"trustees" poems
Never behaved in the school porcine;
Had wise words for everyone to opine;
Full of wise thoughts and memories refine;
Rachana Sharma is ready without any supine.
An eyesore progress she achieved school in
Even the trustees could no longer decline;
Her help for others whenever did she design
Was a feast – a great help and fun to dine.
For 8 years was she my dear mentor fine
From whom I learnt how to continuously grin
In adverse situations and start from begin
So that new fight and efforts lead you to win.
Earlier she was looking like a pumpkin
But now she managed her past confine:
Looking beautiful, smart, nifty and divine
Is ready ever any problem to define.
She is my inspiration, she is my Kline,
She is the best lady as a helpful friend in.
With her I developed Monorhyme fine;
And defeated many enemies malign.
A good mentor and nice for nation mine
Is none than Rachana - a brave feline.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 6:51 AM UTC
Tossing the pigskin
Burrowing and displaying the Ostrich effect
All applause for the chairman of the board of trustees
And all the spiddle on his back up shirt
Mortify them
An incomplete pass
Rally the troops
For unfinished business
Shift gears
Reread the post script
"P.S. The unzipped flies of store owners trying to replicate the success of their fathers. Piddle about, play with implements of torture, instruments of destruction. Wander in the wilderness, grunt and sigh as your civilized brain rattles. Make way for Plan B, and fill out the forms in triplicate. Fumbling at the controls, emergency landing. The gear shift and crankshaft have given out. Listen to the titillating chatter of the disappointed passengers who all longed for the window seat.
Always your's
Edmund Balthazar "
Take two
I could slap you
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
In stately conclave met 1, each in his chair
The board of school trustees arrange their notes
And after an approved, appropriate prayer
They nod in their wisdom, then “aye” their votes
Entrusted with the dear, sweet children’s learning
With attendance down and the taxes up
The trustees feel a deep and mystical yearning
To make your child p*ss in a plastic cup
History, literature – what need of these?
(Make sure the valedictorian pees)
1 Chesterton
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 7:30 AM UTC
I used to live downwind of the slaughterhouse,
the one below the high bluff where the state pen towers,
commanding the best view of the marsh lands
and the stink ponds making lime outta ****
for the crops not meant for human consumption;
by the dry grass parks with the broken backboards
and the netless hoops that never slow a ball down.
I used to live downwind of the rendering plant
where the bubbling lard becomes aerosol
and the air reeks of freezerburn bacon and feces,
below the high bluff where the trustees cut grass
in the clean air not meant for the locals
mixing with the immigrants and loser folk
who have knots in their shoelaces that
press against bone when chasing a loose ball.
This town never grew up. Doesn't need to.
There's plenty of ground for the taking.
Plenty of farmers selling out to the downtown club
who cobble the streets in past time fashion,
netting big gains from the professional set
lining the smooth roads annexed to the east.
I used to live downwind of the closing in stink
of renewal, where the cheap rentals and struggle
stores with the marked-up Walmart brands
lining the shelves - expired but still edible -
bide their short time compressed and diced
up like leftovers for dogs.
But this is America. I don't live there anymore.
I got myself a cush gig with a padded ladder
to the top. Did everything I needed to do
for that sure climb out into a cleaner air,
only to find myself bruise-faced and reeling
when the profits didn't match the dream
and the ladders were sold for scrap.
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 4:27 PM UTC
In God I trust
Because trust is divine
You and I are trustees
Entrusted with this world
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The Men of the Bible Class Pose for a Photograph
on the Steps of the Methodist Church in 1968
My grandfather once threatened some other old man
With his pocketknife just before the ten o’clock
Maybe it was over a point of theology
That’s surely as exciting as Bible class ever got
The Baptist men were the city council
And most of the school’s board of trustees too
But the Methodists somehow had more self-assurance
You can see it in their bearing and their suits
They seem to be their fathers in 1898
With railroads and sawmills – great times ahead
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 7:48 AM UTC
In the morning –
The enemy advanced and
our shields were down
for our strength was divided –
As we sat down by the banks of the river, By Babylon, we drank mouth to the water diluted with the blood of our people –
we cried;
[Oh you left ‘us ugly, gallant men twiddling our thumps In outer space wriggling…]
our song was gone
and the grief was bitter,
an excruciating pain we suffered,
we prayed for an intervention
for the journey we had to endure,
the humiliation wasn’t diabolical;
the restrain on our psych was worst-
we were bulls that operates the plough the mole that pull the carts any resistances was rewarded;
deprived of food and water-
sleep deluded from our eyes
tears never came to their sockets-
day and night;
for the pleasure of our masterswelabored gruelingly through
the high mountains
down to the shallow valleys –
the storms came and the rains fell,
the sun rose radiating our skin complicating our plight.
Hearts became ******
for the hard times,
forceful than the logic of the mind,
for we wondered if we shall ever return…….
home.
Our home is become Rome
and we playing by their rules
W/ no course to own
The muscle of our voice impair’d
Our soul in perpetual despair Lashed with strikes of hardship
So we set the enterprise
Of digging holes in our hearts
An industry for pixie dust To ensure grandel dines w/ wine
As we labored to set
The wolfs off before dusk
Burning the candle of midnight
Until we sight the morning light
Hope; w/ ‘e bird took flight to…..
No where.
We were lost at sea ,
With wild whales with big bellies-
Petty are we finless fishes,y we wishutord;
Not that we couldn’t
But the bankruptcy of the trust we accord, The trustees of our wealth; Misjudge our worth,
Sold our oil to the pirates of the west-The custodian of our essence
Mistake our silence for sin
To bargain an endless spin
Nonetheless our green field….
foreseen……
(c) 2017-
Tj. Kwame Photo credit: LolitoCatahan@[pictify.saatchigallery.co
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 1:03 PM UTC
SOUNDS SPRINGY
Popping of tulips ,daffodils dancing, so many things waiting to be green
Rustle of branches or bushes caught in the hustle,warming winds grow louder
Ice cracking, snow mashing, unfolding the last of winters rigid freeze
Silence broken with voices of mens machinery needed to keep it all pristine
Mower growling,tiller rattling, street sweepers swooshing, necessary noises for the devotees
Howling of hail is mother nature's scowl, Lightning in flashes & crashes,thunder belches to undo the serene
Finally familiar slamming of screen doors brings noisy neighbors out like escapees
Poets & singers seem to unite on the bounty of springs delight,Popular muse for them to ignite ,coming together in a green scene
Migrations have begun, early bird has more fun,doing their best to build a nest soon their new families tweets will fill the trees
When the air warms brings the restless out in swarms, whooping it up as they play or buzzing for their new queen
The proud sounds of birds making their rounds,flying surrounded by chirps or cackles once again as she offers her new delight we are appointed as trustees .R.C.
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 6:25 AM UTC