Best Coddled Poems
Forgiveness is the exorcism of a coddled demon named Grudge.
5.14.2019
He's staring off into oblivion;
dead-lights, who of their own free will choose to illuminate
the gray matter microwave that is TV:
too vain, too vulgar. Thought Vanquisher,
brought to you by your friendly-facade-keepers:
the politicians pussyfooting on a pedestal
built of an uninformed (yet united) public -
whose belief in "connection" is in reference
to a wall socket. Not love. Not kindness.
Who unwittingly become hamsters on a wheel,
convinced of stars held in our pockets; while promises of prosperity
dangle on a string. Like Maya's caged bird we sing
- but not of freedom - to sing of that would be akin
to declaring the sun has risen in the east. Freedom is a given,
at least that's the belief that's bandied about.
There's a boldface lie in that belief . . staring us in the face.
Are we too ignorant to see or too coddled to care?
Organic antenna, playing a fuzzy station;
our loved one's voice like a pesky fly -
six-legged silhouette on precious phones.
Halfhearted hmms-and-yeahs exuding from lazy lips. A lone
wolf, misunderstood youth - the euphemisms of today,
tomorrow's regrets. The diarrhea of words floating
in cyberspace; ricocheting off planets, but never touching earth.
The constipation of passion - nonchalant bloodbath of values -
no one strong enough to carry the hearse. We'll have to work
together - in unity redirected - to carry the load of our ancestor's past.
We descendants who reap the aftermath; let's carry on and forgo the calm.
Complacency is no destiny to pursue; crack the bottle against the bow,
that ship has sailed. Let us dabble in truth, instead of sugarcoat lies;
deception maybe be sweet, but give it time, it'll go straight to your thighs.
Embrace controversy with a bear hug, and give tyranny a timeout.
And should our words sharpen swords instead of mold minds,
may the massacre be only metaphorical - and the white flag of truce
be mistaken for a canvas - painted with the blood of your passion.
Ron Dump says he’ll destroy North Korea
With finger poised, we have so much to fear
He’s a power mad glutton
With his hand on the button
Will the universe still exist next year?
BY JAN ALLISON
I just hope his finger gets stuck
Where his bum cheeks do tuck
I don't live in fear
Long as they're up there
oh Don why are you such a schmuck
BY TIM SMITH
He couldn't have made it clearer
His objections to North Korea
Did his blow up doll fail
At the point of his exhale
Revenge is a good butt cleaner
BY SEREN ROBERTS
Ron's trigger finger is too quick to attack
Mouth gets him in trouble for talking smack
A rocket up his butt
Another to his gut
Should put an end to Ron Dump, the quack
BY LIN LANE
In the genre of equal time
May I present my 2 cents and a dime
Rocket Man's been coddled
By Barack Obama's Bobble
Now Trump is gonna get him back in line!!!
BY CHUCK MELUGIN
To the moon ‘North Korea’ the Rocket Man says
I can press this button because I’m the Pres
But his hands are much too small
Can he do it at all?
A comedic tragedy like Lucy and Desi Arnaz.
BY WINGED WARRIOR
Supreme dictator mad Kim Jong un
shows off his massive hydrogen gun
Donald trump wants to play
time for us all to pray
Irreversible act when they're done.
BY ROY PETTS
PLEASE SOUP MAIL ME YOUR POEM IF YOU WANT IT TO BE ADDED
09-19-17
Cradled by a hammock
with the sun shining in.
Coddled with Summer fun.
Ice cream’s dripping
from a whopping sugar cone.
It’s sweet to do nothing
but tongue the licks
and swing in a basket
in the zephyr wind.
It’s sweet to read a book
as I settle in.
My heart can race,
with adventure and romance,
with eyes darting back and forth,
but the cushions are at peace,
except when I subtly shift
crossing my knees.
Counting sheep on staycation.
Letting midday, flow from the windows,
light up my quiescent countenance.
Occasionally I exercise my thumb
with a thumbs up. I hope someone
is cooking ‘cause it’s sweet
to do absolutely nothing at all.
I SHUDDER TO THINK
I shudder to think about the way
Some vegetables are abused every day -
With physical and psychological slights
In gross violation of their vegetable rights.
Handicapped vegetables have no chance to fight back
Like eyeless potatoes - poor blind mites,
And baby carrots , aaw! Or peas-in-a-pod,
Eaten before they’re even born and take a breath.
Imagine those frantic runnerbeans
Desperately trying to escape.
No surprise that peas are strained.
My over-tired mum used to say, “Oh, I’m shredded.”
So I understand how tired shredded-cabbage must feel.
What about the potatoes who diced with death and lost?
Jerusalem Artichokes - “chokes” is horrible!
Why not “Jerusalem Passes Aways” ?
And ”Squash” ! - Please speak more politely:
What a way to go - we should say “Press Lightly”.
No wonder some clean-living veg are angry :
Parsnip - an angry snip from parson or clergy;
Swede resembling a tall blond person, Stockholm based;
With horrid ethnic humour ( bad taste)
Like sauerkraut (also bad taste)
(So-called humour about a surly German).
Look at insults basd on vegetables for a human -
“The IQ of a cabbage.” What ethnicity insults !
I’m sorry for tomatoes - all this veg talk results
In them being called a vegetable dish
It’s like calling Scots people English.
Sheer vegetable racism is the worst. Mixed potato and carrot salad?
Not in apartheid South Africa – their salad had to be pallid.
Oh yes some veg are spoiled like children :
Coddled cauliflower warmed in milk ; then
Brazed egg-plants (please call snobby ones aubergines)
Suntanned slowly at their leisure;
And butter (not margarine) beans cooked with pleasure.
It’s too horrible entirely, the abuse is complete
I’ll stop being vegetarian, and start eating meat.
I am strong, I am lean
I am part of the restless pack
I am a great wolf on the run
swift of foot and living free.
When I stare at your world
I see fat dogs that look like me.
They don't hunt, they just wait
until you feed them.
When I am hungry, I often
want to eat one.
I work hard for my food
I hunt with the pack
thrill with the chase
the exhilaration
howling with my snout uplifted
thanking the moon in my wake.
Then in sheer exhaustion
I sleep under an open sky
safe in the warmth of the pack
in all kinds of weather
proud and secure with my kind.
Your dogs have human warmth
but have lost their instincts
coddled by humans who are
afraid to put them out at night
afraid they will be cold
afraid they can't survive.
They are not free like me
I am not imprisoned
by soft humans.
I am not soft, nor was I
meant to be soft.
I am a canine, strong and free.
Written on 2/5/2017
“Maverick”
Mavericks are made
in the silence
spent
where
freedom
is kept locked tight
in solitary confinement
moments melting
down visceral pain
through love
and
loveless madness
fierce swords are
grown from what’s
left of the shattered
Heart’s core
self-belief taken up again
intellect fox cunning
running the gauntlets
between the
dishonour guards
in Hell’s burning rain
Majesties are silver spoon
and coddled born
Mavericks are delivered
from hot kitchens and
cool as milk made
to lead
Warriors Brave
through
The Storm
Mavericks are made
to reign
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
"I am the master of my sea"
Maverick
An unorthodox or independent-minded person.
the war was well
on its way
mottled and coddled
battled and bottled
before the
front was modeled
the frontline was hobbled
the forefront was cobbled
dark hearts be doubled
light hearts be troubled
the war is well
on its way
The Wellington Harbor vagrants that waddled
Removed from the sushi stand where they coddled
Were heard to say,
"That is okay,"
"For it badly needs to be remodeled"
New Zealand Police Detain Penguins
New Zealand Police on Monday arrested a pair of penguins as they were caught loitering outside a sushi outlet. The birds, described as "waddling vagrants" were held near a Wellington train station as they made their way to a nearby Sushi Bi.
Does Nox hold sway where you sit or lay,
or stand blanketed in deep fog's clime?
Where perfectly proportioned physical deformity holds
in substantive and coddled awe' sublime.
Shrouded in shot from fusil's beautiful dark pall,
far from heredity's nameless and shameless hall.
We walked as friends, along a stoney ledge
talking of women and lofty soul's reprisal'd pledge.
Wore separate clothes, to separate mothers
we cling'd,
free of our father's shadow at last.
Yet in time..
if your beliefs differ from mine
will you still call me brother?
We are so few since wreck and ruin,
should hate ever.,
take us away one another.
I'd never turn against, you have my word,
no matter the seizur'd absence of mind.
For it held strong our promised bond,
and for it,
prefer neck to the sword.
No crowning achievement in sorrows my truth,
faithful friendship strong as any belief,
more than life it's a simple us I hold to.,
for w'out us there'd be no more we.
He was laboriously looking
for that one perfect peach
with soft salubrious skin,
radiantly rounded with
robust, rubicund curves,
crying to be caressed,
coddled and cuddled.
Her bashfully blushing rosy red
cheeks on pale peach skin
immediately caught his attention
as she sat right there for the picking!
Oh, to kiss those juicy joyful
lovely lips, again and again!
She stood out among her friends
who were gathered in hues of green. . .
For she was ruddy, regal
and romantically ripe--his type!
Her body sweetly, softly stimulating,
and so tantalizingly tender to the touch;
Her sensual scent, pure peach!
When he held her in his arms
and she coyly conversed,
he had vestige visions of
copious cobbler on his mind!
"Immaculate"
I’d like to write something
beautiful for once,
divinely dripping with honey
and milk that washes white
like stamen juice over the uncut,
the bees all come to drink
the heady dew,
stroking their black down
over dusky aubergine-eyed
blue forget-me-knots,
the nots touched by thorns
those slippery rosary beads
coddled warm between the hidden
breasts of petulant nuns
bending in their black habits
unfettered roses
pistils sticky with stigma
covertly kneeling before their
uncovered dreams
of nakedness blanketed
in the sun's light
warm and flaming
as a forbidden kiss
plucked passionately
immaculate
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
pistil.
stigma.
AWAKENING
Sleep and slumber, dreams of wonder... weaving,
morning’s vacuum broke the spell
Pitted pillow, note of parting... leaving,
“from your friend, a fond farewell”
Sunrise throbbing, twilight aching... grieving,
daydreams, flashbacks, nightmares knell
Pale phantasms, visions sneaking... thieving,
plot to fill the empty shell
12 DELIRIA
1st Delirium: Collapses
Fractured sky bolts, billows bursting... rumbling,
heavens tighten, turn the vise
Horsemen saddle shafts of lightning... tumbling,
jagged highways must suffice
Ruptured skyways, hailstones crackling... crumbling,
naked pearls of paradise
Toxic tongues of laughter stinging... stumbling,
ocean buckets choked with ice
Droplets drumming, thunder muzzled... mumbling,
washed out whispers pay the price
Smothered blazes, cinders smoking... humbling,
ashes shaped in sacrifice
2nd Delirium: Descents
Asphalt alleys, ashen faces... frowning,
blowing bubbles, chewing gum
Drinking ale from tavern tankards... downing,
moonlit beads of painted rum
Stony stars and sea misshapen... drowning,
humble rivers’ rhythms hum
Apparitions aspirating... clowning,
diamonds dying , minstrels strum
Incandescent candles conquered... crowning,
vacant vapours, cold and numb
3rd Delirium: Fates
Tempest turmoil, tapered turrets... holding,
dungeons, dragons, chains and racks
Wheels of fortune, Tarot temptress... molding,
Hangmen, Towers, One Eyed Jacks
Sand dune castles, cryptic candles... folding,
warping walls of liquid wax
Idols colder, combed and coddled... scolding,
hide in fissures, peek through cracks
continued in part 2
18 Stoic Faces
- by Bob Atkinson
eighteen stoic faces
faced four who had come
to read the erudite refrains
of poets both dead and gone
readings were in earnest spoken
for respect for some who had
garnered from the establishment
accolades, awards, well sanctioned
yes, eighteen stoic faces
faced four who read so good
those meaningless diatribes
of useless linguistic words
significance became not evident
for similes provided here
metaphors vaguely crafted caused
me not them to revere
this didn't change my attitude
my demeanor didn't rise
waiting for an end to it
was my only real desire
so I couldn't clap and whistle
and be smiling in my face
that would not have been sincere
became just a little bit ashamed
whistle I didn't do at all
felt not much real emotion
gave a polite nod to those speaking
headed quickly out the door
save me from disjointed thoughts
can't those people see the truth
senseless disorganization
does not good poetry produce
of those thoughts not poetry
I firmly do believe
the fireplace requires cellulose
for bright flames to feed
listless words written poorly
carried my imagination not
was frozen in my dreamy state
rusted any worthwhile thoughts
next week went to Vegas
to see the eagle band
and watch as pure emotion
rocked that audience grand
ten thousand had paid apiece
a couple hundred bucks
to see those wordly masters
like Henley, Frey and such
they told of the situation
which emotion played upon
a woman's real life choices
why she'd become despondent
ten thousand cheered upon
recognition of great words
displayed while coddled with sounds
soft guitars and drums beat purrs
I thought "now here lies real poetry"
not those prissy kind of words
that speak only of the unimportant
with wispy mindless verbs
some lock credentials grand
for that which moves us not
and laugh at the suggestion
that song is our greatest art
me, I have a vision
that we shall all enjoy
songs we've grown up with
as emotional literal tomes
Mere bits these bullets, so cold and gray
poison piercing's which the jaded heart conceals,
in the heady light of day good men reel
recalling these morbid missiles played.
Blood which hotly runs leads weaklings astray
bringing uncalled for blackness to congeal
oft in coddled, crimson, rivers most surreal
on pathways and walls, red ricochets.
Call back those loosed demons, wants, desires ...
become a brighter bit of coal transformed
a flaming diamond full of holy light,
'fore the bullets tear and youth expires,
praise not the bigot, brash and uninformed.
Be the truth which knows no ending, defy ...
for foul anger, hatred, violence, all underlie,
the crumpled wall, the tattered form, the child's sigh,
all poison piercing's guns and bullets buy.
Play not the shill for evil men who lie.
Let youth and fire... form facets.. for the right
and strengthen all that's growing in the light.
Caudate Sonnet
abba abba cdecde efffgg
volta line 9
*Inspired by "Scared Bullet" by The Scribe (Marlon Linton)