Best Flogging Poems
A quiet fury gathered on Horizon’s distant side.
Its merciless intensity was destined to collide
with unsuspecting entities entombed beneath the ground
all huddled ‘neath a canopy, immune to earthly sound.
The timbered crown held steady 'till it met the tempest thrust.
Though some were felled by Heaven’s flogging, others stood the gust.
Malevolent gray shadows rolled and tumbled in the toil
as ominous dark nimbostratus stewed within the boil.
The sky peeled open wide releasing terrifying might
as spears of jagged lightning were unleashed upon the night.
A bolt was hurled from heaven and it found its mark below,
within the silent forest stood one massive tree aglow.
Barbs of lightning pierced its trunk and blew the shards of bark
into arrays of shrapnel as it ripped its limbs apart.
Then torrent rains began to pour upon its ravaged frame
to calm the rage sent from above, extinguishing the flame.
Those mighty winds have faded to a whisper once again,
the Sun returns its solace as it beams across the land.
The silent calm of morning is restored by breaking dawn.
For now the quiet fury from the Heavens has withdrawn.
Host: Mark Toney
Marathon Contest mile 25
1-19-2020
Categories:
flogging, allusion, angst, appreciation,
Form:
Couplet
"CONQUERING LOVE
Hinged between the family feud,
our love is forged in spite dismay.
as egos grapple rift of old,
I know you have a heart of gold.
Defiance all, my heart aflame,
at statue ruins we meet again.
This secret place, to us discreet,
Like puffin doves, we pledge our love,
For no one else but us can see,
our unity under the willow tree,
Believe not that of gossip tongue,
Not chosen them, my soul mate be,
I know you not, tradition seek.
For sake of honour, custom speak.
No rule or code or flogging me,
For you my love, my fortress be.
A miracle wish, this feud shall cease.
My knight in armour set me free.
I long the day in history,
To spend our life in tranquillity.
Submit to thee my dignity.
A life in distant far away,
lest family lead my life astray.
©Copyright 2013 M..A. Bell (alfi – m.za)
All Rights Reserved
Categories:
flogging, culture, dedication, devotion, love,
Form:
Romanticism
WHISKEY
1) Who would take away this unrest
What would make me think my best?
Something for my soul; I am desperately longing
Battle for sanity; my mind is earnestly flogging
I wanna cook something good
But all I eat is depression’s food
Trying to sleep victorious
But always waking up so notorious
Chorus: My soul is broken but my flesh is still in line
Spirit so thirsty looking for a new wine
I wanna live a life that I know is mine
But all I take is whiskey so I can stay fine
2) I heard things about the Lord’s glory
At first I thought it was just a story
Saying to myself; these fellas are just being corny
Until I walked into his sanctuary, I tell you; it wasn’t funny
It was a brand new experience
To know the worth of his essence
This is not benediction nor burning of incense
It is something I call an unexplained presence
Categories:
flogging, addiction, christian, depression,
Form:
Enclosed Rhyme
Plan for the whole weekend if you go to visit
It's big enough to wonder, where again is it?
There are plenty of sights to liven any senses
Something about its uniqueness always enhances
An immensity whose streets will never sleep
Immersing all alike with its heart and beat
The sounds of day-to-day soak into your ear
While its trends change throughout the year
Lives beyond cultures and vines growing wild
Blocks with rich heritage and diverse styles
Its traffic will have you turning in circles
How it works remains more than just miracles
The city is a treat if you know where to look
Serving up destinations that leave you hooked
The hustle of its lifestyle, today and rewind
With too many one-ways flogging any sane mind
Categories:
flogging, travel
Form:
Rhyme
Flogging
as punishment
confessed adultery
the lover pleaded not guilty
- coward
Categories:
flogging, pain, sympathy, truth,
Form:
Cinquain
My big ol' rooster,
thought he was cock of the walk...
Until....Red, my hen
ended it all today with
a flogging and loud squawk!..
©Donna Jones
11-11-2013
Categories:
flogging, farm, funny,
Form:
Tanka
When I start learning English grammar,
My heart falters and my tongue tremors.
An amorous poem, When I wrote,
People don't like, don't even quote ,
Standing, sitting, or sleeping, my heart disabuses,
Brain from the idle thoughts and misuses,
Of noun, pronoun, adverb, and adjective,
So I feel fine with a sane state of subjective,
Learning lexicon and vocabulary,
An imperceptible approach to disarray,
It seems I am flogging a dead horse,
But it's not like cramming morse,
The more I learn about this exotic,
Dialect and accent which makes dramatic,
Whole German, French, and Latin compound,
Is this chemistry or seems a latent sound,
All my senses now take part in this chemical reaction.
To read, listen, write, and speak with utmost correction,
English itself is a math, physics, and chemistry,
A science of linguistics and a science of mystery.
Categories:
flogging, humor,
Form:
Quatrain
Twelve rounds of excitement
Two rivals smiling in the middle of enchantment
The bell rang...
Both fighters were wild
Two rough hands still mild
The bell rang again -- end of first round.
Second round...
Gaiting horses, eluding kicks and punches
Baiting bodies, protruding hunches
Third round...
Fighters in merry-go-round
Hide and seek on square ground
Fourth round...
Faces smearing, eyes rolling
Bodies perspiring, allies chanting
Fifth round...
Feet hovering, foot work disintegrated
Temperature rising, hard punches connected
Sixth round...
Audience clapping; boxers hitting
Attacks jabbing, gloves slugging
Seventh round...
Whacking arm follows, gloves batting
Ulnar bone gallows, heads swatting
Eighth round...
The champ fighter grinning, nailing one hard scour
Second fighter fainting, flailing above the litted floor
Ninth round...
Stronger fighter grinning again with right hook
Left hook thrashing, down the second fighter of blind look
Tenth round...
Challenger flogging, kept on rising
Challenger pelting, the champ fell on floor gasping
Eleventh round...
Both warriors pummeling, whipping, jostling
Switching, clubbing, lashing, drubbing
Both fighters fell on adulated white floor
Before the ninth count both warriors stood tall
on wrestled floor
Twelfth round...
Last two minutes of peppering round
Both fighters staggering until the challenger dropped first and gaunts.
Champ still standing, waiting for the ten counts...
Last twenty five seconds of the final round,
First fallen fighter with a bigger heart stands
Champ dropped on his knees --
Laid flat on aproned, famed canvass
Ten counts numbered as confetti lands...
The winner and challenger standing in the corner, beaten and bruised
Bleeding profusely after winning a dream never cruised.
Categories:
flogging, boxing day , courage,
Form:
Narrative
Life means I can talk to my friends and others,
When the untravelled sea fills with brothers,
Pleasure rushes the uninhabited areas we just don't sail,
And when we semiotically emit our meaning, we will prevail;
Freedom rings with resonance resounding and pervasive,
No need for more traditional others to be abrasive,
No bears or wolves, no chides, jibes, and no probes obtrusive,
Your identity is your construct, your speech is conclusive.
And my books! Alas my books. They proffer so such contentment,
A breadth of knowledge with no suggestions delinquent,
Nor are there any accusers to accost,
My mind and spirit which upon some can be lost,
Possibilities endless, bringing depth of character,
They glint and glide, swimming in grammar;
Multiple amounts of information councel my hesitation,
Brimming particulars restrain inhibition.
But oh my computer: How elegant is she!
Believing in my easy registrations as well as my errors to be;
Such possibilities, moulded so neatly into my space,
Without the communal glare of uniformity’s trace;
Personalised desktop, memory and input method,
It accepts me unquestioned with no staff or flogging rod;
I program to set the user interface alight,
With the functionality and procedures of the user’s plight.
However, I can also give myself my own system,
Personal software from my own inclination;
Knowing some designers do not have in hand,
The shortcuts that only I seem to understand;
A software engineer’s god complex should not surface,
The digital space is a privilege to influence, place;
I love determining the screen and its sounds,
Where freedom of knowledge and data abound.
But the gift of poetry delights and ignites,
Hurtful regressions lull in its sight;
Its credibility only ever stoops to concede,
That only your introversion may expression impede;
Language caressed, dignity nursed,
You never need to be at all reimbursed;
Its haters are silent for fear of rebuke,
As truth, imagination and love are its hook.
Categories:
flogging, books, computer, friendship, people,
Form:
Heroic Couplet
https://www.youtube.com/edit?video_id=M1uhJSVuz_A
School bashings in 1951
Oh I went to school in fifty one
Like every six year old should
I did't know what was in store
A flogging for my good?
Bushy got a sandwich from another kid at school
He handed me another, nice tucker it was cool
Bushy did not come this day, I got another sandwich
Head teacher grabbed me by the scruff
A long cane he did brandish.
He thought to drive the evil out
I surely got a thrashing
Blue stripes from heel to nape of neck
Yes mate I got a bashing .
Beryl Mason was the older girl (bushys sister)
Who came and told my father
He sprang upon his horse, did whirl
His stockwhip cracked like thunder
He rode up the steps into the school
And sprang upon the teacher
Belted him often hard and cruel
And Joe become a preacher....he saw the light
So I did not get the cane for awhile after that.
I'd had all I needed for awhile. Don Johnson 6-12-10
My mate Sourpuss Noble of Dirranbandi had his head
Jammed through a plate of glass in a school door ..
As the teacher said .You will not talk no more?
Categories:
flogging, adventure,
Form:
Ballad
What makes the hiking up mountains more striking?
What makes the driving more fun than arriving?
What makes the ocean-ing worth the sun lotioning?
Gear!
Gear makes the biking much more to my liking,
Gear makes the camping way less spirit-damping,
Gear makes the gardening less callous-hardening,
Let's hear it for Gear!
Now softball-leaguing is way more intriguing,
Now boogie boarding is much more rewarding,
Now even jogging feels less like a flogging,
3 cheers for the Gear!
Titanium! Spandex! Aluminum! Latex!
Hi-tech! All-weather! Light as a feather!
No wonder I struggled for many a year -
I had not the wherewithal to buy the gear!
Categories:
flogging, garden, humor, sports,
Form:
Rhyme
The Passing of the Lord, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s La Mort du Seigneur by T. Wignesan
Lord ! I’m unable to think of your passing without crying
I count the flogging blows I rain upon you
And despair at being exhausted trying
I re-open and again open the mortal wound
In order that I become the wound inflicted upon you
Here’s the opening where all mankind is bound
On their God who died to be reborn
Lord ! I’m unable to think of your passing without crying
I do repent me who in a while am going
To nail my brother on the same gallows
I’m going to let spill his blood right up to his heart
At the point where his suffering stifles my cruelty
Both of us slaking our thirst from the source of pains
Your saintly face and our identity
Lord ! I’m unable to think of your passing without crying
Yet I speak not the truth like water seeping through sand
I am nothing I have neither features nor substance
All the mud in me mounts up to my face
My blurred eyes bog down your pardon
Thus every man when he fathoms your grace
Avoids it to return to his silt
Lord ! I’m unable to think of your passing without crying
At such a moment when every man all of Man
Falls into mud you alone are reborn
At such a moment when God ceases to be man
Which leaves you bloodless and the Verb hollow
At such a moment the void overcomes you
And both man and God having abandoned you
Lord ! I’m unable to think of your passing without crying
You are my thirst me the mud which sucks
The bitter universe pressing upon your lips
Your cross in vain elevates my nature
It’s on my mud your lever finds a fulcrum
And when your body falls like a ripe fruit
My mud doesn’t change when everything’s accomplished
Lord ! I’m unable to think of your passing without crying
Your perfect affirmation underwrites all of history
Suffering to death without in any way being bothered
Yes, to the mud which mocks your victory
Where Man’s reborn though not having been changed
Yes, to this God who extends not his hands to receive
His only Son and total stranger
(from Les Jours de la Passion, pub. July 2011)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
flogging, jesus, spiritual, universe,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Love does not rejoice in iniquity but rejoices in the truth
words taken from the bible that fires an arrow deep
We are living now in a world where people have departed from God
tolerance is needed with prayer and fasting
Socrates hits the key note in this where fascism takes control
When the debate is lost slander becomes the tool of losers
Many are so shortsighted blind when it comes to standing supporting sin
Do we look to the bright side of humanity
instruct ignorance springs to mind when it comes to fault
Under a veil where darkness forces its agenda
silencing the victims from having rights to an opinion
Every slave has become chained in words to chaos
deeds served as caring take away certain values
Living has little meaning when vanity takes the reins
hard hitting facts are hard to ignore in these bullies
Victorious individuals rise above the storms of life
because we all can see the burning anger is internally fused by hate
triggered by the deepest burning turmoil
even when forgiven it pushes so far beyond belief
In some cases in the end we are flogging a dead horse
so to speak good without judgement
I am a sinner forgive me my life's errors
we are all guilty of remaining quite at times
the time to speak is now and defend your birthright
no good comes out from evil ways
Categories:
flogging, abuse, betrayal, bible, conflict,
Form:
Narrative
While snarkers strive with proud but fruitless disdain Wounded immortals try the slaying of the slain Quit beating the dead metaphor let it go and watch it roll down hill
Categories:
flogging, allusion, grave, humor, jealousy,
Form:
Free verse
Flogged a Dead Horse The Dream
It felt no pain
pain I felt
flogging works like that
So I sat
upside down
in Australia
Started to fall asleep
cider I was in, knee deep
A kangaroo woke me up
It felt no pain
as she flogged a dead man
flogging works like that.
Flog a Dead Horse The Reality
and feel its pain
that's how it works
I sit
upside down
in Australia
knee deep in cider
while a kangaroo flogs me
it doesn't feel my pain
I'm a dead man
that's how it works
Categories:
flogging, art, psychological, solitude, symbolism,
Form:
Free verse