On Harbor Street

I posted a challenge on our message board that resulted in the following poems. This was the challenge:

I put a list of things, or items, that had to appear in the poem. Not only were they to be used in order, but there could be just one thing or item per verse. Also, the poem was to have a theme and couldn't be just five separate verses.

This was the list...


a man or woman's hat

Harbor Street

a water-stained bank check

porch steps

yesterday's newspaper

I thought the results were very good and if you like what you read, let the poet know. Everyone likes feedback.

By Marilyn (LaraOct7@aol.com)


On Harbor Street

She wore her red hat like a banner.
Announcing to all..."I am here!"
With a very officious manner,
She's in charge, that much is clear.

Head Teller at the Bay Avenue bank,
In the Harbor street branch.
Her visage was usually dank,
She lived in a split level ranch.

She smirked and said; "It's no good.
This water stained bank check you've got."
And with that she jumped up and stood.
Thinking, "This must be some sort of a plot!"

After work, up her porch steps she ran.
Trying to remember that name,
He looked so sneaky that old man,
She wondered what was his game?

She spotted yesterday's newspaper,
On the front, a picture she spied.
"Mr Jones drowned, famous landscaper"
That guy with the check, he had died.

She didn't sleep well that night,
Or for many nights after that.
At least she felt she was right.
She didn't cash his check,,,,
when the dead man in front of her sat!

By Swampetta (SWAMPETTA@aol.com)


On Harbor Street

A long hard day it had been,
As home from work I came.
Huh, what is this?
My brown fedora on the steps.

Up and down Harbor Street I did scan
As the house was empty
Where had my family gone,
My hat on the steps, what was going on?

The kitchen was all neat,
No supper preparation I did see,
As I went into the dining room
And for the mail did look.

A water stained blank bank check
On the table lay,
It was the same series as
The ones in our checking account.

I went outside, out the back door,
And tripped and fell down the back porch steps.
I got up and my glasses I did find,
I had tripped over, yesterday’s newspaper.

Whoa, huh, I did yell as
That paper I had read,
But why it was a sun-faded one,
Lying on our back steps?

I shook my head and scratched it,
With both hands I did,
Wondering what in the world
Was going on?

The wife’s car was in the garage,
The childrens' bikes in the rack.
The wife’s apron was hanging on the peg
And there my slippers were.

I was all bumfuzzled, wondering
What on earth prevails?
As to the fridge I did go
And saw a note,
Stuck there for me.

Hurry and wash and to the school do come,
Tonight is the program
And spaghetti dinner they are a serving.
I shook my head and wondered.

But my hat, my good Sunday hat,
Why was it on the front steps?
What was it doing there?
And why was the house open?

I quickly washed and to the school did go,
But alas, oh lord,
No one was at the school,
All the doors were locked.

By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)


On Harbor Street

Bridget was wearing a man's hat.
The German Shepherd patiently on the porch sat.

Down Harbor Street came her owner with a Wal-Mart sack.
Bridget watched her approach, but didn't turn her back.

At her feet lay a water-stained bank check with ink smeared a bit.
She had slobbered on it, but its owner was not bit.

Down the porch steps came Bridget to greet her owner that day.
It was alright because she hadn't been asked to stay.

Yesterday's newspaper held the news.
Bridget had nabbed a forger who got his due.

By Phyllis Ann (Starbird55@msn.com)


On Harbor Street

His hat blew off his balding pate
He gave it a mighty chase
Stumbling he fell it was his fate
Bruising bad his handsome face

The hat rolled down old Harbor street
Faster and faster it rolled
He got off the ground to his feet
So the sad story was told

Just as he went to chase his hat
Saw a water-stained bank check
Said out loud just think of that
Will cash it at bank oh heck

Arriving at the bank's porch step
Wondered if he should go in
Gave himself a talking of pep
Could it be this was a sin

An article he did recall
Yesterday's newspaper read
It was against legal court law
Took check to police instead

By Sharon (Sunyskys1943@aol.com)


On Harbor Street

It sailed right off the turnip truck,
It blew right off her head,
A tattered old straw hat of yellow,
Given to her by a neighbor fella.

They were rolling down Harbor Street,
The market was just ahead,
They had turnips and taters to sell,
Hopin' for enough to pay their bills.

Out of the truck, across the street,
What's this? A water-stained bank check,
One hundred dollars, how neat!
Enough for new jeans and pork meat.

Back home and up the porch steps,
Screen-door's torn, steps need fixin'...
Guitar music over by the swing,
Uncle Bill singin' and doing his thing.

Friday morning comes early,
Hot biscuits and crisp fried bacon,
Yesterday's newspaper on the table,
Lost bank check, REWARD. Call Mable.

By Marilyn (LaraOct7@aol.com)


On Harbor Street

Lakeside, a miss with a pink parasol,
Blushed at the sight of a man's straw hat,
Under that hat she now again saw
The face of a grown-up school days' brat.

She remembered him from Harbor Street School,
How he teased her, pulled her chestnut hair,
She knew he wanted attention,
But she feigned she just didn't care.

A water-stained bank check now fluttered
To her feet with brat's signature.
Now she must pay attention,
Of course, to be honest - return it for sure.

Still blushing she approached that straw hat.
"This is yours, I do believe, sir."
So pleased, he walked her to her porch steps
Rekinded, blushing, too, his heart all astir.

Next morning he kissed her farewell,
Picked from the porch yesterday's newspaper.
Now parasol and straw hat have five little boys.
They call it the "Lakeside Caper."

By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)





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