Best Expels Poems
(Chorus)
You think you've got swagger but really you hobble,
you've got the jet lagger and you're drunk so you wobble,
don't start on me mate 'cus I will bring trouble,
to put it into slang words I'm Barney Rubble.
(Verse)
I will ruffle trouble
'cus I'm on another level
that bombs with the base
and stings with the treble,
I'll strut face to face with any ace rebel,
and put them in their place with their constant bull.
When I rhyme with my contortionist wrist
it expels a mist that sits around my fist,
I spell magic out on paper,
I'm playing with danger,
Mr. Wizardry the word selectionist,
squiggling fiction at speeds that feed friction
into rhymes that are non stop hot and cool,
so flames don't flame on the table top,
journey with me to witness the plot,
the earth shaker creator of perfected hip hop,
starting revolutions so that mumble is forgot,
dislodging the rust and rot it coughs that clots
and instating my Barney Rubble at the top.
(Chorus x2)
(Verse)
That last verse was just a small handful,
a sample of something that you cannot handle,
a scan like a bar code,
so lets open up the road and I'll unload these words,
I can't conceal this skill that rolls like wheels,
a Rolls Royce wearing heels,
in fancy halls doing dancing drills,
with golden walls
to an old skool beat treat.
I wont get signed up by any record label,
but I'm still rhyming better than mumble's able,
just admit you're tapping your feet to the beat
while my rhyme sits on top solid like concrete,
with the dancefloor crammed full,
they're pulling at all angles,
making the memories
that'll last 'til they're O A P's,
they think they've got swagger
and they're like Mick Jagger,
they're more like Sepp Blatter
but a little bit fatter.
(Chorus x2)
(Verse)
You can call me Trimendous and true,
you thought I'd flew crashed and was screwed,
but I took it back to what inspired my act,
an old skool hip hop sick rhyme attack,
I rhymed in flight with this write
and its smile's wild with sublime delight,
there are no poetic rare words
and I don't need swear words
in this dictionary spared verse
with airstream rhythm you can't burst,
I'm wearing this deserved set of words
that pilots and surges to my re-emergence,
a certainty that was never urgent
and not an encore from behind the curtains.
(Chorus x2)
A walk upon dark, icy ground
sends shivers down to bony spine;
spared from the choke of death thus bound,
breath comes whence love and hate entwine.
The count, their lord, doth rise at dusk
to terrorize blanched countryside
His steely eyes slice trembling husk
for drop of life, his brides abide.
The stench of corpse wafts from dead night
like sweet perfume on lover’s nape.
Enchanted by his starless flight,
he beckons with dark-wings of cape.
Then, like the moth to burning flame,
her fervor climbs for fangs drawn near.
a scarlet kiss to seize with shame,
Greed’s appetite expels stored fear.
In harsh rays of the waking dawn,
She curses beast, her longing’s doom.
With conscience breaking charm and brawn,
She lifts wood stake above his tomb.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, 1/12/15
for Giorgio's Sketch a Fictitious Character II Contest
*iambic tetrameter
Oh do move on, Summer - it's time for a change
I've so many seasonal chores to arrange!
Whilst you, my dear sister can laze in the sun,
For me there are serious tasks to be done.
I have to ensure that the hedgehogs remember
To stock up on food at the start of September.
Then trigger celestial cues as causation
For swallows' onset of long distance migration.
Blithe, frolicking squirrels must forfeit their play
To stash bereted nuts for the next rainy day.
And whilst I remember, the trees need a shake;
A gentle reminder their leaves to forsake.
A new coat of paint is applied in a rush,
A kiss from my lips makes the blackberries blush.
I’ll crisp up the air and leave everything stark,
Ensuring that nippy Jack Frost makes his mark.
Then tickle the prickles of sweet chestnut shells
Till, sides split with laughter, their treasure expels.
And last but not least, I've the pumpkins to swell
And harvest to gather, folk's hunger to quell.'
Flamboyant and frisky, in colourful dress
The glory of autumn can't fail to impress!
02/09/18
Early Sept 2018 Standard,Any Form,Any Theme,Upto A Max Of 20 Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
'Colourful Fall' Sponsored by: Nayda Ivette Negron
15/09/18
The first breath of autumn - so softly creeps
Kissing the face of summer - as she sleeps
Stirring within - such passion and desire
Setting every bough and green leaf - on fire
Ablaze of flames - in shades - of red and gold
Burning the meadows - and the valleys below
Autumn’s breath - a perfume of sweet decay
Hangs over the earth - in a crimson haze
Memories rekindled - in all the leaves
In their final hour - still cling to the trees
Until Autumn expels - her final breath
And falls - in a kaleidoscope - to her death
Where her ashes will sleep beneath the snow
giving warmth to the seeds - buried below
~~~
Author: Elaine Cecelia George, of Canada
Written: August 23, 2013
(Inspired by Carl Jung and his psychological theories)
We, the humans pull words from physical reminders
as a farmer harvest crops
and as ranchers recognize the animals.
See how children make friends with their toys
and often have imaginary experiences.
They believe for a time, a real and living to them
that allows them a world of fiction and fantasy.
We know the animals talk not
but their eyes have the power
that speaks great language.
And we know for certain how
animals differ from men
as they don’t have financial worries.
See how the birds differ more from man
the way they build their nests
and as they leave, keep landscape as it was.
It’s said about birds
if baby bird has human scent
mom won’t accept it.
And see how
the cuckoo arrives in April,
starts to sing a song in May:
Then in June another tune,
and she flies away.
Birds have senses quite clearer than man.
Once on a chilly Christmas morn
I was looking out of the window.
Most of the birds have gone
on this cold dark winter day.
I saw a Cardinal on the tree
brilliantly colored Northern Cardinal
a winter fixture at snow-covered bird feeders.
I asked myself “Do the birds have Christmas?”
Looking something to eat or
planning in advance for a habitat
on the leafless tree.
When it gets cold, it flies south
when it gets warm, it returns
that is what we learn from birds.
Maybe waiting his girlfriend’s message
About when to bring food to the nest.
Real things grow on our vines of Jungian theory
As our mind chooses words and create thoughts.
One well knows clouds and watermelons
As close relatives, kissing cousins genetically
As their molecular identity is almost the same.
As the mind create
The body expels joy and hate.
We satisfy our needs the best we can
Thereby feed the desire to cast emotional dice.
+++
October 29, 2014
Form: Free Verse"
Dr. Ram Mehta
Contest: Words; the heart of imagination by Brian Johnston
She called herself London
On that day
She fell from the sky
Child of apple blossoms
Dancing wildly
Into your mind
The snake that hung from her neck
Bites your hand
Expels you from Eden
Tears into the cool flesh
Of your madness
Posing as reason
London
Kisses you like a sweet lover
As though she really cares
Lets you
Taste the passionate orchard
In her body’s secret lair
London
Wrestles with all your demons
Nothing quite compares
To the pain
The indecent pleasure
In the waters that you share
Her name was London
Call her London
She called herself London
On that night
She prayed to the moon
Apollo’s lyre
Played darkly
In a portent
Of your own doom
The hell she hides
In her soul
Toxic drug you’ll never escape
You crave the milk of her touch
Her strange and dangerous ways
London
Kisses you like a sweet lover
As though she really cares
Lets you
Taste the passionate orchard
In her body’s secret lair
London
Wrestles with all your demons
Nothing quite compares
To the pain
The indecent pleasure
In the waters that you share
Her name was London
Call her London
My baby, London
Call her London
My moon-girl, London
Call her London
I love her, London
Call her London
Forever, London
I call her London……
Outside our cabin, where the fireflies blink
There are stars that escaped the nighttime folds
Wind moves calmly as if the whispers think
The stars move on by and often do wink
We sit on the beach seeing what is bold
Outside our cabin, where the fireflies blink
Specks of dim light exist more on the brink
Wind moves swiftly rising just like it’s told
Wind moves calmly as if the whispers think
None of the waves are calm and that does stink
Compassion expels, the light is not sold
Outside our cabin, where the fireflies blink
The stars go along like they’re on a rink
The wind’s an illusion I try to hold
Wind moves calmly as if the whispers think
There’s some chimes outside the cabin that clink
A tender blend of the stars brings a mold
Outside our cabin, where the fireflies blink
Wind moves calmly as if the whispers think
Russell Sivey
First Day of the Year, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Premier de l’an by T. Wignesan
Each moment of waking up is an act of giving birth
I use the iron tools myself on the mother
To death
Myself : Who is this myself ?
Am I somebody else other than the weight I bear
Who resists who clings refuses
To be born ?
This weight deliberately reinforces itself
Through its heaviness
It wouldn’t want ever to be anything but matter
Half-conscious half in a state of stupor
Root before being stem
Seed which pushes upwards through the ground
Without being pulled out
Meanwhile it fathoms its false state of sleepiness its
burrow
(And) in delving into it it expels proportionately
All its skin goose-pimply to the touch
Hairiness of anguish enormous world
She kneads it more and more into the narrow passage
Her own abdomen compresses in vain his anguish
Towards the interior and the exterior at the same time
An every day happening that’s always impossible
The act of giving birth
This first day of the year nineteen seventy-three
Aged fifty-six years and eight months
Once again after twenty-thousand times more
I knew I have to be born
I do not want to.
I cry out to Someone who is stronger than me
That he might pull me out of my old fears originating from
my mother*
That they put me on this earth
So that I might walk towards my end once and for all in
my stride
With my dead elder-sister for company
On this earth of living beings
Someone who is I right at the end of the route
Up above
Puts aside with might the thin-lined horizon
So that I might be born
One day the more.
• See his poem : « Now to be flesh of a man and a woman »
(Sophia, O.C., t. II, p. 416)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Fannie Strumpet is a flatulent floozy
With each wiggle her rump lets out a doozy
She blows out so much gas
Foul vapor from her a$$
It's asphyxiating and makes me woozy
Fannie lets 'em rip without hesitation
When I point a finger in accusation
She points hers back at me
and laughs saying, "Phew Wee!"
I'm tempted to enact strangulation
I threatened to have the woman arrested
Indecently walking around bare breasted
She farted in my face
Through her panties of lace
I think I was infected and molested
One night Fannie was with a man she'd just met
When she tooted he left, much to her regret
Rectal fumes exploded
He screamed, "You're corroded!"
Her tail expels toxins like a gas jet
Fannie saw a doctor of proctology
She farted without making an apology
She disgusted him so
He said, "Madame, just go.
You're a noxious threat to world ecology!"
I don't fear being assaulted by her smut
She was sued; the case was open and shut
The streets no longer stink
Cuz Fannie's in the clink
For hiding lethal weapons in her butt
October 1, 2021
May the Gas Be With You-Farts Part 2 Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke
We, the poets pull words from physical reminders
As a farmer harvest crops
And as ranchers recognize the animals..
We, the poets often glean from our storage
Words needed to create what we wish to express.
See how children make friends with their toys
And often have imaginary experiences.
They believe for a time, real and living to them
That allows the child a world of fiction and fantasy.
Real things grow on our vines of *Jungian theory
As our mind chooses words and create thoughts.
One well knows clouds and watermelons
As close relatives, kissing cousins genetically
As their molecular identity is almost the same.
As the mind create
The body expels joy and hate.
We satisfy our needs the best we can
Thereby feed the desire to cast emotional dice.
I love women at forty
Because they too become snorty
Now whom to complain dear...
Equality expels all my fear
Forty makes you more matured
Love bond makes us endured
Now finding poetry in you...
Living poetry gives me cue
25.01.16
I am a tiger caged in a zoo
Where loaf and yawn is all I can do
People pass by, they stare and they cheer
The cage is what expels their fear
They all think I am their friend
Though I would kill them in the end
Devour their flesh and leave only bones
I belong in the wild much like kings in their thrones
Yet I lay in the cage and I must behave
Sweet freedom is what I truly crave
A breath escapes this lonely soul
jilted sigh expels it heavily falling flat
From on my back I see the stars align
...but only in other skies
as charcoal cumulous and birds of prey loom in mine
Each stab wound scars and scathes.
they accumulate-
Her indifference kills in it's lack of scorn
or spite...just apathetic attacks
Unprovoked and careless
Inclinations to instigate strife
....to bring flavorful drama to her life...
and misery to mine
I helplessly fall into these traps
seeking out affection in the dryest wells
hitting bottom and licking the stone
for it's scarcest moisture
Parched and living loveless
will i ever find a love?
a love my father failed of thought
a mother's love i never got.
a love with abundant craziness with right amount of holiness
a love which respects, aspects with complex in vertex
will i ever find a love?
a love which is a permanent compassion rather than a temporary obsession.
a love which is neither a temptation
Nor will never give me neglection
A love which turns my pressure into composure.
will i ever find a love?
a love that consumes me which doesn't exhumes thee
a love which make me less of resilient more of emollient
a love which provides me romance like in France without a glance
will i ever find a love?
a love that gives me what I deserve preferably not what it reserve
a love which is an artisry with ruthless honesty and shameless constancy
a love books taught me which dwell, swells and expels reality
Finally will i ever find a love?
a love which is timeless turns me fearless
A love which accepts my flaws without shoving claws
a love that exists and exhibits
not exits
To touch a tear that falls upon your heart
And feel the silent breath to which I'm wed
To know your love, caress its crumbled part
This broken dream a darkened path I dread
So dance with me before my body's bled
And cross the floor held tight between strong arms
With my need to see your smile with its charms
Tomorrow I will go, I'll not complain
As war has come to pluck and bring its harms
And bind our hearts so tight in final pain
To feel the gentle shimmer of your soul
You quietly move your hand to impart
As silent space between our eyes control
Leaves burning lasting image in my heart
In lighted dawn, I'll go when trains depart
And claim this painful sorrow I must add
To you my love, this dance a moment sad
To me, it's a memory's lasting cry
So dance with me as if your heart is glad
My eyes and lips will only say goodbye
As bombs explode and light the blackest night
I find your face to calm my darkest fear
In man-made holes, we crawl in troubled fight
When battle's hell and soldier's death is near
I try to hold my dance with you my dear
As bullets fragment in their deadly swarm
And men are hand to hand to let blood form
In scented war with visions to forget
Soldiers cry out a name in warring storm
My final breath expels from bayonet
1/12/18 contest The Magic of Three
sponsor Broken Wings