Best Damnedest Poems
Today's not one of my better days
Even I have 'em every so often
Believe me mine are rarer than most
Will be chuckling even in my coffin
Sure hope it doesn't freak someone out
And another kicks the bucket as well
A couple of funerals for the price of one
Coffin would be cramped as hell
Don't mind sharing but just imagine
If this dude was from the opposite sex
Some hanky panky would likely ensue
Some real rockin' 'n rollin' by heck
Mourners would scatter pretty damn quick
As they try their damnedest to get out
Nobody's staying for the final word
Lowering us, they'd play “Twist And Shout!”
What silly nonsense, can you imagine
That this could actually take place
Certainly they'd give us a box of our own
Or at least not put us face to face!
© Jack Ellison 2013
In spite of all the terrible things
That continue to happen all around the world
It's still the most amazing place to be
Undoubtedly there are some who would vehemently disagree
But from my humble perspective, this is how I feel
It's always been a matter of how we look at things
There's no denying that uncontrollable evil exists
In the hearts of some men who gain power by force
This is certainly by far the least praiseworthy of all human traits
But I'm sure deep down in MOST people's hearts
Lies goodness trying it's damnedest to survive
Believe it or not, I still have faith in the human condition
And that the souls of all good men and women everywhere
Will eventually win out in some glorious future time
Amen!
© Jack Ellison 2014
nowhere in the neon lights
does it say hold on for dear life
we grab the bridle and dig our heels in
bouncing up and down as it kicks and spins
we sit in the diner--it's near midnight
you can see the damnedest sights
we stir our coffee trying not to stare
at what's in here or hiding out there
we can never quite let go
holding on till hell freezes over
witticism only takes you so far
miles roll fast when you're in your car
the bitter tolls and burdens of sins
the fences we build that keep us in
begging to be misunderstood
as we turn our backs and leave for good
I just want to dream a little more,
before the sun dries up this stream of thought;
before my tongue begins to search for words
faded by the choke of night.
The sky screams in the hands of a harsh turn,
neither of us wants our darkness unveiled.
Yet,
I wish the light would swallow me up as well.
Instead,
the broken slumber of day creeps into my bed,
and shakes my tomb.
I watch it stumble through the blinds,
sloshing, lazily polished, and promising.
Like it always does.
And I try my damnedest to pull my eyes away
from the hope that is stitched to my shadow,
but no matter how hard I writhe in this place,
I cannot escape the artificiality of this world
that I can’t seem to wake up from.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
Burden
Would anyone notice if i were gone,
How long before anyone would come,
What if i just slowly became withdrawn,
This game of chess i am simply a pawn,
Is it easier for them to just ignore me,
Not acknowledge the issues they can see,
Sweep it under the carpet like its dust
Creating a complete persona of mistrust,
No matter how much i hola and scream,
Stop talking nonsense, going to the extreme,
Just pull yourself together they spit in disgust,
Then I am scolded and relentlessly schussed,
If only it were simple a switch to turn off,
To change how i feel, the thoughts to stop,
But the tough love hurts, it makes me kick off,
You say I’m ignorant just an adolescent strop,
But if they would take the time to listen,
The depth of the hurt isn’t easily hidden,
But its easier to just ignore my position,
Than acknowledge I’m an abomination,
How long will i be able to live this way,
Hiding my feelings, slowly fading away,
Trying my damnedest to not ruin there day,
I wish i wasn’t this way, pushing them away.
I don’t want to be the burden i have to be,
I wish they could see what asking does to me,
Grown and helpless without the help i need,
The embarrassment i feel but i have to concede,
Burdening their lives and stealing there time,
The curse of my paradox within my paradigm.
Of course they're courteous when i chastise
When the anger fades i of course alchemise
Aware of the burden i hinder their lives with,
My apologies soon come verbally forthwith,
Of course my actions cause them to be gainsay
All i hope and pray is that i can be saved one day.
The Antics Of A Would Be Mama's Yoyo Thief
(now a penchant with less Zionist trenchant ululation to vent.)
Not a peep passed thru mine -
aye vaguely attest
what ten? eleven? twelve? age
of following anecdote at best
guest, but no
doubt yours truly
with figurative heart in chest
scared puny meek boy
tight lipped silently confessed
to foiled attempt, sans trying
unsuccessfully to steal a yoyo,
inviting tummy prepubescent
unbuttoning, a substantially
sprawling Holy skype sizing breast
of mine upon be nabbed,
thus aye didst detest
foolish kid ploy, and
(prematurely nipping
in the bud) messed
up potential life of crime
with first and only
shoplifting heist jest
for getting caught no a pest
key yoyo, mama would
(IF FOUND OUT)
axe me no quest
chin, but whack me itty bitty
teensy weensy derriere lest
quickly putting to rest
any Robin Hood
fantasy life of
high stakes crime pressed,
and squeezed out the noggin
with apropos punishment addressed
thankfully, neither parent
got wind, nor ever guessed
their beautiful darling
boy did test
petty theft, never
matured nor didst crest
into a profitable "yoyo
string Ponzi like
scheme," thus ballsiest
dare devilish and bitterest,
and laughably noble lest
act yours truly ever attempted
immediately ceased to shelve bravest
sleight of hand find
delve during broad est
daylight, I immediately
didst shelve, when clumsiest
initial foray into
the world wide web
tubby come cleverest
lad, this side of
Lansdale, Pennsylvania
many damnedest
yesterdays ago, never
took another earnest
tempting gamble since security
detail nearly wrest
head possible zapped feeblest Ames?
to pilfer from other
Department stores if pressed
for money no matter,
I might miss an enforced
hated ballet class,
with abs salute zest!
brash …
you are
my petite paramour
the 'alternative' thang goin’ on
dyed, purple-red hair
perfectly-placed piercings and tats
(just enough to tantalize)
though nothing could befuddle the
exquisite frame you fill
the plump, darkened lips, like
juicy blackberries
coal-core Emerald eyes dancing above
do you really think
your knife so keen and cold?
I have felt the hilts of many broader blades
jagged-edged phrases that
were thrust far deeper than your
weak "goodbye"
and with considerably more forceful intent
but please
feel free to do your absolute damnedest
I know it's important to you
we've waltzed in
these roles before, you and I
you've worn this defiant skin with regularity
and I will allow you your venom, spattered
but before you pull the
knife from my dastardly pliable flesh
do not fail to finish the deed
and twist it, hard
I want to FEEL it this time
and lay in the warm blood of our passion
as you …
leave.
("FAKE") King Harry Kane...
also unknown as (D. Lucian Null)
Sprung from the best
over active imagination damnedest
confection of this fictitious
writer of fiction earnest
and frankly hoof
avers zealous zest
(with sud'n soap er
ream conviction, undressed
compunction, and
especially divine collusion),
who proudly didst wrest
(however wrung er...
right), the presidency, (you guessed
correctly) from the ghostly
buster of Honoré d Balzac
("FAKE alias Hillary Clinton),
and bankrolled by Univest
in coordination with
Ham R. Sickle, lest
who didst hack private emails
of said Democratic contender
(during the 2016 presidential election)
successfully, and sufficiently
(amidst sudden unrest)
did (ill) legally
nominally sought after
highest stakes political con test
the dub bait hubble,
and admits rigged
a satisfactory farrago,
which predictably suppressed
any fat (or slim)
chance (Hill's Billy) more unlikely
getting struck by lightening,
while climbing Mount Everest),
which non barren smugness
of mine brought elation, messed
up supposedly clinched Clinton win,
whence foretold by gerrymandered
Oracle of Delphi, which
prophetess imp pressed
particularly how nefarious nest
of thieves spearheaded, schemed,
and sabotaged visa vis
ex post facto American government
didst discover sinister, sly, and
"NON FAKE"
surreptitious shenanigans
which laughably vaunted
I accord to Trump
"stupid, weak, lightweight"
Central Intelligence Agency.
The man in the middle
is given to fiddle, not wrestle
with questions regarding the Earth.
He'll dither and fuss, leave the answers to us,
never caring a jot what they're worth.
This man's in a bubble,
ignores all the trouble
afflicting his neighborhood, even his State,
he'll avoid disputes and strong disagreements,
and even the clearest of issues at stake.
Let him take a position one way or another,
there will come a day when he'll dither no more,
let's hope for the high road, his best of intentions,
when he'll do his damnedest to settle the score!
Needing again to find the
words to convey—where
did the need come from?
Unreliable thoughts that
birth the damnedest
feelings yet lack the
cognizance to see
reality—
it hurts to breathe
when all I can do is
exhale and anticipate
failures—
I'm tired of needing
Meaning.
I'm sick of
Falling Short.
“THE MASKING OF LOSS”
we used to talk a lot.
we collaborated our ideas
into something that's had
me hooked since.
she's been in a new
relationship for a while
and it's clearly gone
to her head.
there hasn't been much
time between the two but
if you ever saw her, you'd
know why she has a boy-
friend every few months.
it's the damnedest thing
though, she's losing her
hair on top and it's making
her forehead bigger.
she's also getting wider at
the hips and as it goes her
butt is getting bigger too.
but it isn't a bigger that's
good.
don't get me wrong, all
females are prepossessing
but this just isn't working
for her.
she's arrogant.
that is the ugliness of the
combination.
she used to be decent and
now it's falling apart.
if she humbled herself into
submission then all of what
she's lost control of, would
fall into place.
females are affected by
everything that enters their
lives.
some use it for change,
others use it to mask deeper
desires.
I can only watch as the hair
recedes, as the hips get
wider, as male after male
rack up stories of sexual
performance out of
insecurity.
as her name gets whispered
in the dark night of sexual
filth, she still has to count
the hair strands that fall
and the number of jeans that
don't fit.
no amount of sex can keep the
walls from closing in.
at the end, inside her
nights, she still has to look
at the crack in her ceiling.
By: Chicano Eddie
9-28-2016
I like the smell of leaded petrol,
pure, unadulterated,
the destructive euphoria of which intoxicates me
innocently unaware that it has forsaken me;
before I could realize that
olfaction influences gustation
and addiction is not a hoax,
I had become a car
that wouldn't run without petrol;
like a plant that requires photoperiod-
except my plant overdosed on sunlight.
But I drank all my water yesterday,
and choked and coughed
to drink the black gold again.
I like to see the impasto yellow,
the paint that's toxified by lead,
the real natural joy, the drug I need,
like a rat gnawing on my living skin;
we fail at realizing that
the eyes, sometimes, have it,
to activate the taste buds;
I had become the kalsomine,
deathly pale without some paint-
perhaps, a thick layer of it.
But I tried gobbling up real food last night
I couldn't gulp it down my gullet,
because my throat had inflamed
that wouldn't let me eat anything, but the paint.
I am faded, and wasted,
moreover tired,
my muscles spasm one after the other,
you could see the burton line on my gums
while I uttered incomplete sentences
whose sounds my pinna refused to collect,
my senses have deserted me-
you put one finger up and I see three,
I bite my own tongue
and my teeth grind each other-
while pieces of my brain explode,
but my skull opposes their projectile;
yet, there's enough lead left to score.
The doctor gives me some popcorn to eat,
and makes a list of the things I shouldn't eat-
that consisted of all the things I love to eat,
and another list of the things I must eat-
all the things I choke on.
I tell him about my sore fauces-
my voice breaking, trembling,
doing its damnedest to sound stern-
and with a well-crafted professional voice,
he tells me how he would starve me
if I ate what should not be eaten;
so I go home and self-medicate,
with more petrol and some more paint.
How do I write a poem about me,
What story is there to tell?
Do my words paint pictures,
Do they cast a spell?
What would someone say if he wrote a critique
About what it is that makes me unique?
I am often a dreamer,
And in my dreams I'll be found
Singing and dancing and prancing around
In swell musical productions
Full of glorious technicolor,
Stupendous cinemascope,
Quadrophonic sound,
And, of course, the more recent innovation of spectacular HD.
These days my slumber's not nearly so deep,
And my dreams are interrupted at least twice a night
And, often as not, I can't get right back to sleep.
So as we come to another year's end,
I find myself sitting alone here again
With pen in hand and tongue in cheek
Painting word pictures,
Casting my spells,
And trying my damnedest to be unique.
Is this an attribute of,
Or homage to,
My latent creativity,
Or a reflection of my artistic vanity,
Or merely a part of my all too-natural fallibility?
After all, I'm only what I'm here to be.
So how do I write a poem about me,
What story is there to tell?
I was born, I grew;
I learned, I knew;
I loved a few;
I won not one;
I lost a lot;
I proved, I got to here today,
Scribbling and painting and casting away,
Still trying my best to weave a spell,
And hoping that some future critiquer
Will find me, not trite,
But a trifle uniquer.
Tomorrow is the day – the day I dread.
The first of March. Declare the dividend.
I hate a scene but I, by nature’s quirk,
endure the drama, seated on the stage.
I never met a shareholder who said
‘I know you are the CEO. My friend,
we really do appreciate your work.’
Hostility is not so hard to gauge.
Today’s the day it all comes to a head.
A thousand profit-sniffers will attend.
Their eyes will flay me, glaring from the murk,
and though I do my damnedest to assuage
the fury, ‘carbon footprint’s tread’ –
it will not help me. Why do I pretend?
They want more money. Explanations irk.
Their unearned income is the war they wage.
Their eyes and exit signs pulsating red,
No Confidence the motion that they’ve penned,
malicious in the darkness where they lurk,
creators (or the symbols?) of our age.
I, (though ye feel averse associating
with birth father) attest,
perhaps undeserving your vicariously quest
regaling, surmounting, and triumphing
storied Penn ultimate academic conquest
affirms his pride and joy at
stellar success no credit to this beastliest
inept papa, who winces with tragicomic,
woe how animosity toward me increased
smoldering rage at actual/
perceived paternal transgressions,
and do not expect to receive forgiveness
within your wounded breast,
but please allow this opportunity
to suspend any smarting rancorous
loathing, and bitterest
emotions that still sting from deep
seated psychological wounds
indelibly piercing chest
within eldest daughter,
whose unconditional boundless love
spurs whim to express
optimism at Edenic future blest
with praiseworthy largesse of commendable
laudatory, and noteworthy brainiest
accomplishments driven by ambition,
doggedness, perseverance, cleverest
ploy, plus revulsion emotionally costliest
psyche rent asunder courtesy yours truly,
he will not challenge, nor counterprotest
thee, asper his (i.e. mine) crassest
peccadillos, and significant damnedest
accursed personal weaknesses thee detest,
and unintentionally unpleasantly
impacted impressionable offspring, I dust
regret, and thus
figurative figleaf extended
without any expectations, though earnest
sincerity to accept culpability, asper
your anger, animosity, antipathy
maybe ranked as evilest
person on Earth, nonetheless,
and perhaps futile attempt feeblest
against affecting, sans fondest
best wishes despite scathing foulest
faux pas, I abhor lament ghastliest
inflicted upon an innocent progeny,
whose truevalue impossible grandest
to assess preciousness bestowed,
and wisdom proffered as biological guest,
now on her way to glory with handsomest
eminent beau linkedin heading toward happiest
days awaiting as ye embark
on destination unknown - honest!