Best Dyed In The Wool Poems
He thought she loved him as the dense clouds of wool filled his mind,
but she was there for only one thing, to fleece him of his money.
A dyed in the wool sex addict, an easy mark, she knew his kind,
but he knew her too, every penny was worth her soft fleecy skin, sweet as honey.
She gave herself to him as he let the wool cover his eyes, part of the game, he wasn't blind.
01/16/16
An omnipotent'd been ideated by militant clan,
Aeons tell how it put them through a social pace.
To set up abode or to relate races with astute plan,
God had its genesis;women-men needed it to seek solace.
As fact a woman conceives, is manifest
Man couldn't conceive of anything but God for law and lex.
Dyed-in-the-wool,they kept bending head for mending mind lest
They vex orders of war, worship and women for sex.
But missile killed gravid woman with faded hue,
Her baby survived in placenta of its mom of Gaza:
A whole race, policies, religion; yet nothing to rue,
As if all were busy computing to bring future bonanza.
No more sacred are our Temple and Church or Mosque and tomb.
Truth says:fetus Jesus'd been bestowed on Mary's womb!
The weary Shepherd of a benighted flock
has been cast into outer darkness;
languishing in a purgatory
of his own making.
And those flock of sheep are now
running amok, plaintively bleating "baa! baa!"
into the abyss. Trying but failing to regroup;
chin-stroking about who they're now supposed to be
Oh, what to do! They can't seem to figure out
what to do with themselves anymore, pathetically
desperate enough to go down the primrose path of
self-destruction with the false prophet that once LED them.
Now they're crestfallen about the glory they once knew.
Instead of throwing off the yoke of servitude,
they've chosen to come under it, like old times.
Exhibit A: of the whole bunch, the most dyed-in-the-wool
sheep made a trip to Florida, headed down
his old Shepherd's abode, genuflecting before him;
on his hands and knees, pleading
to be led, like old times.
*example for contest*
Date written: 01/30/2021
Don't ever be, dyed in the wool, be wise
Against anyone, who's always spinning yarns.
To them it's just another game, to pull wool over eyes.
As every time that they cry wolf, it's always false alarms.
For a wolf will wear sheep's clothing, to catch you by surprise.
…to the dogs
He stared at the damp chilly night
and marveled in frustration
seeing nothing at all -
except the black night
So many years ruined dancing to the same tune
days and night overlapping into an endless timeless space
Indigence, parched throats, empty ragged pockets…
guns persist as unflawed blood flows into the filthy cesspools
maggie dogs, scavenger, urchins all blend into one
all in a split race for the a place in the bins
At first light
blurred images flash past his eyes
cheese and butter, wines, champagne, music and festivals
laughter and smiles
- the taste of a gone era
Flashy cars with tinted windows speed by
on the highway
towards the glass towers and
the affluence beyond the mind’s eyes
Numerous gaps along the road
shattered dreams, tattered bridges
dyed-in -the-wool banal lip services
Shame!
A curse from the bowels of the earth or
is it a monster
from our flesh and bones
or both?
Home of the Free
By Franklin Price
3/6/2016
Home of the free I have my doubts
They're more and more each day
Especially when it's voting time
And the Parties come to play
Staunch Republicans and Democrats
The ones dyed in the wool
Think the RINOs and the DINOs
Should jump fully in their pool
Should not look at all the choices
Don't vote your chosen one
The Parties chose them for you
Should be over said and done
Chose several whose integrity
is questionable at best
Then a few that may be good for us
Fill the menu of the rest
They screwed up a little
In the choices they've allowed
There's an outspoken Apprentice
And a Socialist in the crowd
The Parties thought they'd do it
To give some semblance of choice
But if you vote for either
They try to take away your voice
The Parties let them come to play
When they did well could not resist
Are interfering with the process
As for me, I'm really pissed
For those who voted for the two
If either was your choice
You should be pissed also
As they take away your voice
Strange, funny even;
someone spending two hours
in the gym at noon, sweating it out
then defeats the purpose at night
by wolfing down 3 large slices
of cheese pizza for dinner!
Yet I hold my laughter and criticism
because I'm sure that at some point
I've been unknowingly guilty
of such self-sabotage!
I'm also sure it has caused friction
in relationships, even break-ups!
Head-scratching; a dyed-in-the-wool
pro-lifer vehemently supporting
the death penalty. I can almost hear
a thought out there going...
"What the? I don't get that one!"
Yeah, it's a head-scratcher for me, too
I bet it discombobulates even an oxymoron!
It will make sense to me when 2+2 is 5!
POLARITIES AND PARADOXES Poetry Contest (Winner: 4th Place)
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
Date written and submitted: 01/16/2020
We looked at the world through rose-colored glasses,
sped through the night under blue moons,
parked in cars and gave boys the green light.
Explored gray areas, dreamed of golden boys,
painted the town red and got caught red-handed.
We saw adult freedoms and were green with envy,
we experienced blackouts (I’m talkin’ to you 151 rum),
swam in black water alone and talked to strangers,
told little white lies, yet somehow, we didn’t die young.
I think of college students as dyed-in-the-wool adults.
The grass always looked greener on the adult side,
and we’re tickled pink not to be infantilized any more.
We’ll show the world our true colors
and pass college with flying colors.
Life won't be handed to us on silver platters,
we’ll get white collar jobs.
Of course, as adults, we’ll have to deal with red tape,
and we can’t be yellow-bellied or try to whitewash things.
We’ll stay out of the red or sing the blues.
We’ll stay off the yellow lines, seek golden opportunities,
attend black tie events, obey the golden rule, avoid pink slips,
support our men in blue and look for silver linings.
Adulthood sounds exhausting.
On the positive side, I’m told adults practice safe sex.
Practice means what it’s always meant - right?
Is that why adults go to bed so early?
Besides, as adults, we won’t be kept in the dark anymore,
and we’ll get to chase rainbows!
file for reversal
separation of dew
from meadow
nor the progress
of eventide
awaken the sunrise
at first blush
stalk the night hours
and pen kisses
the source of spring
and thaw
nestled, on a bed of roses
dyed-in-the-wool,
my three pointed star
a rain that replenishes the soul
and desire
Every buddy get his own nigga
So do every beauty gets his own beholder
While mantrap rides the horse of preference
Duty drives the car of everlasting home
No one will ever wish losing better thing to anger
That's been built up in the cave-- ego shoulder
Holding unto HAD I KNOWN reference
Suffering the peace of mind and gets self-esteem roam
Around the deeper gaze for honey
Day and night illusions ensnare
Into the realm of dreams widely spread
Gorgeously laid back in time to grime
The just behind chastity of money
For sickening virtue dyed-in-the-wool of nightmare
To morning which wakes the dead
And bring past into history of ONCE UPON A TIME
Truly, many want to be sweaty in the winter
You must have sunned its heat in cold
Sit up to the scary moments of trial
And kiss the precious gift consistency birth
Like the medallion sprinter
Who has won himself enough gold
Must have experienced many a denial
Despite is self acknowledged worth
That propel his grace at ease-
Holding up the graphics of his stat
Which defines him as a stable rock
Others amazingly go days examining
I want my husband to be this
I want my wife to be that
Be passionate and never mock
Your poor beginning!
There’s nowt so canny and nowt so deep
As the musings of the highland sheep
They’ll talk of this and talk of that
Of what they ate and where they shat
Or ponder on life’s mysteries
Like, is the grass beneath the trees
Much finer than the one that grows
Down beside the old hedgerows
© John W Fenn 18-09-2009
The glory of America,
now heats up
with agitation poised
to strike on the brink
sans legislation incites humiliation,
which goads desecration
as fete accompli chink
in armor of Democratic rubric,
constituting capitalistic
ethic, generic iconoclastic,
and jingoistic logic,
nor budging an inch
when mandating masses
swallow his drink
what huff huck –
this belligerent, dominant and
fervent hellraiser doth
bungle in the jungle
decreeing tacit Marshall law
fast as a shutterfly eyewink
as his cosmic crotch grab
doth put Venus under his sway
with his Mercury hill temperament
pitches the orbit of planet Earth
tubby comb out of balance
infected by hiz anti Jew pitter
damnations, excoriations, fulminations
Huzzah sing how whiz derriere
didst Sat urn simultaneously
crushing crucible as an Uranus
indiscriminately plopping
two hundred fifty pounds of flesh
doubling down humming
his favorite Neptune
that dost affect Pluto hoc crass sea
repeating a self coined motto –
I yam almighty, therefore no fink
simply commandeering the reins of control,
a one man military intelligence groupthink
hut triad and true dyed in the wool
rip pug in ant guise zing rogue
rejoicing tuff fool, governing and hoodwink
king the die hard fans of dictatorial,
linkedin and monarchist ink
cube bus thriving on
wielding indomitable aggression
practiced in the Art of the Deal
incorporating an unanticipated jink
iron fist rule reigning down
vis a vis pro pens heave lee
and prop hen city
flashing hiz seal of approval,
which scribbled signature
doth not smooth arctic monkey
serve hay puzzling kink
boot his frenzy to bulldoze
catastrophic, formulaic, and illogic
spells these United States
of America will become hell
in a handbasket worth repeating
with nary a trace of the grit of link
kin, the sixteenth president,
(whose ruggedly pioneering frontier existence)
found him steady and strong,
plus soft hearted as pelt o’ mink
the epitome of this forty fifth
elected commander in mischief.
Dyed-In-the-Wool!
Stains there in your palms, wallowing, ling'ring,
Metamorphosed into tears and so drips,
Tainting where they plunge, and you're unsullied?
19:03:12:08:52
Ancestor. Ancestral Pen. Ancestral Form. Dyed-in-the-wool
Surveillance across the border
Can't stop this tricky misfit
Dyed in the wool habits
Propagate my quantum unzip
Features festering on a broken age
Creatures gesturing to allocate sage
Where grass grows plenty
Ill be unloading the Chesapeak
Shipliner still dazed
On animal plantation
We'll circle the globe
Figuring out what to do
And lay in jewel tombs
The way we're supposed to
Beguiled risks sensitive alterations
that redesigned unknots and cutup trice
as the fresh teases through the looking glass
exposing timepiece resemblance glossed spilled.
Bemused forgives absence, mindful at hand,
tenuously gripping the rolled spent yarn
that edges fingertips loosely as threads
answer questionable finds, stitch-by-stitch.
Period accentuates the sensed thence
for the bestilled entangled narrative
plots exclamation points of those foregone
chapters ... period midst frames of escape.
Styled room for maneuvering that spirals
at a loss now hangs overhead ticking ...
mockery behold guardians of greens
that grow within disoriented poise.
Blue compliments presence expressed squarely
drafting the voiceless lucid residue
that nurtured former brush and forever
sealed a dream sweeter than a Danish roll.