Best Exaggerated Poems
What is love? What is love? ‘Tis a word often heard.
“Unconditional love” oftentimes is absurd
because there are many who seem so capricious.
Tossed around is the word when their love’s fictitious!
What is love? What is love? It’s a feeling and some
may feel it, while some others - to love they are numb.
Some say it and mean it; with actions they show it.
Those numb to it though cannot know it or grow it.
Love with passion or romance can fool us the most.
It’s more like a sickness that’s been misdiagnosed.
It’s all about pheromones or how someone looks.
It gets exaggerated in poetry books.
Love of country, of God; love of family too.
These all are quite common, but are they really true?
I think most sincerely that examples abound,
and those with Agape in this world I have found.
Love for friends and dear ones though imperfect it be
is both practiced and felt by good folks constantly.
One cannot deny the remarkable joy
of holding one’s own newly born daughter or boy.
What is love? What is love? Its proof lies with those
who bring light to our lives. In their actions love shows.
As God’s children, our potential we must believe.
Loving others as ourselves, great peace we’ll receive!
Feb. 7, 2021 for the Unseeking Seeker's What Is Love Poetry Contest
You are the wild flower in my palm
With no stem to keep you anchored to this covetous earth
You are the fragile thing I dare not cup,
As your petals whittle away under the wind
And flit unfettered in the air;
Exaggerated fear leaves my fingers numb
Hungry need leaves my fingers twitching
And my hand is paralyzed by turmoil
As every breath of wind takes another petal from me
And brings to my lungs, my chest and my heart
An overwhelming scent of need-
You are the wild beauty in my palm
And I dare not hold you to my chest
For I fear to crush you
To know first hand
That caged beauty, is beauty no more.
I was shot by Cupid's tainted dart
And puppy love awakened my sleeping heart
Tried to impress with exaggerated tales
Mark the box letters sent through the mail
Hunted and fished for sport and food
Baseball games with the neighborhood crew
Dirt always flying from old gravel roads
Wearing my brother's, hand me down clothes
Baseball cards popping bicycle spokes
Stealing the babysitter's pack of smokes
Riding my bike to the nearest creek
Stripping off my clothes to the water I'd streak
Change from my Sunday suit after church
Running around in just shorts with no shirt
Family meals three times a day
Each time we'd all bow our heads and pray
Lied about it all with two crossed fingers
Dad finding out meant a real humdinger
Turn around and do it all over again
Way back then when I was ten
by Daniel Turner
Jan 29, 2016
I was caught by a train yesterday
I hear people say
this often in exasperation
exaggerated tones
with over-dramatic groans
as if the train somehow
physically captured them
in its large mechanical grasp
diabolically refusing
to let them go
Yesterday
I was caught in a different way
imagination captured, you might say
captivated
charmed
and enchanted
by the passing art display
Something about the way
vibrant, vivid colors
unexpectedly
splashed out on moving canvas
of rust red and dull gray
traveling fast
across the city
feisty train talking smack
with tags and words amusing, witty
strange, disturbing, edgy, gritty
grinding down the tracks
Sometimes shocking-
artfully rendered obscenities
or surprisingly
endearing
cartoon creatures
manga characters
from overseas
expressed with impressive
expertise
and ingenuity
As other drivers sat nearby
fussing, fuming
missing the show
pawing their floorboards
like impatient horses
hands gripping wheels
ready to go-
I watched the trains in
constant childlike
wonder and delight
for those twenty minutes of my day
two trains gone by, one each way
...Then watched the other cars
rolling through
still red
flashing lights
as soon as crossing arms
were lifted halfway
rushing, roaring
trying to make up
the time that was “taken”
by the railway
don't do me a favor
by reading my rhyme
don't be insincere
when you write me a line
don't visit my writing
though I ask you why
"To repay a visit!"
now, don't make me cry!
don't come around, darling
just out of respect
I'd rather prefer
your honest neglect
don't give me a tribute
if poem's not fine
you better not say,
"Oh dear, it's divine!"
don't let your poor pity
be the reason you greet
I'd rather not see you
at our poetry meet
don't be a sweet liar
and spin a false tale
don't make me feel special
sweet talk won't prevail
don't treat me, dear poet
like all of the rest
when clearly you know
I think you're the best!
Disclaimer: This poem is a bit of exaggerated fun. The heart of the message is to be sincere in comments. To be visited because of quality of writing is so much more fulfilling that to know the visit is a return favour. I myself am guilty of that; however, if I truly feel there's nothing I can give a genuine compliment on...I read another poem by the same author hoping for understanding and opportunity for genuine praise.
Eileen Manassian
“Slips the Blue Satine”
Desire bites
a sonnet ripped
where the voice projects
through glossy cherry bit lips
down a telephone line
wrapped around long legs
speaking soft words
welcoming you in like a quilled whip
Freedom bites
a too serious sonnet smiles
then progresses to apply
velveteen kisses where the lips
tie a loose noose of words like pearls
around the sound conduit
curbing the mind
whispering to soft curves,
a roadmap
written across body
eyelids, flushed naked cheeks
neck down to hips
where the key turns
poetry speaks
blood drawn
the heart has teeth
Gaga’s gone
all evolutionary
too much of too much
she denudes the blue Satine easily
divesting all hopelessness of
the hounds barking
their haranguing hangdog habits
superlatives exaggerated
hyperbolical expressions of praise
blessed again in the wasted chronicles of time
her hand’s firmly fixed
around the gear stick
stilettos accelerate sharp
instructions from the driver’s seat
switching gears up
behind the fortune wheel
treasure sits
“pull your head back in”, she says
“the Lotus Eaters
at Loon Junction
are on the prowl,
they’ll tear you to bits”.
"humour me," he says,
"let me off my leash".
(LadyLabyrinth/2021)
“Small Town Witch”/ Sneaker Pimps
https://youtu.be/M6zh5rAlZ18
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Velveteen_Rabbit
Sonnet 106.
The Dilettante Diaries: "Goin' Gangsta on the Road to The Lotus Eaters at Loon Junction" -
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_dilettante_diaries_goin_gangsta_on_the_road_to_the_lotus_eaters_at_loon_junction_1059240
LYRICS/"Small Town Witch", Sneaker Pimps
https://genius.com/Sneaker-pimps-small-town-witch-lyrics
Each of us live for the moment
As none are promised time
Not knowing which is our last
We make choices with that in mind
In life we bathe in beauty
Often to drown in sorrow
Paying the price with our tears
From troubles earned and borrowed
Immensely exaggerated caricatures
Overthought problems become distorted
Examining both sides of an issue
Inclinations can be easily supported
Of all of the powers we're given
Choice being the most distinct
Overthinking a problem is time wasted
Be objective but succinct
Every choice will lead to another
But our time quickly remits
The objective is to have a lot of fun
And leave little time to regret it
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
An Devil's Dalliance
It was just one of those mornings?
Or at least I think it was, that is,
if I had created “morning’s” yet.
All my little angels trying out their
wings (in a strictly non-competitive
manner of course). I was slightly
distracted by Creation at the time
so some of the details are a bit
sketchy---the “all knowing” thing
a bit exaggerated---however I did
suspect some shenanigans within
a small group. You know, changing
the shape of the clouds, a seemingly
innocent diversion had become a
bit racy. They were playing with
rainbows and dabbling in an
evolving plot. Anyway, when “he”
showed me his “new” pet – the
duckbilled platypus - I had to draw
the line. After a thorough scolding
I sent him back down to clean up
the mess he’d made. A darkness
came over him (we call it anger now)
his wings darkened, his eyes glared,
a putrid wind arose beneath him
(the scent of defiant rebellion).
I still remember the sting of his
scathing good-bye. “I’ll start my
own “heaven!”. “I’ll be bigger than
you.”
“Until an hour before he left
I thought him beautiful”*
“I still do, for I know the
truth of who he is and wait
patiently for him to realize it.”
3/4/2016
*Arthur Miller, The Crucible
“Until an hour before the Devil fell, God thought him beautiful in Heaven”
submitted to Expand Arthur Miller’s Thought – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Julia Ward
It's funny when you just feel like you in this world alone -
Know one understand's you , not even the one's who consider themselves
to be grown -
Black women a relationship is not about you , one woman -
It's about that woman including that man , united together we stand -
Every arguement is not just the fault of him -
Consider what you did before the arguement and remember 1 of you
equals 2 for them -
Know man should put his hand's on a woman as well as know woman
should put her hand's on a man -
But , in a relationship we should both keep it respective because the outside
line will never understand -
Something that is workable to both of us is over exaggerated by them -
Even though we where both in the fault the outside line only blame's him -
I think that deep down inside every man has some good -
Im in a seat now where the one's you say , are no good once stood -
I was more than good i was great -
Now, Im trying to keep from tearing down someone else's wall with all
this hate -
Im a dog because i don't want to throw my heart in -
Rewind my life and sweet heart come again -
Who came up with this rule that he alway's has to lay down the red carpet
for you -
Back in the day's we women where strong and everything that was old to
us was brand new -
Black women why does jealousy has to be part of your plan in order to get
some attention -
When you get some you don't want it ; sorry to you lady player's that one i had
to mention -
Black women if you feel like you deserve to be treated good than raise your
hand -
Now put your hand's down and look around because that's what it feel's
like inside of every good man -
Black men stand up and tell your woman i deserve to be treated good -
Black men tell your woman i love you but , let's make sure that what i said , is
understood -
Some of us black women need to recognize that in a relationship it's 50% for
you and 50% for me -
If you don't have no 50% than don't expect no red carpet because everything
that you thought was about you include's me -
(Spock)
Captain, sensors indicate a power surge
Resonating through their ship's body
I'm sure I don't have to remind you
They have their own Scotty
(the questioning me)
But where has faith brought us?
As I look around I see
A species not asking any questions
About the infinite possibilities
(the faith-based me)
But that's why it's called faith
Trusting in what you cannot see
All things can be yours
If you will just........ believe....
(the questioning me)
I hear what you're saying
Catchy slogans always dazzle me
But once people think they're right
Then there's only eternal stagnancy
(Spock)
And Captain don't forget our mission
The beauty of opening new doors
To go to those forbidden places
Where no man has gone before
With the sadness of lost friendship
And as I look into my own eyes
The damage of my faith-based fears
Struggling as I say the word, "Fire"
Photons rip through the hull
Of this Enterprise of faith
And the exaggerated look of horror
Spreads across both of our face
And now I consider the wreckage
Of a species void of curiosity
Silently content to be powerless
And stare mindlessly at a TV
And I wonder if all new awareness
Must first go through this stage
As we learn that asking questions
Is not indicative to faith
Captain's Personal Log,
There is a sadness that comes from destroying the part of me that wants
so desperately to believe in something. Yet I have found this faith always
leads to a limitation of consciousness, a stagnancy of awareness that
leads to a retraction of my identity, and ultimately to the most unbearable
unhappiness. But now I wish to stop looking to what others want me to
believe, and to look to myself. No fear of the judgments I was taught as
a child. No fear of abandoning always what someone else always told
me. The thrill of the stars is calling me, and I want to go where no man........
has gone before...........
AFTER HOURS
Dudes in duds broken down brims
cocked and bent creases in trousers
when thugs were gents
People with attitude women too
demeanor and outfits like
Ebony's front pages
Dudes in duds broken down brims
Money on backs eyes watching
the eye's of watchers
Entrances and exits.
Wink or nod jazz in smoky
rooms groomed and manicured.
sashay across the room stepping off in
Bally's shoes shined no scuff
after hours.
high profile.. Dudes in duds
broken down brims.
Men creating temporary illusions
Clean to the bone
deliberate sashay tempo exaggerated
tempting and teasing pleasing the eye
karat's on fingers scents linger
Exquisite cologne clean to the bone
faded edges -role playing no script
Dudes in duds
Broken down brims cocked and bent.
Attitude in threads
We wait to be called in that back room
Where they'd spit "Gangsta Wit".
before videos
Was dudes in duds with sweet tongues
making their points in after hour joints.
Live and direct we upstarts
learning our parts we'd sit
internalizing gangsta wit
like understudies to a movie script
In after hours joints........... delighted...
Oh the humanity
the humanity
Oh spare me the grief
thy fake tears
woe is me, mentality
syrupy behaviour
Munchausen propensity
it sticks between my teeth
Oh spare me the pathos
ham acting baloney
Phoney and pathetic
pennyroyal tea fatigue
Histrionic vagaries
self righteous piety
Oh spare me the maudlin
attention seeking thievery
Drowning in poignancy
sentimental molasses
Throw yourself to the floor
overdosing in twee
Oh spare me forever
stomach churning violins
emotional instability
Wallowing in saccharine
exaggerated sob stories
But most of all
the absence of apology
Sentimentality Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
25/05/22
You strut with pink, exotic flair
an exaggerated bird with Picasso shape
your wandering neck and abstract beak
bend and toggle, squawk and pace
your splindly legs cause a rumor
wildly fascinating and long on humor
asleep, adoring a one legged stance
unique, you deserve a second glance.
They laugh and chat throughout each day and night -
much reminiscing, future jaunts to plan,
and what they'd do to put the planet right.
Yes, they will travel - surely they still can!
Adventures many years ago at sea,
relived, exaggerated, lied about...
Oh, what it was back then, so young and free,
to know you'd make it back, without a doubt.
Then tearful, sober thoughts of wrecks they'd seen:
their friends reduced to driftwood on the shore -
but they have memories of who they'd been,
recall their greatness, though they are no more.
A pair of boats, oblivion awaits;
yet, as they rot, they dream of better fates...
For Sara's Choices sonnet contest, inspired by Picture 1 Old Friends
Allow me explain
Brethren gathered here for
Custom dictates
Due process prevail
Exaggerated much
Flaws mine-as may seem
Granted the providence of evidence you see
Highly placed the source-allegedly
Inconceivable the idea that falsehoods they be
Jury decide-be it she or be it me
Kissing and telling discretely-of course
Listlessly I will you tell this tale, you see
My wife's mother's brother's valet-who doubles as mine
Noticed a queerness about this chambermaid fine
Opulent her head with silky tresses
Perfect her skin as nothing else is
Quenching a thirst as non I ever knew
Repugnant as I found the idea,true
Sacrifices always must be made for
The greater good of humankind sake
Ungodly as you all will agree this meeting between her and me
Vestments would not keep me away
Witchcraft! That's what we suspected for how else could I a Lord be so blinded
Xylophone music was all that I heard while headily begging for her hasty embrace
Yet how was this Lord ever to know that
Zealotry was for chambermaid's too?