Best Crony Poems
I am a poor tailless cow.
The creator chases away my infesting flies.
I’m clotheless at the prime of the hamarttan
and my only blanket is my feebly tanned skin.
I’m barefoot on the pathful of thorns
and my teardrops reports my miseries to the earth.
I need love and in the midst of mates I go.
I’m trashed with the most painful looks,
and punched with the heaviest words.
My only crony thus remains my mischance.
Every right I’m denied.
And too bitter is my plea to the ears
of the unobliging heads.
My merit is always belittled,
and my promising tomorrow begrudged.
For every good I’m worth I’m sidelined—
that’s why I grow wild!
My fierce eye devoid of their leniency!
My ambition is rent into fragments—
that’s why I bust back so hard!
And in the end I’m felled,
taking my poetic justice.
Those endless talks of
giving the fat a trim
Beauty is now the
monopoly of the slim!
Sinuous and slender
The hourglass figure
The thinner, the better.
Dieting and slimming
down tricks
ofcourse selling like hot
cakes
Tis a pity, I can't eat to
my heart's content and
desire
for rounded figures they
no longer admire.
But as long as
scrumptious samosas
keep frying in pans
and delicious pizzas
keep baking in 'em' ovens
it'd be hard to keep the
damned calorie count
or to live in fear of the
expanding waistline
mount.
Ah those mouth-
watering deep-fried
kebabs
are entirely to blame for
my yo-yo dieting!
Gosh to cut down on
cheese and butter slab
is one tough way to get
rid of body flab.
This war against weight
is weighing upon my
mind
instead of being simply
plump and straight
I gotta maintain teen
contours and curves I
find!
You do know this is a
war you've got to be
winning.
It's those extra pounds
and not the war you
have to be losing.
Or the other skinny
lasses will be staring
grinning.
Ah but all young ladies
must as well beware
dragoness Anorexia's
engulfing lair
or how her crony Bulimia
too can ensnare!
So pals better be about ill-
health precautious
rather than being overly
so weight-conscious. :)
an idle wave to a crony
is how i begin every
expedition to.
maple and oak render
benevolence as we
exchange us.
masters of this realm.
i sense their silent
rhetoric built
from time and
in discipline.
making no bones, the
forest amplifies a familiar tone;
a quaint display; a
hero’s welcome.
vermillion leaves trickle down
like confetti i sense
celebration.
august percussion echoes
freely from inside
the nebulous river,
keeping time so perfectly,
it can’t exist.
birds attempt (chirp__!_)
mimicking some grand
organ but I
am not so sure.
a fortuitous birth and
an ample forest,
i owe everything.
D emonic creatures engage to unleash brute force
E scaping to attack is their only real course
V ile their menacing fangs that gnaw to replete
I nflicting extinction with plans to deplete
L eaving devastation - blazing hell’s valid source
B efore hybrid ogres set free beastly wrath
E liminating all life form in their path
A ll seems rather grim, with an outcome quite clear
S atan’s crony dogs release destruction - fear
T ermination completes ultimate bloodbath…
Copyright © 2015 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Ninth Place Winner ~ "In 5 lines or less # 1 (picture this” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: SKAT A
Dec. 27, 2015
10/31/15
My curvy bouncy young mum bump
Of unjoy pump by punk guy jump
You wormy crony cuckoo cyborg of my numb womb grow
My ovum mock your wrong grown coup
Go mourn by of onyx orgy you grow
From crummy mob of gory cum you bourn
No cub run cry mummy for you my young unborn
No young curvy bouncy puppy boy by norm
Upon gun my coy gown for fun won
Now burn or bury my crow cow born
I'm a single boy with wonderful dreams
Dreams of finding a soulmate matching my wishes
Wishes I formulated from a good morning
Morning to have you forever
Forever until death parts you and me
My fantasy as a boy is not any dream
A dream with my soulmate
Soulmate for me to marry
Marry after a thriving relationship
Relationship with a heavenly angel
Angel and a soulmate to espouse,
Espouse after I've madly befriended you.
You're the love I smell, my unique rose.
Rose and my purposeful confidante.
Confidante for life, good or bad.
That is my dream—to have you
You, as my fitting genotype chum,
Chum, we match behavior and education.
You'll break my singlehood; you're my real crony.
Poem by Mugisho N.
Jimmie Jim my piddling crony was a little toady
Happened to meet a gaudy king who loved a hot toddy
Jimmie’s ass an ace in the hole
Dipped in snail’s pace in the king’s bowl
Said Jim Sire, my daddy, King of Ire, I am your bawdy
Weston worked and worried
from sun up till sundown
for the freed-man knew the reason
that Pap had gone to town.
Pap had loved his family
but now that Ma was gone
Pap had said to Weston
"I can't do this alone."
Pap had hitched the wagon
and said "I've got to ride"
" But I'll be back this evening
with Leatha by my side.."
The young uns worried Weston
as they picked and teased all day
No matter how they nagged him
not a word did Weston say..
Pappy loved his Leatha
She worked right by his side
she proved herself a help-mate
not just an Old Man's bride.
Weston held each baby
As if they were his own
and all too soon for Leatha
God called Pappy home
The Young uns said to Leatha
we will give you land
some lumber for a two room shack
a mule and Pappy's Hand.
the Child bride was a widow
she had no will to fight
Weston was a freed-man
who became the widow's mite.
Weston spoke to Leatha
as the sun rose on the day
"Get yo babies Mammy
and lets be on our way"
Side by side they worked the land
a forty acre sprawl
they watched the sons grow in to men
straight and strong and Tall.
They called him Uncle Weston
their Pap had set him free
But he stayed to help their mammy
and hold them on his knee.
Crony; Benson; Dorris
and baby Elloree
all loved their uncle Weston
and now we come to me..
Weston died one Sunday
I now live on the land
where Mammy came with babies
and one old wrinkled hand.
They say Old Weston walks here
Him and his Mule Belle
They plow and plant the acres
and see that we are well..
I never saw a spirit
but sometimes late at night
I here the mules bell jingle
I see a lanterns Light..
Uncle Weston was a freed man
His skin as black as Night
But Mammy was a widow
and he was mammy's Might!
Behold the sky a moon yonder with family tonight,
You and me sitting afar, with stir heart tonight,
Drifting air, warm breeze embrace and gone away,
And who’d be my crony, confederate, chum tonight,
You wasn’t fair creature of a hour,
Can’t I explain and elucidate the truth tonight,
Flower of Love and gabfest with you,
Is a piece of pleasure and calmness tonight,
If your shadow be in the smoke of cigarette,
Let I ignite this poor companion tonight,
Drowned in amativeness of your abstractive love,
Will anyone narrate resplendent beauty of my lass tonight,
But, your reflection now faded from cruel moon,
Where did I go, whom I see tonight?
Say, how I could be without you,
You’re not here but Love is here tonight,
And I Shahid sitting on the shore of hope, stucked in estuary,
Might I be triumphed or die off tonight.
M. Shahid H. Chouhdry ©
Cry ‘en out
runty Court, corny core
country coon unroot.
Ornery, yet not
your crony too.
Uncute nut
one rut —or
cooter coroner.
Neo coy
Cure concert tune crooner.
Once retro eye toy,
no contour nor couture.
Enter unto none
true outer nurture.
Run or not—
yet outrun no one.
August 8, 2019
Anagrammatic Poem
I knew you to be the strict
one;
or so I thought;
Seeing you I only moved on;
without being taught;
from a distance;
I felt the attraction;
but in ur presence;
I felt a repulsion;
Strange;
or so it seemed;
with rage;
my questions beamed;
knowing you;
answered my questions;
learning with you;
killed my assumptions;
Friend indeed;
so I realized;
there in my need;
without being hypnotized;
with you a bright future
anticipates;
with you great
achievements awaits;
with you... With you...
Never seen a day light for quondam
impediment in abdicate quitdaim
auctioning what thinks best incessantly
believing it’s a good stomping realm
eatoboree and drinkoboree in deterioration with chum
struggling in all his days with felicity
is there another life better than? This in quandary
on that stunch day exert
in getting what to eatoboree and drinkoboree as customary
a step beyond his terrene, mistakenly
Alas! Sees the day light
back to his terrene and step out in plaudit
seeing same thing, no surrogates
moving around, the different is bright
on himself, passes arraignment
A step out of my zone is what I need these days
exhausting all these pasts in lapses
believing he has best domain ever in history
not knowing, it is the best in disguise
was that life or is this life? He grills
such is life, I parry
someone’s house is another person’s poultry
how much will it cost? He grum
the ransom has been likely
not there; here is the liberty
liberate the paid ransom
here I will stay till eternity
exultant in seeing the light
enjoying without no constrains
summoning his crony
freedom is premium!
This is the greatest
non-fiction.
Who on earth will
believe her action?
My chick,who was
like my security
agent;
who strengthened
me at lent.
Now became a
jackal.
Desiring me a basal
Is this not the
highest form of
irony?
My friend,companion
and crony,
at my back "bless"
my name
by gossiping an
extra negative fame
about me,her lover.
I thought she is a
real flower.
Even Abraham will
not believe;
this kind,type,form
and category of
deceive.
It sounds chinese
film in nature.
Ananians is the
feature.
Someone I hugged
and kissed.
Now to me,she
hissed.
Ah! I am the
living dead
the suffer head,the
poor head.
Eureka wasnt as
surprised as me.
Earnestness love
should be.
Yesterday,my sweet
sugarcane
that took away my
pain.
Today,the number
one antagonist,
who attack me,the
protagonist.
Tomorrow is
transparent
darkness.
It either be
happiness or still
sadness.
I've lived for eight years, before I turn nine,
Is there a chance that I'll ever get mine?
Will I see another crony of mine getting smoked?
Will I be told parables from all the grown folks?
Should I be countin' on life's major letdowns
Will I still be seeing another street shakedown?
Before I'm a decade, I've got one more year
Will I still be held under a monotonous glare?
Can they still incite me as a stereotype
Talk about notoriety, am I living the hype?
Should I best be robbin', stealing, or kill?
After all, life done given its share of ill will
Will my studies give way to criminal activity
Am I destined to repetition in my city of nativity?
Before nine, should I fall to childish delinquency
If crime I'm born in, is this my consistency?
Am I judged by this system as a youth of risk
Should I plead my case now, should I stand tall and brisk?
Can I place hope on athletics, music or learning
Or is the door shut, and locked up, and burning?
Can I test out the paths, can I open up the lids
Or is it already decided that I'm just a kid?
Before I turn nine, has adulthood been set
Is my fortune as dim, will misfortune be met?
---This is a piece I wrote when I was eight years old--living in the slums of Florida.
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Twenty-Nine
“Sire!” cried a lame yea-sayer: “I know this mad hookah addict!”
“Then drag him here by the scruff of neck be it hook or by trick!
But first when thou seest him Jap-slap him before and after!”
The unfortunate crony jerked crab-wise for fifteen slabs of brick:
And came toppling back: “Your Holiness! What Jap-slap really mean?”
“Slap him when you first see him and then slap him after seeing him!”
“Oh! How might that be, Sire? Right at this hour Abdul dreams deep!”
“Well, pluck him from Widow Zaynub’s lap! Shake down his heroin!”
And even as blood thawed in dragonfly under water veins
The dribbling pitter-pattering rains unclogged the stubborn drains
Hidden stifling demons shook ominous wings to draw the veils
The shroud of mists lifted over the assembled hosts’ terrains
To reveal the pent-up currents of mystifying self-hood:
The Commandant strove to confront the prelate in the right mood
The Imam caught up over and above sacrament duties
While Robo-Cops and the Faithful hung fraught by their livelihood
Regional Council convened in the Mairie spindle tower
Chief of Staff rounded up forces’ heads at the Prefect’s bower
The Writ-Server constrained sang: “I must this behest unload…”
“STOP!” cried the Imam, “I must this very hour conduct asr!”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014