Best Botch Poems
My three girls
by Michael Hornschuch
With great fondness I write of my three girls,
They're always smiling throughout the day
Chasing cats, and the occasional squirrels
Searching the park, oh, how they play
But mornings are rough, as I walk out the door,
Their eyes all saddened as they wonder once more
Will he return at days end, or is this our last time
Since he’s gone, to the couch where we’ll climb
Guarding the house in my absence -- they watch
For burglars and thieves and postmen at four
This job they take seriously and never will botch
Militantly watching for a stranger at the door
But each night I return, same as the day before,
Ecstatic with joy, overwhelmed by my presence
As if they were saying “don’t leave us no more!!”
Each dog vying for attention at my sudden entrance
What an example of God’s loving grace
Suddenly playful, crazy and wild
Each taking their turn at licking my face
I spoil them rotten as each is my child
Poetry Soup Is…
A place to post words and be heard
a platform for prose, a poet’s eatery
A sonneteer’s palace, for the sagacious or the absurd
A silver chalice that pours golden poetry
Rhymed and skillfully quilled
Artful rhythmic compositions, sublimely finished
Inspirational ink spilled,
authentic and unblemished
Poetry Soup Is…
Ramen in a cup
Slurp up noodles of literary lines grand
or footles so clever that never end
by Brian Strand
Sensual scribbles we sup,
Miraculous moving messages
Tasty spiritual nibbles
Share Zen in a bowl
Pho ga is chicken and
miso broth for the soul,
Inspirational Ink that takes
the breath away
Tsunami of wisdom
Confusion, and disarray
Poetry Soup Is…
Sovereign power poets, feud they may
Both mixes are needed, Sweet and Sour
Poe “The Raven” guy and Longfellow to my dismay
We become seeded, behind the pen there’s power,
We allude to epic ballad chowder
Gently add an attitude to an articulate mind
Pink sea salt, red chili powder
With crushed white pepper be kind
Without comparison where would we be?
It was George Harrison, his plagiarism
My Sweet Lord, to another’s tune he’d copy
Poetry Soup Is…
We came aboard this friendship—fleet liner
All that’s needed is a gift of language
And we have a thick savory brothy soup diner
Harmonic words woven together
It takes me a bit longer than most to write
of unrequited love and forevers
Botch it up I might, it’s swim or sink!
For a brain to pick such as mine
I should have used the days wiser
Tells of withered wasted time, I think
I thank my lucky stars
I am a verse improviser
Well versed
rehearsed
Best man
began
He joked
provoked
Each word
was slurred
Blah blah
faux pas
Defamed
and shamed
The bride
soon cried
Now crushed
she blushed
Red faced
disgraced
Without
a doubt
He put
his foot
Inside
his snide
Wide scouth
loud mouth
Not quite
contrite
Ashamed
he blamed
His botch
on Scotch.
3/ 21/ 2018.
New York City is overrun by rats!
And is driving the poor citizens bats.
Guv'mint will botch extinction.
They ne'er act with distinction.
I'd suggest they bring in legions of cats!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
The night was frigid and at its poorest,
But who am I to judge, when I was not the wisest,
A slight breeze crawled up my spine,
I could taste the wind’s saltiest brine.
My eyes conveyed to an old lodge,
So I can refuge, from this monstrous botch.
The place was dim, obnoxious and dingy,
But thank god there is no hole for the breeze to carry.
But what was interesting, that there was a mural,
It was so boundless, that it gave an unsettling moral.
The colors were faded, and burdened with marks,
Like it was meant to be destroyed, no needed remarks.
It displayed pictures of a young woman and maid,
I wonder who was the artisan that made this eerie portrait.
The face of the woman was covered with graze,
But the maid was gnarly and gave deep piercing evil gaze.
For a moment I thought, I had gone mad,
When I thought the maid turned from wicked to sad.
I blinked my visions, to trust my perception,
I opened my eyes, to found the maid was not in front of the reception.
My face was pale, my hairs were struck,
I pounced up when I heard the lightning struck.
I thought to myself I was delirious,
Maybe the maid was not actually there, no need to conclude something mysterious.
I waited a duration until the weather calmed down,
But the French maid entity made my brain vigorously mount.
The brews were gone, I got ready to abandon,
When I looked at the painting before, to eased my tension.
My limbs were trembling , as I took a deep stare,
First the maid, now the scrawny woman wasn’t there.
I backed to leave when voices disturbed me,
saying “You’re going nowhere, this is the place you’ll ever be.”
I rushed towards the exit when I still had my sane,
Till I dropped down realized my legs were shackled with chains.
I got up apprehended that my costume is now white,
And my hands were completely immovable as it was actually shut tight.
The lodge was dying into an atrocious looking room,
I was squirming on the floor, demanding release from this horrible doom.
Until I notice on top of the iron door,
A header flaunting; “the mental institution of schizophrenia & more”.
Each life-giving push do not botch
Control CPR with a watch
This patient has socks
Knock them off using shocks
And zap not the heart but the crotch
Therewithal, profluent life ettles it's while.
Thitherward, from Death's bleak campanile
Grim antiphonals serenade.
A capriccio, the slashing swipe of the reaper's scythe
will serenade.
Stringent Death forthwith anoints the mithridate to
Life's cantankerous and rankling ado
Hither now come, anon recondite Azrael, neither protend
nor annex this throttled contretemps.
The antiphonal of the reaper's cavalier scythe
Shall now serenade.
Awhirl, like kerfs demarcated
Years, bollixed, muzzy and brattled
shall holus-bolus expire.
No retaliation to death's gloomy surcease
No ingenious riposte to the reaper's final cleave.
Bootless now to don the amulets,
squeeze the jujus,
Kiss the talismans,
clutch the periapts or
Attire in steely cataphract.
The serenading of the reaper's scythe,
it's efficacy shall blithely cleave.
Bedim mine eyes from life's assailing
Bedim mine eyes from life's poltroonery
Vocabulary: barghest-a goblin fabled to portend misfortune; monody-funeral song;
antiphonal-chant; protend-to protract in time/lengthen; riposte-n. in fencing, a quick
return/thrust; brattle-v.-to make rattling or clattering noises;
cavalier-supercillious/disdainful/haughty; muzzy-hazy; attaint-v. to condemn; rankle-to
give pain/nettle/gnaw; contretemps-untoward accident/hitch; throttle-v.to
choke/suffocate/strangle/stiffle; bollix-v.-to bungle or botch; holus-bolus-adv.-all at
once/altoghter; mithridate-antidote against poison; cataphract-suit of armor for the
whole body; poltroonery-n. cowardice; a capriccio-musical piece characterized by
improvisation; ettle-to intend/to prepare; campanile-free standing bell tower; kerf-a
groove or notch
Azrael-the angel that helps souls from living to enter the afterlife; recondite-not
easily understood/abstruce;
periapt-a charm worn to ward of evil; juju-object believed to contain magical powers;
contretemps-disruptive unforeseen event; protend-to hold out or stretch forth
If you think the English language is easy to speak,
Perhaps you have a thing, or two, to learn.
You might say “axed” when you mean “asked”
When is it appropriate to say “dang,” “darn,” or “durn?”
“Advice” or “advise,” ”accept” or “except,” --a curse
Tempted to use “illicit” when you mean “elicit?”
Misusing “averse” when you mean “adverse?”
If you are not careful, you will completely botch it.
“Farther” and “further” are especially difficult:
One describes distance, the other quantity, or degree,
“Hanged” or “hung” present similar predicaments,
In both cases one word should do, but don’t “axe” me.
Who knew “ingenious” and “ingenuous” aren’t the same,
And few folks get “nauseous” and “nauseated” right.
Do you have “relatives” or “relations” or “relationships?”
If you want to quote an authority, do you use “site” or “cite”?
What is the difference between “already” and “all ready?”
Which one is correct “could care less” or “couldn’t care less?
Not to mention when you use “altogether” or “all together,”
Is it “there’s” “theirs,” “they’re”, its or it’s --what a mess!
“Continual” or “continuous,” and “fewer” or “less,”
“Conscience” and “conscious” lead some folks astray.
Are you “enthused” or “enthusiastic,” “infer” or “imply?
I hesitate to bring up the inevitable “can” or “may!”
So, “them” or “those” foreigners should learn "our tongue;"
It’ll make life simpler, “to,” “two” or “too,” for everyone.
“Who” or “whom?” -- please, let’s give these folks a break
Because English is not so easy, when all is said and done!
Life can dish out horrible fates,
which makes its victims feel
listless and filled with hate,
All hopes for the future gets tossed
to the side, so the spurned can
nurse their bruised egos and pride,
The only way to survive, is to make
all the bad demons go away,
A suicide pact sometimes seems
like the only option to save the day,
But, we forget that God has a plan,
In a magician's fashion he makes us
botch all our attempts, because he knows
our lives are meant for greater things,
too valuable to be taken before he comes for us.
VIDEO/AUDIO on YouTube above. NOTE: On the video; double-click to enlarge, and/or, right-click for the drop-down menu and click on 'Loop' for auto-repeat, click settings and pick the highest level for quality viewing.
The Hub Of The Earth, I
Some vehicle screeches toward soundless nights,
a wheel cover errant for intimacy,
as it settles midst different roadside slights.
The decreasing engine roars criminally,
pruned for a snapshot temporal existence,
the bright hub unpolishes pitilessly.
The earth's orphans coexisting subsistence,
under new suns and periodical moons,
melts in a blink of an eon insistence.
Meddling miners carved canyons, felled forest looms,
a blue world shadows as a universe watch,
sculpt mountains, charcoal skies, oily oceans, dooms.
A womb will reinvent the species that botch,
our metamorphosis cast a new sasquatch.
2021 March 13
*1st Place*
ALL YOURS (Mar 20)
~~Brian Strand
I Hit Your Car
I hit your car in the parking lot.
I was there and you were not.
So I write this note as the people watch,
and my licence plate they will botch.
And now this driver he must go.
I don’t want to be here when you show.
By
Josehf Lloyd Murchison
Fast as an atomic banshee, he roils sacred halls
of White House clutches levers with brass balls
American powers remain unrestrained when he calls
Armada to exorcise imagine aery dragons,
he inarticulately falls
non-communicative, faux eruditely generative,
and heartily galls
toward this introspective kickstarter male,
and most likely others he appalls.
-------------------------------------------------
My inner guru hankers to share voice
amidst increasing din
and clamors in reaction to insidious machinations fin
hushed via Machiavellian offal prince,
who unleashes clout with Cheshire grin
unconcerned about population, chaste,
from their wells Fargo wing.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Most every citizen banker, and kin
stared down vis a vis fierce-some intimations
catapult escalating, spin
laughing at rigged voting outlook
gratefully inflicts populace with monstrous win
doomsday soldiers -
art of the deal book not writ by said urchin.
-------------------------------------------------
Though regularly affiliated with top notch
kudos to virtual soapbox platform
re: all poetry to express Bing averse
toward ill feted Barron settlement
of United States government tossed like scotch
on thar hocks, thus an uneasy angst
also invisibly grabs me by the crotch
cuz das Trump power monger,
I fear rubric of democracy, he will botch!
-------------------------------------------------
This poem alternately titled -
harbinger of political debacle wolf find antipode
where toxic brew at crack of 12 a.m.
January 20th 2017 doth bode
doctored pregnant swollen tidal anarchistic military toad
deeds sheepishly shape into battalions
in tandem - fraternal order of police erode
Civilian protesters unite with ordinary citizen bankers
crowdsource sing metallic ca clash to goad
Unopposed Camel Toes ( Mono tetra) (Adult)
While watching you promoting clothes
That do away with camel toes
I had misgivings, I suppose
and these are those, and these are those.
It's not so now, but used to be
teen boys would learn anatomy
by watching surreptitiously
hints they would see, hints they would see.
Now girls at ten wear red lipstick
with black mascara brushed on thick
as though they want to turn a trick.
I think that's sick. I think that's sick.
But women out of puberty
who choose to dress outrageously
can make that choice it seems to me.
They should be free, they should be free.
When girls wear tramp stamps on their backs
and see-through clothes are sold at Sak's
and plastic surgeons augment racks
You should relax. Phoenix, relax.
When guys shoved socks into their pants
their meager manhood to enhance
they hoped to heck they'd draw a glance.
they took a chance, they took a chance.
For those of us who only watch
I don't like ideas that would botch
a camel toe define a crotch.
A lovely notch. A lovely notch.
When street-walkers show camel toes
it's advertising 'cus they're "hos"
and one's defined slit clearly shows
just where it goes, just where it goes.
narrative
Precious novelties, rare and unimpaired
reminder of events I'd love to share.
Recalling special trinkets in a hutch
for display only, labeled "Do Not Touch".
Awaiting finding of a misplaced key,
a new piece tempted curiosity.
Too precious to ignore, my small grandson
maneuvered carefully, warned by his mum.
Rejecting caution, which kids oft ignore
forgetful child just left it on the floor.
The next day, sister found it with her foot.
One piece, now three pieces, ruined, kaput.
Comes precious moment, happ'ning on my watch.
The brother faults his sister for the botch
who then returns accusatory blame.
Routine occurrence, 'companied by shame.
The moment builds, we search the house for glue.
Some chips still gone? Hurrah! we find a few.
Together, we three, talking as we work,
accountable, not acting like a jerk.
A precious moment in our history
when that collectible met surgery.
Four years later, standing tall, gath'ring dust
a priceless symbol, joint endeavor, plus.
written Jan. 2, 2013, revised June 29, 2017
The paintings hang crooked on the walls
For an entire year
Unreachable and untouchable art work
I know I am a strong woman of God.
I never hide my feelings toward someone I never met
God exist through the eyes of the innocents
For them that believe in his power: more power to them
He never fails us; our faith failed us Amen!
As we get ready to count down the end of this year
Haven we learn anything? About what God can do?
The tongue of the false prophets or the pens of the botch poets
Another year another year is almost behind us. Like an untouched virgin
Unreachable and untouchable our hard work
It’s just Lies in a dormant form once again my friends.
,