Best Disciplinarian Poems
Let me tell you a story…
A story about life, where Solitude gracefully glides into the room, wearing a loose fitting gown, draping her curvaceous form. Piously she takes her place at the table of life, she is surrounded by Faith, Hope, Despair, Vision, Reality, and Fantasy. Furtive Destiny is seated at the head of the table, shrouded in mystery.
Faith is subdued, radiant, gracious and kind. Her reassuring smile gives life and courage to Hope. They share a unique friendship, if either of them departs, the other becomes reclusive.
Hope shines in the spotlight with Faith. She dazzles with magic tricks; lighthearted yet fragile. She holds her breath so often I fear one day she may not catch it. Optimistic Faith, reminds Hope to breathe in and breathe out.
Despair, clad in a dark cloak; averts his sullen glassy eyes. His temerity threatens and blind sights the spirit of Faith and Hope; vulnerable and frightened they reach out to Vision.
Vision is creative, casting Faith and Hope in life’s productions; drawing back the curtain of blindness, revealing hopeful possibilities.
Reality, a disciplinarian. He is strong and terse; building strength on the bedrock of truth. Discerning facts, sorting out fiction.
Fantasy, a flighty temptress, playfully teases Reality who becomes uncomfortable; secretly he admires her, especially when Destiny leaves the room.
Destiny holds the key to life’s fate. Confident and at times unforgiving; she never plays favorites. Wise, with the knowledge she solely possesses the power of our tomorrows. Reality is her soulmate, keeping a harmonious balance. There is talk they are involved, but Destiny does not reveal her private life.
Date: April 19, 2022
For: Form N - Narrative - New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Theme: Life
Grammar verified on P.S. Grammar check
Placed 1st in contest
Squickleby Pickleby
Nicholas Nickleby
loses his Father and
feels quite forlorn.
Ralph his tight uncle a
disciplinarian
mean to the marrow
regards him with scorn.
Nicholas, penniless
uncompromisingly
works as a master where
boys take the flack.
Nickleby fears for the
safety of orphans there
rescues a cripple and
never looks back.
Granted this ending is
unsatisfactory
Dickens had plenty more
meat to this tale.
So to all readers I
send my apologies;
These double dactyls are
tricky travail.
01.01.2021
Based on the novel 'Nicholas Nickleby' by Charles Dickens
Double Dactyl (Win For Paid Membership) Poetry Contest
Sponsor : William Kekaula
Spank your children, spank them good.
Spank them as you know a good parent should.
"Wait until your father gets home," is a phrase I'll never forget.
I was spanked as a child and it taught me respect.
Never ever feel guilty for spanking your children.
You're not being cruel, you're enforcing discipline.
When you spank your children they will end up better for it...
.. although many also go on to live their lives awfully traumatic.
The truth is that whenever any parent spanks their children
they do so for only one specific reason
and it has absolutly nothing at all to do with enforcing discipline.
That is simply an excuse for justification.
Parents spank their children not as a disciplinarian pretense.
Parents spank their children because they lose their patience
but cannot admit to that moment of weakness,
because it's easier to spank them and silence their protests.
The Moon’s Yellow Eyes
After: The King in Yellow by Robert Chambers
Situations righted by the assassination in Sheepshead Bay (alibied with difficulty under earth’s single moon), I curl up on the windowsill hissing at the pallid orb. Oh how, I long for my planet, Carcosa. I lick the remaining human poison from my claws. Yes, man-made poison, but I, I am the one who delivers— population control.
Wilde, my mate, our transformed intermediary, brushes my coat. I purr. How oddly complacent Wilde has become. Once, he too walked on four legs. After our arrival on Earth and his change (We thought the change would regrow the ear I tore from him in his last life—) my mate became no more than a castrato. I do regret the torture which deprived him of two fingers on his right hand. (It made his job more difficult.) But, discipline was necessary.
the pestle crushes
poison white snakeroot:
yellow eyes shine
Well, why am I telling you this? To that I would say, why not? Who on earth would believe a cat could talk?
The feline form has advantages in espionage. A petted and pampered puss can lure the reticent, overhear the loud-mouthed, two-footed, earthly baboons—with cunning, obtain information no human in their right mind would divulge to an enemy. As valet, advisor, disciplinarian to Wilde (and he to the earthlings), my position abides, a mere slap and tickle from the throats of power. My teeth, neck piercing weapons of choice; my claws scimitars of death drip with the blood of masters.
One more night out. Wilde cat-like licks the scar on his damaged hand and stares at the invitation stamped with the Presidential seal. One more night, sweet puss and the reign of The Yellow King will begin.
Published by Illumen 2016
A born disciplinarian
Should have been a librarian
Shame about her crazy wit
Not everyone understands that bit
An avid libertarian…
Contest: Zodiac Race
Placed: 8th
Vembadi, my Alma Mater
On day one, I stepped into school tearfully,
In school uniform, clutching my bag nervously.
Miss Barker appeared! I gazed at her fearfully,
Her foreign face scared the native lass tremendously!
Miss Barker, the disciplinarian, and her walk daily
From Lower to Upper School, we’ll never forget.
The great lady, with her methodical ways,
Our last foreign head, guided our school skilfully!
We learnt to read, write and count effortlessly,
But faced tests and exams anxiously.
We took part in sports and games snappily;
At break times I ran out with friends happily!
Miss Mabel Thambiah, our first national Principal,
Succeeded Miss Barker calmly and unflappably.
She steered the school at all times marvellously,
Specially in the turbulent takeover years!
Our teachers worked so painstakingly!
With improved knowledge and manners, we prayed daily.
The years flew by, our schooling ended quietly,
And I stepped out, at seventeen, gallantly!
The first man in your life,
who would carry you upstairs,
and tuck you in.
He scared away the monsters
under the bed,
and closed the closet door
to keep the bear inside.
He holds you up to touch the ceiling,
or to make a slam dunk.
He would play checkers or basketball
and let you win every time.
He would take training wheels on and off,
and run along beside your bike,
keeping it erect,
only letting go when you were ready.
He taught you how to tie your shoes,
with a tale about a rabbit, a tree, and a hole.
He gladly holds your legs up
when you are too little to squat.
He teaches you to throw a ball,
catch bugs and frogs,
dig up worms, skip a rock,
and build a fire with out a match.
He teaches you to drive,
change a tire and the oil,
to fix a lightswitch, and a lawn mower.
He tenderly kisses
a skinned knee
and tapes a broken toe.
He holds you on his lap,
when you Prince is gone,
even thought you're really too big.
He also cries,
as he walks you down the aisle,
to the new man,
and he wonders,
if he is good enough.
His knowledge is an open book,
to give willingly and with love.
When he can no longer
help with his hands,
he helps with his words ,
and his heart.
My daddy is an amazing man.
He is a mason, a carpenter,
a mechanic, a teacher,
a gardener, an outdoorsman,
and a disciplinarian,
even though it hurt him more than me.
A father gives his money,
but a daddy gives
his heart and soul.
Even though I am grown,
I still have a daddy
Angela Merkel
I have seen Angela Merkel naked it was on a nude beach
in East Germany and she was a young communist
member of the party, the only way one had to go if not
being stuck in a factory job. Angela back then had
a rounded body not quite Ruben but a body that had in
had the frame of a middle-class Germanic sexuality.
She had by then staked her political future and she had
no time for suitors which belonged to no party?
And she did right when East Germany went into freefall
she was there taking note and agreeing with the west.
But Merkel is history less, she has disregarded her past
yet her socialism instinct must give her sleepless nights
Greece cannot be bought by German Marks and they are
not disciplinarian by nature that can be cured by
a bracing North Sea beach.
He slept, but he feels swindled.
The only evidence of his sleep were the scant memories of his dreams.
Find himself today -not likely.
He pushes the keys to make it stop…
A day like today, this day, like any other day here.
He can see the light signaling in the night sky,
but there is no hero today…
He is bound, hopelessly tethered and tortured as he toils.
Forced to endure the monotone blaring of droning background noise, the tirade of a slow-witted superior and an even slower exchange server.
That can’t be right…..the server is slower???
He pushes the keys, desperate to make it stop...
“Chief, you’re kinda quiet…” he deserves a day.
A day here like today, much like any other day.
Time, ever the rascal, plays carelessly here like a fickle child.
The weeks, fluid, turn quickly like post-dated milk.
But He in heaven please help, the days here, they amble on -but this day is so long.
His cup was only partially filled and no oil anointed his head today.
He sits idle, now at odds with the keys whose motion only brings the need to molest them further.
Though time, now playing disciplinarian, ensures dereliction has its own price to pay.
Falling helplessly throughout this day, while hanging on for dear life, only his shift counterpart allows a break in his fall and his grip released.
He now moves toward his room, hoping for a dark, animated and deafening solitude to engage him.
Though the night with ever subtle bedlam, dim with color, presently greets him as he walks.
And that bright light, definitive and calling in the sky? The signal…yeah he sees it, but the hero still has not found himself…
He goes to the room instead, where he hopes not to feel swindled again…
Written in Afghanistan -25 AUG 2013
Admonishing against arrogance and apathy
Building lives buttressed with leadership brace
Caring for his children, blending compassion and circumspection
Daddy* dearest is decisive, determined, diligent, dedicated, disciplinarian...
Empowering with his enabling encouragement
Fatherly figure, firming up family fortress by his faith-fortitude
Godly in gearing, guarding, governing, guiding along grace goodness
Hoisting us toward holiness-height, happiness’ health and heavenly hope...
Instructor was Dad: intelligent and inspiring
Jovial while being just; amidst job-stress, jubilant
Keen in his knowledge kingdom for kindling kindness
Leading us to love’s light along liberating lessons in life...
Man of mercy and might, managing meaningfully
Nurturing so well with Mom’s nursing nourishment
Offering and opening great opportunities for optimization
Prayerful Dad propelled us to perform with best for progress
Quitting not in doing best despite qualms to attain noble quests...
Reverberating Dad’s legacy, worth remembering
Surely serving as steadfast statutes of strength’s stamina
Truthful indeed against trying times toward triumphant tasks
Unwavering since he had them exemplified by the Lord’s uplift
Values he did instill is us verily make us victors, vanquishing vanity...
Wonderful Dad, you have made us today’s winners
‘Xample you are to us, a champion , a hero of ‘xcellence
Your memory* lives in our hearts forever; yes, beyond eternity’s yon
Zealous are we to thank you, and we praise the Lord for your virtues’ zest.
*Proverbs 10:7 The memory of the just is blessed: but the name of the wicked shall rot.
Daddy Roberto passed away on January 2, 2019, as he was called to be with the Lord forever. Dad, by the grace and power of the Lord, left us - his children and his grandchildren - with a great testimony of a blessed fulfilled life as a husband, father, brother, church member, community contributor; indeed a virtuous life-builder.
December 10, 2019
ABC form with alliteration
6th place, "Memorial of a Loved One" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke; judged on 12/13/2019.
My Mutinous Mum
I thought my own Dad was patient and so cool
And Mum’s temper; pretentious as itchy wool:
For no reason her Temper was hot, so I thought-
Its sundry Duties that respite gave her nought!
Iron Amazon now all gone, ideas begin to show;
Ready pinch and her hot rebuke give me chow!
I remember my late Mother’s indefatigable lips
Disciplinarian of Love’s with relentless whips
And Fast Rules like: “You don’t talk when eating!”
Or blatantly: “You stop eating when talking!”
Iron Amazon now all gone, ideas begin to show
Had I reviled, would I’ve got Life’s sweet chow?
A reason had she to separate Grain from chaff:
“A Rod not spared bestows an efficacious stuff.”
So, like a Cowgirl, she cracked the whiplash
In her usual Marching Drill: Left, Right and Right;
“Boy, sleep well and NO bed-wetting tonight!”
Iron Amazon, now all gone, ideas begin to show;
Had I denigrated her, I’d have missed my chow!
Would I’ve heeded anybody and go to School
Had she not stepped in proving no cosy wool?
Her cautious mind got me into a smart spank
Lavished in porridge when lessons I did bunk!!
Iron Amazon all gone, now ideas begin to show;
Her force to resist would’ve deprived me chow!
Mum in my Dad she had a sweet Boy of a Friend
Yet: “Girls, no!” She called illicit love “Ugly Fiend.”
“Old-fashioned Goat”, I thought, she surely was-
Clap-infected, she proved a Goat eating no grass!
Iron Amazon, now all gone, ideas begin to show;
Would you heed Hot Mum to elude Aids’ blow!
That my Mum was hard to inveigle or to please-
She wanted being wild to terminate or decrease.
Lie to your detriment, she could read lying mind-
Caught, you’d get a tanning on the behind!!
Iron Amazon, all gone, now ideas begin to show;
Had I a hardened Liar, would I eat this chow?
A perfect Teacher in Church at Sunday School
Who, one day made me crawl on fours like a fool:
Acting me a Donkey- though Joseph be my name!-
While a girl rode me like Jesus into Jerusalem!
Iron Amazon, all gone, now ideas begin to show;
Had I not heeded God, I’d have faced Sin’s blow!
JM
02nd December 2013
my world, a stage
All around me mere players
my father, hits to prove a disciplinarian
my mother, hits to prove her righteousness
my wife, hits her way to take sympathy
my Son, shows sandals to my face
my daughter, stays away by crisis
my colleagues, fond of branding me ignorant
the Society, exploits me to see their kids thrive
my mind damaged beyond recognition...
For I started believing the words of Shakespeare,
"All the World’s a stage",
Still my duties, my responsibilities I never fail,
My objective,” being true before GOD”
My skills I love, my career my wife,
My world is narrowing..
As long as my career is there,
I live enhancing it, I love doing that...
I could see myself improve in skills,
My love for myself gets a going…
I'm the cook , the maid
I'm so underpaid
the driver, the vet
never let 'em see me sweat
the cleaner, the lover
the tired mother
the woman, the waitress
sometimes a dominatrix
the girlfriend, the wife
I'm all walks of life
the lawyer, the slave
the one that makes the kids behave
the counselor, the nurse,
even when I'm at my worse
the student, the teacher
sometimes I'm a preacher
I'm a referee, an actor
a designer, and a planner
I'm a friend, a beautician
a talker, and a good listener
I'm a lady , a disciplinarian
a provider and humanitarian
I'm that real chic, the best
with an "S" on my chest
I can leap tall buildings in just one bound
still look good while I paint the town
everyday these hats are what I am to be
but today, I choose the hat that says "JUST ME"
His wrinkles on face,
A crack on his tooth
He remembers too well
The glimpse of his youth
The fiery passion
His sweltering desires
He’s a scout leader
Everyone admires…
He’s a disciplinarian
Few don’t understand
But it all makes sense
Accord to his plans
His young dreams
I see as sun rises
But will he remember
The smiles on our faces?
Grandpa so full of love and warmth
Grandpa so full of wisdom and knowledge
Grandpa so full of yes white hair on your crown
Grandpa so full of care always brought me fruits
Bob we loved to call you and we loved you
Many a times your tongue spewing wisdom
We delighted in you we flourished with you
Grandpa i knew you well you were a judge
A judge in the traditional sense spewing wisdom
Not a judge of corridors of power and huge crest
A judge bound by honor and oath to rule justly
Grandpa we knew you as a strict disciplinarian
You are gone it's a decade plus a handful of years
Yet forever you are deeply cherished in our hearts
At the banks of Gihon you turned and looked back
A wise appraisal for the future you had oh Judge
CODE
Lewis K. Nyaga
A DEDICATION TO BOB