Best Angriest Poems
I guess I’m more accustomed to the modern sting these days;
the one that comes by e-mail or the phone.
They might hurt the pocket with the modern scamming ways -
but Mother Nature’s stings bite to the bone.
I’m talking ‘bout a paper wasp,
or the angriest of bull-ant;
perhaps a hornet or a bee,
and that Queensland stinging plant.
I could be in the scrub casting out a fishing line,
or relaxed while I stand beside a tree
without a thought, but ignorant to a home that isn’t mine,
and its residents who start attacking me.
I’m talking ‘bout assertive spiders;
that little blighter jumping jack.
Damn mosquitoes and march flies,
and scorpions sometimes attack.
It may be every few years, but there does come a time,
when backyards need a bit of cleaning out,
so there will be disturbance that is not a pantomime,
and lackadaisical is not what it’s about.
I’m talking ‘bout stinging nettle,
or prickly pear annoying hairs.
The European Wasp and chiggers,
and white-tail spider toxin scares.
When fishing in an estuary; the beach or in a bay,
you never know what bounty it can bring.
You’ll always have a fighting fish trying to get away,
and some of them can give a nasty sting.
I’m talking ‘bout butterfly gurnard;
the torture of a sand flathead spike.
Feeling of pain after sunset,
and a victim when biting midges strike.
Some might be quite obtrusive - and some a fine-looking thing,
but they all come with a warning - I’m talking ‘bout the sting.
Back When Lost Love, Sent Its Deepest Sad Moans
Once when life seemed to be a bitter waste
love had failed, left its first unsavory taste,
sky had fallen into a hard heartache blue
when misery had a name, its face was you!
Back when lost love, sent its deepest sad moans
Heartache and long nights echoed loudest groans
Every step taken showered deeper hurts
sorrows and woes grew in midnight spurts
moon laughed at this soul's feeble cries
hellish dark curses fell from black skies!
Back when lost love, sent its deepest sad moans.
Heartache and long nights echoed loudest groans.
Back when dawn's light woke a fallen fool
a malignant lump, a sad useless tool
sun sent down fire, in its angriest rays
those were cutting blades of torturing days!
Back when lost love, sent its deepest sad moans.
Heartache and long nights echoed loudest groans.
Back then, your sweet smile was lost to me
love had fled, life was as a fallen tree
nature complied and sent in its wasting decay
desires cried for you, yet darkness held its sway!
Back when lost love, sent its deepest sad moans.
Heartache and long nights echoed loudest groans.
Once when life seemed to be a bitter waste
love had failed, left its first unsavory taste,
sky had fallen into a hard heartache blue
when misery had a name, it face was you!
Back when lost love, sent its deepest sad moans.
Heartache and long nights echoed loudest groans.
R.J. Lindley,
April 15th, 1974
Dark Rhyme, (when found, darkest of dark, bluest of blues)
Note- Presented as originally composed-- no edits..
This was written while in the deepest darkest abyss, I've ever known.
One that took me six long years to climb out of (1980) ...
10-21-12
Like Sally I sense tragedy’s at hand
For this heart can only sew so much
Until all string is used to the last strand
Hanging dolls staring at my lonesome self
I wish I was more than what they see
If only they’d welcome me on their shelf
My porcelain skin would win over all
Inanimate beings look alive at my face
As I let my angriest plastic tear fall
I can’t be SxTxIxTxCxHxExD this time. . .
I can’t be displayed. . .
I can’t remove the grime
I’ve become the doll
And we all sense the worst
A happy ending for them all
And when they finally welcome me to their shelf
It is empty and caked with dust
Leaving me staring. . . at MxYxSxExLxF
Like Sally I sensed tragedy at hand
But unlike her, that’s how I stay
I stay. I stay. I stay.
SxTxOxP. . .
IxT IxS SxTxAxRxIxNxG AxGxAxIxN. . .
SxHxE WxOxNxT LxExT MxE SxLxExExP
SxHxE HxAxTxExS MxE. . .
It wields misery like a knife. And there's no magic wand to be waved
To make it fade into oblivion. It leaves me suddenly hankering
For the halcyon days of summer. There isn't enough warmth saved
It's chillingly cold, and I can't shake my incessant shivering
'Tis a cold, cold winter. Brutal as can be, and summer seems far away
Oh, how it keeps hovering in the air like a flickering hummingbird
Days are quite long. Time, as still as the snow covering my doorway
Am I supposed to grin and bear it? Carry on day after day undeterred?
It wields misery like a knife. The gust of wind it blows is terrible
I wish for rain to rid the onslaught of snow, it's white hue is blinding
Is this winter at it's angriest? The misery it has unleashed is insufferable
Rays of afternoon sun shall dissolve it sooner than later, I'm hoping
I yearn for spring, in all its glory. It will arrive before long, I pray
Cold, cold winter, please, please, please; finally be on your way
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Sponsored by Brian Strand (Winner: 1st Place)
Date written and posted: 03/26/2016
I was told by my uncle Steve
that I descended from a prince;
word spread through the medieval town,
then all the single girls chased me
around every corner...I heard them giggling.
Blue blood flows in my veins,
that Coat Of Arms can attest this fact;
Frederick II must have given to a valorous knight,
I can imagine how he felt accepting this honor from a King,
but the mystery remains...what was his name?
I must search for my ancestry and those scrolls will surprise me;
and if I had a wish...I would be that armored knight who seduces
the Queen whose desire for a younger man is too evident.
Ah! I will be decapitated by the angriest King! You will weep, charming lady!
I don't live in a castle groping on a barren hill,
I don't owe lands tended by loyal peasants, no carpet
is spread on my entering, no trumpets announce
my coming; I'll never smile at a pretty princess or maid!
Ah! The illusive dream of a-would-be-king! But I have blue blood flowing
in these veins! Why wasn't I given a title of nobility like handsome Prince Andrew?
Theme: Who Am I?
Written on 1/25/ 2016
I never go to the doctors much at all.
My new primary inherited me when
my prior doctor left last fall.
I made the appointment because I was sick
and feared I'd been bitten by a Lyme's tick.
When I asked the new doctor to order a
Western Blot, the most accurate test,
this is what I got.
"I've been practicing medicine for thirty years,"
his volume increased as it burned my ears.
"Your blood pressure is high", obvious to see,
and then he proceeded to lecture me...
"Your vessels have narrowed, probably full of plaque.
Your going have a stroke or a heart attack".
This doctor must have thought me deaf or may be just
dense. I got a good dose of his arrogance.
I don't remember asking for a prescription for mean but
he was definitely the angriest doctor I've ever seen.
Well, off to see my cardiologist.
His bed side manner is the best.
It was celebration of the Panguni Pongal for the sixth day
People assemble before the Goddess Kaali, to pray
Big sand pot is full of water
Below is a stock of wood, set to enter
Water is set to boil, with high fire
Everyone sets eye, with a desire
From the boiling water, steam shall flow
Due to high heat, water shall overflow
Waiting all along was the priest
With a face, as if he is the angriest
He pumps towards the boiling pot, to charge,
Among the devotees who witness in large
With margosa leaves, he drenches his bare hand
Standing with bare foot, over the raw sand
Lifts his hand with boiling water to spread,
Only over his bare body, to spearhead
Again and again until the water pot becomes empty
None shall feel over him, pity
Bare body of priest now looks as normal
Though he withstood steams of thermal
Never anyone seen any boil
Nor none attempt to foil
To witness, you may become uncool
Until you watch the face of priest, as cool
Celebrated at Peraiyur since ancient time
With passage of time, never became dime
Truly an entertaining festival to express,
The true divine power of the goddess!
NOTES :
(Margosa tree =a large tree of the genus Melia (Melia Azadirachta)found in India. Its bark is bitter, and used as a tonic)
(Peraiyur = A small town under the foothills of the western Ghats of South India in the Madurai District)
(Panguni Pongal= a harvest festival around the first week of April month)
Above Poem is adapted from the eBook "NONE TO MATCH! NOR TO MARCH!! AND OTHER POEMS ON GOD" by Mr.V.MUTHU MANICKAM. Copyright is reserved.
Heard upon the heavy, humid air,
now unpleasantly warm,
came further reverberating rumbles,
that proclaimed an approaching storm,
and we were made very much aware
Nature’s ire was evident,
as with bolts of forked lightning,
towering clouds were rent.
Seen in angriest dungeon,
as befits a brooding sky;
and mesmerised by her fury,
we watched, as it drew ever nigh.
But once her awesome power,
was unleashed upon the land,
our hypnotic trance was broken,
and we saw danger lurked to hand.
It was now the time to scatter;
to seek shelter where we could,
for thunderstorms can oft prove fatal,
if caught in open field or wood.
As we ran to seek our refuge:
we’d little time to spare,
we hoped her fury was short lived,
as lightning filled the air.
We knew we’d be acting foolish,
if the storm we’d think to brave,
so with safety our first concern,
twas our skin we sought to save.
Next calm air was pushed aside,
cyclonic down bursts seen:
whilst trees bowed their obeisance,
in the nearby wooded dene.
When overladen clouds then burst,
in sheets of solid rain,
so the humid air dispersed,
and the world was fresh again.
Next, when thunder clouds split asunder,
to leave the world clean and bright,
we saw skies in all their grandeur,
as shafts of golden light,
broke through the storm tossed clouds,
now fragmented and torn,
and as the sun emerged again,
we saw a world reborn.
Though thunderstorms intimidate,
such times we do adore,
for it is a time to savour:
despite our fear and awe.
Rhymer 10th August, 2016
My dad drinks beer in his angriest t-shirt, waiting
for me to prove my purpose, two doctorates
like scholarly wings to lift his ass
to the upper class, where
he will drink beer in his angriest t-shirt, waiting.
A gem
embodies the soul of an angel's
who sings with a celestial voice
to soothe the angriest flames,
fade away the concept of war,
and deform the illusions of society
Trouble left alone hurts no soul
Endowed with enough wisdom
To score no own goal
When trouble turns vicious in the kingdom
Where trouble finger on the trigger of his machinegun
Slays intruders by the dozen
If wisdom devices from them run
Towards the avenger denizen
Who enjoys a repose by the busy bus
He drives at leisure
Eliciting from no intruder a fuss
That halts the flow of the pleasure
Trouble sips like a well-chilled red wine glass
To his heart’s content
Until a misguided lass of little class
Brews for trouble vats of discontent
Catalyzing him to erupt like the angriest Hawaian volcano
Spewing noxious Sulphur gases
In an inferno
That incinerates flower and tinder dry vases
To teach a salutary lesson
To learners willing enough to take heed
Of timely advice from the wise person
Who readily plants and germinates the wisdom seed
Whose fruit
Nourishes
The recruit
Who dishes
Out love to meddlers
Enjoining them to treat trouble with the respect he deserves
From finicky fiddlers
Who trespass on trouble’s preserves and reserves.
Never hit a child with a belt.
Don't hit them with a fist.
Don't hit them with a whip.
Don't hit them with a chain.
Never hit a child.
It breaks their heart.
It makes them sad.
It makes them mad.
Never hit a child.
It hurts their feelings.
It makes them cry.
It makes them manic.
It makes them depressed.
Never hit a child.
If you want to hit a child
seek help at once.
Because you'd better do that
Because you don't want to raise
a schizophrenic or a manic depressive or a drug addict
Right?
Never hit a child.
With a belt.
The angriest, saddest, maddest, meanest
ready-to-fight children,
The ones who needed me the most,
the ones who frightened me the most
the ones who hurt animals and called
names and spit on people and slapped
people in the face until the people
cried and cried.
They were all hit by belts
by their mothers.
Every single one of us.
Never hit a child with a belt.
Muggle borns are not welcome in this providence or town.
I despise them totally, now that I am wearing Gryffindor’s crown.
Deemed myself the queen of the red and gold, courageous I am.
Inside Rowling’s novel, Hermoine and Ron are both a sacred friend.
Don’t say anything mean about Hagrid; he is my champion now.
Chivalry and determination are my mantras, said with a bow.
Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort! I scream, daring him to appear.
He Who Shall Not be Named is for me no bully to fear.
I attend Hogwart’s School of Magic, and I am great at the spells.
I leave Quidditch to Harry, as long as the Slytherins he fells.
Was that the golden snitch? I have to be on my toes for sure.
I am a muggle-born witch, but my intents are totally pure.
Hufflepuffs amuse me, with their loyalty and determination to work.
Witty wise Ravenclaws yes, but some of them are like Rowena, a jerk.
If I had been put into Slytherin with their colors of yellow and green
I would have been the angriest witch Hogwarts had ever seen.
all i wanted was a kingdom
that stretched as far as my eye could see
not adorned in gold or fancy flowers
just lost love and memories
i've lost, and probably always will
i feel im growing ever wiser even as dreadful time stands still
there is that man behind the mirrored glass and i can feel his stare pierce through
this elusive dream im chasing i dont ever want to reach
i see me standing there in shock
with everything thats sincerely me
that hurricane in my stomach swirling more than the angriest of seas
only to open the behemoth of a door and plunge head and mind into oblivion
ill never know which is worse
knowing the end or having a false beginning
theres a price tag etched in my head
and the whole world has been bidding
these lungs and my time may be borrowed
but every struggling breath shall be forever mine
my body hangs in the gallows
yet the world is which swings with the breeze
all i wanted was my kingdom that we built, you and me.
Joseph B. Garcia
He never knew the girl that wrapped her body in self-pity the nights she spent alone with no one else to warm her, blaming herself for every bad thing in her world.
He didn't know the girl that bathes her self in tears the nights shes too afraid of her self to shower because it was the only place her thoughts had a clear shot at every part of her being.
He never knew the girl that wouldn't eat in the morning because it made her feel sick. Wouldnt eat in the afternoon because she had work to catch up on. Wouldnt eat at night because she was too tired the days before she would see him.
He didn't know the girl that whenever she said she was 'sick' it was from searching the bottom of her stomach. Removing any vice form her mortal she could find. And not because of the flu.
Even her herself never knew the girl that felt so out of place in the world that she believed she shouldn't be there.
She'd wake up hours later dazed from the happenings before,
her head lightened from the pounding of her skull against her walls.
She'd wake up with no recollection of the buckets of tears she tried to drown herself in or the breaths she lost from smothering herself until she fell into unconsciousness.
She wouldn't remember trying to erase her imperfections she would only wake up to them multiplied.
She'd never wake up with the memory of the war but always with the battle scars.
She'd tell her self it was okay and that she knew she was beautiful, that knew she was important to this world. Forgiving herself for the way she's been treated and feeding her mind empty promises of change.
The boy that she would never admit that she loved standing in front of her never knew how much she hated herself but now he did. She's the reason this boy whose smile could light up the world was staring at her with tears in his eyes.
The same eyes that resembled the loving hues of blue that laid on the seas and if you stared into them for too long their soft currents could lull you to sleep. But his eyes looking down at her right now were nothing like the peaceful currents of the sea. His black pupils were surrounded by the darkest blues from the angriest parts of the ocean. The waves crashing and churning, threatening to spill over his lashes and down his beautifully porcelain cheeks.
And for that, she could never forgive her self.