Best Displeased Poems
The Twelve Angels of Beirut
They huddle together in the heavens
Muttering amongst themselves
Confused as any human down below
We bestow upon them the ancient teachings
Not once, not twice, variations to please all walks of life
Yes thrice
They may choose the ancient books they follow
They may keep the traditions yet must adapt to modern intellect
Such literate men who seem not to read
Who can cast his eyes at his child?
Feeling nothing but love and endearment?
Who pray tell us is displeased to arrive at his home at dusk?
Angels we twelve have nourished
We have showed you both love, morality and compassion
Yet ye who divides faith, chooses battle
You so easily prefer to drink blood
Rather than bestow a red rose upon breast
Olive trees so ripe have no meaning at all for you
Like a tree that reaches the sky
All things change, as evolution’s duty dictates
Yet you fight to keep perceptions frozen in time
You cover a woman’s face
When its you who should hide in shame
Modesty is how we bestow good deeds to strangers
It is how we look at our hearts in the mirror
A woman’s beauty should shine to the heavens
Competing only with a mans debonair style of chivalry
Honor you mother and father
Honor your tribe
Not with traditions and rented cloth
Honor with your whole heart
Feed the poor and kiss your enemy on both cheeks
The skies will become your friend
We sit here waiting in torment and anguish
Crying to the heavens that surround us
We gave you hearts and minds
You return us blood and bombs
We are ashamed of our duties
For we have obviously failed you
Forgive us, you tribes of the three branches
We are the twelve angels of Beirut
Whose tears give you your sea
In a small café, customers stream through the door. I jot down orders that pile up as I wonder what’s happening in the back kitchen. The patrons are looking more and more displeased. I scurry table to table filling glasses running endlessly dry and simultaneously noticing the increasing number of empty napkin holders. Where’s the manager? Why is there nobody here but me? The order slips are almost gone. And now plates of food begin appearing in the back so quickly that I cannot recall to which table each one goes. I’m running and running, the proverbial dumb chicken but with its head still attached and throbbing! I hear the clamor of “Where’s our meal?” and more people keep entering through the door.
Now I find myself in a plain white-walled classroom of my school. The clock on the wall ticks on and on as students trickle through the door. Students sit staring as I search a pile of papers for the attendance sheet. The papers fall and I just know my lesson plan is lost among the scattered sheets. I bend to pick them up and my brain is a fog. What am I to teach? I sift through the disarray as ticking seconds become minutes, and a silence pierces me as I view the stony faces before me. I try to mouth words, but they simply won’t come. I can almost feel the fidgeting of the students as my upper lip begins to twitch. I know they are thinking me an imbecile. As I stand dumb stricken, time is fleeing, and more students are entering the room. . . . .
I awaken to the loud incessant ticking of the clock beside my bed. I’ll rise to greet my day, get into my car and meld with a stream of other people driving to their everyday jobs. There will be days that I encounter the cheerless or dissatisfied faces of strangers or even of family and friends. There will be times that I hasten frantically, feeling all is futile as bills pile up or work overwhelms me, and there are sure to be times when I will feel at an utter loss as I live vicariously the nightmarish woes which sometimes my husband must confront. How grateful I am for ordinary days whose hours of normalcy are heaven compared to the mind boggling misery endured throughout this world. And how thankful I am for ordinary days that greatly outnumber a few awful dreams!
I watched as Johnny was handed a uniform
Saw him trained him to kill, in a regiment conform
Marched by his side in Vietnam jungles warm
There was little regard to how war did us harm
By parachute dropped to a ghastly death scene
Johnny ached for the life left behind, so serene
His family, fiancé did not know what war means
Especially the haunting of lost children's screams
No ticker-tape parades, no welcome for us then
We were scorned as monsters, baby-killing men
Jeers from protestors and an uncaring government
Greeted the lonely Vietnam Veteran
No accolades received from a nation displeased
But we had not asked to be sent overseas
The rich sent their sons to universities
For families with wealth dodging the draft was a breeze
The "benefits" we found would astound all now
Homeless Vietnam vets still dwell amongst the crowd
And it leaves one to wonder how our hallowed ground
Could have so many unnamed graves of men once proud
I still see vets suffering disgraceful neglect
To say Vietnam wasn’t “war” shows no respect
by Carolyn Devonshire
for Miranda Lambert's "World of War: Vietnam" contest
Twas the night before Christmas
Dressed in my red Santa pajamas.
Tap, Tap, Tap, and a whispered strain;
Santa knocked at my windowpane.
Dressed in a red velvet hat and suit,
Lined in white fur, a black belt and boots.
His hair, so white I had to stare;
His breath puffing white in the chilly air.
"Sorry, but you've no chimney, that's plain
To see, and I know this is insane."
"Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer
Hollered as we hung in the air."
"Santa, use your big magic charm bags
To deliver the gifts with name tags."
"It takes time to deliver gifts from dusk to dawn.
I emerged in a parachute to land on the lawn."
I said, "That's okay, Santa, I'm totally pleased
I'll give you a squeeze, I'm not displeased."
"I thought delivering you had different shifts,
I was wondering how I'd get my gifts."
11/28/2022
The Night Before 3 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
ON SELF-WILL
We live with the possibility to get angry,
distressed or displeased.
Being yourself provide these negative emotions to enhance;
Sharing is part of living!
One can choose not to get upset about every single confrontation.
Anxiety,
depression,
sadness and stress
result in personal perverse health.
These emotions activate bad reactions in the body,
leading to arousal and a weak character.
In life,
there are always dark days.
You are standing there
Solid
Resolute
Unbending
Unmoved
By my womanly charm
Your eyes look straight ahead
Not taking in my curves
Not noticing the look in my eyes
The sun dancing in my raven hair
The shimmer of my cherry lips
Your hands are in your pockets
Safe
Guarded
Captive
Under your command
Not able to give away
The little tremor I would see
Should they be exposed
I've seen it happen before
When I'm close...
Your whole demeanor
Distant
Disdainful
Displeased
And I smile a slow smile
Knowing
What lies beneath
For I have seen the unguarded looks
Of burning passion
You send my way
When you think I’m not looking
As I walk towards you
I wonder
What horrible experience
Made you this way
Cautious
Guarded
Weak
I walk past you
Almost touching
Making sure I’m close enough
For you to smell the perfume
That has become my signature scent
An extravaganza of
Giddy floral scents
Orange blossom
Jasmine
And honey
ME
The scent of ME
I let it waft over you
And I turn around and watch
As you close your eyes
And breathe it in….deep
Unaware that I am watching you
Unaware that I see your stiff body relax
And lean into the scent
Captivated by your desire
You are trying
So hard
To close yourself up to me
I’m trying
So hard
To make you give in to me
Silently, I walk back up to you
I stand beside you
Quietly, gently
I place my hand on your bare arm
You flinch
As though touched by fire
I look up at you
And smile
An innocent little smile
An inviting smile
I see your eyes take me in
Focusing
Finally focusing on my eyes
Sending a silent message
A plea
To go gently
You are not made of steel
For a moment, I’m lost
And yet…I speak
Brazen
Bold
Beckoning
I know you want me….
That gives me strength
Sensing victory
Within my reach
I move up closer
On my tiptoes
My lips almost touching yours
Almost
And I whisper….
“Don’t be afraid….
I won't hurt you...
Give in…
Give in to me
Give in”…and the rest of my words are devoured
Along with my lips in your kiss
As you crush me up against you
Reserve falls to the flour
A crashing sound
That only I can hear
For it is enhanced by the sound
Of my frenetic heart beat
Pounding against my chest
Ecstasy
Urgency
Victory
VICTORY
“Give in
GIVE IN TO…..ME!”
Eileen Manassian Ghali
The Title of this Poem is the title of one of my favorite songs by the late great Michael Jackson…GIVE IN TO ME!
i can never tell you how displeased readers
are by that position the singular
moment when nothing makes any sense
to them at all but only to a few brilliant pebbles
that soar across the night canvas unknown
to
the dullards of academia
it is the ONLY reason
i write; to express
self to those very few
who HEAR ME.
the rest are noise and there is no
time
for wasting one's artistry on rigid brains
and stiff
necked human-geese.
Then again, my imagination never demands
an audience of understanding but more
of an emotional receptivity.
A slumbering shadowy cloud-vignette
seeping from
a tormented mind onto
freshly sliced paper cuts.
This is the
color red screaming in a dying ink stroke.
:: 07-21-2017 ::
Ive just joined a group called poetry soup
A troop of writers , Ney intellectual fighters
They lay themselves bare , Pray you care
To take the time , read there rhyme
and ask them the question
What inspired there direction
Enquire if poetry has salvaged there soul
or has it just papered over the hole
Because we've all been tainted
had our integrity painted
In a light that displeased us
Thankfully humility cleared us
To have another go
Get on with the Show
For the actors need words
Otherwise they cannot be heard
Inspired by Deep Purple's "Mistreated" 1974
Misused, so misused I have been by you.
I can’t believe by you I was so smitten,
but now I am a poor bedraggled kitten -
one that has been nagged
and then through mud been dragged.
Nagged and pestered,
so bitterness has festered
inside me, for with my love you toyed,
then you turned around and said
I made you annoyed.
Oh babe I was so true to you.
But now I don’t know what to do.
With love for you I had been stricken.
But misused by you, I’ve just been sickened.
So cruelly teased. How have I displeased you so?
I feel like someone left diseased; diseased inside my mind.
Why oh why is love so blind?
I just keep thinking back; whatever did I lack?
By love for you afflicted, I became so damn addicted.
Always being contradicted, I’ve been left conflicted.
And now I am restricted . . . restricted from
the love for you I wanted so to show.
Why did you ever make me go?.
Misused, I’m so misused . . . abused; confused.
And now I’m going mad -
insane inside my brain.
I think it makes you glad.
Yes, I’m going mad;
insane inside my brain.
You’re glad; you’re glad; you’re glad,
and I’ve been so abused.
Losing my mind.
All that I can think of is
why oh why is love so blind?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At half past five, when the streetlights blinked on,
Mrs. Henderson patted her pockets—then frowned.
Her favorite scarf, the wool one with ducks,
had vanished between the bus stop and Dunk's.
She retraced her steps past the slurping snowbanks,
peered into gutters half-clogged with ice,
even asked the displeased parking meter attendant,
who shrugged and resumed his existential crisis.
Meanwhile, two blocks down, a very large crow
tugged at something blue in the branches of a spruce.
A jogger slowed, squinted upward, and called,
Hey! That’s not yours!—but the crow was no gracious goose.
It cackled, triumphant, and launched into flight,
scarf trailing like some bizarre kite tail.
Mrs. Henderson, rounding the corner, gasped,
then burst out laughing—what else to do?
The crow dropped it (finally!) near the old diner,
where it landed, quite softly, on a snowman’s neck.
The snowman, indifferent, stared straight ahead.
Mrs. Henderson sighed, tucked it in, stepped back.
Keep it, she murmured. You’ll need it more.
And the scarf stayed put—at least till the thaw.
Glorious Queen Blue Kitty with your crown so high,
You delight me in every aspect of my being
Your majestic magnificence precedes you
With every paw step or turn of your royal head
Glorious Queen Blue Kitty you have turned my heart
Taken over my chambers, invaded my heart.
Your preferences etched into my brain forever,
As I never want anything but your approval and respect.
Glorious Queen Blue Kitty with your haughty airs
And your fluffy tail, I am delighted that you chose me
To be your fetch and carry slave, your mistress,
The one who tries to please you in every kind of way
Glorious Queen Blue Kitty, I do not remember life without you
I am certain it was not magical until you entered the castle
Loping off the heads of those who displeased you,
Showing us your preferences, proving who the real queen is.
Thank you for allowing us to serve your needs, Miss Blue Kitty.
You are the best animal we have ever encountered,
With more personality than any cat we ever met before
Or shall meet when you deem our abode unworthy and go to cat heaven.
America is not a Free Buffet
Loch David Crane, M. Ed.
Border Patrol Auxiliary
22 September 2008
America is not a free buffet
for benefit of those from far away.
We have our borders, customs, laws, and rules
securing our posterity from fools,
criminals, diseased people, and those
who mean us harm and carry bombs.
Malaria and leprosy are brought
by the undocumented who aren't caught.
The dumb, the desperate, or the diseased,
those lacking skills and schooling from "back home,"
all feel entitled through our fence to roam.
They break in here, and that's why we're displeased.
But those who choose to come here legally
have done it right, deserving to be free.
Meera counts the money.... just one hundred and fifty rupees. Still to pay to the grocer and the electric bill. The guests will come and to greet on the Diwali and Happy New year, some sweets for them. For children , there should be chocolates and light drinks. The homeless people will come in the morning and will have to give a rupee to each. It just leaves 15 rupees. Tomorrow will be Diwali and the day after The New year….For years I have not given any gifts…Oh, Madan.
Meera looks at one of her gold ring on her right hand
As the ring’s grove is empty without any stone.
She lost the diamond of the ring long back unmindfully.
She left for a jeweler’s shop to sell her only treasure.
And to buy a Dipawali Gift for her husband Madan
Who liked and used to play with it in their secret hours.
She buys a gold single bangle for her Madan’s right hand
Even after finding the perfect gift, she begins worrying
That he will be displeased by her bare wrists’ appearance.
Madan comes home, looks at her and greatly shocked.
Reacts a little knowing that his reaction will make sense
When Meera opens the gift of diamond he bought for her.
As she opens the box, Madan reveals, he bought it
Selling his gold bangle, a positive sign of his masculinity.
The story stops here zooming out of the epic proportions,
The gifts that seem useless are the quests successful
We feel, they are the wisest givers and are the magi.
Meera and Madan - the Indian Names
**Bangles are traditional ornaments worn mostly by South Asian women in India, Pakistan and Bangladesh. Some men also wear a single bangle on the arm or wrist called kada or kara. In Sikhism, the father of a Sikh bride will give the groom a gold ring.
+++
January 1, 2015
Form: Free Verse
First Place win
The first time I met Madame La Laurie, was in 1832 When she and her third husband (Dr. Louis La Laurie) purchased me. My first impression of Madame La Laurie was that she was soft spoken, of fine breeding, and very beautiful.
Upon her arrival, she wasted no time filling every nook and cranny at 1140 Royal Street with the finest furniture and china that money could buy. No one looking at the plain exterior of this house, would ever expect such opulence within it walls.
She wore the latest fashions from Paris with a flare beyond rival, even by the most inducted social lights of the hour, which did not go unnoticed. Both men and women, would stop in their tracks to gaze upon this regal beauty as she strolled down the main streets of New Orleans.
Soon, with the aide of her husbands connections through his practise, she, gained acceptance into the higher circles of the community and began hosting what would become, the most sought after dinner invitations in all of New Orleans.
This was the one side of Madame La Laurie that the world saw, but it was I, who bore witness to the other side. NEVER could anyone have ever imagined the atrocities this women committed in her chamber of horrors on the 3rd floor as she maimed, tortured and murdered any slave that displeased her.
~~~
I was burned badly, when one slave, wanting to end his misery, set a fire in the kitchen, finally bringing her reign of terror to and end, where upon she fled in her hell driven carriage, into the night, never to be seen again.
Today, I stand here at 1140 Royal street, completely unrecognizable. I have a different face now. The only thing left one would recognize from that day, would be the old path that runs between me and the adjacent house.
Lush green foliage now grows along its edge, in what I like to think, a remembrance to the tortured souls who died here.
Between these brick walls
Bright light filters from above
Old seeds bloom again
BUT...IF YOU DARE to walk between these walls, you...like me, THAT OLD HOUSE IN NEW ORLEANS, might see the apparitions of the tortured souls still residing there.
~~~
Poetry form: Haibun
For the contest, A House In New Orleans, sponsor, Lin Lane
PLACED SECOND
A practical man with a talent for wood
viewed each morning as an omen for good
He tilled the land wisely
and preached the goodness of God
but as each day passed there was much to portend
his land had grown evil and God was displeased
one day God called out to him and said
I will destroy this earth of animal and humankind
and you will be cited with your family united
to construct a craft that I see fit
space for two species of each to share your ark
and hark
there will be a flood of great dimension
and it will not cease until all life is gone
As time passed on it began to rain
uncessantly with tremendous waves
overlaying the mounts
extinguishing life as the ark floated on
a raven sent out but never alit and soon it was gone
then a dove returned with a leaf in its beak
and left again but never returned
Noah then knew there was land yet to seek
months had passed and the earth became dry
he directed his family out from the ark
and the animals came also two by two
with Noah, God had made a pact
never to destroy but just to endure
for the manner of men needed much to explore
day and night will never cease
let us prepare a fabulous feast
to rejoice in new life riddance to the old
and embrace in its warmth and force out the cold
Contest