska Kam ayega uspe shart lagti thi aur agr uska zada Aya to ye sochke bht phat ti thi.
Mere saamne shart harke Jeet ta hmesha tu hi Tha , kuch nhi pada yr bolke topper banta tu hi Tha... Jhuta saala!!.
Pehli baar kisi ldki ko dekhte dekhte tumne mujhe dekh Lia tha ,uske saamne usi ke Naam se chidane ka zimma tumne le Lia tha .
Teacher ne jab daat ke bahar hmko khara Kia Tha , class room se zada bhr hmne seekh Lia tha.
Aakhri baar jab aakhri din ham mile the kai wade hamne kr lie the.
Par tab shuru Hui zindagi ki asli class, alg school me admission no same class.....are Koi naa alg school Hai to Kya hua har week Milte rhenge par Sach btae dost aur kitna khud ko dhakte rhenge .
Pehle milke plan banate the ab Milne ka plan banta hai........in sab me kahi kho si gayi Hai hmari zindagi.
Kaha Hai yr Mera vo school Wala dost kaha Hai.......
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 5:40 AM UTC
on ruby jacobs walk, a
small girl
asked us for money for ice cream.
she eyed our cones
yours, lemon
mine, strawberry
with a child’s hunger
glinting and opportunistic
as she held out her palm for coins.
i was not yet accustomed to the shapes and sizes,
to a dime being smaller than a nickel,
and in any case wanted to preserve them for souvenirs
so we shook our heads and walked away.
a year later, writing this poem,
i learned that ruby jacobs was a local restauranteur
who, as a boy,
illegally sold ice creams
for a nickel on the boardwalk.
a nickel is the larger coin
the size of a ten pence piece.
i know that now.
the wide atlantic rose from a sloping manicured lawn
star-spangled,
like everything here,
the airborne flag
above a wide pavilion
a fanatic wedding cake topper
against the blood-blue sky.
i slipped
out of my shoes and let
the white sand burn my feet,
and jaggedly fill the spaces between my toes.
the atlantic held open its arms
though we weren’t, as we imagined,
looking east
looking home
but south to new jersey, across the bay.
the gnarled boardwalk was a
song of the twentieth century
a roll-call of mass-market capitalism
here in the city that didn’t invent the concept
but certainly perfected it:
hot dogs
amusements
ice creams (we’ve covered that)
fridge magnets
baseball caps
i bought an espresso cup with a picture of the president
and the caption:
‘huuuuge!’
i stopped to take a photograph
of a space-age building from the fifties
which turned out to be
a public toilet.
later
from the sunbaked d train,
brooklyn spread out beneath us
the houses garnished with flags,
then the city coughed us up on seventh avenue
and night fell five hours early.
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 7:51 AM UTC
Letter to My Lawyers.
Being of sound mind and body...
To whom should I leave my teeth
Which person do I love
Enough, to leave my smile to
When I'm dead and up above
My grandson will get my glass eye
When my life is at an end
I'd imagine I could see him
playing marbles with his friends
My artificial knee cap
I'll leave to my younger sister May
She can have it in her living room
As a brand new candy tray
I think I'll leave my hearing aids
To the woman up the road
They don't work too well anyways
And in truth, the cow's a toad!!
The breast implants that I have got
Are old, and slightly mottled
But, I'll leave them to the nursing home
As two hot water bottles
All my unused catheters, to the pet store
that's my wish
They can use them in aquariums
Pumping air for all their fish
This is my will and testament
It's my National Health Care list
These bits of me are all I own
There might be some things that I missed
My artificial hip joint
I'll give to the fellow down the lane
He can clean it up a little bit
And there's a topper for his cane
Anything else that I forgot
That is still good, I want to go
To someone who might need it
Make it someone that I know
One last thing I ask now
my support hose, goes to Jack
He always wanted a nice hammock
To swing in out the back!!!
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
My Christmas tree
Is not the same as yours
You see, my tree is in my mind
It can't be bought in stores
It's made up of a lot of things
I couldn't ever, ever buy
And I put them on my Christmas Tree
Using my minds eye
The star atop my Christmas tree
Is as bright as bright can be
My tree topper is The North Star
It's the brightest one you see
For tinsel, I use icicles
That Mother Nature made
By hitting us with an ice storm
With devastation laid
For ornaments, I have my pick
There is so much there to choose
With a winter pallet so diverse
With whites, reds, greens and blues
For lights, I use the stars again
And street lights as I need
I let them shine and light my tree
It's the brightest tree indeed
In my mind my tree is ten feet tall
With gifts piled half as high
But, in reality, there is no tree
It's just in my minds eye
You see, I am a prisoner
Of machines and stuck in doors
I haven't had a Christmas Tree
Since Nineteen Eighty Four
But, still I choose to celebrate
Giving gifts and sending cards
But I lie here looking outward
So, going out, well...it's too hard
My tree, it is incredible
And the best part, I must say
Is that I can enjoy it all year round
And when I'm done, it goes away
No needles dropping on my floor
No checking strands of lights
My tree, it shows up when I want
And it's always out of sight
I wish you could walk in my mind
And share my tree with me
It's ten feet tall, and beautiful
And it's just for me to see.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
Hopalong Cassidy
When I was a little girl
Hopalong Cassidy
Was my hero
I would watch him on the television
Riding his horse Topper
And then
PRETEND...
Hiding behind chairs
Running from one to the other
Shooting the bad guys
With my finger gun.
One birthday my mom surprised me
With a whole Hopalong Cassidy outfit.
I had a vest with fringe,
The cowgirl skirt, the hat
And best of all
A Hopalong Cassidy WATCH
And a silver play gun in a holster
In my imagination
I WAS HOPALONG CASSIDY
Back in the 40's
IT WAS OK
To play Cowboys and Indians
IT WAS OK
To shoot the bad guys
With a finger gun
Or a silver play gun
IT WAS OK
To use the word Indians
Without offending anyone
So Sad that kids can't play
Cowboys and Indians anymore
Because you wouldn't know
If that gun was real
By judy
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 6:59 AM UTC
the Vee Tee hipsters delight
in this ferment, Heady Topper
an unfiltered, uncooked, double hopped whopper
with a can in their hand, they’re a real show stopper
but after the bistro night
your intestinal tract
full of brie and this brew, comes under attack
with gas that must pass, like a well that is fracked
and I know this as fact
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 5:49 PM UTC
Hopalong Cassidy
When I was a little girl
Hopalong Cassidy
Was my hero
I would watch him on the television
Riding his horse Topper
And then
PRETEND...
Hiding behind chairs
Running from one to the other
Shooting the bad guys
With my finger gun.
One birthday my mom surprised me
With a whole Hopalong Cassidy outfit.
I had a vest with fringe,
The cowgirl skirt, the hat
And best of all
A Hopalong Cassidy WATCH
And a silver play gun in a holster
In my imagination
I WAS HOPALONG CASSIDY
Back in the 40's
IT WAS OK
To play Cowboys and Indians
IT WAS OK
To shoot the bad guys
With a finger gun
Or a silver play gun
IT WAS OK
To use the word Indians
Without offending anyone
So Sad that kids can't play
Cowboys and Indians anymore
Because you wouldn't know
If that gun was real
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 3:31 AM UTC
Newspaper to news channel
Headline to breaking news
Gangrape or molestation
Foeticide or honour killing
Dowry ****** or eve-teasing
We're uninterrupted
" restless
As well in daylight
Or in the dark of midnight
We're the winners
" " topper
To achieve our goal
We're reckless
Proud men of shameless nation
We're Hon'ble Indian Men-Written on 26.07.2012,Thursday
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 2:42 PM UTC
Remember...
When comic books were the real big thing
and kids everywhere waited eagerly
every week excited to start reading
the latest Beano or Dandy
Remember…
Enjoying Dennis the Menace and Gnasher,
Minnie the Minx and the Bash Street Kids,
Roger the Dodger, Scrapper and Basher,
Beryl the Peril and Billy Whizz.
Remember…
Thinking Bully Beef and Chips were so great;
the awful things that Bully would do!
Not forgetting Desperate Dan and Keyhole Kate
who were always fantastic too.
Remember…
When we used to read the Sparky or the Topper
or the Buster or even the Beezer
without of course forgetting the Victor
or Roy of the Rovers either.
Remember…
When they had the Bunty for girls too,
the Mandy and Judy as well,
which many boys would read it is true;
though all promised never to tell!
Remember…
Waiting patiently each year for Santa to bring
the Annual edition of your favourite one,
spending hours on Christmas Day just reading;
and reading was the best thing under the sun!
Remember…
When everyone joined their local libraries
soon after schooldays had begun
When you were sure to find a book to please
and reading was so much fun.
Remember…
When books transported us to another world,
each new book a revelation,
instilling in us a love of the written word;
really fuelling our imagination!
Remember…
How much enjoyment you got from reading
and what little effort it really took,
how the pressures of life soon began receding
when you immersed yourself in a book.
Remember…
To try and make time to read a good book,
to take time out every now and then,
and you never know, with a bit of luck;
You might fall in love with reading again.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 3:56 AM UTC
The comments of the ocean
Blend nicely with the brush
Of tipper topper dinky dinghies
That paddle all a hush
Ships sailing on the summer current
Keels are black and leery
With barnacles and treasures trawled at sea
They nose ahead worn and weary
I sigh a little on the plinth of my palm
Propped nicely 'gainst the ivory table
And clink ****** cups, you know
Those little things that make you remember
Shame? Not me. When I watch the birds
They hover without shame
Boasting of the clouds they've visited
And castles up high they are welcome to
Take, take, take the spring breeze that simmers in
I couldn't feel the grace of disgust
I couldn't, I'm too happy
With salt ground tea and seemly company.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 4:58 AM UTC
His topper reflected prisms,
And hair burned under his moon glance,
How ephemeral was midnight,
Darkness dressing my hair in stars,
His smile the light spill from a broken moon,
A claret glass bursting with blood skies,
His plumage exodus stealth netherworld ,
Trithing shards in flamed heat,
Black salt pastes orinein wounds,
Kirk yard elementals despoil spirits of all hell,
Strix cackle, taunt on nightly transvections,
A viridescent sadness wakes alone.
Saudade no seasons doth befall,
Trapped in concupiscence darkest tale void of intemperance
── Clad in loves spectural crown
Arnay Rumens © 12/ 2014
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
WELL, KISS MY POPLITEAL FOSSA!
I remember the golden
tassels of my dress
touching the back
of my knees
as I was kissed
for the very first
time bent over
in a clinch
as if we were
statuary.
The tassels' touch
exquisite in itself.
Much more sensual
than the actual kiss as
I wondered( his tongue
dancing with my tonsils)if:
there was a name for that
sort of thing
( the back of the knees
I mean ).
"Ok Freddie!" I commanded
seeing as I seemed
to be in command here.
"...that's quite enough of that!"
Shattered he
reluctantly
took his tongue
out of my cheek.
"Cheeky ****** I thought
"should never have let him go
...that far!"
Crestfallen he
stammered a sorry.
"You won't tell my mother
...will you?"
Hid his ********
with his topper.
I went in at once
and asked of father
"Is there a name
for the back of the knees?"
"Of course there is my love!
It's your popliteal fossa!"
I tingled
to my toes
having discovered my first
erogenous zone
and knowing
that one day
I would become
a doctor.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 6:36 PM UTC
*being the topper in the class, he developed certain pride
that the envious derided, ignored flatterers on his side.*
the first bench was his permanent place
from where shone his haloed face
when the teachers spoke seemed it thus
there was only him in the whole class.
all questions he took the answers he knew
solved hardest sums others had no clue
not once an intruder could invade his space
he shined in glory of his flawlessness.
from him was never unfinished homework
ruthlessly made on exams his mark
was taken for granted he would win first place
the rest of the herd would just run the race.
the teachers indulged him the pride of the class
but you know all fame are fragile like glass
it so happened a new teacher joined the school
unbiased he was not to blindly toe the rule.
he asked the first boy if he had ever flown a kite
played marbles on road picked up a fight
if ever he had walked barefooted on the grass
stole a look at sky bunked even one class.
if he had ever chosen to close the book
hid him alone in the scariest of nook
scanned the horizon to catch first moonrise
counted the stars bamboo grove's fireflies.
he looked nonplussed didn't utter a word
anything than studies he hardly bothered
had he answered it would all have been no
to him most precious was his place at front row.
he bowed his head down with ashen face
for the first time in class he failed to impress
what happened next was no riddle to guess
that teacher was gone without a trace.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 9:51 AM UTC
I can feel me
******* breaking under gray skies
As I dream of red eyes
And green grass
CPT Slime and Rasta's daft laughs
And the taste of tobacco on your tongue
While I wash up in SlimeyG's kitchen
Good God, if I wasn't there, that infamous week would've been filthy!
We can feel
The bass ******* it through the sideboard
SlmieyG's lounge walls are shaking hard
And we cackle bare
When Big Gay tumbles grinning downstairs
So I stick the kettle on
Good God, we caned a litre of milk in one round of teas!
I can hear
Those slimey green dawgs singing loud
When we bring Tom's cake out
And his face is a chuffin' picture
At the realisation of the six-layers' topper
So throw him a Clipper
Good God - eighteen, eighteen, EIGHTEEN tokes to clear it!
So, will you?
Can we all get together? We'll feel alright
For just one more warm hazy night
And when we sing these songs
Of freedom, we'll laugh in peace together. So long
To misery, my brothers
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 2:36 PM UTC
I need to assume most people are stupid
enough to believe within minutes of
big names releasing videos anywhere
people are sitting at computer waiting
for music that ***** and give them
millions of views in minutes.
Don't you love how Youtube sits back
and lets it all happen?
I too could have a viral video with tens
of millions of views if I had cash to pay
promoters to add views.
I too could have a number one song if
I could afford to buy people addicted to
apps cards for exchange of my songs.
Great to be rich and get richer knowing
people are dumb enough to believe
getting famous ain't like it was years ago.
All you need is money to buy you downloads
and tens of millions of views to get a viral video.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 5:37 AM UTC
ARRIVALS & DEPARTURES
( for Bud on his birthday that was never to be )
Never to be
met by you again
at the airport
with a hastily scribbled sign:
"WAITING FOR GOD...
KNOWS WHO!"
Or telling me you were
expecting the Cat in the Hat.
One year a tip-top topper...
...the next a battered bowler.
Always. . .
your smile
my gold coin
your laughter
my treasure.
"Ahhhh Jaysus, Bud...tears?"
cries the ghost of you.
"It's all I get these days!
Dying is so...annoying!"
"Oh, before I go. . !"
the ghost of you smirks
before fading away
into an EXIT sign.
"I love the purple
fedora!"
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 4:00 PM UTC
It is an acrostic poem - "Two Thousand And Twelve"(2012)!
Two more minutes to say-" Happy New Year 2012"
Welcoming my friends with a bouquet
On came this year with a hurray!
Taking my tenth board exams
Happy was I flushed with charms
Only citing the advance of results..!
Unbeatable yet overjoyed to hear:
Songs about me so clear
"As I became the school topper",so sincere!
Next came the days without fear
Days composed of only cheer.
And it were these days
Now I tend to praise
Day by day with full grace.
To all my relatives and friends
Who made 2012 more intense
Elevate your joy and blend-
Leave aside the latest trend
Vital times that we spent
End has come for that, friend!
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 12:42 AM UTC
Impulsive drones, these machos you have flimflammed,
Wolfing your proportionality like a **** brewed nectar of grapes,
When flimsy limb frills no more interweave, expertise reprogrammed,
Are you the lone from infinite frames murmuring, “once more, he escapes”?
Indignation ******* broadcasted, ferocity wrought into the fiber,
Prior, where narcissistic pathway architecture once lodged aloft,
Calloused acknowledgement of her duffel, abrupt pang, necessity for a prescriber,
My mettle is feeble of the soap opera, hanging one’s topper in my breath, I coughed,
The cauldron perpetually gurgling with spume, mingling itself,
Gyrating with giddiness as if my noggin was a top trinket,
No dust crumbs in any bustle ever jubilated atop my pit-a-patting instrument’s
Masses are anticipating for my enveloping blanket,
I perhaps beam till the cattle wham the timepiece, though seldom do I chuckle,
Shall journey with the ensuing waft, no comma for a buckle.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 6:06 PM UTC
Shall I compare you to wonderful things?
I’m not so sure.
Likely you’d find it
Slightly off-putting
Or maybe emotional,
Too seriously gossamer
Like a blueberry muffin
Dressing up
In a bride and groom cake topper.
So I guess
To hell with you anyway
One day you’ll have a box full of
Printed concert tickets
And all of silicon valley
filled with e-mails
Random statements exchanged for nothing
Placeholders of what we might have actually
Said
To each other
Letters that smell like incense and lotion
And sketches that smell like beer
Are outdated
But kisses in a library are better
Than *** in a dance rave.
And you’d rather be someone’s lover
Than to be loved by someone.
Or be preferentially bombarded by
Tones alerting you of some alternate reality
Because I’m just talking to you without intention
but that’s not true
and I’m not wires and gears
and maybe you should find
someone you can write checks for
and I’ll die
without finding a soul
to love me in a poem
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 12:50 AM UTC
kigger ind på lejlighederne og
gløden af følelser vælder i mig glimt af tårer glimt af
vægtløshed og mørkeblå og bålrøg
som om jeg nogensinde har oplevet noget der kører som en spillefilm i
mit hoved når jeg tænker på det perfekte
som om jeg ved hvad jeg egentlig tænker som om ord ikke dekonstrueres og knækker sammen ved blot et enkelt blik
verden er opløselig
ubetinget tidsløshed
livet er elastisk
hvis nogen fortalte mig, at jeg ikke har været på jorden i mere end fem år ville jeg ikke tvivle det
mine minder smelter ligesom under opmærksomhedens lys som gamle billeder af glemte mennesker som om nogen har plantet dem i mig som om jeg
aldrig har været mit eget menneske før
og alt der sker lige her topper ikke alt hvad der sker på gaden og i byen og i landet og i havene og på kontienterne og på kloden og i solsystemet og i galaksen og i universet og i eksistensen
det hele er slimet og formløst i min forståelse
jeg kan ikke forklare det for jeg ved ikke noget
jeg kan ikke forklare det men jeg ved ikke noget
som om jeg er et stykke tyggegummi på undersiden af en
sejlbåd midt i
saltvandet
hvis jeg kniber øjnene sammen bliver teksten fed
saltvandet
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
She made him Punctual from a late latheef
An extrovert out of a lone desert
Chivalrous knight who was an insensible trash
Responsible man who always forgot the dates
Kind human whom world saw as a hooligan
Studious kid who was a topper in reverse order
Majestic man out of a whiny babe
She made him drop the Deadwing, which had his soul
listen to Chainsmokers which was once detested
share his share of chocolates and make an amendment
Let the pillion occupy the special reserved seat
Dump all the colossal ego just to see her grin
Ignore the friends as if some ***** jinx
Get drenched because she found bliss in it
How do you feel now, that the bait is consumed
There is no more interest, no intrigue left
Get the control of the handle now
Rev your ****** out on the road you like
Stop not till you find the the right place
Hope is what keeps us awake through ghastly nights.
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 7:53 AM UTC
I am not a prim and proper wedding cake topper.
Nor am I the quick-time drop her, ***** girl offer.
Varied between.
My mind, blind to the shallows of relationship seas.
My feelings run deep like haunting melodies.
Honestly offered.
Complex in my simplicities and transparently guarded.
Running lava-hot inside these walls hard hearted.
Softly contained.
But like a second read to a book that has been skimmed through before.
Welcoming now a chance for someone to want to explore.
©NDHK
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 3:16 AM UTC
Knead out the crust and fill up the pan. Prepare the fruit with just a hint of brown sugar. Mold the filling into the crust. Cover it with a topper and adding a little more sugar is a must. Working with a fruit that often taste like sour grapes, requires patients and skill to get the flavor just right. Not too **** and not too sweet, somewhere in the middle is where the flavor should meet. If all has been done with expert care, the smell will bring family and friends running from everywhere. Take delight in a difficult fall dish, made with love and care. Persimmon pie can be wonderful, just try a piece and see.
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 10:12 AM UTC