Best Embarrassingly Poems
My '90 Dodge Daytona sat
Broken down
On Horseblock Road.
We hitchhiked east
To Kelly’s induction,
Embarrassingly tardy.
The trucks were leaving
Ashes were spreading
And 16 people stood
Broken down
Outside the service.
Sean, Laura and I approached.
We made 19
Peers in formal wear
Feuding for space
Between 2 cars. Packed with living friends,
We found our way back home.
Sean’s flag stood through his window,
Guiding and mediating,
So nowadays I try to reason with atheists.
I’ll never forget returning to my Dodge.
It started and drove without a flaw,
And I felt like I had aced a test.
she tries not to appear COLDLY CYNICAL
her posture is LOOSE and RECEPTIVE
her body pitched PROGRESSIVELY FORWARD
relaxation
no movement at all but the HEAVE of her CHEST
THE ULTIMATE RESISTANCE
vivdictive
maybe shes TOO rigid
A PSYCHOLOGICAL SPECIMEN
getting uncomfortable with her UNCONSCIENCE
GRUMBLED WITH PLEASURE
COMPLICATED TRUTH be known
DISORGANIZED IN GENERAL
EMBARRASSINGLY OBVIOUS
DEDICATION
REST PEACEFULLY
you’re hanging in my head
and I’m wearing you like glasses.
shades of purple make me laugh;
you’re all I see today.
I’m listening to your music;
to the voice I’ve never heard.
the world’s voices are distinguished
by your muted singing.
the rushing in my chest,
the biting of my lip
dissipates embarrassingly in vain,
when I wonder if you can hear me smiling,
or if you’re smiling loud too.
because you’re only the
hope
hanging in my head.
My beloved friend and esteemed professor,
is it so wrong to worship and admire
you with so warm and glowing a splendor,
which is unbounded with heartfelt desire?
Your silhouette is my Achilles's heel,
and your lips (what lips those are!) dare I kiss?
Your soft skin glows with a warmth that reveals
to me a sensuality that I miss;
I am undone! For you are my dilemma.
My need for you is embarrassingly clear!
Must I extinguish this overwhelming fire
which I have for you? For you are most dear.
Were I not just a student or your friend,
could we be more before this sonnet's end?
Seinfeld’s Jerry, George and Cosmo Kramer
Looked on in revulsion as Elaine danced
Jerks and quirks embarrassingly enhanced
Her three best friends wanted to disclaim her
It all began at a festive party
No one dancing, Elaine tried to set pace
Resembling a tick that was sprayed with mace
Amused smirks grew to bellows so hearty
She thought herself to be a great dancer
With kicks and spasms she danced on and on
All she beckoned to the floor said, “Be gone!”
Social life failed, no one would romance her
Note: Seinfeld fans probably remember this, but you
can see Elaine dancing at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xi4O1yi6b0
*Entry for Barbara Gorelick’s “Dance” contest
The fog of dull moist clouds cloistered Earths hills
rolling slowly quietly assured with December’s presence
uncovering the steal bleakness of chills
the grey fox sought the superlative time stalking
hunting, one catch, the hare eating thorns, is captured
~
All rests except the fox, and the hawk that swoops prey
and beautiful it seems to carolers that dream
pictured on Christmas Cards sleighing coupled in hay
but the hunted sigh as the singers pass by
ignoring the innocent life in the forest by night
really wintery rest is not what it seems
~
The white witch cursed the greens for 3 months
laughing, she pointed t’wards the fox and the hare
the hawk she invites on her evening animal hunts
while the fox, hiding and embarrassingly shares
dear rabbit if only there was another way to convey
my condolences and my fondness, for you, today
~
The fawn born in grey thicket that night
a hunter was on track for a meal, of the carnivores type
deep in silence, bitter coldness, that eve less bright
their faces showed meanness, sickeningly alarming
hungry for killing the innocent and without any lament
the damp floors lined with twigs and leaves sent
~
warning there are trespassers entered our forest
and without invitation, the hawk soared forewarning
the dove in turn echoes cooing which entered space
of ears the fox alarming, the furry rabbit crosses into the thicket
noosing the doe and the fawn warmed coddling
stay within this eve the thicket safe from guns
~
the hunter’s love winter’s and the innocent blood
And the white witch carries on until spring
stay here little doe while your mother brings the cud
the sleet drizzling rains seem never to bring
peace within the forest it seems
and life circles around the fox and the hare
and the buzzards that hunt the carcass from the air
~
©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Right's Reserved
Mambo (hi)
I talked to mum and brother and they say you are not doing well
Mum says the last time she saw you, you were better
She says you are worse now
Your once clear eyes, are now yellow
Auntie showed me a message you posted three weeks ago on whatsapp
Before you went to India
You sounded so hopeful
India couldn't do anything for, you are at terminal stage
A topic we hardly talk about because of your age
But we have too
There is no time left too
The only time we have,is to love
My most memories of you, of us
Is when I was entering puberty
I remember embarrassingly asking you about pubic hair, breasts, adams apple
In my homescience assignments
You were so good at answering them
You were so good at teaching me that new world I was about to enter
You were a great mentor
And those chapatis, OMG!
I remember your cooking lessons
You were so good at making that bread
With it, we were well fed
Thank you for being an awesome cousin
The only time we have, is to love
Nigeria is on the precipice
A country in dire need of redemption
Blessed extravagantly by providence
But ravaged ignorantly by
Leadership failure
Built on faulty foundation of
Impunity, corruption and nepotism
Which has engendered overtime
Inequality of crass proportion
As insignificant few
Swim in obscene opulence
While embarrassingly majority
Wallow in criminal poverty
Arise you men of good will
Silence is no longer golden
Arise wrestle our country back
From the spirit of live and let die
Arise my compatriots to the clarion call
To rescue God’s masterpiece
From total annihilation
Stand up and be counted
Together let us overcome
I just found a new quarry;
of my childish admiration, he should be wary
having admirers have no quota
so, I’m ready to line up even to the gutter.
Starring embarrassingly, I have no qualms
to his chocolate and well built arms.
The Afro makes him quaint,
his obvious protruding gluteus
is about to make me faint.
He responds with a look quite queerly
that actually shows I’m doing things too early.
How expensive is his emotion?
Trust me, I can handle its quotation
without a quiver, forever and ever.
Oh boy! Right now, I don’t mind a quickie
b’cos I’m gradually feeling silly
just kiss me and I promise we’re quits
and I’ll let it hang on my lips like sweets.
I may be nurturing a wish quite quixotic
but the feeling is unbelievably exotic.
I am a true contemporary
who knows how to acceptably
write a poem. First with a tangible
aroma of burnt toast, I will run on
my imaginary couplets like a stroke
victim of the modern prejudices.
(Strophe’s choice is put aside, and
Iamb not going to count my feet.)
Once cute, most common figures of speech have
worn out their fashion like poorly matched metaphors.
(Do not rhyme, remember, do not rhyme,
as you wax nostalgic for some childhood time… damn!)
Pent up pentameter oozes with therapeutic
confessionals that spring or dance or likewise
incongruently twist uncomfortably on the page,
while conjuring an image both shamefully personal
and embarrassingly boring from a tourist’s slide show
or the shoebox full of faded, classic Polaroids.
Sardonically satiristic, I’ll reach-around to reference
an obscurely erudite portrait of some saint, like
Christina The Astonishing’s flight into the rafters
of the church to avoid the stink of her own kind.
And at the end of a turbulent typhoon of irregular lines
washing deeply into the recesses of nowhere in particular,
I will, after too long a time, finally and hopefully declare:
une mule morte sur les clefs du piano.
Self satisfied, I’ll end my rant -- non sequitur but unchallenged…
or would you prefer a tantalizing inquiry of you, Dear Reader?
Great sins of omission
are not in anyone's book of
What I Plan To Do When I Grow Up.
Henry Ford,
his automated
and then incorporated
financial investment company,
did not intend to emancipate us
from family farms,
Thereby disenfranchising
our sense of secure
and fertile wealth health,
interdependently sufficient
organic homes,
silent rhythmic rural memories,
Fading views and feels of cannons
pulled by slow-marching horses,
mules,
plodding oxen,
ghosts of elders past
monoculturing aggression
at slower blade-drawn pace
Sometimes domestically violent.
Sometimes military chronic stressed
LeftBrain against Right's longer kinship memories.
And sometimes more polyculturally enriching
rural WiseElder tree memories
of nurturing ponds
and domestically peaceful milk cows,
curious cats,
tribally defensive,
and embarrassingly rutty, dogs,
horny yet happy crickets,
Flirtatious cycling
recycling moonlight
and radiant enlightenment of daylight
and dualdark co-relational resonance
of night play.
To sustain Original forested home
and extending family
we need parental and school support
for cooperative resilient communities,
secure and healthy homes,
habitats,
wombs.
Whether rural
or suburban
or urban
But mindful
that rural tribal homesteading
and cooperative diverse economies
and multicultural politics of healthy nurturing,
solidarity with home place
and wealthy polyculturing kin,
mutually share one
humane-divine ZeroZone Planet
Inside calling us back and forth
toward Polyculture Zenithing EarthSoul
embodied within
GaiaEarth
Ecologically gracing nutritional homes
poly-theologically re-membering health within.
Trivializing grace of WinWin commission
co-arising global communion
is not in my book of
What We Have Hoped To Become.
Or even in my textbook studying
What I Missed In School
Sun rays are dancing on the frozen barley fields
Splashing a golden hue on the ragged shed’s bricks
Dried branches reaching out to the sun as in agony
The sun is frail, smiles embarrassingly as it watches nature falling asleep
Left behind wild geese tucked their heads under each other’s wings
Singing each other lullaby of a splendid summer scene!
Rahy Hy
November 17, 2015
Written for the contest “Write me a winter poem!”
It was bright Red,
My blush.
My jacket.
My racing, pacing blood.
It was Halloween night,
Supposedly scary.
Supposedly different.
Supposedly dating was easy.
It was my first date.
Just couldn’t wait.
Just teenage ‘”fate.”
Just Dad driving us, embarrassingly.
It was so fast.
We were unprepared.
We teenagers assumed our calm.
We were fearsome pirates for a night.
It was a dance.
Who remembers the songs?
Who saw our discomfort?
Who knew we were stifling our immaturity?
It was an awkwardly normal door.
Why the sudden silence?
Why the bashful hug?
Why the inwardly sung victory?
Waiting on a rainbow to show up
is like waiting for man
the long hours or even the years that requires
for one of Nature's wonders
Some have divine the scientific approach to
rainbows but I am in love with the seven rays of light
and the arc.
But unlike men
Rainbows do not disappoint or leave one hanging like a one night-stand
or make promises with the taste of cheap alcohol on its breathe
or climbing up the stairs at 2 am in the morning and embarrassingly waking up
the children and then leaves the next morning with the memory that his visit was just a dream.
No rainbows are forever
a covenant that God will never forsaken us
Rainbows are a promise
of a new world and a new start and something that is wondrous
Rainbows are rainbows and every one is like ones first love
that tendering meetings of the lips of Heaven and Earth.
Buddy Grimes
Sticking up for myself
had always been a sticky thing.
High school drafting class
Mr. Knobloch, white shirt, black tie
Marine haircut, lantern jaw,
smell of Hi-Karate,
back when teachers ruled.
Like a general inspecting his troops.
Walking to each table, taking attendance.
Looking up from his clipboard:
“Hunter!” He bellows
“Here,” is the meek reply
“You weren’t here yesterday.”
“Yes I was.”
“No you weren’t.”
The jostling for position
continues for a few minutes,
until finally I blurt out:
“Ok, I wasn’t!”
I felt like a sheep just sheared.
Satisfied of his conquest,
he moves on
Buddy Grimes,
a few tables ahead of me,
turns around and mouths:
“You were here, tell him”.
A couple of silent mouthings later,
I timidly raise my hand.
“Mr. Knobloch, I was here.”
All eyes are on me now.
Mr. Knobloch, hands on hip,
jaw strutting out like a rock.
A smugness spreads his face.
“Alright, if you were here,
what did we cover?”
“We learned how to sharpen our pencils.”
Embarrassingly I made a counter clockwise motion
with my hand, demonstrating the previous day’s event.
A stillness came over the class.
Knobloch pondered:
“Well, I guess you were here.”
Buddy looked at me,
I at him and smiled.
Daniel 1/16