TWO JIVE TURKEYS
HOUR NINE
POEM # 9
24 HOUR
POEM
MARATHON
TWO JIVE TURKEYS
Two jive turkeys,
Herky and Jerky.
Wanted some smack,
They had the jack!
No smack lit up a weed,
You need some feed.
Man you are square,
I am, at least I care.
Smack makes us high,
Get some, watch us fly!
Soon were out of sight,
Later got into a fight.
Now sitting in jail,
Bed, blanket and pail!
Still no smack or weed,
They have some feed!
Written by Carl Mann
The kurlman
6-13-2015
I. Wanta & Wee Nita
When Irma Juanta was about 4 or 5,
Or was it 3 or 4?
What year was that again?
The year that she was born?
Oh yeah, that’s right, borrow the 1,
Replace the 3,
then subtract 9…
…which brings us to the age of…
wait…that cant be right…
…hmm…oh well, it doesn’t matter, we’ll say she was ten,
that’s fine (if I’m a few years off, I’m quite sure she won’t mind)
Anyway, where was I?
Ah yes! Dear, sweet, little Irma,
(who went by I. Juanta, by the way)
always wished she could own everything,
just because the T.V. said.
And if say, the tele-tube was to show, i dunno… a blue sled,
And even though there was no defect or flaw with the one she already had, (it was red)
She would take it, break it, and would stash the pieces beneath her bed.
And then dare her mother not buy her a blue one!
If a rare display of parental nerve, a simple “No,” had she said
You’d better hide the wire hangers, Joan Crawford!
I. Juanta would emit a wail so loud,
And with a shrillness that could raise the dead
So loud that you’d need an Advil, even though you live on the other side of town
Meanwhile, since we’re on the other side of town
I’ll introduce to you another tiny child,
Her name was Anita, and the poor girl’s family was quite wild.
…And when I say wild, I really don’t mean to sound vile-
It’s just…well, it’s nothing offensive at all, really, for the fact Anita is a crocodile.
Just in case that fact there, happened to make-a you smile,
I regret to inform you that, surely, the end-part will…
…make-a you cry-le.
(Don’t judge me for having to make up a word, No, not today, no Sir.
Not when applause is deserved, to reward my ability to stylize such beauty
from an idea this absurd)
Poor, poor Anita was little, and some might say she was itty-bitty,
So all her classmates at school called her Wee Nita…
Which brought down her self-esteem and generally just made her feel plain sh*tty.
And to make matters worse, Even for being so very small,
In spite of all the makeup and fake hair she wore,
She wasn’t pretty, not even a blind person would hit on, not pretty at all.
So there’s Wee Nita, right in the swamp, right? Living in filth with nothing nice or fancy;
Existing on only the things she requires.
Then there’s I. Juanta, right? And she’s spoiled rotten, and gets everything she desires.
By the way, in case you were wondering,
Which one of these two heroines, history most admires?
Well, see what had happened was just this let’s just say this:
Well I heard, that I. Juanta met Wee Nita…
…and an altercation transpired.
I hate to say it, but KeKe said that from the looks of things
Although in size comparison, To Wee Nita,
I. Wanta. Stood like a tower
But it was necessity that moved Wee Nita,
And I. Wanta became the wanted
I. Wanta got devoured.
9. Inventory
Living half a century
Allows me to perceive
The beauty of my life
The test of growing up
The relief to obtain a degree
The pleasure to travel the world
The excitement of getting married
The miracle of being a happy mother
The delight of having an artistic daughter
The blessings of a talented son studying abroad
The honor to serve my church and the community
The acceptance to realize what I have and don’t have
The challenge to publish my memoir in a foreign language
The desire to finish my Bilingual Children Book Collection
The pleasure to publish my first Bilingual Poetry Book
The chance to be me and the energy to live one more day…
Thank you Lord!
(Free Verse 2015@ 5:20 p.m.)
Consume-ation
She’s a pyre of prettiness;
burned by her own excess.
Suppression-caused
combustion colours her cheeks.
He is quiet quality;
a solid sort of human,
who dresses his sadness like death
and hides happiness in plain view.
#9
We walk a line.
Sometimes it feels like a straight line.
Sometimes it feels like we’re walking in circles.
Retracing steps, going backwards,
searching for the right signs,
we walk a line.
We take it slow, we try to run,
but there is no jumping forward,
no skipping steps,
thought we might sleep through a few,
if we’re not ready.
There is a clear beginning
and a clear end.
First – not by choice,
second – unavoidable either way.
But what if, the line we walk
is really a circle,
and death is not the end,
but a new beginning?
Lonely, Old Shoe
Lonely, old shoe
in the alley,
where did you come from?
Are you all alone in this world?
Where is your match?
Is the other of you lost, too?
Did your owner leave you behind?
For what reason?
Were you too small?
Too big?
Too broken?
Or just in the way?
Or are you meticulously placed here?
Was your owner in trouble?
Did she have to fling you off to escape an offender, or officer?
Were you left behind on a trail
for someone to find your owner,
like Cinderella tale?
Were you ripped off of your owner by a dog?
Were you flung off in a heat of passion,
never to be found again?
Or was your owner pretending you were hidden treasure,
that was lost track of in the midst of play?
Whenever you came from,
I bid to leave you where you lie.
Perhaps your owner will return,
and you will have a reunited cry.
Lonely, old shoe in the alley,
all my current best I am sending.
Lonely, old shoe in the alley,
I wish you a Happy Ending.
Treasures (hour 9, 5:04pm)
I have a time
to give you.
I have a moment to spare,
thanks to the clock
on the mantel.
I want you to know
that once,
I adored you.
Once I left you
in charge of the children,
and you let them
go astray.
You led them away
from me.
My dogs are tired,
and the heat
takes a toll.
I used to want more
than the average bear,
I used to strive
toward Jupiter.
I wanted to walk
on Saturn’s sandy rings,
and deploy my parachute
on Mars.
I’ve mountains to cross,
rivers to ford.
I’ve kissed the waves
on two oceans,
and dipped my toes
in the Mediterranean Sea.
It was there that the fossil
I found, I took home,
and bound by its secrets,
I buried it.
There is no place
like the home you dig into,
and the place you put
old treasures.
And I’ve a lot of bags
of dust crusted things,
and tomes of forgotten
memories.
Poetry Prompt Eight: We Need
We need more time, we need to feel fine, we need more police and less crime, we need to at least feel safe, we need bravery, not slavery, or more reserves for The Army or The Navy. We need clean water, we need to protect our sons and daughters, we need our own bricks and mortar, and probably, kinda, sorta, we need to speak up. We need to hold our chins up high, to explain who, where, when, which, what and why, we need to stop for a moment and try, we need to feel alive. We need air, we need to care, see how we fair, we need to stop telling others to sit down, or to shut up, we need to stop cutting up our brothers and sisters, we need to stop cheating and lying to our misses or misters. We need to be true, we need to find out each clue and we need to help each other when we can only see black or a very deep blue. We need to stop staring, doe eyed at screens, we need to listen to each others screams, we need to clean up our acts, react, intact with the universe, each other and in fact we have a need, in a classless society, for less greed and more people freed, sowing the seeds of knowledge, a steed worthy of carrying our nations, intertwined because we need each other to love, to have and to hold, we need to be bold, and as lost as we are, if we listen real close, we can each hear the ghost of that need, the list of the never ending things we are convinced “we need.”
Cooking and writing (hour 9)
Time has come to make dinner
pots rolling, the flames growling
Water boiling
meat prepped
time to get the dinner going
Words need to flow
before the hour go
need to settle in
to get in the groove to get the 10th hour going
Children screaming
Husband call
Dogs Barking
The neighbor call for some assistance
My hands are full
now what do I do
there is so much to do
music playing
breaking my concentration to sort my word
Jolted , bumped, pissed
and all why not just
throw in the towel
call it a day
roll over in my bed
cover my head
and go to sleep , oh sleep so sweet and beautiful