Best Arrant Poems
~STRIP TEASE~ Featuring:) SKAT
Silver Skimpy Ink, String, A POET DESTROYER's bling, bling
Think of me as a human ditty delicious decoration,
Something along the line of a sweet tooth temptation
Cherry tastes, between the slit of tender toast
Fine jumble jam slams down the tongueless throat
Dance like a diamond on The tight South Pacific Rim
I'll feed you with a slithering seductive sound
My hair soaking, -wet and wild, tonight I trim
A dulcet apple acrostic bottom, to squeeze the greed
Feathers, on top, poetic diction describing to please
At times, I'm in deep dire need of something sweet, and sour
Endless epic words, and ode to the naked poetic world
We The Women and Men of poetry,
Reveals far more than any nudity found in a bar
It does not matter how you do it or who you are.
I'm an entertainer, of Poetry,
The good, the bad, the freaking awesome
Don't worry, I keep my clothe On :)
---
Symbol of the spiritual Sexy SKAT Slang
--Provocative-- A slippery succulent, scrumptious kiss
Counterparts working the tension, another arrant appetite
I am the Illuminati illusion, laminating luscious illustrated letters
Indulging in the, satire of one stilt spoken sunset
Like a child's spiking temperature, I often throw tantrums,
Teasing attentions, by incorporating a pole, paper and pen,
If someone is uncomfortable with facing the fact,
When I reveal everything, without removing my high heels
Then you must not be worldly or women and man enough
I love to spoil and slur my scenery, using my best assets
My strength and power parallel, any unique universe
That's how confident the audience makes me feel
We The Women and Men of poetry,
Reveals far more than any nudity found in a bar
It does not matter how you do it or who you are.
I'm an entertainer, of Poetry,
The good, the bad, fantastic and fabulous
Don't worry, I keep my clothe On :)
~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~
MY ROBOT BENNY
I have a robot at home, his name is Benny,
Who is also, extremely office friendly.
He wakes me up every morning,
As a new day is dawning,
And taps my hand, ever so gently.
I wanted him dressed in a vibrant colour,
So he was delivered to me in red suited armour,
With extremities of a shiny silvery pallor!
He felt at home from the moment he came,
And loves us all, one and the same.
He is an excellent PA, none equal his talent,
And never sprouts arrant,
Nonsense, is always polite, cute and gallant
Keeps rigidly to a daily agenda,
And has been programmed to shed a tear
When he is feeling loving and tender!
His memory is incredibly large, Benny holds a
Phenomenal amount of data,
And has a robot girlfriend called Zeta!
He loves to impress and is rather vain,
Nobody would ever deign,
To outwit him, for he has a certain pout,
Again programmed, and beyond any doubt,
Has a capacity of many bytes
To flirt with the ladies in our office space,
As he twirls and spins, showing a
Blushing face!
What a special robot my Benny is, we have
Reached an era, a future phase
That dictates,
We will all soon adopt a Benny,
Who I have programmed to say
I love you Jenny!
Written: September 16, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In arrant essence, without a fight,
Herald of vamps, in the dead of night
Ushers a raw wave that captivates,
The heights of the cosmos resonate.
Wax in our ears, the truth we long to hear,
Despite fear or quaint hopes, with zeal, we steer.
In bravery, the sun's light subdues the sight.
Rolling through the despair of a lonesome night.
Slightly too reckless, we dare to dream,
Framing a foist under the whiskey moon gleam.
Reminiscing about the warmth once shared,
Now mislaid in the miles left behind, scared.
Yet in the depths of our soul, a blaze remains.
A flicker of optimism that cannot be tamed.
Whiskey moon and a reckless wish
Guiding us through this journey, a celestial dish.
We dance with the cosmos, our spirits alight,
Embracing the unsung, chasing the light
With every endeavor, we withstand the odds,
Leaving behind the solace of familiar nods.
In the cosmic realm, we decry our place.
Unveiling the secrets with zeal and grace
Whiskey moon, shining dazzlingly above
Reminding us of castaway love.
But in the gloominess, we explore our way,
Through the shadows, we will not stray.
In the depths of our soul, we hold,
The memories of compassion were once bold.
Though miles may separate and time may pass,
The alliance we formed will always last.
Whiskey moon and ambivalent bliss
Swaying us through life's unpredictable abyss
The Way You Sing My Song
David J Walker
I remember falling in love with a song
And then searched for someone to
Try it on
While you were singing the words
Of your hearts desire
The fire
The fire
The words of arrant desire
If I write another love poem
It will have to be
an apology
for not believing
someone could love me
the way you sing my song
On dark Halloween Night
The moon will lose its light
The goblins will hunt you
To cook your entrails into barbecue
There will be loud screams in town
Cry of crows will be heard all around
Ominous howls of wolves will be the worst
They’re Draculas’ Foreboding Blood-thirst
Ugly wraiths will hung themselves in gallows
On ghost gum trees with monster shadows
Hunchback men will haul caskets with their spade
Putrid carrions will soon be insidiously laid
Witches will set scalding poisons in cauldrons
Tarantulas will scuttle out from their alley holes
Be wary and wear your red-lighted horns
It pre-empted them from feasting your eyeballs
On that very dark Halloween Night
Your friends will be out of sight
Grave yards will be widely opened
Zombies will be searching all hunky men
If you are really one of them
Better hide from those arrant Zomb-women
A warning for both adults and children
To ignore a bloody and one’s horrifying mien
There will be more scary creatures
On that Halloween night if you go out and venture
Just wear your spooky costumes and make sure
You cannot only walk but fly and crawl
Sept. 12,2014 1.50am
Little is known when ignorance apparent
yet those that use it as a weapon arrant,
when implanting seeds of hate
with paradoxical bait,
surly to most of us oh so transparent.
© Harry J Horsman 2015
You make me laugh
when showing that I can not have.
You make me sigh
then show what's nearby
You make me wish for things
gone arrant
and yet I cry not,
when I care most high.
You make me laugh again,
and not sigh; for things I wish for not in the sky.
I laugh out loud,
to protect my fate,
In hopes it's enough
to be on my plate.
You make me laugh,
for I do not hate.
for I am grateful for this
to germinate
You make me laugh.
While Satan still manipulates
the call to arms is apparent,
when disarmament stipulates
a flaw a weakness to exploit;
by the next despotic arrant
moving amongst us all adroit.
Peaceful lands of noble intent
sing your gullible lullaby,
relinquish your strength you’ll repent
aiding the augment of evil;
his preying armies to satisfy
destroying peace with upheaval.
While Satan still manipulates
peaceful lands of noble intent.
© Harry J Horsman 2016
Mountains in the Ocean above which stood
A piercing Sky of blue and Clouds
Remarked upon to honest vessel
By arrant birds aloft on high.
Turn sails to home too far to see
A boat of fish caught by sea breeze
As countrymen pause and drain their Ales
On the earth, on the Ocean; dim-lighted and pale.
A Castle in the Clouds without any owner
No servant, no master and entirely empty
Where none would go but a single guest
In its other realm on the Hawk's winged path.
Stumble from Pub into unwelcomed street.
The black of the Sky and its cold on his cheek.
An angry, strong cry as he heads from this town,
Into Highlands and Castles and lost Ocean sounds.
(Note: accent on the "e" in third stanza's "winged".)
You deserve so much more that I give
In deed she is
She lights the green light
A woman of letters
Once upon a time
Under the moonlight tales
We hear the sky
Meeting with angels
In the blue clouds
A different mother
The onset of the nucleus
I can tell the history
Though, I wasn't there, but she was yesterday.
The Achilles heel in nefariousness.
She is always right
A serpent in the egg to the rainy days
A different mother
Acumen to the future
The beginner of the end
A Shepherd of sheep
The villain of a hero
The architecture of humanity
She imprisons herself
In a royal house
Faring for her seeds
Almost a laughing stock
In her child's play
She has a Penelope's web
For her kith and Kin
She begot love
The merchant of honorary
The nurserymaid
A different mother
The Christmas Flowers
Growing in summer
The birds fly
Feeding from her colourants display
She walks in the rain
When her umbrella is no more
At night, she wakes a million times
For the new born baby
A different mother
As busy as a bee
She build the Nation
To and fro
At a stake,
The good Samaritan grows her flowers
Ill at ease, her swan songs grow
In the memory of the future
But in the morning,
They are like thankless arrant
A different mother
Why not now?
Time has denied your harvest
Why become an uphill task?
Even on the rainy days
Through fire and water
A bolt from the blue clouds
She lays the golden eggs
OH! MOTHER OF ALL
Thy seeds shall not die
They shall spread thy golden bed
When thy night comes
Thou shall eat thy food
When thou shall hunger
For them in the evening
Even the dark night shall lie on thy feet
Till thy heavenly dinner comes
(By Precious Opurum: Nigeria)
Copyright © odiboy 2016
Rog the funambulist
A paragon was Rog, heroic in the air, without airs
One of the most magnificent funambulists at ease
Whether walking a rope or flying on a trapeze,
Though he blessed the earth with no dauntless heirs.
None could ever hope to meet his burly like again.
How admirable was the way he stood, so poised
Muscles taut on his tightrope, the crowd un-noised
Agog, as he stepped off his platform drum, laden
With two massive iron balls held above his head
With nothing but his huge iron-bar moustache
To balance him, and a saving sense of panache.
Rog was unembarrassed though unencumbered.
He bore no unnecessary clothing, as he began to stride
Going forward, forty feet above the hard ground,
Looking straight ahead, as the crowd made no sound,
Eyes turned up at his almost bare bottom, and sighed
They gazed in awe, hushed in uncritical admiration,
As Rog held a two hundred pounds weight of iron balls,
Heavy, manly balls aloft, to earn him the more applause,
Balls steady over his glabrous head, wet with sudation.
The audience gasped as the taut rope trembled,
Twanging elastic beneath his firm, slippered feet.
The still warm wax in his moustache dripped suet.
Sweat oozed through his striped jumper, downward.
But Rog didn't tremble. Rog went forth on his way,
The way of the funambulist, not dithering or wayward.
Until the wax from his moustache fell ropeward.
Rog's foot was sure; Rog's arrant slipper caused dismay.
Rog slipped, and crashed to the ground, earth thumping,
Dropping his iron balls into the crowd, with abandon,
Maiming and slaying as Rog smashes into a circus lion,
Crumbling his skull, whence his brains were pouring.
The loitering lions were saved the trouble of cracking.
But Rog should not have waxed his handsome handlebar
So soon before he stood so perilous high, airily ahover.
There will ever be another Rog, so frightfully smashing.
The tortured mind 'tis that causes pain
Knowingly, to others with abandonment
Sticking out its venomous tongue again,
Dissing others, but to its own detriment.
It cannot seem to grasp the simple truth
The tortured mind 'tis that relishes pain,
Twists words into what’s foul and uncouth
Eschews responsibility, like clearly insane.
Becoming harder and harder to explain
Ranting and raving with vilest intent
The tortured mind 'tis that releases pain,
Until forcibly silenced it will not relent.
Seeks new faces, new victims to assault
But continues to sing an old, old refrain
Dares never to admit its own arrant fault
The tortured mind 'tis that pleasures pain.
Written August 30, 2022
[with slight change in the
repeated line throughout]
Threats…
Handle threats may set our forces.
Acts reacted may dare to all.
Rules that strike are evil causes.
Keep our Taiwan not to loss.
Tricks as wars are cruel games.
Wars are games are tyrants’ names.
Ways are games are peoples’ rants.
Throw your weights are heavy hands.
Length and width and depth are forces.
All arrays are army sources.
Arrant nonsense is tyrants’ words.
Playing laws are games that hurt.
Feel no truths are china bosses.
Bossy tyrants keep their dolls.
Pets and dolls are birds in cages.
China tyrants’ ills are ages.
Handle threats as whistles back.
China tyrants mad for facts.
Scapegoat cooked and peoples harm.
Loss or gains are something half.
-------------Cheung Shun Sang=Cauchy3------------
Today's mentality and attitude
is not as sound as it was yesterday,
and the chosen path didn't diverge
from the distant past so affected
by the miracles that happened, but
the skeptical was the arrant liar...
desecrating and devaluing divinity,
detaching from the undeniable Designer!
And whoever dredges up this regret,
and doesn't question truth:
has entered in a cosmic dimension
which disarms anyone willing to discern,
and cease the lament of not seeing enough miracles;
piety made the saints grow in compassion,
and their constant devotion was an expanse of faith...
never extinguished by indignant words!
Be like them, never fleeing the dying sword,
speak kindly to them, and make them see their vileness;
and whether it was willful or not ...be merciful and virtuous,
and change their visceral spirit with the noblest word...
have the wisdom of the Prophets who were inspired by God,
and brought a rebellious people back to their Lord!
A vagrant person won't find a tranquil place in days,
trenching on a stark wasteland...where no trees ever grow,
the arid air welcomes nothing but sunlight;
be illuminated by spirituality and remit any sorrow
to reprove silliness and resentment ...
and finally put aside the notion of not seeing enough miracles!
For Mac Henry Imafidon
Foxes have no cave to lay
but here I spread like a clay
I have very few to love
beside the springs of Dove
May we always remember
we may not be among the members
May we always remember
even before their mothers
Tell them that brve it most
They would live to see the cost
Upon a teethless arrant
Tomorrow shall tell of pur warrant
You glowlike my heart
The truth shall be seen in your art
Wait, look and see
I have made you a Rose
Our heartbeats, soulmates
Our soul giver, soul providers
May we always remember
that tomorrow has something to remember.
©John Chizoba Vincent
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