Best Angrily Poems
One brilliant tranquil day, around a turquoise lake,
Autumn had come in and brightly painted
so prettily the branches of the trees.
Overhead the gulls serenely soared.
Below them, water shimmered -softly rippled. . .
I thought how this was how the world should ever be -
beautiful and radiant, sorrow-free.
All of a sudden came a shift.
A strong wind swept the scene; all was transformed.
Fall’s vibrant colors shimmied,
till released, they spread asunder.
Small ripples changed to waves,
which angrily were lashing at the shore.
The seagull’s laughing cries had disappeared.
And streaming rays of sunlight had
become absorbed by darkness . . .
a dreariness and dreadfulness and cold.
In the reflection of the shadows,
I found my flimsy jacket, flung it on,
and clasped it close to me - then even closer.
Wishing that all mankind could find illumination,
I forlornly contemplated that this
was how the whole world would come to be,
and sooner than we know. . .would so remain.
I'm a grit teeth beginner breaking out the cage,
growing strong and fitter with wit coming of age,
squeezing letters out of lemons got me in a rage,
but this bitter will get better and steal the stage.
I'm out to lay a new way suitable to a renegade,
angrily squashing this yellow fruit into lemonade,
using the skin to pave a golden route in the trade,
writes rooted in the age of this transitional upgrade.
No scourge can submerge the courage I preserve under the surface,
that purrs with an urge to hand carve words with power and purpose,
this marvellous occurrence undoubtedly surges to resurface,
and repeatedly emerges delivering perfectly superb verses.
Attempts to pull curtains on my spirit,
only teach knowledge that I inherit,
I react and catch before impact to my merit
and you can't collapse the soul of this poet.
Everyone falls but my core's impenetrable,
and my mental resilience is unbreakable,
they can't remove something unshakeable,
trying is a mistake that'll make you miserable.
I've learnt to benefit from attempted attacks
aimed to prevent the way that I vent and act,
catching the weaponry and adding to my stack,
I've a determination that I'll never let crack.
I'll elevate as I stimulate with flow
and levitate the audience to show,
I'm able to continuously demonstrate
that my work is something to celebrate,
even though my opinion will make them hate.
Coming back is what I do,
don't make me come back for you!
There once was a poet who despaired
though blessed with a fair amount of flair
that he was way too thick
to master limericks
counting words an arduous affair
Limerick-writing he'd master not
count sillybulls, meter and whatnot
the elusive punchline's
too troublesome to find
with his thoughts roughly tied up in knots
Spatial dimension impediment
a meter doubled in measurement
at the best of times three
lopsided prosody
shoddy despite its being eloquent
Sillybulls ignored and miscounted
charge around angrily, discounted
with their hoofs on the slam
they step up the bedlam
bewildering chaos uncounted
With pep talks and deliberation
resolved: they're too high 'bove my station
so to rhyme he should stick
and give up limericks
where wordcraft counts naught but summation
*Sillybulls = syllables. My thanks to Ephraim Crud for the loan of the word.
To Wignesan: am I stooopid or what???
I've dropped my pen, calamity,
I write too much profanity,
it makes people act angrily,
yet I walk around quite happily.
I'm aware I speak like I don't care,
and I reek of rudeness when I share,
but I don't get offended to be fair,
not up here on my high chair.
Naturally I've no remorse,
that means I don't care of course,
but I'm a gent I'll hold the door,
just for me not you and yours.
You read from a rebel without a cause,
whom finds it fun to wined up fools.
Though I don't hunt them down like jaws,
it's done through words I write with my paws.
With direct rhymes that are unambiguous,
also aimless and thus promiscuous,
this contradiction is a tad ridiculous,
have you worked out yet how I'm ingenious?
I told you at the beginning that I care not,
the lines since caused that to be forgot.
Are you yet to realise the plot?
Now it ends, yep, that's your lot.
"Monday Dreadful Monday"
Most people are terrified of its presence
Only this moment can be the most hated
No more time for r&r....that's reefer and rum
Damn it....if he even looks at me I will need to find some new religion
And it's not even football season yet
Y did i even set the alarm clock....somebody make it STOPPPP!!!!
Do you watch the morning news
Reality check, why can't I find my shoes
Enter me back to the world where I must follow rules
Are there any sane people who don't think Trump is a fool
Dare I say that he is the biggest tool
First of all, his toupee ain't close to cool
Under his direction, we are fed a bull's stool
Like it or not, those IDIOTS elected a goule
Man, many make more mistakes
Only original ordinary organs orchestrate obediance
Nothing necessary needs new nihilism
Don't demand daily dreadful decisions
And are all actions appropriately and angrily aimed at apocolypse
Yes, you yearn yearly yet Yahweh yells yin young yang
July 30, 2018
My love for you is true and has no bounds,
you are my friend, my life, you are my rock,
I adore your voice your melodic sounds,
even when you sneer and angrily mock,
when you need me I will always be there,
without you I would be nothing at all,
your the only one in my life I share,
when I'm in trouble your the one I call,
how or where we live has no consequence,
as long as we're together, we both care,
whether rich or poor makes no difference,
no one can take what we've got, we're a pair,
your hurting so am I, I will show it,
for you I will always take a bullet.
Scent Heaven took you away
I've asked GOD, every single day,
to send you back to me, helplessly I pray.
I am so heartbroken, hopelessly going through the motions of my life.
Angrily denying that Heaven took you from me, Heaven took my Daddy away.
Now that your gone, it's so hard to carry on. Eleven years now it's been, it doesn't seem that long ago. No one knows what this loss has done to me, I am not alive sometimes it seems. I'm a ghost to those around me
desperately I struggle just to get through each day, ever since Heaven took you away.
He had always been her hero
She his golden child
The youngest and only girl of five children
He was completely beguiled
He loved and treated each equally
A good man to them all
He was kind ,loving and protective
To them he was ten feet tall
She loved him like no other
A bond never to break
He ….would always be her hero
Her ….his treasured child of grace
Now she sits in a chair opposite him
Her eyes welled with tears
Angrily he asks her “Who are you”?
“What are you doing here”?
Crusty old oaks
wave brittle arms angrily
overhead, threatening
to drop dead
crushingly
heavy limbs
Down
Taller trees
having achieved
the highest heights
pine away, lonely
jealously pouring their
sharp needles
Down
Towering above
terrifyingly insecure
in their position
they shakily
throw their shade
blocking sun and rain-
trying to keep me
Down
What did I do
to deserve such spite
but struggle to survive
with limited might
a dogwood sapling
that could never possibly
grow to over-shadow
them?
Reflecting within silence of my thoughts
I feel the ills of world in its stygian form--
Its music devoid of the melodic sound
Echoing in humanity’s tenebrous bawl.
On my way I see summer’s rose gardens
And autumnal look of auburn elegance,
But mostly I encounter parched look of life
Like a river dry, in the grip of drought--
A depleted look of empty wine bottle,
Nothing left to offer, devoid of its buzz.
A hidden voice prompts, raising its voice,
Asking what the world would be like
If it could wipe all tears in mothers’ eyes,
And on troubled faces put million smiles
And feed the hungry, gripped in strife.
Peering now into grieved, disquieting lives
It takes me there to war-torn towns—
Pointing to a child wandering empty streets
Orphaned by someone else’s misdeeds
Amid nothingness of abandoned dreams;
Asking me angrily how does one restore
The flame that blazed in desolate child’s eyes
Before they brazenly killed her family…
Can you look in her eyes and explain why?
Can you dare say she’ll have a normal life?
I look for epiphany in epistle of almighty
But stumble in hindrance of the ordinary--
Wicked, narrow views of blatant primacy
Attempting to justify, but failing miserably.
I hear them trumpeting the world as it is
Sounding foolish in the world that could be.
June 23, 2020
Placed 1st: Reflections in silence poetry contest
Sponsor: Silent One
Hell breaks loose through the trusting door
Whining its splintering, wooden hinges
Claws wrapping onto the arches beyond
Gnarled feet pressed on the threshold
Lower limbs jingling with sparky anklets
Ready to catapult and kick with spitting mouth
To shove its shine like a worthy prick
It was time for her daily purges
Peace is slapped about in her fickle hands and made ragged
Turmoil in her pedicured toes erodes the smoothed surfaces
Of the fashions’ must, into dusty rust of sick disgust
Her coral lips curve in delight
At the sight of confused and crazy creatures
Staring numbly at her hell-bent sight
She is always laughing, snarling or lying low
Waiting for the climatic blow
Bottom dwelling, blush smearer
Eyeliner runner, nail-biting binger
Her lies tease and her eyes see a perfect she will never be
As her large, curved nails glimmer
She scuttles her way like a crab in a salty delirium
She hides her hiss like a snake ready to miss for a chase
Challenging practicality,
“Dear Prudence,
Won’t you come out to play?”
But we are silent to the accursed
The wise are wary and rehearsed
We all slip right through as she intrudes an empty room
Waiting for a reaction, screwing with the lights to assert a distraction
She wreaks havoc in the dark,
“Dear Prudence!”
She screams,
As we softly walk down the path, nomads against the crabs
She doesn’t realize she is her worst fear—alone
Her mask melting and her anklets snapping
Collapsing, the tears she squeezed for her high
Were emptied, vindicated and dried
Angrily she must realize
In her twisted, stubborn way
It’s a beautiful day…
A crazy collab with my brother David Breidenthal [J.W Earnings]
Wiping the cold sweat off my forehead
Standing beside the dying king’s bed
Thinking of a remedy while a sword
Was pointed to my shivering neck
I was praying not to fail, I begged the lord
But how can I heal a man this old and sick?
The tension was in the air
Combined with stressing anticipation
Their eyes angrily at me did stare
Expecting me to bring him salvation!
“If he dies, you die”, said the guard
“So you better do your best”, he went on
But what to do for an old dying heart?
A heart of a tyrant that’s black and dun
A tyrant who ruled us with injustice and suppression
Who made us live years of starvation and depression
How disgraced I am to be his royal physician!
I’ve been praying to god for forgiveness and remission
A tyrant who did everything to keep the crown
And killed so many to save his throne and rod
Who made horror in every city and town
So nobody could to him object nor stood
(He did all that to have authority and wealth
But ironically he didn’t know how to keep heath
He thought that he’d live and enjoy them forever
Well, on that he doesn’t seem very clever!)
But this Dark Age is finally to end
The revolution started to rise
I may do what I didn’t tend
And I’m not sure if it’ll be so wise
But at least it will be fair
The revolution heat is everywhere
So Apologizes to Hippocrates's oath
(I think he’d forgive me, if he knew the cause!)
He’d think it’s not a deed that’s moral
But these values are merely oral
And didn’t stop poverty nor hunger
The people became full of hate and anger
That their king ran over them with his horse
And enslaved them with his vicious soldiers
That he didn’t once hesitate to use force
The people became martyrs by royal orders!
“Come on, be quick” nervously the guard said
I started to search for some death in my bag
Then I spoke: okay, you can call the maid
He went to bring her and they both came back
On my way out I said: give him this three times a day
And his majesty must in his bed lie
(He won’t suffer much anyway,
Because in two days time
He shall die!)
Storm clouds gathered in the skies
Swirling angrily and anxious
For the war
Brewing somber colors
Not swept away by the mighty wind.
Finally, holding off no longer,
They exploded in a crash of thunder
As lightning lashed out in pain.
The tension was relieved
While the torrential downpour flowed
Like an avalanche of tears,
And washed the dusty air.
Then, as if by magic,
When the last drop of rain was shed,
The aurora of sun embraced the sky
And kissed it softly with a rainbow
To fade the ashen gloom.
As my tears dissolve our storm
Hug me with your sunshine
Of understanding love
And let the rainbow of our kiss
Paint away the hurt.
February 16, 2015
~1st Place~
Contest: Impact and Metaphors
Sponsor: William Kekaula
Judged: 10/03/2020
I was sleepwalking down the street, when I stumbled over a stool
standing there. "Watch your feet", the stool yelled, offended. "I am
sorry, but I am sleepwalking, so I can't watch my feet. In fact, I can't
watch anything, I am dreaming", I replied. The stool then made me
fall flat on my face, and yelled hard. At that point the dog appeared,
utterly annoyed by the rude awakening. And he bit the stool hard
in one of its legs. All the noise apparently woke my neigbour, who
angrily threw down a bucket of water. The water hit me, the bucket
hit the street with an enormous ruckus. I woke up startled, ran after
the dog, but tripped over my pajama pants water-soaked and heavy.
I hit my head against the stool, and, dizzy, stayed down there,
heavily bleeding. The neighbour called 911, a little later a deafening
noise filled the street, the ambulance hauled me inside and drove
off again. The stool misses one leg, The bucket has a number of
dents extra, the dog sits shivering in an alley. The neighbour went
back to sleep. My front door is still unlocked, because in a state of
sleepwalking one doesn't remember to lock the lot and subsequently
bringing one's keys.
MAVERICK FREE VERSE
A hero is not each man
Lying on green battlefields
With chest riven, bloody hands
Waving at his honoured Death.
A hero is that man,
Who grasps his broken sword
And fights fiercely, without remorse
The demons drowning like a flood
The island of his soul.
He who dares to wake the sleeping dragons,
Only to struggle against their fire,
Even if ash is the last flavor he'd taste,
His spot next to Peace reserves and merits.
Heroic only are the eyes which sight
Those lands of Glory,
Lying only few steps away
From the Other Side of the stone world.
With David's bare hands
A hero angrily attacks against Goliathic fears,
Seeking the final redemption, the brightest triumph
For his troubled, divided soul.
Within a Solitude, never to be restored
A lonely rider chases the fifth Season.
Blessed is this man, who cries
With Heaven tears of freedom,
Tenderly embracing his fragile human traces.
Is there any deed more gallant, after all?