Best Bolster Poems
My life spirals ever downward...
The grave taunts me with its laugh.
Death's bony fingers are affixed my throat
As the jester of my unmerited epitaph.
My angst at my ever-flounder appears
Well-earned and justly placed
Where the rabid minions of an avenging God
Will no doubt make bold of my disgrace.
Have I lived too long a life so plain
Where my soul was too confined
And any realistic hope of eternal bliss
Seems mere folly at this time?
To live too long is an old Man's curse
And bound to evoke some industry
Where best intentions are set adrift...
To partake sweet ecstasy.
These stains that commemorate my Earthly Sins
Are laid denuded for all to see.
I drag them unceremoniously into an afterlife
That may not wish to bolster me.
But who among us hasn't stumbled
With Death's foot ajar the door
With temptations strewn like pearled oysters
On life's repugnant shores?
The righteous path is straight and narrow
And a vehicle for all those bold and brave
But only appeared crucial and strategic as
I stand with one foot in the grave.
How happier were those days gone by
When I was young and free from vice.
If I had only maintained such vernal guileless
To insure a place in paradise.
But I have come to this conclusion
As Death's whisper slakes my soul with dread.
Too much time has been my nemesis and any
Last minute burbling is better left unsaid.
So at this hour... this late late hour...
I now confront an awful truth.
I might have had a better chance at Heaven...
Had I perished in my youth.
The End
Ever-flounder: A bad situation of one's own making.
*I wrote this poem from the perspective of someone who fears their sins are
too heavy for God to bear.
*Follow my cartoon at Webtoon Bob's Your uncle.
This solemn shore of atrophy called grief,
would sail on, sail on from this moor of thief -
while yesterday I smiled, and did achieve
today am stricken to a nodding leave!
This buckling of intent, I do perceive
is more than time can counter or receive
do take more time with me and yet proceed
to bolster me - my actions so recede!
What fondness should attain in this bereave,
it is a mocking sign, its own conceive
is born anew, with someone's silenced knave
and never felt so sharply, now its slave!
has manifested to a halting save -
and captured those surrounding . . . . . true love's grave!
The poet Marshall Mathers
whilst "Cleaning Out My Closet"
blasted with inquiry-
"Have you ever been hated on or discriminated against?
I have...''
Interesting enough
in these crooked times
it is impossible to make a man like you,
or your art,
especially with unbounding determination.
Nevertheless,
It sure is mighty easy to attain their hatred,
through no fault of your own.
When they protest or demonstrate against you...
finally you have arrived!
That's powerful!
Common sense says,
"Never drive in the rear view mirror!"
Though, it sure is helpful to take a quick glance back
periodically
to check out Jealousy,
back there
doubting and shouting and eating your dust!
Take a whiff...
Listen...
AHHHH....
The band begins to play ferociously!
Off-key.
Off-color.
Slander Slogans pasted upon your face.
Furthermore,
Suddenly,
Systematically...
like roaches with lights bright,
they disappear into the night,
back to the slums;
begging for crumbs.
Once you've been Blacklisted;
Swallow.
Digest the miracle.
Pure, glowing gold
the alchemy of their anger,
visibly discernable from the glossy pyrite
appearing with fake praise.
Heed the old adage:
---------------Keep yir' friends close, and enemies closer.
Their futile harm repels from the Teflon donning your heart.
Envy
burns bold, boils,
melts and cools, then cold,
forging the sword.
Adding to your arsenal.
Stumble not
upon bone fragments,
brittle blacklist bandits...
the Catacombs of those
who aimed to defame your name,
staking claim for their
shameless sea of debris
and Rotten Forgottens
which only bolster your begotten flame.
Remain steadfast, undaunted
TROUNCE THOSE TREACHEROUS TROUBLES;
________________________ TO ________________________
MARCH THROUGH THE RIGOROUS RUBBLE!
*Heads High,
Let me see those eloquent eyes!~JsL
~Inspired by written words of Marshall Mathers, Cleaning Out My Closet,
Shady Records~
( while taking a tour through those poems readers are requested to keep in their hands, a
feather from the pea-cock’s tail )
Volga - 1
there might have been some provocation
on the part of the rat’s bible
it is not known when and how
every piece of sleep that spatters
from the oesophagus of the dip-swimming
has stick to the c-sharp
of the newly-purchased tooth-brush
the air within the wish-bicycle
figures nothing less
how much is it necessary now
to murder the blue-hue with the study
that can be saved by the depression of the Ganges-basin
to develop the snap-shot of the garland-exchange with the
antiseptic cream
would you think it for some moments
my lord
the lord of the market
before sending any secret e-mail
to the cyclone
residing in the room
behind the stair-case
let the Volga be read once more
with all its clothes
and hair-styles
Volga - 2
the winter of the water-canon
oxidised by the fireflies
wants to touch every bamboo-flute
of this soil, it seems
as if it plays
in the body of every cauliflower
the total memorising-skill
of the blue and yellow pyramid
and if some lines of changes
in the planet be added
the birth-day of the bolster
that goes to the sea
may learn with a lesser effort
the pollen-efficiency of the nail-marked walls
how much should I scold the squirrels
who don’t want to swim
in the still-water of the black-board
Volga – 3
the green-circuit of the fried-almonds
that was submerged
in the open-hair of the afternoon
the whole-night workshop
has taught
the thumb-impression is to be put
how far below it
if the autobiographies are planted
into the drawer of nature
the solubility of the river-reed
gets it done too late at night
all the plus-signs around
from their etiquettes
come down
so many foot-notes
caused by the season-changes
so before planting life
to the address of the wall-lamps
it seems the cotton-flower
written by the oceans
began yawning
Gripped by transgressions in life of destitute
Withdrawn she lived in deviant troubled youth
Orphaned long ago by her own living parents
When in substance abuse she buried her soul
Distancing benevolence as church-bells tolled.
Abdicating love, she traded for buzz of lust
Forsaking trust to bolster deceptive purpose
Relinquishing sapience to forces of insanity
Finding her pleasures in discarded emotions
Someone volunteered on disgruntled streets
At midnight hour agog in tumultuous alleys.
Yet, her vacant heart was soon transformed
When jettisoned chorus found her repertoire,
As she spent nights singing hymns of joy
And read stories aloud in her mother’s voice
Cherishing how she swayed in her father’s arms
As the song of her own womb sung of a new life.
From place to place she went scouting spots
Where kind-hearted people lived downtown
And there she went when the church bells rang
As she said a prayer after a very long time
Asking for blessings as her newborn baby cried
On a stranger’s porch near a posh high-rise
Hiding long enough till someone took notice,
Swiftly thereafter from the town she vanished.
June 17, 2020
Placed 2nd: Thesaurus – Abandon or Abandoned Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart
Based on true stories in the United States
Theres a saying that says that opposites attract
Well I am so gorgeous it seems it's a fact
I like a plain girl for whom I can care
Cos I like a girl I'll not have to share
To not have to punch other blokes would be great
So I'm really glad you're a bit overweight
I'd like to point out that you've made the right choice
For no other man could put up with your voice
You shouldn't feel bad that you're not that good looking
At least I'm not dead from your ‘inventive’ cooking
And who else could bolster this ego of mine
But a girl just like you who drinks way to much wine
I see guys look at you, I guess that it's pity
They wonder why I'm not with somebody pretty
I love our nights in, we don't go out to dine
You might scare the children my sweet Valentine
Well this is well weird, I'm sat home alone
You had to pop out when you'd answered the phone
I glare at the clock and it's three in the morning
I'm nearly asleep and I cannot stop yawning
At last there you are with that silly false smile
Some shortsighted fella has tried to beguile
A loser in love with no romantic powers
Who lumbered you up with chocolates and flowers
Who's that outside with a rose that is red
Don't get no ideas about three in a bed
You should understand that it's me that you're for
Er... why are my suitcases outside the door?
17 February 2021
Contest: Valentines
Sponsor: Richard Lamoureux
Less than twenty-four hours after dashing off a poem
explaining why i wanted to die
found me experiencing physical duress vis a vis,
a bowel movement wherein waste unable to expel
from the anus of this guy
which bout with rectal obstruction
found me doubled over with lower abdominal distress
whereby comfort found me unable to lie
down nor sit upright (with back padded with pillows
against the cellar brick wall),
thus severe bloating a bonus well nigh
and managed to muster the means to bare
frigid arctic vortex aire to purchase
the Acme brand Metamucil, which akin to Drano doth ply
thru the excretory tract supposedly loosening the stools,
which optimism (product didst earn claim to fame) generated a sigh
if that expressed intent to cease LivingSocial would try
humph enjoining this lvii year old married male
to cede victory to the grim reaper, who would vie
as winner de jure to this common fellow invoking libretto
ohm resistant understudy waste not want not
allowing, enabling and providing relief,
without successful defecation
despite the oppressive urge to bolster this Uriah
heap of balled up and tuckered out five foot and ten inches of lovely bones
thence mouthing retraction of former thought to cease existing
though a non-bull lever in any power broker qua mankind
relief at long last provided posterior answered prayer
yet, this scrivener scrutinizes his recurring pain in the ass jagged torture
and asks a rhetorical one word question "WHY"?
To young lives full of sight promise,
I give glowing, gold dream spheres
And the belief that hope is honest
Because I am their sweet poetry years.
Youthful times of enchantment
bear longings rather than fears
in my stargaze encampment,
settled in my charmed poetry years.
I gift creativity, crafted unique,
to build teenage based frontiers.
I blend wonder with mystique
to bolster my awesome poetry years.
I have many charms to employ
upon young emotional pioneers
in hopes they retain all joy
found inside my selfless poetry years.
All who ever became an adult, full grown,
once handed me their trusting, young tears
to mix with faith’s infinite, soothing tone
while they camped here, in my poetry years.
Here, growth depth lifts a perspective tone
on all life hits that could lay a teenager prone.
I am the time aiding adolescence
and adulthood with coalescence.
So it was that tragedy, which lead me finally,
Have another invasion, upon my lands-never,
To guard my boundaries, and bolster my army,
Let the pain in my heart, with cold fury- wither
The petty palisades of wood, are now of stone,
Upon ramparts are erected, many cannons strong,
Mighty swords sharpened, arrow-heads honed,
Wishing anger to sustain me, keep my vigil long
Much has been done, and more has been sought,
I promised to be mighty, not conquered futilely,
Often I be dismal, when I stare down my moat,
Need I be strong always, but eternally lonely?
Thence once these lonesome times, I look at you,
Saw a princess lovely, aloof and shy,
Could such beauty hold, a heart pure and true?
“No” I told myself, knowing full well I lie
Every moment then, are filled with longing,
For I knew you were special, a fragile innocence,
Could my night watch finally, see it’s morning?
But I won’t give up easy, what I built so far hence
To harsh self-flagellation, this denial has turned,
Fiercer heart-rending than, being left for a fool,
More formidable even, than all the days I mourned,
For rejection of affection, is now my first rule
Behind my quiet hard eyes, I ask you fervently,
Underneath my grim and dark façade, lies a question,
Hoping against hope, you will hear this mute plea,
Allow me once again, to breath Love’s desperation
Hear this entreaty, asked in silent despondency,
Words are not needed, Just feel my agony……
Could you be the Trojan horse,
To capture surreptitiously my heart?
Free me from this maddening curse,
Shatter this misery to the tiniest parts
Many people say we have free will
and some try to bolster us with quotes like
“Faith can move a mountain.”
Some people ask for prayers
when they are hurting or ill.
Yes, prayers may help ease pain
or even produce miracles.
But who’s to say that prayers
have really made the difference?
Do you ever stop to ask yourself why it is
that some faithful people pray relentlessly
and their prayers for comfort go unanswered,
while other such people pray for relief
and their miracles are simply granted?
Do you ever wonder why some good people
drop dead in their prime (for no real sensible reason),
yet someone like an addict to tobacco
might live to be one-hundred?
Why do some folks have bestowed on them
much success or riches?
Others seem mainly to meet with misfortune
or to struggle to survive.
Some, on their death bed, defeat the reaper!
Others hear him knocking at their door
and easily succumb.
I’ve given it much thought
and have come to this conclusion:
what we do in life and how and when we die
are already known by God.
He even knows how we will react
in all situations,
and so our own demise is already known to God,
and our death will be when it is meant to be!
Because God already knows ALL,
our destiny, you might say,
truly is “written in the stars.”
Do we really have free will?
I think that free will involves the way we choose
to react to the life we are born into.
Each of us is given different challenges.
Even those born unable to think for themselves
have a purpose. They are here
to test the patience of their caretakers,
and their reward is already certain!
How do we react to the life we are given?
What do we do with our God-given talents
(whether they be many or few)?
Each of us is given different trials in life.
Free will basically involves
our attitude about our life’s situations
and how we let this attitude affect our choices.
God already knows what that will be!
Therefore, I can say wholeheartedly
I accept the philosophy
of fatalism.
Aug. 24, 2022
For Edward Ibeh's This Or That, Vol 13 Poetry Contest
Sandstone erode into dust harks history's fade
Effected by events, weathered
Crept century torture administers eventual taint
Withered time drives incessant
Battered slate roof removed promotes damage
Cold rain and blazing sun hurt
Cyprus seeds challenge infertile dust, establish
Passage through gathered dirt
Co dependent pieces redefine a weary structure
Fed full on counterpart stength
Capability maps character, freshened functions
Exchange worshipped sentiment
Protected rod trunk tree intersects better entity
Deep dug roots, a chasm shielding
Tumult inevitably threatens to reinstate tentative
Pledge prevails, reliance appealing
Dedicated to tasks, support and every day bolster
Ruin renewed by flaura's courage
Offers availed are automated, mutual responders
Hold each firm in order to flourish
23rd November
Despair shrugs off its dirty shell
emerging as Enlightenment;
cramped and crumpled she crawls
off in dazed bewilderment
as remnants of vile Guilt and Rage
plot her demise, (shameless vestige!)
and residues of spiteful Hate
conspire to take her hostage.
Sitting in her brand new skin alone
Enlightenment is like to die,
'til Love, Confidence and Joy conjoin
to bolster her into a butterfly!
Sign the stricken spirit on the dotted line of dread
while the wine is tipped in shallow pools which swirl and coat your head
The road back home is only paved with memories loosely tapped
into roots of rotten tree limbs filled with sticky, blistered sap
Wishes fall as paper bark and line the forest floor
Starlight glints behind the clouds and leaves you wanting more
Night time noises concentrate your drunken reverie
while you press your splendid future into bleak discovery
This is your journey, this is your streak
Your moment to bolster the inevitably weak
To stand up in stupor, to rise to the moon
Your scream succor shining on lilies in bloom
For criminal acts which are tattooed on the young
Midnight life trial in shadows begun
Wine altered memories to scatter and pour
To be forever absorbed by the night forest floor...
Pink hue flamingo it must be due to all
the carotenoid pigments feasted on
algae and crustaceans
An elongated neck spirals
and filters such sensations
Sharing color is Okinawa salmon sushi,
bolster lobster and shrimp scrimp
Graceful qualifiers primp poised tropical dwellers
balancing effortlessly on one outstretched leg,
A ballerina’s pirouette in fuchsia tutus’
Statuesque stillness in shallow water
Rosette feathers flair flamboyance
Passionate plumage, blushing boas
Webbed feet tap and stamp below,
an aquatic burlesque show
The flamenco dance named after you
Rose-tinted creature tranquil, wader
Hook-billed blackened lamellae
sieved nobly, an intense look in a print
Cluster buster of pink with lengthy legs that sprint
triplets in rhyme
Just need two under par
I've mastered this shot
and my partners will lose.
One is my only son,
and a friend from college.
Fond memory's my muse.
Soar among the Eagles!
I'll let my soul sing,
their spirits to bolster.
I let loose measured stroke.
My eagle's in flight
soaring t'wards a bunker.