Best Boastfully Poems
The Butterfly Flutters By
On a steamy, sun-drenched, summer Sunday,
tree leaves delightfully dancing to the tune of
a warm, welcoming, wandering breeze blowing,
metamorphosis now complete,
no memory of being yesterday’s creeping caterpillar,
the butterfly flutters by.
Blatantly, brazenly, boastfully,
showing off beautiful, brilliant, blue-black and brown wings,
gracefully gliding through a breathtaking, glorious garden,
the butterfly shyly pitches from blushing,
boldly-colored, buds to fragrant flowers,
cunningly outmaneuvering a competing, hovering hummingbird.
Slyly snatching a satisfying taste of tantalizing, syrupy sweet nectar
from attention-craving, Golden Flame Honeysuckle vines,
the butterfly flutters by
cheerfully and completely satiated -
perhaps, already dreaming about
tomorrow’s anticipated sugary feast!
05-25-2014
Contest: Highest Views (08-30-2015)
Sponsor: Casarah Nance
Placement: 10th
Contest: My Last Contest (02-17-2015)
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Placement: 4th
Contest: The Butterfly Flutters By (06-03-2014)
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Placement: 3rd
Summer says so long as glorious autumn takes it place
Less humidity and cooler nights puts smiles on our face
Cloudy fall wet days give relief from the hot blazing sun
Spectacular fall colors have only just wondrously begun
A previously soft velvet lawn is sadly now a hoar frost crunch
Squirrels dashing frantically collecting nuts for winters munch
Trees boastfully showing off their multi-colorful leaves so grand
While a wonderful cascading light snow beautifully coats the land
Sweat glands sigh in relief as shivering becomes the norm
Bracing ourselves for the transition as the seasons transform
Needing gloves to keep icy fingers warm on our daily walks
Observing abundant harvest displays mixed with corn stalks
The shortening days lets the moon have it's grateful turn
To shine in brilliance more often until summer does return
9/26/2015
~For Shadow Hamilton's Seasonal - Poetry Contest ~
I
Boastfully, I regret no deeds,
my sins are minor, lame, and weak.
These children, though born dead, are strong,
like a necromancer, I make them dance.
Machineries, and wretched whores,
all linger midst my core's hollow depths.
So violent, I reproach their names,
like demons, they return the favour.
Silence now, no not a sound,
save for my gears, grinding gold.
A littany, these vicious lines,
meant to be enjoyed in Death.
So let me sleep, wake me not,
the Grave is my truest home.
Quietly, I shall decay,
and I will become my art.
II
Burn this body, this sinful cage,
bound to Earth's pleading ways.
My soul is chained within,
the keys just out of reach.
Pleasantries, I crave emotion,
intoxicated, I find them here.
Cells may rot, the better then,
so that the soul may roam.
Spread the ashes near and far,
somewhere left unseen.
Not valiant, not brave,
I am the Coward's King.
So still my heart of violence,
let the impurities flow.
Diminish all your foolish laws,
this soul belongs to me.
love doesn’t dash, it loiters
with repeated movements like music
and beautifully crude endearments
love doesn’t dash, it lingers
with rhythms like dance?
and boastfully rude aphorisms
So dally with me my love
lollygag, lounge and in a while
we'll share breaths and mess about
A bosom friend, an old woman and spinster,
Is a god-mother of auntie and uncle;
Chosen as their god-parent two years ago,
On their wedding at church in San Francisco,
A famous nuptial…I do hope you all know.
They’ve also chosen her as their counsellor,
At times when they’ve problems or be in trouble;
One day comes a storm in life of this couple,
Started from petty argument to quarrel,
Fumed up to prepare each flag for their battle.
She went there right away to extend her help,
Suddenly, I’ve heard a shrill voice like pup’s yelp;
Aunt’s bosom friend gave an advice boastfully,
Saying, “See, I’m happy! Stay single like me!”
WTFWT?! I shouted angrily!
(WTFWT- can also stands for What’s This Foolish Woman Teaches/Taught)
Glorious spring sunshine kiss my limbs as they sprout
With each opening bud, "I'm so alive" I want to shout
April showers cling to me as I drink each delicious drop
Hopefully chosen by blue jays to build their nest atop
Caterpillars and ants tickle me as they crawl to and fro
Nothing sweeter than watching everything around me grow
Come sit under me, take a break from the hot summer sun
Join me as I watch the baby birds leave their nest one by one
Let's marvel at the beautiful butterflies that flutter all around
The music of my friend the humming bird will surely astound
Smell the delightful fragrance of all the many flowers in bloom
Capture the magic nearby of a newly wedded bride and groom
I'm bursting with colors of yellow, orange, red, gold and brown
I proudly smile each time one of my leaves cascade down
Laughing children make my day as they roll in my splendor
You taking my picture makes this memory much more tender
Scurrying squirrels truly fascinate me, as my acorns they hide
Forgotten ones will one day be my saplings, I'll burst with pride
Snow flakes have delightedly dressed me in a suit of white
City folk string me with lights, I boastfully light up the night
Skaters whipping by me, their energy and actions are compelling
I feel so very blessed to have been rooted within this dwelling
Come and join in the festivities and beauty of each and every season
Become a memory on my branches, I can't think of a better reason
*Dedicated to the 50-80 year old trees in Gage Park, Brampton
Others have fallen,
publicly shame slain by the Me Too sword
Men of high society pedigree,
reduced to outcast leprosy members only
And the rave wave rage of women’s anger rises
against heifer treatment by male baboons,
perpetrated on them since the beginning of time
Now is a dangerous time for
testosterone predation
But, low priests of the phallic order
bless the foul practitioners of
lewd, misogynist behavior disorder
They serpent sway in hypnotic bliss
to the charmer’s sound ...
erogenous vibrations
sensually stimulate their injustice scales
They follow the Pied Piper blindly,
lemmings going over the cliff
But the cult idol is unmoved by their dying worship
The high priest of chaos theology
remains untouchable
His hands violate feminine flesh
with no repercussions
His hurtful words are
loathsome macho rat bait for feline debate —
that which he violates is that which he hates
Giving erect denials,
though taped confessions are heard,
he smiles with disdain ...
Untouchable is his favorite word
FBI ... fuggit ‘bout it
He wickedly wonders why everybody
is making a big deal out of it
Thinking of women as mere cattle,
who were made to sacrifice their bodies
for his ravenous carnal desires
A sperm wolf moving among the ova herd,
he howls with tweet glee ...
Untouchable is his favorite word
He boastfully mocks the fallen,
calling them men of weak pedigree
Mongrels of male impotency
Untouchable ... impervious to all
his mortal enemies
He believes his dog treatment of women,
gave him the canine path to a teflon presidency
57 years aback,
Millions of ebony shinning skinned individuals,
Meddled in this part of the world to form a country named Nigeria.
From the stand point of crudeness,
How Ignorance bred colonialism.
A sting never to be forgotten.
Those brutal stripes our fathers had borne,
So much hard work for no cost at all.
We were slaved night and day.
Although split into various clusters of ethnicity,
Colonized by people who saw us not as humans but animals.
At the clock of 1914 we were amalgamated,
controlled by one headlight of power.
As time went one, the baton of leadership was dragged,
From the hands of our dear colonial masters down to us.
We debated between military rule and democracy,
And weighed more in strength for democracy.
We have only but stood for one government,
A government of the people and for the people,
as the rule of law prevails ever ramifications.
Through this journey, states were created out of regions,
It spelt the beginning of a split into diversity.
And yet we have survived all attacks on unity.
We have delved together in pains,
cried alongside in times when blood was shed.
We have held strong to oneness,
moved from one tenure blissfulness to another of pain.
We are proud to stand tall to corruption with a blossoming economy.
We have learnt to love, to accommodate justice in our hands,
And to boastfully prevail over diversity.
From the North, West, East to the South,
Nigeria being so rich in nature's heritage has produced fertility.
we have a large choice of wealth,
Ranging from agriculture, oil produce to other natural resources.
Education has spread forth its wings,
and has embraced us to knowledge.
We have held strong wisdom as key to work wonders in and out of Nigeria.
We are 57 years stronger.
From crudeness we have journeyed through ignorance to certainty,
moved from dependence to freedom.
We are a sovereign Nation, self substitent, powerful in influence and blest by God.
The Giant of Africa- Nigeria
As if the moon is smiling boastfully
When mist or rain and leaves are moving faster
than your eye could catch. As if trees
are curling up in pain beneath your tears, soon to be discovered -
the manes of beasts streaming as they gallop
through the fields toward you, flaming eyes that speak of evil.
As if the past were leaves and leaving and the still window
stands frail and dormant exposing a crippled soul.
As if your eyes half closed and the slit of light got brighter,
caught in liquid glass, an orchestrated prayer.
As if this blaze of white on grass were more than strength
and blue an unknown peace.
The length of the valley a sombre sea, battered and bruised by memories, fears,
revisited torture. The waves of hatred churn.
And you, a child in rough weather shouting louder and louder
as you sink beneath oppressive grasps.
Stand firm, intoxicate yourself with self acceptance.
A secret, an antidote that whispers truth - hard bread for the palate,
liquid too hot for the lips. Love.
(a love poem for my son)
Dreams spill out of sleep
sift across the hardwood floor
covers the window
in colors of May
slamming me back towards childhood
or perhaps just to the ashtray.
One forged with labor
in elementary school ceramics;
patient fingers size up,
roll the earthen clay,
pinch it to perfection,
this unusable object
is made with skill,
crafted uniquely for my father.
A tribute greater than mountain carved faces
monuments of life’s reward.
Baseball camps, tee-ball games,
selfless Sunday morning catch,
sitting in question
understanding Auguste Rodin,
your etched piece of history
proclaimed in this ashtray.
The long afternoons,
bedtime stories,
day dreams of musketeers
tree-forts and bandaged knees,
wisdom contained in a receding hair-line
without the restriction of bookends.
This is your medal
placed with vigilance
impatient in time
yes, a five pound ashtray.
Reflections of your accomplishments
schematics of fatherhood, fired
painted with magnificence
useless to anyone but you.
Standing at the door, a lone sentry
hands outstretched boastfully,
here is your prize
an ashtray!
The reception of kings, grins of rum soaked pirates,
you calmly seat me down with the tale of tradition,
rite of passage
generation to generation,
the tribulation of the ash tray
passed from father to son.
Thirty-something
as I lay in bed
the warm morning symphony
shines bright upon my medal
like a polished chrome hood ornament,
I too have taken my place
among the tradition of the ashtrays.
Howling
The wolf chants
Music, song
Victory
In the hunt
Boastfully
Claiming rights
To the kill.
I wonder
What tonight
Raccoon,fox
Mole or mouse
Did it share
Enjoy all
Or eat all
Excluding
All the rest.
for the third class life is surrounded by, not a single affirmative element but utter negativity, it may be a condemned one, yet is still worthwhile living the life because in the total negativity one can disavow everything just like an absolute authority
for the third-rater is always treated by those around one with contempt, the life may be miserable, yet is enjoyable because the anger i swallowed in every moment of my life and kept in the depth of my heart with tears can be spewed out at any time, in anywhere, just like a most powerful tyrant
to impress others, may be impossible, i flapped the wings that actually i didn’t possess; the beauty of life was then however, it doesn’t matter if i was a performer of first class theatre or of third. even with those inexistent wings, i was able to fly boastfully in the spotlight dazzling colorful air though for a little while
although i searched for a way to wonderland and went after a good and ripened time for harvest, the soul rent with grief and mortified, alas, i was always wound-up to standing in the damned same starting point because no matter
how hard i searched, the way to wonderland was nowhere on earth it never
existed for me, no matter how eagerly i went after it, the ripened good time was never there for me to harvest; nonetheless, even with deeply wounded heart, i was able to find the moment of peace at the point where i started off was, may be my numbed sensitivity, caused from the debt too great for me to pay off, caused from the destitution never be filled to flee from it
“why don’t you laugh at this ludicrous fool’s tears?” the fool being ousted from even this filthy third class theatre which was filled with rowdy audiences! “why don’t you cry for this helpless buffoon’s laughter?” mimicking Caesar with antic,
‘et tu, Brute!’*
even in this crucial moment
of losing my one and only vocation the buffoon ever had
*William Shakespeare. Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene 1. ‘You too, Brutus!’
not to boastfully brag
or to overly self-praise
but I gave, and I gave
my creative lyrics
the best and the worst
of my unhappy days
thinking to myself they will
never see the light of day
so I put pen to paper
and paper to my many dreams
and set out to explain to myself
the wonder of life's distinct existence
or life's complete ugly misses
but someone surreptitiously came along
with betrayal in mind
and gave the world all my hopes and penned dreams
that i didn't know how to share
but to simply misrepresent
in mass misrepresentation
must be ok if your a musical person
I sometimes wonder if that country singer
feels the pain of me
or the rapper knows he and she
took many of my dreams
so got a safe deposit box
and then the vulgar and profane
came in to view
the things that the musical world
would do
p.s. all in the name of jobs...
it takes more than just a singer to get the job of plagiarizing
My baggage had at last caught up with me.
It and I had parted ways some years past;
tossed out and thrown away the master key.
But here it is, returned; the die is cast.
It had been round the carrousel before;
I saw it once or twice but never claimed.
Now, suddenly arrived at my front door;
I'm here, I'm back, it boastfully proclaimed!
What damage can a piece of baggage do?
A lot, it seems, if you live Mitty lies
and on false premise, unfriendly debts accrue.
So I find myself, to no great surprise,
again a member of the bourgeoisie.
My baggage had at last caught up with me.
I find in a godless society
versed so to speak openly correct
truth always becomes the first casualty aborted
It comes under attack with twisted views
heartless beings cursing every good value upside down
whom use vulgar words in order to silence the true facts
Craving acceptance pride filled bullies
condemning souls through their wickedness of deeds
displayed boastfully ignorant goats
Taking away rights it is where it all begins displacing people
stripping us into the core of sanity where hope is lost virtues
focusing on those without sin making them feel dirty for having a choice
A communist state of affairs under lawless acts hide stupid apes
has now entered our modern day democracies underhanded failures
baffoons filled with corruptions sins rotten to the core exist