Best Appal Poems
The symphony and guitar too..had made
It pleasent and soothing story which was once said..
Do it even if, world hate...
This was the cause of being her soulmate
The life long exams meant nothing
Cause she the reason and everything
I was ready for the apostasy
The reason was her charm and intimacy
The results may appal...
But still she will continue to be my best pal.
Young Peter is far from perfect
Teen anger he fails to deflect
His trail of destruction
Has caused such a ruction
You should see the items he’s wrecked
His parents do little to stop him
They’re addicts, and too busy popp’in
Heroin and pills
Which don’t cure their ills
The outlook for Peter is grim
He ‘borrowed’ a car with his mates
and drove very fast round estates
they didn’t get far
cos they crashed the car
they’ve not even got their L plates!
He shoplifts from the local shops
Been caught many times by the cops
The stupid young fool
He breaks ev’ry rule
T’will be a good job when he stops.
He damaged his neighbours new wall
With spray paint he began to scrawl
Words that were so rude
With pictures so crude
His actions they did so appal
These issues are across our nation
Good morals are a strong foundation
We must guide our youth
With respect and truth
Perhaps it will be their salvation!
Unsuitable for contest as its not free verse but i thought it was still worth posting:-)
4/8/18
If you seek to fully understand,
This complex human jam,
You just need a ticket in hand,
To fly to Amsterdam!
History walks the streets here,
In every pavement stone,
You find friendship and cheer,
On every face In town!
Watch the cyclist to the right,
They have the right of way,
Trams, buses are packed tight,
As the Dutch start their day!
Explore the city on your foot,
And relish the jolly sites,
Take a camera click and shoot,
The brilliance of the nights!
Tall buildings on either sides,
With waterways in the middle,
Spend a few euros on a ride,
To solve the human riddle!
Four centuries you will travel,
In a ride around the Gracht,
The mysteries quickly unravel,
As you relax in the raft!
Seventy bridges link the city,
That floats on wooden piles,
“The dancing ladies” look so pretty,
As they lean to their sides!
Great masters of colour and paint,
Lived their lives on this land,
Amongst the sinners and saints,
Were Van Gogh and Rembrandt!
War and peace, joy and tears,
Carved this beautiful place,
Good days amidst daunting fears,
As they etched out their space!
Coffee shops are everywhere,
And the window girls in town,
It is Cannabis best be aware,
Before you bite and gulp it down!
It is a beautiful, honest city,
That is fair to one and all,
While the rest of us talk of piety,
Our values and morals appal!
Health and wealth together ride,
On cycles, buses and tram,
Simple honesty is their guide,
In the city of Amsterdam!!
They could be heard across valleys with their screeching echo
Flailing above tree height they’d flock in their thousands - the Black Cockatoo
Like nature’s eclipse, they would descend in clouds; all great gangling wings
Flapping madly at each other, swaying this way and the other
A perch full of hysterics - oh ravishingly black
Black raucous baffling broils of beak n feathers and
Snapped off sticks and nuts that crack and pop from
Ancient giants tall
All crowded in crowns hanging and swinging and larking about
A jest from the nest, others cuddling n kissing
Fanning tail feathers – pretty
But now they fall, their numbers appal
Thrown out of their homes, death by starvation, another species lost
But who gives a toss…
A red tail feather once so common on the forest track
As we yearn for their call, the lone screeching echo
That haunts the valley floor
We no longer hear the vanquished
It’s only when they’ve vanished
Will we truly pray for these ebony eccentrics?
Of the Australian bush
28 August 2014
Some make you cringe
Some drive you mad
Some make you freeze
Some scare you bad
Some are enormous
Some are minute
Some are horrendous
Some are quite cute
Some of them jump
Some cause a rash
Some make a buzz
Some make you dash
Some make you itch
Some make you sick
Some kill you slow
Some kill you quick
Some of them bite
Some of them crawl
Some are big
Some are small
But what they share
Is that insects appal
I have to be honest
I hate them all
It happened when I was not noticing,
yet I was so close,
that had I not have been here,
disregarded as I was,
I would missed the weaving,
from branch to branch, a spider’s web,
meshed with the sun,
as if spinning a snowflake with silken thread.
What but design of darkness to appal?-
If design govern in a thing so small.
A net,
cradled over the leaves,
slung low over the dew.
Evidence in the spring daylight,
of a chore needing to be done,
skillfully being crafted,
trembling in the soft breeze,
as the sun fondles each delicate strand.
This is not new, or kept a secret,
but I can't help but wish,
for someone here,
to share my excitement,
and to also recognize,
the magic of the silver thread
to witness the hand of God
and a miracle in the making
_________________________________________________
note: Line from Robert Frost in parenthesis
Some say Great Britain is the dirtiest nation in the world,
As a sign of respect for the Jubilee and our glorious Queen,
We are initiating a drive for the nation to make out streets clean.
That is a lovely idea which will benefit us all,
“Why do we need to do this?” Would be my call.
Anyone who pays council rates, just look at your bill,
What it costs to keep the streets clean, collect rubbish, take it to the landfill.
So much of the litter, on road, bus, train and Public Square,
Tossed there by an indifferent public who does not care?
If our children were taught at home and in school,
What it costs to pick up their throw a ways it would appal.
Their parents pay for these costs through the local rates,
Soon that bill for the nation will be a billion pounds pundits estimate.
Think how that money if saved could benefit hospitals, schools, those in need
Without litter around our health would be better it is by all agreed.
Plastic bags, sweet papers, balloons blow in the wind for evermore,
It chokes life, blocks drains, is a permanent eye sore on the seashore.
Smokers banned from smoking anywhere that is indoors,
Show their aggravation by throwing by the million their butts on the floor.
It’s the human race of all ages, whatever age, colour, class or creed,
That makes the litter, what they do with it is their foul deed.
Sadly if we do not change our ways that soon be universally up held.
Children at school must be educated on how to keep the world clean,
Personally, at home, at play, at work, everywhere they have been.
Anyone dropping cigarette butts, sweet papers, anything in the public place,
A very large and instant fine they must face.
Second time round they must get degrading publicity as well.
Yes, yes, yes , we must make these wrong doers feel like it is hell.
At last our little island is awakening to the MESS we are getting ourselves in,
Only ourselves by changing our ways can we save ourselves from living in
“A GREAT BIG AND SMELLY RUBBISH BIN”
What natural
Is, tell!
The hawk in tabloid swoop did boast –
Whose sweetened-toil doth but
Stink, becometh it
A merry-menu nutriment.
The floods and the woods
Of their own stead in silent-words
– As a sentry –
Sendeth but a sober plea of a loyal peasantry
O, Nature! Creator! – all alludeth in an apogee
To Thy apanage and earnestly giveth plaudit unto Thee.
The swallow withal doth cheerfully
Gather and spin the straw ready to build wholly
Her empire of great tutelage;
And with her brethren bridally liveth in that age
Of diligent generation, in Thee fully hid
And given to lead like a kid.
What is more natured
Than a frog or toad in water plodded and nurtured?
His severe and heedless howl showeth his joy
To tell that: silent in a grave he shalt be a toy!
And the squirrel the jungle quire bustleth from
Tree to tree defiant of mortal wisdom.
A colossal splendour standeth
Thine sun, whose domain the day standeth;
Withal the moon’s comity: Thou, to her appal,
Bestoweth Thine night colonel –
Both but enlisteth in Thine countless soldiers of stars
Thine extol they effuseth like showers.
No less for praise, joineth the beasts –
In the homes so in the forests!
At peace in war as an influenza, Thine honours –
Man, Thine effigy, intellect and genius, in his hours
Extendeth through the gross of polity
Concurring with each command of Thine policy.
O, the fish speaketh of Thine glory, ingenious!
This inferred from a noisy-silence of her fins;
For she scorneth the indigent effort
Of the fisher whose labour won doth him hurt;
Yet, both creatures in many a varied way
Inditeth for posterity great praises that for Thee doth stay.
Yes, the clouds and the firmaments
Oceans, rivers, seas: all waters in constant movements
Doth in harmony with man and beasts
Arrayed in silent-noisy feasts
Shower in mysterious mirth
Thine glory from endless history and myth.
Yet, I behold the ineffable work bestowed on me;
My limbs, they moveth to second Thine decree!
My eyes, no exception indeed
To the law of my being, so splendid
Are those commands for me safely to live
Tho’ many infamous beings abound to strive!
The rocks. The sea. The mountains
The sky stretching close and beyond
The cliffs, the valley, the fountains
The places of memories fond
The eyes. The ears. The voices
The innermost sanctified place
The touch, the smells, the tastes of
Victories, wins or disgrace
The heartache. The pain. The sweet love
The life that envelopes us all
The highs and lows, the light and dark
The joy and sense of appal
I’ve been there. I’ve written. I’ve breathed it
But no matter what I have seen
Before me a better one wrote it
Still, my aim is to pen and to dream
There was a mighty head of state
who thought he was like God.
Within the prercincts of his house
all feared his heavy plod.
We now hear many stories,
some of which appal,
of crashing crockery on the floor
and ketchup on the wall,
and how the hand that held the helm
grabbed his driver's steering wheel.
Many a good ship did capsize
for want of a steady keel.
Perhaps I ought to publish my position
(as if there's anyone disposed to care!):
I'm not convinced that open competition
is profitable. Poets, self-aware,
and full of self-esteem (as many are!)
increasingly seem disinclined to share
the fruits of midnight labour. From afar
(and I do not possess a crystal ball)
I think that I perceive a lowered bar:
requirements (this is just my judgement call)
to dress one's thoughts in rhythm or in rhyme
do not delight our writers. They appal.
We need not think of strictures as a crime.
Does discipline torpedo erudition,
or might it help us grasp at the sublime?
THEATRE
is this some sort of operation
an apparition
taking place above my head where
bluemouthed
masks stare shadowed by
overhead lights
is that the man in white or not
yet… not quite…
with red bright
stained latex fingers
threatening sharp intent
like skinny strips of
tin foil to dig into
deepened coils
of diseased
Infirmities
blood clots clamped
near veined
tendrils of pain that
would scream but
now deadened
with Morphine
fashionable white saws
crack ribs like frail straws
revealing a heart
shattered in off beats…
a smash and grab
how can I reveal and
let them steal this
dysfunctional
shrunken
life
replacing the empty
spaces that appal
me the most
© Kim van Breda—9 October 2015
We heard from the Cape, that orders have been given
For we must retaliate, our enemies to be driven
To be circling the earth on this fateful day
No contact with our loved ones, as the atoms below us play
The feeling as we orbit as we watch the vapour trails
Explosions so unbelievable, watching nations on earth impaled
Mushroom clouds expand whilst their sonics resonate
Like ripples on the water they drift freely interstate
Atomic atmosphere abounds, for the earth we cannot see
Mans history in modern warfare, was always intended to be
Us seven on the Shuttle now orbiting for half a year
View many changes on our planet, when we land what do we fear
Scrambled messages we have received, telling us where to land
Remembering the day when we left, we never could have planned
Our destination advised, to the Salt Flats of Utah now set
Six months orbiting the heavens, being spared heartfelt regret
From what we viewed above, to the landing site we head
Touching down we're met by officials, what we're told is not easily said
A rogue faction had triggered an attack, the outcome, Atomic War
I can't begin to tell you my thoughts, for man, I begin to abhor
We are taken to Los Angele's, suited to protect from the fall
Passing carnage so indescribable, witnessing mans eventual appal
Where once stood icons, that thrived with modern life
Now stand tattered and jagged torn, irradiated in atomic strife
Shadows of the former, silhouette where they fell
Children, families and individuals show fear in deadened yell
Skeletal shapes lie spread, whilst little life shows face
As we pass past twisted wreckage, viewing mans disgrace
Sporadic spotlights shine, as if clearing to start anew
Looking back as we reach our destination, a city in war torn spew
We turn to each other in silence, viewing but we can't comprehend
Such an intelligent form of life, can take us to disaster send
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-17.php
It's the year 2112, a number that appeals to me
A century has passed at what my ancestors seen, why did generations not foresee
They had reached their twilight zone, earths grand finale
The Mayan calender had spoken in silence, as the human count tallied
Their scriptures foretold of a horror, a world in slow demise
They told of future troubles, where borders would be compromised
The seas would rise and flood the lands whilst the rains continued to fall
Starvation abounds while the rich remained in bloodied torn appal
Stench filled bodies of water, carried floating bloated masses
No care for who you lay beside, for death decrees no classes
By the year 2030, the earths population was decimated
Even the rich were thinned for the weak were underrated
If I may welcome you to my world, where cities remain so few
Metropolitan they have become, and somehow we have become so true
The place where I now reside has built icons from the past
Twin towers are now the norm, new memories that will always last
The waters never totally receded for it rained for so many years
Some people blamed the dying as they were told it was their tears
Many of us live in the clouds so close we can touch the sky
As we await the next revelation that will finally close our eyes
New stories have originated in Cairo, where archaeologists have uncovered
A doorway below the Sphinx, telling of how the human race was discovered
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-17.php
We sense the sacred in these peaceful walls
Yet men have died in places that appal
Women too and children then unborn
Fell into cold dark earth in lands forlorn
As our weapons grow, our hearts are hard
The people live in Gaza behind bars
The water all polluted as taps drip
Is this war or is it vengeance fit?
In Britain, it’s the poor who lose the war
As it was when Jesus Mary bore
Yet here are clerics blessing marching bands
A military show for all the land
The genocide in Europe of the Jews
The self destructive actions of the proud
The fields of France filled sick with blood and bone
Who are we to cast judgemental stones?
The War’s not over when the fighting stops
The soldiers and the tortured suffer shock
The widows and the parents all bereaved.
The unborn children hover in unease
We let the prisoners out from camps of death
But who would take them in or take their path?
The injuries will travel down the years
As still we fight and still we live in fear
It’s Europe’s grasp and greed which was the cause
Of death in Gaza, Syria, in long wars
Yet we judge we are more civilised
As we self defend with careful lies