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Best Poems Written by Robert Stoner Jr

Below are the all-time best Robert Stoner Jr poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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A Grand American Tradition

Voting day at long last has arrived.
Scrambling through closet,
a cavernous space in accumulation.
In the deepest darkest corner, 
purpose achieved, 
garnering my three by five inch American flag,
glorious yet demure.

This my opportunity to come out of the closet,
unveiled, exposed,
an upstanding silent majority American patriot.

Flag of three colors in one hand,
timeless roll of duct tape in other
the symbol of freedom to be bound, 
respectfully, securely,
to the antenna of my auto.

Such a glorious noble sight, a parade of one,
yet millions in situ
as neighbors shutter their mind blinds
and lock their doors.
I stand in awe.

Engorged excitement, dressed in best suit and tie.
My faded red sixty five Subaru,
now Lincoln Continental morphed in patriotism,
rolls thirty five miles per hour.
No more, no less under rule of law,
this a day of national law compliance as no other.

The voting station strategically positioned adjacent
the county landfill, shimmers in the radiance of liberty,
or perhaps toxic landfill gas.
This a singular psychedelic acid rush vision.

Donald Trump greeted me as I entered the hallowed hall,
remarking, I was no pussy.
I thought he'd be taller,
he bid me entrance.

The Lions Club was hosting a pancake breakfast,
I declined as my stomach was bound in knots of anticipation. 

Hillary Clinton reposed behind the official card table,
smiling her trademark look of resplendent surprise,
a true Duracell Energizer Bunny moment.
Requesting my voter identification,
I offered my newest library card.
She said , “This will do fine!”
then directed to the corner of the round room.
There Mike Pence and Tim Kaine 
held an olive drab
army surplus blanket on high,
securing the area of vote and privacy.

I walked the distance in miles of quaking Jello,
breathless, 
quivering linoleum tiles beneath my feet.
Beaming in political grandeur 
they parted the drapery to the hallowed area within.

There on a table resplendent in national pride
rested two wicker baskets,
one of apples, one of oranges.
I made my predetermined selection
shakily, placed it reverently into
the white porcelain receptacle 
strategically occupying the table center.

Radiating patriotism, eyes aglow, 
I strode proudly as a contributing citizen,
in the land of choice and freedom,
toward the exit door.
Vladimir Putin placed an “I Voted” sticker
on my chest as a medal of honor for all to see and envy.

I drove away,
looking back to savor the moment one last time.
I glimpsed Barrack Obama
pushing a heaping wheelbarrow of fruit
into the landfill for the final tallying of the vote.

A grand American tradition fulfilled.

Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©
10/25/16

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Choice Each Day

God given, Ten Commandments understood,
Divine plan in word, for man's guidance all.
Gods' rules of life, not options if you should,
commandments to prepare man for his call.

No other idols, gods, nor name in vain,
Steal not, adultery nor slander be.
To honor parents, Sabbath, dare not bane,
man shall not covet what he wants nor see.

Temptation, weakness mire man and his will,
ten simple rules most difficult it seems.
Greed and ambition man's heart to distill,
they hinder man's lives, interfere with dreams.

Ten commandments to abide or to stray,
a never, always, sometimes, choice each day.


Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©
2/15/16

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Little Donald's Tale

Donald, what are you doing with all those trash cans?
Building a wall Mom, I have some great plans.
Don't worry Mom the neighbor will pay,
I'll make our yard a safe place to play.

I'll charge the mailman an import tax,
worked a great deal for our garbage sacks.
Our Mexican lawn man now has legal egress,
home schooling the rule with more recess.

Band aids and aspirin from now on are free,
you and sister Suzie guaranteed equality.
Allowances will raise to a living wage,
I increased our security with a pit bull named Rage.

We're going to win Mom, like never before,
we'll live with the neighbors in mutual rapport.
Your going to love it when I take reign,
I'm going to make home great again.


Robert Gene Stoner Jr
5/8/16  ©

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One Lone Oak

In a land of rolling gentle hill,
grass of rich green scents embrace,
cotton clouds drift in parade.
One lone oak crowns a summit,
regal on blue sky's horizon.
From under spread canopy 
a small voice is heard in question.

“Father will I soon be grand as you?”

“Patience my son, you are but a sapling
risen in Spring's promise, 
your time now just begun.
Think not of your destination,
but the journey that lies before you.
This is a time to sink your roots deep,
draw from the rich earth her gift of life.
Grow strong and straight in full bloom.
Learn to stand in strength of challenge,
yet bend when need calls.
For in your time winds will change,
gentle breeze will sing of peace,
and gales will speak of distant war.

Embrace the falling rain as giver of life,
but reach deep your roots with knowledge,
lest floods attempt to wash you away.
Spread your branches wide in invitation,
filled with sweet fruit in open offer.
For you are the provider of those in need,
your reward will be the song of life.
They will come to seek your embrace,
your days filled with song and family.

As seasons roll like waves upon the sea,
fear not the long cold Winter's sleep.
Rest well of clear conscience,
for Spring's morning will come in renewal.
Life is but a day,
the sun rises and shall set.
Through you my son I shall live on,
for you are of my fallen fruit.”

So it was the young sapling grew.
Season upon season strong and tall,
through the old oaks message of life.
In a land of rolling gentle hill,
grass of rich green scents embrace,
cotton clouds drift in parade.
One lone oak crowns a summit.

               ~

Youth is a time of growth and learning,
seek strength yet be not unbending.
Make knowledge your foundation,
for wisdom is a guiding light.
Live in peace and harmony
and give freely to those in need.
To friends and family offer your embrace,
for life is but a day.


Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©
7/11/16

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Drag Race

The day has come, weeks and countless dollars invested in this moment.
All preparations have been made.
A myriad of nuts and bolts, inspected, tightened to torque.
Fluids fresh, topped to level, tire pressure lowered... maximum traction.
In rank and file I now sit filled with anticipation, fear, expectation.
This is the opportunity, test my El Camino, test myself.
Not just an El Camino to me, a shameful, prideful thing.
Nurtured and caressed through good times and bad.
An extension of hopes and dreams, a shared journey.
More than steel or monetary investment, an extension of self.
The sound of racers precedes me with each ensuing race... I move forward.
Loud speakers brashly announce events and results to enthusiastic spectators.
Calls of encouragement, support, pummel the track of competition.
Suddenly my name fills the air, with pride and anticipation...my time has come.
Two cars rumble in unison, a final turn to face the long black lane.
In slow roll through waiting water pit, then slam the accelerator to the floor.
Engine explodes in violent fury... burn out.
The car shudders under the sudden imposed force, tires scream as clouds of smoke envelope.
Traction found, the car charges forward, 
to be wrenched to stop short of the light tree.
The smell of burned rubber chokes my lungs.
An explosion of equal fury, rages to my right.
Two cars creep to the staging line.
My car strains for release, surging ever harder.
Inches at a time I roll forward seeking the staging lights yellow glow.
Time stands still, two cars have staged in roaring crescendo.
Rumble, shudder, heart pounding, the goal so distant yet only one quarter mile away.
I am alone in a tunnel, lights flash down the tree.
Amber, amber, amber.
Engine at high idle, brakes struggle to reign in the waiting power.
Mind and heart tighten to task...Green Light.
More instinct than decision, release brake, drive the accelerator hard to floor.
Driven back into the seat, tires scream in need of grip then a surging leap forward.
Speed builds as engine roars, slam of gears in smooth progression, engine whining to near explosion.
The long black lane is my world, my life.
As if in flight, I move through space.
Building speed in steady force, all a blur on each side,
I dare not view the speedometer.
Nothing of import but a lighted sign ahead, the finish line, glory calls.
In forced effort to relax, let the car work, just guide in controlled chaos.
The heart reaches out to pull to end...then it's over.
Exhilaration, I am a junky in first rush, adrenaline flows in warm wash.
Coasting now, breaking, rolling to the track exit.
Retrieval of my time slip, joy or disappointment awaits, success is measured in tenths of seconds.
Thoughts of my next run burn hot within.

Robert Gene Stoner Jr
5/19/16 ©

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Baseball Trash Can Cats Vs Downtown Stray

Here we are fans this fine summer day,
to watch Trash Can Cats, versus Downtown Stray.
The field is grand in this deep wooded glen,
pitchers are warming up in the bull pen.

Pitching for the Cats is Crazy Legs Lynx,
his pitching fast and usually sinks.
Throwing for Strays is lefty Greyhound,
he’s tall and lanky but throws very sound.

Dogs take the field, Manx cat at the plate, 
the balls streaking by, he’s swinging too late.
Three strikes he’s out, Greyhound’s having a day,
the Bobtail cat will be next up to play. 

First pitch is low, ump calls it a ball,
the next one’s inside, a very close call.
Greyhound next pitches a ball with great speed,
Bobtail cat swings, bat up to the deed.

High into the air the baseball did soar,
Rocky Retriever swift ran to the chore.
Over the fence it finally had spun,
Cats have the early lead zero to one.

Sam Siamese next hit to first base,
Billy Beagle was right in his place.
Tagged Sam Siamese, out by a snout,
going to be a tough game without a doubt.

Black Bombay was next to at bat,
this was a dangerous black batting cat.
Greyhound threw three balls, speed lighting fast,
Black Bombay cat was not long to last.

Ok fans, Trash Can Cats take the field,
Downtown Stray, the bat skillfully to wield.
First up at bat will be Pauly the Pug,
he’s a bit short but oh boy can he slug.

Crazy Legs Lynx lets a ball go,
Pauly Pug drew back but was a bit slow.
The next ball was placed for Pauly just grand,
Pauly bunted, on first base he did land.

Freddy Fox Hound will next take at bat,
eyeing the pitcher he’ll cream that fast cat,
The next pitch did come blazing toward him,
curving left to right his chances were slim.

The crack of the bat and off the ball went, 
into left field the ball, quickly, was sent.
Left fielder Maine Coon cat ran for the ball,
Pauly Pug on first base never did stall.

Pug rounded the bases, a cloud of dust,
running for home plate, as he knew he must.
Russian Blue cat was catching home plate,
Maine Coon cats throw just a bit late.

Pauly Pug crossed the plate, the score was tied,
Freddy Fox Hound gave that ball quite a ride.
The next two Stray batters went down in smoke,
an epic baseball game, this is no joke.

The afternoon wore on, battle royal,
both teams competing with highest moral.
Pitchers dueling in highest degree,
all of their skill for everyone to see.

We come at last to the bottom of nine,
Trash Can Cats now weren’t doing so fine.
The score in the ninth still tied one to one,
if Downtown dogs scored the game would be done.

Springer Spaniel up to take his turn,
three times passed Spaniel that fast ball would burn.
Dan Dachshund followed, next in the order,
three pitches all strikes, right on the border.

Bulldog next up, last hold out of hopes,
with slow confidence, to the plate he lopes.
Bulldog practices a swing, thunderous might,
set not to go home a loser tonight.

Stepped to the plate, gave the pitcher a glare,
planning a hit with no mercy to spare.
The first pitch a blur no chance for a swing,
went so fast, he didn’t see the darn thing.

Next pitch was low and they called it a ball,
he stepped off the plate, the pitcher to stall.
Here came a pitch it curved to inside,
Bulldog took a big swing, losing his pride.

Then two more balls were to follow that day,
three balls two strikes on the count they would say.
Next pitch coming, he could see the darn thing,
he reared back and gave his most vicious swing.

The crack of the bat shocked even him,
the Trash Can Cats future now looked dim.
Howe Himalayan cat ran at top speed,
so hoping to catch this game winning deed. 

The crowd were all standing, waiting to see,
the out come this blast from Bulldog would be.
The ball flew so high, then began to fall,
finally landed way over the wall.

The crowd gave a cheer and shouted as one, 
the Downtown Stray had successfully won.
Both teams met in the middle of the field,
shaking of hands, their friendship was sealed.


Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©

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Gone Fishing - Get Your Seuss On

Such a wonderful sunny day of a day,
walking along in my walkiest way.
Waving to birds as they sing in the tree,
each song so special, just for me.

I came upon a sparkling lake,
under a shade tree a rest I would take.
On the softest grass in the coolest shade,
a fishing pole I soon cleverly made.

A stick of twisted crookedest wood,
from my pocket some string, tied best as I could.
A feather was found, just what I sought,
tied to the string with my knottiest knot.

Into the pond went feather and string,
slowly to shore the feather to bring.
Just as I hoped a fish followed it in,
he looked up at me and gave me a grin.

He was blue and gold in the silvery sun,
with spots then stripes where the spots were done.
Bright green eyes so large and clear,
small red fins with a large tail to steer.

“Where is the worm and the hidden hook?”
he asked me in a strangest fishiest look.
I smiled and replied, “That's not my task,
only some chat and friendship I ask.”

He leaped in the water, did a flippity flip,
splashed me with water till I did drip.
We laughed and laughed at his folly and fun,
but our time together had just begun.

We chatted about weather and the cool blue pond,
family and friends we held so fond.
Shared a sandwich of jelly and bread,
while he talked of fish schools and things that he said.

Finally the time came to say goodbye,
the string from my pole I did untie.
String in my pocket, feather to ground,
a handshake and smile to my new friend found.

Back on my path down the grassy lane,
perhaps one day I would return again.
Such a wonderful sunny day of a day,
walking along in my walkiest way. 

Robert Gene Stoner Jr
5/13/16 ©

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Walls of Destiny

Walls wash through as waves
imposing, interceding my thoughts.
Embodied in opaque transparent panes
maze shadows distract my steps.
Setting stone to mortar without end
walls rise as fast as they fall,
alleyways, ever changing, prowl my mind.
Indifferent to my purpose they shift
open and close my course at will.
Chaos ensues at imposed barriers, 
mind in turmoil seeks trapdoors of escape.
Am I prisoner or refugee of four walls?
A new pathway opens unbidden
yet past matters lie unresolved.
By who’s design reign the opening
rising and falling of my mind walls?
Is it my choice after all to choose
or by unseen influence or force.
My thoughts are but gossamer dust in drift,
moats, floating through the walls of destiny.


Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©
2/21/16

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Life On Mars

Six tiny feet softly padded through dark passage,
inherent sensory abilities guide the way.
Sight, smell, taste gleaned in clearest detail.
The ancient surface society, once quite different,
shed optic devices in the imposed subterranean life.
One little Martian was on a walk,
a favored pastime of his kind.
Mars now a labyrinth of tunnels and caverns,
built by the Early Ones after the Great Storm.
Once a lush world of fauna and waterways,
the Great Storm pummeled and scorched the planet.
In retreat to the safety of underground havens,
society adapted through vast ages and thrived.
Mars now airless, cold, devoid of water,
held great resources deep under the surface.
Huge reservoirs of mineral rich water,
flora in abundance produced sweet oxygen.
Free of ancient distractions, wealth, property, war,
Martian interest lay in art, music, and social bonding.
Life in a secure world devoid of harmful influence, 
allowed and encouraged travel and interaction.
New born Martians developed quickly to self sustain, 
family units would then disband to travel, once again.
Exploring the galleries of Mars, creating new unions,
a population, one family, strong and unified in purpose.
Martian life was rich in song, art, and oral lore,
experience passed from citizen to citizen freely.
Each new enclave offered welcome and opportunity,
a place of safety, home, open to all.
The spirit of life thrived and brought contentment,
in social unity all prospered of body and soul.
Six tiny feet softly padded through dark passage,
excited, filled with hope for what was in wait.


Robert Gene Stoner Jr
5/11/16 ©

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Decisions of Love

Germany post World War II,
torn, impoverished.
Ruled by Marshal Law,
imposed by the victorious.
Occupational forces walk
the rubble streets.
Civilians cower
in fear,
in hunger,
uncertainty.

A farm boy, Ohio bred,
cook in the US Army.
Young, handsome,
veteran to his country’s cause.
Viewed the hunger daily,
with sympathetic eye.
Spirited surplus loaves
to a fraulein in the night.
Young, attractive,
veteran to her country’s cause.
In times passing,
a union of hearts
bore true.
Circumstances and events,
crumbled as walls of ash.
Love burned, 
marriage,
a journey to America.

A factory worker and immigrant wife,
began life together.
Poor, yet rich,
by their own device.
Lain was the foundation of family,
children were born.
Middle class Americans,
living the American dream.
A time of gentle values,
hope burned bright.

There were visits to the homeland,
through the passing years.
Ursula’s family united,
in her childhood home.
The aged father,
veteran of two World wars,
industrial fame, 
long past.
Aged brownstone,
cobbled streets,
lake garden lush.
Young son running in lederhosen
with neighborhood children.
Now speaking German,
learned from the echoes
of Bremen streets.
Fishing for eel,
carrying milk from the dairyman.

An American family,
children raised,
grandchildren.
Life was fulfilling,
dreams were realized.

Now grown,
parents passed,
retired.
In retrospect,
decisions of love,
time and place,
set the stage of my life,
as I sip my Starbucks.
Instead of drinking coffee
in the cafes of Berlin.

 Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©
1/11/16