Best Arrogantly Poems
Stop being so downcast!
Stop feeling so blue!
And please, stop caring about how many here like you!
On this planet we have but a short time here.
Don't you understand this basic truth?
There is nothing to fear!
Don't come here to be a comment collector.
Reply to comments for heaven's sake!
Please don't be just a selfish taker!
Someone took time to not only read but comment!
You let them sit ice cold, so arrogantly bold.
Some will like you, some will not.
So, laugh, get a tall, cool glass of apricot nectar,
And let the arrogant rot!
If you ever get insulted, get a screenshot!
Big whoop if poets go in another direction!
Ta-ta, au-Revoir~you don't need to be, by them, to be
detected!
The arrogant here think they are by the very God selected?
They by pass your poetry as if it were garbage, freshly collected?
You can see it in their "perfect poetry"
Always a race to be at the top of the poetry tree.
Rarely, will they comment to thee.
You must first comment to them on humble,bended knee?
Looking in mirrors, it's only themselves they see!
Just, please pen some words from your very special heart!
Not Shakespearian wannabes, such pretentious smarts!
There are marvelous poets here, genuine people
I praise them from the highest steeple!
Put on the page, whatever you feel,.above all else, be
unflinchingly real.
And when you go to bed each night, oh my.
How happy and accomplished you will be!
That you are a genuine poet not a poet-groupie!
April 10, 2020
1am PST
To wake each day, alive and whole!
Verily a gift for all to behold.
We assume, we will see another day?
Anything can happen, petition....pray.
Going to bed and not thanking the Lord?
You are here now and were spared Death’s sword.
It takes but a minute or two, to be humble.
Cease thinking we are mini gods, who just grumble.
There truly is only one great poet!
We forget we are not Him, and arrogantly show it.
Remember, do.....our days are numbered.
Think seriously on this, before you slumber.
6-21-2022
The Land Where the Lemon-Trees Flower
I know the land where the lemon-trees flower,
where citrus fragrance lingers after a summer shower.
In sun-sweetened India, lemon-trees radiantly bloom,
flourishing unfazed by tropical monsoon’s gloom.
Glistening with dew drops, greeting each sunrise,
lemon-trees thrive beneath heaven's azure skies.
Exquisite five-petaled flowers of white,
blossom singly or in clustering delight.
Enticing like swirling girls in silky saris,
they’re as enchanting as woodland fairies.
Glistening with dew drops, greeting each sunrise,
lemon-trees thrive beneath heaven's azure skies.
I know the land where the lemon-trees flower,
where valleys are verdant and the Himalayas tower.
Misty mornings yield to golden sunshine,
and the cool ice-pink of twilight glows divine.
Glistening with dew drops, greeting each sunrise,
lemon-trees thrive beneath heaven's azure skies.
Sri Lakshmi blessed it with her sacred hand,
waving her lovely lotus over this fertile land;
where princely proud peacocks strut arrogantly,
and lush lemon-trees bear fruit abundantly.
Glistening with dew drops, greeting each sunrise,
lemon-trees thrive beneath heaven's azure skies.
07-12-2018
Awarded Poem of the Day 07-14-2018
Note: Sri Lakshmi – Hindu goddess of wealth, abundance, prosperity, love,
and beauty
A giant snowball in springtime
From twenty yards out the sound and smell
Closer now; breathing her numbing scent
Listening to the drowsy hum
of greedy and jealous bees
forced to share her bounty
with Tiger and Zebra Swallowtails
School will be out soon...
Memorizing every branch within reach
Her limbs are just low enough
for a boy to scramble up quickly
fleeing imaginary monsters
still lurking and prowling below
Taking ignorant and blissful advantage
of this daughter of the wild; his protector
His big sister to run to...
Shiny and slippery black bark
that oozes burgundy sap
which dries in animal shapes
Summer twilight is coming
Bats twittering overhead
chasing nasty mosquitoes
A noise echoing from far off
A door slamming maybe...
Tucked safely away in his favorite pew
(Naughty boy, eating during church!)
sampling her forbidden fruit
sweet and sour...half is seed
Thieving Blue Jays get the most
Screaming and scolding arrogantly
yet flying away unpunished
Grannny will make jelly...
Oh everlasting Father, creator of all things
He knows that heaven is far beyond the grasp
of a feeble and fumbling mortal mind
But when You decide to send Your beloved Son
back to rule the earth for one thousand years
If he is judged worthy to be in that count
May one humble servant say if it's like this
that would be just fine...
My vacant stare was sure to be
a giveaway to anyone that saw . . .
I was a Pilgrim there to the land of techno-jargon,
of icons, Help instructions meaning nothing,
and a world of young and savvy operators.
Our teacher wasn’t there.
Certain that the worksheet explaining all the basics
would be a breeze for us to carry out,
he’d arrogantly left the room
and left the lot of us to the mercy of
a keyboard and computer.
I looked up from his worksheet
to a screen that stared right back at me,
awaiting my commands.
I was on the starting path to what is often called
the Super Highway,
and my boarding pass, tuition to the class,
was non-refundable.
Overwhelmed, I started out. Then I hit a rut
and didn’t have a clue what next to do.
My learning peers already seemed to know
the route quite well.
Some, in fact, were calling it a day
while I stayed on, ashamed to bother
any of the others there for help.
I looked around the room, my tired brain
a hot plate in the midst of younger minds
with the speed of ovens made for microwave.
Perhaps they’d all conspired to put
the older lady at unease.
It seemed the more I tried to understand,
the more pathetically off course I’d go. . .
Till finally (longing for a time when
“cut and paste” implied the use of scissors),
I got up from my seat and left behind
the self-instructing worksheet which
that egghead teacher said would be “a cinch.”
Two big words were scrawled across the top
of its first page, two big words in red,
written with the one tool I could trust:
SCREW IT.
For Natalie Whitlock's
"Talkin' Technology" Contest
Silent is the echo as pride shouts
selfishness causing pouts...
self-conceit triumphs over jealousy bouts
self-glory reigns with discontentment clouts
self-reliance wavers upon attacking doubts
self-pity maneuvers toward false humility-routes…
The echo returns not indeed...
as self-sufficiency does arrogantly succeed
self-exaltation declares me-I-my-mine creed
self-inflicting pain midst guilt continues to breed
self-denial actually hoists covetousness and greed
self-love matters most, not recognizing God with His deed.
it’s difficult to begin to comprehend
the concept of eternity
when life is bustling around us all
arrogantly pressing and urgent
so full of self importance
sometimes
in rare moments of silence
when the whole world seems asleep
without warning time stops and hovers
i get a glimpse of what could be
the thread of karma
devoid of all illusion
AP: 2nd place 2022, Honorable Mention 2020
I saw a note pinned up today
that sheepdog trials are underway
I thought, at last, there's justice for the flock
I imagined my fine elocution
as witness for the prosecution
denouncing deeds by doggies in the dock.
Two-leggies might not have the smarts
to see through arcane canine arts
and arrogantly think they are in charge
They're suckered to the masterplan,
believe the wolves are tamed by man,
when really they are free to roam at large.
In court we sheep will have our day
and see the wolves all locked away,
and finally they'll throw away the key;
then celebrate in field and dale;
in years to come they'll tell the tale
of how the woolly ones became the free.
Please don't condemn me
For whom or how I pray
I sadly pray for the souls of all others
That I come across every day
I pray wholeheartedly with the feelings,
That are felt from within my heart
Also for those who think of themselves above me
As they arrogantly rip my heart apart
This world has become such an evil place
Cloked in nothing but selfish greed
So to those I can reach,I try to do one thing
And that is plant a new spiritual seed
So please don't condemn me
For whom or how I pray
I sadly pray for the souls of all others
Before my life here is to be taken away
Dan Kearley:12-4-12
There is an old saying....
keep your friends near, but keep your enemies even closer...
This is a poem about a very smart Chick...
Who was very resourceful and very slick...
Rumor had it there was a Wolf, and he had a way...
Of taking advantage of everyone on any given day...
He had terrorized the neighborhood for the very last time...
They had a town meeting , and all agreed...
That the only choice was a dastardly deed...
Chick volunteered to take on the challenge...
And majority stated, he had to explunge...
“I’d love to have you over for dinner on Friday “ said Chick...
To which Wolf stated quite arrogantly, but quick...
It would be my pleasure...see you at eight...
There was a beautiful shining Harvest Moon, when Wolf arrived at the gate...
Come sit in my hot tub, said Chick turning on some tunes...
Dinner should be ready very soon...
The water is hot , said the Wolf...
Ahh , but your body will feel so much better...
Just relax and drink this wine, dinner will have much more flavor...
Hours went by...then the doorbell rang...
It was the Pigs, from town known as the “ gang “...
Quick grab a chair and please be aware ...
That I have slaved all day for this affair...
One which will change your perception of me...
I might be a Chick, but as you will see...
I have accepted the challenge, and done my best...
So do me a favor and please honor my request ...
Use your best table manners, and please do not squeal...
And for everyone’s sake, try not to “ Wolf “ down this meal...
How has it dawn on us so soon when we hadn’t even achieved much?
Why has the marketplace ceased to buy and sell so scanty the streets wither away
The clouds becomes more darkened as smokes ascend randomly our fields are on fire
We can feel the rain but it has lost its coldness
I hear more voices than I usually heard
This time of crying and wailing rather than chatting and hailing
Voices
chanting and singing songs of war
Dust and gun powders like fog fill the air,
with great rumble the battle rages
The long night tarry on nobody has awakened
Some privileged to pass on to the other side
Total transmission from what we see now
Carcasses litter the streets as we run from pillar to post
Yet not so sure where the lot may fall
Great assets lost in hot zones, they shouldn’t have taken the guns,
Gravesides more frequent than bedsides
When did we become such serious foes?
That tears can’t seem to mend?
We let our children die by our own hands and still squeeze our sorry faces
How valuable is this trophy, hope it’s worth the pains we are feeling now?
We match in battalions, onward we go
Faces brimming with boldness and courage,
Though fear still takes its partition
We leave behind loved ones not so sure,
like walking into the lions cave to kill or be killed
Jumping over strip wires, nice try
Only to step on landmines
A time to team up with death taking from one end
While it continues from the other side in its own way
Orphans, widows and widowers we make at will that which we had once pitied
What caused this sudden change?
So unfortunate many fighting ignorantly yet arrogantly
Now we pull down our once fancied walls to build more refugee camps and fill them
We overstretching science and make of men expendables
A time we show how much we can take
What we depict now is wickedness rather than strength
In this game
Winners are
Always
Rude
As a child and a teenager I used to attend a mission-hall,
Which had an outreach to the homeless of Edinburgh;
And every three weeks until I was about seven,
They would give the last call so that god could your soul deliver.
They said at the end of every sermon,
Every three weeks in the evening,
“This is the last call!” and they meant ever,
‘Cos Jesus could return any time for the believing.
I felt so intimated by it, this unkind presence of mind,
That I could not properly sit on my seat,
But I knew that they were insane with melancholy,
And that it was the real dynamics of life that they could not heat.
I refused to chat with them after services and at the youth club,
About what I believed and about the in and outs of my thoughts,
But poignantly sat down with the Youth Fellowship leader once,
And talked to him about what in me life had very clearly wrought.
When I said outrightly that I did not believe in the Second Coming,
And that life was for keeps, give or take a few possibilities,
It was as if his world crashed down disarrayed in shambles,
As he was shattered by my philosophical sway and confident amble.
He realised fully that I was damning their last call,
The pressure of it and how it riled, writhed and tormented;
That it was for no good reason, for no universal moral principle,
For no disciplinary cause and for no complimentary angle.
So he arrogantly walked away from me, rudely with passivity,
Not aware of his own need of polity, sense and direction,
But it was a triumph for that mission-hall boy worker,
To react to an objector so firmly and not himself recapture.
They were generally unresponsive and indifferent,
To intelligent objectors who had a righteous way,
Because this left them with their day-to-day lunacy,
With reality dressed for them to face another day.
That mission has changed today into a Christian centre,
Bright and refurbished and selling lunches in a cafe,
And I am proud of its journey, how far it came,
Because the transition was by no means lame.
The Broken Heart And Last Desperate Plea
This broken heart lays in bitter moonlight
evidence of a great tragedy that cold night
Yes, I had fallen for her sexy, devilish charms
swept her so deeply into my cheating arms
Next morning guilt began to feed, eat into me
for only then your sweet face did I start to see
Pain burst into this miserable cheating heart
I had broke the vow we made on our loving start
Now I sit in a lonely dark cave I foolishly made
a fool that she used, ever so gleefully played
I told you my sin attempting to wash it away
sadly, you told me to get out and forever stay
My soul is now a casted away, derailed train
my greatest regret is causing you such pain
Forgive this miserable and demolished fool
I was a liar and such an arrogantly stupid tool
Search your sweet heart for the kindness there
remember the good times and love we did share
I beg you with remorse and down on bended knees
hear my lament and my sincere remorseful pleas
The trap that the devil cleverly laid for me
was a cage with many locks but no saving keys
Mercy I beg my lady that once loved this clown
I have no smiles, my face wears an eternal frown
Forgive me dearest, wipe away your bitter wrath
allow me to walk with you on that romantic path
My broken heart and soul is yours to now save
Renew this great love that we both forever crave
This lesson I have just in deepest misery learned
nothing is worse than finding my love for you spurned
Save me, I am nothing without you to love and hold
This dark cavern is deep, lonely and so very cold
Robert J. Lindley, 03-11-2015
Note- A writer's imagination, not based upon any current or recent
event in my life! Although I once should have written something similar to this to a lady but was just too damn prideful to do so. Live and learn..
My city has been abandoned
by royalty for vultures to defecate and Hyenas to spit on.
The large hole left is a huge hindrance to every emotional functionality
making inactivity a coveted blessing to this feeling
which was once an inner paradise
as vacuum is more glorified to this emptiness
handled by a devastating care-taker.
Misery spins in a jet speed round an orbit of madness
while disgrace powers this system with the energy of ruin.
Reconciliation’s manual is drafted in an impossible language
b’cos everything within and outside the shores of existence
are on their knees on my behalf, yet mercy has been squashed
on this rocky heart I arrogantly created.
My moves of happiness have been jacked up
with a pivot of depression as its wheels are unscrewed
by the cruel tools of sadness.
The buttons of our memory now over-punched,
making the heart drown in a gutter of regrets
and dragged to the blind border of melancholy.
A heavy rope is tied around my neck yet nobody sees.
My throat, in cautious contact with a sharp knife but nobody cares.
I face reject like a delicacy without seasoning from a Tongue
and dislocated by doom
like summer without daylight or spring without the rains.
I stand alone and afflicted by this mood so barren.
She has passed the message so clearly
but not without leaving an injured soul.
There are too many people whose favorite trick,
Is to preach, "Walk softly and carry a big stick."
But, in practice, they arrogantly sing Yankee Doodle
And stomp around loudly, but carry a wet noodle