Best Boorish Poems
BECAUSE OF JUST ONE POETESS
I let go of living in sadness.
My life seemed going nowhere,
and looking back now, it all
seemed like madness!
It wasn't because she did
gymnastics with boorish
poetic forms.
Nor was she cute or wordy.
using only the shortest
forms.
I was in search for something
far deeper that healed me with
human warmth and a soul balm.
Best of all, through her, I was
to learn to waltz happily with
shadows of my past!
And to know that love seems
to end, but I found contrarily it,
in another form, always lasts.
BECAUSE OF JUST ONE POETESS
I kept coming back to read her
at the Soup.
And, finally,after a number of
months,
I concluded to sign up and
express myself with my freshman,
weak pen.
I used to write the saddest poetry,
before I came here.
I try now to stay away from poets
who hate my country, or get joy out
of living in lost love or sadness.
And to avoid all who laugh at and
demean myself!
Belittling others in a poem, creates
and furthers world madness.
BECAUSE OF JUST ONE POETESS
Indeed my days have transformed
from gloom to splendiferous gladness.
No hopelessness nor grief can
fingerprint my life any longer.
And in the days to come, may
my words become far stronger.
BECAUSE OF JUST ONE POETESS!
**Her name is known best to the
the humblest of the twinkling
stars and God's ears**
With affection and thanks~
As winter's icy talons release their grip,
Leaving behind a landscape barren brown,
Spring waltzes in and proceeds to strip,
Winter of her tattered, lifeless gown,
Replacing it with green and floral crown.
Golden sunlight thaws the frigid earth,
Flora of a thousand kind burst into bloom.
Nature comes alive in glorious rebirth,
Extinguishing winter's boorish gloom,
And infusing the air with sweet perfume.
Butterflies take flight from their cocoons,
Spreading wings of red, blue and gold.
Warbling birds let loose a merry tune,
While building nests, their eggs to hold.
How marvelous to watch new life unfold!
What joy it is to be alive,
To feel spring's sunshine on your face,
To live, to love, to dream, to thrive,
As spring assumes her proper place,
Wrapping us in her warm embrace.
About That Certain Thing Called Nonsense
Nonsense is that certain symbolic communication form
that oft pervades our human space with its absurdity!
All of us from time-to-time have had to deal with some
people who revel and rave in it to provoke a response.
Making sense and communicating in an intelligent fashion,
reflects a spirit of human decency that’s so needed at times.
“Nonsense!” used as an exclamatory pronouncement inheres
a necessary tone of disagreement to stop boorish behavior.
“Nonsense” in a whimsical use can tickle one’s funny bone,
whilst creating, at times, a much-needed spirit of amusement!
And so, “Nonsense” as part of our grand human condition,
may not be all bad, except when some choose to be naughty!
Nonsense is an important part of life because it brings us to
a certain view, which should be of no surprise: C’est la vie!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
December 9, 2018 (Couplet)
A garrulous, loquacious, querulous person can be extremely jejune and petulant.
In other words,
They are usually wordy, talkative, cranky-whining and often dull or ill-humored people.
O, boorish me… O, dullard me
She did not marry me for my personality
My bon vivants surely did not pay the rent
I was much less Superman than I was Clark Kent
A stylish dancer I was not
My feet got tied-up in a sailor’s knot
As for culture, I had none … gol-darn
My favorite painting was “The Cow by the Barn”
Despite it all, she proposed to me
~ The night I won the lottery
Zephyrus, mighty God of wind, slips over western slopes
to nudge the winter, in quick adieu, ..unfurled against the blue.
He is husband of Khloris, a goddess of the green
He is father of the fruited vine, and all the fruited trees
which bend and bow to every breeze, that curl around his head.
The stalky lupines long for him to take away the chill,
while blue wild flax, will wave and swoon, upon the purple hills.
A colored carpet wide and deep, is sweeping to the eye
with clover green, so fragrant, lush, and it reaches to the sky
to feel the depth of warming breath, exhaled with just his sigh
His warming breath embraces youth, and jealousy is kin
Appollon's love for Hyakinthos, may bring a tragic end
We must ignore his boorish pride, for he thaws the frozen land
and takes command when springtime comes, when green is in demand
_________________________________________________
For the Contest sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
Zephyrus.....God of the West Wind
1/1/15 http://www.theoi.com/Titan/AnemosZephyros.html (Greek Gods)
Tattered clobbered thoughts streaming to winged dusts,
spiral spasms tremble amid weary sounds.
The festal moods swing dreary interludes,
visions ache release with defloration--
throaty cries heightens the greedy man's lust.
He longs to possess the murmur of blood
from naked images throbbing desires,
it surges -- tinged to his cerebellum.
Dark libertine drained his desirous juice--
madness stings deep-- displayed to his ardor.
Boorish bashfulness etched into each itch
cracking unto his left to right onslaught.
Finitude fair Venus choked with disgust
as she wriggles, wriggles to free herself!
Her wriggles useless from black libertine...
Pristine Venus fallen-- now wanting death.
©O. E. Guillermo
5:15pm December 05, 2014
Sponsor Giorgio A. V.
Contest Name Structured forms - Iambic verse - Sketch a fictitious character - (Top Gun Poetry)
Placed 6th
I looked up the word 'boor' in my Funk n' Wagnalls to verify the truth.
I found that, "A 'boor' is one who's ill-bred, crude and somewhat uncouth!"
I find boors obnoxious and inconsiderate jerks when they flaunt their gall!
Their disgusting, rude and churlish behavior nearly drives me up the wall!
I detest loud-mouthed youths (and adults) who I suppose vie for attention.
Their total lack of respect for anything is beyond my comprehension!
Their public display of putrid language is offensive to others' ears.
Free speech is fine but public vulgarity could be reined in, it appears!
My eyes glaze over when gasbags bore me with trivial conversation,
And don't get to the point and babble on and on without cessation!
In a fine cafe why don't boors stifle cell phones and let people dine in peace!
Their chattering is akin to a pair of magpies or a skein of honking geese!
Teenage boors practically make love in malls that is offensive to many others.
Aren't kiddies today taught be a bit more discreet by their pops and mothers?
They tote their boom boxes with 'music' blaring throughout the 'hood.
I'd like to tell them where they can shove those things if I legally could!
I loathe smart aleck boors who tailgate and impair my driving vision.
Don't they know this lack of common sense is apt to cause a collision?
I reckon I'd better wind this down and not bore with further dissertation,
But no doubt by now with boorish boors you can sense my frustration!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 5 in Linda's "I'm Bored With_____" Contest - May 2011
How the thought of her smiling, sick, rude face
repels me. What ever was I thinking?
My time lost in her sickening embrace
was loathsome, base, gross, foul, vile, and stinking!
O, why gave I myself to one so whorish?
So eager was I to love; young, naive,
and simple, I failed to see then how boorish
she was—so blinded was I to receive
her. In hindsight, I would undo the past,
and remain forevermore a virgin—
pure, and chaste! No shame's in that; but the waste
of not reserving myself was my sin.
For me, carnal knowledge came at great price;
I've learned my lesson, and I'll not err twice!
Animistic descent from sanity
Boorish attitude, sense of lost control
Crawl out of your skin, bloody vanity
Darkness claws like a black hole
Eternal uncertainty wreaks mayhem
Freedom not given, glued to midnight
Glutton of attention, cannot condemn
Hungry for life, all bark and no bite
Insanity placed on my sweating forehead
Justification, she’s just sick
Killjoy I may be, the day I dread
Labels in my throat choke me quick
Meaningless apologies, see from my eyes
Nights of liquid lucidity, a dull mind by day
Oh the pain, its thorns shred my heart and thighs
Persistent thoughts, worries carried away
Question my identity, a woman without a face
Remember happiness, a fleeting memorial
Scars on my ribs, my heart’s knives trace
Tears on my face, struggles sensorial
Ugly feelings of hate, daily reprise
Veins of ice or so it feels, words tongue-tie
With echoing sighs my dream dies
Xenolith, smile covered, stifled outcry
Yearning for a hand to hold on to
Zealous recovery, fail and reverse
In numerous locales countrywide, they hold sway
Pirouetting at intervals like ballerinas from Bolshoi
Beauteous, feline and very feminine
Slender to the point of emaciation, not quite
Cultivating the undernourished look on a frugal diet
Decidedly austere for a longer tenure in the limelight
Basking in the fleeting warmth of an adulatory audience
A gathering of the doting kindred and the upwardly mobile
Some dirty old men on the sly, dirty young men too
Glued to their seats craning for a better view
By and large captive by choice, a handful perforce
Sitting through to pen their weekly column
Giving those they fancy their due in the sun
Witnesses to a parade of demure eyed lasses
And a few with flashy looks walking tall on stilettos
Essentially female and contoured though not prominently so
At least not to a marked degree, yet with excellent muscle tone
Opulence, no longer deemed a career necessity
Once considered right stuff, now rejected as wrong size
An hour-glass shape belonging to an age bygone
But hardly so, from the viewers’ mind, in retrospect
Enchanting and alluring yet not overtly titillating
Each in a state of dress and undress
Willing tools of designers flaunting their creations
Sporting dresses and hats and shoes, and lingerie too
In black or white and loud or subdued hues
Displaying formal wear, casual wear, swimsuits and sleep suits
Some scanty and figure hugging, others flowing and loose
A bony look required for some, others fulsome
A voyeur’s paradise, to be sure
Indulging a fetish without stooping too low
Chilly weather was never reason enough to cancel a show
Heat of arc-lamps taking care of goose pimples
Or brandy taken neat infusing the needed heat
Harbingers of tomorrow’s fashion and pall-bearers of today’s
The strobe lit platform of the pageant
Serving to launch new faces or is it legs?
The leggy look personified by Twiggy of yore
Carried through in the interim and sustained by the new genre
Captivating without doubt, and thorough professionals
Displaying unruffled demeanour and tutored bearing of thoroughbreds
Exuding confidence with every graceful step they take
Cool as ice despite the harsh glare of stage lights
And callous catcalls from boorish males
Performing in a backdrop of future fashion trends
Money and fame finding some, eluding others
Be it centre stage or in the shadows
It is bread on the catwalk for all
The child allowed to have their way,
And do whatsoever they may,
Who is not taught to have restraint,
Develops traits that their life taint.
The rule of appetite destroys,
And undermines life’s lasting joys.
It makes the human being a slave,
To whatever his passions crave.
Instead of reason taming urge,
Unruly urges reason scourge.
The man becomes a boorish brute,
Unanchored from his soulish root.
The home should be a training ground,
Where order reigns and love abounds.
Here children learn how they should live,
As parents sound instructions give.
When parents fail their job to do,
Society pays a high price too,
with citizens who lack the traits
That makes a nation truly great.
So many lives are ruined wastes,
Destroyed by drugs that make minds race.
Because of lack of self-control,
Men wreck their lives and lose their souls.
The quest for power, wealth, and fame,
Becomes for some a raging flame.
They live their life to make a name,
But often their life ends in shame.
Don’t let your body rule your brain,
let brain over your passions reign.
Make it your goal to become good,
To be the best a human could.
Permit me to present a dark bird named Gypsy;
Pardon her silliness if she seems somewhat tipsy.
Pretending to be sinister, she’s one boorish brute.
Pecking in my kitchen, she is searching for fruit.
Pink apples! she scowls, these simply will not suit.
Pigeons prefer peaches, peeled, if you please.
Plainly speaking, my dog, Dr. Duke, quite agrees
Pacific pink apples, a tasty treat, just fine;
Persian peaches, however, make a most excellent wine.
written April 21, 2019
contest by Edward Ibeh, I chose the title A Glorious Alchemy
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry/contests/pick_a_title_vol3_alliteration__11919
Boorish hater of light.
Bashful, burrowing soul.
Baited with putrid smells,
Bereft of colorize.
Basking in dirt and damp.
Baying at sounds above.
Being ... once a human.
Cunning with wily mind
crafting ways of deceit.
Crooked with twisted heart
curating ways to harm.
Crude with boorish actions
causing wild damages.
Cruelty embodied!
08/19/2016
Note : For the contest (A poem that you enjoyed) by Lewis Raynes.
*Placed Ninth*