Best Boggle Poems
The inhumanity of Man is really quite atrocious.
He thinks himself intelligent, he thinks himself precocious.
And yet his acts of selfishness show inately he's unkind.
His sudden acts of cruelty can boggle lesser minds.
No animal will torture before it finally kills;
But Mankind on the other hand can really give one chills.
He loves to feel the power that he holds above the head,
Of any creature he may own if he chooses then it's dead;
Just because he is annoyed it barked or caused him trouble;
So he killed it in some painful way, he wouldn't take the trouble,
To find the beast another home where it's love would be returned,
For that's all it ever wanted, it's little heart still yearned,
For just a kindly word from him, a gentle hand, that's all,
A little comfort and some food and he was give his all,
To a man who didn't need to vent his imperfections,
Upon a helpless little beast who only wanted affection.
A most genius, scientific mind, whom I respect,
with chalkboards full of numbers and symbols;
such mathematical equations and theories
as to boggle the ordinary mind, spoke these words,
"No room for God."
I find that odd.
The same words spoken to Mary and Joseph.
The irony couldn't be stranger,
thus Jesus, born in a manger.
Everything so condensed to nothing, given birth with a bang.
How long was nothing, nothing; till it became everything?
Who knew or made a difference in the two?
What was the cause of this evident explosion?
The answer isn't odd.
It, my friend, was God.
He reveals himself through numbers and scientific discoveries.
From infinities our minds can't see,
and so small the number three.
He himself, father, son and holy spirit;
we being body, mind and soul.
And the great scientific discovery of atoms;
even those three parts well known.
So let us give a nod.
There is only room for God.
He is Alpha and Omega; the beginning and the end'
Jehova and The Great I Am,
Jesus, the precious Lamb.
Author's note:
What some call universal intelligence;
I call God.
I will not deny him.
Contest: God
Sponsor: Regina Riddle
At first he is struck by her beauty and grace;
But then he is puzzled by the look on her face.
The look that she has says just go away;
Don't bother me now it's not a good day.
As the look that he sees slowly slips by;
He thinks he can see her in his minds eye.
She seems held down by rules that boggle her brain;
Trapped in a web known as anger and pain.
A beautiful creature locked in a cage;
She stands alone up on a stage.
She touches his heart he wants to reach out;
But too many improprieties hang all about.
For him to befriend her is a hopeless desire;
So he stands to watch as she sinks in the mire.
He knows he can see her but he acts like he don't;
He wishes he knew her but he knows that he wont.
He's helpless to help her no way to reach out;
Save one simple offer he wished he could shout.
Who ever you are what ever is true;
There is one who noticed, he's looking at you.
Tibetan monks share colorful lore
Taking wide-eyed listeners from a valley floor
To peaks in the sentinel Himalayas
So how could such holy men’s tales betray us
A dark, furry creature’s outline has been seen
Startling climbers on mountains so serene
Leaving bipedal footprints on pristine snow
Stumping searchers who try to learn where they go
Yeti, the not-so-abominable snowman
Much maligned being of God’s creative plan
Never attacks, just appears and quickly flees
Allowing sighters to suspect what they please
Howling in the pain of loss from lofty peaks
Perhaps for a missing cousin Yeti seeks
One who traversed a lost land bridge from Asia
Then made his way south from the Arctic Tundra
To explore lush forests now U.S. Northwest
Where for centuries Bigfoot has done his best
To elude capture by settlers and hunters
And scoff at ever-hopeful photographers
Publicized encounters still boggle the brain
But only footprints, blurry photos remain
Of man’s intriguing, unevolved ancestors
Scientists think they’re human predecessors
Far smarter than we, they blend in with nature
Appearing now and then in the newspaper
But their imprints on Earth have been minimal
Never chopping trees or scarring a pinnacle
They’ve reason to hide from one who pollutes
One who doesn’t reason, but only shoots
Perhaps these “beasts” we should emulate
Learn from our ancestors before it’s too late
*Entry for Joyce's "The Rhyming Game" contest
Dry Facts Can Perform Juicy Acts
In the EFL community
all around the world
it’s an undeniable
and unpleasant reality that
no matter how well-motivated
you and your students are
no matter how real and acute
the need for learning
a language may be
no matter how well-equipped
the language center is
no matter how well-trained
your instructors might be
still, teaching a language
as a foreign tongue
in a foreign country
in a classroom environment
within four walls
is an artificial endeavor,
pure and simple.
Moreover, the minute the students
step out of the classroom
the little language environment
created in the room
is left behind,
lost and forgotten
until the next class.
Minds boggle at how lively,
how attractive,
how delightful and entertaining,
how effective and powerful
languages can be
at the hands of skillful comedians,
orators, actors, poets and authors
while they all become
utter bores, dry and irrelevant,
with chalk-and-talk-addicted
unimaginative, ordinary instructors
in the language classrooms.
Though language itself is dry
and teaching it mostly boring
the way you introduce it
may engage even the cynical students
if only you yourself believe
that teaching is acting.
Instructors must act
to attract and impact
never mind if students
react without tact
each act will surely get
a few shells cracked
“teaching is the art of changing the brain”
that’s a well-known
neurological fact.
Acting will deliver
student participation
a recipe for motivation
a remedy for alienation.
The target is communication
and retention, not full accuracy
nor perfection, and, please,
leave aside incessant correction,
which definitely leads to
disenchantment and rejection.
Value student participation
and production
encourage interaction
feed vocabulary in collocation
grammar, like medicine,
in the right dosage and proportion
and for God’s sake,
keep your chalk-and-talk
at a minimum fraction.
Remember, an ELT instructor is
a confidence booster
not an error-seeker
or hand-pecking rooster.
Who said ELT was
an educational roller coaster?
Nope. It’s more like a bread toaster,
which takes care of all on the roster.
Idris Esen, February, 2016, Istanbul
WRITING POETRY WITHOUT RULES*
I thought I'd write some poetry
Just for the fun that it would be.
So I went to the web to see
what it said
about how to write poems just for me.
I ran into words like iambic and tercet
and other ones that I had never met.
There was even a thing called a quatrain
that confused and corrupted my brain.
Stanzas are neat if they get the right beat
with the meter which I'd no doubt delete.
You also have tetrameter and pentameter
which are terms I don't think are neat.
Long ago I did write in rhyme
but just to friends who didn't mind.
I'd write some limericks or lyrics to sing
that were not important
and didn't mean a thing.
But as I write now and look into how
I find myself stymied by words to allow.
I read such things as trochee
and anapest and even dactyl.
They are words I just read
and don't really feel.
Those words belong to meter,
a measure in feet.
With stresses on heavy or light
and then they repeat.
They do form the meter
which makes the poem complete.
I may just give up and write more in prose
My friends will give thanks and I'd smell like a rose.
But I do get such joy with the lines in a verse
So I'll just continue, and the poems I'll disperse.
I could go further and write in free verse,
which doesn't make sense
and just makes it worse.
Free verse would just boggle my mind.
It really won't matter
what rules I would shatter
as long as I make the words rhyme.
* I actually learned all the technical poetry terms as an English major in college. This is just a satire on their usage and the way I enjoy poetry.
I have very few gripes to tell you about
But one major one is people who concentrate
On what's wrong with the world
Instead of concentrating on all the good things
That have come our way in the past decades
We tend to take things for granted after a short while
And forget what it was like before
Where is it all heading?
When we were back in the middle of the 20th century
We could only guess at what was ahead for us
Not an inkling as to the progress
The many many gadgets that make life so much easier
More connected like never before
And yet this is only a period in time
With more unimaginable gadgets that will be available to us
Our minds boggle at human ingenuity
The last century was an explosion of new ideas, new horizons
Never imagined possible before
These are the wonder years
We can only imagine and wonder what lies just ahead
© Jack Ellison 2014
I too am smitten,
On thy lustrous glow;
Cologne of thy juvenility,
Is so stupendous;
None can stop,
Thee strewing in ambiance,
Alluring crowd;
My boggle is,
These moments of love,
May or may not last;
May leave me in loneliness;
Will be bereft,
For thy love;
Will be shattered,
If don't stay my side;
I too am enamoured,
But scared,
If Sun sets down,
Behind the veil of moon,
© Sadashivan Nair
Like tipper tapping tiny feet toddling
I watched your mirriard of droplets
stream down my car window
Night sky like the backdrop of a show
and the lightning strikes adding to the mood of the performance
where ordinarily it might highlight or cast creepy shadows
Several crashes of thunder the only sound affects
breaking the deathly silence you could have sliced through
Stormy air and the countless hairs
of the body anticipating action
was the change in atmosphere of any such production
Yet for all the familiarity of yet another down turned weather front
something was amiss
I sat there trying to will my merry-go-round world to stop
to let me off and set me free once more
that I might strike out loose and run wild once more
like a horse loose of the reigns widly galloping away
alas I couldn’t budge
just sat their frozen to my seat
despite needing my home comforts around this hour
Knocking every ounce of confidence from me
breaking me to a point
where my tears were but one with the evenings downpour
No chocolate or ice-cream treats for pick-me-ups
nor interval for refreshment here
which would have been at least a little concillation
No, right now the world stood still
as our relationship played over from start
until someone knocked on the glass
concerned as to whether or not I was alright
Black and boggle eyed from wet mascara and numerous tears
like something out of a horror film
I turned to see who dare break this spell
Nodding to say I was fine
but not stupid they could see far from it
They pulled me out into secure arms
You could have been anyone
but you were gentle and understanding
A raging fire warmed by chilled bones
with simple hot sweet tea and the warmth of a blanket
your eyes soaked me in drawing out my story
you listened intently
I poured out my soul
You drank me in
Bringing me out of myself
you turnd so much sadness to humor
putting another chapter of life to bed
opening another as day broke through
I am now thankful for what passed
for without that part of life
we might never be making our own sweet music
creating future ambition and drive
Nesting and nestling as one together
Souls on one ship we sail new seas
Two billion people are of the Christmas persuasion,
Two billion people celebrate that most joyous occasion.
If that is true, Santa has to visit 23,148 people every second.
Which really is an awful lot as near as I can reckon.
I know that magic plays a part of Santa’s yearly shtick,
But even taking that into account it really is a trick.
Because that one second includes travel time and chimney scaling
Note reading, cookie eating, and occasionally board game playing.
Even taking into account that there may be a temporal causality loop,
That allows for the suspension of time for him and his happy little group.
Imagine how long it would take in a reindeer driven sleigh,
To visit each town and stop at each house along his way.
And think of the toys that delight and make the children want to shout,
The number of elves that it takes to build them would really freak me out.
The logistics of this endeavor can really start to boggle your mind,
The importing of raw materials alone could set you way behind.
To us, Santa may seem a jolly carefree guy, but he never gets to play hooky,
To run an organization such as that he must be one tough Christmas cookie.
books, change, education, inspiration, truth, voice, word play,
WHISPERS PUT A GROUND ©
Thoughts are whispers to one self
Coming and going to and fro.
Some to be left 'grounded', or put on a shelf
While others to be given a head shake and throw.
Decorate the whiteness of a page
Scribe or doodle at will or rage!
Surely time and thoughts abound
For in your text- book they will be found!
These “rushes’ are sometimes spent to pass
Given too much ‘blocks’ and will boggle the mind!
The mind “receives’ and hurls out whispers
It is you to hear and decipher them along the way!
It is a time for whispers!
It is a time for writing!
It is a time to unwind!
It is the time to call!
Out to all the listeners!
Amidst AGGRAVATION of sin-game schemes, I appeal to the Almighty…
Beseeching His pardon for my transgression-caused BOGGLE
Cleaving to His compassion with mercy’s CATCH PHRASE
Declaring earnestly “I’m SORRY; please forgive me”
Enabled with repentance, not religious TABOO, to confess humbly.
Free to pray thru Jesus Christ, never by any CODE NAMES
Gladly I fellowship with Him, purged from guilt’s TROUBLE
Hoisted toward praise-driven heights beyond PHASE 10…
I LIKEWISE delight communing with Him thru His Word
Jubilantly HEARING THINGS of His truth in joyous worship.
King of my heart, He can SPOT IT it among iniquities and doubts
Lord of my life, He leads me against vain TRIVIAL PURSUIT
Maneuvering me by His omniscient holy MONOPOLY
Nurturing my spirit with His serenity, midst din of MAD GAB
Opening to me opportunities for love-filled service OPERATION.
Propelled to ask from my Provider thru faith’s PASSWORD
Quoting Scriptures of assurance-SEQUENCE, I tell Him my needs
Reaching out to me, He rescues me from discontentment’s RISK
Satisfying me with blessings’ SPOONS that SPEAK OUT abundance
Testifying of rich grace for my TRIP TO RIDE to eternal sufficiency.
Unwavering omnipotence my Saviour radiates in PERFECTION
Victory, too, vanquishing Devil’s MOUSE TRAP of attractive CLUE
Worthy is His wisdom waking my weary CRANIUM to work well
X-raying my spirituality against iniquity SCRABBLE thru the Holy Ghost
Yielded to Christ I know and trust vis-à-vis varied GUESS WHO masters...
Zealously, I’ll run the race*, winning for God's glory over worldly bouts of 5 SECOND RULE.
*Hebrews 12:1-2 “…Let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith.”
February 19, 2019
1st place, "Anyone Game?" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Carol Connell; judged on 3/15/2019.
My speech was all out of sequence, my catch phrase for it was ‘mad gab’
I kept saying balderdash like apples to apples my brain was a scrabble!
Also I was hearing things in my cranium, it caused so much aggravation
Likewise, I couldn’t remember my computer password of Ants in the Pants
At one time household chores were a trivial pursuit
My kitchen used to be perfection, now it looked like the Dutch blitz!
I kept dropping spoons, I’d hear them go ker plunk on the floor
and was all of a boggle when I put my ticket to ride in the mousetrap
I was so concerned I went to see my physician
Close to tears I took the monopoly of the box of tissues on his desk
I’d googled my symptoms so I did have a clue of the possible diagnosis
He referred me straight to the hospital
A scan revealed a tiny brain tumor, they were lucky to spot it
Guess who was in trouble!
Cancer was a taboo subject so we had code names for the tumor,
The doctor said I should adopt the 5 second rule if I needed to speak out
The surgeon said I needed what could possibly be life changing surgery
He would implement phase 10 as it was a very tricky operation
There was some risk as he needed to connect four wires in my brain
Thankfully the complicated surgery was a success and I’m back to perfection!
NB this is a fictional poem inspired by the contest prompt!
Anyone Game Contest
Sponsored by Carol Connell
2/22/19
Welcome to this "risk"-taking game of "life."
Choose a blue companion peg, or snag a pink wife,
or ride "solitaire" through this "scrabble"d "mousetrap,"
or add so many kids that they stack on your lap.
Enjoy the terrible twos and the "crazy eights,"
for they go by faster when they're wearing skates.
For love and career there's no "perfect match,"
but when you find what works best, it's best to attach.
If you start "hearing things," ignore the "mad gab."
Speak only kindness, giving gossipers a silent jab.
If you have no "clue" what you want to do for a career,
I'll "connect 4" or more options and list them here:
You can file by "sequence" in your "Rubik's cube"-icle,
using the "5 second rule" if food lands on your shoe buckle.
It may "boggle" your "cranium" to crunch numbers all day.
Would you rather be an "operation"al doctor for the pay?
As a farmer you could "pick up stix" in the field,
and compare "apples to apples" for the ripest yield.
If you're a prosperous hunter or a taxidermist,
you can display your "rack-o" antlers, with furry epidermis.
The "trouble" is there are many options to choose.
In this game of "life," sometimes you tie --- a child's shoes.
Weebles wobble
but they do fall down.
Once without windup whimsy weebles wobble writhing in wistful wiggly wattles,
they bubble, bobble, boggle, bottle and boondoggle coddles and dawdles;
a colossal ensemble debacle joggles and toggles the toddler's throttle
waiting on wafting waffles the twaddle and goggling the toppled pottles.
Just google that old fossil's nozzle schnozzled squabble.
Tongue twister:
without windup whimsy weebles wobble writhing in wistful wiggly wattles