"walter" poems
T'was just before Christmas and I went down to the garage
To have my old car looked at by a fellow known as "Sarge"
He said I need tires and my wipers weren't so hot
My hoses all were leaking and my muffler was shot
The repairs just kept on coming and I saw a sparkle in his eyes
He was counting all my money, he was the devil in disguise
I told him "Thanks, but I would go and get another look"
Before I signed for his repair list and I was on the hook
So I went on to my friend's place to see what he could do
We've been friends for nearly 30 years...since 1982.
His mechanic took it out back and while he had it on the hoist
I saw a woman at the counter, looking rather moist
She said my car is leaking there's a hole that must be filled
I thought that if Rob had a coffee, it'd most certainly be spilled
A girl came in and she told Rob her boyfriend had loose nuts
And whenever he was driving her, they slid into the ruts
Rob stepped back, grinned a bit as he was looking down her front
And from where I stood behind her I could almost see her
Donation to the Angel tree that was standing in the corner
A door opened, a breeze blew in, and there was no time to warn her
Her skirt blew up, exposing her tattoo of some sprigs of holly
And Rob came round and covered her just like Sir Walter Raleigh
I'm sorry miss, for I did look when your skirt was lifted
And I must say, you made my night, for my drive shaft has shifted
And then a man came through the door and said "My name is Nick"
"I've problems with my reindeer and I need them seen to quick"
Rob said "we work on cars here sir , I can fix tires or a hose"
"It's nothing major son, I need a bulb for Rudolph's nose"
"It doesn't stay on like it should and the other deer get frantic"
"And I can't risk it going out when I'm over the Atlantic"
"So, if you would replace it now with something nice and bright"
"I'd pay you well for all your time and for aiding in my plight"
Rob stepped up, fixed Rudolph's nose and said "This one's on me"
"And for all work done in my shop you get a guarantee"
We all stood round as Santa left, for we new that it was him
For he left us each a candy cane in a metal alloy rim
And as we watched him fly away, I'm sure we heard him yell
"There's mistletoe tattooed on her too, but...where I'll never tell!"
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 3:01 PM UTC
This isn't the freedom I want to call freedom...
because this freedom isn't the freedom our great freedom fighters died for in the Years of apartheid.
This freedom is not the same freedom the generation of 1985 wished for and and dreamed of...
freedom died along with our long gone heroes,Nelson Mandela, Walter susilu and Solomon.it died with our young brothers and sisters in sharpville!
it isn't freedom if we are still afraid to walk out of our houses at 6am
it is not freedom if we can't let go of what the white men did to our black men and woman
this freedom isn't the freedom defined in Oxford dictionaries....
children are free to smoke
men are free to ****
woman are free sell their bodies
and we yet we are free?
this freedom isn't free!
we are not free because we are racist
we are selfish
we are foolish
we lack knowledge and we are full of ignorance!
we are not free,this isn't the time to celebrate freedom but to fight for the freedom we've lost.
-27thApril2016.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 4:07 PM UTC
instead of making them feel at home
we are telling them to go back home
have we got no shame calling our brothers and sisters foreigners in their own motherland?
what happened to Ubuntu?
umntu ngu mntu ngabantu?
has the long walk to freedom not been walk for us?
there will be no freedom in Africa if we still believe in brutality rather than humanity
there will be no freedom in Africa if don't understand the meaning of struggle, poverty
yesterday we were crying for freedom
praising and promoting the spirit of togetherness,today we stone the same African brother who held our hands in the years of apartheid and gave us hope!
why do we have to be so cruel not so fucken cool!
Nelson Mandela did not die for this!
Walter sisulu did not die for this!
our black brothers and sisters in sharpville did not die for this!
where did it all go wrong?
we claim to be the land of peace yet we do not know the meaning of forgiveness
we claim to be the land of great leaders and born dreamers yet we do not know the meaning of Ubuntu!
I am not proud of what this land has become....
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 8:14 PM UTC
mr moonlight
mr nowhere
maxwell edison
mr jones
dr robert
sgt pepper
mr kite, bb king
edgar allen poe
walter raleigh
mat busby
the hendersons
and maggie mae
mr mustard
captain marvel
rita lucy jojo
vera chuck and dave
mother nature
polethene pam
mr heath doris day
and buffalo bill
loretta martin
**** sadie
hey jude eggman
my michelle
rigby and pilchard
or elenor and semolina
took father mckenzie
too see a dancing horse
henry his name was
rocky raccoon was there
prudence rode elephant
to the i me mine waltz
---
There gonna crucify me
the way things go
christ it aint easy
the next day dont know
you know the walrus was paul man
johns bird can sing
george was a genie
ringo wore a ring
but paul is dead now
george stole his soul
john is alive though
ringos in a hole
her royal highness the tax man
commit the perfect crime
she asked for more
with a belly full of wine
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 12:13 PM UTC
How wise I am to have instructed the butler
to instruct the first footman to instruct the second
footman to instruct the doorman to order my carriage;
I am about to volunteer a definition of marriage.
Just as I know that there are two Hagens, Walter and Copen,
I know that marriage is a legal and religious alliance entered
into by a man who can't sleep with the window shut and a
woman who can't sleep with the window open.
Moreover, just as I am unsure of the difference between
flora and fauna and flotsam and jetsam,
I am quite sure that marriage is the alliance of two people
one of whom never remembers birthdays and the other
never forgetsam,
And he refuses to believe there is a leak in the water pipe or
the gas pipe and she is convinced she is about to asphyxiate
or drown,
And she says Quick get up and get my hairbrushes off the
windowsill, it's raining in, and he replies Oh they're all right,
it's only raining straight down.
That is why marriage is so much more interesting than divorce,
Because it's the only known example of the happy meeting of
the immovable object and the irresistible force.
So I hope husbands and wives will continue to debate and
combat over everything debatable and combatable,
Because I believe a little incompatibility is the spice of life,
particularly if he has income and she is pattable.
2.9k
Walter was history's best fisherman -
history's best minnow fisherman.
He combed and cleaned his net
like a lint trap or a summer screen door
so delicate, seaweed fibers, mussel shells.
He fished more of a dance, a twirl
his arms up and down and around and always
spun in the shallows like a waterspout
he would glide his butterfly net through the lake
and capture little fish he placed
into a sand castle bucket filled halfway with water
he would always pour back into lake.
He was strictly a catch and release fisherman.
All the mothers on the beach would stare
at Walter and his water waltz and at his mother
who stood next to him so he wouldn't fall.
It was hard not to stare at Walter
always alone with his aged mother
and he had to be at least a teen by now.
Perhaps it was hard to tell, autism doesn't age well,
but we had been beach regulars for fifteen years
and Walter and his mother had for ten.
The last time I saw Walter he danced and fished.
I laid on the beach with my cousin and we observed
his patterns and his mother his rock who stood there
for ten years with the minnow fisherman.
The next day my own mother cried
more than when her own mother passed
and she told me, she died
Walter's mother died
Even now I stand in the shower skin deep in water
and think about where Walter is now.
I see him in my mind dancing in some bath tub
with a butterfly net in some foster home
without a mother to break his fall.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:30 PM UTC
While the sun is sleeping and the morning dj's too,
The radio news anchor is in to work by three
It's not because we're busy, or we're special..no, no , no
It's because the station trusts us, and besides...we have the key!!
We're on the road, at Dunkin' Donuts,
while the day olds are still fresh
We're in before the DJ's
Because we don't live like Phil Lesh
By the time the DJ's wander in
We've read more, than they will say
We've even cued up the morning intro
We know the songs they all will play
We have our room for research
Actually, two newspapers and a phone
We're not quite Walter Cronkite
But, hey...throw us a bone
The life of a radio anchor
Is not one that's all rosy
We do it 'cause we love it
It's not just because we're nosy
We get the freshest donuts, hottest coffee and the key
And did I neglect to mention, first one in gets donuts free?
The DJ's do their concerts, party hard, are full of soul
And twice a week you'll find them, down at Skippy's Pool and Bowl
We're not all like Les Nessman
Although, there is a part of me
That would love to have a station
Like old W K R P
The life of the news anchor
Starts out daily in the dark
We dig around for stories
And make up others for a lark
We are in line for more promotions
We're the one that the boss sees
Did I mention, we get donuts
And that the boss gives us the key?
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
[begin transmission]
Little mean marble,
the grasshopper lies heavy,
riding storms
and trailing winds,
eating dystopia
right out of the box
suns and daughters
of the cataclysm
sit about a space
cadet's campfire,
hints of alien sand
in their voices
it so oddly resembles
vast outland libretto,
that breathe of menace,
inside sojourners
holding tickets to ride
tramlines on shuttle days
swarming with
Walter Mitty groupies
and econowives,
transporting **** rapture,
and/or reproduction to worlds
of public domain
one day we'll settle here,
one day, with bowed heads,
we'll kiss the splendor
of its red ruination
[end transmission]
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 8:21 AM UTC
Who is seeking fairytales
Of summer skies and garden snails
With oyster shells,
And holding hands.
Fair ladies with long golden tresses.
Wearing loud azure satin dresses.
With princes and gnomes with big fancy homes.
Wicked witches and Walter Mitty.
Yells his lies.
Then we sit and wonder why.
We ever sought fairytales at all.
Still waiting for true love to call.
Off we go
Another ball.
A ball and chain with business brains.
Never no more, never again.
(c)Livvi
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 5:44 AM UTC
*Walter, I just want to sit on my *** and **** and think about Dante.*
—Samuel Beckett
All this fractures the Wolf. The ancient leaves
amid the ancient woods, wind riffling wind
in eddies she can see but she can’t hear,
the braying of a fatted calf which she
could eat, if she could hear thy call, O Wolf.
The tympani pretend to be a thunder roll,
the crashing cymbals mean to simulate
the distant lightning, all the strings—cello,
base, violin and viola—play the
pizzicato of rain commencing…
The Wolf sits to watch—what?—the floodlights fill
the stadium? the baton poised? the crowd
about to have their daily dose of not
quite silence served up yet again? She hates
that they have come to watch a prophecy.
It’s raining full blast now, the Wolf’s exchange
for music, how things balance out, how rain
fornicates in the forest, with its pools
and puddles, how it tenders lakes and rivers
and shadows… It can’t be! Ahead she sees him.
She sees Dante, the poet of the prophecy,
the one she has to drown. It’s why she’s deaf.
She will not hear him wail. **** him so he will rot
in hell before the other poet comes. **** him
and spare the world another poem about
another world. The rain and music grow
so dense around her soul. She is so quick,
too quick for him to flee. She drags him still
alive, drags him to the lake of his heart.
Sink and die. In Paradise only bubbles rise.
The tympani pretend to be a thunder roll,
the crashing cymbals mean to simulate
the distant lightning, all the strings—cello,
base, violin, viola—play it soft,
so soft, as if the rain is about to start…
The Wolf and I walk the slopes of hell.
When Farinata and Cavalcante
rise up to ask her, ‘Who were thy ancestors?’
and ‘Where Is ***** she howls. O Wolf.
O Tuscan. She howls.
Aug 25, 2010
Aug 25, 2010 at 5:51 PM UTC
His name was meant
for someone three times his age.
Someone who reaches into
the pocket of his sweater
for little hard candies,
amidst games of shuffleboard
and canasta.
I would have never pegged him
for a Walter or a Leonard.
(Wait, was it Larry?)
But then again,
the way he
sweet talked me into
his bed that night,
I would've never expected to
wake up alone
the next morning.
A post-it note balancing delicately
on the indentations of his pillow;
Had to go to work. Nice meeting you, doll.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 10:41 PM UTC
Back in the days of Vietnam
We said: “Make Love, not war.”
No matter how many Cong we killed
Like Doritos, they made more.
Walter Cronkite helped keep score
as the toll grew ever higher.
Foes relentless as the monsoon rains
They made Nam a quagmire.
We killed them all three times at least
Surely all of them were gone.
Then shortly after we had left
They turned up in Saigon!
Now we’re in a forever war
without a likely winner.
A pity we can claim a draw
And bring the boys home for dinner.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 7:20 PM UTC
*not everybody likes quotes,
but I kinda need the inspiration*
I.
'A real friend is one who walks in
when the rest of the world walks out.'
- Walter Winchell (1897-1972), US journalist and author
II.
'In prosperity our friends know us;
in adversity we know our friends.'
- John Churton Collins (1848-1908), English literary critic
III.
'A friend is one who sees through you
and still enjoys the view.'
- Wilma Askinas (1926- ), US author and columnist
IV.
'You are a true friend
We cry through the bad times,
We laugh through the good ...
with happiness and smiles,
with pain and tears,
I know you will be with me
throughout the years.'
- Anon
V.
'Thank you for being a genuine friend ... one who is not afraid to say things, out of love, things that are hard to say and hard to hear but cares enough to speak up.'
- Anon
*thank you for all the wise advice you have given me
I wouldn't be where I am today if not for your guidance*
S T, 25 June 2013
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
Peter got a sandwich for you.
mama went shopping ,
Gabriel needs a carwash,
Cristen choked on his ***** ,
Iris sailed the oceans,
Blake died of ennui.
Martha blew her neighbour,
Adrian stole her *******
Beth went out of liquor,
Walter cooked a new batch.
Marla is a ******
Gambit dealt a new pack.
And so and so they pass by
All these million names.
Who cares to blink twice
At a facecless face?
And then came eh...! wry dry, Dont **** Me, " ... " I can't even
Say his name.
It's like this name
Blew my heart out with a shotgun
right through my rib cage.
And these are the names
Which pierce your heart
And make you breathless
Because they hold stories
That you always hid in darkness.
And
You have skeletons In your
Closet
Like thats not enough
To give you the brain flu!
But the salt on the wound
Is that-
so does your wife,
Your mistress,
And everyone around you.
(gunshot)
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 7:00 AM UTC
And what about the days
that don't come,
or the Hours not spent
buying flowers from Edeka?
Where do they go?
Do they join Walter
in some daydreaming
intermittent reality?
Is the Time
evaporated by Entrepreneurs
burning our candles
at both ends to turn
steam driven carbines
for our adiabatic work
cycles underneath Caves of Steel?
Is it enough to live
part of someone else's
dream because we know
that our's Comes this
way Wicked?
Actuators, cogs, brain bit,
and organoids all on Chips
or ships setting sail
into rosy fingered robots
of dawn.
Ahoy mateys!
We set sail for a Manifest
Destiny without O Captain,
My Captain; though the civil
struggle continues dressed up
in some ******* suit.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 10:11 AM UTC
he eschewed the label,
“Native American,” for he was *****
and he wasn't ashamed he liked his spirits
dollar wine worked as well
cirrhosis was a family trait
though he didn't learn the word until an army doc
admonished him, saying he would earn the curse
by 45, if he kept it up
and he did, even more after that crazy
Asian war, where he killed a half dozen men
they called yellow, though to Walter, they looked
to be his emaciated brown cousins
he could stand tall, straight
with a pint of rot gut in him, burning
his belly, but not causing his head to spin
though it helped him block them out:
those he did not know; those he
slaughtered like lambs with the gun they issued him;
those who inhabited a space just behind his eyes
whenever they closed, night or day
someone found him, in his pickup bed
dead from exposure, from too many years
on the bottle, too many dreams he tried to drown
and too many ghosts to haunt his nights
Gallup, New Mexico, 1999
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC
babbling bard's borrowed blabberpolished performers jibber jabberpinching published stolen cultureverse of a cuckoo, parrot, or vulture thespian thrush corally crowspilfered produce of past masters proseperfect posture, prancing croondotty damsels sigh and swoon shakespearian showman strutting stagesobtaining material from dead poets pagesstudious stealer's theatrical thirstrapturous robber, magpie of verse wisely walter mundane mittypoetical poacher prancing prettyempty shallow pretentious crookcrafty criminal compiling book robber of rhyme from archival shelfcopy-cat crooner can't do it himselfrouted teeth spout from mouth like a troutaudience wonder, what is he on about any question's? the laurete quizzedyes said one,...do you know where the bog is? this is a true story, i was there. and the **** concerned is the editor of poetry wales magazine. who told me that i should study other peoples work for at least five years before i put pen to paper. i promptly answered, .... too late butty, i've already published 3 books, and sold the lot (only locally mind, but did'nt tell him that). he read other peoples poems that night, that were converted from english to welsh, and no one round here speaks or understands welsh.
Mar 2, 2010
Mar 2, 2010 at 12:36 PM UTC
Some people--
that is not everybody
Not even the majority but the minority.
Not counting the schools where one must,
and the poets themselves,
there will be perhaps two in a thousand.
Like--
but we also like chicken noodle soup,
we like compliments and the color blue,
we like our old scarves,
we like to have our own way,
we like to pet dogs.
Poetry--
but what is poetry.
More than one flimsy answer
has been given to that question.
And I don't know, and don't know, and I
cling to it as to a life line.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
North Charleston, South Carolina,
Officer Michael T. Slager fires
Eight SHOTS
At Mr. Walter L. Scott,
Unarmed and running away...
Detained for a traffic stop.
Simple math,
These bullets Eight
Into Mr. Scott:
Five Bullets found him:
Three in the back
One in the rear
One through an ear...
Three bullets whizzed away.
And when Scott fell,
Slager yanked his arms
Behind his back
To cuff his hands...
Ghosts don't take to cuffs
The shooting was enough.
I have not been a marcher,
But I have seen enough,
I have seen enough.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain,
Nor of the setting sun’s pathetic light
Engendered, hangs o’er Eildon’s triple height:
Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain
For kindred Power departing from their sight;
While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain,
Saddens his voice again, and yet again.
Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might
Of the whole world’s good wishes with him goes;
Blessings and prayers in nobler retinue
Than sceptred king or laurelled conqueror knows,
Follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true,
Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea,
Wafting your Charge to soft Parthenope!
1.5k
I heard someone whisper "he's such an arrogant ***** as I entered.
Those crooked sons of ******* don't have any idea,
I'm the kind you hardly ever come across except in winters,
when all the street rats are begging for heat.
I command attention at the head of the table,
I am the head of the table,
and sever the head to **** the municipal body.
The wigs and robes and gavels I accessorize command it too.
When I sign things I do it haughtily,
I carefully etch each and every ********* letter onto writs of demand.
I stand!
A hush lingers,
I catch the eyes of Walter Weiss, he lies with every breath
and did you know he is unfaithful to his wife? I heard.
the shudders are shut, my druthers. Oh, Walter!
notarize my forms of annexation, please.
and take down this:
To whom it may concern:
You have 7 days to remove yourself from the premises
as you are aware of the edict that preexists
and preempts your residence
and your squalor misrepresents
your laziness.
Signed: The holding powers, in eminence.
Oh Walter Weiss, address it to yourself!
I pride myself on tact.
And package with the writ this evidence form
sent to my office following a secret examination
conducted by the Department of Residential Safety and Heath.
Do not bother me with demoralizations, Walter!
Due to discourse with the Act of Discontinuation,
(which of course is subject to broad generalizations)
the lien sector of the Savings and Loan Association
have concluded you are found in violation of, through reasoning by generalization,
failing to pay duties on your mortgage issued by the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation.
Oh, Walter, how distressing!
Don't falter, acquiescing
is always the way.
Just never, ever forget to pay.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 4:43 PM UTC
Teeth chatter and butts raise above seats,
Riding pickups atop the corduroy road,
Thunder claps of rubber bass beats,
Slapping the undercarriage's rusty odes.
The tires rhythmic riffs are risky,
Clavinet keys echo wood beams over muddy water,
Walter Murphy drinks a Fifth of Beethoven's whiskey,
Leaving superstitions for Stevie to Wander.
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 1:26 AM UTC
Upon the work of Walter Landor
I am unfit to write with candor.
If you can read it, well and good;
But as for me, I never could.
1.5k
I always carry a pen in my pocket.
I watch I Love Lucy reruns when I’m upset.
Chocolate is my obsession, my “péché migon.”
I listen to quiet chatter and music without lyrics when I’m trying to focus.
I am far from a picky eater, but I cannot stand ketchup or licorice.
Watching Gilmore Girls religiously for five years taught me that life is too short to talk slowly enough for people to understand you.
I find the world hilarious.
Making it easy for people to laugh with me is my goal.
I ogle over Ducky from Pretty in Pink with my best friend every time I need a reminder that not all boys are ****
I want to walk down the aisle holding a bouquet of stargazer lilies, as my mom did before me, and I lose myself in Degas’ “L’étoile” every so often.
Burt’s Bees honey lip balm reminds me of my childhood Winnie-the-Pooh scratch-and-sniff book.
Every cup of Constant Comment tea, pair of jeans that fits perfectly, night spent listening to rain hit the roof, and run through damp grass with bare feet reminds me that life is beautiful.
Once, I ate so much pineapple I burned the lining of my mouth.
I cried the first time I heard “Save Us” by Cartel and saw the ending of Cyrano de Bergerac in French.
I am going to marry the genius who invented cinnamon brown sugar Pop Tarts.
Everyday, when I leave the house, I blow a kiss to the picture of Walter Payton my dad hung above the doorway to our garage.
When on vacation, my family and I buy pastries and coffee and walk in front of a jewelry store, attempting to recreate the scene from Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
Life should be a little crazy most of the time.
I may seem difficult to live with, but I’ve shared a room with my little sister for fifteen years, and she only hates me sixty-three percent of the time.
I hope that you are up for a few good laughs and an extraordinary year.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:37 PM UTC
How a humble son of Scotland
Fought to enviable height
First a paratrooper captain
Then as a British knight
This witty chap from Glasgow
Loaned himself, a decorated past
From Distinguished Service Order
To NATO's advisory cast
As the press took him in notice
His wiki posts drew no pity
As with his tale of valour
He was defamed: "Sir Walter Mitty"
Nov 12, 2019
Nov 12, 2019 at 10:48 PM UTC