Poetry

Cider Country

Picking apples was his vocation
Pressed into cider and sold across the nation
Hundreds of trees, all but one planted before his time
One that’s since grown too tall to climb
A head above the rest, stood the young and mighty tree
Causing strife for the picker and his knobbly knees

The secret of its growth hidden below
Too deep to be picked at by the circling crows
Entangled by the hungry roots, lies the pickers wife
She found apples too bitter, and so he took her life

 

‘Cider Country’ is a poem about a passionate apple picker whose family have been picking at the orchard for generations, who we find out killed his wife in a rage because she was critical about the bitterness of one of the apples. An attempt at some dark humour in this poem with the absurd motivation and the bluntness with which the murder is revealed.

© 2018
Photo via Pixabay CC0

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Poetry

Going to State

“Going to State!” he would proudly boast
A life of luxury and speeding down the coast
Impulsive, wild and enjoying the gifts of youth
Left scattered on asphalt was a girl named Ruth

An uncouth mind, restrained and locked
Decades of grey calmed and ceased all talk
Alone with the bars, he soon called his friends
Given his freedom, but it felt like the end

 

‘Going to State’ is about a reckless young athlete who inadvertently causes the death of a  girl named Ruth, and how he went to prison and became institutionalized. The whole poem basically serves as a cautionary tale.

© 2018
Photo via Pixabay CC0

Poetry

On Valentine’s

On Valentine’s, seven men stand along a brick wall.
Albert Kachellek, stands firm and tall.
Blood boiling beneath a stoic face,
The right hand determined to die with grace.

On Valentine’s, seven men stand along a brick wall.
John May, can do nothing but bawl.
Just the mechanic with a wife is his plea,
They reply with a laugh, that drips with horrid glee.

On Valentine’s, seven men stand along a brick wall.
Reinhardt Schwimmer, who the races had enthralled.
An optician with debt up to his eyes,
Accepts that he was destined for a bloody demise.

On Valentine’s, seven men stand along a brick wall.
Peter Gusenberg, whose sins could no longer be numbed by the alcohol.
Men, Women, Children. Had all felt his wrath,
Now a tired man shall pay for his odious path.

On Valentine’s, seven men stand along a brick wall.
Albert Weinshank, whose choice of coat and hat, prevented Moran’s downfall.
Capone’s hit thwarted by a similar taste in clothes,
So now Mrs Weinshank shall receive a rose.

On Valentine’s, seven men stand along a brick wall.
Adam Heyer, counts the bricks, waiting for whate’er befalls.
The bookkeeper who was happy to look the other way,
But on this day, he has been made the prey.

On Valentine’s, seven men stand along a brick wall.
Frank Gusenberg, outlasted them all.
Fourteen bullets and yet without a second thought,
When asked by police, he proclaimed he hadn’t been shot.

 

A poem about the Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre. I realise that its nowhere near Valentine’s Day but I couldn’t be bothered to wait until then to post this. Please let me know your thoughts in the comments.

© 2018
Photo via Pixabay CC0