Best Bombast Poems
There is a solace in his silence, a servant of his solitudes,
As he comforts in compliance, a jester to the multitudes…
He stands alone a neophyte, struggling within his confines,
Actions that do excite, impugnable inhibition when he signs.
Master of the satirical sad, a foreordained flounder of many,
Like a narcotized nomad, wandering wills a penniless plenty…
A calamitous circus in mind, his heart exposed in the limelight,
Dolorous detentions unkind, amidst filling his formidable finite.
A bombarding bombast, with words falling to the desolate deep,
Sailing with a maudlin mast, wearing a facetious frown as to weep…
Layered with lecherous lashes, upon wounding the sacrificial soul,
His anguish turns to ashes, within continuation of his dramatic role.
A buffoon protected by providence, metamorphic minstrel of laugh,
Lacking in canopied confidence, recklessly writing his eternal epitaph…
As he mimes until the morrows, living amongst a false fading reality,
With a smolder to his sorrows, court jesting as a nilpotent nobody.
Feb.28.2020
Repost From May 23, 2019
Clown at the Abyss
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Placed 7'th...Thank You
Raised in a somber household where she could do nothing right,
she would flounder in every chore her parents had her do.
Picked on by classmates, she would smolder with rage.
Eventually, she came to feel
that every single thing in her life was dolorous.
She could show nothing of her real self to the world,
for she was swallowed up by inhibition
and a profound lack of self-esteem.
Gathering the strength one day to leave her parents’ home,
she walks away.
It feels to her like divine providence
when warm, outgoing strangers not much older than she
latch onto her and bring her into their fold.
They introduce her to their charismatic guru.
His daily preaching of strange doctrines, though sheer bombast,
resonate deeply within her, for his words are the life line
which she's been reaching for; he reels her in!
A zealous neophyte the girl becomes as she -along with other females -
gives herself over, body and soul,
to the lecherous diabolical
leader of the cult.
June 9, 2019
For John Hamilton's Eight Word Free Verse Challenge Poetry Contest
8 Words Used: 1. Neophyte 2. Inhibition 3. Flounder 4. Dolorous 5. Bombast 6. Lecherous 7.Providence 8 Smolder
Of late, nature moans inside a scraped womb
As her lush environ FLOUNDERS breaks out…
Played like a trusting NEOPHYTE from woods to rivers
She endures the BOMBAST of dirt through man’s crimes:
Awaiting kindness …amends remain undone
While LECHEROUS deeds persist without guilt, why, why?
More wrongs ravage innocent fish and flora
Infecting her very marrow, to drain away.
Loot, SMOLDER, rip a body ! Time runs out.
Mother Earth answers through bloodied jolts…
By will of PROVIDENCE, she whips a storm without INHIBITION
Halting indifference, her fire scalds air’s layers,
A battle citizens might grow DOLOROUS over--
Until her soul is nourished back, till she moans no more.
-----------
Eight Word Free Verse Challenge
For John Hamilton’s Contest 6/13/2019
I watch the smoulder in your eyes ... rise
Flames licking inhibition, searing our entropy and ache
I am the yang to your yin, the neophyte to your authority and ease
Your gaze pulls me inward like the claws of carnal chaos
And I submit to the spin ... flounder in your fiery forge
I have died a thousand times in your sight, burning
I have held your heart in my hand, and felt the pulse quicken
Your smile and sinews, the swords that bleed my soul
They and I, weary of lust's bombast, and the lecherous spirit of love
(Love defined to a lad as the physical things ... the flesh and feel)
Yet I welcome the dolorous passion that devours me
The wild providence of conflagration that consumes me
And surrounds our world of selfish sensuality
I look deeper and say a prayer for mercy
But the blaze is too malignant, too wonderfully wicked
Reaching its tendrils to wrap me
I close my eyes to imagine I am you
To imagine the heat of my reflection as it flickers in your eyes
And melt ... like molten madness.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Eight Word Free Verse Challenge" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
her thoughts, dolorous, often smolder in her mind
long before they are penned upon paper
often crumpled and disregarded
like kindle for a fire
they call them poems anyway
she is inferior, a mere neophyte
fueled by inhibition
that flounders her way through life
and on the page alike
yet they call her poet
perhaps she has the providence
from her youth as her guide
to rid those memories
or spark the fire that burns
as she pens what they call poetry
she doesn't see her worth
between her words
or lecherous stares
cast from unworthy men
that burnt through her soul
she remembers only
a collection of bombast thoughts
that haunt her mind
as she writes them out
then damns them
through the flames of memory
yet they call it poetry
June 12, 2019
He stands before us
to deliver
a poem, a prose, a
verse a rhyme, or message.
His manner quite
manifesting,
and his confidence
puts the crowd at
ease.
Soon and very soon,
too soon- we loath
him.
There is
too much cluster on
his magniloquent,
vine, of strung
together
words without
substance.
Though the use of
an, apophasis
gives poetic license
to insult.
we loathe him
instantly.
The silver-tongued
orator's
brilliance, soon
becomes wearisome.
While the mute
articulate points of
his eccentric
ramblings lead us
to dead ends.
Unfulfilled and
burdened.
We now loath him.
The loathsome Bard
goes on to rant
about, degrading
and dissolute issues
of life, which we
felt the
Bard had not
concern.
His bombast
delivery,
to some appears
eloquent,
grand-stand
language, bellowed
out quite grandiloquently
.
Wordy vagaries,
leading us nowhere.
As we listen to the
of his charades, we
loathe him.
Though quite colorful
and pompous; He leave
us in shambles, brains all
scrambled and we
loathe him.
The once brilliant
verse, though
well-rehearsed,
becomes wearisome.!
The Bard,
went not in hard;
We the discombobulated,
pray aloud, “next poet
please Lord".!
We all were relieved
as he finally did
leave, because he looked
better going than
coming.
With our intellect
he was toying,
though the Bard was not
hard!
Most certainly;
He was annoying!
‘Tis a wondrous bit of structure,
Literature is indeed
And from this, an insightful glimpse of culture
Truly marvelous to read
Lest we negate such writings, these we overlook
Nay, treasure these works of fine penmanship
These that have been structured by true finesse
Every page of every book
Is truly something of craftsmanship
Certainly more, but never less
Oh literature, how you’ve stood the test of time
And many trials you have faced
You have no preference, be it free verse or rhyme
Every work is something of beauty, and not merely haste
Ay, ‘tis exquisite writing I do sincerely cherish
Writing that shall never decay
For mankind is bound to cessation, this, not known to writing
Man will see finality, but ideas shall never perish
Truly, a notion to live by each day
Words that are surely inciting
Language lends inspiration to the mind
This we transfer to paper by pen
Such moving words one labors to find
And this process, we repeat again
But what is in literature that which we seek?
Is it the sophisticated nature of such diction,
That of probable bombast?
Truly we have intentions both mild and meek
For such articulated words are surely not that of dereliction
Thus we discover a divine afflatus from edifying writings of the past
By Then It Be To Late
By Roy Merritt
I suppose it isn’t just people subject to intoxication
If your citizens all taking toxins apt be your nation
How eager a man be to martyr himself for a fool
How easy he lose his morals how easy he be cruel
It could never happen here that’s what I read
At least that’s what the title of Lewis’s book said
But indeed it did a huckster came to power
And led the nation from its principals turned them bitter, sour
H. L. Mencken said it best his words befitting of the times
His opinion of the common man how Mencken him defined
Democracy but a theory the common know his desire
And deserve it good and hard and never to retire
For no man ever went broke that underestimate
The taste of the average man his wont of crude debate
And though full of Puritan lust a fear haunts him long
That some be enjoying his life, family, love and home
Of course they not his words I merely paraphrase
But I think Mencken excuse me if he about these days
Give me some courtesy the benefit of the doubt
I essentially said the same thing he was on about
So lets see what we’ve got after four years of deception
Whether we sober up and develop some true perception
Whether we like many nations recent, in the past
And succumbed to tyranny fall victim to bombast
Many in times of pain when in depths of despair
Will fall for a fool's words and follow him anywhere
Will follow everywhere follow him to their doom
Will follow a lunatic who promise to end their gloom
They’ll follow him down the road follow to the abyss
And none along the way realize something be amiss
We love our leader they declare as poison they imbibe
And drink they will like Socrates the potion of suicide
Oh this hemlock simply fine it does me persuade
And I’ll enjoy every drop of it even unto the grave
But once beneath the ground and he has sealed his fate
He has no chance to recover his senses by then it be to late
Our Love Wasn't A Mistake
It Wasn't Adventitious
Our Love Was Meant To Be
Though It Does Seem Fictitious
I Love You For Many Reasons
One's That You're Sincere
You Have No Affectations
That's Why I'm Still Here
I Was Agaped When I First Met You
Thought This Was Another Game
That Mii Love Was Going Crazy
And Soon To Be Called Insane
However, As Days Went By
I Began To Think And Realize
That It was Your Mind; Not Your *****
Which Began To Aggrandize
You Have Altruism And Charisma
I Am Cantankerous And Vile
I Didn't Know How Long We Would Last
But I Was Hoping For Awhile
You Are The Antithesis Of Me
And I Was That Of You
I Became So Beseiged By Your Love
Lost In Love...What Could I Do?
Even Though We Weren't The Same
We Weren't Quite Exact
The Chemistry Rule Must've Applied To Us
Our Opposite Love Attracts
To Make This Short And Sweet
Our Love Will Always Last
Because Your Heart Speaks Your Words
Without Any Of The Bombast
Insidious, insipid, id-inebriated imbeciles
incite impetus into inevitable immolation.
Bombast, bluster and bluff: blunt batons of barbarian bullies;
backwards behaviour blackballs baronial breed's burdens and bonds.
Weasely, willy-waving warmongers wage wanton war of words
without wit, wisdom or worldliness, whilst we weakly watch and wait.
Regrettable, repugnant reprobates ravage refined realms with
reprehensible rapier-rattling and rancid rhetoric.
Clash of corrupt, contemptible cutthroats carves calamity 'cross
continents and culminates in catastrophic conflagration.
Pointless predatory and political power-plays pale as
pirouetting pariahic pyres patently a pyrrhic prize.
------------------------------------------
(16 syllables on every line, checked with howmanysyllables.com)
14 October 2017
There is a solace in his silence, a servant of his solitudes,
As he comforts in compliance, a jester to the multitudes…
He stands alone a neophyte, struggling within his confines,
Actions that do excite, impugnable inhibition when he signs.
Master of the satirical sad, a foreordained flounder of many,
Like a narcotized nomad, wandering wills a penniless plenty…
A calamitous circus in mind, his heart exposed in the limelight,
Dolorous detentions unkind, amidst filling his formidable finite.
A bombarding bombast, with words falling to the desolate deep,
Sailing with a maudlin mast, wearing a facetious frown as to weep…
Layered with lecherous lashes, upon wounding the sacrificial soul,
His anguish turns to ashes, within continuation of his dramatic role.
A buffoon protected by providence, metamorphic minstrel of laugh,
Lacking in canopied confidence, recklessly writing his eternal epitaph…
As he mimes until the morrows, living amongst a false fading reality,
With a smolder to his sorrows, court jesting as a nilpotent nobody.
~~~
First Released: May 23, 2019
Repost: Nov 18, 2019
Writing Challenge 2, November - A Poem Meaningful
Sponsored by: Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode
Placed 1'st...Thank You
Signature
Append the seal on the opening glee
Of performance agog with clapping drums,
The cylindrical bell calling to spirituous mundi
Screaming flew about in the air;
Perched on ears
And pecked on fertile hearts,
Consider not the frightened feet
Aching at commencement,
Wind to experiment, explore and applied
The agility in acrobatic anger
Of stretching sweating flesh,
Rhythmical muscles drawn vein taut
To the last drop of dew,
Hoofs prancing, prancing and prancing!
Ejaculating on the polished wood
With a millionth impregnated marbles spread tentacles,
Atomic spermatozoa bombast the uterus
Colonized the ovary and eke out
Inside, the embryonic yokes;
Suspended by clear albumen,
Fetal poles march strength with fallopian tubes,
Cavity swallowed them into humid sac
Plush pollen grains into zygotes
Springing anew buds in May,
Conceive earthlings with several asking branches
A lot of libraries;
A particular slanted eyeball
Began rumbling belch, lightening guffaw and thundering hiccup,
Tugging at umbilical chords,
Breathe knocking placenta on the head
And efflux out of the duress,
Spectra Butterflies flagging multi-coloured limbs
Faculty spiraling, twirling and tossing on elastic trunk,
Laser flashing touches swam in oceanic atmosphere,
Eager ritual leap of the gods,
Dagger usher out from scabbard
Plunge into dimple ample
Tip oozes indigo gore,
Sources of springing magenta
Began the back and forth stabbing,
Scribbling on the whitish flesh
Ink on tones of barks, bereft,
Spat spittle connived, reed shook together
Vein drawn to bursting,
Adaptation to suit thumb and forefinger
Pour the concoction, pour on the root.
The garrulous, Greek grape gatherers,
Joined joyously with jocund japes,
The olive pickers and Ostrich plucker’s,
Celebrating the seasons success in song.
The querulous quiver of musical quavers,
From a quorum of quality wine quaffer’s
Reverberated robustly round the room,
And resonated rhythmically from the roofs rafters.
An altercation arose amongst some aggressive Athenians,
Averting an armed argument was avoided adroitly,
By brave, bold buskers, brusquely berating their bombast,
And loudly and laudably lamenting such Loutish leanings.
Personally I drank my Retsina and went back to my Hotel,
Plaids.docx
Plaids
Satan and Daniel
one last word
“Checked or checkered worsted or suited to be nude under your clothing is transparent apparently non existent to my naked eye think this will be easily my last try Daniel answer me what is the last word” ? “Remember it means your soul against your long and sinful life”. Daniel shuffled his feet there was only a long silent night. “Away over there in the manger”, the Devil began to sing. “Stop that” was from Daniel, “How do you expect me now to think” ? “eye need a drink a stiff one or both, ? eye need to THINK!!! The merciless Devil began to sing louder “Baby Jesus in the Carriage rhymes with perfect Marriage” yes you never married Daniel Webster but you played the bombast lots of times. Tell me now this one last test of time repeat after me “the last word is now just fill in the blank for your life ; at this the Devil Satan rocked back and forth in a Mimicry of him and then HE smiled. You always defeat me so quickly so smug in your Lawyers britches. While Christians die naked and stoned in the bull rushes of “GOD”. Daniel was smiling now. The Devil slapped his hand up over his mouth TOO LATE he realized just what he had done. Daniel seized the day. “GOD” is the last word howsoever you say it Jesus or Our Father the last word is “GOD”. Then the Devil rode a giant lightening rod back up to the Heavens and Daniel did his little Webster definition of a dance shuffle full of saving Grace. He shot his cuff out and buffed his sleeve and looked down at his Plaids.
" Scream, Ann, scream! Scream like you've never screamed before!"
I saw their eyes, wide like turkey eggs
for his bombast had provided us sneers.
Just what is it he expects her to see
that would leave her shaking, in tears?
" Have any of you ever heard of..Kong?"
There it is! This is it! The man's a fool!
He's off for a film so they'll be thrilled!
This ship is a tramp, not proper or trim.
He'll wind up getting all of us killed.
" All hands on Deck! All Hands on Deck!"
She's gone! Oh my God! She's gone!
Now what do we do? Hand out the guns!
Is there enough bullets for them all?
I still wonder: are we the only ones?
" Come on! Who's going with me?!!"
I can't believe the size of it! The size!!
It's a mirage! It must be a nightmare!
It's carried her off out in that jungle!
My hands feel cold. We'd better beware.
I might be lucky. I'm staying behind.
I shot it. I know I did!
" I tell you, skipper, this Kong is as big as a house!"
I slip up by Denhams' side to hear about
Kong and these dragons and there's more!
I thought those things were dead and gone
Suppose one of them comes to this door?
" Kong's Coming! Kong! Kong!"
I heard the gong! Oh my God! It's Kong!
He followed Driscoll and Ann right here.
We've taken up arms! We've bolted the door!
I wish I could be somewhere and not here.
He's In! He's Loose! Run! Run!
EXPLOSION! I turn
Kong stops. He staggers.
He's down.
I hear Denham shout:
" Come On. I Got Him!
We'll teach him fear! We're millionaires, boys!
Kong! The EIGHTH WONDER OF THE WORLD!"
I never slept all those weeks back.
Gunshots and whips from the hold
It's a mistake to bring this thing back.
Denham is foolish and brazen and bold.
EPILOGUE:
I shipped out right after we docked.
I pour another shot, look out to the sea.
The mate just told me the news
over the wireless:
Kong is loose in New York.
I wonder where Denham is...