Best Bawls Poems
Prolonged sounds of shrieking sirens warn
Where death of normalcy people mourn
As he hugs wife and child close to his heart,
Ambivalent of woeful day’s agonizing start:
Unjust war burning down sanctity of life
Clasping distressed lives in atrocious strife.
Neither they have hope, nor relief in sight,
Where eerie silence frightens bleak night,
Misery crowds his way on hellish train ride,
As dread of the unspoken bawls teary eyed,
Spotting piles of rubble, bodies scattered,
Buildings, playgrounds torn and shattered.
Kissing goodbyes, he ventures to the field,
Despite enemy’s strength refusing to yield;
Determined to defend his nation’s pride
While rage of anguish he struggles to hide.
In a makeshift bed, as she trembles in fear,
Kissing her child-asleep, she sheds a tear,
Having heard of war-crimes, uttering a sigh,
Overcome by trepidation she tries to defy,
Shivering in consternation of silent screams,
Collapsing in agony of dismantled dreams;
When she was told her husband has died,
Agitating a turbulent storm howling inside
Where boiling anger, scorching grief collide.
November 27, 2022
Placed 1st: Pick-A-Title, Vol 33 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Categories:
bawls, anger, pain, war,
Form:
Rhyme
I sense and feel mystique of its appeal
In vibrant, verdant, blossoming spring,
Splendorous prairies undulating breeze,
Resplendent falling of autumnal leaves,
Glacial winds bemoaning a frozen sigh,
A cerulean terpsichore of ocean tides~
I sense and feel, yet can’t cage its wings.
Purposeful, evocative, musings unwind
When elixir of missives invigorates mind
In tears of joy glittering mother’s eyes,
Holding hand of father, an innocent smile,
Hungry bawls tearing impoverished lands,
Cheers echoing hopes of clapping hands,
Grievous calls unleashed by fate unkind,
An uneventful existence berating its grind.
Though I pretend to reign world of words
And impute resonance to songs of birds
And conjure kisses from lovelorn woes
And dare personifying feelings of stone,
I struggle in thoughts to stage my show
Striving to rhyme verses stubbornly prose
Dawdling daydreams of poetic meadows
Attributing forms to shapeless shadows
Clueless of the exit from wordless throes.
Ah! dear reader, the poet in you knows,
Much alike an eagle boundless in freedom
Flight of artistry I’m unable to control,
Passions of its symphony, I do not own,
Depth of its ocean shall remain unknown.
August 12, 2021
Categories:
bawls, art, muse, poetry, words,
Form:
Verse
The Playbill for the 9/8/01 show at Godspeed Opera House falls from my palm to the floor. Here I sit, with a drugged hangover but alive. The last thing I remember is a suicide note in the Underwood typewriter on my desk, beside an ashtray of Blanche's lipstick smeared butts. Putting back on, the bifocals that had been dangling from one ear; I frown. I can't remember arriving? A phone's ringing; I stumble toward the tone. Odd looking thing, I think, as I bend over. The note taped to it says; it's a cell phone? "What the hell?" As I flip it open, I'm tackled. My heel slips on a broken pencil; I'm down. "What did you do? You bastard," he bawls, waving an airline ticket in my face. Looking toward him, I notice the stage still lit. He grabs the cell phone, "What the hell is this? You a commie spy?"- The 'phone? screen?' says 'Fred go to the opera house by midnight or you're both dead.' The curtain parts revealing a pool of blood: a chord is struck.
It's midnight accordin' to the ticker. I have a moment's relief before my arm's wrenched behind me. I'm cuffed. There's a shout from the lobby and the sound of sirens. Lifting me, he shoves me to the wall; locks me to the door pull. The theater hall appears empty except for us. Through a door, he charges. "Back here guys." The SWAT team arrives. "Smells like the dead in here Marco's, where's the body?"
"Ask him. Take him out and open some damned windows will ya." Two of the gorillas toss me on the porch under the moth laden lights. Just when the cop was about to kick me in the head; a woman screams. The coppers run inside. I hear a crash and a half dozen clod hoppers trompin', then through the door rolls a single gold earring. I scream "Blanche!!!!!!"
The crew hollers CUT-PRINT-It's a WRAP. I smile as Blanche saunters out.
Categories:
bawls, mystery, drug,
Form:
Prose Poetry
The Play Bill for the Godspeed Opera House fell from my sweaty palm to the floor. 9/08/01. I’m still alive; it’s a miracle. Pushing my bifocals back, I frown. I can’t remember anything after arriving at 11pm.? A cell phone rings. I stumble toward the buzz; bend over to look for it, when I’m tackled from the wing. My heel slips on a broken pencil; I’m down.What did you do? You bastard,he bawls; looking toward the old theater house’s stage. He grabs the phone, retrieving the last message— Fred get to the opera house by midnight or you’re both dead.
the curtains part
revealing a pool of blood:
a chord is struck
Seems I’m alive and after midnight too. I had a moment’s relief. My arm’s wrenched to my back. The pain’s hard to ignore. I feel cold metal; he shackles me. There’s a shout from the lobby and the sound of sirens. Lifting me, he shoves me to the wall fixing the cuffs to the door pull. The theater hall is empty except for the two of us. Through an open door, he charges.We’re back here guys. It’s clear.That moment alone was all I had. The SWAT team arrived. Smells like the dead in here Marco’s where the body?“Ask him why don’t yah. Take him out and open some damned windows will ya. Two of the gorillas toss me out on the porch for a closer look under the moth ladden lights. Just when the cop was about to kick me in the head—a woman screams.
Categories:
bawls, mystery,
Form:
Haibun
The Play Bill falls from my sweaty palm to the floor
September 8, 2001 and I'm still alive; it's a miracle.
Pushing my bifocals back up my nose, I frown.
I can't remember the play at all?
A cell phone rings. I stumble toward the closed doors.
Bending over, I'm approached from the wing and tackled.
My heel slip-rolls on a broken pencil; I'm down.
What did you do you bastard, he bawls.
the curtains part
revealing a pool of blood:
a chord is struck
My arm's wrenched to my back the pain's hard to ignore.
Arms back, I feel cold metal, he puts on shackles
From the outside, there's a shout; a cop's siren sounds;
he lifts and shoves me to the wall.
Categories:
bawls, betrayal,
Form:
Verse
Savannah Night
There was an uneasy feeling that night on the savannah.
The creatures were jumpy as they huddled and grazed.
Startling at each new sound, one stamps its foot and
the vast herd flees, from what they are unsure.
The lions creep through the long grass setting an ambush.
The first pair's job to spook the herd now is done.
The rest spread out, now taking up the deadly hunt.
Working quickly they target one and separate it.
One lioness jumps on its back then slips off and is trampled.
Another tackling it face on is gored in the shoulder.
But the rest soon have it cornered and it is soon smothered.
As it dies the pride are already ripping open its belly.
The blood covers the land red as it seeps into the soil
There will be feasting tonight as the lions gather to eat.
Snarling as they rip into the warm carcass, blows lashing out,
As they vie for position, pushing and shoving each other.
The hunt was long and hard, the fruits came at high price.
Two lioness wounded, one will die. Such is the cost of success.
A calf bawls for its mother, yet she cannot answer its call.
Sadly it is too young to live, it will end up a tasty morsel.
Sated the lions rest in the early sunlight as cubs play.
Life for now on the savannah continues, and peace reigns.
Categories:
bawls, africa, animal, night,
Form:
Verse
The crimson moon bawls on his flight
Doleful to be condemned to night
His samba partner teems with life
Yet he hangs listless filled with strife
Whilst craters pock his dusty face
Her smooth profile glows soft with grace
Waves splash coyly along her skin
As parching drought afflicts the twin
Halo membranes caress her soul
While he claims little to extol
He’s locked away from that embrace
Like a buckle upon her waist
Sequestered on his lofty perch
He ponders how to end his lurch
He tries to shake his mantle free
So he can float with meek debris
Just as he starts to drift away
He hears whispers begin to play
Prayers hailing romance twist his ear
Until he melts away from fear
Maybe those folks below can see
Just how lonely the moon can be
Words purify to help him heal
His love for her shall make him real
Categories:
bawls, devotion, life, naturemoon,
Form:
Couplet
Government policies that toilet stink
Presidentially approved
by a potty-mouth politrician rat-fink
Give the progressive town halls
more executive bathroom stalls
Read the foul language scrawls
on the Oval Office latrine
dollar-bill green painted walls
Flush the rank noise
with a few
smelly issue tissue tweet bawls
That dung aroma gon make your nose blink,
bowel vapors
will have your thoughts vomiting in the sink
Get the voting public
standing at nausea attention
Prep the ballot masses of breathy dissension
with sound bytes
of bitter chocolate bung mint,
duly veto sent
Tell ‘em it’s their sworn patriotic duty
to greedily eat the excrement
Taste the butt-hole flavor
of nasty worded inhalation torment
Truth got swallowed whole ... intestinal sold
Filthy lucre lips
do love the ruble con savor
Condition the brownie-nose party bound chumps
to double dip the cow chips
into the raw sewage salsa with the brown lumps
Be stricken by the loose tongue,
back-end diet
of diarrhea verbose crying
A cheeky butt buffet ...
odious motives with odoriferous intent
Buy the all-you-can-eat lying,
go feast on the swirling fear excrement
Categories:
bawls, political, satire, slam, truth,
Form:
Rhyme
UUUUF…the mailman taps on the door,
Plop, Plop as the cards drop on the floor
roooooommm runs the vacuum cleaner
Oh, there’s mighty ringing of the buzzer
Come buddies, hey, Jimmy and Bob
Here’re ribbons and boxes, get on job
Boiling oil is plashing in the pan off
Sugar is gurgling on the hot stove
On the baking tray, gravy’s dripping
Tasteful turkey is roasting
Dad is busy clicking the camera
Cleaning zooming my mom Lara
Guys are busy gurgling down beers
Baby bawls and rattles with cheers
Lilt of crooning carolers heard nearer
Santa whispering something to his deer.
Quietly rustles in Christmas at last
Music blares out with merry blast
In the hall our family gathers with joy
And Dan ready with a magic trick to enjoy.
+++
November 30, 2014
Form: Free Verse
Categories:
bawls, children, christmas,
Form:
Rhyme
The master forces his clowns to laugh
when polka dots become the wearers.
An audience roars…a pained choreograph;
behind the scene, the wounded howl tears.
What man is he who tugs the moppet strands?
Twisting acts at whim for raunchy tricks
and controlling moves through strict demands,
only to bruise the shame he inflicts.
The crowd hollers as he waves the rope
Oh master gloats; new slapstick begins.
Hushed are the young mimics just to cope,
till one bawls ,” please Dad, we are your kin.”
John Lawless' Puppets Contest
by nette onclaud
12/25/2014
Categories:
bawls, conflict, power,
Form:
Rhyme
Score's zip to zilch, last inning's near halfway through
at Gettysburg Commons' baseball league playoff.
Champion Graycoats at their posts hitherto -
Blue Jackets hear the pitcher's husky cough -
a clue to the catcher - this batter's toast.
Pickett lobs the pitch from high on his perch,
Meade smacks it past the church house roof almost -
a bolt from the Blue, Gray gets lost in the search
and Meade makes an easy trip 'round three bases.
Hancock is next and takes his turn with relief.
He whacks one to the pitcher of all places
running like blue blazes in disbelief.
He speeds to first base while Meade makes it on in.
Then Hancock circles the field - score is ought-two
As Pickett sits on the ball holding his shin.
In shock, he volleys a few words of blue.
The umpire approaches, a'raisin' his hands,
"I heard balderdash," he bawls with a frown.
"Game's called for cussin', but the score still stands."
Singing the blues, Graycoats hand over the crown.
New "toasts" of the town are Hancock and G. Meade.
They both talk a blue streak to boast of the coup.
Dazed by their disbelief, Graycoats recede.
And for weeks, Gen'ral Pickett's leg's - black and blue.
written 12 January 2015
Categories:
bawls, 11th grade, baseball, blue,
Form:
Rhyme
There was an uneasy feeling that night on the savannah.
The creatures were jumpy as they huddled and grazed.
Startling at each new sound, one stamps its foot and
the vast herd flees, from what they are unsure.
The lions creep through the long grass setting an ambush.
The first pair's job to spook the herd now is done.
The rest spread out, now taking up the deadly hunt.
Working quickly they target one and separate it.
One lioness jumps on its back then slips off and is trampled.
Another tackling it face on is gored in the shoulder.
But the rest soon have it cornered and it is soon smothered.
As it dies the pride are already ripping open its belly.
The blood covers the land red as it seeps into the soil
There will be feasting tonight as the lions gather to eat.
Snarling as they rip into the warm carcass, blows lashing out,
As they vie for position, pushing and shoving each other.
The hunt was long and hard, the fruits came at high price.
Two lioness wounded, one will die. Such is the cost of success.
A calf bawls for its mother, yet she cannot answer its call.
Sadly it is too young to live, it will end up a tasty morsel.
Sated the lions rest in the early sunlight as cubs play.
Life for now on the savannah continues, and peace reigns.
Categories:
bawls, africa, animal, nature,
Form:
Verse
Rum bottle nods with sanction
on gentle sway
The old dog spat snuff juice
that took wind
Puffins drift below the haze
Cape Flattery
is no tale
Chocolate on a white man,
the solitary wile
brackish breeze
wanders along impressions,
dints in a sea chiseled face
Heads pressed vigorously
to confine what coat resembles
beneath salted rags
Today he lives as Makah
Fair-haired;
Stained by sun and sea
Brows fall low
to hush the truth
conveyed by green eyes
Sun at high noon
jump back from the fluid sapphire
The sea, it whispers
never a lie
Sea lions yap
Snuff juice took wind
Towards Tatoosh Island
rigid draft pushes stares
Aged salt grinned at old thoughts
A child hugs heavy thighs
and bawls
It is hard for him to witness
What these elements can do to a man
Rum
Sea,
and sun
Categories:
bawls, adventureold, old,
Form:
Free verse
Christmas Magic
UUUUF…the mailman taps on the door,
Plop, Plop as the cards drop on the floor
roooooommm runs the vacuum cleaner
Oh, there’s mighty ringing of the buzzer
Come buddies Gail, Leo, Craig, Frank and Bob
Here’re ribbons and boxes, get on job
Boiling oil is plashing in the pan off
Sugar is gurgling on the hot stove
On the baking tray, gravy’s dripping
Tasteful turkey is roasting
Dad is busy clicking the camera
Cleaning zooming my mom Lara
Guys are busy gurgling down beers
Baby bawls and rattles with cheers
Lilt of crooning carolers heard nearer
Santa whispering something to his deer.
Quietly rustles in Christmas at last
Music blares out with merry blast
In the hall our family gathers with joy
And Dan ready with a magic trick to enjoy.
=======================================
Date: 21-11-13
Dr. Ram Mehta
Second Place Win in
Contest: Christmas Magic by Gail Angel Doyle
Categories:
bawls, holiday,
Form:
Rhyme
I
Hear the bouncing of the balls--
Basketballs!
What a sound of merriment they cause when each ball falls!
How they echo, echo, echo,
Inside the gymnasium walls,
Arriving at a crescendo
While the spectators shout “Bravo!”
Drowning the referee’s calls;
And the players start
To make their last dart
Amidst the reverberation ricocheting off the stalls
From the balls, balls, balls, balls,
Balls, balls, balls--
From the bouncing and the dribbling of the balls.
II
Hear the ticking of the balls,
Ping-pong balls!
What a soft and easy sound comes from their bounce and rolls!
In the crowded room that’s bright
How they fill it with delight!
Like the ticking of a clock,
Steady but fast,
Or the picking of a lock,
What tune they make with their ceaseless tick-tock,
Until at last--
Oh, what a miss that appalls
The audience that has remained speechless in the halls
How it falls!
How it scrolls!
And the erring player rolls
His fists at his own pitfalls
By the swinging and his missing
To hit the balls, balls, balls
The balls, balls, balls, balls,
Balls, balls, balls--
To hit the light and small and saffron ping-pong balls!
III
Hear the loud thud of the balls--
Volleyballs!
What feeling of suspense is caused by their great falls!
Across the nets stretched tight
How they gracefully take flight!
The watchers anticipating,
Who would win they keep waiting,
Breathlessly.
Until the umpire from his platform blows a long shrill whistle,
And the balls drop on the ground like useless heads of missile.
Then tempers start to bristle
In the air there is a rustle
From both player and spectator
To win the set or never
Hold the trophy covetously.
Oh, the balls, balls, balls--
"Pick them up!" the umpire bawls.
Once again
The balls are hit, tossed, and passed
And the game goes on full blast
While the players on each side dare not complain
Yet the audience fully knows
By the spiking
And the digging
How the game would sooner close.
Who would be covered in palls
Suffer beating,
‘Cause of losing,
And forced to receive catcalls
For dismally failing to score and keep afloat the balls,
The volleyballs--
The volleyballs, balls, balls, balls,
Balls, balls, balls--
In the scrambling and the spiking of the balls!
March 18, 2023
Categories:
bawls, 11th grade, basketball, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme