Best Despoil Poems


Premium Member Whitewashing the Fence

I've constructed a picket fence around me to keep jackanapes out
Through pickets they can see me, but I never allow them to touch
private parts of me I keep concealed, and don't talk about so much
I keep whitewashing my fence, cleansing it from things left in doubt 

When my boards become exposed to prying eyes that shouldn't see
I open another bucket of watered-down paint and reach for a brush
to cover the flaws, my faults within, and I am always in such a rush
to whiten and brighten the facade out front. The veneer veiling me.

There is a gate with well-worn hinges, but usually it's kept locked
to prevent invaders who would dare trespass on my every thought
Those who'd despoil my fence with graffiti and rip my boards apart
Hence, one reason why I keep a supply of whitewash well-stocked

I am the prismed reflection of my surroundings, including my fence
where no webs shall arachnids weave within my weathered boards.
I will apply a coat of whitewash to my palisade as the need affords
It is a beachhead between me and crawlers; my penury of defense

Twining around my picketed railings, grows a vine of climbing roses
The virtuous blooms are never cut to prolong each inculpable stem
They shroud malevolent fingers pointed at me that would condemn
I shrive every foible and failing that my whitewashed fence encloses


May 28, 2023
W T F Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Lawless
© Lin Lane  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Life Is What You Make It

Birth: the first step to journey’s end.
We cannot travel and pretend
That our paths will be all straight
And leave the helm to luck, not faith.
There will be chasms full of gloom
Where evil spirits hide and loom
The eerie feelings forecast doom
And wide-eyed flowers do not bloom;
There will be dangers hard to count
So many mountains to surmount
The angry waves will roll and pound
While furious winds despoil the ground
The weary feet will turn to lead
It will be hard to forge ahead.
But are we going to give in
To the backstabbing from within
Become a prey to currents’ might
Or beat retreat and take to flight?
Oh no my friend! That’s not the way
To reap the fruit of our stay
On this domain where life must rise
Above the slime; so let’s be wise
To turn defeat into a win
To put a stop to faults and sin
To change the darkness into light
To not submit without a fight
To find the means to learn to cope
So that we travel on with hope
Till when we give the final breath
We cross the bridge to life, not death.



-------------------------------------------

Author: Paul Callus ~ 16/03/2014
Contest: Life is what you make it!
Sponsor: Dave Wood
Placing: 1st

Premium Member Wisdom a La Sophie

 Wisdom à la Sophie
----------------------

Behind calm mind can come a fear,

So conquer it, and sprightly.

A fear must not despoil your year.

Quick, quell it.  Live your life quite lightly.



1/2/2019

"Fear is a slinking cat I find beneath the lilacs of my mind." 
- Sophie Tunnell
© Julia Ward  Create an image from this poem.


Veterans Day 2

VETERANS’ DAY 2
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS



There’s no coin of the realm to pay for his time
For the innocence stolen from him in his prime
No one can know of the anima lost in the field
Or the tormenting images that will never heal
The loss of his comrades that were in his care
The guilt of survival his haunting nightmare

Slowed by the steel rods now serving as legs
He wavers not from his duty and undying pledge
To defend this land and to safe guard its’ soil
Against all enemies and challenges to despoil
The freedoms he defended shall not perish
For future generations to nurture and cherish

He stands defiant, erect, proud and unafraid
Hand over his heart as the anthem is played
This brave and solitary figure is never alone
He speaks for the many that never came home
Our unending gratitude is put on display
When we honor our  patriots on Veterans’ Day

Premium Member Mother's Wishbones, No Doubt

MOTHER'S WISHBONES, NO DOUBT

All furculae with not a fragment
of dried-up flesh or sinew 

to despoil their luster — the slew 
of them ranging in size from 

Cornish hen to turkey. Funny,
I’d never noticed her extricate

one, strip it clean, secrete it 
somewhere long-forgotten. 

I took possession of those bones,
pried loose some of my own

from birds broiled, barbequed, 
fried; primed each, applied gold 

leaf. Made more of them
than Mother could’ve ever conceived 

— the gilt, over the generations 
of bones brittling whole, striking

beneath the wait of wishes.

Final Warning

Mankind, you're so proud and tall
You really think you know it all
And once you had discovered fire
to such great heights you did aspire

Once, gladly, of myself I gave
but now your plan is to enslave
Do you think it is your right
to consign whole species to the night

You rob the forests of their trees
and think you can do as you please
Disfigure me in your quest for oil
and with your wastes, my seas despoil

My rivers now flow red as blood
choked and dying with your crud
I've pleaded, but to no avail
as you wiped out the mighty whale

My atmosphere is choked with fumes
just to heat your fancy rooms
Radiation blights the ground
Everywhere your footprint's found

Pesticides pollute your crops
Acids taint the pure raindrops
My icecaps melt with global warming
A hole in the ozone layer is forming

I am your home, your ONLY home
Amongst the stars you'll never roam
Will you then, your home destroy
with these methods you employ?

You care not for this pollution
What then, mankind, is the solution
Should I let you on Earth remain
or wipe you out and start again

Mankind take heed you have been warned
So far my warnings have been scorned
One day soon you'll feel my rage
I'll knock you back to the stone age

With earthquakes I'll destroy a city
Too late then to ask for pity
With fire and storm and tidal wave
I'll consign you to the grave

What you've done make's no sense
Now I demand much recompense
Mankind, betrayer, of you I tire
Heed my words ... my name is Gaia
© Rob Biden  Create an image from this poem.


How To Kill a Ghost

I try to be good
I work and play 
to cause disarray
I fume and let it all mushroom
I engage in wanton acts of guile
I act not as the contrary child 
I do it all but not for a smile 
To kill a ghost:
First it must be dead
That troublesome bother 
That worm of irritation
That sore of discontent
That bane of the fair game
That argumentative refrain
To live with so much hate
To suffer with immeasurable pain
To want to be set free
To distance all from troublesome calamity
The earth will not be despoil
For long
Rise up before the troika dance of sun and moon
Enter the psyche of those who sent you away
Pretend its all fair play
Harass and bother everyday
No words can slay
No mantras can tame
Humanity will be reduced to a soulful shame
Now the sore has turned to a boil
Now the spectre is your turmoil
Cause of demise now haunts the mind
Enter the ghost of what should be left behind

Premium Member A Grinch's Lament

A Grinch’s Lament/with apologies


I remember the Christmas I first met the Grinch
his whining, his snarling, his poke, and his pinch

I never knew why - but I liked him right off
his yellowish teeth - his green tussled coif

the way that he moved – a snake in full coil
awaiting the chance to strike - to despoil

whatever the Who’s might be trying to do
the way  he loved making the Who’s – go BOO HOO

I laughed when he emptied all the Who’s houses
took the cheese from the little Who mouses

ate all the cookies and took the roast beast
truly the Grinch didn’t care in the least

I felt a slight twinge about Cindy Lou Who….BUT
HE WAS A GRINCH….WHAT ELSE COULD HE DO

I cheered when the sleigh reached the top of Mount Crumpit
urged him to PLEASE….GO AHEAD…..DUMP IT!!  DUMP IT!!!

I couldn’t believe he succumbed to the glee
of the carols they sang – without any tree

or his heart would expand – his evil would shrink
he’d clean himself up – tone down his Grinch stink

I cringed when he rode into town on the sleigh
he was the Grinch – it shouldn’t turn out this way

So I tossed the Grinch and his book on their head
sat eating stale crackers – alone – in my bed

John G. Lawless
8/8/2015

A Search For Love's Companion For Contest

A Search for Love’s Companion        Terza Rhyma

                           If treach’rous men detain you in climes hot—
                           I’d battle sandstorms in the zenith noon,
                           Outwit the kidnapers –despoil their plot.

                           If you be lost at sea in dread typhoon,
                           Tho’ rescue ships may falter –all a ’shred--
                           I’d plunge shark-depths –prepared with my harpoon.

                           I knew my parents slept in true love’s bed-- 
                           Tho’ sought I substitutes—they’re empty shells--
                           (Refuse to think of lonely tears I’ve shed.)

                           Like Dante, I have glimpsed my share of hells,
                           But know that light exists in lover’s eyes--
                           In voice abides the intricacy of bells.

                           With diligence my search will carry on-- 
                           When our souls meet-- twill signify love’s dawn



V Anderson-Throop 29 July 2013 ©

Premium Member Love's Wave and Breaking Crest - For Contest

Love’s Wave and Breaking Crest


And though the lover’s now shared empty cells
o’erflowing with the enmity of loss
endured the curse of self inflicted hells
beneath the towered specter of the cross
the remnants of a love – now prayerful dross
crumbling – dry flowers clutched to chest
unwilling to admit denials cost
beneath fate’s wave and breaking crest.

A darkness of the heart devoid of light
numbing to the  core all pulsing hope
adrift in string-less voyage – hateful flight
as fearful fingers ever slowly grope
the promise of the knotted, swinging rope
to which the aching heart has acquiesced
in effort to relieve love’s need to cope
beneath fate’s wave and breaking crest.

As through love’s hand slid harsh Manilla grip
tears dried upon a sallow, sunken cheek
awakening cold heart from endless trip
silencing the quest for dying’s shriek
recoiling from a final act so bleak
as to despoil a love that felt so blessed
strip it of love’s whimsical mystique
beneath fate’s wave and breaking crest.

Thus does the heart renew its rhythmic pace
return full beating flow to aching chest
release itself from memory’s sad embrace
beneath love’s wave and breaking crest.


//rhyme scheme not carried throughout//
//each stanza has own rhyme// 


4/28/2015

To Tea Or Not To Tea 'Answered'

To tea or not to tea 'answered'

The ultimate taste in tea,
as it should always be.
There is tea and there is the perfect cup,
make perfect tea? Yes, for all to sup.

Right! Now we can start,
making perfect tea to warm your heart.
Warm your cup and your kettle boil,
no tea-bag yet or you will despoil.

Sugar in your cup to begin,
aye! Sugar or what-ever is your sin.
Next boiling water you may add,
still no tea yet, not one wee tad.

Stir your sugar until dissolved,
your perfect cup is nearly solved.
Now! Only now place your tea-bag,
let it sit there, let it lag.

Leave thirty seconds then jiggle your string,
Straight up and down, no wiggling.
It's up to you how many dumps you do,
the more dumps and the flavor will accrue.

Warm cup, boiling water equals 82 degrees,
The flavor will always be, just the Bee's knees.
Never pour boiling water on any tea-bag,
'cos the flavor will be just blidy, blidy sad.

Now taste your tea minus the 'tannin' shock,
You'll notice the difference, like cheese from chalk.
Many thousand cups of tea I have drank,
Use this recipe and you'll have me to thank.

The Auld Yin.

Premium Member Life With Trump Ix

Cumander-in-Chief Father Trump
Will frack you and leave you a dump
For riches like oil
The Earth he'll despoil
While searching for what's next to hump


Author's note: The "anti-christ" has got my attention. Perhaps this is just a bad joke, and it's not limited to one religion.

The Big Question

THE BIG QUESTION

Are you ever curious about your last day on earth
Does it make you question just what was your worth

Were your acts always equitable towards Man and Beast
Did you help their life's journey or was their pain increased

Did your God give permission to do with his animals what you will
Saying you might hunt them, exploit them, they're yours to kill

Were you ever told the Earth is mankind's to despoil and plunder
Have Mother Nature's jewels been wasted and plowed under

That creature in need did you turn your head, looking askance
Or did you promote compassion while there was a chance

For earth is a school and the syllabus of study 
Was for an elevation of soul, not for greed, lust or money

On that day of days the bank account couldn't mean less
It's our acts while on earth are what shall redeem us
















THE BIG QUESTION

Are you ever curious about your last day on earth
Does it make you question just what was your worth

Were your acts always equitable towards Man and Beast
Did you help their life's journey or was their pain increased

Did your God give permission to do with his animals what you will
Saying you might hunt them, exploit them, they're yours to kill

Were you ever told the Earth is mankind's to despoil and plunder
Have Mother Nature's jewels been wasted and plowed under

That creature in need did you turn your head, looking askance
Or did you promote compassion while there was a chance

For earth is a school and the syllabus of study 
Was for an elevation of soul, not for greed, lust or money

On that day of days the bank account couldn't mean less
It's our acts while on earth are what shall redeem us

Premium Member Why Poetry Must Be Read Aloud

Why Poetry Must be Read Aloud

The poet caresses the purity of the
blank white page, seduces it, whispers
to it, teases and cajoles, coaxing
from the emptiness a depth of
solace, the fullness of a lover’s smile.

His words are mined, milled, and
shaped by the hammer and anvil of
his heart.  Heated to molten glow by
his passion and his longing to be
enveloped, entrapped, ensnared
in the web of whiteness.

Thus, he pours out his metaphoric
blood, his soul, in words.  Words –
words that mar the clarity of the page,
despoil its clinical perfection.  Words
torn from love, or pain, or loneliness,
unspoken words yet to feel the breath
of freedom.

So is the secret shared without fervor,
without rage, in lust-less, loveless, agony.
Etched onto the silence of the paper,
hidden in the margins of the white bordered
prison.  Waiting – to be given a voice, to
be imbued with the passion found in the
speaker, to echo across a valley, to
be shouted, sung, screamed into the
cooling air of life.

It is not enough to be written,
to fill the emptiness of the page,
for paper has no passion.


John G. Lawless
4/9/2014

Emptyness

emptiness  2
            How do you feel today ?
         Like I’m in a empty room 
             A plain box in grey 
        Waiting for the end    or doom 
              To come  and get me 
                 emptiness 
                 I guess 
              Is what I feel
        Is it the celexa or not 
                 Life’s anchors 
                  Linger not 
                My wife’s  carer 
           Says talk to somebody at the office
                         My friend ‘s
                         Don’t know 
                       Or do they  feel 
                      the same as me
                       I can’t tell them.
            Looking out my window 
                     I realise.
           the shining leaves and tree’s 
                    The sky and sun 
                  Will continue on
               when I’m long gone 
              even when human kind 
                    has done its worse
              to despoil  our universe 
            do we deserve the wonders 
              we’ve been given here 
              god or happenstance 
                    matters not
              selfishness and greed 
                  are they the same 
             planets  by the million  
                galaxies  a billion 
                   more or less
                  do they contain
        creatures of  lessor greed 
             or imaginary need
               when happiness
             is what they need 
                  but again 
           time will go on 
          when human  life is gone
          time and space eternal 
             in emptiness

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