Best Bouts Poems
Questioning eyes, see through paper-thin lies,
igniting fear as flames erupt inside.
And devastated, she breaks down and cries,
trying to salvage what's left of her pride.
She believed you both had found your soulmate:
not imagining either heart would stray.
Yet, she struggled with bouts of love and hate:
watching her forever dreams slip away.
There's no ignoring an innocent flirt:
it's the first crack in a relationship.
And the lies that accompany it, hurt:
causing the scales of happiness to tip.
Jealousy is an emotional trance
that snuffs the flickering flames of romance.
Due to growing Nimbus clouds of oppression
an area of low pressure has been building
Rest assured, it won't lead to bouts of depression
but rumblings of thunder have now been heard,
foreshadowing the bombs of fury soon to come.
Be advised: the ripping winds will not be deterred.
To counteract and neutralise any negative vibes
this Poetry Souper has been on a strict vegetarian diet
of lentils, cabbage soup, curry and beans; re-fried
They have been consumed in copious quantities.
Take shelter from wind gusts. There may be a riot!
Steps are being taken because many have died
from the expulsions of a toxic build up of gas.
It's predicted to be tornado level turbulence
emanating from winds blown out of my a s s
Anatomically referred to as expelled flatulence.
Blowouts should be considered as lethal blasts,
and not to be taken lightly, ignored, or scorned.
This is a public service alert of severe wind forecast.
The approaching storm is of gigantic proportions.
Gas masks are advised. You have been warned!
Warning Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux
Submitted to Weather Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Angela Tune
2/28/20
Shades of Poe , Speaketh
Shades of Poe oft run in my veins
dark, dirty little splashing stains
No Raven stirs my battered heart
nor any signs on my astrology chart
Dark mysteries seep in at night
shadowed beings birthing fright
Muffled sounds sent to alarm
evil crying to scare and harm
Then my soul cries out to Poe
help me now , for you must know
Remedy for this sad affliction
a spell to give quick eviction
Reply creeps slowly back to me
close your eyes to sadly see
Darkness that drives men mad
such my heart and soul once had
No cure can by me be so gifted
you need Light to be so uplifted
My words are my aid little as is
answer you seek can only be His
Son of Light only can save you
my darkness left me only that clue!
Robert J. Lindley 10-12-2014
note: Tis' the month the Dark spreads
its evil mists to kids tucked in beds,
scary voices crying muffled shouts,
battles and shadowed little bouts,
goblins, ghouls and witches now abound
imagine such and they are then found!
Nobody knows what goes on behind this hotel door
‘Mr Smith’ isn’t with his wife of that I’m pretty sure!
He’s with his mistress Sue, they are having an affair
But he is a cheating love rat and he doesn’t really care
A barrage of fists is flying at number twenty-two
Sally covers her bruises, what else can she do
Her man is a bully and hits where nobody can see
She’s got no one to turn too otherwise she would flee
Harry is all alone since his dear wife has died
He’s desperately lonely but filled with such pride
His family only live on the other side of the city
But are so busy with their lives, isn’t that a pity
Post builds up in his letter box, there’s milk left at his door
Neighbours think they’ve seen him but they aren’t really sure
The police arrive; break down his door and Harry’s lying dead
He’d fallen down the stairs; dried blood lay round his head
Peter is an alcoholic and he suffers from depression
He has bouts of violence, he’s known for his aggression
Since his wife walked out on him he’s attempted suicide
His life has gone downhill since he lost his lovely bride
Little Sally wants to hide when she sees Phil the baby sitter
He makes her do ‘things’ with him, if she won’t he says he’ll hit her
She’s subjected to sexual abuse that no child should endure
But her parent’s are oblivious when they walk out that door
Nobody really knows what goes on behind closed doors
I wonder would you divulge what happens behind yours?
Doors Contest
Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux
03~23~17
For once this is not fiction
Can you change the past?
I yearn to,
But on condition I carry with me
All that I have learned.
But you cannot change the past.
Still, I yearn for a bottle
Of chilled white wine Chablis.
Delicious on the palette,
Exquisite with rice and plenty of seafood.
The aroma of truffled sauce, the razor clams,
The pinkish prawns and open-wide oysters.
It is my delight.
I yearn for silence, away from rife,
The sounds of cars crashing, the boom of guns,
The killing of innocent people.
I yearn for peace.
I yearn to travel as I used,
For I visited half of Europe
And ventured to Brazil.
Now I’m Island bound and
Travel is no more.
You look good, they say.
But only on the outside.
I yearn for health inside:
The small inoperable cancer,
Kept in check by implants
With bouts of depression
That twice I deleted my poetry site.
Good thing I kept copies of my writings.
But my heart is weak after
Twenty years when I had a triple bypass.
My right eye has the beginning of a cataract,
My left knee needs a replacement
But with Diabetes 2 no operation can be done.
I yearn for my wife.
Seven years I still grieve for her.
She’s in Heaven now.
I yearn for my beloved Lord.
The creator of all.
I pray He takes care of me.
May He grant me a happy death.
And may the Rose of Sharon help me too.
One walked out
One walked in
I sat nervously in reception
Waiting for my torture to begin
Bouts of laughter came from the interview room
Knocking my confidence with each bout
I didn’t want to be there anymore
Tempted to just forget it and walk out
The door opened she came out smiling
My turn to face the panel of three
They were all very nice
Though it actually didn’t help me
The interview in full motion
Questions and scenarios galore
Confident in my responses
Of them l felt quite sure
However, there was a problem
One l had never experienced before
I could not stop saying long ‘ummms’
Every-time l opened my mouth which was impossible to ignore
I apologised for the ongoing ummms
Explained it was just nerves
Next thing that came out my mouth
Yes, you guessed it….’ummm’ before my words
I left the interview feeling completely humiliated
I cried whenever the interview came to mind
I was so disappointed and embarrassed of myself
It was obvious the position was not mine
The letter arrived... l wasn’t interested
As l knew already what it said
I simply glanced at it
My husband read it instead
‘You got the job Deb’, he told me
You can imagine my utter surprise
Handing me the letter
I honestly could not believe my eyes
After working the job for some time
I enquired why they had chosen me
My interview was not my finest hour
With me ummming constantly
She told me there was something about me
That just shone through
Even with all your ummming, she smiled
We decided this job was for you
The lesson l learnt and want to convey in this long winded story is
it doesn’t always have to be perfect or right
Sometimes in life ‘it just is ‘…. simply meant to be
Ummm…..and for you the universe just shines bright!
I had a quarrel with my own life
I didn’t want to divulge it to anyone I knew
It was then I met the one who in many eyes,
Had sparked feelings of sympathy or contempt
Confined to a wheel chair in a hospital room
Amid the smell of death and disease,
He looked so resigned to his fate
With a rare gleam sparkling his eyes
Convalescing after his sixth surgery,
Still having bouts of excruciating pain
What made me drawn to him, I cannot tell
Later I met him at his home several times,
Still on wheelchair, crooked and disfigured,
But with what stoic nonchalance,
He accepted his condition-
Cerebral palsy, a disease affecting all his limbs
He said it was after years of questioning
That he had learnt to take on his disability
It broadened his understanding of suffering
Giving him deltas of new insight...
He knows now, the stars would be brighter
Only with the light completely blown out!
Even when the ground falls beneath his feet
He finds a way to rise up from the ground
With every step he takes, he feels it better than yesterday
And waits for tomorrow in anticipation
Because he has made it today!
Sure he reigns as a true hero, stirring a spark
In the ash covered cinders of my heart
July. 28.2022
~Placed First~
To Honour my Hero Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Anoucheka Gangabisoon
In the past you’d fought bouts of depression
but your sudden death came out of the blue
You hid so well the signs of your regression
and that you’d plunge and die in the blue bayou
I gather up my words and start stuttering,
at your funeral service I take the lead role
I wish I could have prevented your suffering
and that I’d noticed you were a tortured soul
I’m at the church where I was due to be your bride
a torrent of tears flood from my sapphire eyes
I hold a single rose as I stand by your graveside
your tragic death has taken everyone by surprise
FICTION WRITE
5/ 19/18
Let your Pen drip contest
Sponsored by Broken Wings
Theme ‘ I gather up my words’
Rhyme Scheme ABAB
First you learn to crawl around
Then give a step a chance
Bit by bit you learn to talk
And not to wet your pants
When it’s time to go to school
Get on the bus and go
It’s scary to be on your own
With kids that you don’t know
Then you enter puberty
And share that first time kiss
A few bouts of puppy love
Then a love you can’t resist
Wedding bells, a honeymoon
A family would be swell
Diapers, bibs, a rocking chair
Night time stories you will tell
Start planning for retirement
You’ve got grandkids all around
Wrinkles come from nowhere
You know you’re slowing down
Now you reached the golden years
It’s time to just have fun
Take a nap, do what you want
Your race on earth is done
It is a fact that before I wrote True Colours,
I was stuck in a world of black and white bipolar,
encaged in my seat on a non stop rollercoaster,
eating one meal a day cooking bread in a toaster.
Do you know if from here I should.....
Nope wait, if it was you then would....
No I hesitate, before I wasn't sure I could
write so shall I carry on with doubt I'm good.
Should I continue to write?
Stick at it and improve I could?
Would I get better each night?
It's tricky to know if I'm good.
I wish for a talent but it's not apparent,
it's something I want but maybe I haven't.
I'm a thoughtful fighter
with a physical dominance,
who puts pen to paper
with a mental confidence.
The anxiety causes stress
and that makes me a messy mess too,
nonetheless I guess all I can do,
is pursue hopelessness whilst I continue
to harness this writing skill and improve,
while I remain myself and stay true,
or I could give up what do I choose?
It's amazing how the praise can make me lazy,
and all because the bar was raised.
To think that that's where it remains is crazy,
without the application my skill decayed.
Living off past glories and falsely self assured,
hides the fact the present leaves them bored.
The reward is forgotten without consistency
and the reputation plummets into history.
You need to bounce from test to test like a ball,
contest with the very best and prove you're no fool,
then you must not allow the standards to fall,
you must allow a new hunger to be installed.
I continuously doubt what I am all about,
I'm a drought that sprouts limited amounts,
it's the same bounce of the ball in all my bouts,
my mouth shouts in repetition and I've lost count.
I continuously doubt what I'm all about,
I'm constantly worried and living in doubt,
I'm in a black hole will I ever get out,
I continuously doubt so that's what I'm about.
Why would I refuse to continue after I didn't refuse to begin.
Unseen but ubiquitous,
Savage and surreal,
If not curated but contagious,
Annihilative and aerial,
Then lurking, now loose,
You are the silent stone sepulchre,
Tangling, tormenting; transient truce,
An asphyxiating, aggravating and apocalyptic aperture,
You might among countless thriving throng induce fear,
Cause bountiful bouts of darkness and despair,
You might perhaps possess lives of mankind in multitudes,
Cripple economies and ravage revenues.
Say, can you cease the blowing of wildly winds?
Say, can you banish a bridal blush or a child’s caprice?
Say, can you hold the hanker of a koel for its lilting lyrics, while it sings?
Say, can you shackle the Sun, or rob its rays with your bitter malice?
You are nothing but an atomic annihilator, a sombre spree,
In vain you strive to rule over our spirits free,
We would surmount all sufferings and decimate your derisive decree.
Saptarshi Mukherjee
I reminisce, I miss
My beloved friend Chris
If only just once more
We could stroll ‘round the block
On evenings beneath starry skies
Chris sang, “Strangers in the Night”
But we were far from strangers
For 18 years we were like siblings
Inseparable
Traveling
Laughing
Sharing a love for football
Working side by side
Broadcasting state news
Chris drove me to the doctor
When I was afraid to go
Then stayed in my guest room
During his two bouts with cancer
Dad wanted me to find love again
“Why can’t you find someone like Chris?” he asked
But I’d already found him
Platonic, but strong, was our love
Now on lonely evenings
I search my heart for memories
So dear was our time together
Sixteen years later, I still can’t believe he’s gone
I picture him with health and humor
Sharing endless conversations
To this day
My beloved friend Chris
I reminisce, I miss
*March 22 2021.
For James Edward Lee’s “I Reminisce, I Miss” contest
Turbidity
Turbidity’s
An artifice of
Being Human
One who is
So confused
So disordered
Or even one
With a Turbid
Imagination!
Being Turbid
Allows its Owner
To be or seem to be
In turmoil or
In degrees of
Real or Fake
Confusion
Making situations
Quite interesting!
This attributes
A most likely
Pejorative symbol
When intentionally
Used to obfuscate
Human interactions
Or to be just
Plain difficult or
Uncooperative!
Possessing bouts of
Seeming Turbidity
For the Poet
Can also be
That perfect
Literary Conceit
To challenge
To mystify
All readers true!
Such notions of
Verisimilitude
Or better yet
Literary Truth
Methinks would
Maketh the likes of
Keats, Eliot, Pound
Among other greats
Jumpeth all for joy!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
January 14, 2016 (Accentual Meter)
Victims of cutting reject
trite platitudes of pity.
For the pain they feel has been
festering in them since birth.
Shards of insanity cut
into insignificance.
And reality reacts:
to bouts of low self-esteem.
Sparked by emotional needs,
panic ignites frayed, raw nerves.
And only cutting can dull
anxiety's sharpened edge.
The sound of your beating heart
increases as steel cuts flesh.
And yet, for a chance to feel,
fear slips into submission.
Relief accompanies the
trickling blood fleeing your vein.
And you feel alive, inside:
by numbing your greater pain.
It arrived in total silence
unobserved and in disguise
crept deep-rooted undetected
then it took us by surprise.
Some declared coronavirus
was no whirlwind, nor a blast;
like most objects ‘made in China’
they assumed it would not last.
Till it spread to every country
like wild fire, beyond control
causing havoc amongst thousands
and the lives of many stole.
Quarantine and isolation,
panic, stress and bouts of fear;
above all signs of depression,
the way forward, dark, unclear.
Now it’s time to stick together
find the strength not to succumb
to the foe, but with conviction
we shall rise, we’ll overcome.
- - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - -
Placed 1st in Brian Strand's
Pick 2 Contest (April 2020)