Best Besot Poems
Legs that can’t fly
Heart that can’t love
Lips dry
Kisses under go a rye
I am blind
Only seeing within the past lens
Only holding on to memories
That wont last
Your sweet smile fades away
As I whispered in my deepest of dreams
Now I live inside insane mad thoughts
You have moved on
I am not longer in your way
My love lingered
No more can I sway
Your beauty
My dreams
I have lost directions
Flowers never come in May
Waves’ roll to shore
Angels play in the tempest sea
They know not love was not for me
Blankets keep the royal lovers warm
I left to winters charm
Coldness is my home
Chilled thoughts haunt my very bones
Broken and all alone
Forlorn
Battles yet fought
Over me grave
Besot, tears still drop
Underneath
Poetic flowers bloom
I read other people's poetry and I wonder to myself,
Where do they conjure up their massive vocabulary?
The words I don't know, I write down; and I have quite a list.
Some of these English words, I know belong somewhere between here and Ireland, but maybe in another century, with Coleridge or Thoreau. But yet,
here we go. Betwixt, bemuse, besot, who writes like this?
I have looked up more fanciful, interestingly new words in a month than I knew existed, and I used to think I knew some words. Keep them coming, my Poetry Soup pen pals. I am fascinated, and learning a new vocabulary faster than I thought possible.
At faculty meetings people are asking, "What are you doing?" I'm looking up words, I tell them. Lots of eye rolling; these are teachers, and many, I am afraid, have not opened a book since college but you didn't hear it from me.
I'm a simple woman, not a snitch.
‘t was on a rainy day in Camelot
A knight saw a maid he liked a lot
Before he paid heed
He remembered, indeed
Husbands are in heaven whose wives scold not
The maid, it seemed, had almost forgot
The words of her mother, whose name was Dot
For marital bliss
Remember just this
Husbands are in heaven whose wives scold not
The knight with the maid was quite besot
And after a time they tied the knot
She never did scold
He did not grow old
Husbands are in heaven whose wives scold not
The end of this tale may surprise a lot
Because heaven is not the place he got
Words one day you may recall
Some, but certainly not all
Husbands are in heaven whose wives scold not
A storm is brewing as the wind hastens,
the darkening troposphere trembles
with the tornado's teeming tempest afar.
Cumulonimbus clouds meet, gathering to
brood, to share their destructive morose
mood, just as he did that fearful, fateful night
as his friends gathered about taunting him.
This would be no ordinary storm, but a deadly
terrorizing storm exceeding all previous storms.
As the tornado strikes, Hades is awakened
to rise up with Cerberus at his side to
meet the onslaught of obliteration and
blood spilled and spattered with a frenzied
unrelenting wind force exceeding 100 mph.
The house destroyed, his family winging
their way toward heaven's golden gates,
there would be no rendering of redemption.
As the tornado became weak and dissipated,
spent from spinning and swirling its wrath,
its path of decimation and destruction lay
bare with the departed and hard hearted who
cast his lot and became besot to spend his
final unremorseful days of hate with Hades.
April 18, 2016
*Hades was lord of the underworld and ruler of the dead
in Greek mythology.
*Cerberus was the three-headed guard dog belonging to Hades.
To read more about Hades:
http://www.greekmythology.com/Olympians/Hades/hades.html
Note* This poem parallels the wrath and destruction
of a tornado with a man who goes berserk and, during
a frenzied rampage, kills his entire family.
To be in love along the rushing shore
And hear sounds from your heartbeat to enslave
To kiss your hungry lips, then wanting more
Obtaining love's desire, its constant crave
Besot, beneath this dazzled sky, I find
Love's lightning splays a light that clears my view
Such echoed worlds, warm soft as waves inclined
Submerged through quiet eyes, a love so true
My hand entwined in yours, we bond as one
While watching footprints fade in pebbled sand
To spy a reddening sky and setting sun
While falling into night, at stars command
We'll feel the waves upon our warmest skin
And touch the stars, as dawn arouses in
Written by Mystic Rose & Frederic Parker
March 3, 2014
For contest, Collaboration.. sponsored by Jared Pickett
My brother was first at the table
to pile six pancakes on his plate.
I don’t know how he stayed so skinny
given the enormous amount that he ate.
My daddy had made the hot syrup
from white sugar or so he had thought.
After one bite my brother was choking,
hair rising as though he’s besot.
Then Dad yelled ,”Don’t pour the syrup.
Instead of sugar, I grabbed Epsom Salt. "
Won No. 5
So once again, with grim countenance, the ship sailed on with all bemoaning their woes
Till calm seas prevailed, with balmy sun, sweet zephyr song, they came to Helios' shores.
Helios, calm god of the day, smiled upon the lads, gave of his land free rein, but with a caveat-
Helios pride was his golden herd, indolent and fat,"Do what you will, but don't touch that"
Well, as was their wont, like a terrible refrain, full-weathered from woes and want, but yet unwise,
The crew, overcome by gluttonous greed, slaughtered a heifer, for raucous feast, not sacrifice.
Wild was Helios at this blatant deceit, with terrible curse, banished them all, to wander once again.
So with Helios' curse (and Neptune's help), the ship was tossed and soon lost, all crew were slain.
It was Odysseus alone who was alive, afloat on flotsam, floating about, with fervent wish of death
But sweet surcease was not his lot, more plight was his fate - his tryst was due with Charybdis yet.
Perhaps Scylla was a better bet, in it's slavering jaws a definite death, I think he'd rather have it
But caught he was in Charybdis' thrall, a vortex which ate him whole, and threw him out as spit.
Past the maelstrom's outer whirl was our hero tossed clinging to life's last hope, verily a straw
Floated, the wasted carricature of a man, denied of food and water, no sustenance he could draw.
But perchance the Gods smiled on him, wearied of their devious, puerile games going too long
Odysseus fell on land once more, where restored were life and limb, bewitched by Calypso's song.
Now Odysseus, all said and done, was a man vulnerable to worldly women's wanton wiles
And Calypso was full besot with our hero's lusty frame, his wit, his deeds and charming smiles.
For seven years did he taste bliss, ensconced in Calypso's arms with thought of home amiss
But one day, after seven years, did Caypso, with heavy heart, let him go on pleas of our Hermes.
From Calypso's isle did Odysseus sail on raft, through storm, as was now his habit, and came to Sceria
Where Nausicca, on Athena's urge, gave succor, till he sailed with Phaecians who had trade with Sumeria
The Phaecian ships soon landed Odysseus on fair Ithacan shores where Penelope had travail,
But my dear laddies, I must hie hence, for the Dawn is nigh, of Penelope and Suitors, is another tale.
Concluded
This is one of a few sonnets Mystic and I collaborated on
she has left PS and in her honor, I'm posting it
To you Vienna, my writing buddy
To Be in Love
To be in love along the rushing shore
And hear sounds from your heartbeats that enslave
To kiss your hungry lips, then wanting more
Obtaining love's desire, its constant crave
Besot, beneath this dazzled sky, I find
Love's lightning splays a light that clears my view
Such echoed worlds, soft as waves inclined
Submerge through quiet eyes a love so true
My hand entwined in yours, we bond as one
While watching footprints fade in pebbled sand
To spy a reddening sky and setting sun
While falling into night, at stars command
We'll feel the waves upon our warmest skin
And touch the stars, as dawn arouses in
written by Mystic Rose and me
3/3/14
The Valentine cards are everywhere.
In Hallmark I wish I owned a share.
And at seven bucks a shot
The one with whom you're besot
Can just flip it to see if you care.
MICHAEL JACKSON
-----------------------------------------------------------
They called him a wacko,said he's a cracko;
But on the dance floor,he made them go loco.
He was nicknamed smelly,gyrated his belly;
But he danced like his birth was from a can full of jelly.
Born at number seven will he enter in heaven?
Or just be forgotten like some beaten eleven?
Crooning in paradise or tooning in hell?
Questions unanswered,we want someone to tell.
Was it the doctor who thumbed the door bell?
Was it some drug that rang his death knell?
With loads of talent he did abound,
But couldn't make it to that final round.
It's so sad he had to die,
Depriving fans of that final goodbye.
This genius who did the moon walk here,
Is now hopefully doing it in another sphere.
With his crotch grabbing,anus stabbing,sodomising way,
He was criticised globally for being so gay.
They claimed the young lads he did make lay,
But like a small little child he only wanted to play.
From the Jackson five to being no longer live,
As a music maestro he had unholy drive.
With a journey besot with I don't know what,
Everything came to a gigantic nought.
He began a career "OFF THE WALL"
Became "BAD"and fell to propofol,
If only he'd realised whether "BLACK OR WHITE",
Death is something which is God's sole right.
Life no doubt turned out quite a "THRILLER"
Thinking you're 'INVINCIBLE"can be such a killer.
God doesn't mind a lot of skit,
But for Jacko the wacko he said "THIS IS IT"
-------Prince Freakasso {Artist and Poet}
I see you in my dreams
An unravelled seam,
A faded place,
Struggling to resurface,
An irrefutable alteration in my life's plan,
Branded and irrevocable throughout my lifespan
Leaving tear-stained cheekbones
And whispered tones
Depthless emptiness in my trembling heart
Trails of scar tissue as you depart
Stilling the voices in my melancholic mind,
Memory I see has truly been unkind
For here you were and here you are not
My heart and my soul remains besot
As I glide through the mires and murky without care,
Your cruelty has erased my concept of fear,
There is no life in these arms to reach forth,
No craving or wanting to be sought,
If there is a thing to cure what is ailing me,
Darkness dictates that even that will fail me.
Humans are quite a deciduous lot.
It's our nature, but not Mother's motif.
We fall from grace without faith and belief
when fleshly flaws make us stumble, besot.
Tousled emotions are tied in a knot
as though weatherbeaten, love ends in grief.
Reddened eyes, the shade of a cast-off leaf
from tears spilled and splattered like an ink blot.
We fall in and out of love. It's a chance
taken, like planting trees for greenery.
Then, we watch deciduous leaves perish,
borne on blustery winds in one last dance.
Windswept limbs despoil Winter's scenery.
Love and lush foliage, we should cherish.
Robert Burns - P is for Poet.
Intro- Rabbie Burns stated on his deathbed on 27th July 1796 that he did not want the Awkward Squad i.e. Scots Military firing a tribute to him at his graveside.Burns wish was not granted and he died with full military honours with thousands lining the streets of Dumfries, Scotland.
At the graveside the Scots Military fired three volleys as the dirt was shoveled into his grave.
P is for Poet
Peasantry pulled by independent thoughts
Posthumous plaudits, academics besot
Penury not privilege, to which you were born
Poor ploughman's son, sowed our new poetic dawn
Prescriptions for passion and artistic artillery
Paradoxical pilgrim in heaven's distillery
Poetic pied piper, peat-fuelled injected ink
P is for poet, from your chalice we'll drink
Persecuted profile, diagnosis was death
Painful, your passing, blood in your last breath
Pistols point skywards, as Awkward Squad fire!
Pageantry and pomp as dying wish expires.
RIP ROBERT BURNS.
O! My love, come lie on my lap;
And tell your besot stories…
Q! Frozen breeze, come tickle us;
And lilt your mellifluent songs.
We are roses in Venus’s garden;
And our souls are honeyed pollens.
We would seize every moments;
And really see it…live it and inure it.
Dear! Death may swipe our bodies;
But snarl betwixt souls are perennial.
Remember and lilt the song again;
Love is perennial but life is ephemeral.
I love not
That I ought
For I sought
What I had fought.
I hate aught
That I should not
For I forgot
What I besot.