Best Barrelled Poems
Five stones
closing times
radiograms and
seventy-eights
school caps
sticklebacks
saturday flicks,pooh sticks
Charabancs
steam trains
linoleum
oil cloth
mangles
fish paste
sandwich spread
Hot towel shaves
cut-throat razor
shopping baskets
paper bags
braces,plimsoles
short,back
and sides
Wizard beano
and hotspur
lending libraries
picturegoer,
road to
Bridget Bardot
Marilyn Monroe
Dripping
coal fires
antimacassars
nylons,suspenders
crumpets
and toast
Brown and mild
barrelled beer
conkers,school milk
blackboard rubbers
and liftup desk lids
times-tabled
school-kids
Draughts
and allotments
rusty bikes
roller skates
satchels and scrumping
pounds,shillings
and pence
Categories:
barrelled, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
NOTE: I don't find the time, neither do I have much inclination, to write a great deal these
days. However, the occasional new piece gets composed, and this is one. I would like to take
this opportunity to thank everyone - Ruben, Raul, Andrew, Elaine, Patricia, Carol, Adeleke,
Krista, Trudi, Kristin, Bill, Shishir, Sami, James, Trudi and many, many others - who have
been so kind, supportive and appreciative both now and in the past. You are stars. I am in
your debt.
I know it's not the happiest piece, but it's what I have at the moment.
T.
Last Chance Saloon:
The deadbeat shuffle from Boardwalk to Boot Hill
Implores the synapse circuit of a short walk to the kill,
With one foot out of line one soon is gone
In Winter rains that fell all Summer long;
Never once did Zeus advise to pack a bag,
Only suck it up and tread the old main drag.
When first she shed her morals and her dress,
The channel burn adored her more than less,
Post-coital walks, romancing in the sun
Beat a path to living in the shadow of the gun;
As expectation always lets one down,
Rends the heart in two by softly skipping town.
From the stained-glass of an alcoholic haze
Wherein kaleidoscopic migraines snap and blaze,
The rusty barrelled gun scrapes at the head,
All the chambers full of coals and glowing red;
She resurfaces like some immortal doll,
And each bullet tastes of paracetamol.
So to raise the weary glass to mouth again,
To curse and toast her godforsaken name,
To down the medicine and down some more
And ride the bona-fide revolving bat-swing door;
Swear by saints alive to never leave this room,
No more chances left to chance in this last chance saloon.
Categories:
barrelled, angst, cowboy-western, life, loss,
Form:
Verse
The Nefarios Scream
Camping in isolated lands of parks and creeks
Untold experiences of adventurous beauty
Nefarious acts eclipse joys of freedom
Blowing up cars to bar any escape
Tents knifed through in the darkness of the night
Wakening frightened sleepy eyed tourists
Throats slit of those who rebel and abuse
Serial killer chases the gutsy that escaped
Muffle the defiant eye to jab out screams
Clanging chains, barrelled guns, hammers et al
Adorn his barricaded blood stained dungeons
Adventures in foreign land turn uglier than nightmares
Destinations of destined stumbled into zones horrific
Families and lovers pine with unrequited inquiries
Investigators baffled over the ambiguous maniac
Who finger by finger tortured the life out of tourists
Exulting over his power of creating a world of zombies
A bomb he carried to blow up the next tourist van
Helpless travellers plea's rippled his blood
Slow and steady steps he came closer to van
An unseen rattler uncoiled rattling his next step
Hissing his breath away in the loudest scream
Balveen Cheema
September 20, 2015
Contest: The Dark and Twisted
Sponsor: Nathan D
I'm
Categories:
barrelled, adventure, vacation,
Form:
Elegy
A coyote pack was howling as the sun crowned
Zack Waverly was weary, he'd travelled around
Zack takes up the narrative, better I found.
High noon, I rode the bay into Rotgut town
With fixed intention, I weren't playing around.
A spurt of tobaccy I spat on the ground.
To finding my quarry was where I was bound.
Saw lonesome Jake sitting outside the saloon
Playing his harmonica, a doleful tune.
No time for pleasantries, gunning for Calhoun
As I went in, I collided with Muldoon
I threw him head over heels into Main Street
Then in turning to draw the bullet was fleet.
I checked Muldoon was dead by kicking his feet
Lonesome Jake squealed and beat a hasty retreat
The bar tender nodded as I caught his wall eye
A bargirl sidled to my side and said "Hi".
With her arms 'round my neck, I did not reply.
So I swept her aside as she exclaimed "Why?"
Downing a shot asked "Seen Calhoun hereabout?"
Bar keep Sam Finnegan said "With this here drought
gone find watering hole with Indian scout"
In anger kicked a table, then came a shout.
“ Waverley, you yella belly rattlesnake!"
The saloon emptied leaving 'us' in their wake
Saw Calhoun run up the stairs making them quake.
Turning, he aimed, an easy target did make.
Double barrelled gun smoke then filled up the room.
Grabbing his legs, hissed "I'd put him in his tomb"
I punch him through a winda and grabbed a broom.
Then came a 'free for all' with goodness knows whom.
The director shouted "Cut, print, great work guys"
As my girlfriend, the bar girl, said "Hey, surprise"
As she dragged me to trailer batting her eyes.
Categories:
barrelled, character, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
Binary 101
Numerically double-edged,
Duplicitous it is paired
Likewise and two fold
Its twin coded binate, not spared.
Double barrelled
Bilateral couple,
teamed;
braced – unified.
Mated and single
Coupled, unpaired
Mixed radix,
Can be shared.
Digitally based
Systematically aced
Zero blocks the chain
Based at one
The power redefines
Linear thinking holds
Only conversion
Characterises
The values you will find
Inside binary lines
Categories:
barrelled, computer,
Form:
Free verse
Five stones
closing times
radiograms and
seventy-eights
school caps
sticklebacks
saturday flicks,pooh sticks
Charabancs
steam trains
linoleum
oil cloth
mangles
fish paste
sandwich spread
Hot towel shaves
cut-throat razor
shopping baskets
paper bags
braces,plimsoles
short,back
and sides
Wizard beano
and hotspur
lending libraries
picturegoer,
road to
Bridget Bardot
Marilyn Monroe
Dripping
coal fires
antimacassars
nylons,suspenders
crumpets
and toast
Brown and mild
barrelled beer
conkers,school milk
blackboard rubbers
and liftup desk lids
times-tabled
school-kids
Draughts
and allotments
rusty bikes
roller skates
satchels and scrumping
pounds,shillings
and pence
Categories:
barrelled, childhood, history, nostalgia,
Form:
Verse
I.
Astronomical Ups and Downs,
Chronological In and Outs,
Agronomical Tractors and their Marijuana Out-fits,
Egocentrical Monks and Perverts,
Economical Charts and Cost pricing,
Methodological Costs and Expenses,
Sociological Frosts and Warm kindness,
Grease on my coat,Row this damn boat,
Can God's Clay Decay,
Can Ants learn to play in the Sunlight,
We must all roast and eat Vampires toasted in bread and salt.
II.
Madhatters have learnt to Drink Malt,
Five year olds have learnt to Drink more than one bottle of Beer,
You must have an eye for these and more of your roasted swine-in-Chilli
peppers,
Leave my colonies to be manned by my faithful and well trained Monkeys,
I will lead the assault for Rome,Paris and your little Malta,
I will sit and wait for the sun to Fall Asunder,
The day Bread never wants to called a Consortium of Crumbs,
Angels will come fetch your Rare Flowers...Oh! Cupid,
Your cup has drunken you stupid,
We are here for the big Fight sheath all Swords...Draw and shoot off your filthy
barrelled guns.
Categories:
barrelled, happiness, hope, imagination, drink,
Form:
Ballad
Consuming brain waves from plentiful touch
Exchange of sorrow, mirth, and incredulous dirges
Following the sign of the times
Discourse as it reeks from chest cavities
Angsting bloated bodies barrelled into walking murmur
You sleepy disease fungal fortunes run amiss
Runinous with divisive claims
Categories:
barrelled, education, funeral,
Form:
Free verse
It was on a Sunday morning
When the dragon came to call
It just barrelled through the doorway
And it landed in the hall
Dressed in green it sauntered in
Ignoring our objection
Wandering from room to room
Performing its inspection
Till finally it came to rest
And on the sofa sat
It was mean and it was ugly
It was hideous and fat
The beast demanded food and drink
Cheese sandwiches and more
I know it seems quite scary, but
She is my mother in law
Categories:
barrelled, animals, family, fantasy, food,
Form:
Light Verse
I really kept no score
Yet the signal contest wore
Give us your best, give us more
Let the bore of your gun be forty four
A no holds barred Wild West contest
Gunning for the heart in our chest
Some wore a bulletproof vest
Shot in head, laid to rest
Out in the open, no refuge
Gun equalises small and huge
Some contestants used subterfuge
Single bullet more potent than a deluge
Doc Holliday legend was dying of cancer
Long barrelled 44 had all the answers
Lighting fast was flicker of trigger
Steely eyes that did not waver
23-April-2021
Guns poetry contest
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
Categories:
barrelled, 10th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
Did Jesus Exist?
Some say 2000 years ago,
A man called Jesus walked about;
But I say, not as god or indigo,
But as a medical doctor stout.
Jesus was an Israeli name then,
And there maybe was one man found,
Of that name, with a doctor’s ben,
Who knew the poor, who did abound.
And I say that big occasions grand,
Make for good sex, for mind focus,
So Mary and Joseph had their hand,
On the country’s population census.
Something happened like on Star Trek,
When Jim Kirk was born light speed;
All nature and the stars fused in spec,
When the pair felt no frown or creed.
This would’ve produced a bright one,
A real whacker and the perfect child,
And so I believe Jesus existed, a son,
Like some say he did and so tiled.
I believe he set a stealthy example,
For other doctors who were for the rich,
Who became followers of Jesus, ample,
Endeavouring the Roman gov to stitch.
A doctor’s job is within legislation,
Within the people’s thinking sphere,
Not without the gov’s validation,
Not out with the majority’s ear.
So I think a man called Jesus Christ,
Was put to death by the people,
Ignored by the government, heist,
But loved by a few friends, his steeple.
But he was taken on by many brothers,
By the profession, medical and strong,
By Luke who had rich men as forevers,
Because he treated their kids, belong.
He tore society’s norm gown in two,
Right down the middle plateauxed;
Luke said no to his old way to go,
Suffered barrelled rejection foretold.
Luke was key in Jesus’ career and legacy,
Determined his acceptance, full or part,
Such that Jesus was thought no fallacy,
To be accepted with all your full heart.
This only meant something to his work,
Not to god or divinity transcendent,
But because in temples he did lurk,
So healings were upon god dependent.
There may be no historical documents,
Out with his friends witness reports,
But I am content that the populous,
Was treated medically, had no retorts.
Categories:
barrelled, birth, christian, god, gospel,
Form:
Quatrain
Lancaster formations
One two and three
To attack the dams
Off Industrial Germany
Targets to hit
In the Ruhr valley
Power providers
Canal alley
RAF Scampton
Near Lincoln they load
This barrelled bomb
Bounced to explode
Runway lined
Engines roar
Crews ready
Tally Ho!
Flying low to reach their quest
Allied pilots at their best
Flak explodes all around
As the Germans hear our engine sounds
Targets reached as they circle round
To gauge their height as it bounces sound
Steady steady let her go
As it hits the water
First bounce slow
Second bounce, momentum gain
These dams, not to be the same
Clinical strike as it hits the wall
Sinks, explodes
Crumbling walls
Minutes pass
As the crew's look back
To observe the severity of the attack
Nearly out of sight, as the walls finally gave
Cascades of water in thunderous rage
The Möhne and Eder breached as planned
Missions accomplished on these German dams
German war effort, hampered for a spell
As for the rest of the conflict
Time would tell
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-2.php
Categories:
barrelled, history, war
Form:
Rhyme
REGENERATION GAME
Poverty stigmatises
Poverty overwhelms
Poverty condemns
To rid an area of its poor
Is the new regeneration game
That governments catering to middle class greed employ
Thus keeping the third estate in check
Sterility of environment
White washing of areas
Coupled with compulsory cauterization of attachment
Are the sticks that beat down the resolve
Of the new underserving poor
Those that made an area
Vibrant
Rhythmic with charm
And a melting pot of cohesion
Are no longer welcomed
Now the developer sees an opportunity
The middle class scramble
For central havens
Above the best schools
Sends planners into an orgy
Of false accusation against the poor
And wilful disregard for the
Life blood of the communities
They so lovingly plunder
The hardship of having too much
Is the story of those in power
An Understanding of poverty
Is not a vote puller
Thus all are rated on their property value
And their post code
To beat the low paid and waged
And the non-double barrelled named
Is a game the chattering classes engage in
Stigmatising the hardworking
Demonising them for living
Democracy functions today
By dividing society into the powerful and the followers
Those that cannot influence
Or have friends with connections
Are never to be allowed within the city walls
Lepers they must always be
To occupy a space where one
Is no longer welcomed
Is the daily grief of the estate inhabitants
Those that have stayed when the going was rough
Are now discouraged from
Claiming ancestry of an area
They will be rooted out come what may
By a council with middle class ambitions
Social depravity does not fit
With most government’s upward mobility
The Victorian idea of the needful poor
Rears its ugly head even in our modern times
Those that have not are always
Meant to be have nots
Politically motivated poor bashing
Is how a party gets into power and stays in power
The economy and society are pawns only
To attract
Buy
And keep voters
Fooled by the scraps from a heavy laden debt table
Selfishness is an ingredient in all
Past social implosions
Today’s regeneration plans
May ignite and incite smouldering ambition
When those that want a fair share
May overcome
The goliath that is selfishness
Categories:
barrelled, political,
Form:
Free verse
When once upon a time one had to knock at your friends door to see if they were in because your parents had put a cap on the phone bill to stop you ringing ....
When you recycled your bottles of pop for pocket money, a halfpenny for your fruit salad chew and you couldn't resist a black jack that turned your tongue blue ..
When your first job was picking fresh organic field mushrooms for the local grocery , a Tuppence a punet was plenty ....
When you helped the elders of your community across the road because their glasses were stuck together with sticky tape balanced on their nose ......
When your friend called Cyril the dog taught you to swim in the river and the sea and you adventured in the pond on your makeshift barrelled boat , your spirit was free swinging on a rope amongst the river trees ...
When it was safe to walk to the park through your village , your community ,and you know you felt safe because everyone knew , you see ...
When the day finished off with scraps wrapped in The Sun newspaper shared amongst your friends whom you spent climbing trees navigating yourselves scumping apples over the old mans private fence ...
Categories:
barrelled, freedom, growing up, inspiration,
Form:
Free verse
A solitary child really,
Shotgun under arm,
Wandering the flood plains
On Billy Bulson’s farm,
Hammer uncocked,
Chamber free of charge
Enjoying the sensation
Of wandering at large.
Not shooting for pleasure
But out to fill the pot.
Today we could manage
With just what we’ve got,
Not getting any pleasure
From any single kill
Just hoping it was clean
And done with some skill
It’s an overcast morning
Sun fighting to break through
Grass wet underfoot from
A heavy morning dew.
It’s Saturday today so
I can take my pleasure
Walking these fields
Slowly at my leisure
Weapon broken barrelled
Now I’m back on the road
To ensure I’m complying with
The shooters safety code.
My next walk will be
Just a little bit harder,
Supplies are getting lower
In the family larder.
Any Weekday morning
I’d be in a bit of a rush
Racing up Church Lane
To catch my school bus,
Part of my double life that
Brings me so much joy,
Village country bumpkin and
City Grammar School boy.
Categories:
barrelled, nostalgia, peace, youth,
Form:
Rhyme