"tudes" poems
(A class for correctional officers
at the local community college)
Thirty-six-thousand a year to begin
No education or experience required
The recruiting posters are pretty, though:
Handsome young people uniformed in grey
But the poor sergeant can’t control his class
His students have their cell ‘phones and their ‘tudes -
“Tell Momma to pick me up like I said!” –
Slouched in their seats or wandering the halls
While dozing over her own telescreen
A fat corporal yawns by the soda machine
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 3:09 PM UTC
what I got for mother day
Ah What I got on yet another Mom Day
some air and some imagination, hopeful wishes at bay.
some invisible, un -acknowlege_ables, some written unperson-ables.
A happy M day not much else to say..
As If i am some kind of..
Never there fa you kinda motha/mutha.
Don't do nothing fa ya Kinda motha..
Trifling otha kinda, something or other type motha..
What I did get and have is.....the spirit of let down.
A gift of no consideration.
A quiet shadow of you ain't that important or relevant.
The failed chance to say oh you shouldn't have's.
The missed moments of awe how sweet of you's.
The crumbs of no gratitude, from self absorbed tudes.
And a simple say anything I'd come off as rude.
I'm unseen, unheard, seen as old fashioned old school old ways.
Blinded shades, wisdom ignored, prayers stayed, unappreciated days.
Thanks for the little tab bits of invisible cards...hmm really
Thanks for the symbolic s of traditional materials,..untouchables
Those just tryna say I lov ya so's...(walkin in them shoes)
The absence of it can at times pain the soul.
Never one to ASK FOR MONEY OR GIFTS...Do I! wee bits..
By surprise be nice to discover how It'd feel to get the what ifs.
To be given the unexpected gift, how heaviness might lift.
How solemness n sadness may suddenly shift.
It's not the material of a gift,, It's the showing of
heartfelt bliss. Spiritual Uplift.
I sit and it makes me recall..the six times, six souls, six plights..
To sow, to plant, to till the ground,
to labor, to sacrifice, to pray during those daily fights.
To feed, to nurture, to yearly grow.
Unselfishly..regardless of the needs of me.
By Grace of mercy heavens kept me.
So I can be..still Mommie, unperfectly.
Happy Momma Day 2Me...
@S.A.M _H.E.R/POETRY_2020
May 11, 2020
May 11, 2020 at 8:14 AM UTC
A Processional with MePhones
*From an idea suggested by Anthony Germain,
The Duke of Suffix after the Order of Scrabble©™*
In greeting students on their way to class
One speaks only to the tops of their heads
As they process in ‘tudes of ‘umble prayer
In silence each bowing to her small god
(Or “his” as the gendered pronoun might be)
Speaking to no one, detached from the world
Navigating as does the sightless bat
By strange sensations known only to them
One ‘phone, one soul – that is the ratio
And each dull brain stilled ever in statio
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 7:43 PM UTC