Best Belted Poems
In times of plight I seek for you,
When rivers freeze and left are few,
While sorrow strikes, among the meek,
O’er the winds, and under the creeks,
It's you who then I wish to seek.
Mirth adorned in your silhouette,
In times of war, all when stale and vain,
The picture of you, is tainted coaled,
Relinquishing my soul, from the cold,
I seek to weld, our belted bond.
While the willow, in her bow'r sleeps,
drooping to the sunset steep,
like silver pellets along my chest;
they pierce through and caress,
At times like these, you seek for me.
Forward, Unfazed;
Not a moment to waste!
I long to bask in your estate,
Of short and glorious, evanescence!
I've come to seek, your essence!
18/8/19
Edward Ibeh
I Believe- Era
Categories:
belted, hope,
Form:
Quintain (English)
The sun was setting, as it usually does
The town a ghost town, the main street all but silenced
The wind blowing leaves and dreams to and fro
The tension in the air was palpable
The few souls about all peering out shuttered windows
When in from the west, came a storm
Her name was Serena Storm,
They shivered in her wake, the poetess of dead lovers
Then over to the east side, riding in slow and steady
The grim reaper or so it seemed, hollowed eyes
Dead soul and dark mind, his side arm at the ready
The greatest duel in history, right here
In the town of Nowhere
The setting sun reflected of her dark long coat
The last tear drop, falling to its death in the dust
She stared ahead, face blank
Daring, with a glare, shoot me, shoot me, try
He dismounted his horse, called Heartless Soul
His eyes slits, staring down the curvaceous storm pacing untoward
His hand inside his coat, slowly pulling out a mickey
He belted down a shot or three,
In the town of nowhere
They both paced, hands at their side
Closer and closer, the saloon keeper
Not quite sure his bottle would be paid in full
Then as quickly at the sun set……
Vaso drew first.
The finest long black quill one ever saw
His other hand dropped his bottle
Magically a writing pad appeared
Serena drew second, pen at her side
The color of blood, and for good reason
She too tablet in hand, putting ink to paper
As they both furiously wrote
In the town of Nowhere
Hearts were murdered
The meaning of life was hanged not long after
Love was beheaded
The main street a river of blood
A storm of tears washing away crimson desires
An empty vassal, Vaso’s insides already dead
Dropping his pen, he pulled out his sword of mourning
The duel to end, as he lopped off his own head
She dropped paper and pen to the ground
She faced down the grim reaper, and it’s he who is dead
The only one to know, his name was Arthur
King of the dark, ruler of lost dreams
In the town of Nowhere
The poetic duel of the century
Both won and lost
Long ago
Categories:
belted, beauty, dream, gothic, writing,
Form:
Light Verse
Surly Sally slipped and lost a flip flop
at a hearty party in a bungalow with Billy.
while dancing and prancing to hip hop
whirling and twirling and spinning silly.
Can you reverse and remember the flop she flipped?
Well it ludicrously landed in the party punch bowl.
Nobody noticed while they slurped and sipped
and the dancers dipped and ripped and rolled.
They dipped, danced, pranced and laughed,
pirouetted, and sweated,
tipped and turned till totally daft.
Beer and booze abetted.
The next night they stayed sober and soloed somber.
Crashing and complaining Billy’s head hung,
both believed they’d been belted by a bomber.
Surly Sally swore she felt like dung on a rung!
Let this be a lurid logical lesson,
to those who think it’s only fun and frolick to abuse booze,
Or you too could be confessin’
And for lack of the light of this litany you’re liable to lose!
An answer to a challenge for John Freeman’s Alliteration contest
by my poetry friend, Gwendolen Rix.
Categories:
belted, funny, recovery from...,
Form:
Alliteration
They wouldn’t let me be White
Oh I wanted to be
Dreams of that Pulitzer haunted me
They said, Sir, you have ten minutes to play
I gave them Milton, Poe and Millay
I stood before that panel
Like I was auditioning for Jesus On judgment day
I belted out those rhymes like Sandburg
Gave them sweet elegant words
I gave them personification and anapest
Gave them Trochee with syllables unstressed
I played those Robert Frost Blues
Those Road less traveled Blues
Those Thomas Hardy
going down on the Titanic Blues-
And they said, Son, You could be the greatest
Since Langston Hughes!
And oh I was out of sight
Switched up / Got Fancy
Moved the stressed syllable
From the middle to the right
But still they wouldn’t let me be White
I had every judge popping their fingers
Moving their heads from left to right
So I took a bow
And smiled up at those lights
I gave them Dickinson, Browning and Keats
Oh I had those White judges on their feet
I played until they saw stars
A judge leaned over and said,
You remind me so much of- What’s his name?
Paul Lawrence Dunbar
I played Eliot I played Cummings
I played Stevens too
I had those White Poets out of their shoes
Oh I lifted them a hundred miles off the ground
But when they came down
They said, You could be the next Sterling Brown
I said, Come on! Get out of town!
I closed that audition with my best Haiku
They said, M.e. Don’t take this wrong we like you
I took a final bow I had performed to their delight
But still they wouldn’t let me be White
Categories:
belted, allegory, anxiety, black african
Form:
Quatrain
MICHAEL JACKSON
As Michael performed his routine
and belted out hit ‘Billy Jean’
When he grabbed his crotch
His voice rose one notch
Some critics deemed his moves obscene!
Limerick Contest
8/20/18
Categories:
belted, celebrity, humorous, music,
Form:
Limerick
WASTED WORDS
Lounging near sleep and lingering time
are Eliot, Dylan and I.
We discuss preposterously shaped women
and laugh ‘til our heads roll down
the stairs and onto the crumpled street,
past the sordid cafes and triple-X store
to the busy corner where fat men meet.
Barren, with the violet hour approaching,
my dear fellow Thomas remarks,
“Before murderous time makes fools of all
with whispers of immortality,
we must take refuge (or lest give up)
and shed this burdensome cloak, at last,
for the naked vision found in the cup.”
So we plunge into this purple place
and Eliot begins his quest.
While Dylan speaks of pale-faced men
in rectangular wooden suits
and black-veiled women who sing and moan.
Then right on cue the rattling sky
chimes in a thunderous tune unknown.
Meanwhile, in a sullen corner
lost in a sober wasteland,
metaphorically T. S. sits
shrouded by his darkness,
scorned and shamed by the burgeoning sky.
When a cleavage disguised as a barmaid puts out,
“...remember to focus on the how not the why.”
“What is this strange new beauty ?”, he asks,
as he gently strokes her tattoo.
She laconically spit direct in his ear
her storied life as a dancer
and infidelity rose in my pants,
much to my horror, too much to hold back,
when off goes Eliot into one of his rants.
But Dylan will have his dominion in here,
with a song he whipped up the crowd.
A Welsh tune he belted like a demon possessed,
with vile and wasted words,
but for noise violations he was carted to jail.
Eliot’s guilt was his rain-drenched voice
but Sir Thomas had found his Holy Grail.
Categories:
belted, imagination, nonsense,
Form:
Rhyme
edgar allen poe: he died on my birthday, but before i was born and before the beginning of the civil war. he might have enjoyed the pale horse of that day, as he endured the hellish bells, bells, bells & belted the raven’s forevermore.
sylvia plath: loved to take blood baths, hated tulips, and was born twenty days after my birthday, many years before. i was introduced to her bell jar in my high school years.
james mercer langston hughes: he invests in the euphrates, congo, nile, mississippi (m - i- double “s” - i - double “s” - i - double “p” - i) rivers, where his soul has grown deep.
robert lindley: the soup’s own dark poet, emotions worn on his sleeve,
he watches the waters flow from the riverbank & returns from ashes and dust
darkness falls and delivers
7/21/2022
Categories:
belted, dark, poets,
Form:
Tazkira
I went searching for-
that little child who cuddled in her mother's arms,
those tender feet that jumped in rain,
that little heart which melted for a kiss,
those twinkling eyes that gleamed in the moonlight.
I enquired the oak tree about-
one little nose that smelt the early morning jasmines,
an enthusiastic voice that sang the stories of the sky,
those tender fingers that brilliantly belted out the piano,
that curly hair which locked the light of life securely in it.
I kept on searching for those red ribbons, that blue tunic and those black shoes which accompanied the girl to her school
I walked all the way right from her study table to her office desk following her footprints to get some detail of her
I ran amidst the woods where she breathed the pure early morning air
I checked the cabins of the city metro that seated her comfortably when she choked for breath.
Her spectacles had no answer to any of my questions regarding her whereabouts
Her golden ring lied lifeless on the table having lost its royal glory
Her favorite shoes are still waiting for the mountain trekking event.
Her black bike had no answer when I asked why it's engine is never ignited.
Her friends still kept her number in their contact list pointlessly waiting for a text message from her.
Her boyfriend silently walked into his office cabin and seriously worked on his assignments - he'ld probably never smile again
Her mother sat on the dining table with two plates in front of her-she'ld probably never realise that the food remains untasted forever.
Categories:
belted, absence, death, fate, goodbye,
Form:
Free verse
Electric cars are coming
Driverless ones too
I wonder if you feel
as disappointed as I do
If you remember the thrill of the road
with the top down on your car
Wind whipping your hair wildly
Speedometer's needle your guiding star
Accelerating on the freeway
Punching out at green lights
Burning rubber at those stop signs
Crossing the country, seeing sights...
Never again to 'see the USA
in our Chevrolets,' we are
surrounded by sensors, alarms and air bags
belted in seat harnesses and gagged
Categories:
belted, car, change, future, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
Half Cocked
If life was sweet as buttercups
we wouldna have to say wassup
and as I slipped into your room
your figure shining with the moon
you gasped with seeming utter shock
as i smoked a pipe of havelock.............(old tobacco)
we came together neath the stars
and Jupiter he belted Mars
they put me in the JPs dock
said johnson had gone off half cocked
Don Johnson ....
Thank you sultry sweet Janine
your comments sweet, i'll lay between
and love will flow serenely not
steam and passion hot hot hot...
love Don
Categories:
belted, adventuresweet, sweet,
Form:
Rhyme
dry white snow rasps the asphalt
attempting to reclaim the purity
of a metropolitan morning
coating the concrete pillars
brushing with tender touches
the grates and allies
dusting the bottom lands
of bordering belted swamps
with leggy aplomb
the icy shavings take flight
on the whoosh of winter
in hushed whispers they move on
First Published by The Tishman Review January 2015
Categories:
belted, urban, wind, winter,
Form:
Free verse
THE OLD COVERED BRIDGE
Late fall
Country scene
One birch, close by, already bare
With a taste of frost in the air
And this sturdy, old, covered bridge – this haven -
Strong tiled, tightly sided. A few slats still thrive -
Strips of weathered-green survive.
Late fall,
Looking far, from Terry’s Mount,
At distance she commands the eye -
Her autumn regalia, the peaks, gold-burnished dell
And the mill-side water’s ebb and swell
One’s fancy cannot help but dwell on a few histories
Imagining, within, the seasonal mysteries
Cowbells
The few been herded o’er,
How the boards did rattle,
The frightened, mooing-roar of cattle,
Stomping, desperation. And old herder Jim –
Yelling, shooing, face beat red.
Twas near the end of him.
Blizzard
I’m limping, all wore out,
We’re near a half-mile from home
Old covered bridge looked so good.
Inside, all was safe, and dry the sure-caulked wood.
Outside, the tempest’s blast, high drifts a fright
She saved us did old covered bridge that awful night.
Spring flood
Worst winter folks could remember
Storm after storm beginning early November
Come March, though, those roiling, boiling clouds abated,
Temperature soared, the record heavy fall quickly melted.
Old covered bridge, standing high, was tested, belted,
Floor washed away, but, in the main, saved those dreadful days.
By moonlight
I sit, thinking, 3:00 a.m., can’t sleep.
Pitch black, but the Moon kisses her silver tiles
What phantoms lurk beneath, what secrets does she keep -
All those midnight rendezvous, young men’s loving wiles,
All the rustic yearnings born of mere, solitary charm,
All those fond, romantic plans hatched within her kindling arms.
Categories:
belted, nostalgia, old, autumn, old,
Form:
Free verse
I reckon I'm showing my age and am pretty well set in my ways,
But I have zero tolerance for the 'noise' called music nowadays!
The metal bands and rap are loathsome to my sensitive ears.
I haven't heard a melodic tune on the radio for over sixty years!
Pleasing to the ear was Vaughn Monroe and his mellow baritone.
Likewise, the romantic, comprehensible crooning of Vic Damone.
A songster who could stir even the most unromantic soul,
Was the silky-smooth delivery of debonair Nat King Cole!
I truly enjoyed the ballads belted out by the ever-living Elvis,
And got a kick out of watching in action his double-jointed pelvis!
Delightful were the songs vocalized by cheerful Doris Day.
It was so relaxing listening to the Velvet Fog, Mister Mel Torme!
Will there ever be another Glenn Miller, Perry Como or Peggy Lee,
Dinah Shore, Frankie Laine or Jo Stafford entertaining me?
Oh, to hear again The Mills Brothers and their sweet harmony.
Now all I hear is dreadful screams and gross disharmony!
Today's drivel to my romantic soul gives me great offense.
'Tis alien to my ears and doesn't make a bit of sense.
Music back then invited you to hold your gal in close embrace,
As you danced and murmured sweet nothings face to face!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Entry for Nayda Ivette Negron's "Favorite Music Type" Contest
Categories:
belted, humorous, music,
Form:
Rhyme
Here’s a starry poem one might call ekphrastic
about an exploding fireball fantastic
from a ‘nova’, imaged with time-lapse clarity,
all the more remarkable for the rarity
of tracking its expansion– which researchers say
engulfs a place in outer space in just a day
as great as where the orbit of our Earth holds its sway,
at a distance of fifteen thousand light years away,
passing that of Jupiter in less than two weeks–
through some challenging magnification techniques…
Six telescopes collaborated in the huge task
of measuring its size and shape, so as to unmask
the colossal ferocity, albeit remote,
of its “dramatic process”, to astronomers quote.
The eruption that occurred was in the location
of Delphinus– Latin for Dolphin– Constellation.
What causes these spectacular events to arise?
When any of the two of a binary star dies,
as a consequence of its empyrean demise,
it becomes ‘white dwarf’ companion to the larger one.
Then this parasitic partner has some fiendish fun…
In some sort of star-struck, degenerate devotion,
it siphons enough hydrogen to form an ocean
on its surface, till it reaches the critical mass
that will make a brobdingnagian blast come to pass.
Now this formerly faint star system takes center stage
to indeed ‘against the dying of the light, rage, rage’…
A tremendous fireball is hurled into the skies–
so brilliant that it’s visible with unaided eyes…
Thus it burns out its bright celestial futurity
in that bumpy ride to recurrent obscurity.
Novae may play second fiddle to the ‘super’ kind–
their bigger stellar cousins– in the popular mind,
still these marvelous phenomena my awe inspire–
as does that Dylan Thomas villanelle I admire…
But it was wild man Lewis who captured them entire,
when he belted out, “Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire!”
~ Harley White
Categories:
belted, image, imagery, science, sky,
Form:
Ekphrasis
https://www.youtube.com/edit?video_id=M1uhJSVuz_A
School bashings in 1951
Oh I went to school in fifty one
Like every six year old should
I did't know what was in store
A flogging for my good?
Bushy got a sandwich from another kid at school
He handed me another, nice tucker it was cool
Bushy did not come this day, I got another sandwich
Head teacher grabbed me by the scruff
A long cane he did brandish.
He thought to drive the evil out
I surely got a thrashing
Blue stripes from heel to nape of neck
Yes mate I got a bashing .
Beryl Mason was the older girl (bushys sister)
Who came and told my father
He sprang upon his horse, did whirl
His stockwhip cracked like thunder
He rode up the steps into the school
And sprang upon the teacher
Belted him often hard and cruel
And Joe become a preacher....he saw the light
So I did not get the cane for awhile after that.
I'd had all I needed for awhile. Don Johnson 6-12-10
My mate Sourpuss Noble of Dirranbandi had his head
Jammed through a plate of glass in a school door ..
As the teacher said .You will not talk no more?
Categories:
belted, adventure,
Form:
Ballad