Best Detentions Poems
With hair ablaze
a jester unconfined.
I scoffed at the mundane
its life declined.
My wardrobe
a riot
a rhapsody bold.
Mismatched socks my standard
stories untold.
In classrooms of tedium
rules I'd defy
Grasping forbidden knowledge
'neath watchful sky.
Craving for wisdom in
esoteric wells.
Chased squirrels with saws
casting fanciful spells!
Detentions for antics
the school's icy stare
Derided in classrooms
a spirit too rare.
Math teacher's scorn
a job painting lines foretold.
I retorted, "How much does it pay?"
- detention took hold.
Mom asked me why I never brought my girls home?
I chuckled and said, "They're not the type to be shown!"
The wild ones
the rebels
the ones full of flame.
Not the kind for a dinner
not the ones with a name.
Misfits my comrades
a menagerie strange.
United in chaos
defying the change.
Years danced in a blur a pantomime bright
But a disquieting word a sense of not quite right.
A whirlwind of antics a panoply grand
Impromptu escapes with career-shifting sands.
Near-death encounters with fauna
a squirrel, perhaps?
But the thrill
oh the thrill
fueled my madcap laps!
The thrill of the unexpected
a fading strain
A gnawing suspicion
a predictable bane.
The mask I had crafted
of rebellion's grand guise.
Cracked and revealed
the truth in my eyes.
The jester unmasked with a lesson I gained.
That the extraordinary in the ordinary
can be just plain.
No longer I chase the fantastical dream...
But accept the real where
beauty can stream.
For the truest defiance lies not in the fight.
But accepting oneself in the ordinary light.
So here I stand
flaws and all
unashamed.
The laughter remains though the fantasy's tamed.
With lessons in tow I'll mend and I'll mend.
Explore the mundane and find joy till the end.
For the greatest adventure
in life's simple quest...
Is finding the magic
within one's own breast.
Categories:
detentions, angst, character, conflict, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
There is a solace in his silence, a servant of his solitudes,
As he comforts in compliance, a jester to the multitudes…
He stands alone a neophyte, struggling within his confines,
Actions that do excite, impugnable inhibition when he signs.
Master of the satirical sad, a foreordained flounder of many,
Like a narcotized nomad, wandering wills a penniless plenty…
A calamitous circus in mind, his heart exposed in the limelight,
Dolorous detentions unkind, amidst filling his formidable finite.
A bombarding bombast, with words falling to the desolate deep,
Sailing with a maudlin mast, wearing a facetious frown as to weep…
Layered with lecherous lashes, upon wounding the sacrificial soul,
His anguish turns to ashes, within continuation of his dramatic role.
A buffoon protected by providence, metamorphic minstrel of laugh,
Lacking in canopied confidence, recklessly writing his eternal epitaph…
As he mimes until the morrows, living amongst a false fading reality,
With a smolder to his sorrows, court jesting as a nilpotent nobody.
Feb.28.2020
Repost From May 23, 2019
Clown at the Abyss
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Placed 7'th...Thank You
Categories:
detentions, angst, character, conflict,
Form:
Rhyme
The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation
The Not-So Distant Past:
The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.
They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.
Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,
and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.
The Present:
19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,
a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.
I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,
our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.
Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,
babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,
yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,
needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,
for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.
Categories:
detentions, allegory, angst, black african
Form:
There is a solace in his silence, a servant of his solitudes,
As he comforts in compliance, a jester to the multitudes…
He stands alone a neophyte, struggling within his confines,
Actions that do excite, impugnable inhibition when he signs.
Master of the satirical sad, a foreordained flounder of many,
Like a narcotized nomad, wandering wills a penniless plenty…
A calamitous circus in mind, his heart exposed in the limelight,
Dolorous detentions unkind, amidst filling his formidable finite.
A bombarding bombast, with words falling to the desolate deep,
Sailing with a maudlin mast, wearing a facetious frown as to weep…
Layered with lecherous lashes, upon wounding the sacrificial soul,
His anguish turns to ashes, within continuation of his dramatic role.
A buffoon protected by providence, metamorphic minstrel of laugh,
Lacking in canopied confidence, recklessly writing his eternal epitaph…
As he mimes until the morrows, living amongst a false fading reality,
With a smolder to his sorrows, court jesting as a nilpotent nobody.
~~~
First Released: May 23, 2019
Repost: Nov 18, 2019
Writing Challenge 2, November - A Poem Meaningful
Sponsored by: Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode
Placed 1'st...Thank You
Categories:
detentions, anxiety, conflict, emotions,
Form:
Rhyme
Back in my hole in the back of the den
racking up souls with every heart that I spend
Laughing at those birdies floating far far away
half in astral detentions known to scar and fillet
Compacted in thy dirt, I’m comfortable in failure
It’s only after that I’ll hurt, for during I’m the sailor
mapping out tides I’ll avoid any turn
crashing into the same bridges that I’ve already burned
Back then my den was smaller and included
facts to save myself from the loneliness precluding
any ambition to pursue the wildest dream
or any mission of love, unrealistic though they may seem
They fashioned for me a reason to keep
myself trapped wholly deep thinking I needed the key
Some intangible force to unlock my own life
Some box of remorse I deserved from that wife
Soon I’ll dig myself out from this den
I’ll reclaim my soul and fill my heart with it again
Categories:
detentions, anxiety, beauty, depression, life,
Form:
Couplet
She doesn’t give detentions
but casts spells-
my best friend now sits
on a stool in the corner of the room
as a toad
for an unwanted remark.
Her topics include-
potions for everyday use
how to wave a magic wand
and incantations.
Her Driver’s Ed course
teaches students
how to ride a broom.
A dark cloud lingers
over her pointed hat,
and follows her
as she paces
in the front of the class room.
There’s no rain,
only a rumble of thunder
of her thoughts.
Bats flutter and swarm
like shadows
in the corner of the room
as everyone sits still
captured by her spell.
Categories:
detentions, humor,
Form:
Verse
I seem to of late to live between an inner life of double doubt and life aberrant that relates to a coincintude that female hate is alive and well, as it subjigates its tentacles around its prey prematured by all of their sociofear/control/princecharmang/sleepingbeauty differentials as we males are to often sex sublimated too ass pire in a web woven gonadally predisposed of a clitorial condensed conondrum where, witch makes us male dicks; stand at attention. Why? We low level ourselves to that polyconstraint of a social wherewithall based on antiquated annograms distanced in a heretofore complacency time stamped, virgin approved and male personified, so all is within the bounds of an ever invert political plan to forever White House the sexo salient roles rigid sex separate sandbox sequentials unto its law abiding gift never knowing that its equal can easily subdivde its erpart with no mistakes and pass the the male test of the 7 year itch, 50's, 60's, 70's, and all years forward now proven to be intercourseal inclined. Is there a male/female be-yond that can superimpose a gonaldal garnered grievance giving of a temporal truce to the dick-dastardly detentions undeniably underpinning from both sides of a soursexual salad; lessthanvowdictatedmonitoredbyoursideconstitutientsoncall, where's a Dicktective when u need a hard one? Take a step back asexual tea party dummies times 2 before u launch yr to proud torid torpedo torrent, bequeathing any/all of the above and any of
your ever wanting crotch potentials, throw a ringer, sign on the dotted line. Recomscope the fervor of yr "privates" dilemma as it harkens to the past primeveal of America and its prison like standards as to all that relate/copulate themselves to a socioprevelantsexualmaritaldivorcecomandnomcompliantsocioplus
/minus/lgbtq
panorama that refer to your endless being as it to you as a genuine Human!! Skip the personnaplanetary politicorhetoic in which we need to believe so we can catagorize ourselves from those different than our cowardice selves. Welcome to the new American Administration of thought gun police??????????????? Non brain cell participants need reply. Your destiny is ass ured.
Categories:
detentions, anxiety, children, family, freedom,
Form:
Free verse
Sometimes plans just go awry
Despite your best intentions.
Then you rally and you try
Assorted interventions.
You could shrivel up and die
From all the added tensions,
But to do so would defy
The normative conventions.
It’s a waste to wonder why
There have to be dissensions.
Life is likely to supply
Dilemmas and detentions.
So the thing to do is sigh
And focus your attentions
On ways for you to pacify
Your growing apprehensions.
Categories:
detentions, life,
Form:
Rhyme
There is a solace in his silence, a servant of his solitudes,
As he comforts in compliance, a jester to the multitudes…
He stands alone a neophyte, struggling within his confines,
Actions that do excite, impugnable inhibition when he signs.
Master of the satirical sad, a foreordained flounder of many,
Like a narcotized nomad, wandering wills a penniless plenty…
A calamitous circus in mind, his heart exposed in the limelight,
Dolorous detentions unkind, amidst filling his formidable finite.
A bombarding bombast, with words falling to the desolate deep,
Sailing with a maudlin mast, wearing a facetious frown as to weep…
Layered with lecherous lashes, upon wounding the sacrificial soul,
His anguish turns to ashes, within continuation of his dramatic role.
A buffoon protected by providence, metamorphic minstrel of laugh,
Lacking in canopied confidence, recklessly writing his eternal epitaph…
As he mimes until the morrows, living amongst a false fading reality,
With a smolder to his sorrows, court jesting as a nilpotent nobody.
May.23.2019
By Winged Warrior...^WW^
Not for any contest
Inspired by John Hamiltons contest...
Eight-word free verse challenge
Written & Composed by Winged Warrior
Using-A male virtual voice
Background music-Pavarotti in the Italian opera-
a prologue (Il Pagliacci)-'The Clown'
Composed by Ruggero Leoncavallo...Opera title~"Teatro Dal Verme"
Categories:
detentions, conflict, emotions, passion,
Form:
Rhyme
No, Shar, I'd never heard of it, but I will, i looked it up, and it's got a great rating.
Sounds good! Thanks!! My friend John S. is a horror buff of the first ranking. He
was even on the peripheral edges of some things. Was working with Joe Spinell
when he died (Joe) from a tooth infection complicated with heavy cocaine use.
Freddy, 'Ol boy- for you I'm sure the words would be "I'm just a boy whose
detentions were good!..... And, when you med Davy Jones, was that at his
locker? Do you really like Burdon? Have his Mickey Most series?? Regards, tom
Categories:
detentions, art, friendship, music, nostalgia,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Early rise, sonorous sleep, ceaseless schedule, yellow uniform
I bundle my books, handle my hair and sprint to school
To learn motivating material from a peerless physical platform
In caring classrooms with a practical portfolio pool
Nibbling notes, listening to limpid lessons, factorizing facts
To test my time, hone my hands, tenderize my tactics and train
My amygdala, my bludgeoned books with drastic drama acts
That earn celebrated certificates and fit folks on an employment train.
Mathematics, Physics, History and Literature light up curricular
Activities that stretch me, strain me but complement
Scrabble, swimming, chess and rich extra curricular
Activities to build my body and furnish my fitness supplement.
Suspensions, expulsions, detentions, gating and homework
They oppress and alter my sensitive, introspective nature
Although they socialize me and sanitize me for the world of work
Where a billion babes compete daily for a fickle future.
Team teachers, honest house parents, cool catering staff
They mould me. They plane my precocious personality
To awaken my pensive potential minus my baggage of chaff
Which will otherwise assassinate my ability and credibility.
Categories:
detentions, poems,
Form:
Free verse
I am what I am and there's none that can change me,
The word can be heaven or a feary pit depending on What you choose to be.
It doesn't depend what people see
As they can't distinguish every single tree
But your creator knows what you deserve
As he was the only one to observe
He saw you at all your emotions
He only knows your truth and devotion
He gives award for your actions
Now it may be pleasure or Harsh detentions
So he is the only one to trust
As he knows you from depth to crust
He gives you life and takes it away
So it's better to worship him every day
Categories:
detentions, 1st grade,
Form:
Rhyme
Laughing during mutual intimacy
Yet intimate war-song sang daily
History knows no detentions for it
The first censured; second is justice
Categories:
detentions, mystery, relationship, truth,
Form:
Quatrain
Again, again, I ask, “So tell me, son,
how was your day?” Thirty-four sanctions,
and seven detentions since September’s start.
How can you be so brilliant yet so lost?
Why don’t you listen, son, why don’t you see?
I wish for you the world, the moon, the stars,
but here I stumble, unsure where to step.
Do I lift you up, or let you learn the fall?
Do I soften my voice, or should it harden?
My dreams for you are vast, yet they collide
with the growing pains of who you’re meant to be.
I taught you chess, the piano’s tender keys,
and numbers that could build a life of strength.
I held you through the nights when skies were dark,
but now the storms you face are in your mind.
I pray to God above to guard your thoughts,
to guide your feet upon the path to peace.
Is this a phase, a season passing through,
or am I faltering, failing where I stand?
I do not know, my son, but still I hope.
Be strong, be wise, and rise beyond these days.
For you, my love will always seek the way.
Categories:
detentions, appreciation, family, father son,
Form:
Blank verse