Best Bandied Poems
You hit when I was low
The pain you caused, you know
Threw dust on glitter glow
Made weeds of sorrow grow
Cued pent-up tears to flow
You hit when I was low
You hit when I was down
Made me a freak show clown
Took jewels from my crown
Gave not a smile but frown
Held me until I drown
You hit when I was down
You hit when I was sad
Made good turn sour, bad
Streaked pain into my glad
Bandied words like “mad”
Spilled ink on writing pad
You hit when I was sad
You hit when I was lost
Clueless to what it cost
Flowers: blighted in frost
My sentiments you tossed
My boundaries you crossed
You hit when I was lost
You looked down from on high
Not hearing heavy sigh
Not seeing tears I cry
Not caring if I die
And Still you don't know why…
To you I’ve said, “Goodbye”
Jade
Categories:
bandied, pain,
Form:
Rhyme
How do you change a lie into the truth?
Alchemy, dear children ...
this is how it's done, using unverifiable proof
First, you take a sick, dirty lie,
and doctor it up as truth
Whitewash and scrub it clean,
then jet power it with unsubstantiated verbal steam
That should make the lie thoroughly sanitized
Then play a continuous sound byte loop,
uncorroborated and fact-free
Present the fake news with a five-star salute,
then say secrecy is the true path to liberty
This rings eerily like New Age alchemy,
bell-tolling Faustian chemistry
If that ain't a manufactured alternate reality,
then somebody is lying to us obviously
How do you do this, change a lie into the truth?
Alchemy, dear children ...
this is how it's done, using fabricated proof
Next, you take a package,
and deliver it to the people,
with a Trojan horse message inside
But the people don't know it's harmful,
because they labeled it with a lie
See, that's the beauty of deception,
they don't call a lie a lie
Instead they choose another word,
as they place the pirate patch over their eye
Misleading, false claims
Plausible deniability
mis-remembering
Choose whichever words you will,
a lie is a lie is a lie still
Changing a word won't make a falsehood real
Taste the propaganda spoiled sauerkraut;
as alternative facts are trotted out,
and disinformation is bandied about
Know that immoral alchemy is being performed
by high wizards of the dark arts
Frankenstein experiments in need of more body parts
Don't be bewitched by lying craft,
don't get (con)fused by this manipulative graft
into a cancerous body politic
Changing a lie into the truth
is the ultimate alchemist trick
Categories:
bandied, corruption, dark, psychological, word
Form:
Dramatic Verse
He's staring off into oblivion;
dead-lights, who of their own free will choose to illuminate
the gray matter microwave that is TV:
too vain, too vulgar. Thought Vanquisher,
brought to you by your friendly-facade-keepers:
the politicians pussyfooting on a pedestal
built of an uninformed (yet united) public -
whose belief in "connection" is in reference
to a wall socket. Not love. Not kindness.
Who unwittingly become hamsters on a wheel,
convinced of stars held in our pockets; while promises of prosperity
dangle on a string. Like Maya's caged bird we sing
- but not of freedom - to sing of that would be akin
to declaring the sun has risen in the east. Freedom is a given,
at least that's the belief that's bandied about.
There's a boldface lie in that belief . . staring us in the face.
Are we too ignorant to see or too coddled to care?
Organic antenna, playing a fuzzy station;
our loved one's voice like a pesky fly -
six-legged silhouette on precious phones.
Halfhearted hmms-and-yeahs exuding from lazy lips. A lone
wolf, misunderstood youth - the euphemisms of today,
tomorrow's regrets. The diarrhea of words floating
in cyberspace; ricocheting off planets, but never touching earth.
The constipation of passion - nonchalant bloodbath of values -
no one strong enough to carry the hearse. We'll have to work
together - in unity redirected - to carry the load of our ancestor's past.
We descendants who reap the aftermath; let's carry on and forgo the calm.
Complacency is no destiny to pursue; crack the bottle against the bow,
that ship has sailed. Let us dabble in truth, instead of sugarcoat lies;
deception maybe be sweet, but give it time, it'll go straight to your thighs.
Embrace controversy with a bear hug, and give tyranny a timeout.
And should our words sharpen swords instead of mold minds,
may the massacre be only metaphorical - and the white flag of truce
be mistaken for a canvas - painted with the blood of your passion.
Categories:
bandied, allegory, america, angst, today,
Form:
Prose Poetry
What a slap in the face!
It’s an international disgrace!
(Descriptive distraction)
and (subversion in action)
It’s now commonly used in parlance by judiciary
while in literature this prevalent (lie) I see.
With a bland, enough face?
or is there the hint of a trace?
Could there be in its origin, a.. motive? or motion
created to infiltrate a nations notion?
A.. (sort of sufferance)
involved with its utterance!
So (abused & misused) is the category
I must zero in all my batteries,
Now I am clearing my decks,
here I go, what the heck!
For I have admiration for a Francophile
would converse with a Russophile
I so enjoy your work Faberge
and appreciate the charm of the Gallic sway
But for me there is no third way!
(now) without any doubt I am coming about
And stoking all my fires
for full ahead’s my desire.
On the literary beach
I see a very (rotten peach)!
And it was ‘hidden’ in full view
Hmm.. let’s see what some firepower can do
For the doting parents who pray
keep our kids safe today.
Hardworking moms & dads who care,
find time that is to spare
From extra help with early reading
to painting nursery room ceilings
Some working 14-hour days
it makes me angry I say.
Aunts & uncles, grandparent, teachers
of calm nature and reason
With motives pure and in step
with life’s seasons
And the name of the paedophile should by rights be theirs,
its been hijacked, does anyone care?
It’s too good a description, just not the depiction
to be bandied about, LISTEN
AS I SHOUT WITH TRUE INDIGNATION
CHANGE THIS DECEPTION OF NATIONS
© Joe Maverick 25-04-2011
Categories:
bandied, caregiving, literature,
Form:
Couplet
A cruel Jack Frost blows icy floss
(in front of spring a’ burstin’)
while shiftin’ sheaves of withered leaves
near freezin’ streams a’ thirstin’.
A pack reviled runs roamin’ wild,
the alpha wolf wakes howlin’
then scents a lean and lonesome scene
while on the lurk a’ prowlin’.
A cloud revolts with spangled bolts,
and starry skies start closin’
as wild geese soar beyond death’s door
neath naked moon a’ posin’.
Electric shafts, like fractured rafts,
sail night’s cathedral caldrons –
their cracking curse makes herds disperse
in random splayed and sprawled runs.
A she-wolf sighs with hungry eyes;
the ancient wolf waits, bayin’ -
with weary back, he’s lost the track,
his bandied legs betrayin’.
The brood’s somewhere in shrouded lair
with mama left to mind ’em -
the wolf, a’ drag with empty swag,
is on his way to find ’em.
The pack rejoins with weary loins -
perhaps its days are numbered.
In evening’s night, he’s feeling tight,
with aches and pains encumbered.
As morning nears, with shaggy ears
(one droopin’ down, hung over)
he’ll set the course with renewed force,
for, yes, he’s still the rover.
When snow enshrines the timberlines
and skies are ripped asunder
though young, lupine, they’ll stifle whines,
as gullies fill with thunder;
mid echoes in the mouth o’ death,
they bid farewell the lair
while panting puffs o’ crystal breath
float, hanging in the air.
Their path is black (they can’t look back
for herds long gone a’ missin’)
as dusk profanes the snow-bound plains
the sinkin’ sun was kissin’.
Neath northern lights, with barks and bites,
he keeps ’em all in motion –
the speckled scars of fallin’ stars
display the night’s devotion.
The sky’s a’ blushin’ in the east,
and hollow wind’s are sighin’
while buzzards freeze in gallows trees,
a’ roostin’, rapt and eyein’.
These ghouls of prey, they’re spooked away,
like tumbleweeds a’ blowin’,
by tilted head, white fangs tipped red,
and warnin’ wail’s a’ growin’.
...... Continued in part 2 ......
Categories:
bandied, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
(An invented ghost tale)
A tale was told how centuries ago
at one old wooden bridge, there had occurred
a tragedy, for led there by some foe,
three children, by his scythe, were massacred.
It plagued my mind what drove him to this act;
how evil could prevail and not atone!
So one dank night the path to death I tracked,
and on the bridge I found myself alone.
Then suddenly I shrank. There loomed ahead
a disembodied soul with horror’s face.
Then circling endlessly the bridge, he fled,
as smaller ghosts with bandied blades gave chase.
Three gravestones lie nearby - no less. . . no more.
And yet the spirits I had seen were four!
An oldie for Carolyn Devonshire's Halloween Fright Poetry Contest
Categories:
bandied, mystery,
Form:
Sonnet
41.
Resist I Must
Pride is hubris run amok
To rot the soul within.
It rises from the depths of hell...
The deadliest of sins.
It is the snake that slithers so
To pervert both bold and brave.
It may appear the luminous rainbow
But at its end... a pauper's grave.
Resist I must... if resist i can
To this bastard's sad decree.
Knowing counted among the fallen...
Are far better men then me.
The End
42.
Sorrow on the Vine
My thoughts were sorrow on the
Vine... my brain in some distress.
I carried on, as best I could
With an effort to suppress.
But malcontent was soon to be
As despondency quickly grew.
I will go to bed... to sleep the night...
And tomorrow start anew.
The End
43.
The Wretch
A wretch upon the gallows stood...
Devoid of any plan... while
Life was weathered astride the door
And Death cackled near at hand.
The Angels sang as Angels do
When one answers Heaven's bell.
But judge not those about the gallows...
Lest you be judged as well.
The End
44.
The Clock is Ticking
If you cling incessantly,
Counting down your final breath...
Consuming supplements and vitamins
To cheat the Reaper of a death.
But the clock is ticking... ever ticking..
And when you meet a timely end...
Embrace Death in all its glory
And make of it a friend.
Fear not the specter of Life's decay...
But if such a thing should be.
Let Church bells ring and Angels
Sing... as you shed mortality.
The End
45.
A Thought Was Had
A thought was had, and had it was...
To a point beyond dispute.
I surprised myself, I did, I did...
It seemed to bear some fruit.
I bandied it with knitted gloves
Concerned for it to break.
I crept about the boarding house
To rouse my friends to wake.
We gathered round the bellied stove
To hear my thought defined... but by
Then, the thought I had, I thought I had...
Completely slipped my mind.
The End
Categories:
bandied, anxiety, endurance, pride,
Form:
Rhyme
Half-truths morphed into deceit,
drowning out love's sweet refrain.
And your hopes sound the retreat;
devastated once again.
Your shattered heart lies broken;
for passion's flame flickered out.
And hurtful words got spoken;
when truths were bandied about.
A naive victim of lust;
your fantasies fell apart.
For under the cloak of trust,
time revealed a callous heart.
Imprisoned without a key;
your feelings got tightly bound.
And until you set them free;
the soul you seek won't be found.
Categories:
bandied, angst, betrayal, emotions, feelings,
Form:
Quatrain
No one seemed to take much note at first.
Old-timers on park benches passed a comment or two,
Somebody wrote a letter to the local rag,
but no one (who mattered, that is)
really seemed to mind.
Of course, you will always have
your bellyachers and woolly romantics
with nothing better to do than whine
about the way things are going, -
the loss of bird life, the silenced dawn chorus,
the vanishing English hedgerow,
you know the sort of thing.
The leaves began falling long before autumn.
"Funny," they said, "curious," "that's one for the book."
This was all very interesting for botanists,
environmentalists, chemists and the like.
Such words as "pollution," "soil erosion"
and "deprivation" were bandied about,
but no one was much the wiser though
the experts were agreed on one point.
"Photosynthesis provides the basis of all life."
This was interesting but nothing like
as interesting as the favourite for Ascot,
the football results, the Top of the Pops,
the late night thriller or the FT index.
All that changed.
Foresters and timber merchants became concerned
about the decaying cores of many trees.
The government became concerned, too,
(not so much about the fate of the trees as such
as about the effect the scarcity of wood
was having on the paper industry and inflation).
Then the doom-watchers caught the scent
and there was talk of an imminent ecological collapse,
but the man in the street still
passed it all off as the usual load of rot.
Then Kew Gardens, Epping Forest, Central Park,
the Everglades and the Bois de Boulogne
went the way of all wood.
A tramp, locally known as Nat the Nut,
was found in the village cemetery gibbering,
Before being bundled into an ambulance,
he was heard to say:
"With these very ears I heard 'em groan,
and this is what one of 'em said:
'Tonight we are dying, yew and I,
and the morrow sees us dead.'
And the willows wept in the valleys
and the trees on the hills pined away."
When the harvest failed,
the church bells tolled
for a woe no man could gainsay,
for none doubted then the trees were lost
or held it was only they.
Categories:
bandied, angst, autumn, humanity,
Form:
Elegy
Something I've always wondered about
A subject near and dear to my heart
Why don't sheep shrink in the rain
It's puzzled me right from the start!
A theory that sometimes is bandied about
Maybe their wool is non-shrinking
Sounds quite a bit far fetched to me
Someone's jazzing me I'm thinking!
Quite plausible if you think about it though
But whether it's true or it's not
Sheep I've talked to don't give a rat's ass
Damn wool is making them hot!
Categories:
bandied, funny, me,
Form:
Quatrain
friendship, imagery, imagination, inspiration, muse, poetry, word play,
Poetry Soup ©
Posting of one’s poem has come to be an inspiring word play
We’ve read one another’s word/worked poetry world wide
We first draft and so fine-tuned our poems before we share and gift
Friendly criticism ‘suggestions’ and praises are bandied about and returned
All our thoughts and words were born from many ‘minded’ inspirations here
All found memories were noted upon and searched within and duly ‘ironed’ out
Opened or shut to variety reviews ‘crafting’ our long ‘elbowed’ running words.
Concerns draw insights that lead into queries to life, nature, family and survival
We have collaborated and composed a 'probed' spicilège of prose, shoulder to shoulder.
We are forearmed with stimulating life variations with ‘factual’ shared hap- enhances to put to pens
It is by reads of everyone's 'trial and tribulations' inked that give us familiarity
Each one another’s unique individual epic postings are winnable word plays when shared
Comradeship truly develops between good words spoken/read or put in prose coming from true hearts and souls.
Circulations of our many efforts to date have been displayed in all poetry styles
Where ‘either or neither’ written poem surpasses ‘its’ place alongside one another
They mesh and contribute to the essence of poetry fare and make a fine prepared poetry soup
And it is this vast wonderful giving of our poet’s word-play that calls all lovers of poetry to listen
We are diligent with 'like-minded' myriads of stanzas that indeed marry and flavour our simmering soup pot!
Categories:
bandied, friendship, imagery, imagination, inspiration,
Form:
Free verse
blessing, butterfly, nature,
Butterflies And Sweet Breezes (Copywritted by didee)
Colourful butterflies dance on the tail
Of returning scented breezes
That coursed the meadows and moor's
Doorways left open and ajar
To guide all breeze's flights in and out
With the taking of mixed ambrosia whiffs
All swept from their bedded lawns glory
The scented cargoes fill with nectar spawn
Meant to tempt many a 'bypass tour' back.
And it is now on the returning breeze's tail
The butterflies will be brought to drink on nectar
While giving a show of dance they will flit about
Flying from bloom to bloom to gather and drink
Where many butterflies will skip, jump and feed
Until drunk on great cups of mead and made merry.
And it is with their tiny hands and feet
That touch ed-down on the ripe pollen within
That nature has intended to be bandied about
For a full blooming proportional rebirth next year!
Categories:
bandied, age, blessing, butterfly, nature,
Form:
Verse
a cavalcade wept ashore with frenzy like a beastly bus
oblivious of tribes who blissfully dealt without a fuss
triangulated within an ever narrowing pen
contaminated, decimated, eradicated “red” men
once a collection of indigenous separate “nations”
plucked by invaders who usurped america as their den
releasing poison couched as religion into the air
which indignities true colors became readily clear
when europeans “discoverers” fomented war-fare
to those who found themselves in deadly cross hair
every inch of “new world” grimly rustled in every lair
with deadly piping hot metallic bullets with near
with unfamiliar customs on par with a satyr
without means to escape any direction they did veer
cohesion of unity did annihilate without a trace
that belonged to those who stood apart as separate race
paraded as “exotic specimens” in some faraway place
bandied about as if some rare refined silken lace
of their rightful home by chicanery tactics base
to banality, effrontery, hostility though dined
with travesty from Europeans whose dreams lined
against so called original occupants who got maligned.
Categories:
bandied, adventure, bible, christian, confusion,
Form:
Ballad
Something I've always wondered about
A subject near and dear to my heart
Why don't sheep shrink in the rain
It's puzzled me right from the start!
A theory that sometimes is bandied about
Maybe their wool is non-shrinking
Sounds quite a bit far fetched to me
Someone's jazzing me I'm thinking!
Quite plausible if you think about it though
But whether it's true or it's not
Sheep I've talked to don't give a rat's ass
Damn wool is making them hot!
© Jack Ellison 2015
Categories:
bandied, silly,
Form:
Rhyme
A Portrait of George Zimmerman
By Elton Camp
It was the meeting room of the local KKK
Genii, Hydras, Titans, Furies present that day
The Grand Cyclops was to direct the meet
So he had already donned his white sheet
A Confederate battle flag was on display
A sign declared, “God bless James Earl Ray”
A picture of robed men and flaming cross
Showed, of fair play, they had a total loss
The infamous “N” word was bandied about
Of their sentiments, there can be no doubt
“Brothers, robe up so the meeting can begin”
The Grand Cyclops’ words activated the men
From a cabinet, their robes they withdrew
White hoods pulled over their heads too
Onstage, an American flag hung from a pole
Hands on hearts, they reverently did extol
With the Klavern members all properly regaled
The Grand Cyclops, minority groups assailed
Jews, blacks, Catholics, gays got a drubbing
“All these filthy critters need a good scrubbing.”
Sending blacks to Africa, the Grand Cyclops advocated
And told how their “uppity ways” he so intensely hated
“Brothers, we now have a new model who we praise.”
From a picture, a concealing cloth he did raise
A photo of a man with cuts on the back of his head
“God bless George Zimmerman,” the caption read
The whole Klavern clapped and with a frenzied shout
Showed they had a new hero they could rave about
Categories:
bandied, discrimination,
Form:
Rhyme